#which is not an easy task. it is certainly not for everyone. but i think there is a lot to find within there for these characters

[pagesfromthevoid]

Future Fest | b. f.

Bob Floyd x teacher!reader

High school recruitment isn’t usually on the short list of things to do during the day, but it is today.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: None

Author's Note: I don't even know what possessed me but here I am. Also, the feral things the students say in this are actual quotes from my actual students. First installment of the Top Gun x Teacher Universe

Masterlist | Talk to Me! | Coffee?

She really needs to learn how to say “no” when people ask her to do things at work.

It’s a bad habit –a combination of the incessant need to be liked by everyone and genuinely caring about what the students would want–that she just can’t seem to break. 

Today, it’s Future Fest. The very first event of the year where any student sixteen and older can ditch their regularly scheduled classes and come down to the gym to talk to different college representatives, explore career choices, and interact with military recruiters. About 75% of those students are there to actually get an idea about what they want to do after high school –that other 25% are there to get out of class.

Not that she blames them, of course. She probably would have done the same thing if this had been a thing when she was in school. 

The college and career counselor at the school had asked her to help out, since most of her students had signed up to go anyway (and unfortunately for those who didn’t, they got to go anyway because of her). It’s all hands on deck when it comes to these sorts of events, just to ensure that things go smoothly and none of the kids act like fools. Plus, she’s getting paid for “covering” a class three periods in a row –not a lot, but it’s certainly better than nothing. 

Her task is to just walk the aisles and keep an eye on things. Talk to some of the representatives, thank them for coming to the school, encourage kids to talk to them too. It’s easy enough, and she jokes with many of the representatives that she’s getting her steps in today.

“Miss!” One of her students practically screams, running up to her and grabbing her arm. A gaggle of sophomore girls are trailing behind, carrying pamphlets for the Navy. “Have you seen the military guys?”

She peers over the heads of the students, towards the back of the gym, where the recruiters are. She can sort of make out their faces, but she’s not truly all that interested.

“I haven’t made my way over there yet,” she offers, pulling her arm free from the girl. “Why?”

“They’re hot.”

“You know, normal teenagers don’t tell their teachers when they find people hot,” she points out, rolling her eyes.

She’s suddenly surrounded by teenage girls, and she wishes for a moment that the kids didn’t like her half as much as they did. Boundaries are important, and teenagers have no idea how they work. They tell her things she truly does not want or need to know –though it’s a double edged sword. For all the weird, practically feral comments they make, they tell her things that are important to know. How their lives at home are, if they need help, if they’re struggling. She reminds them that she loves them, but they need to remember they’re not friends.

“Yeah but we’re not normal and you’re our mom, so like…it’s fine.”

They call her the school mom, which is…better than being their friend, she supposes.

The girls are insisting she go and talk to the recruiters, or at least look at them, so she throws her hands up and heads over. But she tells the girls they have to talk to three college representatives if she does that –they agree quickly and hurry off, though they’re watching to make sure she actually goes over there.

Rolling her eyes, she holds her hands behind her back and strolls down the aisle until she sees the banner for the Navy –then below it, a sign advertising the United States Navy Strike Fighter Tactics Instructor Program. She thinks that’s a mouthful, though also knows the program is highly sought after by many of the students at the school. Being the closest high school to the naval air base will do that, though.

As she approaches, she can hear two of her students talking to the recruiters –one tall, blonde and holding a helmet that’s labelled “Hangman.” He’s confident, and he’s cute (she’ll give him that much), but she doesn’t particularly like how he’s talking to the boys in front of him. Beside him is another pilot, she assumes, since she’s wearing her flight suit and the helmet in front of her says “Phoenix.” She’s trying to cut in, but Hangman seems to be more interested in bragging than anything else. She catches the tail end of their conversation, something about their call signs and what they are. 

Beside Phoenix, however, is someone who looks too sweet to be in the military. He’s talking to a junior, showing him something on a tablet that looks like blueprints. But he’s smiling ear to ear, seemingly enjoying whatever he’s talking about. His glasses are slipping down the bridge of his nose, but he’s too caught up talking to the student to notice. 

He, she thinks, is cute. And he’s nice to the students, which is important to her.

She steps around the student, standing to the side as she waits for them to finish up. From this angle, she catches the name on his tag –Floyd –and makes a mental note. However, it’s Hangman who finishes up first, and approaches with an award-winning (and cocky) smile.

“Well hello there,” he offers, extending his hand. “Lieutenant Jake Seresin, at your service.”

She takes his hand politely, shaking it, and introducing herself. “Nice to meet you, lieutenant. I was just stopping over to thank you guys for coming out. It means so much to the school.”

His colleague Phoenix, extends her hand next, smiling as well. “Lieutenant Natasha Trace. It’s not a problem –we love coming out and doing stuff like this.”

“So you’re all pilots?” She asks, motioning towards their helmets. 

“Me and Phoenix are –Bob over there is a Weapons System Officer,” Lieutenant Seresin explains, though he’s smirking some as Natasha –Phoenix –elbows Bob to get his attention. 

Bob looks up, as if suddenly realizing she’s not a student and she’s an adult, and he turns a bit pink in the ears as he sets down his tablet.

“I’m sorry about that, ma’am,” he offers, then extends his hand to her. “Lieutenant Robert Floyd, though most people just call me Bob.”

She takes his hand and offers a real smile –not that she wasn’t smiling properly to his colleagues, but Bob seems sweet and it's hard not to offer him a proper one. She reintroduces herself one more time.

“It’s a pleasure –like I was saying, I just wanted to thank you guys for coming out and doing this. Future Fest is our big thing and the kids really love it. Having you guys join us is a big deal.”

“Oh, I love doing stuff like this,” Bob offers, and the smile on his face just hasn’t gone away.

She’s a bit distracted, caught up in just how genuinely interested he seems to be in the whole thing. Most people aren’t terribly excited to spend their day talking to high schoolers –but Bob actually seems to mean it. And she appreciates that, because she’s someone who also enjoys working with the students (though it would be a shame if she didn’t, given she’s a teacher). It helps that he’s got the prettiest blue eyes she’s ever seen, and he’s got some sort of accent that she can’t place but it’s nice to hear. 

Was it weird to flirt at school? She vaguely remembers her mom saying they used to flirt with the firemen when they came to her school, so it can’t be terribly inappropriate. It’s not like she’s doing anything lewd –she’s just talking. And smiling. 

“So what does a Weapons System Officer do, Lieutenant Floyd?” She asks, both because she’s interested and because she wants to keep hearing him talk. 

“Here we go,” Hangman says, rolling his eyes but Phoenix elbows him as they turn their attention to a student who approaches.

Bob beams at the chance to explain, taking up the tablet again and holding it out to her. “So WSO’s –that’s what I do –are responsible for manning the weapon systems of the F/A-18F Super Hornet strike fighter from that jet's aft seat. That’s just the back,” he explains, pointing to where he must be stationed when he’s in the plane. “Depending on the mission, when designated as the mission commander, I’m the one responsible for all phases of the assigned mission, especially if there are multiple aircraft involved.”

“So you’re in charge?” She asks, leaning against the table and zooming in on the inside of the plane. Though truthfully, she has no idea what she’s looking at. It’s just a lot of buttons and numbers she doesn’t quite understand. She’s certain, however, if she asked, he would explain it step by step to her.

“Like I said, it depends on the mission,” he offers, pulling the tablet back in front of him to show her something else. 

She must be staring, because from a few feet away, she hears her name being called, a handful of giggles and then,

“Ooh, miss! Get it!”

She blushes. Bob blushes. Hangman and Phoenix are paying attention suddenly and laughing.

“Savannah Johnson, you absolute menace,” she scolds, standing up straight. She turns to Bob, smiling sheepishly. “I’m sorry about that, Lieutenant Floyd. You’ll have to excuse me; I need to go remind the kids that they can’t be unhinged in mixed company.”

“Only in mixed company?” He jokes, but the blush has spread from his cheeks down his neck.

“I keep a running list of all the things they say in class all year,” she offers with a laugh, and she’s very aware that she’s being watched now but can’t help it.

“I’d love to see it,” he says and she really can’t help it now as she picks up a business card with his name on it.

“This your cell phone or your work phone?” She asks, holding it up in front of him. 

Bob swallows hard and shakes his head, but takes the card from her and a pen from his shirt pocket. He scribbles his number on the back and hands it back to her, almost timidly.

“I’ll send you a few when I go to lunch; then you can decide if you want the whole list.”

“Sounds great, miss.”

She turns on her heel to walk away, feeling the heat rising to her cheeks, as her students practically scream at her. She shoos them away, telling them they need to act better if they’re in public. 

The bell rings for lunch, and she’s waiting for the students to exit the gym, when he approaches her this time. She turns and smiles when she sees Bob, standing just a few inches taller than her, with a shy grin on his face. 

“Sorry to bother you, miss. I was just…,” He hesitates but she just smiles, waiting. “I was just wondering if you would like to have lunch with me? Phoenix and Hangman went off campus, but I brought my lunch.”

She bites her lip and nods some. “That sounds nice, actually. I usually eat in my classroom, if you want to go up there with me.”

She’d have to tell her velcro kids they need to go elsewhere today, but they would understand. Or they’d sit outside the door –either way. Bob nods and they make easy conversation as she leads him through the hallways of the school. She explains little things that he asks about –murals, artwork on display, awards. Everything he asks is tinged with actual interest and it makes her heart pound. 

There’s four or five kids sitting outside her door when they get upstairs, and they all look up at her in confusion as she opens the door. Bob waves at them politely.

“Sorry guys –I have a guest today,” she explains, though she still motions them inside. “Grab a snack and off you go.”

They huff and puff but grab whatever they need from a drawer at the front of the room, then leave with a flurry of goodbyes and thank you’s. Bob watches them for a moment before taking a seat at a desk. She leaves the door open –if anything because she doesn’t need anyone assuming the worst (and the kids will). Then she grabs her lunch from the mini fridge in the corner, setting it on a desk in front of him and turning it around.

“I haven’t sat in one of these in a long time,” he chuckles, taking out his very neatly organized meal. It makes her thrown together lunch look kind of sad, honestly. “I can’t imagine sitting here every day again.”

“They hate them, but I’m hoping I get some grant money to get something better next year.”

“It’s a shame you have to get grants just to have decent things in the classroom.”

“Well, all that military spending does make a dent in the education fund,” she teases, and she’s grinning at him playfully as she does it.

“Ouch,” he puts his hand over his heart, wincing some at the jab. “I don’t know what to say outside of I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” she reassures him, taking out her phone and opening her notes app. “Okay, you ready to hear some of the feral things high schoolers say when they’re way too comfortable with you?”

“I don’t know,” he laughs, leaning back in the seat. “It can’t be that bad, right?”

She gives him a look of warning, then scrolls down…and down…and down…

“That is…a long list,” he comments, peering over the top of her phone. He almost sounds concerned.

“Oh, it is,” she promises, then stops to find her favorite so far. “‘Laws are temporary but friends are forever.’”

Bob chuckles through a bite of his sandwich. “That’s not so bad.”

She puts her finger up. “‘His parents are getting divorced. I hope neither of them want him.’”

“Oh my god.”

“‘I’m going to be a legal pot dealer after college.’”

“What does that even mean?”

“He wants to be a pharmacist,” she explains with a laugh. “I’m just happy he isn’t dropping out.”

“Okay, that’s fair,” he concedes, motioning for her to continue.

“‘I learned the other day that my dad looks up goth girl ASMR online.��”

She pauses and looks at Bob, who's trying not to choke on his sandwich. Setting her phone down, she leans back and opens up her bag of grapes with a laugh. For a few minutes, that’s it —they’re eating and laughing. When they stop laughing, she reads another and they laugh again. This goes on for most of the lunch period, up until her alarm goes off to warn her she has three minutes before the bell rings. 

“Oh shit,” she says, quickly packing up her things. “I have to actually teach now. I didn’t realize what time it was —,”

Bob quickly stands and packs his own stuff up, then flips the desk around with ease for her. She stares for a moment, watching how his arms flex as he lifts the desk without issue. Oh dear. 

“I don’t want to be too forward,” he says as students are trying to trickle in. He quickly shuts the door, looking down at her. “But I…I would really like to take you out on a date, if you’d let me.”

Kids are peering through the little window, knocking on the door. She waves them off a bit, looking up at him with a soft smile. 

“I would really like that.”

He nods, opening the door now. Kids are pushing through to get settled in, but he’s awkwardly standing in the doorway with a boyish grin and a blush. She pushes him gently out the door, but follows him out as she waits at the door for stragglers. 

“I’ll text you after school.”

“I look forward to it.”

She waves him off, smiling dreamily as she watches him walk off. He turns and walks backwards for a moment, waving at her before finally disappearing out the hallway doors. 

When she shuts the door and returns to her classroom, her students are staring at her with wide eyes. 

And then the chaos ensues.

—————

Part Two

[radawaycunt]

Imperator

Also on AO3

Pairing: Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fem!Reader

WC: 6.7k words

Summary: Once, you only had the memory of the curious barbarian poet, entertaining guests at a party with both violence and verse. But it's not until you see him again, now as emperor, that you get to know the man underneath the titles.

Warnings: Minors DNI this fic is 18+, power imbalance (emperor/servant to freedwoman), mutual pining, slow-ish burn, sort of forbidden love?, lots and lots of fluff good lord, some jealousy, some angst, lovey dovey smut, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), maybe some historical inaccuracies lol (I care a lot okay), and iii think that's it but lmk if anything else!

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

"Love will enter cloaked in friendship's name."

– Ovid.

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

“The gates of hell are open night and day. Smooth the descent, and easy is the way. But to return, and view the cheerful skies, In this the task and mighty labor lies.”

That was the first time you had ever heard him speak, the deep timbre of his voice riddled with contempt. Moments before, he had killed another gladiator, his blood spattered on him like a gruesome adornment. But there was no savagery in his fierce eyes, no mere bloodthirst in the sneer directed at Emperor Geta, your Dominus. His glare was even, like a cold, blue flame that promised not just violence, but retribution as well.

You’d recognized the poem immediately, just as taken aback as everyone else. Nobody moved, the room’s collective breath held in anticipation of the inevitable repercussions of such an offense. Emperor Geta made the slightest move to raise his sword and you gripped the decanter of wine tighter, but your face remained impassive.

“Virgil,” supplied Macrinus, trying to placate him with a broad smile. “He was taught poetry just to amuse you, Imperators.”

There was another momentary pause in which neither twin was sure if they should believe him. But then, Caracalla snorted, standing up to clap the taller man’s shoulder.

“A poet,” He said, laughing. “That’s genius, Macrinus.”

“Yes, certainly very amusing,” Geta said begrudgingly, his jaw clenched. 

He and the gladiator had not stopped staring at each other for one moment, like two vipers poised to strike. 

“Good, I thought you’d like that,” Macrinus said, approaching his fighter to grasp his shoulder, perhaps in warning. “We live to serve you both.”

“Well, I look forward to seeing your poet at the upcoming games in the Colosseum,” he spits out, throwing the sword aside with a loud clatter. “Let’s see how his verses work for him then.”

Macrinus nodded at his steward to take the gladiator away. He was smiling, seemingly amused, as the steward approached him. As he was being shoved back to the atrium, his eyes took one last baleful look around the room. For the briefest second, you thought his eyes met yours, striking you like a piercing arrow, but then he was gone. 

You had no time to dwell on it though, as Emperor Geta returned to his seat and raised his glass to be refilled. But that didn’t mean you would forget so easily, even if your paths might never cross again. All you could do was offer a prayer to the Gods for him. 

—--------------------------

The next time you saw him, he was no longer a barbarian gladiator hailed from a distant land, but the new – and rightful – Emperor of Rome. His name was not Hanno, but Lucius Verus Aurelius, and he was the son of the recently passed Queen Lucilla, whom Rome still mourned. 

He was not cruel like the twins had been, rarely raising his voice, much less his hand. His demeanor was usually calm, but sometimes he stalked the halls restlessly, as if unsure what he should be doing. He still rose with the sun and trained for a couple of hours in the morning, already used to the routine he’d had as a gladiator, but after that, it was all politics. Endless scrolls of parchment to pore over, meetings to hold with the senate, and lending a patient ear to the populace’s needs. The weight of an empire was on his shoulders, and yet he didn’t bow under it. 

During the day, you served his wine and silently hovered around for anything else he might need. At night, you drew his baths, kept his torches lit, and prepared his bed. You would have helped him disrobe too, already used to it from your days of serving Geta, but he chose to do so himself. He was not quite used to his every need being attended to, self-sufficiency deeply ingrained in his being. Mostly, he waved away other servants, leaving you instead to care for him personally. 

There were times when you caught him looking at you as if you seemed vaguely familiar, a furrow in his brow when he couldn’t place you. You couldn’t fault him for not remembering you from Senator Thraex’s party, but there was a certain thrill at having piqued his curiosity regardless. Still, you kept your head down and offered no hints, as was your place. 

Until one night, while he watched you add aromatic oils and test the bath’s temperature, he finally asked the question that had been on his mind for days.

“What is your name?”

You were startled at first, not having expected him to address you at all. You told him your given Roman name, Domicia, and bowed your head respectfully. He pushed himself off the doorway and stepped into the bathroom, humming thoughtfully.

“Of the home,” he said, referring to the name’s meaning. “Are you Roman? Is that your real name?”

You shook your head in answer to both questions. “I have been in Rome for many years now, though.”

“I have not,” he said, a note of melancholy in his voice. “Yet I grew up here, in these very halls…”

He trailed off, looking around absently, lost in his memories. You could not begin to imagine what he had been through, what he had seen. You had heard of his being sent away as a child, with absolutely no choice in the matter, and could empathize with him. 

