#yes it's a sleeveless undershirt

[birdifulhuman]

I was thinking a lot about Gerry recently. And Tim. GerryTim as one would have it.

I think they're dynamic could be neat tehe.

[mashmouths]

they were so caught up in having a woman wear pants in elizabethan england that they forgot they didn't have to involve antisemitism for historical accuracy's sake. in the witch and vampire show.

so i started this show and it just gets worse and worseeeee not only did it lift the romance subplot directly from twilight (and not well) but they also are trying to play the forbidden love angle hard in the fantasy racism vein except it's a "cross-species" relationship between the two whitest people i've ever seen in my life and there are three people of color in the whole (first season of the) show who aren't villains and it seems that every other episode (and sometimes ebery episode and sometimes twice an episode!) there is a man physically or magically subjugating a woman and i keep waiting for the big reveal at the end to be stolen from fucking rainbow rowell

[aris-has-a-paracosm]

Messed around with Tango’s dungeon master design again and ended up giving him facial hair similar to his cc. Also, sleeveless undershirt because yes :)

[gh9stlyy]

Burning desire

☆ warnings ☆

Fingering ~ public (?) ~ praise ~

summary

Your father is a famous, rich, director. He just finished a movie, so he planned a dinner for the whole cast. Y/n must sit next to James.

☆ ☆ ☆

"Y/n, honey, we have guests coming tonight.. and you look.. rough."

"Wow, thanks, mom." I smile.

"You know what I mean."

I run my hands through my hair, then pull myself out of bed.

"Thanks, sweetie." My mom walks away from my doorway.

It's about 3:30 pm, and I've been in bed all day.

I walk to my bathroom, and slide my clothes off.

I turn the shower on, and wait a moment for it to get warm, then hop in.

I shower quickly, which isn't normal for me. Once I get out the mirror actually isn't foggy.

My mom walks in.

"Mom!" I cover myself with my towel.

"Sorry honey. Just letting you know our guests are coming at six."

"Um, may I ask whos coming?"

"Well, some of the cast of your father's new movie."

She thinks for a moment, "I think James McAvoy-"

"James? He's coming?" I cut her off.

"Yes, he's coming."

I smile.

My mom laughs. "Don't even think about it,"

She walks out.

♡ ♡ ♡

It's 5:30 by the time I finish helping mom set up, and getting myself ready.

I made sure my outfit was hot, without making my dad mad.

Short, red, tight dress. Sleeveless, but I put on a jacket, to avoid pissing my dad off. I knew my dad would yell at me for wearing my red heels - that would look perfect with this dress - since they are quite tall, so I put on a low pair of mary janes.

I lean against the counter, playing with my nails, picking at the red polish.

"Quit picking, y/n." My mom demanded.

I laugh, putting my hands down.

"Are you nervous? You only do that when nervous."

"No, I'm just bored."

"Mhm." Her tone was as though she thought I was lying, which I was, but still, it's annoying.

"Ugh, mom, I'm not lying."

"You have a little thing for McAvoy, huh?"

"What? No.."

I had been on set with dad a few times, and I met James, and watched him act. He's extremely charming, it's hard not to have a thing for him.

She laughs. "C'mon, you can't lie to me, I know you do."

"It's okay, y/n."

"He's cute," I said, just to get her to leave me alone.

"Well, just to let you know... you'll be sitting next to him for dinner." She stated, walking out of the room, with a big grin.

"What?"

She ignores me.

"Shit," I whispered to myself.

♡ ♡ ♡

I watch the time, every minute feels like 10, and every time the vintage clock clicks I become more nervous.

Why am I sitting next to him? What did she mean? Was she messing with me? Who decided that?

The clock hits 6:02, and the doorbell rings.

"Y/n," my mom called, quickly walking to the door.

Don't know why, but it's a thing for me and my mom to greet the guests whenever my dad has one of these dinners. He has one every time the filming for one of his movies or shows is done.

I walk along with my mom, and she opens the door.

James stands next to another actor, laughing with him for a moment.

I put a smile on my face, and my mom welcomes them.

James makes eye contact with me when walking in, his smile becoming wider.

He's wearing a suit, pants, jacket, the jacket is over his shoulder, and waistcoat, all black, with a white shirt and red tie underneath. It's a silky material - other than the white undershirt - and it fits him perfectly.

"Oh, y/n, take James jacket."

He looks at me, smiling, and he hands me his jacket.

My mom talks to them for a moment, as I hang up James' jacket.

"Thank you, ma'am."

I walk alongside him.

"You look beautiful." He keeps his eyes forward, while I can't take my eyes off him.

"Thank you, you look very handsome."

He softly chuckles.

My mom guides them to the dining room.

My father says something once we get in there, but I tone it out, like everything he says.

"Please, sit down."

My father had placed names on where each person should go, and, of course, I'm next to James.

My mom is across from me, and my dad is across from James.

We all sit down.

My dad talks about the movie for a bit, while everyone places food on their plates.

I ignore everything he says, and just focus on the food.

After I finish placing what I want on my plate, my father, who must be done talking about himself, looks at me.

"Oh, y/n, take your jacket off, it's not appropriate." It's a black leather jacket, and now I can see how that would upset him.

"You're right, sorry."

I slide my jacket off, having it rest behind my back.

My fathers eyes drift to my bare shoulders, filled with rage.

He chuckles, then moves on, talking about himself and his accomplishments again. My mom joins, and starts telling stories about how fucking great her husband is.

James seems to be as uninterested as me.

He notices me looking at him, and we make eye contact.

I quickly look away, and continue eating

I see him smile out of the corner of my eye, he covers his smile up by taking a sip from a glass full of wine in front of him.

He leans towards me.

"Bored?" He whispered.

"Yeah," I whispered back.

He chuckles quietly, then leans away, downing the rest of his drink in one sip.

"Oh, Mr. McAvoy, would you like more?" My mom asked, her hand already gripping the wine bottle.

"Yes, please." He puts his glass toward her. She fills it.

"Thank you, Mrs y/l/n."

"Of course."

"McAvoy,"

James looks at my father, "yes, sir?"

"That is a stunning suit, looks amazing on you."

My dads words make me cringe. He's kissing McAvoy's ass, for more attention, someone else to talk about how amazing he is. Or maybe he's trying to make himself feel good, I'm not sure which.

"Wow, thank you, sir."

"How expensive?"

I can't quite tell what he's trying to do at this point.

"Uh, I think... two hundred or something like that."

"What was that? Sorry, your accent is so thick, isn't it?" My father looks at the rest of the cast while he asked, 'Isn't it?'

I cringe once again.

James chuckles, his hand gripping the wine glass. His veins become much more noticeable.

"Two hundred, sir."

"Ahh, lot to spend on a suit, isn't it?"

He's definitely not dick riding, he does this when jealous. Must be because of how me and mom look at James.

He's mad at James.

James takes a sip of his wine, a large one.

"I don't think so."

"I think I'd know better than you, McAvoy." My dad laughed.

My mom holds onto my father's shoulder, "oh quit it." She said, laughing.

"Sorry Mr. McAvoy, he's just teasing."

James smiles, taking another sip of his drink.

My father is probably gripping onto my mother's leg, a thought that makes me wanna kill myself. He thinks every man wants me and my mom.

While my father starts talking to one of the other guests, I lean toward James, and he leans toward me a little.

"Sorry, he's a dick sometimes," I whispered.

He smiles.

"It's alright, love." He whispered back, leaning away.

I lean back into my seat, gripping my thigh.

James moves his chair towards me a little more. I look at him, and we make eye contact. His beautiful blue eyes make me weak.

He breaks eye contact, his eyes drifting down to my breasts for a moment. He looks forward, and quietly laughs.

He takes another sip, this time finishing his drink. His hand once again is gripping the glass.

He leans towards me.

"Forgive me, y/n, I can't take my eyes off you." He softly breathes against my skin, his eyes fixated on me, his eyebrows furrowed.

I smile, "don't worry about it, McAvoy."

He sighs with relief, smiling, then leans away.

His eyes remain on me.

"McAvoy,"

His eyes leave me and stop on my father.

"Yes?"

"What are you doing?"

James' tongue runs along his bottom lip.

"Nothing, sir."

"Well-"

My mom slightly pushes against my father.

"Nevermind."

My fathers facial expression brings me joy. He's pissed, and he can't do anything about it.

My mother fills James' cup without him asking.

He smiles at her, then thanks her.

James keeps his eyes on my father, since he's talking, but I don't think he's listening.

James' hand moves to my thigh, and my heart skips a beat.

He grips my skin. To avoid making noise, I take a long sip of the water glass in front of me, since I'm not allowed to have alcohol.

James holds back his smile, still looking at my father.

My father starts a conversation with the man next to him, so James leans toward me.

"May I?"

I nod. He quickly leans away, and his hand slides up my dress.

I hadn't put shorts on, so all that's underneath is my panties.

James' finger runs along my underwear, then moves toward my clit.

I take a deep breath, and tremble while I exhale. James doesn't look at me.

His finger starts to very gently rub my clit.

I grip his hand, and he leans toward me, since my father is still distracted.

"Can you be quiet for me, darling?"

I nod, swallowing my spit.

"Good." He leans away, then pushes down, hard, while starting to rub me faster.

I dig my nails into his skin.

My heart is racing. What if someone notices, or what if I make a noise or face or something?

My dad turns to me, and my heart drops.

"Y/n, why don't you tell our guests your big news?"

Now he's using me for the praise, show them how 'great' of a daughter I am.

"Well... I-I got into Harvard."

My father smiles.

I pray that he doesn't ask me any more questions. I'm afraid to open my mouth.

"Isn't that amazing?"

James smiles at me, and I tone out everything everyone says to me. Well, not me, they all seem to tell my father how great that is, and ask how great he must feel about it.

"McAvoy."

James looks away from me, and to my father.

"Yes?"

"Isn't that amazing?"

"Of course."

James pulls his finger off my clit. Then he grabs my panties.

He slowly pulls them down my thighs, which takes a bit since he's only using one hand.

He pushes them down to my ankles.

"So, Mr. McAvoy, since you're the lead, are you excited about the movie?" My mom asked. James slowly slides his finger down my slit.

"Yes, very."

"Hope my husband wasn't too rough on ya," my mom joked.

James smiles, "no, he's great."

He slowly puts his finger in me, not very far before he takes it back out and teases me by rubbing around my hole.

"He's very good at his job, ma'am." James added.

"Oh, thanks, buddy."

James swallows. It seems like my father really gets on his nerves.

He finally slides his finger inside me, and I grip my thigh.

"Y'know, I think McAvoy might win me some more awards for his performance."

My mom smiles at James.

"I'm sure he will." One of the other guests said.

James smiles widely.

"I don't know, maybe." He said, picking his pace up.

"Y/n, you watched him act, he's brilliant isn't he?"

"Yes,"

My response puts a smile on my father's face. It was quiet, like I didn't wanna be there. I think it made him think I'm uninterested in James.

"Well, I should say everyone was amazing."

James slides another finger in me, and I exhale.

James leans towards me.

"Be silent for me, okay?" He doesn't lean away after he finishes talking, and he places a finger against my clit.

I take a deep breath.

"Good girl," he whispered, then he leans away.

He rubs me perfectly.

James' eyes are on me, and my father notices once he's done talking.

His mood changes again. He seemed relaxed, now he seems pissed again.

James' eyes drift away from me, and he takes a sip of his drink, which gets refilled every time he finishes.

