#white bracket beam

[wolverwhore]

Landscape - Transitional Landscape An example of a mid-sized transitional full sun side yard concrete paver garden path.

[rejectedshelf]

Kitchen Great Room in Chicago A farmhouse sink, beaded inset cabinets, white cabinets, quartz countertops, a white backsplash, a ceramic backsplash, stainless steel appliances, and an island are some ideas for a mid-sized transitional l-shaped kitchen remodel with a dark wood floor and brown floor.

[neotattooart]

Library Family Room Raleigh Inspiration for a timeless plywood floor family room library remodel with a tv stand

[moonstruckme]

hiiii !!! i hope ur having a good day :) i was wondering if u would like writing smth with tasm peter or remus x reader where reader has some specific exams that r very important for her (peter/remus doesnt have them) and shes just so anxious about it and has a lot of academic anxiety overall and isnt good at talking about it and peter or remus just comforts her and stuff? sorry if u dont like it tho u dont have to do it !! :)

Thanks for requesting ml!

cw: academic anxiety

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

Peter’s not sure if you’ve realized how dark it is outside. He comes back from dinner with his Aunt May to find you in the exact same spot he left you, the bright light from your laptop beaming onto your face and making your features look severe and ghoulish. It’s the only light in the apartment. 

“Hey,” you say dimly. 

“Hey.” Peter stoops over the back of the couch, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and smooching your cheek. He squints into the glaring white of the practice questions on your screen. “How’s it going?” 

You hum, noncommittal. 

“Mm.” Peter squeezes your shoulders sympathetically, then gets up to grab the leftovers he’s brought from May’s. “Did you get something to eat?” 

“Yeah,” you say distantly, clicking something. 

“Really?” He turns to look around. There’s no evidence of cooking, no takeout containers on the coffee table, no dishes in the sink. It’s not that Peter doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t. “What’d you have?” 

“Sounds great, babe.” 

He blinks. “Huh? I asked what you ate.” 

“Yeah,” you scroll a bit, clicking to the next page, “I’m sure May loved that.” 

A laugh startles out of him, and that’s what gets your attention. You look up, bemused. 

“Sweetheart.” Peter looks at you meaningfully, a smile still tempting his lips. “Have you eaten dinner yet?” 

You shake your head. “No. Why?” 

“Because I brought you leftovers,” he says, going to the microwave and popping them in. “But when I asked a second ago, you said yes.” 

“Oh.” Peter punches a minute into the microwave, and when the buzzing starts he looks over at you. You’re looking a bit embarrassed, but your gaze is already migrating back towards your laptop. “Sorry, I’m not great at splitting my focus.” 

“That’s okay.” He crosses the room to you, sitting on the coffee table so your knees are bracketed by his. “You’ve been studying for a long time today, huh?” 

Really, you’ve been studying for an ungodly amount of time every day for the past few weeks. It had started manageable, an hour a day to help prepare for this big exam you’ve got coming up, but as the date of the test grew closer Peter could sense you becoming almost frantic. You steadily increased your study time in what seems to him like a fruitless quest to become one hundred percent prepared by the time of the exam. These last few days, you’ve hardly let your laptop out of your sight. He’s convinced you must be dreaming of practice questions. 

You nod, looking exhausted. Peter reaches forward to rub a thumb under your eye. It’s tinged slightly red, and he’s willing to bet it burns from staring at your screen for so long. 

“You ready for a break?” he asks. 

You nod with a sigh, shutting your laptop screen. The microwave beeps, and Peter sets a hand on your leg to tell you to stay sitting while he gets it. The plate is warm in his hands. You inhale the steam as he passes it to you, eyes shutting contentedly. 

“Oh my god, I can’t believe May did her brussel sprouts and I didn’t even show.” 

“She missed you,” Peter admits, “but she got that you had to study.” 

“Thanks,” you tell him, situating the plate on your lap and skewering a brussel sprout onto your fork. 

The first few bites go down greedily, but soon you slow your pace. Peter sits while you eat in silence. This reticence is unusual for you, but he knows there’s any number of things it could be attributed to; hunger or exhaustion are at the top of that list. Still, there’s a look in your eyes that tells him you’ve gone somewhere else. 

“Hey,” he says, and you turn. “You wanna talk about it?” 

You give him a puzzled look, hand coming up to cover your full mouth. “About what?” 

“About the test,” Peter replies patiently. He sets a hand on your shoulder, rubbing at your tensed muscles. “You’re flipping out, pretty girl.” 

You scoff, but it’s weak and you know it. “I am not flipping out,” you say.

Peter could point to about a dozen things which indicate that you’re wrong, but he’s not trying to argue with you. “It’s okay if you are,” he says instead, wincing when his thumb digs into a sensitive knot in your shoulder and you flinch. “Sorry. Just, I know this is a big deal for you.” 

“It is a big deal,” you agree, looking down at your plate as you chase another brussel sprout, “but I’m fine. It’s normal to get nervous about big exams.” 

“Just because it’s normal doesn’t mean you have to deal with it,” he tells you. 

You don’t respond, maintaining your quiet even after Peter sees you swallow. He squints, ducking his head to look you in the eye. It’s obvious by the way you avoid him that you hear the faults in your own logic. You start to worry you lip. 

“I’m not trying to criticize you,” he says gently, thumbing it from between your teeth. “I just want you to tell me what you need. Do you want to talk about it? Or we could talk about something else, or watch a movie or something.” He juts further into your eyeline, and this time you look back at him. His thumb drops down to your chin. “Let me help, bub.” 

You look suddenly cracked open. More vulnerable than he’s seen you in awhile, and for a second Peter worries you might cry. “Can we watch a movie?” you ask. 

“Yeah.” Relief makes the word breathy. He punctuates it with a kiss to your forehead. “That sounds great. You wanna cuddle too?” 

You nod and eat some more of your dinner. “I might fall asleep,” you warn.

Peter grins. He always teases you for falling asleep during movies, but secretly he loves it. There’s something intrinsically peaceful about holding you against him, warm and heavy, while he watches, only to fill you in on what had happened to every character when you wake up and start asking questions. 

“I think you’ve earned it,” he says. 

You shrug like you don’t disagree, and set to finishing off your brussel sprouts while Peter gets up to make popcorn. You do fall asleep, not even ten minutes into the movie. Peter pulls you closer to him and watches the rest with his cheek resting atop your head

[marysdonuts]

Strangers in the Night

tourist!Seokmin x local!reader

Synopsis:

Strangers in the night exchanging glances Wondering in the night What were the chances we'd be sharing love Before the night was through

Warnings: fluff, meet cute, man hater reader, sunshine DK, crack

WC: 683

Status: part 1, (ongoing)

a/n: join my taglist to get notified about new chapters - here

擦肩而过 literally means “to brush shoulders and pass by”. To come into close contact with someone or something, but then barely miss it

You were walking in the historical center of your town, in country where people don't share glances - god forbid smiles.

Vintage sunglasses resting on your nose, shades offering a chance to sneak a peek at people passing by. Ready to judge their fashion choices or roll eyes at couples attached by the hip

Now, It was not unusual to catch men looking at you - dressed to impress, girly but with hint of elegance you looked like a doll. If it was not for your typical RBF you'd have many suitors. Didn't matter how happy or sad you felt, the expression on your face remained unshaken. Even after meeting their curious gaze men never approached you. Maybe because there was always unspoken challenge in your eyes and hint of contempt? None of them had balls big enough to try their luck

And to be honest? You didn't really care. Having unrealistically high standards the only men you were interested in were fictional. Two kingdoms to their name, chambers filled with gold, riding white stallion. The rest? Made you sick to the stomach.

That was the exact reason why he caught you off guard

Crossing the street towards alluring neon lights of Rolex store in neighbourhood you adored the most. Bustling with tourists, nice cars parked by the sidewalk, well maintained buildings offering luxuries of all kind. One eye on store window filled with watches out of your tax bracket, other eye on the cobblestones in front of you.

You almost missed him.

//

Lee Seokmin was strutting in opposite direction enjoying his first vacation in a long time.

Feet infected with happy virus tapping on the stoney ground. Taking in all the history around him. As he held up his camera to snap a photo, like an angel descending from heaven you manifested in middle of the frame. A quick click was all he managed. Your impenetrable aura blinding him. Immediately starstruck.

Click, click, click. The Leica worked overtime.

Didn't know if it was the way your hips swayed in such enchanting rhythm or the beautiful but unimpressed face... There was something that left him peeking in your direction. A glimpse lasting longer than is considered polite. If you noticed the way he was devouring all the parts of your body.. he could hardly excuse it as accidental.

//

Once you saw him looking, glance becoming a stare, making you forget all the Rolex bling. Something in his eyes was so inviting. Something in his smile was so exciting. Holding your breath at how handsome he was.

Like a beam of light entering the bitterly cold cathedral of your heart, Seokmin flashed you the most beautiful 100watt smile.

Ai, mi corazón. You didn't speak Spanish. Kokoro no doki doki. Nor Japanese. But almost folding in half right then and there, hand shooting to the chest trying to prevent cardiac arrest, somehow you managed to keep composure.

Surprised at your uncharacteristical reaction, passing by brushing shoulders, you returned his smile - unsure if he had time to witness it. Caught up in this k-drama interaction you kept moving forward, cheeks red, giggling uncontrollably

Laughing to yourself like a fool for at least thirty minutes, coming to your senses much later - fuck why didn't I stop and said hi? Now is too late to go look for him. It's funny how something small as a smile can have an impact on person.

//

Oh but he did catch that smile. Leaving him with such an adrenaline rush he took off running. You couldn't get him if you tried. Galloping like a race horse at Kentucky Derby, it took about ten kilometres before he finally stopped.

"I got so excited I forgot to even ask for her number..!" He gasped out loud, tearing up at the missed opportunity

Trying to get some kind of comfort in the unfortunate situation, he went over the photos he took of you. Biggest smile forming on his face Seokmin sent silent prayer above.

God, If you are real, let us meet again.

To be continued..

[vintagebunnies]

Ok if you take requests can you write an eddie munson x reader smut where he makes y/n read one of her smutty books out loud and he does whatever the characters in the book is doing

i love this sm!! thank you anon <3

smut, fem!reader, 18+ only!

“Keep reading sweetheart,” Eddie spoke lowly, resting on his stomach in between your thighs.

You’re starting to regret telling Eddie about your newest book purchase. He was immediately intrigued when you told him the main purpose of the riveting story.

It was similar to the same old book cliche; the shy girl falls in love with the town's “bad boy”. Eddie snickered when you read the summary, giving you a smirk that made your face warm up.

Eddie suggested that you two reenact the scenes in the book. Specifically the sex scenes.

You felt embarrassed reading something so obscene out loud, wanting to curl in on yourself. But either way, Eddie tried to get you to come out of your shell and not feel so sheepish. Hell, he even showcased his porno magazine collection to you.

There were no more secrets between you two anymore.

“I- I, um, I forgot where I was..” You mumbled out. You felt exposed to his prying eyes, thighs spread out in front of you, bracketing Eddie’s head between them.

“Hm, I think it was something along the lines of, he descended lower, mouth right over her dripping-“

“Okay- Yeah, yeah I remember,” You cut him off quickly.

Eddie rewarded you with a wolfish grin, ring clad hands coming around to squeeze the top of your plush thighs.

You quickly found where you currently were in the book, continuing to read. As you spoke, Eddie left small kisses on your mound. Your breathing accelerated, heart practically beating out of your chest.

The book was held in a white knuckled grip, your brows furrowed as you tried to regulate your breathing.

Eddie dipped his head down, dragging his tongue through your slit, making you gasp. Your hips jolted up from the friction.

“Oh- fuck,” Your voice was barely a whisper.

“Mm, keep reading,” Eddie’s eyes drifted close, savoring your taste.

You carried on reading while Eddie attached his lips to your clit, giving it a small suck. Your words were choked on a moan, dropping the book and grabbing onto the back of Eddie’s head.

He brought two fingers up to your sopping hole, slowly easing them inside. You dropped your head back onto the pillow, biting your lip. Eddie was thrusting his fingers in and out, keeping up a moderate pace, sometimes curving them upwards.

