#that snippet turned out a bit longer than i expected

[branmuffins22]

Thanks for the tag! Sorry about the absence these last few weeks (and all those unanswered asks 😬). Health has been a smidge sketchy, spoons and sleep in short supply. But I've been a bit better lately, I think!

Filenames (all are fanfics of The Owl House):

Masha and the Very Normal Nocedas; a post-finale, pre-epilogue, Veesha-centric longfic about Masha's increasingly crazed attempts to figure out the whole Deal™ with Luz, Vee, and Hunter. Meanwhile, the Nocedas are trying as hard as possible to be normal and inconspicuous, made difficult by their various traumas, talents, and a certain purple palisman's refusal to leave her witch's side. It's a light-hearted mess. I've still got some edits to do to the chapters I've already written (mostly for flavor), and I'm still trying to draft the second half-ish of chapter 3 (it's already been outlined), but once all that's done, I should be able to start posting with a comfortable buffer.

Something Like a Bible; a test document of sorts for my canon rewrite, tentatively either the "Artificer AU" or "Overthinker AU", going over the broad-strokes plot and its divergences from canon via a series of short scenes and vignettes. The characters and motivations remain almost entirely unchanged, but I'm lengthening and rearranging the timeline to explore new plots and leave more space for supplemental adventures in the season 2 equivalent, as well as doing perhaps a bit too much worldbuilding, headcanon dumping, and so on. I think I need to go back and flesh out the second half of the season 1 equivalent, but then I can pick up with the meat and potatoes of the magic system exploration.

Small Town Paranormal Investigations; an episode from the aforementioned AU, in which the Hexsquad and Cabin 7 team up to, as the name suggests, investigate some paranormal activity in the small town of Gravesfield. It's mostly about the ghost hunt, but it'll also include Vee coming out to her friends from camp. I'm writing this one in something as close as I can manage to the style and pacing of the show, and I only just finished the opener, with small blurbs written of later scenes, so there's still a lot to do. Thankfully, the brainrot has been very kind to this fic lately.

Snippet is the tail end of the opening scene from Small Town Paranormal Investigations:

The temperature suddenly did a nosedive, as something like a breath of icy wind blew past, the faraway echo of a sharp woosh trailing behind it a full second later. Goosebumps sprouted along their arms and legs, and the hairs on the back of their neck stood straight up. They felt as though they'd stepped into an industrial freezer, all warmth blasted away in an instant, still gone long after the culprit gust had passed. The others must've noticed it too, as all four of them went tense and still. "Brr," they shivered, "The heck was that?" "Beats me!" said Baker. "A cold front?" Lance offered. "Oh, looks like a whirlwind," said "Luz", nervously pointing just off to the side of the sidewalk. Sure enough, a tiny scattering of schoolday detritus, from gum wrappers to flashcards, twisted and danced away at astonishing speed. It slid straight under a tree, incidentally gathering a few leaves, and then bent around the corner of the school building, the warmth of the spring afternoon returning at the very instant it passed from sight. "…Weird," Masha remarked. "Yeah…" "Luz" sniffed once, twice, before making a rather intense face. "Very weird." Masha raised an eyebrow at her. They opened their mouth to ask something, but before they could find their words, she turned back to keep walking, prompting the others to do the same. "Wanna do that hangout today? Right now?" she urged, pulling out her phone. Lance responded first, "Hm? Sure." Baker followed, "I'm down." Masha, though, merely stared at her for a bit. She was clearly deflecting, trying to change the subject. But why? "…Yeah," they relented. "Cool. Just gotta let my mom know where I'm at," she muttered. Scanning over her shoulder, she was already at least three messages deep into a conversation, though they didn't spot Mrs. Noceda's usual contact photo. With some hesitation, they decided to drop it, for now. It was probably nothing, anyways; just some weird wind putting them all on edge. Though their own brain was trying to tamp down ideas about the strange and supernatural, hers was probably just stuck on the fear of the unexplained. Besides, she'd always been kinda jumpy. It'd make sense for it to bug her the most. Oh well. If she ever wanted to talk it out, they'd listen.

WIP Wednesday Game

It’s WIP Wednesday, time for a little accountability, sharing your work, and getting a kick in the pants.

Here’s how it works:

In a reblog of this post (so people can find you in the notes) or new thread (w/ rules attached) if you want to play on your own, post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to play!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event or gift fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. I’ll be searching the reblogs to find people to send asks to!

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write.

Requested/Friend event mentions under the cut! If you'd like to be pinged next week, let me know!

Friends @fiore-della-valle @redbirdblogs @greenbergsays @idkfandomwhatever @luckyspike

@obaewankenope @mad-madam-m @anonymousdandelion @geometricfractal @prettybirdy979

@eriquin | Requests @aparticularbandit @madnessfromthemountains @makeroftherunes @1attheedge

@whimsicalmeerkat @kidsomeday @lizhly-writes @skyderman @adhdavinci

@owlbearwrites @anachronismstellar @anyctibius @rilannon @lazinesswrites

@zyrafowe-sny @dreaminghour @blue-eyedbeta @candyskiez @dreamerking27

@kalira @virgulesmith @i-want-delfeur @selkies-world @exceedinglygayotter

[d-z20]

Neighbourly Care part 5 (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: Things become official with the MILFS but there's an unexpected guest. Back at college, your friends are still trying to set you up with someone which Agatha and Rio will NOT let that slide, so they remind you exactly who you belong to again but Rio's been scheming

-OR-

Your girlfriends take you back to fuck you but somehow it ends with Agatha tied up and Rio getting railed...

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, tiny bit of angst, smut, fluff, possessive Agathario, power bottom Rio, switch reader, implied phone sex, marking, bondage (A recv), strap on (Rio recv), mentions of overstimulation, brief edging, oral (Reader recv)

Words: 5.1k

A/N: I am BACK baby, and what better way than with an update for this fic. I thought it was about time we got to fuck Rio :)

AO3 | Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 6 | 7 | Masterlist

Back Again

You stir faintly, the ache of exhaustion mingling with the cosy warmth of the couch. A shift in the cushions pulls you further from sleep, and you vaguely register the sensation of being lifted. Strong arms cradle you, the familiar scent of Rio’s shampoo grounding you even in your half-asleep haze.

“Shh, baby,” Rio murmurs, her voice a soothing balm. The gentle sway of her steps lulls you closer to rest, though faint snippets of conversation anchor you to the moment.

“They’re out cold,” Rio says softly, her tone carrying a rare mix of amusement and concern.

“I’m texting their parents,” comes Agatha’s voice, punctuated by the soft click of her nails on a screen. “Letting them know they’re staying here.”

The sound of soft sheets and the familiar scent of cedar envelop you as Rio lays you down on the bed, careful and deliberate. You feel the weight of the blanket pulled over you, and then the mattress dips beside you. Rio’s warm arms encircle you, pulling you close, while Agatha presses a kiss to your temple, her lips lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. Between them, you drift back into a deep sleep.

—

You can hear the sound of birds as you blink yourself awake, the warmth of Rio’s body beside you grounding you. Uncertainty knots in your stomach as you fidget with your hands, your mind racing with thoughts you’d been avoiding. What is this relationship you have with Agatha and Rio? Is it just sex? Or is there something deeper?