Everyone has almost finished eating at this point, "well, I'll take everyone's plates." My mom said with a smile.

She whispered something to dad, then got up and started taking everyone's plates.

"McAvoy, you've barely eaten," my father stated.

"Just.. not very hungry, sir," James answered.

"Huh,"

"Well, you sure like that wine."

James' jaw clenches, and he rubs me harder.

"Yeah, sure." He responded.

My father laughs.

The man next to my father says something to him, and it starts another conversation.

I feel myself getting close, and I softly grip James hand.

He leans towards me, keeping his eyes on my father.

"Something wrong?" He asked, whispering.

"I'm... I'm close."

He smiles.

"Do you need me to stop? Or do you wanna finish?"

"Don't stop, please."

James softly chuckles.

My father looks at James, and he quickly leans away from me.

"What are you two talking about? Hm?" My dad asked.

"Nothing, sir."

"Well, I'm quite sure it's something."

My mom walks back into the room and sits down.

"What's something, honey?"

My heart pounds out of my chest.

"Y/n and James were talking to each other, just wanted to know about what."

"Oh,"

"It was nothing, promise." James reassured.

My mom gives my dad a look, telling him to let it go.

"Alright then."

I'm about to climax, and James picks up his pace, which sends me over the edge.

I release onto James' fingers, clenching his hand.

I pull his hand away once I finish. He holds back a smile.

He slowly pulls his hand onto the counter, wiping it off on his napkin, then places it back on my thigh, rubbing it.

♡ ♡ ♡

We're finally wrapping it up, after about another 20 long minutes. My dad glared at me and James most of the time.

"Well, we loved having all of you." My mom said, standing up.

Everyone else stands up, and James stands up last, his hands crossed in front of him.

"Y/n, would you mind grabbing my coat?" James asked.

He smiles at me, and I smile back.

I quickly walk towards the closet, grabbing his jacket and quickly walking back. I hand it to him.

"Thank you, darling."

"Mhm."

He ties it around his waist.

My eyes widen once it hits me, why he wanted his jacket right away.

I look at him, and he holds back a laugh, a wide smile on his face. I smile back.

Once my dad finishes thanking everyone, my mom and I guide everyone out.

My mom opens the door for everyone.

James stops, "Excuse me, miss y/l/n, may y/n show me to your bathroom?"

"Oh, of course."

My heart pounds, and I walk James toward the bathroom.

He makes sure nobody can see, then guides me into the bathroom, his hands on my hips.

He places his lips on mine, softly kissing me. I place my hands on his back.

He leans away for a moment.

"I need you, y/n,"

He grabs one of my hands, placing it onto his bulge.

I gasp. "James, we can't," I whispered.

"I know,"

I softly rub him, and he groans, closing his eyes.

"Fuck," he pulls me off him.

"Another time, y/n, I promise."

He opens the door, and we walk out together.

I walk ahead of him, then open the front door. My mom must have gone and found my dad.

He looks towards the dining room, then pulls me into a quick kiss.

He closes the door behind him.

"Y/n?" My mom called.

"Coming!" I speed walk towards the dining room, straightening out my dress.

"Yes?" I asked.

My dad glares at me.

"We need to talk." He said.

Fuck.

[foreficfandom]

POV: You Are Actually MUCH More Powerful Than Alastor (ch. 3 - "Taking Notes")

(Alastor x Reader, g/n, queerplatonic/sex and romance favorable, fan theories, God!Reader) (AO3)

As far as the wider population of hell was concerned, Alastor disappeared after the Extermination with his tail between his legs. Vox made sure his viewers didn’t forget it, showing the footage of Alastor’s prone body no less than eight times over the course of four days. By the time the hotel was newly renovated, the Radio Demon being back in hiding was old news. 

Hell’s populace was cynical and jaded. They took the news in stride, aware that as far as anyone knew, Alastor was right around the corner, seconds away from a new murderous streak. But danger was always right around the corner. Distinctions between dangers mattered less if the outcomes were always a guarantee. 

Alastor didn’t plan on laying low for long. The angelic energy still festering in his chest prompted great pain whenever he used his dark magic. It took several days for it to completely dissipate, and it left scars that occasionally twinged with phantom jolts. Akin to nerve damage after burns. 

He didn’t let you see the wound in full. You had offered to speed up its healing, but he would rather defenestrate himself than show you his bare chest. However, he was quickly allowing himself more casual dress within your private presence, a remainder of typical ‘30’s societal norms. If a gentleman made a friend, he could remove his hat, gloves, and jacket. If it was a close friend or family, he could be shirtless if needed, when out of the public eye. 

Like when you and he made plans to further plot in his room, and you had arrived to Alastor in his pants, shoes, a belt, and a white sleeveless undershirt - what would be called a tank top. He was using a flat iron, freshly heated from his fireplace, carefully pulling and pushing it upon a dampened shirt spread tightly across an ironing board. You could now appreciate his limber, bare arms and collarbone, which were lightly haired with a gradient coat, colored more darkly further towards his hands. He had only the slightest muscle bulk, mostly in his forearms, and only due to a deficit of body fat to cushion it.

“Couldn’t you just magic your wardrobe clean and pressed?” You teased, closing the door. 

“Of course I could, my dear. But nothing beats a job done by your own hand!” 

Cleverly spoken. After all, Alastor’s magic weren’t extensions of his own will, but of his jailers. You approached the opposite side of the ironing board, the slight steam of sizzling water reminiscent of a little sauna. 

“So, Alastor. I’m sure you’ve agonized over every fine detail of your deal. You should know that there’s limited chance your creditor would see any more advantages to take.”

“Yes, I’m aware,” Alastor said, continuing his ironing, “so I’m going to take this opportunity to play kitten. Let’s pretend that plonk Adam managed to lodge a real stinker into me, and despite my best efforts, it’s hindered my abilities pathetically! I couldn’t shatter a stemware if I tried!”

He placed his hand on his chest as if a fainting damsel, the hot iron held aloft. You noticed with amusement that his elk-down has replaced his armpit hair, leaving it smooth like a child’s.

“And so Alastor would take drastic measures to be powerful once more? Anybody lucky enough to know you would certainly expect the Radio Demon’d be desperate to get his arsenal back.”

“Precisely! I will swallow my pride and put on a great show. Soon enough, it’ll get their attention.”

You took a second to ponder. “Beings like them believe their indentured souls are largely grateful for their gifts, and not chomping at the bit to reverse it all. They’re arrogant like that. After all, you certainly owe a lot to their influence.”

Alastor looked like he was about to refute your words with his bitter resentment, but considered a second further and went back to his chores.

“Well, I suppose they haven’t been all cruel. As a mortal man, I knew I was protected by forces unseen. I believe I am still being protected.”

“In more ways than one. Do you have any clue how many illnesses you dodged while eating your victims? They even debated on whether to let the listeria permanently damage your large intestinal tract. They settled on just the temporary infection.”

“What’s listeria?”

“A bacterial parasite. Causes loose stool, vomiting, and fever, and can resolve itself after a couple of weeks. First discovered in the late 1920’s, but wouldn’t be in everyone’s medical books until World War II. You got it from the back-alley surgeon.”

“Is that what that was? I was throwing back Ostrex for days. I swear I had never been more ill.” Alastor shifted his shirt so that he could iron the left sleeve. The fabric sizzled anew. “Well, aside from when I watched Way Down East to see what the fuss was about. That wretched Porter Strong gives me strong retches, all right!” He cackled alongside a canned studio laugh track.

“How shall we advertise your weak state? You wouldn’t want to roam Hell’s streets like you used to.”

“That’s where I’m hoping you can come in. You, with your millennia of experience.” He gave you a sly eye, smiling as ever but you could see the pointed daggers. 

You crossed your arms with an exhale. “Actually, I do have some ideas. Simply put, we fake a new competitor of yours, and let them run far more rampant than you’d normally allow.”

You knew men like Alastor. If he could allow it, the spotlight would never leave him.

Stimulating the opposite would be a tell-tale sign that the Radio Demon was indisposed. 

Alastor narrowed his eyes, as if reading your mind. “And who would this new competitor be?”

“Me, of course. Like you’d trust anybody else to be in on it.”

Every Overlord was once an unassuming sinner soul. It would be an on-going process, but with careful pretense you could convincingly step into the shoes of Overlord. 

Your avenue would have to be something that threatened Alastor’s specific audience, not just another jumpstart with a seat at the table. Dread Vox would be a good comparison. You’d just take a leaf from his book and aim for the media masses. 

And as a content creator, you wouldn’t have to bother with physical territory, which decreased the risk of encountering physical confrontations. You didn’t want to play-act some street scuffle with an Alastor forcing himself to feign weakness. He probably couldn’t bring himself to play act meek in-person. It would be hard enough to have him remain out of the public eye - or rather, public ears.

“The longer I go uncontested by you, the more suspicious it’ll seem. Before long, your creditor will get the hint.”

Alastor gave a “Hmm” of consideration, finishing up his ironing. His smile was small, but unpained. 

After a minute of silence, spent watching Alastor hang his laundry in careful sets and whisk away the ironing set with a snap of his fingers, he turned to you, lips curled ever upwards. 

“Very well. We will cultivate the rise of a new Overlord. Together.”

— 

The next day was a slow, but relaxing affair for the hotel. After finishing your administration duties, you enjoyed catching up with Niffty on gossip, before lounging in the parlor with Angel Dust, who had been carefully pampering himself since morning. He was fresh out of his perfumed bath, fur conditioned and silky, and asked for your help in applying a fresh manicure. An endeavor made harder considering that he had eight hands. 

The television screen popped and sizzled as Alastor entered from the hall, apparently deciding to pay the two of you a visit.

“Aww damn it, Kelsey was just about to reveal her deep, dark secret,” Angel Dust whined. The television’s audio finally stabilized and revealed the cast utterly distraught over whatever the step-daughter had confessed to. “Could you maybe cool your anti-TV thing if you’re gonna crash my soap time?”

“Why, it’s hardly something I can control.” Alastor threw his hands and eyes upwards in disregard. 

“You know, back in Alastor’s day, entire families sat to listen to the radio just like we do with television,” you smiled demurely at the two of them. 

“Yeah, well, ‘back in his day,’” Angel mocked your tone, “they also brewed poisonous moonshine in toilets, ate banged-up cans of brown windsor soup every other day, and probably had more cases of TB than kids to die from it. I died in nineteen-fucking-forty, I know the low-down. Hell, I think nonna remembered the actual Civil War.”

Unlike Alastor, Angel Dust was a sinner who found little trouble adjusting to modern technology. Many of the sinner souls who died young embraced things like internet and electric cars, whether they died during the 20th century, or the 17th. 

Cultures of the living found their way downstairs with little delay. Nobody was sure why, but some suspected it was because all technological progress can be considered sinful. You knew it was because earth and hell - and heaven, and purgatory, and all sapient souls - existed as one simultaneously. If Segways existed both physically and within mortal awareness, then so shall it be in hell. Certainly, Segways would not escape the mortal consciousness without great effort. 

“Well, back in your day, housewives could only earn money in Tupperware pyramid schemes, children didn’t learn about evolution in school, and everyone was obsessed with Spam,” you teased. 

You had told everyone you died mere years ago. True, there was a tangible generational gap between you, Angel Dust, and Alastor, all of you could feel it, but in your case it was much more … complicated.  

Angel took your needling in stride. “Eh, at least we had toothpaste. I heard that Great Depression suckers only bothered with charcoal dust, like, once a week.”