You let go of your lip to let out a quiet moan, the sound egging Eddie on. His thick fingers brushed against something spongey, making you clench on his fingers. A new wave of arousal gushed, seeping from your slit.

The book was completely forgotten, too caught up in pleasure to care. Eddie was more focused on making you cum, speeding up the pace of his tongue on your clit and his insistent thrusting into your hole.

Your orgasm was hurdling closer, making you draw your legs up to your chest.

Another type of pleasure was blooming in your lower belly. A familiar heat.

“You close?” Eddie replaced his mouth with his thumb, not stopping.

You were only able to let out a quiet ‘uh-huh’ to his question, not able to form a full sentence. Eddie’s beaming smile took up practically his entire face.

A few more thrusts to the special spot within, and a steady stream of your release sprayed from you. The bottom half of Eddie’s face was soaked, a puddle forming under you.

You were too busy catching your breath to notice Eddie’s sudden position change. He was hovering over you now.

“How ‘bout we start on the next page?”

[bravevulnerability]

so i was rewatching rise and the scene when josh and rick almost get into it is crazy good and i wish we could have seen something like that but with kate present if that makes sense? could you write something if you're taking prompts?

A/N: Set during Rise, 4x01, with some AU finagling in place.

-

He sees the glint of light in the distance, practically feels the split second of time stopping as the bullet pierces the air. Pierces her. 

“Kate!”

They’re both down, his body shielding hers atop the grass, his hands cradling her. 

Her lips are parted, a gasp caught there. One hand supports the delicate line of her neck, the other tripping down her side, searching for the point of entry. 

“Oh, Kate,” he breathes, the rest of the world - the screams, the orders, the panic - hushed all around him. He can focus on nothing but her. “Stay with me.”

Her eyes are sparkling with the beam of the sun overhead, the unshed tears clinging to her lashes. 

“Don’t leave me,” he whispers, the panic in her eyes fluttering with her lashes. “Please, you gotta stay, okay?”

A whimper trembles in her throat, escapes into the air between them. 

“I love you, Kate.” The confession is out, slipping past his lips before he can even think to stop them. “Don’t go.”

One of her arms, shaking and unsteady, hooks on his, white gloves snagging in his suit jacket. 

“Yeah, hold onto me,” he whispers, stroking his thumb along the swanlike curve of her nape. 

Her chest shudders beneath him, her eyes crinkling with a wince that ripples across her face. 

“Vest,” she rasps, the word nothing more than an exhale past her trembling lips. 

“Vest,” he echoes, unthinkingly. Then it clicks in his mind, makes sense. His hands shoot to her chest, feel the bulkiness of armor beneath her shirt. “Oh thank god,” he gasps, the tears spilling unbidden down his cheeks. 

“Stay. Down,” she gets out, her eyes blinking fast with the effort. “In case.”

Castle nods, remains kneeling above her, stroking the hair from her forehead. 

“Thought I lost you.”

Her gaze flickers back to meet his and there something more than pain and surprise residing along the edges of her blown pupils. 

“Is that why?” she exhales softly, her voice strained, fading.

His brow furrows. “Why?”

Her throat ripples with a hard swallow, her dark eyes fall to his chin. “What you said.”

Clarity blooms bright and horrific in his mind. Shit. 

“I - no, it's just - it’s why I said it out loud,” he stammers out, glancing around as the world around them begins to filter back in. 

The area is being secured, an ambulance is hurtling towards them from a distance. Esposito and Ryan are bracketing them with guns raised, Lanie watching in horror with his mother and daughter and the rest of the funeral attendees ducking behind their seats.

“Out loud?” she whispers, one of those stray tears pooling in her eyes slipping free. He quickly wipes it away. 

“Yeah, Kate,” he murmurs, thumb following the harsh bone of her cheek. "I love you."

He swears he sees the corner of her mouth twitch, but his attention is torn from any hope as her eyes roll back.

-

Lanie rode in the ambulance with Kate, the only one allowed to accompany her to the hospital. He hasn't been able to see her since he was dragged away from her at the cemetery, allowed to follow the bus to the hospital but then directed to a waiting room. Her father was called back not long ago, but the rest of them are forced to remain.

He just hopes she's okay.

"A sniper." The growl of Josh's voice reverberates through the waiting room as he storms inside. Either someone finally thought to call him or he just happened to be on shift. "At a funeral!"

Esposito is immediately rising from his seat, stepping between Josh and the rest of the group. "We think that the people who sent those guys after Montgomery targeted Beckett-"

But Josh isn't listening to Esposito. His eyes, that fiery stare, are on Rick.

Against his better judgement, Castle steps forward. "I tried to get to her. I tried-"

Josh pushes past Esposito, slams Castle into the wall.

Gasps rise around the room and Esposito is grabbing the larger man by the shoulder, Martha storming up alongside him. "Hey! Man, listen-"

"You did this!" Josh is yelling at him and he feels himself lunging forward, the barely repressed rage in his chest rising. But Ryan jerks him back, stays him with a hand to his sternum.

Alexis is shouting his name, panic rising in her voice. But Josh is shouting too, pointing an accusing finger at him over Esposito's shoulder.

"This is your fault! You pushed her to look into her mother's murder! She was shot because of you and Montgomery is dead because of you!"

Alexis lunges before he can, words ripping out of her throat. "Leave him alone!"

But then someone is grabbing his daughter by the arm before it can swing, lurching her out of the way and taking her place.

Kate Beckett pushes past Esposito and shoves Josh in the chest. Hard.

His back hits the wall and he stares down at her in total bewilderment.

"Back off." The growl that echoes in the suddenly quiet room is fierce, a threatening sound he's only ever heard in the worst of interrogations. "Now."

"Kate?"

Her hands are shaking at her sides, her spine bowing ever so slightly. He can see the trembling line of bones through the thin material of her t-shirt. Oh, oh god, she's in pain.

She was shot. Vest or not, what the hell is she even doing up and about?

"Stay away from him," she snaps, but her voice is losing some of its bite, its strength. One of her hands rises to her chest, cradling the spot he watched the bullet pierce through.

"What the - what the hell are you doing?" he demands, but Kate is turning away from him. Josh grabs her by the shoulder and that's all he needs.

Rick doesn't know how he moves so fast, smacking Josh's fingers from her trembling shoulder with one hand, landing a fist to his jaw with the other.

"Dad!"

Josh stumbles backwards but he recovers quick, arm pulled back and ready to swing. Castle braces himself, ready to take it, but he feels the pressure on his chest first, the weight of her back against him.

Kate stands in front of him, chin up and eyes gleaming as Josh stops short. The other man's dark eyes glance between her body - broken and positioned in front of Castle, shielding him - and Rick's returning glare just above her head.

He scowls, but doesn't come closer.

"Kate, move-"

"Enough," she snarls, loud enough to silence not just the room, but the murmur of surrounding hospital staff. "Josh, it's done. We're done and I'm clear to go. Everyone else, we are leaving."

For a moment, Kate's boyfriend is speechless in front of them, lips parted in utter confusion. But then he is throwing his hands up in exasperation, releasing a disbelieving laugh.

"You know what, Kate? Fine. I love you, but you are not worth... this," he mutters, head shaking as he turns on his heel, shooting one last piercing glare to Castle before disappearing down the hall.

Kate doesn't have time to turn before her knees are giving out.

"I got you," he breathes, catching her beneath the arms.

Castle hooks an arm beneath her knees, the other around her ribs, holding her bridal style.

"She was wearing a vest," Lanie rasps, emerging from the waiting room's opposite entrance, where she and Kate must have happened upon the scene. "She's got bruising to the chest, a fractured rib from impact of both the bullet and the fall combined, but she's stable."

"Oh thank god," Martha lets out, hooking an arm around Alexis.

But he doesn't hear anything past her diagnosis.

"Kate?" he whispers.

Her eyes are open, watching him with her head on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he breathes, doing his best to blink away the tears. He doesn't want to cry, not in front of his friends and family, and not in front of her. But he... god, Josh was right. "I did this, put you in the crosshairs, and I'm so-"

"No," she groans, pressing her cheek hard against his clavicle. Her eyes squeeze shut for a long moment. When she opens them, they're as shiny as his feel. "He's not right. And how dare you apologize after you tried to die for me."

He can hear his mother and the boys in the background, talking amongst themselves, trying their best to give them an ounce of privacy.

"I wasn't, I just - I couldn't. I couldn't." It's all he can say.

Her bottom lip begins to quiver and she quickly pins it with her teeth. "You can't do things like that."

"Kate," he huffs, lowering his forehead to knock against hers.

"No," she whimpers, the sound soft and pitiful and he hates himself for causing it. "You can't."

"Beckett-"

She swallows hard, practically growls at him. "Why?"

"You know why. You heard why."

The shaky exhale of her breath coats his lips, but then she's nodding against him.

"I need... I need time, okay?" she whispers, but her fingers rise soft and unsteady to touch his chin, to stroke the line of his jaw.

He opens his eyes to find her watching him.

"No rush," he promises, inhaling a quick breath of her scent before lifting his head. "I'm not going anywhere."

Her lips quirk, the gentle hint of a smile brewing for him. "Yeah, me neither, Castle. Except maybe back on my own two feet."

"Oh, yeah," he chuckles, easing her back down, but keeping a supportive arm around her. She leans into his side, her torso unsteady with effort.

Their group heads for the elevators. Apparently her dad is waiting at the back entrance for them.

The boys fuss over Beckett in the lift like the brothers they are, teasing her but running anxious eyes from her head to her toes when she isn't looking. Lanie remains close at her side, lecturing her about her recovery process, pushing the visit summary and discharge papers into her hands, along with all of her prescriptions.

Kate hangs back with a hand on his arm as everyone spills through the sliding doors.

"I'm going to stay with my dad for a while, take a few days at his cabin upstate," she murmurs, shuffling with him towards the exit. Alexis is glancing back at them, attempting to be inconspicuous but watching nonetheless. "If I gave you the address, would you-"

"Yes," he says without thinking, earning a huff of quiet laughter from her side.

"Come over," she finishes on a sigh, shooting him a shy smile. "I think we need time to talk."

"To put it lightly," he chuckles. "And if you need an extra escape, from the city, there's always the Hamptons."

Kate purses her lips, cuts a sly look to their friends and family congregating at the double doors that lead outside. Her fingers curl softly at his wrist.

"I'd really like that."

Castle pauses, glances down to her. She's inches shorter than him without her heels.

"Kate-"

But Alexis is striding towards them before he can get the words out. Kate startles at the sight of his daughter, the abrupt stop she makes in front of her, followed by the tentative fold of his daughter's arms around Beckett's shoulders.

"Thank you," she says quietly, her thin fingers at Kate's back. "For defending him."

He watches the woman he loves touch her chin to Alexis's shoulder, a breath of what looks like relief flooding from her chest.

"Nothing to thank me for," Kate murmurs, offering a tired smile to his daughter when she pulls back. "I was just following your lead, killer."

Alexis blushes, but when she glances up at him, her face is solemn. She has more to say, more to lecture them both on, he's certain, but for now, she holds it down.

His fiercely protective daughter. Whom he needs to find a fantastic therapist for, because the amount of trauma she has experienced and witnessed today...

"I'm glad you had the vest," Alexis whispers, turning her attention back to Kate.

Beckett's hand squeezes his wrist. "Me too."

Alexis nods and glances back to her grandmother, Lanie, and the boys. "We'll wait outside."

They watch his daughter leave them in silence, ushering the group to the doors.

"Speaking of defense," Castle muses, nudging her ever so gently. "Thank you, for taking up for me with Josh."

"You tried to take a bullet for me, Castle. The least I could do was take on a boyfriend," she murmurs, but her hand slides down the inside of his arm, slipping along his wrist until her fingers are slotting into place within his.

They begin to stroll towards the exit, hand in hand.

Castle takes in a silent breath. "We're going to take them down, Kate."

Her hand tightens in his.

"But for now, you need to heal."

"I know," she nods, exhaling a trembling breath. "Day by day."

Relief spreads warm and fast through his chest. Thank god the blinders are off. For now.

"Yes. So in the meantime," he says as they slow to a stop in front of the exit. "I'm going to call you tonight."