All you had ever known was a humble life in your native country, until you were stripped of your freedom and brought to the capital of Rome. Neither place felt like home, just the past and the present, and perhaps he was viewing things the same way. You could imagine, even understand, the bittersweetness of returning to a place one thought they might never see again. 

“We are honored and grateful to have you back, Dominus,” you said. “I hope things have been to your satisfaction.”

“I have no complaints,” he said, yet he sighed. “Though becoming accustomed to being here, in my current position, is going to take some more time.”

“If there is anything I can do to make it easier for you, please let me know.”

He inclined his head gratefully, your eyes meeting for a moment. “Thank you, Domicia.”

He had the barest of smiles on his handsome face, but you could tell it was genuine. You felt one corner of your lips tugging upwards, but you looked away out of propriety. Even if you were in the same room, you were leagues apart, and it would do you no good to try to imagine otherwise.

You stood up, grabbing the decanter from a nearby table to have it refilled. “Your bath is ready now. Would you like refreshments other than wine?”

He nodded and you bowed, making your way out. By the time you returned with more wine and a platter of olives, bread, and cheese, he was already in the bathtub, leaning back with his eyes closed. Your feet padded softly on the mosaic floor to avoid  disturbing him, and you left his refreshments on the table near the tub.

You settled at one side of the room just in case he might need anything, staring off into the middle distance and letting your mind drift. He glanced at you sidelong, his curiosity having only grown after your brief conversation. He still had that nagging feeling that he had seen you somewhere before, but he didn’t want to ask outright.

You felt his gaze on you but pretended not to, keeping your eyes averted. You thought again of the poem he’d recited, how different his demeanor had been then. You wondered what other verses he’d been taught, and if you might ever hear him recite anything again. He had a voice for poetry, somehow turning the words into a sort of enchantment, keeping one entranced.

“Doesn’t it feel… strange sometimes?” he said suddenly, staring up at the ceiling. “When things settle and you realize how far you have come? How much you’ve had to sacrifice for it?”

You hummed in agreement, waiting for him to say more. 

“Sometimes, I even wonder if it was all worth it.”

Still lost in a haze of verses, you spoke before you could even think it through.

“Fortunate is he whose mind has the power to probe the causes of things and trample underfoot all terrors and inexorable fate.”

He sat up, surprised. “You know Virgil.” Recognition finally dawned on him. “You were at that party, weren’t you?”

You nodded. “Your words then were just as sharp as your blade.”

He huffed, leaning against the edge of the tub as he remembered his barely contained hatred. “Were you taught poetry to amuse, as well?”

“No, I used to read it with my mother when I was younger.”

“Who else have you read?”

“Ovid, Sappho, Horace…” You became a little flustered as he raised his eyebrows. “My mother was a bit of a romantic.”

“And you?”

It was your turn to huff with amusement, looking down at your hands. “I don’t believe I inherited that trait, no.”

The truth was that in a place such as Rome, love was quite hard to come by. You didn’t actively search for it, its ephemeral nature making you less inclined to, but you were no complete stranger to it. You’d never let it take root, though, for it was not something you could afford to have. 

“What about you, Dominus?”

“Me?” he said. “I suppose… I’m not entirely sure anymore. I used to be, at one point.”

His haunted expression told you not to press him for details, so you just nodded sympathetically. The two of you lapsed into silence, the weight of tragedy hanging between you. You’d had a lot more time to become numb to your circumstances, but it was clear the pain he was experiencing was still fresh. 

“I will be forced to remarry eventually.” He sighed heavily. “Produce heirs to carry out the lineage, show Rome a unified front.”

“Well, whoever you marry shall be the most fortunate woman in the empire.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle, looking over at you. “You really believe so? You’re not just flattering me?”

“Of course,” you said, giving him a cryptic smile that made him laugh again. “I’m perfectly serious.”

“Oh, I am sure you are.”

After some time, he rose with a small splash, prompting you to immediately approach with an outstretched towel. His nudity barely registered in your mind, having already glimpsed him a few times. You wouldn’t dare to look at him directly, even if you were more than a little curious. You tensed as his fingers barely brushed yours in the exchange, but you quickly stepped back to give him more room.

He wrapped the towel around his waist, water dripping down his sculpted arms and chest. You went to start tidying up, studiously keeping your eyes on your task. He watched as you picked up the refreshments to take to the main chamber, a part of him wishing you would look at him instead. 

“One more thing,” he said and you immediately turned around. “Please, I want you to call me Lucius.”

Your face heated up at the mere thought of it. “I could never be so bold…”

“I insist,” he said, holding up a hand as you began to stammer again. “Perhaps only when it is just the two of us, if you’d prefer.”

“I will certainly try my best,” you said with an awkward grin, trying to keep your composure.

He chuckled. “Good enough for me.”

—-----------------

Weeks passed, and while Lucius still hadn’t managed to get you to call him by name, he had certainly gotten you to open up more. In the evenings, the two of you swapped more poetry, often sharing your own interpretations of the verses. At some point, he even had scrolls fetched from the library for you to read to him. He enjoyed the mellifluous sound of your voice, so at odds with your serious expression when you were concentrating. To have him as your sole audience was already titillating,  but the fact that he paid close attention was even more of a rush.

During the day, you anxiously looked forward to those handful of hours in which everything else disappeared. No speak of Rome, politics, or bitter memories, content with being each other’s brief escape. You still held yourself at a certain distance, though, always aware of the chasm between you. Yet he never made you feel inferior, often encouraging you to share your thoughts and opinions with him despite your reticence. You would even dare to say he cared, or at least that’s what you wanted to believe.

You wouldn’t necessarily say you were getting attached, for that would be too unrealistic of a fantasy, but you could not deny the butterflies in your stomach that often appeared while around him. His easy, handsome smile, the kindness in his eyes, his patient indulgence when listening to you, and the effort he put into making you laugh…

But the spell was abruptly broken the day he received a visit from his friend Ravi, who had brought someone for him to meet – a respectable Roman lady. A widow, as it happened, just like Lucius. Her hair was perfectly styled, falling in ringlets that framed her lovely face. She wore a lavender-colored dress with a matching veil, much fancier than anything you’d ever owned, and was adorned with golden jewelry. More importantly, she was freeborn, and thus a perfectly good candidate for marriage.

You swallowed hard, otherwise keeping your expression neutral. You hadn’t thought he would start meeting potential brides so soon, and you certainly hadn’t expected how it would make you feel. At least, Lucius also seemed surprised, not expecting his friend to try to set him up without consulting him first. Still, he assumed the role of gracious host and welcomed them warmly, leading them out to the gardens. He glanced over his shoulder at you as you silently trailed behind them, but you didn’t meet his gaze.

The three of them reclined on the couches of the outdoor dining area, shaded by a wooden pergola. It was a beautiful sunny day, the birds singing accompanied by the gurgle of the large fountain at the center of the garden. A gentle breeze stirred the foliage, carrying the faint, sweet smell of a dozen different flowers. 

You served them wine and hovered close by as another servant brought them food to snack on. Lucius had deliberately sat across from where you stood just so he could keep an eye on you. You’d withdrawn into yourself, trying your hardest to remain indifferent instead of worrying about whether the meeting went well or not. If it did, then you had to be happy for him, but if it didn’t… Well, at least that would buy you a little more time, if nothing else.

“Such a lovely garden,” the lady, Ilaria, said as she looked around. “One could never tire of such a view.”

Lucius nodded absently but said nothing, as if he hadn’t heard her.

“I could see you fitting in perfectly with all the other flowers here,” Ravi cut in, smiling with as much charm as he could muster to make up for it.

Ilaria inclined her head, modestly waving off the compliment. “Oh, you flatter me, Ravi.”

He gave Lucius a subtle, pointed look to encourage him to follow his lead. Lucius sat up and cleared his throat, only just focusing on the conversation. He had been trying to get your attention as subtly as possible, but he hadn’t been successful. 

“Er, yes, it’s always a treat to spend time out here. Certainly helps to clear the mind.”

Ravi shook his head a little and tried not to snort with amusement, thinking he was a lost case. Ilaria smiled, unbothered, taking a handful of grapes from a platter and popping one into her mouth. 

“I’d wager there is much on your plate, Imperator,” she said. “And having to manage the household staff on top of everything else… Must be a little overwhelming for you, no?”

“Well, I am a very busy man, yes, but it hasn’t been all that bad,” Lucius said. “I’ve certainly had a great deal of support to see me through.”

His words managed to reach you, softening you up infinitesimally. This time, when he glanced at you, you finally looked back. The ghost of a smile was on your face, but you quickly looked away before it could actually manifest.

“I see. Well, I’m very glad to hear that,” Ilaria said, sharing a curious glance with Ravi, who looked slightly apologetic. “Though perhaps you have considered that having someone run the house for you would take a big burden off your shoulders. I would be more than happy to lend a hand if you’d consider it.”

His eyebrows raised slightly at her boldness, not missing the eagerness in her gaze, poorly concealed behind her innocently helpful demeanor. He certainly did not want to get her hopes up, but he smiled graciously to soften the blow.

“Ah, perhaps in the future, when I have more time to worry about such things,” he said, politely noncommittal. “But I appreciate the offer.”

Her smile wavered and then froze, not wanting to seem too disappointed. “Of course, Imperator.”

For the remainder of their visit, Lucius let them do most of the talking, any remarks he made were studiously polite and yet still a little aloof. Finally, after a few hours, he excused himself, needing to return to his duties. Ravi seemed hesitant, like he wanted to stay behind and speak to him privately, but he would have to wait for another day. He escorted them both out, thanking them for visiting, but he did not exactly invite Ilaria to return to the palace. Her disappointment was more palpable then, but she hid it with as much grace as she could muster.

When they were gone, he turned to you with a shake of his head and a sigh, grinning with bewilderment.

“I do not enjoy being ambushed,” he said as if he felt the need to explain himself. “Decent enough as she seemed.”

You bowed your head in agreement, more relieved than you would like to admit. You had no real reason to have been upset earlier, given that there was nothing between you except for a certain kinship. Even so, it was clear he had not wanted you to be hurt, and you were very thankful for that. You offered him a small smile and some tension seemed to leave his shoulders.

He inclined his head towards the eastern hallway leading to his study. “Come, I would like you to read some documents to me. I can get work done faster that way.”

The tablinum was spacious but cozy, with a door to one side that led to a smaller patio. Before, the twin emperors had never used the room, but now it seemed well lived in. There was a mess of scrolls and wax tablets all over his desk that he still hadn’t let you organize. On the wall behind, there was a recently completed fresco of a gladiator riding a chariot pulled by two horses. For another wall, he had commissioned a portrait of Vesta, goddess of the home and the hearth, but it was still a work in progress. He was particularly proud of that one, an unspoken gift for you, his muse.

You lit the oil lamps in their alcoves, bathing the room in warm light. Lucius sat at his desk with a heavy exhale and scanned his notes to remember where he had left off the previous day. You sat on a stool beside him, unfurling the scroll he handed you and resting it on your knees. The texts you read didn’t always make sense to you, but you understood their importance. The fact that he was entrusting you with such work was an honor you did not take for granted.

“Start in that middle section. There is some stuff I would like to revisit,” he said, taking up his stylus. 

You nodded, finding what he was referring to and starting right away. You read to him for the next couple of hours, only stopping if he needed you to repeat something or in case he needed more time to make his notes. A few times during the latter, you glanced up to take in the focused furrow of his brow, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he pondered. You wondered what he might be thinking about, wishing he would impart some more knowledge on you. 

Outside, the sun was beginning to set, shadows deepening in the corners of the room. Another servant brought him dinner, but he didn’t seem too hungry yet. He handed you his cup of water when he heard you clear your throat a few times, insisting when you were reluctant to take it. 

When he was done for the day, he stretched his arms over his head with a groan and slumped in his seat. You neatly rolled the parchment back up and stood so you could stretch your legs. 

“I hope I haven’t tired you too much,” he said, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back. “You can take the rest of the evening off from reading if you’d like, but I would still appreciate some company.”

“Well, I still need to draw your bath and…”

“Somebody else can take care of it,” he cut in with a shrug, not preoccupied.

You hesitated. “What would you have me do instead, then?”

“Just sit back down, relax for a moment,” he said, getting up. “Here, you can have my chair. Much more comfortable.”

You were about to protest, but he gave you a look that said it was not up for discussion. You pursed your lips, uncomfortable at the idea of being idle, especially while taking up his seat. Still, you obeyed and sat down, hands folded on your lap. Feeling a little bold, you looked at him as if to say ‘satisfied?’ and he huffed in amusement.

“Wait, stay still,” he murmured suddenly, leaning down.

You froze as his face hovered mere inches away from yours, his breath fanning over your cupid’s bow. Delicately, he removed a stray eyelash that had been resting on your cheekbone, and he pulled back a little so you could see it on the pad of his finger.

“Make a wish,” he said.

All you could do was stare at him for another breathless moment that seemed to stretch on infinitely. You licked your lips nervously, drawing his eyes there before they returned to hold your gaze. Your heart was like a nervous bird fluttering wildly in your ribcage. Your mind was mostly blank, but the one thought that popped up was ‘I wish he would close the distance right now.’

You gently blew the eyelash away, your wish scattering into the air alongside it. The Gods must have decided to grant it immediately, for he did not pull away, instead slowly leaning in. His lips brushed yours tentatively and you closed your eyes, rejoicing for the barest second before you forced your face to turn away.

“We shouldn’t…” you murmured, the words hard to utter when a desperate want clung to your throat like honey.

“Why not?” He whispered.

“It’s not– I’m not…” You vaguely gestured towards yourself, unsure of what the right words were. 

He pulled back to look at you better. “Was I too presumptuous?”

You shook your head. “Not at all.”

“Then what is it?” He pressed.

“Dominus, please.”

“Lucius,” he pleaded, loathing the title. “Say it, please.”

“Lucius,” you said finally, though your eyes still spelled defiance when you glanced at him. “Is it not obvious? We both know it’s impossible.” Your lower lip trembled slightly. “I have a heart, too, you know? I don’t want it to be broken.”

“I know that, of course I know that!” He said, placing his hands on your shoulders and crouching in front of you. “I have no intention of breaking your heart.”

“Surely you understand where I am coming from, though.” You sniffed, keeping tears at bay. “I am not wife material, like the lady Ilaria. I have nothing to offer, no dowry, no family name, or even an inkling of Patrician blood. ”

“I do not care for such things. I would never demand them of you. Even if we cannot marry, I will not marry anyone else that isn’t you,” he said with a firm, determined shake of his head. “But I can still give you my name, along with your freedom. That’s all that matters to me.”

You gasped, the shock of his words akin to a bucket of ice water being dumped over you. Now you let the tears spill over, like a dam had finally burst. He kissed them away, his hands cupping your face gently.

“I have been thinking of nothing else since I met you. I’ve already made the arrangements… I suppose I just didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

“You honor me,” you said, smiling despite the tears. “You always have.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” He asked. “You have given me more than you think. You brought me the peace I have been so desperately seeking for a long time.”

“I-I don’t even know how to thank you.” You placed a hand over his. “If you desire to give me your name, then I shall give you mine in return.”

You told him your name, the real one, which you had been hiding ever since your Roman name was given to you. He had never asked you for it, knowing that one’s name was the only thing one could truly own in this world. And now for you to give it freely… He repeated it, testing its shape on his tongue, and smiled radiantly.

“Pairs rather well with Lucia Veria, if I do say so myself,” he said with a proud chuckle, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “If you’ll have it, that is.”

You knew by the disarming earnestness in his eyes he wasn’t just offering the name, but himself, as well. His whole heart in the palm of your hand, should you choose to care for it. You felt as if you had already made that choice a while ago, when you first recited Virgil back to him.

“I will,” you said with an elated chuckle. “Of course I will.”

He took your hands in his, kissing both of them. “Then first thing tomorrow, we will make it official.”

More tears flowed as a result of an overwhelming rush of both gratitude and love. You had tried to ignore your feelings, not uprooting them but instead silently letting them grow unacknowledged. For once, it had seemed worth the risk of heartbreak. After all, the love hadn’t stemmed from something as fleeting as lust, but a mutual understanding and respect. It was more than you could ever ask for, and yet everything you desired.

You leaned your forehead against his, your noses brushing as he tilted his head back. This time, it was you who brought your lips to his with a tentative sort of tenderness, propriety still at the back of your mind. He responded in kind, letting you set the pace so as not to scare you off. If you weren’t shaking so much, you might have noticed he was shaking, too. 

In that kiss, there was the promise of mutual devotion, sweet and sincere. You were still holding each other’s hands, as if afraid you might drift apart if you let go. You understood then why odes were written about this feeling, as all-consuming as the churning waves of the sea. All those verses had never resonated with you more. 

Perhaps you had inherited the romanticism, after all. 

—------------------

The air smelled of night-blooming jasmine, the fresh sweetness of it bringing you a sense of tranquility. You leaned against the windowsill, looking up at the stars and trying to piece together constellations. The world seemed drastically different now that you had your freedom, so vivid, so open, so alive. You even noticed it in your posture and the lightness with which you walked, as if you were floating. Lucius had said you were radiant with it.

He’d insisted on taking care of you the same way you’d cared for him, eager to show you his gratitude. You had been hesitant at first, but at his unwavering conviction, you relented, curious how it might feel to be spoiled. All that day, he had served you reverently, taking time off from his duties to focus solely on you.