At that, you smirked at Alastor, who you’ve teased about his unfortunately-yellow maw more than once. It would have been normal for his time, and the fact that he’d only ever had to pull two would actually be considered impressive. 

But you were a being that greatly valued hygiene. Something to do with your heightened senses picking up on every stray molecule that builds on the body, but you privately joked that it was because ‘cleanliness is next to godliness’. 

“Now, now, my dainty friend,” An approaching Alastor made a point to mimic Angel’s delicately elevated fingers, reminiscent of a wilting flower, “the future may look greener on the other side, but sometimes, olden days were the golden days. Why heck, one could claim that not much has progressed at all! Look out the window there, and tell me you don’t see the same rampant crime and barbarity, no matter the perpetrators from my century, or not! In fact,” Angel pulled a face as Alastor entered one of his long-winded rambles, always intending to (and unfortunately usually succeeding) in dominating the room, “I declare that mankind’s one constant has been its depravity. Always the same distasteful impulses.”

“And mankind’s moralities are never constant?” you offered. 

“Oh please,” Angel said simultaneously as Alastor’s “Goodness, no!” 

“Back when I was a kid, people thought left-handedness wasn’t Jesus-fearing. People sure don’t think so, now,” Angel continued. 

“And whatever’s casting humans to hell evolves just as its victims do. When’s the last time you saw some pitiful gilly drop down here solely for premarital relations? ‘Twas the case just some fifty years ago.” 

Angel snorted. “Yeah, if abstinence awarded you points, I’m waaaay off the mark. And, well, it don’t seem like it for certain, but for all I know, it’s still in heaven’s rulebook.”

“Hah, if only that was the case,” you threw a none-too-subtle look towards Alastor, who returned with a slow, absolutely withering glare.

Of course, Angel Dust noticed. “Whoa, Alastor man, you died a virgin? But you were probably, like, forty.” 

“Oh hardly,” Alastor sardonically hissed through his teeth. You didn’t point out that he died a mere two years from the mark, not something you’d call ‘hardly’. 

“Well, hey, if your abstinence wasn’t enough to get you upstairs, then that’d be free reign to let wild down here, wouldn’t it?” Angel Dust smiled. “You probably had lotsa old-timey fans when you first arrived. Wouldn’t be a shock if you have lotsa admirers today, too. Pick up a dame from the speakeasy for a nightcap over at your place? Or let some knockout daddy plow you in the bathroom?”

A vein popped in Alastor’s temple. You ducked over Angel’s half-painted hand to hide a grin. If it were anyone else, you would have felt sympathy for the teasing. But, in your opinion, any little blow to Alastor’s inflated ego was always warranted whenever one managed to get their hands on them.

“Can’t say I’ve ever bothered with any of … that , I’m afraid.” 

Angel Dust looked incredulously at Alastor. “Never? Even in hell? Never done the vertical tango? The hankity-spankity?” 

“Not every man is as covetous as you, my fellow.” Alastor leaned on his cane with both hands, his posture as rim-rod stiff as a telephone pole. You watched his torment in amusement. 

“Huh. Goes to show you never know what’s goin’ on underneath it all,” Angel Dust nonchalantly concluded with a thump back onto the cushions. He returned to his bottle of varnish. 

“I expect you to be prompt for supper this time!” Alastor exited the foyer but called over his shoulder. “I won’t be taking a still-wet manicure as an excuse again!”

He didn’t pause in his application. “Yeah, sheesh. Like what’s he gonna do? Send me to bed without food?” 

You finished applying on Angel’s third hand, and moved to the fourth. “You want to make the rules, then you’ll have to be in charge of the cooking for once.”

“Not gonna happen! Don’t think I’ve stepped in front of a stove since I was a kid. Well, aside from the prop ones in a movie or two. Frilly apron and everything. Why’s he always the chef, anyways? Not like Charlie’s ever made a Thanksgiving turkey for us.”

“Ask him, not me.” Alastor didn’t make meals every day, so if the hotel’s residents didn’t expect a meal from him, then you were all due to fend for yourselves that evening. Most, like Vaggie and Husk, visited the cheap eateries in the neighborhood. Some defaulted to leftovers, or frozen pre-packaged meals (Niffty was especially fond of those).  You and Charlie didn’t have to eat every day, though you kept up the facade of mortality. For the longest time, you were the only one brave enough to eat the leftovers from Alastor’s midnight stress-cooking. 

“You know, I could see Charlie trying to cook for us, her poor suffering lambs.” Angel was finishing up the delicate white strips on each nail tip, done in one or two practiced strokes. You intentionally numbed your proficiency and took much longer to draw a passable line. “But she’s a princess, so maybe she has no idea how to cook anything. Probably for the best she hasn’t tried, then.”

A moment of silence, then Angel piped up once more. “Speaking o’ Charlie, she apparently got some hot letter in the mail this morning, and’s rushed out the door. Haven’t seen her since.”

“Oh? Have any idea why?”

“No idea. I was at the bar with a hair of the dog, and heard Charlie make a big fuss before rushin’ out. Took the letter with her. Sounded important, but couldn’t tell if it was a happy important, or a nasty important.”

You gave a ‘hmm’. “And what about the king? Have you seen him around?”

“Nope. Guy’s been gone since yesterday evening, but that’s nothing unusual these past days, is it? You ask me, something’s brewin’ with the bigwigs up top. The royals, I mean.”

The Goetia Royalty. A long-winded line of hell-borne beings, some of them older than hell itself. For the most part, they kept out of the public eye, intent on living their privileged life with as little interruptions as possible. 

“I hope that Charlie doesn’t get handed more trouble,” you said. “She’s busy enough as it is.”

Angel just shrugged. “Hey, she wanted to start this whole redemption project to begin with. She can deal with it.” You knew he meant it as a compliment. “I mean, I don’t envy her pressure. More and more shit’s been pilin’ on her shoulders these months. And she’s not gonna be unloading any of the responsibilities if she can help it, that wouldn’t match up with her vision, would it? Princess Of Hell, finally doin’ something productive for a change. Prob’ for the best, since lightening her load’ll probably do in the spine of whatever sucker volunteers. All pressure’s heavy at the best of times.”

You sighed in sympathy. “Tell me about it. You never expect to be the cause of a black hole.”

“What?”

“Never mind. Did you get any hints where Charlie went off to?”

“No. If she’s not back until supper, Alastor’ll probably throw a fit. He loves her fawning whenever she sits down to his cooking.”

You made a mental note to text Vaggie if Charlie doesn’t make it back before sundown. Whatever trouble was brewing, it would likely affect your and Alastor’s plans. You couldn’t risk too many interlacing threads getting tangled.

—

“You could always start a ‘podcast’ series. I detest them less than most modern medias. I may even give yours a listen!”

“Podcasts may be a successful culture, but I fear it wouldn’t be aggressive enough,” you said to Alastor, both of you sat across one of the small tables dotting the hotel study, an open notebook and pen in front of you. “It’s gotta be something people obsess over. Something that earns a lot of money and eats up a lot of time. Something unrepentantly mainstream.”

“Oh, with your charisma, I’m sure you could be a trailblazer in making any media a mainstream mainstay,” Alastor alliterated. He took a sip from his mug of lightly-brewed coffee, more akin to a tea, to avoid over-exciting himself this late in the afternoon. 

You sighed tired, crossing out ‘popstar’ and ‘idol musical group’. Too short-lived to make a successful Overlord career out of it. Alastor’s flattery had a ring of truth, you could theoretically manipulate any field you’d end up in, but you didn’t want to make this any harder than it needed to be. 

He had finished up the last touches on his pulled pork recipe before leaving it to stew in the kitchen, and tracked you down out of curiosity. It was just the two of you in the study for now, but you kept one eye open in case someone else decided to pay a visit. 

You hovered your pen over ‘celebrity surgeon’, just about to ask if Alastor could turn down the volume of the big band he was blaring obnoxiously, before you sensed two pairs of footsteps approach. The two of you turned to Husk and Vaggie strolling in.

“Oh joy, you’re here,” Husk groused sarcastically. It had not gone unnoticed that Alastor had spent the last few days wandering around the hotel more often than he usually did, rather than couching himself in the secluded corners.

“Now, is that any way to greet your friends?” With a crank, Alastor snapped his head to an unnatural 30°. Vaggie, who had grown a modicum more tolerant of the guy, didn’t take the opportunity to needle him, and proceeded to guide Husk to a specific bookshelf in the far corner. She traced her finger along the spines, then pulled out a small hardcover and held it out for Husk.

“Here. From Kuomintang To Kraft Mac: A Brief Timeline Of Events From 1950 - 1970 ”, Vaggie said, handing the book over. “We’re missing the next volume, but Charlie can order it.”

“It’s fine. Thanks.” Husk opened and browsed the first few pages. You could see Leviathan's symbol printed on the opening cover. One of the official hell-produced encyclopedias that detailed living events for the sake of its sinner residents. 

Alastor didn’t hesitate to milk the opportunity. “Why, Husker, my good man! Are you feeling a scholarly bent? I wasn’t aware you knew which end to open a book from!”

“We were talking about hot sauces,” Vaggie allowed herself a small grin at Husk’ dramatic eyeroll. “I know you like using the tabasco pepper-based ones, but Husk was just telling me that he missed the sweeter, pulpy pastes from his time spent across the sea. I said that the world has slowly come around to spices from all over the world.”

“Back in my day, you were lucky to find a dusty bottle of Trappey’s at the mart. I’m surprised America embraced hot spice at all,” Husk added. He spared a glance at the rest of the encyclopedia collection, which boasted a recollection from prehistoric civilization to the rise of the internet. Some of the volumes were depressingly wrinkled and worn, and more than one was absent. 

Alastor didn’t respond, instead rested his chin on the back of his hands, smiling peacefully at the space over Husk’s shoulder. You knew he was thinking of his mortal days, too, when most people made their own bottled sauces from a summer pepper harvest, acidifying mashed jalapeño and cayenne in vinegar and salt, sealing the repurposed cola bottle with cork and wax. It wasn’t until the ‘50’s when hot pepper sauces started appearing in most American recipe books, and it would take a further 30 years before international cuisines reached proper globalization. 

It was nice to see Vaggie and Husk getting along. And perhaps the both of them were learning to tolerate Alastor a bit more. 

Still, both of them eyed Alastor with a distasteful eye, which didn’t phase him in the slightest. Husk, in particular, would rather he spend as little time around the man as possible. Before Alastor forced him to work for the hotel, Husk almost never had contact with the man. You were sure he missed those days dearly. 

The same sentiment wasn’t quite shared by Alastor, who didn’t hold Husk in high regard, but enjoyed his company well enough. And he’ll put up with Vaggie’s ire to a surprisingly high degree. 

“Vaggie, do you know where Charlie is? I heard she left this morning, and it’s almost dinnertime,” you asked. 

Vaggie’s expression turned slightly pensive, and she averted her eyes. “She’s … meeting with old friends. It’s complicated.”

“Royalty issues?” Husk asked. 

“Sorta like that. She should be back soon,” Vaggie assured, but you didn’t miss the subtle glance she threw towards her phone, sitting in her skirt pocket. 

“What kind of friends keep a busy woman for so long? It must be important ,” Alastor said, emphasizing the last word with an oily grin. Vaggie shot him a warning glance. She had far from forgotten the deal he had convinced Charlie to make. 