Kate turns to meet his eyes, the exhaustion lining every crevice of her face, pain pinching the corners of her eyes, but there's something else there. Something like hope.

"I'll answer." She looks down to their tangled hands. "Be safe. Make sure your family-"

"I will," he assures her, hearing the guilt in her words, the shame. But it isn't hers to bear. He did this. "I'm going to double down on security for all of us, the boys and Lanie included, and then - then I'm going to come to that cabin. Heal with you for a little while. If that's okay."

Her gaze flickers back to his, her lips curling softly.

"Yeah, Castle." Her hand is unsteady in his, beginning to shake, but she draws their laced fingers to her chest, her heart, where the bullet tried to pierce and where he can feel the beautiful, beating of her pulse. Alive. "That's okay."

[anachilles]

pretty, like a doll (nsfw)

summary: buck x bucky, 2.4k ( fluff/feelings + smut and includes consensual somnophilia )

Gale wakes slowly at first. The first thing he’s aware of is the sound of rain hammering relentlessly against the bedroom window. In a momentary, sleep-dumb daze, his brow creases. The sky above him in the meadow had been such a clear and cloudless blue, now all he can see in the darkness is off-white and popcorn-textured. It hadn’t been raining there. His breath is still coming in shorter, heavier gasps than normal, and a jolt of pressure from below his waist sends him fully hurtling back into the realm of reality all at once. Not just rain, or the thunder accompanying it. Bombs. He’s in London. In the middle of a war. John’s between his legs.

-> read on AO3 <-

(or under the cut)

There’s nothing quite like Wyoming in the summer.

The thought passes through Gale’s head idly, before floating away again just as quickly on the welcome breeze as it passed over his skin, giving him just a moment’s reprieve from the baking sun as it warmed him where he lay. He daren’t not open his eyes against the sun, bright as it was and given that it appeared he’d forgotten his sunglasses, but even so he feels the sensation of the breeze shaking the grass that brackets the lines and contours of his body where it depresses the earth. His legs tickle a little as the grass catches the bare skin left exposed by his shorts, poking the downy blond hair and sending shivers up Gale’s spine.

He should move, shift himself maybe against the feeling, but he’s just so comfortable. It feels like the days-long adventures he’d take himself off on during summer vacation, because it felt safer than being at home a lot of the time. It feels like a cool, crisp sip of water on a hot day, fisted up into his mouth from the crystal clear brook no more than an hour’s hike from his hometown. It feels like a burst of sweetness on his tongue from the berries he’d forage closer to the afternoon, his boy scout knowledge coming in handy in terms of figuring out how to be sure of their viability and not accidentally poisoning himself.

Gale’s breath escapes his lungs in a long, luxurious exhale.

He feels warm. He feels safe. He feels lax and boneless and suffused with pleasure in all the nostalgia and simultaneously shielded; like anything darker lurking beneath the surface is being held firmly at bay somewhere far, far away from him.

He’s not sure whether he remains there for seconds, minutes, hours, days, when suddenly he finds himself submerged and cast adrift. Time is linear, time is important, Gale’s life is ruled by time and the ticking hands of the clock, ‘Buck, fighters at 2 o’clock!’, yet here he feels none of that burden. Flat on his back still, his body is held up by the water as it sloshes him to and fro in the current. Somewhere off in the distance of his consciousness, beneath the pleasureful fog, he wonders when he had thought to move? He didn’t remember deciding to go for a swim.

He’s floating, but not quite altogether successfully as the current grows stronger, yet he has no will to fight against it; no will to flip off his back and try to swim for shore. He’s gasping for breath as the water rushes up over his face and he swallows mouthful after mouthful, but for some reason there’s no panic. No fear, no pain, and no rush of adrenaline to fight against the embrace of whatever comes next, as he may have expected there to be. If this was what death was meant to feel like in the moment where it became inevitable, he’d readily take that if there was truly no other hope for him.

It felt like the sun that had been beating down mercilessly overhead had suddenly been plucked from the sky and beamed inside his body. With each staccato, growingly breathless gasp the searing warmth within him grew and grew, hotter and hotter as the crawling heat spread out from his abdomen into every nerve ending of his body, pulsing like a pressure under his skin, until…

Gale wakes slowly at first.

The first thing he’s aware of is the sound of rain hammering relentlessly against the bedroom window. In a momentary, sleep-dumb haze, his brow creases. The sky above him in the meadow had been such a clear and cloudless blue, all he can see in the darkness is off-white and popcorn-textured.

It hadn’t been raining there.

His breath is still coming in shorter, heavier gasps than normal, and a jolt of pressure from below his waist sends him now fully hurtling back into the realm of reality all at once.

Not just rain, or the thunder accompanying it. Bombs.

He’s in London. In the middle of a war.

John’s between his legs.

Suddenly realising that Gale was awake, John pulls off him, smiling lazily as he hooks a hand under Gale’s thigh and pushes it further up out of the way; holds it there.

“...and so, the dashing prince awoke Sleeping Beauty with a true love’s kiss…” he teases, pressing his lips to the tender underside of that thigh. Then another a little further inward. And then another dangerously close to the crease, to where Gale’s cock is standing swollen, red, and slick with wetness from whatever attentions had clearly been lavished on it, completely unaware to him. Where John’s saliva ended and his own precome began, Gale wasn’t quite sure. Either way, the mixture of both and the state he was in made it evident he’d been at this for a decent amount of time.

The brush of John’s moustache against the sensitive little strip of skin sends a bolt of electricity up Gale’s spine, a whimper slipping out of his throat as struggles up onto his elbows. Smug and clearly self-satisfied, John meets him there, pulling himself up so he’s hovering over him. He pointedly dodges Gale’s lips just as they mindlessly move to meet his own, latching instead onto the underside of his jaw, his hand moving to hold his head in place through his ministrations.

Gale briefly wonders how long he’s been out for. He’d ridden John to completion in this very same darkness before giving into sleep, so it can’t have been too long, but he isn’t sure. He still feels a little both sleep and fuck-drunk.

Any coherent thought he may be tempted to have however vanishes as John catches that one little spot in the hinge of his jaw he knows too goddamn well at this point. It punches a groan from Gale’s mouth that he wasn’t even aware had dropped open, pulling in breaths as his body writhed against the broad expanse of John’s own, rising and falling to the rhythm of his mouth sucking his neck, trying to get as close as he possibly could, get some friction. He feels untethered, but again, not unsafely so.

“J-John…” Gale stammers out breathily with what he can scramble together of his consciousness, his fingers sliding up John’s neck to hook into the dark curls, messy and unkempt with the exertion of their activities, that adorned the crown of his head. John doesn’t respond, but his free hand follows Gale’s, covering it with his own, clenches his fingers slightly in silent encouragement to grip his hair tighter. John’s own breath catches when he obliges.

“John…” Gale attempts again, swallowing hard and trying to mould his tone into something firmer. Again, John doesn’t respond, continuing on with his work but this time rolling his hips so that his own growing erection rubs against Gale’s. The sensation jolts in his belly, hard, and with a hiss he tightens his grip on John’s hair further and yanks his head back so that he’s forced to meet his eye.

There’s nothing to dispel the loaded, momentary silence between them but the distant ‘boom, boom, boom’ of bombs being dropped around them, but not here. Their uniforms, Gale’s folded up neatly on the small wicker chair in the corner of the hotel room, and John’s dotted haphazardly on the floor in the corner, were gazing at them with a jointly menacing, foreboding stare, one they both opt to ignore. Maybe it should unsettle them more, doing this in here when that’s going on out there, but it doesn’t. Not enough to sacrifice yet another piece of themselves for this war.

There’s still black-out orders so the room sits in darkness, but the moon is natural and indomitable and it’s lighting up John’s face in a distinct sort of way that makes him look so as well. With eyes heavy-lidded and pupils blown wide, he looks raw and open and so damn beautiful, untameable despite how he responds to the direction of Gale’s hand. Maybe not so untameable, then.

A third time. “John-” He’s about to speak, but John kisses the question from his mouth, his nose bending and pressing into Gale’s cheekbone with the force of it. He pulls away quickly though, but doesn’t go far, Gale still able to feel the ghost of his breath on his face.

Now that he’s actually given the opportunity to speak, though, getting the words out of his throat is like trying to pull something out of quicksand. “What’s all this about, hm?” he somehow manages, despite.

John just shrugs, that lazy smile still playing on the corners of his now slightly puffy lips. “You’re just so fuckin’ beautiful, Buck, y’know that?” he rasps out, dipping down to once again clamp their lips together, searing and binding all at the same time, like he’s unable to help himself. Caught in his current now, Gale’s helpless but to follow him. “Just lying there all pretty…” he continues in between kisses, “...like a doll; God knows you’re as pretty as one. My doll, aren’t you?”

His voice is deep and rumbling, exposing in its sincerity, and each word strikes a pleasurable blow to Gale’s already crumbling composure, the meaning behind them keying him up, and up, each kiss and each touch pinging through his nervous system right down to core. Yes, your doll. Always. Each stroke, each caress, pulse uncomfortably there, and when John nips at his bottom lip his breath hitches, another bead of precome dribbling out of his tired head. He moans into John’s mouth, then yanks him back just enough to implore him.

“Now if you don’t finish what you started…”

John’s head tilts, and levels Gale with a shit-eating expression. “Now is that any way to ask for what you want? What do you say?”

They say Major Cleven has the patience of a saint, anyone who wakes up every morning and chooses to put up with Major Egan’s specific brand of nonsense day-in day-out for years of their lives has to have, apparently. Major Egan would beg to differ, as would anyone on the receiving end of the look he’s giving him right now.

Even so, Gale’s a smart man. Isn’t too proud to do what needs to be done to get to the outcome he wants in the quickest way possible.

Taking John’s chin in his hand, he almost speaks the words right into his lips, his tone impressively clear for someone who looked halfway to fucked out already.

“Please, John,” and oh God did John’s actual name sound so sweet coming out of Gale’s mouth. Just as a little retaliatory jab at John’s own pleasure, he adds, “Help me. I need you, your mouth…” his eyes drifting down to stare at John’s lips.

Absolutely nothing else on earth needing to be said, John withdraws with a hurried, suddenly stoked impatience of his own. He indulges a little, kissing down the length of Gale’s body, tongue lingering an extra half beat where sweat had started to cool in the valleys of his chest and abdomen, panting a little as his nose nudged first into the light, dusty covering of hair on his chest, and then in the thicker dirty blond thatch just south of his pubic bone. He inhales deep, the lightest brush of John’s breath, the tip of his nose, sending Gale gasping already he’s so over-sensitive as it is.

Then, steeling himself against his own desire, with all the delicacy of a starving man he sinks his mouth back onto Gale’s twitching, now weeping cock, the sound obscene as John seemingly picks back up right where he’d left off when Gale had so inconveniently interrupted him by waking up.

Now, out of the dreamlike state he’d been in before and feeling the full force of every single drag of John’s tongue up and down his shaft, every lick he seemed to savour over the curve of his tip before sucking it pointedly between his lips and letting the tip of his tongue tease the slit, Gale’s body feels pulled this way and that, rising up, and up as the pressure built, threatened to crest. Squirming with the pleasure and stimulation he’d have no hope of escaping from, John’s fingers white-knuckle gripping the curve of Gale’s waist so hard he was sure he’d have marks tomorrow, his breath escapes him in a litany of gasps and bitten-back moans. Needing purchase somewhere, anywhere, Gale’s fingers once more find the back of John’s head.

He’d been rock hard since he’d been pulled from sleep, which has only been fuelled in the time since, and he knew he wasn’t going to last long. But even with that, John still seems determined to wring the orgasm out of him, to give Gale what he wants, deliver him his pleasure now, now, now, servicing him thoroughly, skilfully, dutifully. He briefly wonders how the hell he’d managed to sleep at all through this the first time around.

“Let go, Buck,” John orders softly, the command a little hoarse emitting from his growingly wrecked throat, before sinking back down with an extra pointed suck. “C’mon, baby, you can do it… I know you can come for me, just let go…” With another, he constricts around Gale’s cock, letting his teeth deliberately, but ever so lightly, graze the veined underside of his shaft.