You couldn’t help getting flustered at all the attention, his ardent gaze like a caress every time it met yours. His touch had so far been entirely chaste, but even the smallest, most innocuous contact was heightened with anticipation. The brush of his fingers over yours when he handed you something, a guiding hand on your lower back, even a touch on your shoulder to make you aware of his presence.

There were a few sneaked kisses in both the garden and the tablinum, each one of them leaving an undercurrent of warmth under your skin that promised more. It was like a slow, drawn-out game of chase, neither of you in a rush to reach its conclusion. If anything, it only made you want each other more. 

After the sun had set, when the two of you drifted along as if in a drunken stupor, Lucius went to prepare a bath for you in his chambers. You were nervous and exhilarated, every moment spent waiting for him to be done an exquisite agony. Until finally, he poked his head around the bathroom door.

“It’s ready now,” he said, beckoning you with a smile.

You followed him into the bathroom, hands wringing anxiously. Flower petals were scattered on the mosaic floor, leading towards the steaming tub. Flickering candles bathed the room in a warm glow, making your shadows dance on the wall. You looked at each other, both knowing what the next step was but hesitant to initiate it. He averted his gaze first, gesturing towards the door.

“Would you like me to give you some privacy?”

You shook your head, desire making you a little more brave. “I… I would love some help undressing, though.”

His spine straightened, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “With pleasure.”

He crouched to slowly pull the hem of your long tunic upwards, rising with it. You lifted your arms so he could get it over your head, the fabric falling to the floor unceremoniously. Your eyes were fixed on his face, drinking in his expression as he took a step back to get a better look at you. The bare expanse of your skin robbed him of breath, his eyes roaming over every curve and plane of your figure. He wanted to sink to his knees again and lay his forehead at your feet in worship, but he stood still, his fingers twitching at his sides.

“The evening star is the most beautiful of all stars,”  he said in a low voice, quoting Sappho.

Warmth spread from your chest to your face, and you smiled coyly as another verse came to mind. “Come to me once more, and abate my torment…”

You offered him your hand, which he took, and he led you to the tub. You daintily stepped in, sighing contentedly as you sank into the water’s enveloping warmth. He knelt next to the tub, leaning against it with one arm propped on the edge. 

“Have I told you enough times that you are beautiful?” He said. “I don’t think it has been enough.”

You huffed with amusement, looking down as you fought a geeky grin. “Well, about a hundred times with just your eyes. A few times out loud, though.”

He chuckled. “I suppose I’ll have to show you in other ways, too… If I may.”

You nodded, silently granting him permission. He leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on your lips before standing up. He took it upon himself to bathe you, starting out by scrubbing your scalp. You leaned into his touch, eyes closing in bliss. He smiled at your soft, pleasured hum, and vowed to elicit as many more as he could. 

Things took on an almost ritualistic quality, with him focused entirely on his task. You were loose limbed, letting him move you about as he used a cloth to scrub your skin. He didn’t try anything that might be deemed unsavory, though you let his tender, reverential touch reach places no one had touched in a very, very long time. But he didn’t linger, to your slight frustration, not wanting to jump into things too quickly. The flames of your desire were stoked slowly, warmth running through you like sweet wine. 

When he was done, he helped you step out of the tub and immediately got to drying you off with a towel. You caught his eye for a moment, his pupils blown wide with equally fervent desire. You stopped yourself from clutching his arm, wanting to anchor yourself to him, but he could still tell you were growing restless. He kissed your shoulder, tapping the tip of your nose playfully with his finger.

“Not done quite yet,” he murmured, not missing the way you involuntarily pressed your thighs together. “You’ve always been very patient.”

“For the first time, I fear it might be running thin…” you said, to which he smiled. 

He grabbed a small glass bottle of rose oil and lathered some in his hands. He anointed your body with it, the heady scent of one of Venus’s favorite flowers permeating the air. As he reached your chest, you took hold of his wrist and brought his palm to rest over your heart. He felt it beating rapidly, your chest rising and falling with each panting breath.

His eyes fell to your lips, slightly parted with want. He grasped your chin with his free hand, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

“I have been thinking about this for a long time,” he said, leaning in to brush his nose against yours. “But I hadn’t wanted to touch you until now, when you actually felt like you had a choice in the matter.”

You clutched his wrist tighter, his thoughtfulness only making you want him more. All those hours he must have spent yearning, unaware that you were stuck thinking of him too. As emperor, he had the right to take whatever he wanted, but having previously been a gladiator, he understood the monumental importance of bodily autonomy. Very few people in Rome had such a privilege and he couldn’t bear the thought of being the one to rob you of it. 

You kissed him in response, much fiercer, hungrier, than all the other kisses you had shared so far. A desperate sound escaped his throat and he clasped you against him tightly. Swiftly, he scooped you up into his strong arms and carried you out to the bedchamber as he would a bride.

Gently, he set you down on the bed and pulled away to remove his tunic. This time, you were not meek about his nakedness. You brazenly stared at him, eyes mapping out the lines of his muscles, the pink, raised skin of his scars, and the soft trail of hair on his abdomen that seemed to suggestively point downwards. 

His shoulders were squared with pride at your ogling, a sly smile on his face. He’d had an inkling before of your attraction, but to see it on full display was narcotic, and he felt himself pulse with an aching need.

“Come closer,” you said softly.

He did, climbing over you, his warmth immediately enveloping you. You hid your face on the junction between his neck and shoulder, embarrassed at all the thoughts rushing through your mind.

“What is it?” He asked, raising an eyebrow with amusement.

“Nothing,” you said, voice muffled against his skin. “I just… I do not think you realize how badly I wanted this, too. I-I don’t want to ever stop.”

He chuckled indulgently, nudging your head so you’d look at him. “Neither do I.”

He kissed you again, and again, and again. You were so close to him that the lines of your bodies became indivisible, but it still didn’t seem like enough. Your knees hiked up to his hips in a silent plea, but he did not give in quite yet, wanting to prolong things for as long as he could.

Still, unable to resist a little bit of mutual torment, he slid upwards until his hips were aligned with yours. You gasped as you felt the velvety underside of his erection against your slick folds, each small movement making you tremble. Your brows furrowed and your lips parted in a wanton expression, your eyes shiny and half lidded as you looked at him.

“Lucius,” you whimpered. 

“I know,” he murmured soothingly, kissing your neck. “I know.”

Neither of you were willing to break apart from your embrace, so there wasn’t actually much of a preamble. Feverish, he sank into you slowly, your nails digging into his biceps as he stretched you open. That first round was frantic, almost animalistic, all the pent up longing finally being released. His body rolled over yours with the power of the sea’s waves, leaving you awash in ecstasy.

Neither of you lasted very long, but it didn’t matter, as you were nowhere near spent. Lucius, still in the afterglow of his orgasm, lazily began to kiss you all over, wanting to discover every mole and freckle, every tender spot that made you squirm, and every other little detail that made you you. 

He settled between your thighs, his hot breath fanning over your sensitive bundle of nerves. You tried to prop yourself up on your elbows to look at him, but he wrapped his arms around your thighs and pulled you closer. 

“What are you– Oh,” you gasped at the first flick of his tongue, the entirely new sensation disarming you. 

He tasted his essence mixed with yours, a groan rumbling in his chest. You tightly grasped the sheets under you, arching against his face. You bit your lip to stop yourself from making the most undignified sounds, but it was hard to focus, especially as his fingers were added into the mix. Your body burned brighter than any brazier, his arms pinning you down as he conquered you with his mouth. You shattered once more, crying out as he helped you ride it all the way through. 

After, you lied side by side, facing each other. You’d still not had your fill of him, but you needed to gather your strength for the long night ahead. You shared a breathy chuckle, as if still in disbelief it had finally happened, and he kissed your sweat-slick forehead.

“Now that was poetry,” you said jokingly, making him laugh again. 

“You put every verse to shame, my love,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You kissed his palm, adoring, and tangled your legs with his. A swell of emotion unlike anything you had ever felt rose within you. It was as if he had awakened a new part of you that you hadn’t known was dormant, bringing you back from an existence that consisted solely of drifting through days that blended into one another.

He was just as grateful to have found you, his peace, his solace, the woman who would always guard his heart. He murmured your name reverently, a reminder that you were his, and he was yours. You drew closer to him, like a moth to flame, and pushed him onto his back, straddling him. His hands came to rest on your hips and your eyes were full of mirth as you held his gaze.

“As it happens, I find myself compelled to compose some more with you.” You grinned playfully, hands sliding up his chest. 

He mirrored your grin, not minding the idea one bit. “Relentless, just like the great muse Calliope.”

“Well, when inspiration strikes… It can’t be helped, can it?”

“No,” he said. “Not when it comes to you.”

------

[hangup119]

don't get the deal | h. taesan (TEASER)

being the shoulder to cry on is no easy task - especially not for han taesan, who has lived almost half of his life painfully smitten over someone he is confident would never, ever think of wanting him as more than just a friend. he wonders if he will ever get out of this so-called "friend zone," or maybe he just doesn't get the deal at all.

pairing. han taesan x fem. reader

genres + warnings. friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, one-sided pining, eventual happy ending, slight angst + profanity, taesan is bad at feelings, reader is even worse

playlist. don't get the deal by beabadoobee; but i like you by boy next door; somethin' stupid by frank sinatra; about a girl by nirvana; disasterology by pierce the veil; if i'm james dean, you're audrey hepburn by sleeping with sirens

expected word count. 7k-10k words | teaser word count. 1.3k words

author's note. hey goisss... ive had this in the drafts for so so long but for some reason i started working on it again and im nearing the end so hopefully this will be out very soon !!! dont quote me on that tho live laugh love user hangup119's work ethic <3 ALSO btw this teaser is like a flashback kinda thing but the real story actually takes place in their college days

@onedoornet | reblogs appreciated!

IT WAS HIGH SCHOOL WHEN YOU RUINED TAESAN'S LIFE FOREVER.

To be more specific, it was during your last year of high school when he realized that there was simply no way he was ever going to win you over. Not now, and certainly not ever.

Because here’s the thing: Taesan was not a bad-looking guy, he’s far from it, actually. In fact, he had enough business cards from agency recruiters that could fit a whole shoe box, so his looks clearly were never the problem here. Was it his personality, then? Probably not that, either. He was pretty chill most of the time, and he had never really acted up around anyone unless it truly called for it. He always made sure that he wasn’t making a fool out of himself around you, and there were never really incidents that could have painted him in a bad light in your eyes. He had decent grades, so he wasn’t stupid either, which was one of your major turn-offs. And he was sporty—he participated in the school’s soccer team, and he even had a bunch of fans giggling over him whenever he so much as passed them by while chasing after the ball, so his popularity was pretty decent too.

Was he simply not… your type? But that couldn’t be—you were always making heart eyes at Park Sunghoon who was two grades above, and he was told all the time that he was basically a lookalike of the guy! Not to mention you were always at Jung Sungchan’s games, cheering his name even when the guy was literally being benched. Taesan never got benched. He was the star player of his soccer team. You fawned over Park Wonbin when he performed at the school’s talent show, but Taesan could also sing and play the electric guitar just as well. You squealed over Lee Sohee because he was sooo cute! but Taesan knew how to get real fucking adorable, too! He practically had all of their qualities combined into one, and not once did you ever look back at him. 

And that’s when it hit him. 

It was prom that night, and he was off at the corner drinking from a cup of water instead of jumping along with the fray and bouncing up and down to some Drake song when his friend, Kim Leehan, approached him. 

“I’m not slow-dancing with you, Leehan,” he muttered, taking another sip of his bland water. “Piss off.”

Leehan raised his arms in response, smiling in a way that was just so Leehan-like of him. “Woah, woah, I get it. Someone pissed in your cup, or something? Literally and figuratively,” he laughed, leaning against the wall next to him. “Lighten up for once, ‘san. It’s your first and last prom, you know?” 

Taesan only grunted in return. 

“Look at you; so emo tonight,” Leehan said, defeated. He followed the other’s gaze towards the dance floor, where everyone is packed together like a can of sardines. “But you’re always so normal around Y/N.” 

Taesan paused.

Leehan laughed again. “Hm, maybe not?” 

Sometimes, it was both a blessing and a curse to be friends with someone like Kim Leehan. 

“Stop talking about things you already know,” Taesan murmured, chucking the water cup into the trash can a few meters away. He placed his hands inside his pockets, looking straight ahead amidst the dizzying lights and the dispersed crowd now that a slow song started playing.

“Why don’t you go ask her for a dance?” Leehan suggested, signaling towards the dance floor. 

“She’s literally holding hands with Yang Jungwon right now,” Taesan deadpanned. “Are you kidding me? How’d she get him of all people as her prom date?” 

Scoring the smartest and the most popular student in your school has got to be the biggest flex of your high school career. Taesan had almost no complaints except for the fact that Yang Jungwon was your date instead of—him! Any moment now and he’d be losing his mind. Actually, scratch that, he probably already was. 

Leehan hummed. 

“Do you think,” he began, slowly, darting his line of sight between you who’s giggling at something Yang Jungwon said, before turning back to Taesan, the angstiest kid he’s ever known. “That, maybe, if you had just asked her out to prom with you… then maybe she’d have said yes?” 

Finally, the gears inside Taesan’s head started to turn. Leehan smiled at the sight.

Taesan quickly scoffed. “No way,” he denied, crossing his arms. “Why would she go with me when she’s got Yang Jungwon as her date? It’d only happen in my dreams.” 

He figured it out anyway. It wasn’t because he wasn’t as handsome as Park Sunghoon, or as sporty as Jung Sungchan, or as musically talented as Park Wonbin (though he’d beg to differ), or as cute as Lee Sohee. Heck, it wasn’t even because he wasn’t as smart or as popular as Yang Jungwon. 

Maybe it was never because of those things that made you look at them instead of him. 

Maybe you were just never interested in him at all. 

And Taesan will have no other choice but to live with that fact forever. 

Leehan’s smile dropped, and he peeled himself away from the wall. Just as he was about to leave, he stopped for a second just to say: “You’re so—stubborn.” 

Taesan looked at him indignantly. “...What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Leehan shrugged, finally walking away. “You tell me, dude.” 

And then he was gone, rushing off to join the rest of their friends while Taesan stayed in the back, alone and miserable all because of his newfound epiphany. Though he supposed he was already miserable the moment you entered the venue with Yang Jungwon right beside you. 

It was a time of new beginnings for Taesan; a time to finally move on from you. 

Though, if only it was that easy.

Two weeks later, when you were working on a final project with him, you unexpectedly dropped the news that you and Jungwon have broken up. Because Jungwon was going to some Ivy League, and you were decidedly… not. You couldn’t handle the thought of being long-distance, so you decided to just cut things off with him since it can’t be helped, you know? And then you proceeded to laugh it off with that huge, idiotic smile of yours before continuing on with the project. Taesan didn’t know what was so funny.

Eventually, he had to share his water with you when you started sobbing hysterically inside of the library, hiccuping and all. 

He admittedly felt awful seeing you cry over Yang Jungwon, your high school boyfriend of probably only two months, but most importantly, he felt awful because of the relief that suddenly washed over him. 

…And what did that make Taesan?

So, really, maybe it was for the better that you would never look at Taesan the way he wished you would. That no matter how many times he has lent you an ear to talk to or a shoulder to cry on, you never bothered to stop for a moment and think that hey, maybe this guy likes me to some capacity, and maybe I should give him a chance. Because what kind of friend is he to feel relieved at the fact that you had gotten dumped by your boyfriend? That when your heart was broken, he could only rejoice at the fact that he now has a higher chance of getting with you once again even when it is so clear that he never once did? 

How could he sit next to you and think such thoughts? 

And yet, even when you keep jumping from one person to another, falling for someone, crying over another—Taesan will always be there for you when it all comes crashing down. A friend to cheer you on, to lift you up, to steady you—because that’s all he’ll ever be to you. 

Han Taesan was only seventeen years old when you ruined his life. 

And for what it is worth, he is still in love with you.

story by hangup119. do not steal.

[nathaslosthershit]

Welcome interruptions (Dad!Lando Norris)

Summary: While streaming, Lando gets interrupted by two very adorable and very welcome guests

With his wife being out of the house for the time being, and the twins down for a nap, Lando had decided to jump on a quick stream for the first time in a while. Being the father of 3 year old twins didn’t leave much time to stream, not that Lando complained much.

User 1: andddd he is back

User 2: father lando gracing us with his presence

User 3: about time sir

“Alright Chat thank you, I get it. I know I have been gone for a while” He flippantly replied.

He hadn’t intended to be on as long as he had. He enjoyed streaming very much but balancing work, family, and his Twitch sidegig wasn’t the easiest. Still, he hadn’t wanted to spend as long as he was doing on the stream. Admittedly, he had lost track of time while playing and chatting. It wasn’t until two guests graced him with their presence that he realized how long it had been.

Tiny footsteps took Lando out of his haze. Turning around, he was met with two disheveled toddlers still rubbing sleep from their eyes. 

“Hello loves” he cooed, “How was your nap?”

The twins both stayed silent as they tried, and failed, to get on their father’s lap. After some assistance from Lando, his daughter finally spoke up.

“Dada, blueberries please” she muttered.

“You both want them?” He asked. Both replied yes as they laid on his chest, facing the screen that had been showing the chat comments whirling by. His son pointed wordlessly, confused at what he was seeing.

His children were by no means a secret, the minute they were born he had all but shouted his newfound father status. But convincing his wife to bring them to the paddock was not an easy task. He knew the risks and why she was uneasy. He respected her wishes to wait, but the minute they got to join him she could see how much this truly meant to him. Since then, Formula 1 fans had become well acquainted with the Norris twins. 

But this was their Twitch debut, so understandably, the viewers were excited. 