“Like I said, it’s a royalty issue. Those types of friends aren’t ones you can risk losing. Aren’t you an Overlord? You should relate to the whole, ‘high-society’ sort of thing.”

“Oh, Vaggie dear,” Alastor flapped a hand dismissively, “I haven’t bothered with the ins-and-outs of hell’s Overlord dog-eat-dog kerfuffle in years! You see new faces come and go like the wind. I may enjoy the company of a select few that share a spot at the table, but not for power. For their conversation! For their fun! For keeping up with me on the dance floor, hah!”

“Like Overlord Rosie?” You asked, and he affirmed, “Precisely!”

“You know,” Husk was still scanning over the encyclopedia, speaking to the air as if on an aside, “I heard from a certain little spider that you’re still as lady-less as freshly fallen snow.”

Vaggie raised an eyebrow as Alastor’s smile turned downwards. “And your point?”

“Just sayin’. You got all your lady friends, what’s stopping you?” Husk met Alastor’s unamused glare with a little smirk. 

“Well, it just so happens that my friends tend to be women. They bring the best out in me!”

It didn’t take a genius to understand Alastor’s personal preferences in friends. The lively and prevaricative Niffty, the gregarious and wayward Mimzy, the cordial and extroverted Rosie. This was in comparison to those that annoy him; the prickly Vaggie. The invasive Angel Dust. Charlie, herself, must have drawn Alastor’s affections by virtue of simply being jovial. He loved to see smiles and loved to hear them sing. 

Not being a man would also score a couple points in the ‘friends’ column. And speak of the devil, Alastor piped up; “And men? Brutes, much of them, graceless.” 

Vaggie pointed out that he was a man, which apparently was the expected set-up for his prepared joke, “I need no reminder! After all, I find myself shouldering the burden of being proper gentlemanly to compensate for those who aren’t! Ah, the days when men at least did things like start a conversation with a proper greeting, and ended with a proper ‘goodbye’. I do miss when evocation was a schooling curriculum. Husk! Recite!” He pointed his cane at Husk, who gave a long suffering groan. 

“I have no idea what that means.” 

“Exactly! Did your teacher ever have you recite The Lady of Shallot , or at least See Spot Run ? Come, old fellow, give me hope that the art of spoken word hasn’t been completely lost.”

To your surprise, Husk rose to the bait with, “Tôi đéo quan tâm.”

It was a clever blow. Alastor was skilled, but he knew no second language fluently. His Louisiana Creole was dreadful. His pride taken a blow, Alastor’s grin twitched, but he pulled himself back together with a twirl of his cane. 

“Ah, like a dock sailor. Impressively worldly. But as brutish as an ox.”

The chatter went on, but you focused on your notes. Alastor was exaggerating, plenty of modern people knew public speaking, especially the entertainers. Any television figure worth their salt made sure their audience could follow along not just with clarity, but with enjoyment. News anchors, game show hosts, social media vloggers, podcast narrators, video game streamers -

Streamers . Scheduled broadcasts of live commentary. Responding to the audience in real time. Recorded in a set location. Commonly arranged by genre content. Earning thousands of dollars every year. Even sponsorships were comparably as invasive as a bugle for Edgeworth Cigarettes from during the golden age of radio. 

You wrote with vigor. Streaming would require an expensive set-up if you wanted to cultivate the proper attention. Studio lights, audio recording, multiple high-definition cameras and mounts, a backdrop, not to mention the software.

Your spacious hotel quarters would do, once you got proper acoustic foam wall panels. And luckily, Alastor’s presence in the hotel made for a very powerful modem, to his annoyance. The internet speed here is wild. 

Would you focus on video games? Viral challenges? Conspiracy theories and social drama? Offer adult content? The most successful streamers usually have one main focus, although the more famous one got, the more they could branch without risking alienating their audience. 

And once you establish your place within the internet world, you’d start to ask for more and more money from your adoring fans. Some wouldn’t be able to pay. So you’d offer a deal , instead. Plenty of people have committed to worse for the sake of their idols.

To become one of the top Overlords, you’d have to total a soul count in the five-hundreds, at the very least. Owning actual real estate would also help -shareholding a business or two, or maybe you’d develop a brand from the bottom up.

To grow from niche interest to mainstream name, you’ll make and distribute products. You’ll cultivate entertaining drama with other media personalities with the intent of going viral. You’d be on friendly terms with Alastor’s enemies, and make vague threats towards his friends. 

Alastor turned from the others to see what you were so excited about. He couldn’t quite read your handwriting upside down, but he could tell that you had hit a revelation. 

“Ah, but poor Charlie! I hope her ‘friends’ at least have the good manners to serve dinner, because she certainly won’t be arriving on time for ours! Come now, my good people, to the dining room! Husk, bring out the Austrian Riesling, it’ll pair nicely with the pork.”

“Why are we drinking good wine with barbecue?” you heard him grumble as Alastor managed to usher him and Vaggie out. You finished your notes with a flourish, stuffed your notebook away, and jogged after them. 

[make-friends-with-the-rats]

could we maybe see albert dasilva for the ask game? :]

ah yes, the ginger

How I feel about this character: Albert is my favorite ensemble newsie in livesies bar none. He is painfully relatable sometimes. I do have some conflicting feelings over the livesies/bway portrayal of his and Race's dynamic because I feel like they took 92sies Race's personality and split it into Race and Albert with Albert taking Race's more serious qualities in the stage adaptation, but I do enjoy Albert as a character and I hope someone gets the poor boy his leg of lamb.

All the people I ship romantically with this character: I believe in aroace Albert. So sorry.

My non-romantic OTP for this character: Race and Albert but also Crutchie and Albert, specifically in UKsies. I don't know, I just think they're neat and Newsies UK is so special to me. Just look at them and imagine the chaos:

My unpopular opinion about this character: This is going to upset possibly everyone in the entire world, but livesies/bway Albert needs some sleeves. This goes for all of the newsies in the stage/Broadway musical that are missing sleeves. I don't care what the reasoning behind the sleeveless undershirts and vest combo was there is absolutely no way anyone in 1899 would dress like that. Undershirts had long sleeves for one thing, and why would you wear your vest on top but no shirt?? I need answers and those boys need sleeves. Second, Albert is actually not named Albert. Albert is actually his newsie nickname. (I know I was just complaining about historical dress, and the timeline I'm proposing doesn't directly match up but bear with me.) Imagine one of the newsies reads an article about Albert Einstein and his genius work in physics and what said newsie gets from the article is basically, "wow this guy is smart, I bet he's a real wise-mouth" and then Albert gets his nickname as Albert as in Albert Einstein because it evolves from "okay Albert Einstein" when Albert is being a smart-aleck to "okay Albert" and is the equivalent of "no shit Sherlock" in newsie vernacular.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: I honestly don't know that I would change anything about Albert as a character. Actually, you know what? What if Albert scabbed? As a treat.

Thank you for asking!

ask game

characters answered: David Jacobs, Jack Kelly, Blink and Skittery, Bumlets and Swifty, Sarah Jacobs, Specs and Dutchy, Les Jacobs, Crutchie, Snitch and Itey, Mush Meyers, Spot Conlon, Racetrack Higgins, Katherine Plumber, Snoddy, Barney Peanuts and Romeo, Glasses

[grapenehifics]

I’m very curious to know if you have a headcanon about whether Anakin wears a sleep shirt? He’s shirtless in both AOTC and ROTS. Is this because he overheats at night? What does Obi-Wan think about this?

Tits out, guns out.

Longer (real?) answer below the cut...

First of all, thank you for this ask; this kept my brain very pleasantly occupied on my commute to work today.

In An Uncivil War, I put Anakin in clone-issue under-armor to sleep in - which involved a whole separate headcanon, about what they wear, which is more likely probably both black leggings and a black turtleneck but I added a sleeveless black undershirt to that combo so that Anakin could wear a black tank top because this is my fic and I want to see some arms damnit - mostly to get him into something black and obviously non-Jedi issue but also because he and Obi-Wan are sharing a room with Ahsoka for all of that fic so while I think he'd be perfectly happy to go shirtless around Obi-Wan he also recognizes that they're in a war and anything could happen and he would not have the luxury of being able to get up slowly and put a robe on or anything before needing to hurry to the bridge to deal with an explosion or a Separatist attack, so during the war he might forgo the whole sleeping-naked thing at least while on duty.

I think of Obi-Wan - at least pre-war Obi-Wan - as a pajamas person, like the whole nine-yards matching-set sort of deal, and so little Anakin would think that is normal/Jedi appropriate/wants to emulate his Master, so when Obi-Wan gets him child pajamas he wears them. But I also see Anakin as deeply texture sensitive - and prone to nightmares, which make him sweaty, and unused to regulating his body temperature in a way that makes sense for non-desert planets - so he'd actually really struggle with wearing all that baggy fabric and blankets to bed, and the fabric gets bunched up underneath him, and now he's lying on top of wrinkles, and if he gets sweaty then the whole thing is damp and soggy and uncomfortable...so he takes at least the top off, and that feels better, but Obi-Wan never does, so Anakin gets yet another (subtle, unspoken) impression that he's doing 'being a Jedi' wrong.

(And honestly so long as Anakin's not completely naked, I don't think Obi-Wan actually cares if he's only wearing pants, especially in his own room; this is not something Obi-Wan actually chastised Anakin for; it's all in Anakin's head that he's being judged.)

In the AotC deleted scene, we see Anakin sleeping in his clothes:

so either Obi-Wan didn't pack any pajamas for him (potential future headcanon discussion: how old is Anakin before Obi-Wan finally stops packing his suitcase for him) or Anakin took the whole 'travel as refugees' thing to heart and decided that refugees don't get pajamas, and really he's just staying in character. The next time we see him asleep, he's at the Naberrie family vacation villa:

There's our topless boy! Is he wearing pajama pants under there? Difficult to say for sure but I'm leaning toward yes, both because of his generally awkward nature and the fact that he's trained to jump into action at any moment in case of danger.

By the time he's gone outside to meditate he's put a shirt on, unfortunately:

Is this a pajama top, or just his regular tunic? If it is his regular tunic, why is it XXL? That is not where shoulder seams generally go. Does Obi-Wan think he's still growing and is tired of replacing his shirts every six months so he's still doing the, 'it's too big now but you'll grow into it' thing?

In any case, why are Jedi so into beige; I know we (rightly) make fun of teen Ahsoka's tube top but at least the girl has an appreciation for color.

So far, though, I'm going with, Anakin will sleep in pants, at least while at other peoples' houses, but prefers not to wear a shirt. I would imagine this would probably hold while he's with the 501st, too, that he needs to be ready to spring into action at any moment but who cares if his troops see his bare chest (and, again, maybe this is just me, but this is where I see him slowly adapting to wearing more of what the clones wear, just because there's so much of it, and yes they're shorter than he is so the leggings only come up to his calves but this is would not be a dealbreaker for him).

In RotS, I have to assume that we're meant to assume Anakin is buck-ass naked under the covers here and the only reason he's wearing pajama pants here:

is because this is a PG-13 movie. I mean, he's off-duty and in bed with his wife. Yes I know she has her hair done and is wearing a silk nightgown with pearl sleeves (??) but, again, kids movie. Why on earth would Anakin be sleeping in pants otherwise.

Around Obi-Wan, though, before they get together: pants on, shirt off. (He's trying to flirt with the man, after all.) After they get together: clothes just get in the way. Anakin expects this of Obi-Wan, too, and looks so hurt the first time Obi-Wan tries to put his pajamas back on after sex that Obi-Wan course-corrects and gets into bed naked. "If you're cold, I'll warm you up, Master," and Obi-Wan doesn't have the heart to say no (also, Anakin is very warm). They have pajamas, but they're for, like, morning and evening lounge wear (and Anakin's still does not involve a shirt).