“Good morning,” Rio’s voice is soft, her head propped on her hand as she lies on her side facing you. Her honeyed gaze watches you with open affection.

You mumble a greeting, rubbing at your face as a familiar knot of unease tightens in your chest. Your hands continue to fidget of their own accord, fingers twisting over each other. Rio notices instantly.

“Hey,” she says softly, her brows knitting together. Her hand finds yours, stilling your nervous movements. “What’s going on?”

You hesitate, unsure of how to articulate the tangled thoughts that kept you tossing and turning in your dreams. Finally, you turn onto your side, meeting her gaze. “I don’t know what this is,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “With you and Agatha, I mean. It’s amazing and I don’t want it to end, but is it just sex? Like it’s obvious you’ve done this before; I just want to be able to set my expectations.”

The words leave you feeling vulnerable, your cheeks warming as you search Rio’s face for a reaction. She blinks, clearly taken aback, but then her expression softens. Her thumb rubs gentle circles over the back of your hand. “Sweetheart,” she starts, her voice thick with affection. “I didn’t realise you were worried about that.”

Before she can say more, a low groan rumbles behind you. Agatha stirs, wrapping an arm around your waist and nuzzling into the crook of your neck “Mornin’,” she murmurs, her voice gravelly and laced with sleep. She presses a soft kiss to your neck, her hold tightening slightly. “What are we talking about?”

Rio glances at you, silently asking for permission to explain. When you nod, she tells Agatha about your concerns. Agatha hums thoughtfully, her lips brushing your skin as she speaks. “Well, yes, we’ve had people join us in the bedroom before,” she begins, her voice steady. “But never someone who’s become part of our lives the way you have.”

Rio nods in agreement, her hand resting lightly on your hip. “We’ve been talking about this ourselves, you know,” she admits. “About how much we like you, how much we love having you around. You’re not just a fling, cariño.”

Agatha tilts your face to meet her gaze, her eyes warm and sincere. “We like you, baby. A lot,” she says, her lips quirking into a small smile. “So, what do you say? Would you want to start dating us? Properly? ”

For a moment, all you can do is stare, their words washing over you like a warm tide. Your chest tightens, but it’s not fear—it’s overwhelming relief. You nod, your voice shaky but resolute. “Yes. I’d like that.” They both smile, their joy evident as they pull you into a tight embrace.

—

The three of you make your way downstairs for breakfast, the warm morning light filling the kitchen. Agatha and Rio are particularly handsy, their touches more purposeful now, as if relishing the newfound claim they have on you since officially calling you theirs. They brush against you, steal kisses, and touch your waist or hand at every opportunity. The domesticity of it all feels surreal but wonderful.

It perfect. Almost too perfect.

“Hey, Mom. Hey, Ma,” a voice calls from the hallway, startling you. You step away from Rio’s touch instinctively, a flush creeping up your neck as a young man with dark hair and a broad smile steps into the kitchen.

Nicholas pauses, his gaze darting between you and his mothers. “Uh, hi,” he says, his brow raising slightly. “Didn’t know you had company.”

Agatha clears her throat, stepping forward smoothly. “Y/N, this is our son, Nicholas,” she says. “Nicky, this is Y/N; your mom’s helping them with their Spanish.”

Your heart stutters, but you manage a polite smile. “Hi,” you say, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach.

Nicholas grins, though there’s a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. “Nice to meet you,” he says easily. “Hope they’re not giving you too hard a time; I remember how strict they were with me.”

You laugh nervously, shaking your head to rid yourself of memories from last night. The conversation shifts and though you find yourself easing into the flow, you can’t ignore the way your chest tightens with the realisation that you might be intruding on their family time.

When breakfast wraps up, you use the opportunity to excuse yourself. “I should probably get back to my parents’ place,” you say, standing. Agatha and Rio share a look but nod in understanding, both walking you to the door to say goodbye. Out of view of Nicholas, they each press a lingering kiss to your cheek before you leave.

—

The weeks that follow are a whirlwind of classes, assignments, and finals, but Agatha and Rio are never far from your mind—or your phone, which buzzes constantly with texts from them. They visit when they can, their presence a soothing balm to the ache of missing them. On the nights they can’t, they always call, their voices filling the empty spaces of your apartment.

One evening, you’re sprawled on your bed during a video call. Agatha’s voice is low and teasing, her words dipping into a register that makes your breath hitch and sends heat rushing to your cheeks.

“Careful with that blush, sweetheart,” she purrs, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “It’s too easy to tell what I’m doing to you.”

Rio, ever playful, leans into frame, her expression positively wicked. “You’re squirming. I can see it. Wanna tell us how much you miss us, cariño?”

Their voices twine together, their suggestive remarks growing more insistent, coaxing soft whimpers from you. The call becomes a delicious blur of teasing, their words a heady mix of affection and temptation, leaving you flushed and aching for more by the time the night ends.

—

The next day, your phone buzzes with a series of texts from your friends.

Kate: Hey! You coming out with us tonight? We’re celebrating the end of finals!

Peter: We’ve barely seen you lately. Come on, you need to unwind.

You hesitate, glancing at your phone with a pang of guilt. They’re right; you’ve spent every spare moment with Agatha and Rio or on the phone with them, wrapped up in the intoxicating rhythm of their affection.

You: Fine, I’ll come. But only if it’s just a casual hangout. No matchmaking schemes.

Their replies are immediate.

Peter: Casual, I swear. Just us. Drinks and good company.

Kate: Yeah, totally chill. No schemes… maybe just a little chance to meet someone new?

You groan at the last message, already regretting your decision.

You: Seriously. No setups.

Peter: Relax! We just think it’s time you got back out there. When was your last date? Oh, right—that dickhead at the bar.

Kate: Exactly. You’ve been single forever, and we’re just saying...

They don’t know about Agatha and Rio and you dodge the topic with practiced ease.

You: I’ll come, but I mean it: Just. Hanging. Out.

Kate: Okay, okay! Pinky promise.

You shake your head, sighing as you set your phone down. It feels a little disingenuous to let them think you’re single, but explaining your situation—or even trying to—feels impossible. Besides, the thought of a casual night with friends doesn’t seem so bad... as long as they stick to their promise.

MILFS Anonymous

~ 18:49

You: Going out with my friends tonight :)

Agatha: Have fun, gorgeous. And don’t let anyone think they have a chance.

Rio: Remember: ours and ours alone. 😘

Their words make your chest warm with affection, and their possessiveness is thrilling in a way you can’t quite articulate.

—

When you arrive at the bar, the atmosphere is lively, music pulsing through the air. Your friends greet you with excited hugs and chatter.

They guide you to a table, where you’re introduced to someone new—a friend of a friend—and your group makes sure you’re seated next to them. As the night progresses and the drinks flow, your friends keep glancing at you expectantly, their unsubtle hints making it clear they’re hoping for sparks to fly. 

You deflect every attempt at their flirting, dodging their questions with vague answers, your heart too full of Agatha and Rio to even entertain the idea of anyone else.

Excusing yourself to the restroom, you pull out your phone and snap a quick picture. Your hand rests suggestively at the base of your neck, the angle teasing but not too revealing.