“Those are all the people watching, they are saying hi to you both. Can you say hi to chat?” Lando asked. Immediately, his extroverted daughter yelled a greeting, while his son turned his body, hiding as best he could.

“You can certainly tell which one of them got all the social skills.” He joked.

User 4: give the children their blueberries mr.norris

User 5: she certainly is her father’s child. 

User 6: please, i don’t want baby fever

User 7: oh to grow up the child of Lando Norris

“Alright, I shouldn’t torture them anymore. I’m heading off to give these angels their snacks. I will stream… eventually.” The onslaught of angry comments made Lando giggle, he was purposely trying to piss them off. “Kidding everyone, my god. You know it isn’t easy being a father of two. No matter how sweet and adorable they are.” The babies in his lap laughed as he attacked their foreheads with kisses. 

“Goodbye everyone!” Shutting off the stream and then his computer, Lando expertly lifted both his kids up and carried them out.

“Geez you both are getting heavy, either you are growing up too fast or I am getting too weak.” Hearing the giggles he added, “What? You think your father is weak? Is that funny to you two?” He jested. Grabbing them their blueberries and sitting them down at the table, he took a moment to watch his two beautiful creations messily eat. 

After finishing their plates, he cleared them and his kids to the playroom.

Picking a book from the shelf, Lando sat on the couch as his toddlers joined him on his lap.

Kissing their heads as he opened the book, they both muttered a ‘love you Dada’ that made his heart absolutely melt.

Oh what a beautiful life. 

[wannabespacesmuggler]

D.D. | Shane's Girl [6]

Part Six | Masterlist | Buy me a coffee | Check out the playlist

Summary: Daryl Dixon knows he shouldn’t be thinking about you when he’s alone at night in his tent. Hell, he shouldn’t even be looking at you throughout the day. You’re not his. You’re Shane’s girl. But Daryl doesn’t like the way Shane treats you. And he certainly doesn’t like how you’re forced to play ‘loving girlfriend’ to a man with eyes for another woman at the camp.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x female!Reader

Warnings: Shane Walsh sucks, unedited (I will get to it later, I promise)

Word Count: 1.2K

Author’s Note: Oof—alright, it's been a hot second, everybody. Apologies for going MIA for a while (life, y'know?). I haven't forgotten about this fic and I know that none of you have forgotten about it based on the amount of notes and messages I get (which I appreciate greatly). Thanks for sticking it out with me guys. Excited for you all to see what I have planned in the coming chapters. In the meantime, let me know what y'all think of this one & let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist.

“Fuck!”

The expletive escapes your lips before you can think twice about it. You nervously look around the camp, searching for Carl and Sophia. The last thing you need is for Lori and Carol to get on your case because you accidentally taught the children swear words. After realizing that neither of them is in earshot, you let out a sigh of relief. 

You look down at the garment in your lap. Shane had thrown a pair of his cargo pants at you earlier this morning, grumbling about a hole in one of his pockets. You had woken up earlier than him, probably because he had returned to your shared tent far after everyone else in camp had retired for the evening. This was becoming somewhat of a routine for the two of you: Shane sneaking around in the middle of the night thinking you’re asleep; meanwhile, you spend the restless nights in your tent waiting to see if he actually comes back. You never ask him where he was in the morning—knowing that Shane would brush you off by saying he was on watch as if you don’t understand that the shifts rotate every night. Another sigh escapes your lips as you defeatedly throw the pants onto the table before you and turn your attention to your finger, which you had clumsily stabbed with a needle while attempting to fix the garment.

“You ‘lright?”

The sound of Daryl’s rough southern drawl makes you jump. You look up and see Daryl standing a few feet away with his raised hands. He takes a few careful steps toward you—his movements are slow and calculated. Your brow furrows at the sight—did he think you’re afraid of him?

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle ya.”

“It’s okay, Daryl. I was just a little distracted.”

Daryl nods at your words before taking a seat beside you at the table.

“What’d ya do to your hand?”

He leans toward you slightly to get a better look, his concerned eyes raking over your hands, looking for any sign of injury. A small smile spreads across your face as Daryl continues to worry about your well-being. You raise your hands to show him that you’re perfectly okay.

“It’s nothing. Just pricked my finger—Shane has a hole in his pocket, and I was never good with a needle and thread.”

You shrug your shoulders nonchalantly as you speak. Daryl chews on his bottom lip as he looks at the cargo pants on the table. It’s ripped along the seam, an easy fix—he’s done it numerous times for his own tattered jeans.

“Give it ‘er.”

You look at Daryl’s outstretched hand in disbelief for several seconds before handing him the needle and thread. Daryl snatches the pants off the table and gets to work. You watch him curiously—his brow furrows as he focuses on the task at hand. Daryl momentarily lets his attention drift to you; he awkwardly shifts in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable with how intently you’re watching him.

“Why are you lookin’ at me like that?”

His tone is defensive, but it doesn’t make you back down like everyone else.

“Just surprised, is all.”

“What, Shane doesn’t know how to sew?”

He meets your incredulous gaze and can’t help but laugh. The sound is still foreign to his ears, even though it’s becoming somewhat of an ordinary occurrence when he’s with you. He’s much more used to the sound of Merle yelling, music blaring, old motorcycles' roar, and the forest's peaceful ambiance. 

“Well, you shouldn’t have to do everything for him.”

His genuine words should comfort you, but instead, they nag at you. You shouldn’t have to do everything for him. You shouldn’t have to turn a blind eye to your boyfriend’s nightly habit. You shouldn’t have to walk on eggshells around him. You shouldn’t have to make yourself smaller for his convenience. And yet, here you are. 

“You have a cigarette?”

The question catches Daryl off guard. He’s only seen you smoke once—that night at the campfire, and he swore it was his fault. Your words from that night still rattle around in his head. You’re a bad influence, Dixon. He completes his final stitch, bringing the thread to his mouth so he can rip it off with his teeth. He places everything back on the table before pulling out his pack of Marlboro Reds from his pocket and offering it to you. You take one from the pack, twisting it in your fingers before placing the cigarette between your lips. Daryl notices your hesitation as he hands you his old lighter, so he waits until you’ve lit your cigarette before pulling out one of his own. The two of you sit in comfortable silence, but something about this doesn’t sit right with Daryl.

“What’s goin’ on?”

You furrow your brow at his question, feigning confusion, but Daryl doesn’t relent. He simply raises a brow at you as he takes another long drag of his cigarette. You let out a defeated sigh before answering his question.

“It’s just Shane…”

You trail off thinking that since it’s relationship drama, maybe Daryl wouldn’t be interested. But he doesn’t try to change the subject or brush you off, instead, he gives you his undivided attention. He watches you quickly look around camp, scooping the area and taking account of who is around. A frown pulls at the corners of Daryl’s lips as he realizes that you’re once again looking over your shoulder for Shane.

“He wasn’t always like this. I mean, he was always a hothead, but he wasn’t always so cruel.” 

“Hey…”

The softness in his tone catches you off guard, and you look up at him. A part of you wants to cry at how attentive Daryl is at this moment. It’s been so long since someone has shown you this kind of care.

“You ain’t gotta defend him to me.”

Daryl watches as a single tear falls down your cheek at his words, and he begins to panic. Did he upset you? Was he out of line? Had he gotten the situation between you and Shane wrong? This isn’t his forte. He wishes he was a different man—a better man, a softer man. He wishes he was more like his mother and less like his father. That she could have lived long enough to teach him a few more life lessons—like how to comfort someone you care for. 

Before he has the chance to spiral completely out of control, he feels your fingertips find his, and his heart damn near stops. He involuntarily pulls away from your touch, and it makes him wince. He sits in the shame of his response to your touch. A better man would have been able to return your affection. Finally, he meets your gaze, expecting to see the hurt he caused by his reaction. Instead, he’s met with a smile so warm and tender that he can practically feel the shame in his body melt away.

“Thank you, Daryl.”

A small, affectionate smile pulls at the corners of Daryl’s lips. 

“It was nothin’.”

You shake your head at his words. What he did for you today was far from nothing, but you let it go, opting to turn your attention back to the cargo pants on the table before you. As you admire Daryl’s handiwork, you can’t help but hope that Daryl knows that Shane’s pocket isn’t the only thing he stitched back together today.

Taglist: 

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[jiniretracha]

ꕤ 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 '𝟐𝟒 - 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝟐𝟑 ꕤ

Song Mingi x fem!reader: riding

summary: CEO!Mingi is a little mean to his assistant, only you don't know the only thing he wants is your attention.

warnings: smut, protected sex, sex on a chair (?)

word count: 1.4k

kinktober masterlist // masterlist // ko-fi

Being assistant to CEO Mingi was not an easy task. 

He was mean and was loaded with work that he gave to you to sort it out for him. He wasn’t mean to you only. It was everyone around him. The Human Resources staff, executives, the administrators, janitors, the people working at the desk, everybody. 

But one thing that Song Mingi was not was ugly. 

Oh no. Most certainly that man was ethereally beautiful. It was out of this world. He was out of this world.

But well, his attitude and personality threw everything out of the window. 

It was one specific evening where everything changed. 

You were typing away furiously on your computer, angry because it was way past your horary and Song Mingi had dropped a huge ass pile of paperwork that he wanted before it was his time to leave… which was in like fifteen minutes and you were nowhere near done. 

One of your coworkers, Sohee, walked over to your desk with a frown.

“You’re still here, Y/N?” she asked you. “Don’t you leave at six?” Sohee asked, checking her wristwatch in case she got it wrong.

“Yeah, but… Mr. Song left me all these papers” you told her, refraining from calling him names. You couldn’t risk somebody hearing you calling him those things and get yourself fired. 

Sohee hummed. “That’s bad… and unprofessional” she commented.

“Yeah, well. What can I do?” you shrugged. “He pays me well”

Sohee chuckled and shook her head. “Want me to help you out?” she asked you.

“I’d love to, but you have to go home to your husband. And I don’t have no one waiting for me at home so I’ll be fine. Don’t worry” you said with a sigh, grabbing the paper you had just finished with and putting it on the pile on your right. 

Sohee smiled and nodded. “Okay. I’ll see you next week, hm?” she said.

“Yeah, bye Hee!” you smiled back at her.

“Bye, Y/N. Good luck”

You let out a tired sigh and continued typing for another five minutes. 

All of a sudden, the door of Song Mingi's office opened with a thud and you jumped in your seat. 

“Ms Y/L/N?” he asked.

You stood up on shaky legs. “Yes, Mr Song?” 

“Come to my office, now” he said, curling two fingers in a come here manner. 

You nodded and quickly made your way through the empty hall towards his office. You closed the door behind you and walked towards his desk with fidgety hands. 

He sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you finish your paperwork?” he asked you with calm. But you knew that calm had a short life. 

“N-no…” you stammered. “I was just finishing it. I think I only have ten pages left or so-”

“Come here” he interrupted you.

Your lips fell shut and you frowned. “Um… excuse me, sir?” you asked slowly.

“Are you deaf?” he asked you. “I said, come here” he stated and you hated to admit, but your underwear started getting wet from the way he was talking to you.

You swallowed and walked slowly towards him, coming to stand next to his desk.

Mingi stared at you and patted his thigh, making your eyes widen. “Sit down”

Your feet slowly made their way towards him and he surprised you by grabbing your hips and making you sit on his thighs.

You gasped and grabbed his shoulders. “Mr-”

“Mingi… call me Mingi” he said. His eyes held a softness that you had never thought he had in him. “Is this okay? You can slap me across the face and report me-”

“No, no, no, um… I’m just confused” you chuckled, getting shy all of a sudden. Could you blame me?, you asked yourself. 

Mingi exhaled, glad that you weren’t going to reject him.

Mingi, ever since you were appointed to be his assistant, started developing a huge ass crush on you. He’d call you in his office and ask you to bring him in the stupidest things ever, just so he could stare at your pretty face for a couple of minutes. 

Now he had you in his lap, and he couldn’t really think of a moment in which he got as hard as he got in such a short amount of time. 

“Well… why am I here, Mingi?” you asked slowly. 

“Because I want you… Y/N” he said, his nose running over the crook of your neck, making you shiver all over and bite back a moan. 

His hands slowly made their way up your skirt, testing his limits. And when he found none, he took the opportunity to pull your underwear to the side so he could start rubbing you. 

You arched your back violently and moaned. 

“Mingi…” you whimpered. 

“Yeah, baby, I’m right here” he whispered, brushing his lips over yours before covering your mouth with his in a deep, fiery kiss. 

You kissed him back, framing his face in your hands as you rolled your hips over his fingers while your tongue curled around his. 

He pulled away with a groan and then bit your lip, tugging on it lightly. “Fuck, baby, I’m gonna need you to sit on my cock”

“Yeah, fuck” you nodded, lifting your hips so he could unbutton his dress pants and take out his shaft.

Once he pulled himself out, he grabbed a condom from his wallet and rolled it on. You bit your lip as you stared hungrily at his cock, while he jerked himself off for measure. 

“Come sit on it, jagiya” he whispered hotly, grabbing your hips.

You straddled him once again in his chair and felt him probe at your entrance. 

You slid down on him, taking him entirely, making both of you moan.

“Shit, you’re so tight and wet, love” he groaned, lifting your hips up and slamming you down back. His tip hit your cervix with that position and every single thrust made you moan and roll your eyes back to the back of his head. 

“Mingi!” you whimpered, your mouth hanging open as he continued to slam your hips down on him. You regained your senses and started rolling your hips, creating a friction with your clit and his pelvis that made your toes curl inside your shoes. 

“Yeah, scream my name, babe” he said, his hands coming to rip off your blouse and pull down your bra, so he could mouth at your tits.

He sucked on one of your nipples as he groped the other one. Your fingers carded through his hair and pulled on it, making him groan against your chest. 

You clenched around him as you felt him bite at your sensitive skin. 

“Jagiya, are you close?” he whispered hotly against your skin, dragging his tongue up his way to your neck.

You nodded, feeling dumb  already at how good he was hitting your cervix and how he kept sucking at your skin, leaving dark marks all over your body. 

His fingers started playing with your clit and you let out a high pitched moan. “Yeah, Mingi, fuck I’m close!” you almost screamed out.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck come for me” he urged you. 

You clenched around him as you felt the familiar coiling on your stomach. With one last flick at your clit, you soaked his entire length with your orgasm, feeling it spurt out and stain his dress pants that you probably ruined. 

He let out a moan and grabbed your hips, slamming you down once and filled the condom with his seed, painting it white. 

Mingi panted against your neck while you both tried to recollect your senses back again. 

Once you came back to life almost, he pulled your head back by your hair, his eyes searching your face. He left a kiss to your lips, making your heart slam against your ribcage uncontrollably.

“Let me take you out” he whispered against your lips.

You opened your eyes and smiled at him, rubbing your nose against his.

“Of course… Mr. Song” 

Your boss chuckled and then you frowned.

“Wait… you gave me that pile of paperwork just so you could get me alone?”

The sheepish look he gave you, spoke more than a thousand works.

── .✦

taglist: @annhearttihaehe // @frequentlykit // @alexisfeliz // @jeonginsleftcheek // @yaorzu-blog // @jisunglyricist // @leeknowinggg // @ka0ila // @minghaosimp // @lixies-favorite-cookie // @yn-x-them // @chrizrizz // @madkati // @starzystay // @pancake-freckle // @velvetmoonlght // @regardsto-hell // @jaiuneamesolitaiire // @bangchansbeanie

i apologise if i can't tag u :(

[ghouldtime]

Alone. Truly Alone.

I know I’m not the only one who took one singular, inquisitive glance at the new Alone Operator skin for the upcoming season and went “Would”. I need need need content on him

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

If you had to rank all the terrible decisions you’ve made in your life, this would certainly be in the top ten. Breaking into an abandoned place was a bad idea on its own. Now multiply the magnitude of that by twenty, considering it was supposedly some kind of military facility at one point in time before it was left to rot. Then add in the factors that you were alone, without a map, and no cell service. Yeah, definitely not your smartest decision. 

Dozens of garish yellow and red signs marked with a variety of warnings used everything under the sun (and law) telling you not to proceed decorated the corroding chain link fences that lined the property like it was going out of style. The crumbling facade of iron and concrete that made up the walls were made out to match. Everywhere you looked there was yet another warning, another thing telling you to turn back now. That should've been a sign, right?

Well, it wasn't the sign you were listening to. That one, the only sign you cared about right now, you had spotted stapled to a telephone pole as you were waiting to cross the street to go to your favorite grocery store. The crumpled, salmon pink flier hastily crammed in your backpack was your savior and your curse that brought you here.

The reason being a whole whopping $500. Something that would greatly benefit you and cause a whole less of a headache this month - and allow you a chance to breathe. It was a chance you couldn't pass up. And it's not like it was complicated. All you had to do was: get into the desolate fort, get proof of evidence of being inside there (photographic AND physical), and get out. Simple. Easy money. A task that even you could manage in maybe an hour or two, tops. You'd be an idiot not to do it.

Why anyone would pay that kind of money for you to go in there was beyond you. Quite frankly, you didn’t care. Money was money. Everyone had their reasons and if they were paying that much for a task that was that simple, then you weren't going to pry. All they had to do was pay up when the time was done, you'd never think about it again, and you'd be on your merry way a whole lot better off and a little bit richer.

Just to be certain that this wasn't a prank or someone trying to harass their ex with a pathetic attempt to get their number out there, you called the number scrawled hastily on the rain-soaked, faded poster. A harried Scottish accent confirmed without a doubt that this wasn't fake and was real as real could be. Truth be told, you didn’t understand much of what he said aside from “Aye”, which was close enough. He seemed to be talking at a million miles an hour in a near frantic tone. Surely, that was a red flag. But right now you were colorblind to everything except green.