Obi-Wan does, however (eventually, slowly) manage to teach Anakin the fun of taking your partner's clothes off slowly, piece-by-piece, as opposed to popping buttons and ripping them off as fast as he can. This is both fun and has the added benefit of extending the life of Obi-Wan's wardrobe and keeping him from needing to break out his sewing kit quite so often (Anakin still leaves them piled on the floor though).

Throwing it back to you, @underacalicosky and anyone else who wants to play :) Agree? Disagree?

[fandomfluffandfuck]

that sock garters post + your businessman steve tags.... mr s i am thinking!!! baby bucky on his knees, while steve instructs him to take it off using only his mouth 😩

'no hands, pup', steve says to him, while bucky whines on the floor, the leash attached to his collar willing him to obey, to be good for his daddy 🥴

related to this

I AM SO GLAD YOU SENT THIS ASK.

I was thinking about that, and, in my head, I just... all I see is this Steve:

I know that was a suit for a funeral in the film but, just, put that out of your mind for now. Focus on how good he looks...

His square jaw and perfect, swept back hair paired with his smart sunglasses and sure mouth. The jacket is perfectly tailored to his broad, wide shoulders, and that classic white shirt and waistcoat underneath are well fitted, too. His waistcoat even has a cinch in the back to fit his sculpted, trim waist--extenuating it. His belt is polished and tight, holding his slacks in place, showing off the length of his legs with their traditional, straight fit. The fabric of his slacks is smooth and makes the softest, most pleasant swish, swish, swish as he struts, all confidence and power. Heads turn, necks break.

There are details throughout. The cinch of his waistcoat. The perfectly pressed fabric. The butter-soft, shining leather of his belt and shoes. There are even details where they're invisible, underneath that perfect, polished exterior--his sleeveless undershirt has even been pressed and clings to him like a second skin, his briefs are clinging and smooth as well, and, of course, his socks and their garters.

Steve slipped his feet into his sensible, all black work socks early, just after briskly showering, styling his hair with a round brush and blow drier, whistling to pass the time, dressing himself meticulously, building his outfit from his classic wardrobe, and setting his coffee to start. He points his toes and steps into them after rolling the legs of his pants up to just below his knees. After, he soothes any creases in his socks. He pulls the elastic garters up, attaches them, and takes another moment to smooth things out. He slides into his shiny, unblemished work shoes. Then, he unrolls his slacks, hiding his socks and garters. Finally, he stands, rising to his full, impressive height, buttons his suit jacket and swiftly moves into the kitchen, catching his coffee and toast. There's enough time for a quick flick through the newspaper, sitting at their wooden dining table in the open-plan kitchen and hosting space, before he has to run off to work, smelling like coffee and subtle cologne.

On especially bright, ideal days, Bucky wakes up in time to bundle himself in a fuzzy robe, tumble his way out of bed--half rubbing the sleep from his eyes and half winding his hair into a bed-headed mess that's more out of his face, tied back--to lean against the kitchen doorway, watching his immaculate partner go through his well-timed routine. There's always an extra minute for Steve to hum at the sight of him, planting a kiss on his sleep-warm cheek, and hand him the last half of his coffee in its pleasantly steaming mug.

So, yes, Steve is the well-dressed, well-mannered every day man. When he wants to, he has the skills to talk his way into and out of anything. It's why he makes a fantastic business man.

But...

That's also why he makes such a perfect dominant. He can come home from a long, busy day, a sigh on the cusp of falling from his lips, but restrain. He doesn't need to resort to such frivolous, even childish actions like pouting when he instead can allow himself to settle on the wooden bench in their home's entryway for a moment. Before he can even reach for his shoes himself, his wonderful partner and pet is scrambling to greet him--always such a pretty, eager thing.

"Daddy," his eyes are bright, and so is his voice, even if it's mostly breath. A gorgeous sort of purr.

"Buck," Steve hums, eagerly drinking in the way he folds onto his knees between Steve's thighs. Once he's in position, Steve lets one heavy, big hand card through his long, silky hair. He loves the way it glides through his hands like water. "Hi, puppy."

"Hi," such a sweet thing, he's already blushing. Warm and affectionate, just like a puppy should be.

"How was your day, pup?" Steve asks, genuinely curious.

"Good," Bucky brushes a warm kiss to his knee, "did the usual."

"That's good," he approves.

"Mmm-hmm," Bucky bites his lip.

Watching over the handsome, slightly-crooked line of his nose, Steve inquires, "anything elsw you want to ask, pup?"

"Uh," he flushes a shade darker, "uh-huh."

"Ask away then, silly boy," he rumbles.

His puppy gives a happy wiggle, "can I..." he drags his sky-blue eyes down the line of his legs, "can I help, Daddy?"

"I'd love that, Buck," he smiles.

"Okay," he wiggles again. If he had a tail, it'd be thumping against the floor. His whole body leans closer to the floor, too, squirming down and reaching for the laces of his shoes.

"No hands, pup, remember your manners," Steve murmurs. His chest full and happy.

Bucky audibly swallows what should've been a whine. His excitement boiling over, "yes, Daddy," he whispers.

Then, his sweet boy brings his mouth to the tops of his shoes and delicately positions the aglet between his front teeth, tugging his head back gently, just enough to unwind the tie. He loosens his shoelaces carefully--right then left--and is extra careful and affection to nose around his ankles. Nuzzling in. Tracing the sharp, strong shapes of the lateral and medial melleolus as well as the front of his tibia through his socks and slacks. Bucky's curious nose is vaguely cold, but Steve doesn't care.

When he asks so prettily for help, Steve lifts his feet, one then the other in turn, out of his dress shoes. Then, Bucky takes the first of his shoes into his mouth, holding it securely but not hard enough to leave teeth marks in the nice, polished leather, and crawls on his hands and knees across the entryway to place the shoe in the appropriate place on their organized rack. The handsome sway of his hips as he moves is hypnotic. The only thing that would make this better would be if he were naked--Steve knows the wings of his shoulderblades, the notches of his spine, the breadth of his hips, and the length of this thighs well. But a reminder never hurt anyone.

Bucky fetches and returns the second shoe just as beautifully as he does the first.

He's breathtaking even in the poor, dim evening lighting of the front of their house. Well trained and so obedient. He melts stunningly into his role--little hearts in his hazy eyes, lips pink, warm breaths so heated with content pleasure they come out in soft clouds. Perfect.

They eat dinner in near silence, comfortable and unhurried. The clink and clanking of their plates, cutlery, and glasses.

Then, they end the evening with Bucky back at his feet, one of his hands securely wrapped around Steve's ankle, before he changes out of his work clothes. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, Bucky's fingers flirt with the tops of his socks and the garters keeping them in place. Mindless. He's so sweet and pretty, it's all Steve can do to pull him into his lap, wrap his legs around his waist, and carry him to bed where he scarcely can unzip and pull himself out before ravaging him on their perfectly made bed.

Steve thrusts into him deep and hard, his arousal coiling tightly in the carnal pleasure of his hot, wet body, of course, but mostly he pulls his arousal from the watery, overwhelmed tears building in his puppy's eyes and the soft, helpless whines he makes and the trembling pout of his lips made especially worse when Steve spares one hand from holding his weight up over his puppy, rutting into him, to choke him instead.

Bucky paws at his wrist with both hands, not trying to get him to stop, trying to make him grab harder even as he gasps and moans silently.

Steve vows right then and there that tomorrow, he's calling off work, and they're going to go shopping. His puppy needs a collar and leash. He's so well trained that he doesn't need them to obey, but his Daddy wants it. He wants it all. He wants him so bad. His good boy. He wants it complete with a tag, silver inscribed with his contact information. His puppy.

"Mine." Steve growls, kissing him on the mouth. Hard.

"Yes!" Bucky cries, his eyes rolling back, so stuffed full of cock that he's choking--he'd be choking even if there weren't a hand on his throat.

Yes yes yes, oh, God, yes, he feels so owned and fucked and good.

[the-mcyt-crackships-brackets]

If Fwhilza loses to a f***ing Etho x not-a-block-person again, I am going to lose my ****** mind. And do something very very drastic in the fic, there will be pain.

Snipit: “Fair enough mate.” Phil says immediately striping off his outer jacket and the green tunic wrap thing, look Fwhip doesn’t know what they’re called. He does know what a turtleneck is. And it does make sense that it’d be sleeveless and probably backless considering Phil’s wings, but there is a split second Fwhip is startled, slightly, only slightly, at … the fact Phil discards the jackets in favour of what’s pretty much an undershirt so easily. Just because Fwhip said so. He frowns. “Well now you need sleeves.” He says turning to search for a better Grimlands approved jacket, not at all as a distraction. Flying gives one many muscles apparently. Fwhip ignores the fact he, who has wings, does not have those muscles. “Ah, so it was the green that was the issue.” He hears Phil joke behind him. Fwhip is not turning around yet because he has a jacket to find. Yes, all the jackets he’s looking through are his. He’s the only Grimlander with wings. “There’s lots of green in the Gimlands,” he snarks back digging through the closet he’s stuffed most of the gifts from his sister and advisors who keep trying to put him in fancier clothing. “Loose dangly wrap fabric on the other hand is less common.” He knows there’s a specific coat in here somewhere. Probably. Unless he’s making it up. He should commission it from the tailor if it doesn’t. It’d look good on Phil. “So what are you looking for?” Phil asks directly in his ear. Fwhip does not scream and then smack Phil with a wing when he laughs before diving further back into the closet because his face is not red. He knew Phil’s turtleneck had a cutout in it. He remembered that. Fwhip glares at the coats which are not the one he’s looking for. Wait. YES! He spins around triumphant and shoves the fabric forward. “Here. This should work. Try it on.” “Oh boy.” Fwhip hears Phil say in the background as he puts it on, far too distracted checking it fits alright to actually notice. It looks longer on Phil that it’s probably supposed to, but everything else seems fine (score one for keeping his measurements out of public and private knowledge). Honestly it fits Phil better than it probably would on him. Phil looks good in tighter clothes. The darker red coat is more open than most Grimland fashion, with large flat lapels he knows are probably sewn down and a couple decorative gold buttons down each side. The hem is all angles with arrowheads of black embroidery that match both the lapels and wide cuffs. Best of all he knows this coat is mostly flame retardant and lightweight. Red suits Phil, Fwhip thinks. Makes him look as sharp and deadly as he really is. Maybe that was the point of the green, to soften the edges, make him seem nicer. Fwhip still prefers the red on black. The way he it glitters like deepslate redstone. “I’m going to grab you gloves.” Fwhip decides, already moving away before he does … something.

- The FWHIP Analyst Vote FWHIP. before I figure out how to murder etho

.

[anonymousewrites]

Clan of Three (Book 2) Chapter Seventeen

Father Figure! Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Teen! Reader

Chapter Seventeen: The Choice

Summary: (Y/N) deals with the separation from their buir and their feelings surrounding their own identity in the Force and Way.

Mouse Note: A second chapter to make up for no update yesterday! <3 Forgive me!