In a one-two punch of the encouragement and the physical sensations, Gale’s shoved to the precipice as his desire crescendos, and he comes down John’s throat with a sudden, strangled groan.

After nursing him through the aftershocks, and with another, decidedly less charged, kiss to the crease of his thigh, John joins him up by the headboard where Gale lies flushed and still gasping a little to catch his breath. He places a hand to Gale’s chest, palm flat against the left breast side, and Gale wordlessly brings his own hand up and curls it around John’s.

The silence is comfortable as they both soak a little in the afterglow. But before long, it’s clear John seems to want to say something, and, not being like him to deny himself the indulgence of doing so, he quickly gives in.

“So…” he smirks. Though his movements are tired, Gale turns to look at him.

“Sweet dreams?”

[sunlightmurdock]

mav's daughter and bradley almost getting caught by her dad while making out please

Bradley takes a small sip from the coffee cup, flicking through the pages of the morning paper — it’s already been rifled through by Maverick. Bradley doesn’t normally read the paper, it’s just that he’s bored out of his mind and the sports highlights happened to be right there on the kitchen counter.

He hears you on the stairs first, your humming, not your footsteps. You come wandering into the kitchen, his eyes are on you before you’ve even noticed him standing there. He’s smirking right at you, brown eyes trailing your figure. You’re wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and a pair of panties, humming to a song he introduced you to last week. You look up quickly as he sets his coffee mug on the counter.

“Morning, Bradshaw.” You beam at him, stalking forwards, barefoot across the kitchen tile. He extends his arm towards you, wrapping it around your waist and tugging you into him. “I thought you were working?”

“It’s 4pm.” He tells you, amused by your poor timekeeping skills as his fingers nudge up the backs of your thighs, taking the hem of the shirt with it. He glances around you to admire your exposed ass, kneading it in his hands. “We’re about to head over to Penny’s. Am I going to see you there later?”

You hum in consideration, trailing your fingers over the fabric of his white t-shirt, feeling his muscles protrude from under it. “Depends.”

His hands squeeze at your hips as you bracket him against the countertop. “On?”

You push up onto your tiptoes and drape your arms around his shoulders, smiling sweetly at him. “Are you going to make it worth my while?”

His hand squeezes at your ass cheek, then slaps it just enough for it to recoil in his palm. His brows draw together into a playfully dubious crease, “Baby,”

Your smile grows as he walks you back into the kitchen island and shoves at your hips lifting you on to the countertop. “When have I ever not made it worth your while?”

You close your eyes and lean back on your palms as his lips press the pulse point on your throat. “Mm… where’s Mav?”

“Shower.” Bradley mutters against your skin, grabbing at the nape of your neck as his kisses grow feverish against your throat. You hum contentedly at both his attention and the feeling of his mouth on you skin. You hook your legs around his hips and pull him closer to you.

“Haven’t seen you much lately.” You pout, trailing your fingers up his arm and over the swell of his bicep as his hands squeeze at your waist. He sucks soft kisses along the column of your neck, wet and languid enough to make you shiver.

“I’ll make it up to you.” He mumbles, lifting his head and pressing his lips softly to yours. You nudge your hand under his t-shirt, smoothing your fingertips along his taut stomach.

“Now?” You tease.

He scoffs, sweet brown eyes searching over your pretty face for a moment before he leans in again and kisses you slowly. You nip at his bottom lip and squeeze your thighs around his hips. Curling your fists into his shirt, you moan softly as he slips his tongue into your mouth. Dizzying you with filthy, fluid kisses, tugging softly at your roots with his big, strong hands.

It grows deeper, more desperate quickly until you can feel him hard and pressing against your panties through his jeans. Your soft moans spilling out against his mouth as he grinds against you.

“Bradley, did I leave my wallet in your car?” Maverick calls from the stairs, jogging down them.

Bradley steps back and crosses his wrists in front of his crotch as your father rounds into the kitchen.

“Uh… yeah. I think it’s in your jacket pocket on the backseat.” He swallows, eyes lingering briefly on the mischievous look on your face before you part your thighs just a little bit. His gaze drops to the lace between your thighs and then quickly back up.

Maverick sighs from behind you, barely noticing that you’re there. “Shit. Oh, morning honey. We should get going. Are we going to see you at the Hard Deck later, princess?”

You give a small shrug, smirking at Bradley. “Yeah. I might stop by.”

[vinciwolf]

Loyalty Pt 8

(Recom)Na’vi!Miles Quaritch x (fem)Na’vi!Reader

Warnings: SLOW BURN, EVENTUAL NSFT, ENEMIES TO LOVERS, capture, romance, reader is female

Warnings for this chapter: the series FINALE, violence, action, fighting, blood, gore, death, cussing, a tiny bit of fluff if you have a magnifying glass.

Notes: Na’vi spoken is in [italics and brackets]; inner thoughts are in italics.

Tags: @deliwrites @ikranwings @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @avatar-lover @justasimps-blog​  @mechformers​ @perseny​ @dakotali​ @ragingloser​ @whereireid​ @whxre-bxby​ @miscellaneousfantasies​ @janelongxox​ @myh3artt​ @ducks118

 You had been trapped in this colorless prison for some time since Miles left. When you had finally recovered enough to stand on two feet, bullet wounds still havocking your body under fitted bandages, you were escorted to a basic cell. During that short walk, you realized that this place was still in fact the SeaDragon.

The tinkling of the lights above annoyed you as you sat in isolation, trying hard not to let the earie silence drive you up the wall. Then you heard a commotion through the ceiling making your head peer up, brow furrowed. There was yelling and screaming muffled by the barrier separating you from the world above. Being in the unknown had your leg bouncing. Your ears picked up a new burst of hollering followed by rapid gunfire. Everything rocked and swayed so hard you needed to catch yourself against the wall. Something big hit the SeaDragon while the uproar continued.

You could hear the metal beams inside the ship protest to the massive weight moving around on the docks until that chaotic presence seemed to finally disappear, giving you momentary relief…until you felt the ship moving. And it was moving abnormally fast. Then you were slung to the other side of the room, air being pushed from your lungs as your body slammed into the wall.

Your whole body curled as you groaned from the pain flooding your abdomen. Lifting your shirt, you peeked to see if any blood drained into your white bandages, but when you found nothing, you sighed that luckily the stitches didn’t bust. Now all you wanted to know was what the hell happened. Was Miles alright? Where was Spider in all this mess? And what the actual fuck hit the ship???

You needed to get out of here, so you got to your feet and looked for anything to use to escape.

You threw a chair into the one-sided mirror but it only shuddered, never breaking. Then you had your fingers trying to pry open the door, only to release with a frustrated scream. You hated this feeling… being helpless… then your mind wandered to Sylway. Shame crept inside you. Nothing you did here, then, or in the future will make things right. Jake is probably dead or about to be…but…

Again! Your mind motivated your sorry ass to get up.

You took the chair and were about to fly it into the door but a noise halted your motion. The door to your cell flew open to reveal a face you thought you’d never see again.

“Neteyam…?” You dropped the chair with a loud thud and grabbed the young warrior into your arms, hugging tightly, smaller arms wrapping around your torso in a brief second of happiness.

You let go to then notice Spider.

“Come here!” you cried, grabbing both boys, glad to see they were alive and safe.

“What the hell happened!?” you asked frantically.

“Oh, that was me,” Spider joked with a beaming smile. “I crashed the ship.”

“And Payakan totally messed up those soldiers too, but we’ll explain more later! Let’s go!” Neteyam waved his hand.

You had a pressing question. “Is your father alive?”

“He’s more than fine!” the young warrior replied proudly.

“Yeah, he kicked some ass out there,” Spider added.

Your chest felt lighter listening to their words, but that was short lived when gunfire erupted, your hand pulling the back of Neteyam’s neck low as you shielded him with your body. Graciously, Eywa provided protection from the bullets by allowing you and the boys to scurry just in time behind some equipment. You couldn’t see where the soldiers were that fired at you, heartrate thumping hard against your breast, getting you even more excited when you saw Lo’ak jump down and, using an automatic rifle, blasted holes through the soldiers who were about to find where you hid.

“Holy shit,” Spider breathed in awe.

“Bro, that was insane!” Neteyam cheered his little brother on.

“We can congratulate ourselves later, move,” you begged only for more soldiers to aim their weapons at you, shooting in your direction.

Your hand grabbed Spider out of the way as you watched Neteyam and Lo’ak jump into the safety of the moonpool unharmed, but you were still ensnared by the rage of bullets devastating the environment, unable to dive into the water. So close, yet so fucking far.

“(Y/N)! This way!” the kid shouted, finding a tiny opening amongst the ship’s cargo and smaller vessels.

Following the nimble human, you barely made it away from the chaos only to stumble upon the decks below to witness something more sinister than just armed men.

Ardmore was in her Skel Suit with all the remaining Recoms at attention. The only ones who were missing were Miles and Lyle. Feeling a shift in your gut, there was something about that woman you still couldn’t quite narrow down. Then her voice echoed off the steal walls and gripped your soul, hair standing on your neck.

"As you know, the Colonel has gone soft on me. He's become feral, erratic. His methods are questionable, testing my patience... and trust. On the docks, we were hit by a Tulkun and ambushed by the hostiles, losing countless including a few Recombinants. The captain is still MIA, and the kid the Colonel allowed to be his pet has crashed the ship. This is all becoming one great mess. I've lost faith that he can get the job done, so I'm switching things up. I no longer trust Project Phoenix. I can no longer put my faith in beings that can evolve to become disloyal. As of this moment, I'm retiring the Deja Blu Team."

Your brow pinched together at the General’s last statement, then worried eyes shot to Prager who bravely stepped forward out of line.

“Sir, we’ve been nothing but loyal. You gonna put us on kitchen duty when our Colonel has Sully in his sights!? We’re so close to finishing this!”

It was as if his words fell on ears stuffed with cotton, as an annoyed Ardmore lifted her metallic arm with a huff “—just shut up—” and shot Prager through the forehead.

His body fell limp onto the floor with a crunch as his hallowed skull cracked from the force.

“No!!!” Z-dog shouted before her brains spitted out her skull.

The rest of the Recoms were executed the same way, bodies toppling over. Mansk was shot through the back of his head by a soldier he didn’t see coming. Now his black sunglasses splintered from the hole that gaped where his eye should be. Spider almost made a noise before you caught him in a hug, diverting his eyes from the massacre.

Shocked, your ears turned flat in horror at what you just saw.

Prager

Fucking Prager you shared a stupid kiss with in the half-finished, half-assed Recom issued barracks.

Everyone was dead….

"We need to go," you whispered to the kid, who you felt was shaking.

He peered up and softly nodded his head ‘ok’ before you were making your way to find somewhere to exit this ship of growing nightmares. But as you were sneaking behind crates and various machinery, your tail happened to be so cruel by accidently hitting a metal barrel, disturbing the air with a low vibration.

A soldier spotted you and bellowed, “Na’vi!”

"Run!" You pushed Spider forward away from a thwack of bullets that shot through the metal beams close by, clanking and sparking as they ricocheted.

You were too big to be agile, as the space around you dwindled from the encroaching soldiers following closely behind, limiting the places where you could escape to. But Spider wasn’t challenged, slipping easily past all the works and nooks making you happy that he could get away.

"Come on!" He shouted, an encouraging hand waving for you to follow.

“Shit!” You spat as you ran and dodged what you could, feeling your skin burst open on your arm as a bullet grazed through the tissue.

When you managed to find cover, leaning your back against a wall, you frantically looked around for Spider, who you had lost in the skirmish.

Fuck!

You had to keep moving, so you said a quick prayer before pealing yourself off the wall, holding your bleeding arm, and climbing up a stairwell to the upper deck. The breeze was a small relief allowing you to catch a break for your fatigued lungs, until you heard the click of a rifle. Slowly, you faced the source of the noise and saw Lyle. His focus was serious, gun unshaken.

“Lyle…” you said carefully.

“You killed them,” his voice broke.

Your hand dug into your arm as you tried to stop the bleeding slipping through your fingers, lifting the other in your defense before you argued pleadingly, “I haven’t had a weapon since my capture and if I did, why the fuck would I kill my friends!?”

You could see the falter in the Corporal’s eyes despite his finger never leaving the trigger.