It was enough motivation for you to throw some gear into a backpack and head out late in the night to the address of the once-important fort. The promise of cash and having it soon in your hand was plenty to get you moving.

Against your best instinct, against your gut screaming at you and telling you to turn back, and against all common sense - you went forwards anyways and decided today was the day when you’re going to pretend that you’re illiterate and those warnings meant nothing to you anyways.

Stale, stagnant air filtered through the respirator that hung snug on your face. If you breathed in a lungful of whatever was in here without it, it's likely you would’ve ended up with some new kind of respiratory disease previously unheard of - you're sure of it. Algae and lichen clung to some damp crevices, decorated with splotches of black mold the darkened the corners even more along the outskirts of the inky, lingering shadows.

Each cautious step forward onto the rubble and gravel covered ground ricocheted off the dilapidated walls of the corridor, fading into the abyss of black that stretched on far beyond what you could see. Though you doubted the protective eye ware helped you see better - it was probably more of a hindrance but you didn't want to take any more risks than necessary. The last thing you needed was a hospital bill.

The pathetic beam of warm, yellow light your flashlight provided scarcely illuminated the void that swallowed the hallway whole. What little you could see did nothing to motivate you forward. More disintegrating ceiling and rubble-buried winding halls greeted you with the same unwavering stillness as the rest of the place.

Crumbling, bleak, cold passages decorated with mildew, mold, and umber mystery stains you really didn’t want to think about alike stretched in a winding labyrinth you tried your best to navigate. Sparse nearly-disintegrated warning signs served as place markers to guide you through the otherwise directionless building, offering you the smallest sense of navigation and a sense of knowing where you were going.

One foot in front of the other, step by slow step, you made your way through the place untouched by light and people alike.

It shouldn't be that hard, you mused as you kept on walking. Whether it was just to reassure yourself with a steady mantra or confidence was left up to debate, but the fact remained: it was simple. Get an object that irrefutably proved you were here, take a picture - and that was it. That was all.

Now, that still left the question of what to take and what to get a picture of up for debate. Scouring the building hadn’t turned up anything worthwhile so far, except maybe some signage. But they were all too… generic. They were all something that could easily be faked and pulled from elsewhere. And a picture of them or another dimly lit, basic hallway wouldn’t do you any good. It would get you a door slammed in your face, a laugh if you’re lucky, and certainly no $500 which was the whole reason you were here in the first place.

Maybe you should’ve asked specifically what he wanted you to bring and a picture of….

Who are you kidding? You wouldn’t be able to understand a lick of what he said if you did. Maybe his accent was better in person, maybe he had told you in the hurried, almost anxious tone and you weren't remembering - but trying to talk to him again through the phone was a hopeless endeavor. Unless they were keeping a spare brain in here and translating software, you doubt you'd be able to even begin to try and understand the guy. All you could do was silently curse yourself for not asking, curse him for not being more coherent, and try your best to find something unique, snap a picture, and get out of there before you regretted stepping foot in this place even further.

With grumbled curse, knowing very well that you had to go further in the hopes that something actually substantial would greet you, you kept on going. There was no turning back now, no. You'd come too far. One more step forwards got you closer to that money and being out of here.

Yet lady luck wasn't making this easy, nor was she on your side today. A majority of doors you came across had been locked - barricaded, and certainly not something you could open. Their heavy, unyielding steel frames stood impassive, unmoving, and scarcely caring of your plight or any force used against them. It's almost like they stood there, mocking you silently for even trying. It was a waste of energy to even try with another one when the first twelve hadn't done anything more than groan slightly, giving the tiniest shudder before stilling in their frame.

Rounding what must’ve been the hundredth corner, you braced for yet another blank hallway and another unmovable door, but what greeted you was something different enough to cause you to halt in your tracks. An open door. A single, open door marked with a flickering, old bulb dangling above as if it were on its last legs, trying to stay alight. A wave of relief washed over you as you couldn’t help but to sprint forward, closing in on the hope that you could be done and out of here - and you’d have your money before you knew it! It was almost over. This aimless wandering with a stuffy mask and glasses to match was almost over.

Ignoring all common sense, you chased that feeling - quite literally. Caution was thrown to the wind as you darted into the room, your eyes flickered all over the first true, non-vacant room you’d found in here. Empty hospital beds with yellowed, stained linens haphazardly jumbled across their tops lined the walls. It wasn't a pretty sight but right now, it was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

Panning your flashlight around, the warm, washed-out beam glinted off the dusty metal IV stands and carts littered about. Cobwebs spidered the corners of the walls and the rest of the surfaces alike, though their inhabitants seem to have left long ago.

Scanning the room, a few seconds ticked by before you finally found just what you needed, dangling off the foot of the bed by a worn hook. There it was, your holy grail: a brown piece of hardboard and rusted metal alike holding down frayed, yellowed pages. It's the only time you can officially say that you've been happy to see a clipboard - much less, elated and overjoyed to see such a simple piece of office ware. You could practically kiss it and taste sweet, sweet money right about now.

Swiping it from its place, your eyes flitted over the blotched, inky text scrawled on it, silently praying that it would have just what you’d need. The smallest corner of a logo stood in the top right corner, while the rest of the patient information seemed to have been rubbed at or swiped away. And your heart nearly sank in short-lived disappointment. Water stains distorted and warped the paper but your saving grace came in the form of a date and the name of the complex, officially signed at the top of the paper. 

The warm, giddy feeling that had been so fleeting earlier came back with a vengeance that lit up your heart and face alike. This was it! This was just what you needed. Placing it down, you fumbled with the camera clipped onto your belt, the tremble of excitement in your hands doing little to aid you. Snapping a picture of the clipboard with a quick click and a flash of light, you stuffed your saving grace into the weathered backpack you had donned. 

Task one - done. Now to get a good picture of the place and you'd be done. One simple click, one move, and one terribly annoying walk through the forever expansive hallways, and you would be out of here and back in your comfy bed before you knew it. Maybe you'd even get to catch up on a single episode of your favorite show.

Stepping back into a corner where you could find a vantage point, you held onto that flickering flame of hope as you pointed your camera and flashlight alike in the same direction to snap a quick picture of the room. With a simple click and a flash of blinding light, the deed was done. You could finally be out of here. 

Or so you thought. 

A sparse glint caught your eye as the bright flash ebbed away, the shadows returning full force aside from the gleaming, round lights that turned towards you. Your heart skipped a beat as you froze, your breath hitching as a wave of fear sunk the beginning of its talons into you.

No, no. Not a glint, you realized with horror. Six. Six luminous, reflective lenses glowed in the dark as they turned to look right at you. Staring. 

Your heart sank even further into your stomach, your blood running cold, as the corner went dark once again for a fraction of a second before all six glowing dots were back and all were looking right at you.

With a trembling hand, you kept your flashlight lowered. You don’t think you wanted to know what that was. No creature - no living being that big would have six eyes. 

You took a step back. 

Then another.

Another.

The ice-cold sensation of your blood coursing through your veins, your heart erratically beating against your chest harder and harder, kept you from screaming. A creak of the protest from the old hospital bed sounded like a gunshot in the otherwise too-still room as the thing stood and started moving towards you with footsteps that were all too quiet, all too soft for a thing of that caliber.

Whatever breath you had been holding escaped you as it lumbered out of the shadows. An unearthly, sickening gurgle spewed from its maw as if it were choking on its own saliva.

Even through the respirator, the scent of putrid rot and decay wafted from it as it drew closer and closer, your stomach tensed as you gagged, the bile threatened to rise from your stomach as the urge to puke took you by surprise. If you weren’t wearing the respirator, you’re sure you would have - and maybe you would have noticed it in the room sooner if you could've picked up the stench of death.

The urge to run, all instincts screaming at you, pleading and begging you to run for your life simply didn’t work as you stood rooted to the spot as it finally stepped into the trembling, watery beam of light that cut through the speckles of floating dust. A scream of horror caught in your throat as you finally stared up at the abomination's mangled form with wide eyes.

Three heads, all fused together in a webbing of crimson, sinewy membranes moved in sync. Six eyes - six, now unblinking, cloudy eyes settled on you. Despite the milky, glassy sheen to the eyes settled and sunken deep into the heads (or in the raw membranous flesh in the case of one eye on the head to its left) - it tracked every single movement and breath, focused on you with near predatory ease. Five arms hung loose by its side, with two of them being partially fused together in a sick amalgamation. Bits of pallid skin had long ago sloughed off, exposing muscle that had blackened with exposure but somehow not rotted away.

Skull masks and balaclavas covered most of their faces - and you supposed that was a good thing. If the distended, broken jaws of the heads were indication of how it would look underneath, you’re happy declining on seeing what lay below. Drool spilled onto the fabric, or some mystery liquid, bubbling up as it made yet another noise. The motion caused your have to fly up to your covered mouth, your heart and stomach alike retching.

Torn tactical gear adorned the twisted cerberus, blackened with fluids, almost as if it had once had a purpose - to protect. But your mind wasn't there, it was on its existence. The abomination, the chimera, the thing that shouldn’t exist and went against all aspects of nature stood in front of you unmoving for a moment until you took a single step back.

It took a step forward.

Ever so slowly, as if moving through molasses, it drew three scarred hands up, reaching for you.

That was all you needed to take off. Up and out through the hall where you came, your legs strained as you sprinted. Each footstep echoed louder and louder down the void of black and gray you came from, flooding out the sputtered groan from it but you didn’t care. Consequences be damned, you didn't care how loud you were or how much attention you drew. You were better off getting caught by a guard or hell even the police - at least they’d have guns. 

Every inhale scorched your lungs, the fire of fatigue seared deep into every strand of your muscles as you kept on pushing, but you didn’t stop - you couldn’t. Not until you cleared the hallways, skirting through the piles of debris and around the same desolate corridors you had meandered through prior. Not until the crisp, chilled night air finally greeted you as the stars twinkled above, oblivious to the sheer horrors below. 

Not until you finally jammed yourself through the cut hole in the chain link fence, any pain of the metal scraping at your skin dulled out by the adrenaline flowing through your veins, empowering each sprinting step forwards until you were far, far away and back in the safety of your car.

Note to self: Don’t ever trust fliers you find on telephone poles.

This guy better be ready as soon as the sun graced the land again to hand over those five Benjamins. Hopefully he likes his mornings started with pounding knocks to his door and a middle finger to the face. 

જ⁀➴

The darkness echoed with the patter of fading footsteps as the mystery person sprinted away, completely aghast with a look of sheer primal fear painted on their limited, exposed features. 

They didn’t see how his fingers flexed, hands still outstretched in the air, twitching once again at the loss of something warm, something human that he came so close to grasping.

They didn’t see how he stared at where they were, not moving from the spot he stood. Nor did they see his clouded, hazy eyes downturn as he dragged his form back to the bed with great reluctance. 

Nor did they hear the drowned out, garbled words that took all his energy to choke out and force his broken jaws to move. 

“Don’t…. go….”

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

Thinking of maybe making this a series! Any feedback is welcome and appreciated! It's been a while since I've written so forgive any mistakes,,,,

Edit: part two has been posted!

[signedkoko]

SPOILERS?? MAYBE

Wife!reader waiting for Alastor in his Radio tower after the final big battle, knowing he'd go there and waiting for him there, Scolding him and angry at him, Talking about how worried they were and how they saw everything. But then it turns fluffy at the end :3

Alastor X Reader [Romantic]

In which you lost track of him during the battle, so you wait in his tower hoping he made it. Reader is female.

The battle had been planned over the series of a day, everyone practicing and learning how to defend themselves

Being an overlord and promised watcher over the hotel, Alastor was of course given a tall order; he was to take care of Adam

While he acted as if it were nothing and swept it by as if it'd be another easy task, you weren't so confident in his abilities against such a powerful angel

Not that you didn't trust him, just that it's scary to think he'd be doing it all alone

Though you offered support, he outright refused it

" Can't have you in the way! You are just so distracting! "

Yeah right

As much as you wanted to protest, you knew he wouldn't budge on it

But as Adam parted the battle and Alastor was nowhere to be seen, you assumed the worst along with everyone else

He'd been killed so easily? Certainly not, would he really give up his life like that? Your anger boiled up in you as you fought, and it carried you past your limit until everything was rubble

While you had the chance, you quickly whisked away to his tower, which now lay broken in the soil, though still partially intact

You had to kick the door a few times before it finally broke open, having been blocked by some debris

You hoped to all gods that you'd see him in there, but it was as silent and empty as you dreaded

You figure Husk would have said something if he felt his chains come loose, though, so you crawled up into the chair which he normally sat to broadcast and waited

And waited

Until finally, your looped prayer was answered when he came limping through the hatch

You could tell he was panicking or overwhelmed; you weren't entirely sure what, but you scrambled towards him

" Alastor! You're okay- "

" Get away from me. "

You stopped in your tracks, staring at him with bewilderment

He'd never sounded like that, especially not towards you, it frustrated you beyond belief that he refused you at a time like this

" No, no! I thought you died out there! All because you thought you could handle things on your own when you clearly cannot! "

Hot tears welled in the corner of your eyes, the silence only intruded by creaking, and the sound of your hissing breaths

It took him a moment, but the overlord straightened himself out, a shaky breath leaving his lips as he soaked in your reply

It wasn't fair of him to say that to you, and you were right, but something in him felt so shaky; his smile felt more forced than ever; he felt as if his wings had been clipped

" Dearest, you know me better than anyone, but unfortunately, there are things I cannot tell you—even if I want to. "

You knew he was bound by someone and chained, and as he spoke with such a lost desperation, you couldn't help but cry harder as the guilt consumed you

" I'm just glad you're alive. "

While you stood with what felt like an infinite space between you, the crackle in the air started to come back to him, which followed with his arms reaching out to you

You found yourself burying yourself in them, clinging to his shirt until your knuckles strained, and you cried

With no one else around to witness it, he wrapped his arms around you, ensuring you were secure

He'd do whatever it took to find a way out, so he could promise you an eternity by his side

Author's Note - Finally got to your req 🖤 Its so lovely to see you in my inbox, Lilith!! Thank you for requesting 🥂

[anim-ttrpgs]

drow rpg thoughts

Yesterday I got excited and did a design outline for another game, this time about drow. Don't worry, the Eureka Patreon updates will keep coming monthly and we are even close to another free public beta release, but i have been under a lot of stress and might need to work on something else for a few weeks after that, even if only because i think it could actually be something i could make fully playable within a short time.

It is based on a particular setting written a while back by me and a close friend, the purpose of which was to reimagine drow with reasonable post-hoc explanations for the way they are portrayed in Forgotten Realms. It would be a very specific game, sharing a few design ideas with Eureka's rules, but not as broad and generalized.

This rpg will certainly come with a bunch of lore, but for right now the only thing you need to know is that in this setting, "Drow" is a title and referrs only to the female warrior-caste of dark elf society.

Many of the mechanics will be asymmetrical. A “party” will consist of one Drow and any number of her servants, with the goal of surviving incredibly dense hierarchical social situations

>problem will come up that could embarrass the Drow, threatening her Reputation (stat)

>Drow has to delegate tasks to servants that will fix the problem

>due to stupidly dense and impossible etiquette, actually delegating these tasks is not very clear or easy. Screwing up tasks and failing etiquette will reduce a servant’s perceived Competence (stat)

>due to high pressure, impossible working conditions, and garbled instructions, these tasks are not easy and are very likely to be screwed up

>the Drow has to contend with and smooth over the screwed up tasks. She can lose Reputation if she doesn’t discipline incompetence, but harsh discipline is only going to make the servants less able to complete the task.

>Failure state for the servants is if their Competence ever reaches 0, and failure state for everyone is if the Drow’s Reputation ever reaches 0.

Half the Game Master’s job will be keeping track of the strict and deliberately impossibly overcomplicated etiquette by which servants have to address Drow, and docking their Competence when they screw up(and possibly docking Drow Reputation if anybody else sees her letting that slide), and keeping track of the strict militaristic code of honor and (evil) morality that all Drow are expected to exemplify whether they actually enjoy being cruel psychopaths or not, and docking Reputation when the Drow fails to uphold the right standard of evilness in front of other Drow.

The servant part of the “party” will either have to humorously manipulate Drow while hiding that anything is wrong, or they and their Drow will all have to all work together to maintain a facade of this brutal hierarchy

Drow lose Reputation and servants lose Competence when they fail to adhere to social etiquette that covers like 15 pages of instructions (designed to be impossible to follow). In that way, it might be considered similar to Paranoia, with a similar sense of humor.

Some of the servants’ etiquette would be like

>don’t speak out loud to a Drow unless told to by that Drow

>at the same time, don’t remain silent when a Drow expects them to answer a question even if she didn’t explicitly say they could speak

And this is why the Drow has to be a PC, because this same servant etiquette is a pitfall for the Drow. if she doesn’t make her expectations explicitly clear, it puts the servants in an impossible situation, where they will embarrass her with their incompetence(even though it’s her fault) and she will be socially obligated to go out of her way to discipline them. Of course in the in-setting society, the fault lies with the servant, because they should have intuited when they were being given permission to speak or not. Some Drow will be self-aware enough to realize that they caused this situation, most won't.

The structure of their society will often incentivize a tactful Drow to "roll with" mistakes made by servants, e.g. "No, my servants did have permission to address me out loud, you just weren't clever enough to catch it."

Each will have to cover for the other, and/or hide things from each other and the Drow's social rivals.

[jinxposting]

Jason Todd x Jinx! reader Chapter 6

Rough Housing

A lot has changed over the years.

Joker had kicked Harley out. She tried to defeat Batman. She would have succeeded too. Joker didn't like that.