            (Y/N) took a deep breath and tried to focus inward as Luke was demonstrating. Grogu was equally distracted by the jumping frogs. Luke was the only one who could properly meditate. (Y/N) occasionally succeeded, in fact, but only on their own. And even then they felt like they always connected to the Force in a separate way to Luke’s methods. They didn’t clear their mind of emotions; in fact, they reached out with them, asking for peace and happiness in the midst of their confusion.

            It didn’t change that they still couldn’t do the Jedi thing like Luke did. Could they manipulate the Force more easily? Yes. But could they keep their emotional attachments from returning every moment they weren’t focused on training? No. (Y/N) still struggled with their abilities because they were unhappy. Luke advised that they work on letting go and allowing their attachments to close, but (Y/N) couldn’t. In fact, not allowing their emotions only made the issues work. It was only when they were alone, allowing themself to really feel, that their control of the Force really showed its improvements.

            A sigh broke their silent contemplation, and they opened their eyes to see Luke watching them clearly not connecting to the Force and Grogu trying to eat a frog. (Y/N) looked away guiltily, and Grogu dropped the frog.

            “Try again,” said Luke. “Allow your mind to clear. I can sense the chaos within you. Grogu, come with me.” He stood.

            (Y/N) sighed. They were going to get a lecture; they just knew it. They watched Luke and Grogu walk off before standing up and stretching. They brushed the grass off of their outfit. They had a beige undershirt on with burnt orange sleeveless tunic-robes overtop. Their familiar Ushti belt rested around their waist, and their workboots from the farm still rested below brown pants. They might have to look more Jedi-like, but their spirit still remained the same as ever.

            (Y/N) climbed up into the tree they had been meditating under. Instantly, they felt more at ease. It felt much more laid back and like their old ways of hiding on their farmhouse roof on Ushti. Luke wanted them to meditate? Then they would, in the peace and quiet and comfort that nature gave them.

            Sure enough, as they let themselves feel like they were back on Ushti, at home in the world once more, the Force seemed to center around them. When they felt happy, connected with their heart, the Force always moved with them.

            “I see you’ve decided to take your training in a unique direction once again,” said Luke.

            (Y/N)’s eyes snapped open, and their calm air vanished as they toppled from their tree to land on the ground. They grumbled and stood up. “Already done lecturing Grogu?”

            Luke sighed, used to (Y/N)’s defensive measures by now. “Having a discussion is good for anyone.”

            “Then let’s get ours over with,” said (Y/N), walking off towards the woods.

            Luke followed, easily keeping pace beside them. “(Y/N), I understand that you have a hard time trusting people after you lost your parents. I felt the same way after I lost my aunt and uncle. The important thing is to allow yourself to let go of the pain to move forward.”

            “So I can find inner peace and do this Jedi thing in the way you’d like?” asked (Y/N), stopping on a clearing. “Look, I’ve tried your way, but it doesn’t work for me.”

            “Jedi’s fine peace in the Force,” said Luke. “Serenity is the path for us.”

            “But I always connect with the Force around me when I allow myself to feel,” said (Y/N). “I can’t change that. And I don’t understand why there has to be just one path.”

            “Because there is danger in allowing emotions to run rampant. That’s how people find the Dark Side alluring,” said Luke gently.

            (Y/N) looked to the side. They knew they felt anger deeply, especially toward Gideon and the Empire. They couldn’t deny that they wanted a chance to get back at them.

            “I don’t want to hurt anyone,” said (Y/N).

            “I know. That’s why I’m trying to show you another path,” said Luke.

            And yet (Y/N) didn’t feel like this was an either or situation. They felt like there were more options, more paths.

l

            Mando awoke as he felt eyes on him. He snapped up from where he’d been napping as he waited for Luke and his kids to appear, pulling a blaster from his belt. He halted his attack when he saw it was just Ahsoka leaning against a tree observing.

            “You. I didn’t expect to see you here,” said Mando.

            Ahsoka smiled slightly. “I’m an old friend of the family.”

            “I thought you weren’t going to help train Grogu and (Y/N),” said Mando.

            “I’m not. Master Luke is,” said Ahsoka.

            “Then what are you doing?” asked Mando.

            “That’s my question for you,” said Ahsoka wryly.

            Mando stood from the bench. “I’m here to see the kids.”

            “That’s why R2 brought you to me instead,” said Ahsoka.

            “What is this place?” asked Mando, looking at the house being built.

            “There’s nothing now,” said Ahsoka. “But it will someday be a great school. Grogu and (Y/N) will be the first students.”

            “I’d like to know how they’re doing,” said Mando.

            “They are both doing fine,” said Ahsoka.

            “I wanna see them,” said Mando.

            Ahsoka sighed. “I know you do. Let us take a walk.” She walked into the woods, and Mando followed. “I warned you when we met that your attachment to Grogu and (Y/N) would be difficult to let go of.”

            “They were Mandalorian foundlings in my care. I just wanna make sure they’re safe,” said Mando.

            “There is no place in the galaxy safer than here with Luke,” assured Ahsoka.

            “I don’t understand why you’re alright with Skywalker’s decision to train the kids when you wouldn’t,” said Mando.

            “Because it was their choice,” said Ahsoka. “I don’t control the wants of others.”

            “Then it’s my choice to go and see them,” said Mando.

            “Of course. If that is what you wish,” said Ahsoka.

            She looked up through the trees, and, curious, Mando followed her gaze. Upon a hill he saw (Y/N) speaking to Luke. They looked so different, dressed in their usual colors but in a new style. Mando longed to call out, but the words were stuck in his throat.

            “Alright,” he said, and, determined, Mando took a step forward.

            “Are you doing this for Grogu and (Y/N), or are you doing this for yourself?” remarked Ahsoka.

            She understood that (Y/N) didn’t seem affected by the Dark Side due to their attachment to Mando, and neither was Grogu, but they had also started to find some stability. Both missed Mando, but they were growing in their abilities. Ahsoka still wasn’t sure what to make of them, but she also wasn’t sure if disrupting their emotions once more would hurt their development.

            “I just…want to give them these,” said Mando softly, removing the two cloth bundles from his belt.

            “Why? So they will remember you?” asked Ahsoka.

            “No.” Mando’s voice wasn’t as firm as it should have been. “As Mandalorian foundlings, they should have these. It’s their right.”

            “Foundlings,” repeated Ahsoka. She crossed her arms. “Perhaps they are Padawans now.”

            Mando didn’t like that. “Well, either way, this armor and knife will protect them.” His eyes remained trained on where Luke was speaking gently to (Y/N). He wanted to be with them, helping them through whatever was going on.

            “If you are set on it, then allow me to deliver it,” said Ahsoka.

            “I came all this way,” said Mando, voice hoarse with emotion. “They’re right there…”

            Ahsoka laid a hand on Mando’s shoulder. “Grogu and (Y/N) miss you a great deal. If they see you, it will only make things more difficult for them.”

            Mando was silent for several long moments as he watched (Y/N), so close yet so far. Forcing his eyes away, he turned to Ahsoka. “Make sure they’re protected.” He handed the bundled gifts to her.

            Ahsoka took the presents and nodded.

            Mando turned before he could hesitate any longer and walked away. Somehow, even after seeing his kids were safe, his heart was heavier than ever as he headed back to the starfighter to leave.

l

            (Y/N) stood quietly as Luke walked back down the hill. They were left alone to watch as a N-1 starfighter, gleaming silver, flew up into the sky, away from the small settlement. (Y/N)’s heart had no doubt to who was flying the ship.

            Mando. Din Djarin.

            He had left without seeing them. (Y/N)’s heart ached, and they felt their eyes burn. They blinked furiously. They didn’t have Mando anymore. It had been a year; they should be over this.

            But they weren’t.

            (Y/N) felt deeply that they were meant to leave this planet. They had learned from it, but as Mandalore the Great said, their path was winding. They sensed a change approaching. Whether that meant (Y/N) would return to Mando or not, they couldn’t tell. It would be nice, though. (Y/N) wanted to be back with him.

l

            The sun hung lower in the sky over the river as Luke watched (Y/N) and Grogu practice leaping from rock to rock as the Force support them through the air. Ahsoka approached quietly, standing beside them as she observed their training as well. She was instantly aware of how (Y/N) faltered as if unable to trust themself and their ability. This was a regular occurrence but strange since she had seen (Y/N) sneak out and practice on their own, much more secure in their abilities than they seemed now.

            “You’ve taught them well,” said Ahsoka. (Y/N) might not be able to perform in front of them, but they had improved.

            “Grogu is remembering his old training, and (Y/N)…” Luke sighed. “Every step forward ends in two steps back.”

            Ahsoka hummed. He saw the same thing she did in regards to (Y/N). However, she doubted he saw that (Y/N) was unaffected by the Dark Side in regards to their attachment.

            “The Mandalorian was here,” said Luke.

            “As I told you. The three share a strong bond,” said Ahsoka. “And it does not seem as dangerous as it could be to them.” Luke glanced at her, blinking in surprise, and Ahsoka continued, “And the Mandalorian brought them gifts.” She held up the bundled gifts.

            Luke took them. He sighed. “Sometimes I wonder if their hearts are in it.”

            “Perhaps they’re not,” admitted Ahsoka. “I admit I saw the Ushti fight. Their attachment, their heart, allows them to be stronger, in my opinion. If anyone could avoid the Dark Side and keep such a strong heart, it would be them.” She smiled knowingly at Luke. “The Jedi are living in a new world. Perhaps some new perspective will help us avoid the clouded minds that allowed the Empire to rise.”

            Luke was quiet. “What should I do about Grogu and (Y/N)?” he finally said.

            “Trust your instincts. Just as they do,” said Ahsoka, smiling. She turned and walked away.

            “Will I see you again?” asked Luke.

            “Perhaps,” said Ahsoka. She put her fist to her heart and bowed. “May the Force be with you.”

l

            The sun hung low in the sky as Luke gathered (Y/N) and Grogu in the small teaching hut the droids had finished building it up. Luke had two bundled clothes on one side of a matt, and on the other were two wooden boxes. Luke sat solemnly across from Grogu and (Y/N).

            The two kids watched as Luke unwrapped the cloth bundles. One held a chainmail shirt, small enough to fit Grogu. The other held a dagger, and (Y/N)’s eyes widened. It was their Ushti dagger, beskar reforming the broken knife anew.

            Gifts from Mando.

            “The Mandalorian wanted you to have these,” said Luke.

            Grogu reached out and cooed, and (Y/N)’s fingers twitched at their side to reach for their dagger.

            “But before you take them,” warned Luke as both clearly wanted to take the gifts. “I will give you a choice.” Luke opened the wooden boxes and removed two lightsabers. The tiny one ignited with a green blade, and the regular sized one had a blue blade.

            (Y/N) and Grogu gazed at the lightsabers, the lights dancing before their eyes. Grogu clearly wanted to take the green one, but (Y/N) felt no call from the blue. They weren’t interested in it at all.

            “These are lightsabers,” said Luke. “And I’m offering them to you.” He placed them on the opposite side of the matt from the beskar gifts. “But you may only choose one. If you choose the armor or dagger, you’ll return to your friend, the Mandalorian.”

            My Buir, thought (Y/N).

            ���However, you will be giving in to the attachment to those that you love and forsaking the way of the Jedi,” said Luke.

            Why are there only two paths for Force-Sensitive people? thought (Y/N). Why can’t I forge my own way?

            “But if you choose the lightsaber, you will be my first students in my academy, and I will train you to be great Jedi,” said Luke. “It will take you many years to master the ways of the Force, and you may never see the Mandalorian again. Which do you choose?”