“Please…Ardmore…she…”

That seemed to cause Lyle’s chest to heave strongly as he made his judgement, shaking his chin as he didn’t want to believe your words. But before he could lay his bullets in you, something massive hit the ship again, sending you flying overboard into the water.

You pried your soaked self out of the waves, spitting the sea from your mouth. The rocks under your hands were slippery as you made your way up the wet surface. Then the sky began to dim, eclipse creating a crescent of light as the planets slowly shut out the sun. Looking over to the SeaDragon, the damage was severe. Smoke rose from the engines with fire beginning to engulf the framework. That was when you noticed a Tulkun carrying away Lo'ak and Neteyam by the fin. They were alive. They were safe…but you still couldn't see Spider anywhere.

You hissed when the pain in your arm rang through your muscle, pulsating hot, making you take your eyes off the Sully boys and onto your pierced skin. Tugging off your shirt, baring your torso save for a sports bra and soaked bandages, you wrapped your arm, using your teeth to tug and secure the fabric tightly. A groan reverberated through your lungs at the bruising pull around your arm, blood slowing to a trickle, but your moment of exhaustion diminished when your eyes fell onto the demon that brought you so much agony.

You glared through your brow watching Ardmore before eyes widened when you saw what she had in her grip. A glimpse of Spider’s blonde locks startled you.

No…

He struggled and yanked in her hold being tugged along roughly until they walked out of view.

You couldn’t let the General live another day, even if it meant that this night could be your last, you wanted her dead. Gathering your rage and picking yourself up on shaky legs, you dived back into the ocean.

Night was here and you were ready to hunt.

Eywa give me strength.

~

Emerging from the water with careful silence, you climbed into death’s mouth. Bodies littered the SeaDragon deck, one catching your attention. It was Ja. Patting through his clothes, you found a sizable knife. Continuing over the mess, fire blazed around you so warm that your skin cooked under the heat. Everything was loud and chaotic as the whole ship screamed while its framework and gears broke apart. This had you thrilled, even feeling blessed, because you knew Ardmore couldn’t get away.

Then you came upon a distant clanking echo. As you advanced toward the sound, you saw the dark outline of a small body. Fidgeting with his restraints, Spider was tied to a railing. He grunted and swore under his breath until he noticed you running to him.

“No! It’s a trap!” Your knife sliced through the orange handcuffs as he shouted.

You didn’t listen, more focused on being glad that he was live, a little scratched, but alive, briefly kissing his fuzzy hair. Then Ardmore sprang from above out of the shadows with a roar, spear colliding with the metal floor where you once kneeled, dodging her attack thanks to your better hearing.

“Spider, GO!” you yelled. “NOW!!!”

Without hesitation, he listened and dashed away, jumping into the black sea with flashlight in hand.

The General adjusted herself in her Skel Suit, straightening her form, gripping hard against a double-bladed spear. It looked custom made for killing larger pray…for killing Na’vi.

“I was hoping for Jake, but you’ll do. Either way, they’ll come…one for his whore, the other to kill,” she taunted.

Lifting the hand that held Ja’s knife, your fangs bared themselves followed by a low, vicious hiss as you challenged the tiny human needing a metal skeleton to match your strength. The fingers wrapped around the handle of your blade readjusted and curled tighter preparing, your other hand balling into a fist in front of you as counterbalance.

“I’m gonna butcher you…then when I’m done, I’ll kill your whole family starting with that little brat!” Ardmore seethed.

With the wrath of a taronyu, a mother, a mate, you barreled toward the enemy, Sylway’s spirit making your legs bolt fast like you were flying.

~

Spider gasped and propelled his legs and arms to keep him afloat, clambering onto some rocks. Laying down on his back, he could feel the rapid pulse of his heartbeat in his stomach.

"Spider!" Miles cried out.

The kid shot up. Finally, someone who wasn’t trying to kill him.

"Are you alright!?” The Recom searched the boy for any wounds.

“(Y/N)! She’s alive! Ardmore! It was her! She—she—! Prager’s dead—they’re all dead! She killed them all!” Spider stammered, still recovering from the tiring swim.

"What the hell are you saying, kid!?"

Gulping down some more air, Spider yelled, “Ardmore killed them! Mansk, Z-dog, Prager, Lopez! (Y/N) is still on the ship—she got between me and Ardmore so I could get away! She’s gonna die!”

Miles ground his teeth. Everything he lived for, everything he was told to be, the human legacy of Quaritch he was meant to preserve, felt bitter and alien. The Recombinants were commodified and expendable. Miles shook his head, patting his vest to see how much ammo he had left to find nothing, so he unsheathed his blade and took a deep breath.

Focus.

“Spider, where is she?” he asked firmly.

“She’s on the weld deck, near the moonpool.”

Spider’s eyes filled with concern as he noticed the calculating look that Miles was giving the distance, watching the burning SeaDragon. From where the Recom stood there was movement in the distance that directed his attention from the ship, over the black ocean, to a small cluster of boulders. Jake and his family huddled together recovering from the battle. A bold and stupid idea formed in the Recom’s mind.

“You’re crazy…” the kid said honestly, a little fearful.

“You got any better ideas,” he responded.

After a brief swim, Spider and Miles came upon a stretch of rocks that would be their pathway to approaching the Sully family. The kid went ahead to be a friendly face before the Recom would expose himself to whatever anger Jake and his wife held toward him. He’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t terrified, heart pounding in his chest at this insane move.

“He’s what—!?” Jake yelled at the kid.

Then Neytiri hissed, drawing her bow, as Miles made his way very carefully over the slippery rocks, palms empty in the air.

“Wait!” Spider pleaded.

Jake stepped forward with rifle pointed.

“Take one step closer—!” he warned.

Keeping his hands up, Miles breathed a little slower, finding the right words.

“I need your help. They have (Y/N).” His tail curved down, slightly tucking between his leg, hearing the clinking of the rifle trigger ready to fire through him any second.

Worry in her eyes, Neytiri’s ears curved back before she turned her head at her mate. Hearing that you were in danger, after too long being separated, made her want to run and kill every single human who dared touch you. She wanted you home.

Tuk whimpered your name, hugging a little tight around Kiri. The rest of the Sully children’s faces etched with fear for your wellbeing.

“You can kill me when this is over…just please…save her…help me save her,” Miles steadily begged.

“Why the hell do you care about someone you held hostage for months!?” Jake couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Because he loves her…” Kiri’s soft voice spoke up.

The small comment from his daughter had Jake looking back at her and then to Miles, studying the way the Recom’s eyes fell shut with his lips tightening, almost afraid to hear the words that bound him to you spoken aloud.

Neytiri shot a look at Miles. Jake only released some air with a subtly of irony playing at the edge of his lips. He must’ve truly looked like a demon from where he held his hands up in the shadows. The only source of light on him was the burning flames of the SeaDragon reflecting off his shiny skin that appeared navy in the dim light. Spider then stood in the space between Jake and the Recom.

“Saving her life, that’s all that matters,” the boy added.

“Dad…” Kiri placed a small hand on her father’s shoulder, head tilting as she studied the Recom.

There was something in those eyes of the young Na’vi Miles couldn’t quiet place. She could see the change in him. She understood what he needed from Jake.

“Then let’s get it done,” Jake answered.

~

Your one lid swelled over your eye, covering your vision. You had fought hard, dodging the General’s attacks until she had managed to slice through your calf that made it difficult to move. Then she had you under her, using her metal hands to punch your face until you submitted, mouth filling with blood and staining your teeth.

Legs long collapsed from fatigue, you slouched against the pole your hands were currently locked together around. Your ear perked up when you heard the whirring of Ardmore’s Skel Suit as she steadied herself behind you. Her men stood guard anxious. All they had to do was wait.

“They’ll come…one for his whore, the other to kill.” Her words played inside your head over and over, making you grind your jaw tightly as the blood from your nose and forehead dripped over your face.

Then you heard screaming in the distance.

The killing had begun.

Ardmore motioned for her men to advance and fight, leaving fewer soldiers at her disposal. You smiled weakly, teeth red, thinking it funny how she’d run out of men sooner or later in her desperation to weed out Jake from the darkness.

Eventually, only five men stood with the General, ready to piss themselves.

Your heart beat faster when you saw Miles tossing a dead man aside as he approached the weld deck, blood speckled along his skin and face.

“Hold your fire!” Ardmore vocalized.

The Recom halted his stride, knife in hand dripping with blood.

“You betrayed me, Colonel.”

The only response Miles gave to the General’s comment was with a swipe from the back of his wrist over his dirty mouth, cleaning the gore off his face.

“I know you’re infatuated with this one—” she yanked your head back by the braid causing you to whine “—now all I must do is wait. You came for her…Jake will come for you. Hell, I might even get a kick watching you two fight.”

“Anyone who still has an ounce of self-preservation left in them: RUN.” Miles’ tone was stern and commanding over the blistering air, sparks flying from the crumbling debris.

It was funny how title and rank meant nothing when the odds stacked unevenly against selfish men. The remaining soldiers that stood around the General fled for their lives, believing in their own best interest before sacrificing themselves for a lost cause.

“Get back here!” Ardmore screamed, but it was too late. She was alone.

Miles then took a step.

“Don’t test me!” she seethed.

The sting of a blade pressed firmly into your throat as your head was held back uncomfortably by the lone woman’s metallic grip on your hair. But then the presence of the knife left you neck unexpectedly, only for your eyes to widen as you felt your braid being pulled taut.

You felt the whole world still, your whole body frozen.

Ardmore placed her blade at the underside of your braid near your scalp.

“If I don’t get to have Jake, you don’t get to have her,” the woman heckled.

“Just kill her!” you yelled, head painfully tugged when you spoke.

“Stop!” Jake hollered as he hurtled himself over some cargo. “Let her go, and you can have me!”

“We can do this another way!” Miles shouted at him,

“Do you love her or not!?”

The Recom was taken aback before he realized his pause.

“Yes, I do,” he answered evenly.

An arrow shot through Ardmore from behind. She stumbled forward, letting your hair go, gasping as she peered down at the massive arrow head stuck through her chest. Then another sliced into her body, this time causing her to completely lose control of her footing and faceplant into the deck. Her blood pooled under her while she took her last breath.

Neytiri jogged into the light, hissing at the dead body, before turning to you and cutting your restraints with her knife. You were weak, falling into her arms. She hugged you and kissed the top of your head.

“Thank you, Great Mother!” she praised.

Finding enough strength to stand with the aid of your sister, you found yourself pushing away from Neytiri gently as your feet shuffled you to your mate.

Miles grabbed hold of you tightly with a hand cradling the back of your head. You cried into his chest. He found your lips and kissed you repeatedly before picking you up and carrying you away.

He had you.

You were safe.

It was over.

[redactedgoose]

Here's my piece for the first day of Phantasy Phest- Fantasy Eldritch AU @phantasycentral

Danny stares up at the building. It's nondescript, just some random office building in Chicago.

Or, so one would think.

He takes the last few steps to the door, raises his hand, and knocks.

Truth be told, some random, nondescript office building in uptown Chicago wasn't exactly what he was imagining when he agreed to go to the Conclave.

He sticks his hands in his pockets and stares up at the door, waiting to be let in.

Becoming the King of Ghosts wasn't something that he had planned on. Finish middle school, go to high school, go to college for something STEM related and get his master's degree or go to one of the NASA pilot schools, and be an astronaut. That had been the plan.

And then... zap, and ghosts were real and also his problem.

Danny sighs and knocks again.

"You know, if you don't let me in I'll just phase through the door," he calls.

He's in his human form right now, which is probably why they're ignoring him. Though, it is his first time at the Conclave, and the first time a ghost has been to one in a very long time.

The door opens soundlessly; no one stands there. Alright, he can appreciate the creepy aesthetic.

He strides in through the door, head held high. As he crosses the boundary, he lets his transformation wash over him. His steps lighten as his hair does, gravity and color both bleeding from him. The faint chill and weight of his crown settles over his head and his shoulders become just a tad bit heavier as his cloak manifests out of the aether, the fabric-but-not flaring out behind him as he walks.

The inside of the building is nothing like the outside. The plain, ordinary facade outside is carried over for about seven or eight steps before he comes upon a shimmering barrier. Stepping through it feels like walking through a cool mist, faint popping spreading over his skin from the magic in it.