You missed her.

You still saw her from time to time. You'd get drinks together now that you're old enough. Odd she enforced such a rule when she didn't bat an eye at breaking any other laws.

It was strange going home with her not there.

You were mad at Joker for a while after that.

But he's still your dad. You did eventually forgive him. Even though it didn't feel right.

You and Joker's legacy continued to grow. The Clown Prince and his little Princess. You certainly let it go to your head. It was kind of hard not to.

When everyone fears you it's hard not to take advantage of that. You could have virtually anything you wanted. Money? It's your's. Just please put down the gun. Information? Anything. Just don't call Joker. Hell, you even had connections at Arkham now. You never spent more then a single night in there.

Life was good.

There were rumors going around recently about a new vigilante. This one, however, was less than moral. He left a trail of death in his wake. He'd taken over the drug rings previously belonging to Black Mask. Not an easy task. This guy had to be strong to pull that off. Or crazy.

You smiled at the thought. It'd be nice to break in a new toy. But alas, your paths have yet to cross. You didn't even know his name.

"Jinx!"

"That's me!"

"I have a favor to ask."

"Oh?"

"I have a shipment coming in and I need you to make sure the numb skulls don't flub it. Think you can do that, my dear?"

"Easy peasy."

Or at least it should have been.

The good news is you know that new guy's name now! Red Hood. Bad news? He was attacking your men. You were transporting run of the mill weapons. You thought this guy was all about drugs? It made no sense.

"You work for Joker, right?"

You peaked over the side of a crate you'd been using for cover. He had an AK-47 pointed at one of your unnarmed henchmen.

"Y-Yes!"

"You're going to tell me where he's hiding."

"I don't know!"

"Five seconds."

"Do you know what he'll do to me if I talk?!"

"Do you know what I'll do to you if you don't?"

Oh this guy was a tough cookie. You liked it.

"Do you know what I'll do to you regardless?"

You stepped out, pistol raised at the assailant. He didn't budge. You couldn't read him with that helmet on, but if posture meant anything he seemed unphased.

"Jinx!"

"You."

"Me."

With a swift hit to the back of the head you knocked the henchman unconscious.

"Whoops! There goes your source."

The man pointed his gun at you. "You do realize you're also a source? A better one at that?"

"Oh, please. Have you met me? I may be a chatter box but there ain't nothin' I have to say. Threaten all ya want."

"Do you ever take anything seriously? I have a loaded gun pointed at you."

"As do I." You waved your fingers around the grip of your pistol. "And as if this is the first gun I've had waved in my face. You're not exactly special, pal."

Red Hood sighed. "You're not gonna talk, are you?"

"Talk? Sure! Tell you what you wanna hear? No."

"You haven't changed a bit."

You cocked an eyebrow. Changed? Have you met this guy before? Obviously he was someone Joker knew if he wanted to see him so bad. You'd have to dig into this later.

The masked man jabbed the butt of his gun at you. You ducked, raising your own up to his chin. Which he then kicked out of your grasp. He grabbed you by one of your long braids, yanking you back up to your feet.

"You should seriously cut this."

You flung the second braid over his shoulder before pulling it taught. He gasped at the sudden lack of oxygen.

"But it's so useful!"

Red Hood threw his head back, slamming into your face with a headbutt. That mask of his packed a punch. You struggled to stay upright, the world around you blurring in a dizzy smear of color.

He grabbed you by the face, staring at you. Before he could speak you bit into his hand.

"Son of a- are you fucking serious?!"

"Deadly."

"This is getting nowhere."

The man decked you in the face. You fell to the ground with a loud thud. He clambered on top of you, fist raised and ready for another punch. Your nose was bleeding, you could feel it running down your chin. You stared up at him in shock. But he didn't move. Just stared down at you. Again, unreadable with the helmet on.

In an instant smoke enveloped you. This guy had tricks too it seems. By the time it cleared you were left alone on the ground, the henchmen around you either dead or unconscious. You breathed out slowly.

"Joker's not gonna like this."

You scanned the nearby buildings in hopes of catching sight of the vigilante. Only to be met with disappointment.

Red Hood.

You finally found a new playmate.

[captainheartcollector]

Doubts

Alastor x Reader

A/N: Hello, everyone! Here is my first (and probably only since I’m not really a writer) attempt at an Alastor x Reader. I don’t know why, but I got inspired to write a scenario involving the day after having relations with Alastor the very first time. It doesn’t go into detail. Being on the ace spectrum myself, maybe this was just my way of coping with things. This was very self-indulgent. Story is all from Reader’s POV, whom I kept gender neutral. I’m sorry if Alastor is super ooc. I don’t have any clue on how to capture his personality. But I hope that you can enjoy the story nonetheless!

CW: suggestive themes, excessive use of pet names

Word Count: 1,144

Last night was the first time Alastor and you made love. Why he decided to be so generous, you couldn’t say. But you weren’t going to complain. When you awoke the following morning, you awoke to an empty bed. His spot beside you was cold. He had undoubtedly been up hours before you were. Realization set in. Did last night really happen? Was it a dream? No. The evidence riddled all over your aching body proved it. You eventually found the strength to sit up. Was he upset with you? Did he regret his decision to go all the way? Is that the reason he didn’t stay? You hadn’t pressured him, but you were the one who really wanted it after all.

Brushing those dangerous trepidations aside, you washed up and got ready for the day as usual. It was your day off, so you took things easy. However, you couldn’t help but notice that Alastor was nowhere to be seen within the hotel. Was he avoiding you? Surely, he was out on business, attending to his duties as an Overlord or brainstorming ideas for his next radio broadcast. Maybe he was just taking one of his daily strolls, chatting with Miss Rosie. Would he tell her?

Sure, Alastor was a schemer, but at this point, it felt far too late to start doubting him now. So, you tried your best to push those feelings away and keep yourself preoccupied, aiding as much as you could with the daily tasks around the hotel.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

It was hours before he finally returned. You glanced at the clock—it was nearly midnight. He sauntered through the front doors like all was right with the world. Once he detected your presence, he ambled across the lobby over to you smoothly. “Good evening, (y/n),” he chirped melodically with a flourish and a gleam in his eye. “I trust that you’ve caught up on your beauty sleep?” He sounded as pleasant as ever. So, you were clearly on speaking terms. Maybe that meant he wasn’t angry, or…

Despite your reservations, you couldn’t contain the eager smile creeping its way onto your face as you admired him. “Sure did,” you answered casually. “How was your outing today?”

“Frightfully illuminating, I must say. Thanks for asking!”

He acted like he was in a good mood. Therefore, you weren't going to sour it by prying further on the matter—especially when you could discern that he didn’t want you to. However, you needed to know the answers to the questions plaguing your mind. “Alastor,” you murmured, “do you think that we could talk…privately?” The last word was a whisper.

“Certainly, sweetheart.” That was easy. “Meet me in the library in ten.”

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

And that’s where the two of you were now—in a secluded, quiet corner of the library. You made sure no one else was around beforehand. Though why would there be at this hour. He sat next to you on the plush camelback sofa. You stared down at your hands which were fidgeting in your lap nervously as you spoke. “Alastor…you’re not upset with me, are you?”

He studied you silently for a moment before responding. You could never tell what was running through that demented head of his. Suddenly, he chimed, “Not at all, dearest. What reason would there be for that?”

Did he really not get it? Was he just pretending to be oblivious? Or was he truly unbothered by what happened?

“You know…Last night. You’re not mad?”

You felt his slender, clawed fingers cup your chin, forcing you to look at him directly. His smile was genuine and warm.

“Of course not, darling. It was consensual, was it not?”

“Yes, but I would never want you to do those things if they make you uncomfortable…or, if you just plain don’t want to.”

“I did want to. I wanted to because I knew you wanted to.”

What? That was so uncharacteristically thoughtful to hear him say. His thumb caressed your cheek in reassurance while his lidded gaze never faltered. It felt as though he was completely unperturbed.

“Wow…That’s so sweet of you, Alastor.” So sweet, you almost didn’t know how to process it. “But,” you interjected, “I want you to be able to enjoy it, too. Otherwise, I can’t—”

One of his fingers grazed over your lips, effectively shushing you.

He let out a low hum as if in brief contemplation before continuing. “I did enjoy it… More than I thought possible,” he admitted, seemingly in spite of himself.

You couldn’t fight back the hopeful smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “So…you don’t regret it?”

“Au contraire,” he beamed as he leaned in closer, mischief glinting in those gorgeous crimson eyes of his. “One could easily grow accustomed to seeing all those pretty faces you make while chanting my name more often.”

Immediately, an intense heat began to scald your cheeks as you hid your face in embarrassment, swatting him away playfully. “Don’t tease me!”

He chuckled heartily at your expense. “No sense in acting shy now, darling!”

“Ah, Alastor, stooop!”

His laughter continued briefly before he wiped a gleeful tear from his eye and conceded, “Very well.”

As soon as the silly little incident died down, you mustered the confidence to behold his eyes once more. He appeared absolutely pleased with himself. And yet again, you couldn’t help but return his contagious, everlasting smile. He was so beautiful—beyond just his face or form. You knew he was a menace, but there were beautiful aspects to his personality, too. Well, when he wanted there to be. Being able to make you smile—sincerely smile—was just one of them.

“Y’know,” you said finally, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between you, “I’m glad.”

Alastor’s toothy grin somehow grew even wider as he leaned down close to you like he had before. His hand crept along the back of your neck affectionately as he placed a tender kiss gently upon your forehead. Even after he carefully pulled away, his deft fingers continued to brush lightly through your hair and along your scalp. You could have melted right there and then.

“That’s wonderful news, (y/n.) Let’s try and keep it that way, shall we?”

You nodded in agreement as you happily slid into his arms, wrapping your own around his lithe frame, never taking for granted how freely and frequently he allowed you to touch him during these soft and confidential moments. “I love you,” you sighed contentedly, nuzzling against his chest.

However, it was his unexpected reply that left you feeling giddy for the rest of the night.

“I know, my dear. I am…quite fond of you, too.”

And that was enough for you.

[siggiedraws]

I think Silver’s naïveté is the most misunderstood part of his character. He’s just supposed to have an innocent worldview but because of the apocalypse thing it gets taken to mean that he doesn’t know how to do anything, doesn’t understand basic human interaction and is even more gullible/easy to manipulate than Knuckles.

Part of that is the idea that Mephiles easily tricked him into going after Sonic but Eggman literally says Mephiles played everyone in the Last of 06 and Silver isn’t treated like an idiot when that’s revealed.

yeah, I definitely get the impression that Silver's naivety is blown up way more than it should be, which explains his heavy uwuification. I think it's a character trait of his, certainly, but he's so much more than his naivety!

I'd say that his naivety, in the narrative of '06, just translates to him being unfamiliar with the concept of lying and deception. he's a very blunt and honest character, so the idea of Mephiles manipulating him doesn't cross his mind. framing goes a long way too. Silver isn't deliberately portrayed as more innocent or childlike to make him appear cuter to the viewer. his childishness is subtle. he feels very natural because of this.

I also think I'd do the same thing Silver did if I was in the same situation, because think about it! Silver was in a hellish world, fighting day by day, looking for answers but never able to find any. then, he gets given a magical solution by a mysterious stranger who tasks him to kill someone he doesn't know to finally save his future. with no other options, I would probably do the same thing and listen to the stranger. it's not just Silver's naivety that led him to fall for Mephiles' manipulation, but also his sheer desperation and determination to save the world.

[fastcardotmp3]

wip wednesday ✨

i have almost certainly been tagged in something adjacent to this recently and i'm soooo fatigued and it's thunderstorming and i wanna write but i can't so! all my friends sneak peek that no one asked for! mwah

“I mean, there’s a time and a place,” he says when they’re back at the station, refueling and cleaning up the gathered mud and dust that comes with having to drive the rig down a park’s access road like that. “Her brother had just almost died.”

“He was certainly shooting his shot,” Hen snorts, repacking her med bag just outside the ambulance so she can still talk to the rest of them while they wipe down the engine. “I’ll give him that.”

“The timing though,” Buck insists. “Like, that’s gotta be common sense, right?”

“I dunno,” Eddie shrugs without turning around from his task so when Buck looks over he gets a view of his broad shoulders shifting under the dark blue of his uniform, “is there ever really a right moment to do something like that?”

“There’s definitely a wrong one,” Chim laughs, Buck nodding in agreement. 

“But, like,” Eddie turns, one hand on his hip and the other gesturing with his rag still in grip, “how are you supposed to know, you know? Dating is this thing where people are just— out there asking each other out and acting like there’s some sort of base human instinct that guides those choices, but there’s not, is there? You had to learn that somewhere, because it’s not a natural instinct, because, obviously, this guy’s instinct told him to ask her out in that moment and it was bad, so…?”

He trails off and Buck cocks his head sideways as he looks at him, at this sudden bursting of energy in a near-monologue of a moment which has his cheeks going pink as he looks around at the rest of them and seems to realize the tangent he’s taken them on. 

It’s sort of nice, actually, to see him get all awkward again. It’s a core tenant of Eddie’s personality, maybe not usually in the workplace, but it’s always good to see him shake off that little bit of a performative mask he uses when they’re on calls. 

“I think,” Hen speaks up slowly, and why does she sound careful all of a sudden, “that you’ve got more instinct for romance than you think you do.”

Eddie scowls at her. “This isn’t about me.”

“So, you’re not looking for advice on how to make a move on a special someone?” Chimney asks skeptically, teasingly, liltingly. 

Buck balks. 

“Wait, are you?” he blurts out. “You’re dating again? You didn’t tell me that.”

It always sets this surge of fear through him when Buck is out of the loop on something Eddie related. How is he supposed to take care of the guy if he’s not being honest about what he’s dealing with? That’s, like, their whole deal. Especially when it comes to dating. Widowed Wingmen! That’s them, that’s what they do for each other, helping a friend who gets what it is to lose someone you’ve committed yourself to and learn how to accept love from someone new. 

They have a shared trauma in more than one way, both the losing and the witnessing of that loss, and so this is Buck’s, like, place in Eddie’s world. If Eddie is dating again and he hasn’t talked to Buck about it, then does that mean—

“No! No,” he says hurriedly with a frantic wave of both hands. “I’m not— I don’t want— I mean— It’s—”

A huff. Breaking himself out of his stuttering with a self deprecating roll of his eyes. His cheeks are flaming pink. 

“I’m not dating someone,” Eddie explains deliberately, all slow words and broad gestures and hiked-up shoulders. “I’m just saying I get that it's not easy for everyone to just know what the right time is. It’s complicated! Sometimes it’s complicated and shouldn’t we have a bit of grace for someone who’s, like, working out how to— I mean, do the complicated thing? Put themself out there and be all— vulnerable? Or whatever?” 

A beat of stunned quiet. Buck can’t help but smile slightly at how endearing Eddie’s defensiveness can be. He really cares about people, you know? It’s sweet. 

“You know what, fair enough,” Chimney breaks the quiet, looks to Hen with his brows raised and gets her to nod in agreement. 

“Totally right, Eddie, we should have more empathy,” she says, and Buck makes a face at her, one who never misses an opportunity to gossip about a stranger’s love life. 

Eddie’s shoulders fall on a huff like the cutting of strings and Buck always feels like he’s missing something these days so it barely even registers, but he turns back to the bumper on the engine, trying to make it shine, and says:

“I still think it was a dick move.”

A groan and a snort from the peanut gallery. 

A quick, “yep,” from Eddie as he spins on his heel and gets back to work.

tagging with zero pressure and one trillion love! @figthefruitfaeth @snowangeldotmp3 @judasofsuburbia @fragilecapric0rnn @redrosydiaz @becausebuckley @lookforanewangle

[network-rail]

Train pageant judging time! (PART 1)

Well, everyone has submitted their favorite (or least favorite, or something else entirely) trains to be judged, so now it's time to begin:

Best livery:

We had lots of submissions for best livery, from operators past and present. Two of them are FirstGroup liveries, so that says something. Personally, we think they look very turn of the century. The winner is the Class 170 in the new Crosscountry livery, with its nice clean lines, sharp contrast, and the general improvement over the old XC livery. We do also like the heritage liveries, but since I submitted those two (well, someone else also submitted the Intercity Swallow livery but still) it would be a bit biased to give them the win; and we do prefer the brighter colors. However, we did say that we'd give a bonus prize for best heritage livery, and that goes to the Intercity Swallow livery (here seen on the Intercity 225).

Most graceful:

For most graceful, the award has to go to the SECR D Class, as the class 97 is perhaps not very graceful while the Parry People Mover is more cute and precious than graceful.

Strongest:

With a whopping 8200 kW of power (according to wikipedia anyway), the Class 99 (Invicta) easily beats out the competition, with not quite double the power of the Class 91 (Intercity 225). Annoyingly, we couldn't find a source for the power output of the BR Standard Class 9F, but needless to say it's probably less than that.

Hottest:

In this category, we have a very wide range of attractive vehicles, from steam trains, to trams, to trains that aren't even out yet – all shapes and sizes of train one could imagine, and we've got the difficult task of deciding which one is the most attractive. This award goes to the APT, for being an extremely attractive train, although the Class 7 Britannia is a close second (and is certainly literally the hottest). A very attractive selection of trains, though, and very different from each other too, so this wasn't an easy decision. DIVERSITY WIN!

Best singer:

We here at Network Rail are biased against diesels, although in the interest of fairness we decided we would give those three a listen before judging. Also, in the case of the tube trains, even though we know the 2009 stock was submitted for the sound its whistle makes, our main perception of the noises they make is the horrendous screeching noises in the tunnels, so they won't win this one.