MILFS Anonymous

~ 20:04

You: *click to open image*

You: hey ;)

Rio: I think my hand would make a prettier necklace 👀👀

Agatha: Hello sweetheart, having a good night?

You: No :(

You: My friends are trying to set me up again 🙄

Agatha: Address. Now.

Rio: Behave yourself

You: Okay Daddy ;)

Their messages make you smile, a surge of comfort and amusement replacing the frustration. You return to your friends and the not-date, time slipping by in a blur of small talk and laughter.

Your head feels a bit fuzzy from the alcohol so when your phone buzzes, you answer it without checking who was calling.

“Hello?”

Agatha’s voice is sharp and commanding, cutting through the din. “Come outside, pet.”

The line goes dead, and your heart stutters as you make your way to the front of the bar.

The cool evening air brushes against your skin as you step out of the bar, your eyes immediately catching sight of Agatha and Rio leaning casually against their sleek black car. The sight is magnetic—Agatha’s sharp features softened by the glow of the streetlights, Rio’s gaze sweeping over you with that familiar, knowing heat.

Agatha straightens, beckoning you closer with a crook of her finger. Your legs carry you forward almost instinctively, your heart hammering in your chest. The moment you’re within reach, her hand snakes to the back of your head, fingers tangling tightly in your hair. She pulls you forward, crashing her lips against yours in a possessive kiss that leaves you breathless. Her grip tightens slightly, a subtle reminder of her dominance, and you whimper into her mouth, too stunned to resist.

She pulls back only slightly, her lips brushing yours as she murmurs, “We told you to behave.”

Before you can form a reply, she spins you around with practiced ease, your back pressed firmly to the car. Her lips claim yours again, harder this time, her tongue sweeping past your parted lips with an intensity that leaves your knees weak. Her thigh presses between your legs, eliciting a desperate moan that you barely manage to stifle.

Agatha chuckles darkly, her mouth trailing down to your neck. She lingers there, her teeth grazing your sensitive skin before sinking in just enough to leave a mark—a clear, unmistakable declaration of ownership. Your world narrows to the sensation of her lips, her tongue, and the faint sting of her teeth. Somewhere in the haze, you hear Rio’s voice, her tone low and amused.

“We’re going to have to keep a closer eye on you,” Rio says, though her words barely register in your muddled mind.

When Agatha finally pulls back, she smooths her hands over your arms, steadying you as she takes in the flushed, dazed expression on your face. Her eyes gleam with satisfaction. “I’ll see you later,” she says, her voice soft but commanding. Without another word, she climbs into the car and starts the engine.

You turn to Rio, expecting her to follow, but she doesn’t move. Instead, she leans down, pressing a lingering kiss to Agatha’s lips through the open window. The kiss is slow and intimate, leaving no doubt about their connection. When Agatha finally drives off, Rio turns back to you with a knowing smile.

“Come on, sweetheart,” she says, taking your hand and leading you back into the bar.

The atmosphere feels almost surreal as Rio adds a chair to your table, effortlessly inserting herself into the group. Your friends are gawking, their eyes darting between you and Rio with barely concealed curiosity—and amusement.

“Hi, I’m Rio,” she introduces herself, her tone casual yet self-assured. She slides into the seat between you and the would-be date, her presence commanding as she rests her hand on your shoulder. “I’ve heard so much about all of you.”

Your friends exchange glances, their smirks widening. They know. They’ve always known about your soft spot for older women, and Rio’s arrival explains why you’ve been rejecting all of their attempts to set you up.

Rio’s touch is constant—her fingers brushing against the back of your neck, her hand settling on your thigh. The warmth of her palm seeps through the fabric of your pants, sending a steady pulse of heat coursing through you. She trails her hand higher, her grip firm but teasing, and when she squeezes the sensitive flesh at the apex of your thighs, your breath hitches audibly.

“You okay?” Kate asks, her tone laced with mischief.

You try to answer, but the words come out in a stuttering mess, your thoughts scrambled by Rio’s touch. Her lips twitch with amusement, her fingers giving one last squeeze before she straightens, glancing at her phone as it buzzes.

“Well,” Rio says, tucking her phone back into her pocket. “I think it’s time we were off.” She stands, extending a hand to you with an easy smile.

Your friends exchange knowing looks as Rio says her goodbyes, her tone warm but unmistakably firm when she glares briefly at your would-be date before leading you out. The Uber is already waiting outside, and the moment the door shuts behind you, Rio’s hands are on you.

She cups your face, her lips crashing against yours in a kiss that’s all heat and urgency. Her hands roam over your body, pulling you impossibly close as the car speeds away. By the time it stops outside a hotel, your skin is flushed, your breaths coming in shallow gasps.

You realise it’s the same hotel as last time, and as Rio comes to a stop and knocks on a door, you see it’s even the same room. Agatha opens the door, clad in the same purple lace lingerie that had stolen your breath the first night you were together, her eyes glinting with anticipation.

“Welcome back, sweetheart,” she purrs, stepping aside to let you in.

Rio’s hand settles on your lower back, guiding you into the room. The door shuts behind you with a soft click, and you barely have time to process the warm light and familiar scent of the suite before Agatha steps closer, her sharp eyes raking over your body as she trails her fingers along your jaw. Her lips crash against yours, rough and unyielding, and you can feel the smirk she wears as you melt into her touch. Rio’s hands slip around your waist from behind, her warmth grounding you even as your knees threaten to give out, pulling your pants and underwear down, exposing the small wet patch on the crotch of the fabric.

“Look at you,” Agatha murmurs, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “So eager for us.”

Before you can respond, Agatha grips your chin, tilting your head to expose your neck. Her teeth graze your skin, and then she bites—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to leave another deep, blooming mark. You gasp, the sting mingling with the heat pooling low in your belly.

Rio’s hands are no less demanding, sliding beneath your shirt to trace the curve of your waist. “Ours,” she murmurs, her breath hot against your ear. Her nails scratch lightly against your skin as she pulls the fabric over your head, leaving you exposed to their hungry gazes.

The two of them manoeuvre you effortlessly toward the bed, their touches a coordinated symphony of dominance and affection. Agatha’s lips find yours again as she pushes you down onto the soft mattress, her weight pinning you in place. Rio climbs onto the bed beside you, her hands stroking over your thighs, her fingers curling possessively into your skin.

“You’re going to let us make you ours all over again,” Agatha whispers, her voice a low promise that sends shivers down your spine.

Agatha’s mouth trails lower, her teeth and tongue marking a path down your collarbone and chest. Meanwhile, Rio’s lips find the sensitive skin behind your ear, her hands guiding your thighs apart as she peppers kisses along your jaw. Their movements are synchronised and calculated, making you helpless against the overwhelming tide of pleasure they stir within you.

The room fills with the sound of heavy breaths and muffled gasps as they leave no inch of you untouched, no patch of skin unclaimed. Agatha’s marks bloom like flowers across your body—your neck, your shoulders, the swell of your hips—while Rio’s touch is a steady, grounding presence that leaves you trembling beneath them.

Agatha’s lips never leave yours as she manoeuvres you with ease, her strength evident as she pulls you on top of her. You straddle her, hands planted on either side of her head, and the kiss deepens. Her nails rake along your back, leaving a burning trail that only spurs your arousal further. You’re so caught up in the taste of her and the heat of her skin beneath yours that you barely register Rio’s movements around the bed.