Past that point, the interior design matches up better to his imagination of the locale of the Conclave. It looks like the inside of an old castle, the dingy grey linoleum switching to a warm, wooden floor covered in a blood red carpet. The walls are stone instead of the off-white painted drywall, stretching high up to thick, wooden beams that bracket the tall, arched ceiling. Torches are positioned at regular intervals on the walls, burning with a pale purple flame; heavy and dark metal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, that same pale purple flame burning there instead of any candles.

He continues to walk down the red carpet—ha—to the massive, sweeping staircase at the end of the hall. The thing is made out of what looks like the same stone as the walls and the carpet continues up the stairs to the large, arched double doors.

Honestly, if it wasn't for his innate sense of space, he'd think that the magic barrier was a teleportation spell. As it was, it was only thanks to just that that he knew this was a sort of pocket dimension. He was in the same general area relative to where the building was, but slightly... to the left? Tilted. A little liminal, which he liked. He wasn't too familiar with the living's magic, but even he could tell that this was an impressive feat.

Danny finishes his ascent, finally standing in front of the double doors. They're similar to the chandeliers in that they're made out of that same dark metal. It couldn't be iron, though.

He opens the doors with a push of his telekinesis and strides through. A massive, circular table seating eleven greets him, the marble covered by a black runner and topped with more of those silver light candles in an intricate candle holder.

"Hello," he greets the assorted eleven mildly. "You have me at a disadvantage. My name is Danny Phantom. You all are...?"

Oh, some of them bristle at that. He can taste their irritation and incredulity. If he came back to another Conclave, they'd get to know very fast that he wasn't one to be respectful unless it was earned. Yes, these people were the rulers of their respective species. No, Danny didn't give a shit.

Surprisingly, one's threshold for respect and the like tended to shift after getting into fistfights with gods at the tender age of fourteen.

The woman at the head of the table speaks up first, raising her chin. "I am Queen Adelaide of the Witches. We tend to the this hall that hosts the Conclave, and bid you welcome to our table."

Her purple eyes flick over to look to the man next to her. He's thin-boned and almost waifish, reminding Danny of a hummingbird. His ears are also long and come to a point, but the feathers that sprout from his brows and wrap around his temples to mix into his hair strike out elf.

"I am King Ashok of the Avians."

Danny inclines his head to him. Just as before, though, the next person starts to talk almost immediately afterwards. He's tall, even sitting, with broad shoulders. His face is long, and his thick, bushy sideburns stretch down to his chin.

"King Bedwyr of the Werecreatures. I represent all the Were tribes."

It makes sense, since his eyes are also an inhuman amber gold. A werewolf, perhaps? Or a werebear? Danny dips his head once more. He's not too well-versed in were politics, since the Dead tribes are fiercely independent and territorial. Wulf was a bit of an outlier in that regard.

"Welcome, Phantom," the next woman says with a smile. It's sharp, though, and the lack of a title before his name is quite telling. "I am Myrto, Queen of the Sirens."

Ahh, alright.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," he returns, just as mildly as his greeting. "I've always enjoyed talking with Queen Peisinoe when visiting her domain in the Realms. She's told me many stories about her time amongst the living. She and Lady Pandora are some of my dearest friends."

It becomes a little difficult to hold onto his mild smile as her eyes widen slightly and her face twists like she's bitten into a lemon, though.

He might be young, but he's been dealing with ghost politics for a while now. He can recognize the snub and return fire just as well as any of these people.

Peisinoe had told him how bratty the current Siren Queen was, though, so he's not too surprised.

"'ello!" The next woman, a chubby and red-cheeked lady with long, brown hair and a fur coat smiles at him. "I'm the Queen of the Selkies. Just call me Boann, though, King Phantom."

"Call me Danny, then," he returns, smile growing and morphing into something a little more genuine.

"I am King Celal of the mer. I represent all from under the water. It is a pleasure to meet the keeper of the Below Deeps."

Right. In the mers' religion, that's their afterlife. It's a pretty cool area, even if Danny doesn't often go. He makes the water too cold for some of the people living there.

"Well met, King Phantom." The next man looks similar to King [Avian], but without the feathers and with longer ears. His hair's long and thin and his skin is almost unhealthily pale. "I am the Erlkönig, the Elf King. You may call me Eadric."

"Well met."

"I'm Enitan, King Under the Mountains. Nice to meet ya!" The dwarf king is taller than Danny would've imagined, but the impressive, braided strawberry blond beard he's sporting fits right in.

The next person starts to talk even as Danny's still nodding at the Dwarf King.

"I am Verner, King of the Dragons." The man's eyes are like liquid gold and slitted like a cat's. Faint golden scales trail across his pronounced cheekbones up to and across his forehead, though it's harder to see them there thanks to the King's blond bangs.

"I am Doroteia, Queen of the Nymphs," the final woman says. She wouldn't look out of place in the Realms with her green skin and plant matter hair, vines and leaves cascading down her back.

"And finally, I am Ciprian, King of the Vampires." The last man says. He sits next to the Witch Queen, on the side opposite to the Avian King. They almost look like siblings, with the same pale skin—though Adelaide's was paler—and long dark hair. The only other distinguishing mark between them was the Vampire King's blood red eyes and more angular features.

"Thank you all for the welcome," Danny says, nodding to everyone in general.

He floats forward from the doors to the table, not putting on the pretense of walking. There's one open space there, but no chair.

Danny stops a short distance from the table. The others' chairs look standard and not like they'd brought or made them, so it wasn't a test of any kind.

Hm. Well...

"Queen Adelaide, you bid me welcome to your table. Was that merely a platitude?" He asks, perfectly and unnaturally still.

Tsk, tsk. Offering hospitality and then not being hospitable was quite the dangerous business—she of all people would know, keeping an elf in her council.

"Phantom," Adelaide starts, a pretty smile gracing her face despite the snub she just dealt, "You are the first of your kind in centuries to grace our halls. Please forgive us, of course, for being..." she trails off slightly, a tilting head cascading dark hair off her shoulder. "Hesitant."

"Oh?" Danny fishes.

"You wear an oversized crown, child," Verner butts in, chin high and draconic pride very clearly showing through. "More to that, you look human. What proof is there that you are whom you say you are?"

Ah. Ah.

Danny takes a breath. Then, he... relaxes. The boundaries between living and dead, thin that they already are in him, dissolve down to the merest atom, a whisper of a breath on knife's edge. Power whips about him with enough force to tousle his hair and toss the ends of his cloak about even as it shifts, lengthens, the night sky growing from his shoulders. His form unspools from his remnants of mortality, growing and bathing the space in him. Nebulae dance around the edges of the room, a starlight glow emanating from his form. The chill of deep space is contained easily enough, massing with the inexorable pull of gravity that makes up the dark of his chest and limbs. His crown floats over his head, burning the cold blue of ice planets, spikes of the stuff climbing in delicate spires. Small satellites orbit his crown—four of them, all different colors.

For all that Danny was starstuff, his eyes always were of the Realms. Green, green like the air and the earth and the everything that made up the Realms. Pure ectoplasmic green burns in his eyes, bright enough to be supernovae in their own right.

"Is this what you imagined? Am I properly monstrous now?" Danny asks, voice echoing throughout the room. He watches the Were King's fur raise, the Avian King's feathers ruffle. "I maintain a visage of humanity by my own liking, but I am so much more than just that."

He lets his form drift just a little more, his chest and arms whisping out like his legs until he's more or less a star-studded amorphous mass with a head on top. Even that, though, is... Other. His mouth is too large, he knows, and his eyes too deep and too many, all contained within his sockets, irises many and varied as stars in the sky.

His crown burns cold over his head, hanging in the air.

"I am the Shield of the After, Protector of the Beyond. I am the One Between, the Balance, the Shepard, and the Guiding Star. The Tyrant-Killer. Deathless and Lifeless. I am the High King of the Infinite Realms."

As much as he had raged against taking the crown—all he was trying to do was protect his town, after all—he couldn't help but admit to himself that he... kinda liked it. Not the power, of course. That he could do without. All that paperwork? The bowing and scraping? Nah.

But the fact that he was able to do these things, to be these things... to help the dead as much as the living... it soothed something in him, fulfilled him in a way that being the protector of Amity did.

"I accepted the invitation to this Conclave with the hope of improving relations between the Living and the Dead. I did not come to be ridiculed and doubted, especially by mere mortals such as yourselves."

He can see the various Rulers' breaths misting in the air, the temperature dropping father by the second. Space was cold, after all. Danny very graciously doesn't allow the oxygen and atmosphere to vacate as it would in actual space.

Mostly.

He doesn't want to kill them, after all, just... give them a little scare.

The edges of the room waver, the witches' spellwork trembling under his presence. He extends what may have once been a hand but now resembled more of a tendril, or perhaps a bit of a galactic swirl, towards the nearest surface.

It happens to be the table.

It takes laughably little energy to shore up the witches' spellwork, the space growing more defined in an instant.

Pettily, he also adds a chair to the weave. It's just barely bigger than the others' chairs, made from ice and upholstered in neon green fabric.

He positions his form above the chair and beings the annoying process of reeling himself back into something manageable and humanoid, gravity increasing and compounding until the black of his body folds onto itself, defined edges forming once more. He reels the stars back into himself, tucking plenty inside his cloak. The chill, however, doesn't completely disappear.

Danny's head is the last thing to come back to normal, growing smaller and less mindbendingly awful and settling in its proper position on his neck. His eyes don't quite go back to normal either, though. He keeps the depth and the multiplicity, since he's been complimented on their fear-inducing properties many a time.

"Now, may we begin?" Danny asks politely, voice merely ethereal instead of booming and all-encompassing.

Pale, the Witch Queen just nods.

---

"So, how was it?" Sam asks him later, fastballing a chocolate chip muffin directly at his forehead as he walks in through the door.

"Did the vampires sparkle?" Tucker yells his question from further into their shared home.

Danny snorts, snatching the muffin from where he'd instinctively made it bob in the air, held inches away from his skin. "The vampire didn't sparkle, Tuck. And it was pretty fun! I got to go full abomination!"

"Hell yeah." Sam holds her hand up and he returns the high five. "Whatever they did, they deserved it."

Danny laughs as he drops onto their couch. "Yeah, they're not going to make that mistake again any time soon."

[nothwell]

Chapter Seven of Theo - a transmasc historical MM romance inspired by Little Women - is up on Patre♡n, wherein our heroes endure a Christmas.

~

“All right!” Annabelle cried. “Open your eyes!”

Theo dropped his hands. His well-practiced smile froze on his lips as his eyes fell upon the waist-high white cage assembled in the center of the room.

Myrtle and Mother stood on either side of it, holding it up and beaming with pride, while Annabelle hopped around them both, bursting with excitement.

“Isn’t it marvelous?” Annabelle cooed, looking as if she’d like to crawl under the cage’s domed roof herself.

“Yes,” Theo lied, and put all his effort into maintaining his smile as he stepped forward to touch the cage—a whalebone crinoline, to hang under his skirts. He hoped his shocked dismay would read as wonderful disbelief.

“Don’t pout just because it isn’t steel,” said Myrtle.

~

Joining me on Patre♡n will give you access to “drawer fic” – aka the 500k+ words worth of manuscripts that have been shelved until I figure out how to fix or finish them. You'll also be invited to join an exclusive Discord server just for patrons!

A new chapter will go up every week. Missing (unwritten) scenes will be indicated by brackets describing what would probably happen if the scene were written. Example: [in this scene Aubrey and Lindsey ride a carousel]

Currently posting… ♡ Theo. (transmasc historical mm romance)

Completed works... ♡ the Aubrey & Lindsey solar fantasy project (mm) ♡ A Willing Canvas - John Halloway x Lord Cyril Graves (mm) ♡ The Train Job - Rowena Althorp x Rebekah (ff) ♡ Hold Fast 2 - Hold Faster (mm) ♡ Vampires Vampires Vampires (mmm) ♡ The Sebastian Nothwell Contemporary Expanded Universe (mmm+)

See you on Patre♡n!