Having listened to/watched some videos of the various diesels, we have come to the conclusion that perhaps the class 37 ought to have been submitted to the "most flammable" category instead, since it seems to produce rather a lot of smoke. The 323 also makes a rather interesting sound, not one that I've heard an EMU make before. However, this award has to go to the 1995 tube stock, for its iconic motor noises, various beeping sounds, and lower amounts of screeching compared to the 2009 stock.

Most comfortable:

I haven't actually been on either of these (that I can remember anyway) but knowing that the 315's have the more comfortable version of transverse/longitudinal seats (I can never remember which is which, it's the ones where you sit in the direction of travel), which the new Overground trains don't have; I think I'll give the award to the 315 over the Mk4, although the Mk4 does seem like it would be comfortable too (and also you sit in the direction of travel).

Since only thirty images are allowed per post, that's the end of part one of the judging. Stay tuned for part two, where we iron some clothes, catch fire, and visit Thailand!

[mikathemonster]

𝓜𝓮𝓽𝓪𝓵 𝓘𝓷 𝓜𝔂 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓭, 𝓐 𝓑𝓪𝓼𝓼𝓲𝓼𝓽 𝓘𝓷 𝓜𝔂 𝓑𝓮𝓭!

part one. part two. part three (you are here).

synopsis. when tasked as the newest social media manager for Middle Earth's biggest metal band, the bassist makes it his mission to personally tempt you <3

pairing. Fíli / Gender-Neutral Reader

content. enemies to lovers, metal band! AU, modern tolkien! AU, slightly fem-aligned reader, mentions of alcohol

song inspiration. "Rosemary" by Deftones, "Circle With Me" by Spiritbox, "I Could Imagine" by Alina Baraz

(I made an official playlist for the fic here if you want to check it out!)

wc. 6108

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

An hour had passed since the concert, and after packing all of your things, you and Threl had decided to move to your hotel room to get ready together. The footage had been grueling to comb through, but only because it was so hard to pick which shots would be used. So many of them were perfect, it was hard to believe you’d need to capture more. Threl was certainly skilled with a camera.

Another thing you already found yourself loving when working with Threl was how easy he was to talk to. You were always on the same page when it came to what shots or videos you needed to capture. He was always suggesting fun ways to post them, most of which kept in touch with the latest social media trends. All in all, he was awesome. Not to mention easy on the eyes.

“I still can’t believe you got that crowd shot through the smoke haze,” you smiled while unlocking your room’s door. “It’s perfect!”

Threl laughed in agreement, holding your bags for you. “That’s what I’m saying! I tried to do the same thing when the flames went up, but I knew it wouldn’t work. The focus was off and the fire was a lot brighter than I expected.”

“It is fire,” you teased. “It’s going to be bright.”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” he responded. “But in my defense, I’ve never filmed a show with pyrotechnics that crazy. The biggest I’ve ever seen was electric confetti cannons that made the whole place look like it was snowing. But you guys are on an entire new level.”

“It’s what we do best,” you said with a smile, your pride showing a little as you walked into your room. “You can put your stuff on the couch over there.”

But as you walked in, you saw that your room was different than how you had left it. Your mess of a suitcase was now tucked neatly under your desk. A bottle of wine sat atop it, a note card attached to it by ribbon. And on your bed lay a gorgeous gown that you had never seen before with a matching lace mask.

“Is this what you’re wearing tonight?” Threl asked, crashing on the couch and setting up his laptop, probably to transfer some of the files off of his camera. He let out a whistle as his eyes fixated on it. “It’s stunning.”

You were speechless for a moment, taking in the dress once more before walking to check the card and wine.

“I did my best to accommodate your tastes,” you read aloud. The note was written in beautiful calligraphy; you wondered if it was actually Balin’s.

“What was that?” Threl asked, looking back up from his laptop.

“I think this is what I’m wearing tonight,” you answered. “Thorin said he’d have Balin figure something out.”

“Well, he sure figured out that he wants you to look the best there,” he smirked. “You’ll have everyone’s attention, I’m sure.”

“What are you wearing tonight?” You asked, taking the dress in your hands as you felt the soft fabric. “I know the theme was pretty last minute.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Threl waved you off with a smirk. “I always come prepared.”

He set his laptop down now, grabbing his wallet as he headed for the door. 

“Let me get changed and then I’ll come back and meet you?”

“Deal!” You returned his sly grin, more excited than ever for tonight.

You could hear the party raging down the grand hallway before you had even made your way there. With the hallway empty, it seemed that you and Threl were the latecomers. But at least you two were in it together. And fashionably late, to boot.

Threl was dressed in a black suit embroidered with all sorts of florals in a dark red stitching. It complimented his hair, which was pinned back to make room for his glittery maroon mask. He had already started drinking while waiting for you to get ready, a flask in his left hand and his phone in the other.

Your own outfit had a similar color palette; a strapless burgundy dress that clung to your figure. The dress had a black mesh slip over it, embroidered with beaded jewels that swirled down your body like ferns. The bottom of the dress flared out, giving an impression of dark waves around your legs. Your mask was of a similar black lace, though much simpler with red beaded details. 

With your matching outfits, anyone could mistake you for a couple. Threl had already made a joke about it earlier, but you had waved him off. If anything, you enjoyed matching with someone. It made you feel less conspicuous.

You were so grateful to Thorin that he had hired the perfect person to be your assistant. Hardworking, talented and stylish. Plus, you two had instantly clicked both in and out of work.

Approaching the door, Threl tapped your shoulder just before you were about to open it.

“Wait, we should take a picture beforehand,” he grinned, his phone in hand. “Before we split up into the night.”

You laughed, taking a step back to get in frame of the camera. “Alright, but hurry up. Thorin’s probably wondering where we are.”

He held his phone in the air, stepping close to you as he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you in.

“Say cheese!” He grinned, prompting you to smile even wider.

Click! 

“We look so stupid,” you smiled, shaking your head with a laugh.

“Stupidly good!” He countered. “I’ll send it to you. A token of our first night working together.”

“Let’s hope we still feel this good after the rest of them,” you joked, now opening the door of the hotel ballroom.

It hardly looked like the hotel anymore; the sheer amount of haze in the room coupled with the multicolored spotlights dancing around had turned this meager conference room into Moria’s hottest new club. A disco ball hung from the ceiling, making the entire room glitter as it spun. The DJ was hard at work in the very back of the room, jumping to the sounds of his own remixes. Couches and tables lined the right wall, filled with gossiping masked figures. The left wall hosted a bar with two bartenders hard at work; you hoped it was an open bar for your nerve’s sake. In the middle of the ballroom was the adequately-spaced dance floor, littered with dancing men, dwarves and elves alike. 

You couldn’t help the shocked look on your face, taking in the entire view. Your eyes didn’t know where to look; it was straight out of a movie. Between the dancing bodies, the thick haze surrounding you and the smell of liquor in the air, everything felt like a fever dream. 

“I’m going to go look for the boys!” Threl yelled over the music, a bunch of curated remixes of several upbeat metal songs. “Are you in?”

“I think I need a drink first!” You responded, hoping you were loud enough. “I’ll come meet you after?”

“Sounds good!” Threl gave you a salute before diving into the crowd. 

You tried to watch for him as he left you, but between the sheer amount of people and all of the masks, it wasn’t long until you lost sight of him. Had Thorin and Balin invited all of Moria?!

You made your way to the bar, hoping some liquid courage would fend off the awkward feeling you had in your stomach. You hardly knew anyone here, finding it impossible to recognize anyone with the masks on. But the crowd was lively and loose and already intoxicated; it made you want to fit in desperately. To loosen up and have just as much fun as them. After all, that was the entire point of tonight, wasn’t it?

And who were you to try and deny yourself that outcome?

You ordered yourself a drink, hoping the liquor would take some of the edge off as you looked across the dance floor, trying to see once again if you recognized anyone. But it was no use. You took a sip, wincing at how strong it was before swallowing. On the bright side, it seemed you wouldn’t be needing many cocktails tonight. This one seemed strong enough to bring Kíli down for the count.

Taking another sip, you finally left the bar to begin your mission of finding someone you knew. Ori or Gimli or even Threl; anyone would do.

With your drink in one hand, you made your way onto the dance floor, swerving around people to get to the couches and tables on the other side of the room. Surely you’d find someone there that you knew; and even if you didn’t, at least you’d have a seat. It was impossible to recognize anyone with all of the masks. The only one you would recognize was Threl’s, after all. And so far, you hadn’t spotted that glittery red mask of his anywhere.

If only Ori had chosen a different theme, you thought to yourself.

You pressed on, just about to leave the dance floor when someone grabbed your free wrist, pulling you back in with a spin. Your eyes darted around as you tried to figure out who in their right mind had grabbed you, causing you to almost spill your drink.

“Y/N! You’re here!” A familiar voice yelled, and upon taking his mask off you realized Kíli had been the one to grab you.

All the previous anger left your body, finally glad to see someone you knew. “Kíli!” 

You leaned down, giving the dwarf a hug as you took in his outfit; a green suit with brown accents that matched his mask. You had never seen him so dressed up, let alone in so much color!

“You look so good!” You spoke over the music, taking a sip of your drink. “Where has this been hiding?”

“Do you like it?” He grinned. “I keep it hidden like a secret weapon. And what about you? How come I’ve never seen this?” He gestured to your dress, giving you a once over and gesturing for you to give him a spin.

You laughed, obliging his teasing request as you spun around, the dress swaying at your ankles. “Balin picked it out for me!”

“Balin has good taste. You’re more than pretty, you’re stunning!” He beamed. He then gestured to your drink. “And I see you’re making full use of the open bar.”

“I had to,” you answered. “It would be a shame not to!”

“You’re damn right,” he laughed. “Gimli’s already hammered.”

“I’m surprised you’re not,” you joked.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he said. “Once Nori brings the kegs, I will be! But I promised I wouldn’t drink until he got here.”

“Where is everyone?” You asked. “I came here with Threl but now I can’t find him; you’re the first one that I’ve run into.”

“Threl’s here? I’ve got to get him in on the keg stands!” He turned around, trying to find anyone familiar in the crowd. It seemed even he was having trouble. “I don’t know where they are now, but Ori and Dori were at the DJ booth, last I saw them.”

“That’s Ori’s cousin, right?” You asked.

“His older one,” he nodded. “He’s not a big metalhead but he still wanted to be here to support.”

“Where’s the rest of the band? I don’t recognize anyone here, I thought it was all friends and family.”

“It was, until Balin got to sending invitations,” Kíli answered with a laugh. “He insisted we start out with a bang! As for the rest of them, Gimli is probably back at the bar by now. My brother was just looking for him, so who knows if he’s found him.” 

“What about Balin? I still need to thank him for the dress.” 

“Balin? He’s at the couches over there with Uncle,” he pointed out the direction to you. “Come on, I’ll bring you!”

Before you could respond, Kíli put his mask back on and grabbed your hand, leading you through the dancing crowd until you found a lounging Balin and Thorin on one of the many couches. Balin was halfway through a pint of what looked like ale, laughing at whatever Thorin had just said as his old eyes crinkled. Another dwarf you hadn’t met sat between them, earning a roaring laugh and slap on the back from Thorin, who held his own pint against Balin’s. You smiled, for once admiring how relaxed your boss looked. It was a lovely contradiction from his usually intimidating (and seemingly permanent) scowl.

“Uncle! Y/N is here!” Kíli grinned, pulling you into the group as you tried not to spill your drink.

Balin’s face lit up at the sight of you, standing up and setting his own pint down as he took you in. “My, you look lovely, dear!”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread on your face as you went in for a hug from the older dwarf. “Balin, I truly can’t thank you enough. I love it.”

“I’m so glad, I was worried it was in poor taste,” he nodded.

“Poor taste?” The other dwarf spoke to Balin, rising from his chair. “Have you gone daft?”

“My old friend, your mind seems to be getting away from you if you believe that’s poor taste.” Thorin smiled, looking you over. 

“How did you even find something like this?” You asked. “And on such short notice?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he winked. “Besides, it’s yours to enjoy now!”

Your face dropped in shock. “Are you sure? I couldn’t possibly–”

“Surely you wouldn’t turn down an old friend of mine, would you?” Thorin raised a brow, though a smile crept on his face as he looked at you. “You look lovely, Y/N.”

You smiled sheepishly, finally giving in to all of the compliments. “Thank you. And thank you for giving me the time to come to this! It’s so much better than I thought it would be.”

“Better than you thought?” The other dwarf challenged. “We’re in Moria! Soon you’ll see that everything is better here.”

“Forgive me,” Thorin spoke. “This is my old friend, Dwalin. Brother of Balin.”

The other dwarf, now known as Dwalin, gave a small bow. “At your service.”

“And speaking of service, even the drinks are better here!” Kíli finally chimed in, holding his glass in the air. “A toast to Moria!”

“I’ll certainly drink to that!” Balin laughed, grabbing his beer as you joined with your cocktail.

You weren’t sure how long you had been there, but the time seemed irrelevant once you were three martinis deep. Or was it four? You had finally begun to loosen up, managing to track down a dancing Threl who didn’t hesitate to pull you in and hold you close on the dance floor. His hands found space on your hips as you swayed against him, arms in the air with the biggest grin on your face. 

Soon, Ori joined you in dancing, jumping around like an excited kid who had finally been let out of the house. His cousin only made the visual more real, as Dori couldn’t help but look like a mother hen to the younger dwarf. Apparently, Dori knew the DJ, which explained why they had been hanging out at the booth all night. After a few more songs and another round of drinks, they both took you to meet him.

He was a lovely fellow, with dark brown hair and a curly moustache that put Thorin’s to shame (though you would never tell him that). Bofur was his name, and he was quite the talker whenever he wasn’t busy with his job. He was old friends with Thorin and Balin, and was very eager to tell you silly little secrets about them.

So far, you had already learned that Balin’s beard was ticklish and that Dwalin used to have a mohawk when he was younger. Which was hard to believe at first, given how bald you had just seen him.

But when Bofur returned to his set, Ori enthusiastically dragged you back onto the dance floor, this time without Dori. Three songs later, Threl and Kíli found you both, joining in on the fun as the colored lights flashed about the room.The smoke machines were still going, giving the entire ballroom-turned-club a seductive ambience. Everything was full of color and a little bit blurry thanks to the liquor, and you wondered if you should get yourself another drink. Threl’s hands returned to you, this time taking yours to spin you around with a grin on his face. Ori clapped his hands excitedly, asking for his own turn to which Threl obliged. You and Kíli cheered on your friend, who seemed like the world’s drunkest ballerina in Threl’s arms.

When did you last have fun like this? It had been too long, surely. But the night was still young, and you were determined to make the most of it with your new friend and the open bar.

And speaking of drinking, it didn’t take long for all of you to drag Threl off of the dance floor and convince him to join in on the keg stands with Kíli and Nori, one of Ori’s cousins you had met earlier.

A circle was beginning to form around the trio, with random masked party goers offering to help the three dwarves with their keg stands. You couldn’t help but laugh at how awkward Kíli looked with two elves holding him upside down to drink the keg, wondering for a moment why his brother hadn’t been there to take the position. In between taking embarrassing pictures of Threl and Kíli, you looked around the crowd, trying your best to see where that blonde headed bassist had gone.

It was strange that you hadn’t seen him by now! The party had been raging on for hours by now; you wondered just how long Balin and Thorin had rented out the room. 

You scanned the crowd, finding your vision to be a little blurrier than you were comfortable with now. Perhaps another drink could wait. You stumbled out of the crowd just as Nori had finished his keg first, causing the room to erupt with cheers. You cringed, the loud noises now seeming much more menacing and painful than earlier.

Some water would help. Maybe even some air. Yes, that sounded lovely right about now.

You quickly found the bar again, this time getting just a glass of water. But they were all out of their regular glasses, leaving you with a giant beer mug of ice cold water. If it wasn’t so suddenly loud, you would’ve found it much funnier. But your legs swiftly carried you to the exit door, searching for some fresh air and quieter atmosphere.

You swiftly pushed the bar down on the doors to exit, not expecting just how easily they would give way. You had put too much force on the push, and now you were falling much too quickly rather than exiting gracefully. Your pint glass flew out of your hand as you desperately grasped the door frame to keep yourself from colliding with the ground.

But just as quickly as the ground was about to meet your face, you were suddenly scooped into someone’s arms. The glass fell, not shattering due to the lovely carpeted floors, but spilling everywhere.

You finally looked up, trying to see who this unfortunate savior had been. Unfortunate because instead of helping someone, they were now soaked in your mug’s previous contents.

“We can’t keep meeting like this, Y/N,” said a very damp dwarf who, despite his mask, had a very recognizable teasing voice.

“Fíli, I’m so sorry, the door–” You quickly scrambled back to a standing position, embarrassment now taking over your tipsy stupor. “I didn’t realize it was so light, and I pushed it so hard–”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” he huffed, now taking off his mask to inspect the water damage to his outfit. “I suppose you just like to see me wet, is that it?”

You frowned, bringing your own hands to his suit to feel the damage. Indeed, his chest was soaked.

“Here, I’ll fix it, I promise,” you said, getting overwhelmed by the music and the haze and now this rather embarrassing situation. 

“It’s just water, Y/N, I’m sure I’ll live–”

“Come with me, there’s towels in my room.”

You took his hand, already taking off before he could even get another word in as you headed for the elevators. You hadn’t even put the empty glass away; it would still be on the floor for someone else to discover.

“We’re in a hotel, everyone’s room has towels,” Fíli replied, his tone both confused as it was light, but it was too late. You both were already in the elevator, the metal machine taking you both up to the third floor.