The sound of soft rope sliding against the bedframe should catch your attention, but Agatha’s demanding kisses and the press of her body beneath yours make it impossible to focus on anything else. Rio, ever the planner, works quickly and quietly. By the time she whispers in your ear, her warm breath sending shivers down your spine, the trap is nearly set.

“Pin her arms above her head, darling,” Rio whispers, her voice a mix of command and playfulness.

Without hesitation, you do as you’re told, grabbing Agatha’s wrists and stretching her arms over her head. Agatha lets out a low, approving growl. Her darkened gaze flickers to you with a teasing smirk, but before she can retake control, Rio moves in.

In a swift, practiced motion, Rio ties Agatha’s wrists to the bedposts. It takes Agatha a moment to realise what’s happening, her smirk faltering as she tests the bonds. “Really, Rio?” she drawls, though her eyes glint with intrigue rather than annoyance.

“Really,” Rio replies smoothly, a wicked grin curling her lips as she steps back to admire her handiwork. Agatha’s ankles are already tied, spread wide, and leaving her entirely open. “You made me watch and wait, my love; now it’s your turn.”

Rio turns her attention back to you, her eyes filled with a mix of pride and desire. “Off,” she instructs gently, her hands guiding you away.

You reluctantly climb off Agatha, her gaze never leaving yours, though it’s now tinged with a mix of curiosity and challenge. She looks breathtaking, her hair splayed out on the pillows, her body bound and vulnerable yet still exuding power.

Rio’s hands move to her own clothes, slipping her shirt over her head and shimming out of her pants with practiced ease. Beneath, she wears an emerald-green set of lingerie, the delicate lace hugging her curves and highlighting the strength in her frame. The sight leaves you breathless, and you can’t help but stare as Rio tosses her clothes aside with deliberate nonchalance.

“I’ve been thinking,” Rio says, her voice soft but firm as she steps closer to you. “You’ve not actually had the chance to fuck one of us since you failed to do what you were told.”

You blink, caught off guard by Rio’s declaration, your cheeks heating as you stammer out an incoherent response. “Uh… yeah, I guess,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

Rio chuckles, the sound low and rich as she closes the distance between you, handing you a harness. “That’s going to change now,” she murmurs, her dark eyes locking onto yours. The weight of the harness in your hands makes your heart race and your mind flashes back to the last time you and Rio indulged in each other without Agatha’s participation in this very room—and the punishment that followed.

You glance nervously toward Agatha, who raises a single, unimpressed brow at your hesitation. Sensing your uncertainty, Rio leans in, her breath warm against your ear. “Relax, darling,” she murmurs, her tone soft but firm. “She’ll never admit it, but she likes this.”

Agatha scoffs from her place on the bed, her lips curving into a faint smirk. “Don’t push your luck,” she drawls, though there’s no real heat in her voice. Her eyes gleam with intrigue, even as she pretends disinterest.

Rio doesn’t miss a beat. Removing her lace panties, she climbs onto the bed, positioning herself with her back resting against Agatha’s restrained body, her movements smooth and deliberate. Agatha lets out a soft whine at the pressure, but her gaze stays fixed on you, a mix of challenge and anticipation in her expression.

Your fingers fumble with the harness as you step into it, the straps snug against your hips as you secure it. That’s when you notice, or rather feel, the grinding pad built into the design, its texture brushing against you with tantalising promise. You shiver at the sensation—a rush of heat pooling between your thighs as you adjust the fit. The thought of what’s to come sends a pulse of arousal through you, and you can’t help but bite your lip, your eyes darting between Rio and Agatha.

“Ready?” Rio asks, her voice soft but commanding as she watches you with a knowing smile.

Your hands shake slightly as you reach for the bottle of lube on the nightstand, slicking up the harness with nervous precision. Rio watches you intently, her head tilted back against Agatha’s torso, an expectant smirk playing on her lips. Once you’re ready, you climb onto the bed and position yourself over her, your knees on either side of her thighs. The heat between the three of you is palpable, tension thrumming in the air as you align yourself and sink down onto her.

You start slow and tentative, testing the rhythm. The grinding pad against you is more distracting than you anticipated, the friction sparking waves of pleasure with each motion. Rio exhales a soft, contented sigh, her hands settling on your hips to guide you. But it doesn’t take long for the look on her face—a mix of delight and impatience—to spur you into moving faster.

The sounds Rio makes are intoxicating: soft moans and deep, husky gasps that make your skin tingle. “Harder,” she commands, her voice rough with need. Her nails dig into your hips, urging you to obey, and you do, thrusting harder and faster. The slick grind of the harness against you and the sight of Rio’s pleasure-blissed expression send your pulse racing.

You don’t know why you do it—maybe it’s instinct, maybe it’s the intoxicating chemistry between you—but your hand rises, and you press two fingers against Rio’s lips. Her gaze snaps to yours, sharp and electric, and without hesitation, she takes them into her mouth. The heat of her tongue swirls around your fingertips, and you swear you feel your stomach drop with the intensity of your arousal.

Behind Rio, Agatha lets out a low breathless “Oh, fuck,” her voice ragged. You glance over Rio��s shoulder to see Agatha’s hips bucking desperately against Rio’s back, her restraint futile against her own need. The sight and sound of her breaking composure sends a jolt through Rio, her expression twisting into something feral, manic even. Her nails grip you tighter, and her voice shatters into a desperate moan as her body tenses and she comes undone beneath you.

The clenching of the harness and the relentless friction push you over the edge moments later. You cry out, collapsing against Rio’s chest as you ride out the waves together, your breathing ragged and uneven. Her arms wrap around you, holding you close as you both come down from the high.

It’s only then you notice the faint shuffle of movement. You lift your head to find Agatha free of the ropes, her arms and legs untied. Her lips are curled into a sly smile, and her gaze soft with amusement and hunger as she moves toward you. Before you can speak, she places her hands on your hips and gently manoeuvres you onto your back.

“You two are quite the pair,” Agatha murmurs, her tone carrying equal parts fondness and teasing as she takes off the harness and presses a soft kiss to your hip. She rests her head there, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on your thighs. “But I think it’s my turn now.”

You glance down at Agatha, her head resting on your hip as her fingers idly trace patterns across your thighs. “How did you…?” you ask softly, your voice still trembling from the aftershocks of your climax.

Agatha lifts her head, her lips curving into a knowing smile. “Being able to get out of restraints is one of my boundaries,” she explains, her voice smooth and steady. “I’ve never been fully comfortable with giving up all control. It’s just how I am.”

You nod, her words sinking in as you process the vulnerability she’s just shared. “I understand,” you reply sincerely, your gaze locking with hers. The trust between you feels solidified in this moment, a quiet bond of mutual respect and understanding.

Before you can say more, Rio’s presence shifts beside you. Her hands cup your face, tilting your head so her lips can meet yours. The kiss is deep and languid, her tongue teasing yours in a way that pulls you further into the haze of pleasure still clinging to your body. Her warmth anchors you, a grounding presence as your senses start to spiral again.