            (Y/N) looked between the dagger and lightsaber. They felt no trepidation at Luke’s words. They didn’t feel they were forsaking the Force at all as it still rushed around them every time they allowed themself to follow their heart. (Y/N) trusted their Way.

            And their way was to hone their abilities with their family.

            (Y/N)’s hand closed around the dagger, and the Force hummed in encouragement.

            “Thank you for everything, Master Luke,” said (Y/N). “But my path is taking me somewhere else. This is my Way, and I will find my path alongside the Force.”

            Luke nodded to them. “Remember to trust your instincts. You want to help people. Don’t lose that.”

            “May the Force be with you,” said (Y/N).

            “May the Force be with you,” said Luke.

            Grogu babbled and reached out for his chainmail shirt. He felt the same way.

            (Y/N) smiled. They were Ushti and Jedi, and their clan was with Mandalorians. They could not and would not choose one. They were going home.

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[warpedlegacywrites]

Chapter 9: "The Keeper and the Dreamer"

Rosalie is feeling listless and without purpose. During an outing with Cullen in search of a carpenter, she finds an answer in an unexpected place. Cullen finds a ghost from his past.

“I’ve got to go into town today.” Cullen nods toward the newly-created stack of kindling. “Most of this has to be completely replaced, so I’ll need a reliable carpenter. Why don’t you come with me?”  Rosie glares at him. “Are you humouring me?”  “No.” Liar . “I have no gift for negotiation – Tess usually handles that. And she told me you’re the reason we get our milk delivered for three coppers less than our neighbours.”  “That’s just ‘cause the milkmaid’s sweet on me.”  He glances up at her, uncertain. “Are you serious?”  She rolls her eyes. “No.” Yes . 

He laughs it off nervously, not looking entirely convinced, and says to meet her downstairs in a half hour so he can clean and change. She takes the time to find something more flattering than her plain house dress, deciding on the red tunic with green embroidery around the hem. It complements her rounded figure nicely, emphasising her ample curves without being ostentatious. A pair of loose-fitting trousers will allow airflow and prevent chafing from the heat. Her hair, she combs with her fingers and pulls into a messy bun. It probably won’t matter – she’ll be a sweaty mess before they even reach the market square – but at least it elongates her neck and keeps it off her back.  She also takes stock of items the kitchen still needs. If they’re going to market, she can probably scan the potters for some good baking dishes, and they could use a few more spices for variety. Then she waits down in the vestibule, now mostly empty of boxes, admiring how the skylight’s angled glass panes cast a refracted pattern of light across the marble floor.  Boot heels sound, and she turns to see Cullen enter from the grand staircase, dressed simply in brown cotton trousers, a sleeveless leather jerkin, and white linen undershirt, the sleeves rolled up his forearms. “Ready?”  Rosie nods, but her eyes catch the sword hilt protruding prominently from his waist, and she stops.  He notices, and smiles reassuringly. “Not to worry. It’s mostly just a deterrent.”  She’s sure he means that to be comforting, but can’t help fretting over “mostly”. 

DAFF Tag List: @rakshadow, @rosella-writes, @effelants, @bluewren, @breninarthur, @ar-lath-ma-cully, @dreadfutures, @ir0n-angel, @inquisimer, @crackinglamb, @theluckywizard, @nirikeehan, @oxygenforthewicked, @exalted-dawn-drabbles, @melisusthewee, @blarrghe, @agentkatie, @delicatefade

[celestiall0tus]

Miraculous Paradise - Chapter 17 - Choosing Sides

Beginning || Previous || Next

            Sabrina’s eyes fluttered open as she woke up to a dark room. She panicked and sat up. She blinked a few times as her eyes adjusted well to the darkness. She moved to turn on the light to her shock that she couldn’t see in normal colors. She looked around and immediately saw a dog snout muzzle on her face. She ran to the bathroom and looked in Chloe’s mirrors.

            Sabrina’s eyes widened to see she wore a cropped tactical jacket, pants, and sneakers. Her shoulder-length hair was cut into a close pixie with a set of dog ears framing her head. She giggled and played with her ears when she felt something wagging behind her. She turned to see a fluffy tail. She spun around to get a good look when she froze. Her ears perked up when she heard movement. She trotted out as Chloe stood.

            Sabrina gasped. Chloe was dressed in a fur trimmed, striped leotard with fur cuffed thigh-high boots and long, ballroom gloves. Her hair was tied back into a bun with a set of bee antenna atop her head. In addition to the outfit, she had a set of bee wings, compound bee eyes, and a bee’s abdomen.

            Sabrina yipped like a dog and circled Chloe. “Look at you! You look absolutely gorgeous, Chloe.”

            Chloe focused and looked at Sabrina. “Oh. My. God. Look at you, little precious pet! You’re a little golden retriever!”

            Sabrina looked down at her clothes when Chloe cupped Sabrina’s face and played with the dog ears. She grinned under her mask as her tail wagged.

            “Awe! Who’s a good doggie? You are. Yes, you are.”

            Sabrina reveled in the attention when she remembered why they accepted the kwamis. “Chloe, we need to find the butterfly and peacock. We need to head to Notre Dame.”

            “Huh? Oh, right. Think they’re still out?”

            “Worth a shot, right?”

            Chloe nodded. She opened the balcony doors, then scooped up Sabrina.

            Sabrina yelped. “What’s going on?”

            “It’ll be faster this way. Now hold on tight to me.”

~~

            Zoe’s eyes fluttered as she returned to her body. She blinked against the darkness, but her eyes didn’t adjust. She stumbled around in darkness when she felt the ruffle of her curtains. She threw them open to let in the light of the late-night city. She admired the view as she felt a rush of homesickness. The only thing there was to remind her of home. She stared at the window when her focus shifted to her reflection.

            Zoe’s grungy clothes had transformed into a black sleeveless cropped hoodie with a red hourglass on it, mask, undershirt, long gloves, pants, and knee-high boots. Her blonde hair was black with a pair of red streaks in her forelocks. Her sclera was black and her blue eyes a vibrant red. Black belts decorated her waist, gloves, pants, and boots with one holding a sheathed dagger.

            Zoe admired her new outfit when she saw a pair of women fly by, a bee and a dog. She grinned as she knew it was Chloe and Sabrina. She stepped out onto her balcony, amazed that she didn’t feel the cold. She stepped up onto the balcony railing as new information flooded her. She shuffled her feet before she leapt up and landed on the rooftop across the street.

            Zoe grinned and stood. She hurried after Chloe to the base of the fanatics.

~~

            Echidna let out an exhausted sigh. She had seen to the last of the people that sought their protection. She and Erinona watched the last of the people leave before she collapsed onto the altar.

            “Sister?” Erinona asked.

            “Don’t mind me. Might have overdone it a little.”

            “Careful! We may have the powers of gods, but we need to be careful else we’ll draw on our own lives.”

            Echidna hummed. “Right. Perhaps we should get going now.”

            “Why bother? We can just stay here for the night.”

            “Shouldn’t we return to home?”

            “I mean, we could, but I’d rather avoid the confrontation with Colt as long as possible. Assuming he’d have even recognized me.”

            Echidna’s heart dropped. “You don’t think… he was watching, do you?”

            “If he wasn’t, Colt would have shown him. Colt so does love to make people miserable.”

            Echidna grimaced. “Perhaps we could use some time to composure ourselves. You know, prepare for that whole conversation later.”

            “Exactly! Now, let’s take a look around. I’m sure there’s a lovely area we can make a home away from home.”

            Erinona moved to leave the chapel when the doors flung open. Chloe and Sabrina ran up before Erinona and Echidna. Chloe knelt followed by Sabrina. Erinona and Echidna exchanged glances, then looked back at the girls.

            “Who are you two and what brings you here?” Echidna demanded.

            Chloe and Sabrina hesitated. A moment passed before Chloe looked up.

            “I know who you are, and you know me. If not in my face, then by my voice. Understand that I also know why you do this. For that reason alone, I am here to offer myself to your cause,” Chloe said.

            “And I’m here for her,” Sabrina added, pointing to Chloe.

            Echidna’s jaw dropped. She covered it as she glanced at Erinona, then back at Chloe.

            Erinona stepped forward. “Are you ladies sure? This will be no easy fight and there is opposition.”

            “That’s fine! I’ll fight whoever if it means we save him, my brother. Please. Let us help in your crusade,” Chloe insisted.

            “I mean, we’ll need all the help we can get,” Erinona commented.

            “We can offer more than just ourselves too. We have connections that can aid you. Bring you more followers and assistance in purging the world of sin to make way for Paradise,” Chloe added.

            Echidna sighed. “Alright. If that’s what you girls want, we’ll accept your help. Just be prepared to fight anything that comes your way. Our opposition will stop at nothing to bring us down.”

            “You can count on us!” Chloe declared.

            Sabrina nodded.

            “Very well. What do you call yourselves?” Echidna asked.

            “Uh. We don’t have names, ma’am,” Sabrina admitted.

            “Oh! Can we name you two?” Erinona asked.

            Chloe and Sabrina exchanged glances, then nodded.

            Erinona squealed and approached Sabrina. “You, little puppy, will be Cerberus.”

            Sabrina winced. “Cerberus? Can it be something to do with love?”

            “Love? Well, how about… oh! What about Agape?”

            Sabrina considered and nodded. “Agape is better.”

            Echidna nodded and approached Chloe. “From this day forth, you will be known to the world as Ambrosia. Be their promise of long life and immortality within Paradise.”

            “Not today!” a voice yelled.

            Everyone looked around when Zoe jumped from the rafters into the aisle.

            “Who are you, interloper?” Erinona demanded.

            “I am Widow. I’m here for the bitch you call ‘Ambrosia.’”

            Erinona and Echidna moved to defend Ambrosia, but she stood ready with a lasso in hand.

            “Allow me,” Ambrosia said.

            “Alone? Are you-?” Erinona started.

            “Trust her,” Agape begged.

            Erinona and Echidna exchanged glances, then nodded. They retreated to an adjacent room while Agape hid behind the altar.

            Widow pulled out her dagger and summoned another before she charged at Ambrosia. She swung wildly at Ambrosia, who deftly dodged her attacks. Ambrosia attempted to wrangle her into the lasso, but she dodged each attempt.

            Agape watched Widow and Ambrosia’s dance. She waited a moment longer, then summoned her weapon, a bow. She crouched close to the ground, notched an arrow, and waited until Ambrosia snagged Widow. Widow sneered, went to cut the rope, and she loosened the arrow. It flew and drove through Widow’s hand.

            Widow sucked in a breath. She clutched her dagger and fumbled to cut the rope when more arrows pierced her shoulder and arm. She recoiled in pain as another volley lodged into her leg. She swore and dropped her dagger.

            Ambrosia moved to pick it up when there was a series of loud pops. Widow instinctively hit the floor and covered her head. She stared at the ground as smoke wafted into her view. She looked up to see the room had filled with black smoke. She struggled to move when Ambrosia’s scream tore through the air. She looked back as the golden rope vanished and a shadowy figure stole her away.

            Void emerged from Notre Dame with Widow in her arms. Widow blinked and looked up at her.

            “Who are you?” Widow demanded.

            “An ally.”

            “How can I be sure?”

            “Would you rather I left you at the hands of our enemy?”

            Widow considered. “Fine. Can you at least drop me off at home?”

            “I will, wherever that is, after we tend to your wounds.”

            “We?” Widow echoed.

            Void grinned. “Hold on tight, little one.”