You couldn’t even find any words to say anymore; your head was pounding, your mind a bit overwhelmed as you couldn’t seem to focus on anything but drying the bassist next to you. You let out a loud sigh, finally letting go of Fíli’s hand as the elevator doors opened. 

He followed you as you walked down the hall, leading him to your room with a pace more sluggish than previously. You swiped your key card, and the door opened to reveal your room exactly the same as you had left it. 

The silence seemed stifling now. 

“Is everything alright?” He asked gingerly, watching you as you fetched a hand towel and began pat-drying his outfit.

“I think I just had too much to drink,” you admitted quietly, too focused on the task at hand. 

His hand rested itself on top of yours, stopping your ministrations as he took the towel from you. 

“Here, sit down,” he offered. 

“But you’re soaking—“

“I’ll take care of it.” 

You finally gave in, taking a seat on your bed with another sigh. The disorientation was fading, but the thrumming in your head was still going strong. You let out a groan, leaning back until you were laying down, kicking your shoes off in the process. 

“How much did you have?” His voice sounded amused now. 

“I stopped counting after my third,” you groaned. 

You heard him chuckle, and if you weren’t so tired you probably would have found it a little annoying. You propped yourself up with your elbows, meeting his stare as he used the towel to dry his hair. 

“But where have you been?” You asked, a frown on your face. “It’s been hours and we were all looking for you.”

“We?” He asked, raising a brow. “I was with Gimli for half the night, and then my uncle and Dwalin for the rest of it.”

“Wait, you were there?”

“The entire time, yes.”

“Then how come you were just coming in when I was leaving?”

“You caught me on a smoke break,” he admitted, his voice a little quieter now.

You furrowed your brows, confused at how you two could’ve kept missing each other for the entire party. A party that was very much still raging on downstairs. You hoped someone had found your abandoned mug by now. 

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

“I don’t anymore, at least I try not to.” He had finished drying himself off now, resting the towel on your couch as he took a seat. “You didn’t see me the entire time?”

“Not at all,” you shook your head. “Kíli couldn’t find you earlier, either.”

“That’s because he has the memory of a mayfly,” he scoffed. “At least, he does whenever liquor is involved.”

You sighed, laying back down. At least you had your answer now.

You watched as Fíli stood back up, walking over to your minifridge before handing you some water.

“Here, drink this,” he said. “It’ll help.”

“Oh, right.” You sat up again, now remembering that you hadn’t had any water yet. “Sorry for spilling water on you earlier.”

He shrugged. “It seems to be a pattern between us. At least there wasn’t a pool involved this time.”

You let out a dry laugh, drinking the entire bottle before tossing the empty container on your bed. You’d clean it up later. Or at least in the morning. 

“Did you want to go back?” You asked, feeling bad for holding him up now. Someone was probably waiting for him downstairs, be it Gimli or Thorin. 

“I’ll go in my own time,” he answered, disposing of your bottle for you. A part of you felt bad about it. “I want to make sure you’re okay first.”

You closed your eyes, rubbing your forehead for a moment. “Like I said, I’m fine. I just haven’t had a lot of water tonight.”

You heard the fridge open and close again, and when you opened your eyes, Fíli was offering another water bottle. This time you let out a real laugh. Soft, but genuine.

“Thanks,” you muttered.

“So,” he began. “Other than drinking too much, what did you think of the party?”

You took a long drink of the water, finishing more than half in one sitting. You really were thirsty. And possibly a little dehydrated.

“It’s amazing,” you smiled. “Balin certainly knows how to throw a rager.”

“That he does,” he agreed, laughing as he returned to the couch. “He’s not the type you’d assume likes to party, not at first glance, anyways.”

“I can see that,” you said. “But he certainly has a knack for it.”

“He threw my uncle’s 100th birthday, and apparently it was such a scene that it was three days long. My mother took a week to recover, or so she tells me.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Wait, how old is Thorin?”

“Almost 200, I think.” He answered that rather quickly, but was caught off guard by your frozen surprise. “You do realize we’re dwarves, right?”

“Of course I do,” you rolled your eyes. “I just forget the time difference. In my mind, you’re all around my age, so I don’t think about it much. Well, everyone except for Thorin.”

“How old do you think I am?”

“I’m not sure I would have a good answer.”

“Oh come on,” he grinned. “Take a wild guess.”

You sat up again, drinking more water as you thought carefully. You studied him while he lounged on your couch, and for the first time all night you were actually able to see what he looked like.

His hair was in a half-updo, with braided strands framing his face. His blue eyes popped with the smoky eyeliner he donned; you don’t think you had ever seen his eyes so blue before. He wore a much more casual outfit than his brother, but it fit him all the same. With a loosely knitted long sleeve top, he paired a black tank top over it that was tucked into his black leather pants. Your mouth watered at the sight, but you chalked it up to the dehydration.

Despite the fact that his appearance was not unlike his stage costumes, something in the air made him look that much cleaner. Even more seductive. 

Had he always looked this entrancing, or were drunker than you thought? You had never seen him with a gaze like this before, even when he was all done up in his performance costumes.

Here, sitting on your couch, he looked so real. So right. So beautiful.

You put your head in your hands, closing your eyes in the hopes you looked deeply concentrated. The liquor was making your thoughts fuzzy; that must be it. Surely you’d never find yourself so attracted to the annoying bassist in front of you. Not after his history of borderline harassment.

Truly, you had no idea how old he was. You had never really thought about it. In your mind, he was around your age. But you were smart enough to know that dwarves and humans aged differently.

You looked back up, tucking some hair behind your ear and drinking more of your water.

“Would 70 be a bad guess?” You thought you had heard one of the band members mention something about being around that age. 

He tilted his head slightly, the metal adornments in his hair creating small tinkered sounds from the motion. 

“It’s wrong, but it’s not an awful guess for a man,” he said.

You scoffed, annoyed at his amusement. “How off was I?”

“About 12 years, love.”

Your lip twitched into a slight smile at the nickname. You wanted to blame it on the alcohol. Why else would his words have such an effect on you? And why was it that you wanted to leave your comfortable bed and sit next to him on the couch?

“So, you’re 82?”

“And I’ll be 83 come this November,” he smiled.

You were surprised yet again, though less so than before. Perhaps 82 was the new 25. Or 30. You weren’t entirely sure. It certainly didn’t seem to matter.

“And I reckon you’re feeling better now?” His voice was soft, his expression hopeful.

“Much,” you confirmed. Other than these rather distracting thoughts of yours, you were feeling much more normal now. The thrumming and pounding in your ears had faded, though still very slightly prevalent. You chalked it up to being exposed to Bofur’s loud music. 

“Do you think they’ve noticed that we’re not there?”

“If they’re anything like you, then definitely not,” he laughed.

You groaned, finishing your water, this time throwing it away yourself. “I swear, I never saw you all night!”

“Well, here we are now,” he said.

You sighed. “Indeed, we are.”

“Did you want to head back?”

“Where? Back to the party?” You scoffed. “There’s no way it’s still going on; how long has it been?”

He chuckled, standing up from the couch before stretching a little. You tried not to let your eyes linger to his lifting shirt.

“I can’t remember the last time Balin held a party that ended before sunrise.”

Your jaw dropped, gobsmacked by what you had just heard.

“Until sunrise? There’s no way!” You shook your head in disbelief. “Surely the hotel has a curfew for events like that, right?”

Now it was Fíli’s turn to look surprised. “You didn’t know? Balin owns the hotel. This whole place is his, he built it from the ground up.”

You were speechless, not expecting this from the unsuspecting cheerful dwarf you had met earlier today. No wonder he had been able to accommodate your outfit on such short notice; he was probably swimming in money!

“That makes so much sense now,” you nodded, ingesting the information bit by bit as all the pieces seemed to click now.

Fíli laughed again, this time louder, before approaching you with two hands to help you stand up.

“Come on, we don’t want to keep them waiting now.”

You nodded again. “Right, right.”

You took his hand, surprised at his strength when he easily pulled you up. A little too easily, it seemed, as you stumbled on the way up. He helped steady you while letting a few laughs out along the way, to which you rolled your eyes. But you certainly couldn’t help the smile that spread on your own face. 

It must have been the liquor. You were still drunk, that had to be it. Why else were you glad to feel the warmth of his skin on yours? You were much more comfortable now than you had been when you previously fell into Fíli’s arms. His arms that you were now able to admire much closer. Strong, sturdy, and decorated with a few choice tattoos.

You were beginning to notice a pattern.

“We keep repeating ourselves tonight,” you joked.

His head tilted to the side again. “What do you mean, love?”

That nickname again. Maybe it was the liquor, or how close you two were standing, but you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corners of your mouth. You liked hearing him say that. 

“Well, I seem to have an affinity for covering you in water–”

“Perhaps drowning me would be a better description,” he said smugly, nodding along with your humor.

You ignored him. “And you seem very attached to me being in your arms.”

Truthfully, you had meant it as a joke, but his arms were still holding yours even though you were standing perfectly fine on your own now.

You were still taller than him, and your heels would’ve made you much taller, but his eyes never left yours. And neither did his arms.

And perhaps you didn’t mind.

“I didn’t notice,” he said quietly, but you could see through his lie easily. 

Had his eyes always looked this alluring? You couldn’t remember. Blue, crystalline and clear like water.

“You didn’t?” You asked rhetorically, your voice trailing off, lost in thought as you lost your focus on the conversation. Or rather, honed your focus to his face.

And his beautiful eyes that seemed to shine in the dim hotel lamplight. And the eyeliner that seemed to draw you in. And the way that whatever chapstick he was wearing seemed to make his lips shine a little in the light.

You returned to his eyes, catching yourself from staring. Suddenly, you found yourself curious of how close you could get as your gaze seemed to seep deep into him. You wondered if his chapstick had any flavor to it.

He was silent as he raised a careful hand to the side of your face, brushing against your cheek as he tucked a stray hair back in its place.

“Y/N…” he breathed, and his voice was like velvet on your ears. 

His gaze flitted to your lips for a moment, his hands now shifting from your arms to holding your hips, delicately pushing down as he guided you back to sitting down on the bed.

You followed the silent demand, one hand on his shoulder for balance, the silent tension hanging in the air like a knife. 

Who would be the first to cut it?

Slowly, you felt his breath against your face as both of you leaned in. So close now. Close enough to breathe the same air, but not close enough to taste.

You closed your eyes, scared that leaning in any further would break the delicate moment and shatter it like glass.

You heard a sigh, followed by his arms leaving your hips. Opening your eyes, you saw a rather dejected expression on Fíi’s beautiful features; a frown tugged at his lips.

“What’s wrong?” You asked.

“We should head back down,” he said solemnly, now pulling away from you entirely as he gathered his belongings from the couch.

You hadn’t been the person to shatter the moment. He had certainly beaten you to it. And it definitely pissed you off, just a little bit.

For a second, you couldn’t even find the words to say. You were too embarrassed and too upset.

“Right,” you finally spoke, your voice harsher than you had meant it to be. But you couldn’t hide your dissatisfaction as you put your heels back on.

Was it just your tipsy stupor that had made you almost kiss him? Or was it the reason you were so annoyed? You were certainly embarrassed now, to say the least.

And to say the most, you were upset at the idea that maybe he just didn’t want to kiss you.

“Are you ready?” He asked, his tone more formal than you had recognized it to be. He was trying to be polite; you could see that.

It only annoyed you more.

“As I’ll ever be,” you stood up, this time much taller than him. You were grateful for the extra height; it served well to distance yourself from him despite the small hotel room.

You headed for the door, doing your best to act unbothered despite the fact that you could barely hide your distaste. He could see it, you were sure. You wondered if it was the reason he took a cigarette out of his pocket, tucking it behind his ear for later.

At least his impending smoke break would give you an actual break to return to the party raging below.

Perhaps everyone was still there. Well, everyone save for Dori. He had seemed like a bedtime sort of fellow.

Either way, you needed a distraction for the rest of the night. A party was the perfect way to go about it.

taglist: @loopyloo2610 @shiinata-library @dumpster-fire3131

[thebowieconstricker]

Head Over Heels - Prolouge

(The Creature x Reader)

A Lisa Frankenstein (2024) fic

masterlist link

Alright, monster lovers, I’m gonna try something a little more ambitious: an actual fic. Constructive criticism welcome! Please be kind because I have no proof reader and I’m still learning how to write good stories lol. I’m also gonna be fleshing out some characters to better fit the narrative I have in mind for this story. I hope you enjoy the prologue!

Warnings: slight language, my best attempt at worldbuilding, and our gender neutral reader is an orphan, so discussion of that. Also, (N/N) stands for nickname!

~~~

1986, Brookview, Indiana

“Oh. My. GOODNESS, (Y/N)! You have to try a face mask! It’ll help you with those dark circles under your eyes!”

“But (Y/NNNN), pink is totally your color! Just give it a chance, your nails would look SO pretty!”

“You didn’t even jump! It’s like you’re built for these movies, (N/N)!”

Comments like these had already gotten old around- you checked your watch- two hours ago. You considered yourself a survivor of some ancient teenage girl ceremony. Saying polite “no thank you”s to Taffy and the rest of her much too perky friends was becoming quite the laborious task. Some may say you were being too stubborn, as they had treated you with nothing but kindness since you came to town, to which you’d argue that Tricia certainly seemed like she had a bone to pick with you. Along with her, you had unfortunately seen enough of the world to understand one of the most important rules of high school:

The popular girls were mean, and these girls were certainly popular.

You had no idea why Taffy had run up to you on your first day of school and excitedly introduced herself, her gaggle of friends confusedly following after her. You figured this was some kind of territorial power move, checking out the fresh meat before inevitably deciding to kill.

But then Taffy kept hanging out with you. And complementing you. And begging you to hang out with her group of gals.

You took it as some kind of elaborate bit, but hey, they were nice.

At least they didn’t look at you like you were a rotten corpse walking down the halls.

Your thoughts snapped back to your current situation at Taffy’s house. Her mother, Janet, had actually sneered at you when you walked in, but other than that, the night was shaping up to be your average “new girls first sleepover”. Grease had taught you well. That was, until the truth or dare game started.

Lori had brought it up, and it started pretty normal.

“Who’s your crush?”

“OMG, I’m not telling!”

“Come on, Misty! We won’t tell! Right, (Y/N)?”

“Uh, yeah. I mean, no.” You mentally cursed yourself.

This is how it continued for a while before you finally perked up.

“I dare you to go to the Bachelors Cemetary Grove.”

“WHAT??? No way, Tricia! There’s no way in hell-“

Your eyes widened in intrigue and you blurted out without thinking, “There’s a bachelors cemetery?”

The girls turned to look at you.

Tricia raised one of her perfect eyebrows.

“You haven’t heard about it? It’s like- uber haunted.”

That piqued your interest. Life in the foster care system had caused you to grow accustomed to the darker sides of life, and you had always had a special interest in the dead. Your own parents had died in a mysterious fire when you were just a baby, leaving you with no real memories of them. You believed that everyone deserved to be remembered, especially the average, unremarkable person.

(Mainly because you knew that’s how you would turn out, and you’d like to be remembered.)

Enough of that, though, because everyone is still looking at you, so you cleared your throat.

“Would I have to go tonight? Or like, right now?”

Tricia rolled her eyes. “I mean, I didn’t ask you-“

“Oh, shush, Tricia! She’s participating!” Taffy smiled widely at you.

Tricia shot you a look.

“Fine. Yes, tonight. And you’d have to bring back a vine to show that you actually went there. The place is full of them, so it should be easy for you.”

You detected a hint of challenge in Tricia’s tone, but ignored it. You wanted to do this to quench the thirst of curiosity that was bubbling in your brain. This seemed like the first interesting thing you had heard about in this boring town.

You stood.

“I’ll do it.”

Taffy cheered and Lori looked at you in amazement. Misty immediately began to try to talk you out of it, worrying about your safety, while Tricia went silent.

Your mind was set, though. Time to see what all the hooplah was about.

~~~

The walk to the gravesite had been much more peaceful than you thought it would be.

Taffy’s house was constant noise, light, color, total overstimulation. However, the cool mist that danced across your skin along with the eerie silence of the woods soothed you. It helped you clear your head.

After walking through the woods for what seemed like hours, you finally came across the old rusted iron gate that sadly displayed the text, “Bachelors Cemetery Grove”. You frowned, finding the disrepair of the cite pitiful. This place should be filled with respect, not to be forgotten by vines and leaves.

Speaking of, holy shit, Tricia was right about the vines everywhere.

Thick, bright green foliage covered every inch of the area, graves poking out here and there to display faded names. It was enchanting to see so much life growing in a place of death. You could have snapped off a vine and booked it out of there, but you were drawn to this cemetery. Careful steps led you deeper and deeper into its heart as you swerved this way and that to try and make out the occasional name.

Then, through a beam of moonlight that shone through a break in the trees, your eyes caught on a specific grave.

You walked closer and came face to face with the stoic expression of a handsome young man, carved in the same stone his grave was made of. He had a strong nose, with beautifully curved lips and hair that flipped upwards on the ends. He was looking slightly downwards, his eyebrows painfully curved upwards, as if to express a dramatic feeling of grief. Resting beside his bust was an arm and a hand, attached to nothing and slightly curled. He looked like a man that would recite beautiful poetry, professing his deepest desires and most intimate thoughts.

Your mouth was slightly agape as you admired him. Despite your more logical thoughts, you brought a hand up to gently caress his cheek, finding a raised texture chiseled there that suggested sideburns. A sigh escaped your lips as you realized the romantic-ness of it all. A man who seemed perfect, a lover, full of life and emotion, condemned to a permanent fixture in a buried world.

You could say it was love at first sight.