Meanwhile, Agatha’s fingers trail down your thighs, spreading you open with deliberate care. She presses soft kisses to your inner thighs, working her way closer to your still-sensitive core. “Just cleaning you up,” she murmurs, her breath hot against your skin. But when her tongue flicks out to tease your bundle of nerves, it’s clear her intentions are far from innocent.

A jolt of pleasure shoots through you, and you gasp against Rio’s lips, your hands instinctively clutching at her shoulders. Agatha takes her time, her tongue slow and precise as it circles your sensitive nub. The overstimulation is almost too much, your body trembling under her ministrations, but she knows exactly when to ease up and how to pull you back from the edge only to push you closer again.

Rio’s hands move to your waist, holding you steady as your hips start to buck against Agatha’s mouth. “You’re so beautiful like this,” Rio whispers against your lips, her tone filled with awe and hunger. Her words make your chest tighten, and you feel yourself unravelling again.

Agatha’s tongue works you relentlessly, her rhythm increasing as she senses how close you are. When she sucks gently on your clit, the tension inside you snaps, and you cry out, your body arching off the bed as the climax crashes over you. Waves of pleasure ripple through you, leaving you shaking and gasping for air.

As the intensity ebbs, Agatha places one last kiss on your trembling thighs before resting her head against your hip again, her fingers stroking your skin soothingly. Rio lies beside you, her hand tracing lazy circles on your stomach as she watches you with a tender smile.

“You’re amazing,” Rio murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. Agatha hums her agreement, but instead of her usual sharp quip or teasing remark, she stays quiet, her head resting on your hip and her fingers trailing softly over your skin. You glance down at her, noting the slightly dreamy look in her eyes and the way her shoulders seem to relax completely for the first time all night.

Rio notices too. Shifting her focus, she slides closer to Agatha, her hand gently brushing back a stray strand of hair from her face. “You okay, love?” she asks softly, her voice filled with a tenderness that makes your chest tighten. Agatha lets out a contented hum, leaning into Rio’s touch without hesitation.

“More than okay,” Agatha murmurs, her voice uncharacteristically soft. Rio smiles, her fingers tracing over Agatha’s cheek before pressing a kiss to her forehead. The sight tugs at something deep inside you, the intimacy between them wrapping you in its warmth.

As the moments stretch on, Rio encourages Agatha to sit up, her hands steadying her as she guides her toward the pillows. “Come here,” Rio whispers, wrapping her arms around Agatha and pulling her close. You watch as Agatha melts into Rio’s embrace, her sharp edges softened as she nestles against her chest.

You shift closer, draping an arm over both of them, your hand finding Agatha’s and lacing your fingers together. The three of you lie there in a tangle of limbs, the room quiet save for the steady rhythm of your breathing and the occasional murmur of sweet reassurances from Rio. For the first time in what feels like forever, there’s nothing to do but bask in each other’s presence, your bodies and hearts entwined in a shared sense of contentment.

Next Part >>

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I am so sorry for going MIA for a bit there but hopefully this chapter makes up for it my darlings <3 the ending was inspired by Kathryn's iheart interview where she said she thinks Agatha would just want to be babied sometimes

Requests are back open now that I can actually write again :D

and also just my asks in general, I get bored and want to talk to y'all 👀

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taglist: @aceday @valarmorghuli @ctrlamira @lezbean-with-a-side-of-dilfs @noturlondonboy @darkangelchronicles @beezlebee16 @kiaralee25 @4theluvofsapphos @lez-zuha @jujuu23 @gaylorvader

[dreaminofdixon]

I always felt like more of a queen.

A/N:

Here’s another snippet from my story—one that I genuinely enjoy re-reading. I often find myself revisiting my work, not just because I love the story itself, but because I’m always making adjustments. Perfectionism keeps me tweaking things, even when I’m happy with how the narrative unfolds.

At its core, this story is about a relationship that begins with hostility—quite literally at gunpoint—and gradually evolves into something deeper. For me, the journey is the most compelling part. This particular moment is where the "Princess" nickname first comes into play.

__________

“Gettin’ dark.” 

I jumped, nearly spilling the precious fuel, and turned to glare at him while he put his weapon over his back. 

“Really, Daryl?!” 

He casually leaned against the car, obviously pleased with himself. A full day of riding had him looking the slightest bit more relaxed than usual and I was here for it. 

But he couldn’t know that.

“Why do you have a thing for scaring me? It’s rude.” I pushed him before returning my attention to the project at hand. “And yes, it’s getting dark,” I shot him a look, “thank you for pointing that out.” 

“Jus’ sayin. Should get settled b’fore long.” He glanced over my shoulder before looking back at me. “If yer out too much longer, lemme know an’ I’ll walk ya.” 

The corner of my lips curled up into a smirk and I faced him, hand on hip. 

“Are you…concerned for my safety?” 

“New place.” He brushed it off. “Dunno wha’s ‘round here.” 

“Well, I’m glad to know you care.” I held up the half-empty gas can. “I figured you’d wanna top off the bike?” 

“Yes’m.” 

He took it from me and I expected him to leave, but he stayed right where he was at and watched me pour a portion of the next can into the car. 

“Something I can help you with?”

“Jus’ makin sure ya don’ spill.” 

“I worked in construction once upon a time,” I told him while I focused on tipping the can into the tank just enough. “Not like…on job sites and stuff.” Carefully, I pulled it away and put the gas cap back on before moving to the next vehicle. “I was the office girl, obviously. But I learned a thing or two. Pumping gas was one,” the gas cap popped off the truck, “filling gas cans to take a couple gallons to guys on job sites, you know,” I explained. “And siphoning gas for just such an occasion.” I smiled to myself when I remembered that day. “I did have some good times. What about you?”

“Always a grease monkey. Tha’s how I know bikes.” 

“Oh really? So you are quite handy to have around. Not just a pretty face and a sterling personality,” I teased. 

I’m pretty sure he blushed. 

“I don’t think people give you enough credit, Mr. Dixon.” I finished emptying my gas can in the truck before I moved to face him and leaned my hip against it. “Truly. I think there’s more to you than you let on, and I can’t wait to learn everything there is to know.” 

“Not much t’ know.” 

“I doubt that.” 

“Hey, did you finish fueling up the truck?” 

The blonde approached us and I shook my head. I let my gaze linger on him for just a second longer before turning to her with a smile.

“Nope. If you wanna take over, I don’t think it needs much more.” 

“Great.” She moved between us and set to work. “How much do you think we’ll need for the RV?” She shot a glance at me and then Daryl. 

I lifted my shoulders in a shrug. 

“Not sure. Probably quite a bit, I’d think, but he would know better than I do.” 

“Ladies,” Shane interrupted, “it’s gettin’ dark. We’ve got some cars cleared out, and Lori and Carol put bedding and a light in each of them. Why don’t ya leave the fuelin’ for the mornin’ and go get settled in?”

“Sure.” She emptied the rest of the fuel can and put the cap back on the tank. “This one’s done anyway.” 

Shane took the tank from her and grabbed the other. 

“Come on, I’ll show ya to your spots.” 

“I’m gonna grab something from the RV,” I said. “I’ll find my way in a minute.” 

“We’ll wait…” 

“I’ll be fine. If I take too long, Daryl can walk me.” Turning to him, eyebrow raised, assumption made. “Unless…you don’t want to.” 