~~

            Adrien opened his eyes as he woke up. He shook his head and raised his hand to his head. He paused seeing the dark glove and long sleeve. He rushed to his bathroom, turned on the light, and examined himself. His clothes had transformed into a teal, long sleeved crop hoodie and pants with dark teal gloves and boots. A dark teal undershirt covered his midsection along with a scaly underbelly akin to a snake. A long cloth snake tail extended from the back of his top to the floor and then some. His face was covered in snake-like mask with the lower half of his face and hair exposed. His eyes had changed to yellow sclera with teal snake-like eyes.

            Adrien let out a breath as he turned off the light and ran back out. Adrenaline coursed through him at the bizarre energy that coursed through him. He jumped around his room, amazed at the height he was now capable of before he turned his sights outside. He managed to crack the window open and slipped out.

            Adrien took a deep breath of the winter air but didn’t feel the cold. He leapt from his window over the mansion wall, careful not to leave any fresh prints in the snow. He landed on the sidewalk and took a breath. He looked around the empty street before he jumped up onto the rooftops. He glanced around at the beautiful city around him lit up with all manner of lights. He took a breath and ran.

            Adrien grinned, unable to contain his glee as he moved and jumped around. He reveled in his newfound freedom as he swung around from trees and poles to doing flips he had seen heroes do in movies. He missed the landing on several of them, but even the brief pain of the impact was new and different. He quickly shook himself off before he’d attempt again and again, each try with varying degree of failure and success.

            Adrien jumped, but caught his foot on a railing. He sucked in a breath as he plummeted and landed on the sidewalk. Panic seized him when he heard someone else let out a breath. He looked down and froze. He landed on a guy with medium-length black hair with bright red dyed tips amd fair skin dressed in grungy, ripped rocker clothes.

            Adrien got up and helped the guy by putting him on his feet. He turned tail and ran away as he heard a loud shriek. He booked it far from the guy before he stopped up on the Eiffel Tower. He hid behind a column and squealed. That man was unbelievably beautiful. He’d never seen a man as handsome as that one except on TV. He wondered what kind of person the guy was. He assumed that the guy was some sort of bad boy or misunderstood villain with a big heart based on what he was wearing. He wondered if he could see the guy again. Would he be able to find the guy? He sure hoped so.

            “Well, well, look what we have here,” a woman said.

            Adrien looked up from his thoughts at a woman looming over him. She wore a cropped red tank top, black and red biker jacket, a black coin pendant strung through with red string, black gloves with three fingers uncovered, black bellbottom pants, and black boots. Her voluminous black hair streaked with red with a large forelock over her right eye, leaving her left, red eye exposed.

            “Who are you?” Adrien asked.

            The woman’s eyes widened, and she laughed. “I don’t believe it. The little sickly boy. How did you come into possession of a miraculous?”

            Adrien tilted his head. “Miraculous? You mean my bracelet?”

            “Your bracelet? Interesting. How did you come into possession of it?”

            “The doctor, well, I suppose my kwami, gave it to me. He told me it’d keep me well for the next year.”

            “It’s doing its job. Though, what brings you out here at this hour? Shouldn’t you be resting?”

            “Oh? Oh! I did this so I could find the ladybug girl from the news. I want to help her.”

            “What a coincidence. I’m looking for her too, but she doesn’t seem to be out anymore. I was actually on my way home when I found you, little one.”

            Adrien looked dejected. “Oh.”

            “Though, tell you what, why don’t we meet up tomorrow and look for her together?”

            “Really? You’d do that? But why?”

            “Because a certain someone we both know asked me to help her too.”

            “Who do we both know?”

            “That’ll be a conversation for another time, little one. For now, let’s get you home.”

            “But I just got out here!”

            “One night for many more to come. Besides, the ladybug girl is no longer out. What point more is there to being out and running on fumes for the next day?”

            Adrien sighed. “I suppose.”

            “Atta boy! Let’s get you home.”

            “Oh! What’s your name?”

            “Huh? Oh, right. Call me Dragnet.”

            Adrien stood and held out a hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Dragnet. I’m A-.”

            Dragnet pressed a finger against Adrien’s lips. “Aspik. Pleasure to meet you, Aspik.”

            “Er, right. Aspik.”

            “Keep your identity close to your chest, Aspik. It’s the most valuable thing you have that your enemies will seek to exploit. Understand?”

            “Oh? Oh! Yes, ma’am!”

            “Good. Now, let’s get you home.”

[kakyogay]

Several Cheap Fragments!!!!

Finally finished their general ref sheet.

(I may make something like this for FSRW but for now this is all I got)

more info under cut because my brian be thimking

SCF

Like Reese, it's purpose wasn't really to solve the great problem but to house, research, and possibly domesticate the organisms they were assigned. Reese has lizards while Fragments has vultures.

The main idea for their clothing was "since they can go outside their can, they need to be dressed for exploration" so shorter clothing would be more appropriate. And since they have a changeable back panel, the back needs to be open enough to make it easy. I just decided to make the undershirt thing sleeveless with an open back as shown below.

With the above you can also see how their wires work. The back panel only covers up their inner mechanics with a port for their wires. It's mainly used as a placeholder if no packs are being used to avoid breaking their puppet out of stupidity.

If one were to be connected, it'd snap on. The wires would plug into the input on the pack and they'd be able to use the pack as programmed unless it sustained damaged. I only have one kind of attachment at the moment but if I were to make more they would go by the same system. Here is a doodle of it that hopefully makes sense if the text didn't.

Oh yeah also you know how I said the back is covered up so they wouldn't break their puppet out of stupidity? Yeah well they did once and it lowkey messed up their eyesight. Don't ask how, it just did. This now makes them cautious of things behind them, since one small mess up impacted their life greatly.

oh yeah and one final thing their eyes just look like that because I thought it looked cool.

I think that's all for the calculator, time for the pups :)

Link & Lonk

Link and Lonk are a couple of pups that look like lantern mice with similar abilities to those little fellas. honestly I just thought "what if scug look like funky mice :D" and decided to force Fragments to bare the burden of parenthood.

They were separated from their parents and found fragments. It decided to feed the small pups and now they latch onto it like a cyan lizard who'd been given a small centipede.

They are surprisingly helpful when outside it's can. They can hold extra spears and pearls around if needed. Link tends to hold onto pearls while Lonk takes the spears. Probably because Link would rather swim in an ocean full of leviathans than need to hit something twice their size with a spear.

They also know a little bit of sign language. Only simple gestures like hi, yes, no, danger, food, and others along that line. They really like to use the food gesture literally any moment they can because they could eat literally anything anytime. It got so bad that fragments now limits their food per cycle. They don't like the limit but it is what it is ig.

I really hope my organization of whatever this is is alright. It's almost 1 am and I should really be going to bed soon. If I come up with anything else I'll put it under their tag but for now this is all I got. gnight 👍👍

[warriorend-2]

uh. it's zor :thumbsup:

why yes their undershirt was colorpicked to be the exact same color as the one phoenix usually wears. who knows maybe they got it from the same place.

further notes under the cut bc i was explaining in a discord conversation

they grow out their hair that long because phoenix will usually just let theirs grow until it gets annoying, at which point they'll just chop it off. they don't always do this with scissors and a mirror as it tends to be a spur-of-the-moment thing, so their hair is usually pretty choppy

as mentioned they wear the same exact color shirt. it could even be the exact same kind, but zor doesn't take off their coat, so it's impossible to tell if it's sleeveless like phoenix's

other similarities: -phoenix hides the lower half of their face w a mask (tho it's partially for toxic gas reasons) -they both wear gloves, although phoenix's are much longer & more industrial -long ass coat (i don't have a good drawing of phoenix in their coat you're just gonna have to take my word on it) -lighter color shoes than pants -turtleneck however Phoenix is approximately a foot taller than Zor is, and that's not because Zor is short, Phoenix is just ridiculously tall.

here is phoenix. for comparison. i've drawn them better by now but this is the clearest image i've got

(the reason, for the record, that phoenix isn't absolutely riddled with scars is because. well. it's for the same reason they don't die)

also hi if you're down here. hello. the reason they look so similar is because they. kind of are. phoenix has the capacity to be a lot more cruel and malicious than they're willing to admit and the agency is willing to accept. zor knows this. and kind of wants to take advantage of it, if necessary ("i can't win but you can lose" sort of situation @ the agency)

[azotas]

Sync's 1st uniform

Sync's uniform, which he wears for the majority of the game, and my personal favorite even if it's weird.

First, let's start with his hair. From my understanding, it's from the back and flipped over into his spikes. So Sync has slightly longer hair than it appears and goes to about his collarbone. He does this to look as little like Ion.

Mask. Yes. He can see out of it, I don't know how. Regardless he's been wearing it almost his entire life. Van gives it in the volcano after branding him with his glyph. In the anime and manga, it's wooden, in the game it seems to be made of metal.

So around his arms are long armbands. The hook around the bolt-like metal on his chest then wraps behind his back to the opposite arm. Their use isn't in either the anime or game, and is manga only. He uses them in the core mission to time and silence Tear. On his bands and bolts are tags with Daathic symbols on them. There is 0 cannon explanation for them. I personally headcanon that they are an added limit to keep his fonic glyphs in check.

The top part is a vest and is separate from the cloak part. It is connected to the sleeves which just have the shoulder cut out of them. The cloak and green part are together, they are sleeveless. Under that in a skin-tight black undershirt, seen on the shoulders.

The pants are next. The only reason I can figure for their design is to help free movement with kicks. Then why not just wear the tights by themself? IDK. That's boring I guess? They are probably held up by a thin belt, then above the ankles they become whole? and are tucked into the boots. Then a normal pair of black tights under that and normal boots.

[lermisv4]

I was 11 when I first started getting acne and now I’m 23 and I still have it. It shot my confidence. Picking on my skin was always my response to stress or discomfort, and at some point my body just gave up on healing things right. I have so many scars all over my body. By breasts, my chin and jawline, my cheecks, my shoulders, my back, my sides, my legs... It’s literally everywhere. White dots and open wounds and discolorations and odd textures just everywhere. Sometimes when I get it in the forehead it causes me headaches so bad that actually shoving a neddle in there and letting it bleed is a relief. Yes, I know I should never do that, but the pain. I’m being a hypocrite here but please don’t do the shit I did. My solution to everything was a sewing needle. Do not do that. Once you start the habit it’s near impossible to stop. At least my acne is nowhere near as severe as it was in middle and high school, that’s where the majority of my scars came from. But for years on end I wouldn’t wear sleeveless t-shirts because I knew how everyone would react to the infected wounds. I got extremely lucky that I only got a serious infection once but I’m the exception not the rule. Hearing my mom yell at me about my skin would bring me to tears out of sheer frustration, it got to the point that I straight up banned her from bringing up the subject. I find blood on most of my undershirts on a daily basis. Some of those undershirts have permanent stains. The state of my legs determines what colour pants I’ll wear that day because I know which ones won’t show the blood. It feels some days like it determines everything in my life and I HATE it. But at least it’s not as bad as it was. That’s my only saving grace in this. Yes, I’ve tried cures, but I’m never patient enough to stick to them. So many fucking salves and shit when I can barely handle getting up in the morning and getting ready in time. The pills have the most bullshit side effects. My mom did injections when she was young and even she tells me “just don’t” with that.

Ugh, I could keep going. I’ll stop this here. Thanks for reading, I guess.

i hope everyone with acne, eczema, vitiligo, psoriasis, dermatitis, and skin conditions have a good day today