[queervocasongtourn]

PREVIOUS BRACKET INFORMATION

Here I will place all information regarding past brackets and rounds!

SIDE A

Round 1

Ladies First vs Summer Idol

Alluring Secret Black Vow vs Alice in N.Y.

Lie vs I (愛)

secret vs Q&I

Reincarnated Girl and Reincarnated Boy vs The Thought to Tell

I am a broken umbrella vs girlfriend in blue

Heart Democracy vs Unsightly Creatures

Games vs Let's Be Honest

You Whom I Loved vs Milk Tea

Shoujo Rei vs Villain

Shama vs Zero Talking

Yowai Hito vs Bird of Pride

God Mistook My Gender vs Piercing the Viscera

Passenger Seat Road Movie vs Kissing Fish

Pixel Pixies vs B-Babylon

Genetic Menace vs Yaki, Soba ni...

SIDE B

Round 1

Wooden Girl ~Thousand Year Wiegenlied~ vs Daughter of White

Bunmei Kaika Girl vs Amore

Jekyll & Hyde vs Step For A Crescent

Girl Eraser vs World's End Dancehall

Girlfriend vs To Ganymede and Back

Aijou Rettousei vs Pajamy

Collared vs Caffè Latte

Would You Try vs Love in Secret

Himeyuri Enbukyo vs Star Light

Reunion vs Fireflies Never Came

Reverse Rainbow vs Promise

KOISURU⭐︎BEAM vs Liz no Naishin Kakumei

Suimenka vs Miseen

Gender vs I don't wanna be a girl

Lower One's Eyes vs IDSMILE

thinking city vs The Witch of the Geo-Science Room

[autisticgirliesbracket]

What makes Delmin from Show by Rock!! Mashumairesh!! the autistic girlie ever of all time? Here's what the people have to say:

Delmin-related asks/reblogs: x This post will be updated after each round!

Image ID in alt text and under the readmore.

[Image ID. White slide with a screenshot of Delmin from the Mashumairesh!! anime in the top right corner. She has a text box next to her which reads,

"from op: I'm aware that maybe not many people will be interested in the spinoff anime to another spinoff anime based on a mobile rhythm game published by Sanrio. but show by rock is one of MY special interests so Delmin gets to be on the bracket <3 she truly feels like a character that was made for me in terms of how autism she is... Delmin has a flat affect, her safefoods are fried egg and potato croquettes. she is intensely attached to her stuffed animal which others think makes her seem childish, but it has a lot of sentimental value for her. she goes "shubi" because that's a vocal stim for her. a big part of her character arc in the anime is feeling like an outsider wherever she goes; she's too small to fit in with the other Devil-Dragon Myumon, but she's too awkward to fit in with city Myumon. she lives alone and is so shy she barely ever answers the door. Delmin doesn't understand social etiquette in general actually, she outright states that "i don't really understand what it means to be friends" and will do things like try and quantify friendship into numbers, telling her bandmates that she is glad they are "100% friends" because of what they've faced together. she also does things that are #weird but she doesn't realise, like how she carries around a flute which is carved from her dead grandpa's horn and she plays it when she wants to show he trust someone deeply. her friends are like, girl what!! but they appreciate the gesture. also Delmin can shoot a laser from her horns, literally Autism Beam!!! which she threatens to use at any minor inconvenience or against anyone who has slighted her friends. a very ride or die kind of person. her relationship with Ruhuyu is very charming and isn't explicitly stated to be romantic, just "me and the bad bitch I pulled by being autistic" vibes, but the twist is that they're both autistic." End ID.]

[vixlenxe]

He has spot of orange & green on his wrist, & he's smiling at it as if trying to imbue the shine of his smile into the fabric itself. It was a delightful from of expression! A form of protection for your love... oh, how sweet it was truly!

And she's a giggling mess about it. A Pink & white bracelet rested firmly on her right wrist & the sight of the brackets, along with the sight of their rings, just made her giggle like mad.

"You have a splendid laugh, Lumière étoiles." Haurchefant hummed. Enclosing his arms around the smaller elezen. Making Ivy hop up to her toes to wrap her own arms around his neck.

"I can't help it, you make me so happy, I can only laugh." Ivy beamed. "I love you, Haurchefant. And everyday I'm blessed I still have you."

That organ in his chest both fluttered & pounded. Years spent together, of knowing each other, but still she makes his heart race as if it was still the first day they confessed to each other. She still had such strong effects on him. "I love you too, Ivy. Thank you, for everything."

Though the busy streets of Radz-at-Han sang & danced around them, they might as well not exist. For as far as these two elezens were concerned, it was just the two of them here, & the fireworks lighting up the night. Held warmly in each other's embrace, eyes that flicked between each other, & the lightshow created to celebrate Heavensturn.

Once more, Ivy sprang to her toes, her hand moving onto her husband's chin to make him look back down at her. Silently, they shared the eye contact for a lengthy moment, blocking out even that of the fireworks they once watched. Ocean & sapphire staring longingly back at each other.

"Happy Heavensturn, my love."

"A most happy Heavensturn indeed, dearest."

~chu~

[tears-and-smiles-ao3]

The real treasure

Geraskier, Geralt and family, rated M for implied references to chastity, implied/referenced sex but basically family feels

"Oh, come on, Geralt, it'll be fun," Jaskier pleads, all doe eyes as he waves a hand-drawn treasure map around in the air.

Geralt watches him from his seat on the sofa and purposefully ignores what his lover is saying.

Instead, he takes in the outfit Jaskier has chosen to wear. His white frilly shirt is left partially open, showing off his gorgeous chest hair. His open burgundy waistcoat drapes down just inches from where Geralt knows his sensitive nipples lie.

The gold chain Jaskier always wears glistens in the morning light shining through the curtains of their apartment as he stalks over to him. His prowling also shows off how tight his striped pants are, clinging in just the right way to his legs.

When Jaskier marches over and stands before him, Geralt can’t resist raising an eyebrow.

"That's not how you convince me,” he insists, even as Jaskier sits down on his lap. Sighing, Geralt presses pause on his game and sets down the controller in the empty space by his left.

He turns back to Jaskier, giving him his whole attention as the world zeroes in on the pleasant weight of his lover on his thighs.

"Look, you'll love it. You might even get an extra reward," Jaskier encourages, waggling his eyebrows.

"Hmm, and yet we could just skip straight to that part," Geralt suggests, gripping tight onto Jaskier's hips and pulling him flush against him.

Jaskier groans, responding by grinding down for a moment, but then seems to remember his goal. He tuts, putting a hand against Geralt’s chest and pushing himself back to create space between them.

"No sex unless you find all four keys,” he chastises.

He's pouting, and Geralt wants to curse himself with how easily Jaskier can wrap him around his fingers.

"Fine,” he sighs again, “but give me a kiss before you send me on my quest, my prince."

“I’m not a prince, I’m a pirate.”

Despite Geralt getting it wrong, Jaskier smiles, beaming like the sun. His cheeks glow and his eyes gleam. He's magnificent, breathtaking.

His lover leans down, forcing Geralt to lie his head against the back of the sofa. Jaskier’s arms bracket each side and Geralt lets out a soft gasp. He’s being teased and he loves it.

At an achingly slow pace, Jaskier moves towards him. Geralt feels like he can't breathe as inch by inch Jaskier's lips get closer.

The world around them disappears as Jaskier presses his lips against his. They move slowly, building in intensity, and Geralt tries to keep still, warring with his desire to lift Jaskier up and carry him to bed.

Patience. He needs to be patient.

Instead he focuses on the way Jaskier tastes sweet like an apple as he licks inside his mouth.

Geralt growls and Jaskier chuckles in that way he does. It’s so intoxicating and Geralt doesn’t want this to end. When Jaskier pulls back, his mouth tries to follow that delicious taste.

“Uh, uh,” his lover reprimands, picking up the map once again. “You take this, look over it, and then wait 10 minutes for me to get a head start. When you find me, you can have me.”

Geralt whines a little, and Jaskier laughs again.

“Just look at it. Get into the spirit. Oh, and you might want to get changed out of your sweats.”

“Fine,” Geralt grumbles. The quicker they get this over with, the quicker he gets what he wants.

Trust Jaskier to use the promise of sex to get him to behave. He must be so predictable.

Sighing, he looks down at the piece of paper. Jaskier had spent many hours last night drawing it. Geralt thought he’d looked so cute with his tongue sticking out as he worked that he’d tried to kiss Jaskier but his lover swatted at him till he left him alone.

It seems these squiggles are the result, and Geralt’s eyes dart up and down as he tries to figure it out.

A dotted line meanders through a town map. It connects various things: a round plump green hairy berry, a white goat, a black cat and a castle on a mountain. Scratching his head, Geralt stares at the map for longer than he would ever admit.

Then suddenly, his eyes widen and he realises. Scrambling up out of his seat, he rushes to change into black jeans and a tight-fitting top. Then he grabs his jacket and keys, letting the front door slam shut behind him.

Yennefer’s eyes crinkle as she opens the door, watching Geralt barge in without so much as a hello.

“What am I meant to pick up from here?” he demands, already marching towards the sofa and plucking up cushions, tossing them on the floor.

“Geralt, I won’t have you making a mess because you’re annoyed at Jaskier’s game.”

He whips around like a bullet, and sees how she’s standing, one clenched fist leaning against the doorframe and with a sharp look in her eye.

“Fine,” he grumbles, not for the first time today. “But please put me out of my misery.”

“I know for a fact I am your first stop. You’re just tetchy. Stop it.”

Sighing, he lets his shoulder drop. He’s not going to get the answer from Yennefer by demanding it.

He bends over and picks up the cushions, settling them down on the sofa randomly. He’ll never get them into the right order, so why bother.

Yennefer must know he’s at least making an effort because she nods and then jerks her head toward the kitchen.

He pads behind her, like a dog with its tail between his legs. Her purple dress trails across the floor.

She walks up to the teas and busies herself, scooping out several spoonfuls of chopped green leaves into a teapot, then fills it with water.

She sets it on the stove, then turns around and rummages in a cupboard till she finds two matching cups and saucers.

Yennefer always did like being fancy. Adding to the ambience, or whatever she claimed.

“So,” she begins, “how are things?”

He shrugs. “Fine. Same as always.”

“Does Jaskier always send you off on treasure hunts?”

Grunting, Geralt decides he’s not going to answer that. Silence really is the better option most of the time.

The water must reach the desired temperature, because Yennefer wraps a towel around its handle and lifts it off the stove and onto a wooden tray.

“I’ve missed our chats,” Yennefer remarks, rearranging the cups even though there is no need to do it.

Geralt really doesn’t have time for this nonsense, but what else can he do? Stand here and think about how he’s going to pin Jaskier down as soon as he catches him?

It seems mildly inappropriate in front of his ex.

“You know, I was surprised that I’m your first visit, but maybe Jaskier likes toying with you as much as I do. You’re hilarious when you’re angry.”

“Am not,” Geralt huffs, folding his arms for a second, then realising just how it makes him look.

Jaskier is always teasing him for being stubborn. Damn him, he knows him too well.

“Well, maybe not,” Yennefer concedes. “Doesn’t matter why you’re here, I’m just glad to see you.”

She pours tea into both cups, then hands him one.

It smells bitter, acrid, but he’s drunk worse. He takes a few sips to be polite, then sets it down.

He really just wants to get the key and leave.

Just what is Jaskier playing at?

His skin is itching and he needs to move, so he begins pacing.

“I really thought we’d at least stay in touch more,” Yennefer admits.

“What?”

“It wasn’t all that bad, you know. And Jaskier still talks to me.”

He does? Geralt scrunches up his face, trying to figure out why.

“Oh, don’t be an idiot, Geralt. We’re not here bitching about you.”

He grunts, then sits down at the kitchen island. On it is a fruit bowl filled with apples and pears and he picks one up.

“What was the symbol drawn over my house again, Geralt?”

Huh? Geralt looks up at Yennefer and is about to shrug, then a thought hits him.

Gooseberries. They’re a fruit. This is a fruit bowl.

He drags the bowl towards him and immediately begins rummaging through the apples and pears.

He empties the full thing and, sure enough, there’s a small silver key lying at the bottom.

“Yen, what’s this?” he asks.