“‘s fine,” he grumbled. 

The two headed down the freeway, talking quietly to themselves and leaving us behind. 

“If you don’t want to…” 

“Can’t have ya walkin’ ‘round in the dark by yerself. Go get yer shit.”

“Well, I don’t have anything to get,” I admitted sheepishly. “Just didn’t want to be whisked away in the middle of such a scintillating conversation.” I followed him to the motorcycle and carefully traced my fingers over the chrome handlebars while he worked. “Plus, I know it’s crazy, but I kinda like spending time with you.” 

He filled the tank silently.

“I know it’s pure torture for you, though, and I sincerely apologize for the inconvenience.” 

He scoffed, “no ya don’t.” 

“You’re right. I don’t. Because I don’t think it’s torture.” 

He set the gas can down and screwed the cap back on the tank before pulling a dirty red cloth from his back pocket and wiping it down. 

“I like to think that, somewhere deep inside, you enjoy spending time with me, too. Could just be wishful thinking but…” I shrugged my shoulders. 

“If it ain’t,” he mumbled while he focused on his task.  

“If it isn’t wishful thinking, and you do actually enjoy spending time with me, then I may go so far as to say it’s possible you might like me?” 

He looked up at me, his pretty blue eyes finding mine. 

Butterflies. 

“Could be possible that I like you, in case you were wondering.” 

“Couldn’ tell.” He winked at me. 

Swoon.

He tucked the cloth back in his pocket and picked up the gas can. 

“Le’s go, Princess.” 

“Princess?” 

He gave a single nod, “fits.” 

“Does it? I always pictured myself more of a queen, actually,” I joked. 

“Nah. Princess.” 

We began our walk in the direction of the RV. 

“Queen’s gotta have a king, right?” 

“Sure,” I agreed.

“Ain’t got a king yet?”

“Well, no, not yet.” 

He tucked the can away in the RV’s storage. 

“Then yer a Princess.” 

“Fine,” I sighed dramatically, “but only you’re allowed to call me Princess.” 

“Good.” 

__________

Thank you for all the love on my other little snippet. <3 I hope you enjoy this one as much as I do!

[gulliblelemon]

Birthday more-than-snippet

As my birthday gift to myself, I'm giving you the first 1.2k words of my next fic. (Still hasn't gone through my whole editing/beta process yet, but I wanted to share anyway). It is, as yet, untitled (obviously - I'm still me), but here is the some context for the 'no context' fic 💜

~🏳️‍🌈💜🏳️‍🌈~

The slamming door makes Wille jump. He’s been sulking, leaning against the wall, waiting for his turn to be called into his mother’s office. A summons is rarely a good thing where Wille is concerned. He’s the fuck-up, the let-down, the disappointment who continuously fails and falls short of his mother’s expectations. 

Not like poster-boy Erik. Poster-boy Erik who is currently storming out of his mother’s office and away from Wille.

There’s a split second of shock, where Wille doesn’t quite know how to react, he half pushes off the wall, ready to tear down the corridor after Erik before he hears a voice calling out of the office.

“Come in, Wilhelm!”

He hesitates a moment longer before sighing and stomping into the office, ready to defend himself for something he doesn’t even know he’s done yet.

“Sit down, Wilhelm,” his mother says, gesturing to the chair opposite.

The seat is cold and unforgiving, not unlike the expression currently residing on his mother’s face. She looks at him for a beat, lips pursed, calculating, before shaking her head and sighing. 

For a moment, Wille is taken aback. It’s a surprisingly vulnerable noise from her, and not one he is used to hearing. It’s less surprising than the words that follow. “Thank you for coming, Wilhelm. I appreciate you making the time at such short notice.”

Thinking of his exceptionally empty schedule of mostly moping around and feeling sorry for himself after being torn apart by the media for a club fight that wasn’t his fault, Wille just nods. “Of course,” he says, not wanting to rock the boat. 

She sighs again before exclaiming, “If we could have one week without a scandal! Is that too much to ask?”

Shocked, Wille tries to rack his brain for what else he might have done wrong this week but is interrupted by Kristina shaking her head and saying, “Sorry, that was unfair of me. What I actually called you in her to say is: we are postponing your transfer to Hillerska. Potentially indefinitely.”

What? Wille knows his mouth drops open at her words, but he just can’t comprehend what she’s saying. 

“I know it’ll be coming as a shock, goodness knows the whole this is a shock to all of us. Honestly, Erik should have known bet—”

“I’m sorry… what?” Wille finally says, spluttering an interruption, much to his mother’s chagrin.

She purses her lips and exhales through her nose. And this is more familiar territory, this he is used to, this barely concealed annoyance and her obvious displeasure at his mere existence. 

But it soon melts into something else, and she closes her eyes, massaging the point between her eyebrows for a moment before lowering her hands and clasping them in front of her.

“It has come to our attention,” she says, “that some of the things that go on at Hillerska are things that we do not want The Royal Family to be associated with.”

“Things?” Wille says. “What things?”

“That is none of your concern,” she says. “We have simply decided that at the present time, it would be prudent to send you elsewhere. Distance ourselves from Hillerska and its reputation.”

“Is this why Erik stormed out?” Wille asks. “What happened?”

“I have already said—”

“If it’s public knowledge, I’m going to find out sooner or later,” he says. “And surely it’s better to hear it from you than some gossip magazine.”

He’s not even sure why he’s pushing so hard, except that for once, Erik might have fucked up more than he has. And that alone is enough to make him more than a little bit smug.

Kristina is looking at him carefully, her face is exceptionally still although her eyes have narrowed slightly. “I suppose you are right,” she says eventually, and he lets out the breath he didn’t realise he was holding. “Maybe hearing it from us would end up being better. Well” - she uncrosses and recrosses her hands on the table, it’s as close to a nervous tick as she gets - “it appears that the Hillerska initiation ceremonies have become somewhat more vulgar in the years since your father and I were there. We have been made aware of the fact that there was some… inappropriate behaviour. Behaviour that will be frowned upon by the public. Especially when taken out of context.”

“What like?” Wille says, trying not to sound too eager. Erik had always brushed off the Hillerska initiations, and told Wille he’d find out when he had one himself. 

“We have been made aware that some of the students were forced to… undress.”

Wille baulks. That seems a bit excessive. The idea of having to strip in front of new classmates seems awkward at best. Embarrassing and humiliating. Although Erik had said that the point of the initiation was to prove that no one was above anyone else, a shared experience to bring the new students closer together. And maybe it’s no worse than having to change in the locker room anyway…

“They were also,” Kristina continues, “made to watch an… unsavoury film.”

Wille screws up his face. “I’m sorry… a what?”

“A… pornographical film, I am led to believe.”

Wille’s stomach turns. “Seriously?” he says. And that’s way worse than getting changed in a locker room. He doesn’t want to believe it. Doesn’t want to believe that Erik would have been involved in something like that, but also doesn’t want to believe that Erik would have sent him to Hillerska knowing that that was going to happen to Wille without warning him. Not without—

“A pornographical film depicting… relations between two young men.”

It feels as though the floor has been pulled out from beneath him and he is free falling. Wille gasps and it gets caught in his throat. Through a splutter, he says, “A— they showed them a gay porn film?”