She turns, cup in hand, and smiles.

“Never could keep things hidden from you.”

He picks it up, turning it around between his finger and thumb.

Is it really that easy?

He looks at her for all of two seconds, then rushes out the room and towards the front door.

“Come visit again,” Yennefer yells after him.

Eskel is in his garage, rustling through his toolbox while Lil’ Bleater gripes at him. The tiny goat is wearing a small woollen pink sweater and jumps menacingly at the floor.

“Just let me find my hammer, Bleater, and we’ll get out and fix that fence together, alright.”

He’s wearing his red sweater and denim overalls, undone at the top so the straps hang around his waist. A screwdriver hangs out his pocket.

“And just where do I find the key Jaskier has hidden here?” Geralt asks, announcing his presence.

Eskel jumps at his voice, hitting his knuckles against the metal box with a clang.

“Fuck,” he swears, hissing as he pulls his hand out and sticks it under his other arm, putting pressure on it. “That really hurt, dickhead.”

Geralt coughs to cover a laugh, looking down at the floor as the tiny goat scrambles over to him on shaky legs, screaming loudly.

“She thinks you’re a dickhead, too.”

“Oh, I definitely am most of the time,” Geralt admits, looking up to see Eskel grinning at him.

He walks over to his brother and pulls him into a large hug. It had been a while since he’s visited, and he’d forgotten how nice it is just to be here with him.

“You should visit more,” Eskel chastises, as if reading his mind.

“I know,” Geralt agrees.

They’re about to pull back from each other when something small but strong bashes against their legs.

“Hey,” Eskel greets, reaching down and petting the little goat. “Let’s get you outside.”

It’s then that Geralt sees it. A small silver key hanging off of Lil’ Bleater’s collar.

“Jaskier, you cruel genius,” he states as he bends over and attempts to grab the key.

Lil’ Bleater has other ideas though, as she runs off, scampering towards the grass outside.

Laughing, Eskel claps Geralt on the shoulder.

“It was my idea. Bleater here needs exercise and you’ll do a fine job chasing her.”

Geralt glares at him, but can’t help the small smirk at the side of his lips.

“You’re welcome,” Eskel says, following his excitable pet out into the sun.

It takes almost an hour for Geralt to finally catch the damned goat, but she seems much happier with him now that she’s exhausted.

Eskel had fixed the fence ages ago and had watched his brother look like an idiot as he chased the small creature across the field.

“I think that’s the best idea I’ve had yet,” Eskel says, walking over to help Geralt get up. “Fancy a drink before you go?”

“Okay, yeah,” Geralt agrees, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Another hour later, Geralt is knocking on the door to Lambert and Aiden’s apartment.

He’s feeling much less keyed up now that he’s had a couple of beers. Perhaps that’s for the best.

Lambert could always antagonise him like no one else could.

Did Jaskier really plan out who to visit when, or is this just a coincidence?

He didn’t get to ponder it further because then the door opens and sees the blonde haired lover of his younger brother.

Aiden smiles, standing in the doorway in his blue shirt and pants, and waits for Geralt to say something.

“Hi, Aiden, can I come in?” Geralt asks.

He doesn’t know why Aiden makes him feel like a meek lamb. Is it the way he stands, arms gripping onto the doorframe? Maybe it’s his eyes that dart back and forth like he’s about to pounce?

Aiden smiles wider and Geralt sees those sharp fangs gleaming in the afternoon light.

“Sure,” he agrees, moving enough out of the way for Geralt to pass.

That’s when he notices a silver key hanging around Aiden’s neck, sitting on top of the golden one he’s always got there.

Geralt has never asked about that other key. He’d rather not get the answer he suspects it is.

Aiden smirks, and, fuck, Jaskier is going to pay for this later.

Probably in ways that he’d enjoy.

Anyway, it doesn’t matter because suddenly he’s walking into the main room and he sees Lambert on his hands and knees cleaning out the fireplace.

“Who was at the door?” his brother asks, still sweeping up burnt ash with a brush.

Geralt clears his throat, and Lambert flinches, turning around.

The pink apron he wears on top of his black t-shirt and slacks makes Geralt splutter, and Lambert scowls at him.

“Hey, asshole. Pretty boy going to help or just mock?”

“Now, darling,” Aiden intercedes before Geralt gets a chance to reply, “we don’t talk to guests in that way.”

For a second, Lambert looks like he isn’t going to back down, but then he sags and stands up, taking off his apron.

“Just going to wash my hands,” he explains as he walks out the room.

“Make sure to bring some scones back, darling,” Aiden calls out into the hall. Geralt doesn’t hear a reply, and Aiden doesn’t seem to care. He turns to Geralt and gestures towards one of two sofas.

Sitting down tentatively, Geralt drums his fingers against his leg while they wait.

Aiden lounges across the other sofa, with a smug look on his face, and folds one leg over the other.

It’s a tense five minutes until Lambert comes back into the room carrying a large tray packed full of scones, cream and jam.

“You didn’t need to,” Geralt begins to say, but Aiden interrupts him.

“Nonsense. This is our afternoon treat. We just assumed you’d be a bit later, is all.”

“What can I say, I always aim to disappoint.”

Lambert laughs at that. “Pretty boy’s got brains, it seems.”

“Tenacity,” Geralt corrects. He’s managed to get himself out of many a scrape in his time, but he wouldn’t call that anything other than street smarts.

“Modest, too,” Aiden chuckles as Lambert hands him a china plate. The scone on it is cut in two, piled high with jam and cream.

His brother hands him a similar plate, then settles down by Aiden’s feet and balances the last plate on his thigh.

The two of them start eating, and Geralt follows suit. All is quiet for a while, until Aiden breaks the silence, standing up.

“You can have the key, you know, after you and Lambert have a nice chat. That’s the deal. Keep your claws retracted.

Aiden gives Geralt a wink before he walks out the door, and then it’s just the two of them.

“Funny it takes our partners working in secret to get us together,” Lambert moans.

Geralt hums, then remembers Jaskier lecturing him about using his words.

Fuck, okay.

“How are you doing?” he asks his brother.

“Fine,” Lambert retorts. “You?”

“Alright, overall. Though this isn’t how I envisioned spending my day.”

“Because you hate visiting family?”

“Because I thought this hunt would involve a lot more running around than chatting.”

“Hmmm. You’ve given me a welcome reprieve from cleaning that, anyway,” Lambert says, pointing at the fireplace.

“Is the pink apron mandatory?” Geralt asks before he can stop himself.

“Hey, I like the colour,” Lambert exclaims, his face flaming.

Geralt shifts in his seat.

“Look, I’m sorry. I’m not a great conversationalist.”

“Well, how about this? You finish clearing out the fireplace and I’ll consider our chat completed.”

Lambert throws the pink apron at Geralt, who catches it and frowns.

“You’d really rather I clean instead of talking?”

Lambert growls, showing his teeth.

“Okay, okay, fine.”

An hour later, Aiden comes back into the room and the fireplace is sparkling.

“Well, that wasn’t too hard,” Aiden comments, holding out the small silver key towards him.

Geralt nods, taking the key and pocketing it.

“I’ll come back another time,” he says, nodding at Lambert before turning to walk out the room.

“I look forward to it, pretty boy,” Lambert teases, and Geralt laughs.

Some things would never change.

It’s been ages since he’d visited his foster dad’s place.

The castle, as Vesemir calls it, is an isolated shack at the base of a large hill. He likes to joke that his home is only for the hardy.

Even if Geralt can understand the desire to carve out his own space like this, it must be lonely sometimes.

His dad is at the door waiting on him, dressed in his usual brown sweater and blue jeans. He could never understand how Vesemir did it. Most people complained that Geralt always sneaked up on them, but his dad always knew when he’s nearby.

“Hello, son. It’s been a while,” Vesemir greets, opening his arms for a hug.

It feels nice, a comfort Geralt had forgotten about.

“I’m sorry,” he says into his dad’s shoulder.

“It’s fine. Not like I’ve been knocking down your door.”

Humming, Geralt lets his father release him of his guilt.

Vesemir pulls back and then nods towards the back yard.

“Come on,” he encourages, “We’ve got wood to chop.”

They both walk around the house, trailing a well worn path through the grass.

Out back, there’s a shed filled with branches and short logs, all ready to be chopped up into firewood.

Geralt heads towards it and grabs a few logs in his arms. He drops them beside the chopping block while Vesemir sits down and pulls out a hip flask.

“Want some?” he asks.

Geralt shakes his head. It’s been a long time since he’s chopped logs and he’s already had some alcohol, though the buzz has long since worn off.

It’s easy work and he gets into a steady rhythm, working through his pile quicker than he expects. He decides to collect a few handfuls so he can keep going for longer without stopping.

The sun is much lower in the sky by the time he finishes, and it leaves long shadows across the backyard.

He piles the last of the firewood into a basket, then rolls his shoulders to ease his aching muscles. He picks up the basket and takes it indoors, dropping it beside the fireplace.

“Thanks, son,” Vesemir says. He moves over to start working on a fire, but Geralt just chases him away.

“I’ll do that,” he states.

Vesemir raises his hands in defeat.

“Fine, fine. I’m going to get another drink. Will you have one with me?”

It’s getting late, but Geralt’s heart aches at the thought of leaving his dad all alone. How could he have put off visiting him for almost a year?

He gets the fire going quickly enough, and then he settles himself down in the chair beside his dad.

“How are things, son?”

“Good,” Geralt answers truthfully, twiddling the glass in his hands. “How’s you?”

“I’m doing alright. I love this place,” he states, gesturing around the room, “but it gets kinda too quiet after a while.”

“Yeah.”

“And life with Jaskier? Have you two made any plans for the future?”

“Marriage? No. No, we haven’t discussed it.”

“You don’t have to, you know. It’s enough to just be together.” Vesemir says quietly, looking down at his drink.

Just how lonely is he?

“Would you like a companion?” Geralt asks.

“Sometimes,” Vesemir admits. “But it’s okay when you boys come round.”

Geralt nods, feeling that pang of guilt in his stomach again. He finishes his drink in one last mouthful.

He’s about to get going when he remembers he’s supposed to find a key.

“Do you know where Jaskier…” Geralt starts asking, only for Vesemir to finish.

“Hid the key? Yes. It’s over on the table.”

“Thanks.” He gets up and clears away his glass, then pours his dad another large measure before he leaves.

“I promise to visit more often,” he vows.

“Next time bring Jaskier. He’s a breath of fresh air.”

Geralt nods, then puts his hand on his dad’s shoulder, squeezes once, then heads out the door.

It’s only when Geralt gets home that he realises he doesn’t know if this is where Jaskier wanted him to go.

He cracks open the door and sees there’s a single light on in their bedroom.

It’s late now, and Geralt has to stifle a yawn as he shuts the front door.

Sneaking across the creaky floorboards is easy. The door to their bedroom is ajar, and he peeks inside and sees the most adorable sight.

Jaskier is lying passed out across the bed covers, his breathing soft and even. He’s wearing bright yellow pyjama bottoms, nothing else, and his brown hair is all mussed up.

Geralt feels tired from his long day out, so he creeps in and undresses. He places the four keys down on the bedside table, then frowns at them.

What’s the point in all this if there is nothing to unlock?

It’s too late to think about it. Instead, he turns around and slowly rearranges Jaskier till he can get into bed with him.

He wraps his arm around him, snuggling his chin into Jaskier’s neck, and lets himself drift off to sleep.

In the morning, Geralt wakes to Jaskier placing kisses across his face.

“Hello, beautiful,” his lover greets, a sly smile on his lips. “Did you enjoy your treasure hunt?”

Geralt looks up at him, trying to get his brain to work. “I got the keys, but there was nothing to open.”

“Wasn’t there? Oh, well. I’ll just need to take back these restraints I bought.”

His eyes widen instantly, and then he grabs onto Jaskier and flips them.

“Hmmm, I’m going to enjoy this. But before you ravish me, did you have a good time yesterday?”

Geralt nods. It was nice seeing his family again. Even Yennefer had been pleasant enough to him.

“Good. That was the plan.”

Groaning, Geralt grabs Jaskier’s hands and holds them above his head. He leans down and kisses him hard.

His little minx is going to be thoroughly taken apart.

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