Kristina curls her lip in distaste. And Wille doesn’t want to know if it’s distaste at the act of showing it to unsuspecting first years who have been stripped of their clothes, or if it's because of the content of the film. Wille hasn’t come out to his family, or to anyone in fact. It is a secret that he carries with him, slowly festering, breaking him down from the inside. But no one needs to know. It doesn’t make any difference. He can bear it, he can carry it through life and tell no one. 

But can he bear the knowledge that Erik would— That Erik thought it was fun to laugh at that, to put people in the position of— No. Wille can’t. It’s too much. He wants to vomit. And he wants to run. And he wants to scream.

He does none of those things. 

“Apparently so,” Kristina says, with a small shake of her head, as if it’s just a small inconvenience, as if Wille’s views of his brother have not just been completely upended. Maybe Erik wasn’t actually involved. Maybe he was against it. Yes, that must be it. It can’t be that his brother would do that. There’s no way.

“So, understandably, we cannot have you beginning to attend, at least until this is all sorted out.”

Still reeling, Wille says, “Sorted out?”

“Yes. We need to either deny the claims that Erik was involved. Or - if that is not possible - at least do something to regain the public’s trust in the institution. And ourselves. Honestly, Erik should have known better.”

Yes, Wille thinks, he should.

“Can I go?” is what he says instead. 

She looks at him for a moment, then says, “Yes, I suppose there’s nothing further to discuss at the moment.”

Nodding his head, he stands and practically flees from the room.

[moodymisty]

hi misty!! first of all, love your blog. your writing makes long shifts at work a bit more bearable (those guilliman fics had me giggling and kicking my feet fr)

second of all, if you're taking requests i'd love to see anything with dorn getting all confused after catching feelings. he's SO repressed and i can't imagine he'd even know what to do with all those fuzzy feelings, especially with a darling who's soft and sweet. gah i love that awkward stoic man

have a lovely day 💕💕

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙| 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's note: This sounds super cute, and I'm a MASSIVE whore for Dorn so here's a snippet. I hope you enjoy :3

Relationships: Pre-relationship Rogal Dorn/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Not really any of note other than primarch emotional constipation

Dorn looks over the ornate golden railing, hands gripping it softly. Out of his opulent armor, his warm Inwit made clothing contrasts against his pale skin, as a chill Terran wind blows through the open halls. It's no where near as cold as what he's used to, and he pays it no mind as it whips through his short blonde hair.

"You're staring."

Dorn turns his upper body to see Guilliman along with two of his lieutenants; He'd heard the men coming, watching as his Ultramarines stand beside him at a respectable distance. Guilliman casts his gaze downward to follow where Dorn has had his own for a significant while now, and watches. His lieutenants step away respectfully, and allow the primarchs a degree of privacy.

A slew of Salamanders use the massive open area to train, many of them in armor not powered to use as dead weight. Dorn has no interest in them and Guilliman knows this well; He turns his gaze to the sidelines, where a remembrancer sits parchment in lap. You're smiling, he can see from here, watching as the Salamanders prove their strength and a few entertain you with elaborate swordmanship.

Guilliman looks away for a moment and back to Dorn, who still has his eyes firmly locked on you. Of course you remain none the wiser to the fact that not one but two primarchs are watching you, filling your parchment with words and sketches.

Guilliman sighs.

"I know she is not indebted to the Salamanders. I am sure she would join the Phalanx, if you asked."

Dorn finally turns away and looks to him, his brow furrowed.

"And why do you assume I need her services?" Guilliman can't contain a second sigh.

"My friend, it's because you look lovesick. I'm trying to give you an opportunity to actually speak to her without another chapter surrounding her." Before Dorn has a chance to scowl at Guilliman for his upfront and honest speech he turns to his lieutenant, and points downward to you.

"Go get her and bring her to us."

Dorn noticeably furrows his brow at the Ultramarines, but doesn’t say anything until the men leave. Once they do, he looks to Guilliman.

“Why did you do that.”

Dorn sounds blunt and unintelligent for a moment, but Guilliman knows that’s not the case; It's that Dorn is pissed at him.

“I am giving you a push. Now do something so none of us have to suffer any longer." Guilliman leaves, and Dorn casts his gaze back down to the massive arena. He notices Guilliman's Ultramarines walk up to you and presumably demand you follow them, and the confusion it quickly brings you.

A Salamander comes up and presumably inquires as to why you're needed elsewhere, but relents when you agree to leave. You follow the two Ultramarines until you're no longer in view, and it changes the feeling in Dorn's chest.

Why does he feel that way? Like there's a knot in his throat?

He clears it and moves along, ignoring it and wearing the same stalwart expression he always has as you and the two Ultramarines approach.

Your expression changes in surprise at the sight of him; He supposes because you were expecting Guilliman. The Ultramarines, somewhat confused as well by the entirety of this situation, consider their duty done and leave to return to their genefather's side.

"Lord Dorn, hello." You smile lightly, holding your parchments in your hands. "Do you have need of me?"

He does, but he has absolutely no idea how to say it. Guilliman cornered him by doing this, and Dorn hates it.

He decides to inquire about what Guilliman had said earlier; He wants to hear it come from you rather than Guilliman's.

"Am I correct in hearing that you are not indebted to the Salamanders?" You nod, smile still on your face. Dorn finds it warm, a far cry from the stalwart attitude that is part of him and resides in all of his gene-sons.

“The Salamanders were the first to request I join them to document their battles when I showed interest, but I never pledged loyalty to only them."

Dorn looks away for a moment, and leaves you cast in a form of nervousness as he looks down at the Salamanders still below. You hesitently speak up, voice questioning and soft. He's used to shouting and deep bellowing voices; Yours is so gentle and sweet.

"Is, is there there anything I can do?"

You awkwardly adjust in your shoes, wondering what else the stalwart primarch of the Imperial Fists could possibly want from you. When your eyes suddenly leave his and look behind him, he already knows why.

"He was going to ask if you would serve the Imperial Fists as their remembrancer, provided you are available."

Guilliman returns, and the look Dorn gives him is made of hellfire. Dorn hopes Guilliman knows he will pay no shortage for this later.

Thankfully however you perk up noticeably, and Dorn successfully manages to hide any and all of his feeling relieved by it. Your smile is wide enough to round your cheek, and he's surprised by how warm and inviting it feels.

"Oh, I would be honored to serve your legion! If you would have me, Lord Dorn?"

Dorn catches Guilliman flinch slightly at your words, though he fails to understand why. He's too furious at the other primarch to bother even looking at him for too long anyways.

Instead of thanking you, welcoming you, or any other things Dorn was thinking of saying, instead the first thing that falls from his mouth is an order.

"Follow me, I will bring you to my men."

Your face morphs into surprise as Dorn suddenly turns away from you, and you struggle to keep up- as his singular stride is many of your own. Your papers rustle in your arms, as you race down the gilded hall.

Guilliman however simply watches you and him both depart, before sighing and rubbing his temple.

[leashybebes]

💭💭💭💭💭💭💭💭 pleasssssse im shaking and crying i need more lol

skipping forward a little bit from the previous snippets.

Tommy's gone longer than Buck was expecting, and although part of him is struggling to be in the same room as Tommy, he also can't help feeling an anxious little itch when he's not there. He trails up the stairs to what he can't help thinking of as Tommy's room, even though it's apparently their room now, and the sight that greets him makes him feel like he's swallowed a handful of ice, cold all the way from the back of his throat to his guts.

Because Tommy's rooting through the wardrobe, pulling out shirts and jeans, there's a small pile of joggers and t-shirts and socks and underwear on the bed. There's no suitcase in sight, but it makes him think of Abby in a way that makes him want to cry.

"Where are you going?"

Tommy looks round, apparently taken by surprise, not having heard him coming. "I'll sleep in the spare room."

Buck's not sure how to feel about that.

"Oh."

"Evan, you won't even look at me. I can't imagine you want to share a bed with me."

Tommy doesn't sound accusatory, and he's even smiling albeit a little sadly, but Buck hates it anyway. Every time he tries to look at Tommy, he sees him about to walk out the door, and he gets sad and mad all over again.

"Okay," Buck says flatly.

Tommy looks like he wants to say something, but doesn't. He just continues picking things out of drawers, stoops to unplug a phone charger from one side of the bed, picks up a dog-eared book from the nightstand on the same side. When his arms are full, he turns to go and Buck steps aside to clear the way for him.

Tommy pauses in the doorway, takes a deep breath, then seems to think better of it.

"Sleep well, Evan. I'll be just down the hall if you need anything."

[qualified-trash-panda]

Water Fight

Day 6 of 212th Appreciation Week

today's prompt is 'Clone Life' covering the mundane day to day life within the GAR and by god did I enjoy writing this lil snippet.

description: don't make bets with Boil, things go sideways quickly.

lengths: 1.7k

no warnings! we're all happy days for once!

“Gearshift!” A flustered trooper by the name of Peel caught his attention as he stepped inside, blocking his path.  “Weren’t expecting you.”

Peel still wore his armour, though his helmet was nowhere to be seen and his regulation cut had started to grow longer, a few curls dangling down his forehead, his square face grinning awkwardly.

Gearshift blinked once, taking in his appearance, a trickle of water dripping from the armour plating up his arms and he took a patient breath.  “Who?”

Peel cocked his head.  “You lost me.”

“Who’re you covering for?” He rested a hand at his hip.  “Crys or Boil?”

Peel blew out a ridiculous breath.  “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You been taking acting lessons from ...?” Gearshift queried and the man deflated.

“That bad?”

“Worse.” Gearshift confirmed, “What’s going on?”

Peel considered another lie and then forgot it completely as Gearshift crossed his arms over his chest, peering deeper into the man’s clear features.  “We might have a bit of a crisis.”

“We can’t have a crisis.” He told him blithely, “My schedule is already full.”

“The section officer left Crys in charge of cleaning the gunships.” Peel explained as he fell into step beside Gearshift, heading over to the obvious disaster unfolding.  “And he kinda bet Boil he couldn’t wash all the gunships before Switch got back and…”

Kark.  “Boil!” Gearshift yelled and heard a rattle as a bucket fell over, his boots splashing as he stormed through a puddle of dirty water.  “What the kriff have you done?”

A dozen puddles lay all over the hangar, growing steadily in size as he rounded a nearby gunship and came to find his unruly squad mates dripping head to foot. 

The moustached trooper stuck a finger out, pointing to the stunned bottle blond stood next to him.  “He bet me I couldn’t do it!”

Crys slapped his arm down, a betrayed frown creasing his forehead.  “Snitch.”

“Where’s Waxer?” Gearshift asked, sensing the headache already and rubbed at his temple, staring down Boil until he answered.  Waxer was usually around to stop this kind of mistake from happening.

“Why?” Boil asked, confused, at the same time as Crys told him he was with the Commander.

“Because he’s about ninety percent of your impulse control.” Gearshift snapped, turning to Crys and holding out a flat palm.  “Hand it over.”

Crys crossed his arms, giving him an empty look.  “Hand what over?”

“The Boil tax, give.” Gearshift waved his fingers, hurrying him on.

Grumbling, Crys took the credits from a pouch at his belt, begrudgingly dropping them in Gearshift’s hand and he pocketed them quickly.  He knew better than to make a bet with Boil, the trooper couldn’t turn down a challenge if his life depended on it, he had a competitive side that rivalled General Skywalker’s.  The Boil tax was supposed to deter anyone from making a bet.  You wanna lose your money, that’s your choice, but at least spare some for the rest of us.

“You better clean all this up before Switch gets back.” Gearshift ordered, jutting a finger at both troopers.  “You know what he’s like.”

“Who left you in charge?” Boil sneered and regretted it as soon as the smirk pulled his lips.  “Oh, we might have a problem then.”

The two stepped aside to reveal the broken water hose still spewing water across the deck. 

The headache waved innocently behind his eyes and Gearshift.  This is the last time he gets left in charge. “Did you at least clean the ships?”

Boil grinned proudly, “Polished and shining.”

Gearshift glanced at the neighbouring ship as the puddle about his feet grew, not a speck of grime dotting the hull, the latest round of blaster scorches scrubbed clean off and he even managed to get in the little gaps lining the blast doors.  No one ever bothered cleaning those, it was too finnicky a job and a waste of time.

“Not bad.” He complimented.  Credit where credit was due after all, leaning back to glance down the line of gunships and seeing them all equally shining.  “I’m actually impressed.”

“Ugh, sergeant?” Peel cleared his throat.  “The hose?”

Right.  His squad mates parted to let him through and he bent down beside it.  The nozzle had somehow got stuck open, a torn scrap of synthleather stuck in the mechanism, the water dribbling out.  He clutched it between thumb and forefinger, lifting it for a better look, careful not to aim it directly at himself when a burst of water shot from the hose, drenching Crys and knocking him back into the open belly of the gunship.

“Sorry!” Peel yelled from the mains, his gloved hands on the hose crank.  “Wrong way!”

Gearshift curbed the smile trying to pry onto his lips as Crys stood up, tiny clinks of dripping water echoing off the durasteel and when he shook out his hands a stream flew against the wall. 

“Personally.” Boil slapped a friendly hand on his shoulder.  “I think you deserved that.”

Crys thought differently, frowning at his brother, and he retrieved a bucket from near the wing, stepping back to tip the contents over Boil’s head.  He slapped his hand on the upturned bottom for good measure, the plastoid echoing and now Gearshift did smile.

“Cool bucket, Boil.” Gearshift joked.  “You gonna paint Numa on that one?”

Boil tipped the bucket back to glare at him, skating his foot across the wet floor and showering Gearshift.  He lifted his hands, blocking his face, the smattering of water sloshing across his chest, his arms, seeping into his exposed blacks.

A moment of calm, broken only by the tinkling of water, passed as the three regarded each other, glancing at each individually as identical looks of sheer mischief gradually lowered over their shared features and simultaneously burst into a water fight.  Gearshift dove behind a wing to avoid the first shot, a bucket rattling against the floor, and retrieved a sponge from where it had fallen, stealing his chance to dash out from behind the wing when Boil wasn’t looking.  He caught him in the back of the head with a joyful cry, unable to avoid the spray Crys shot his way and his damp hair whipped his cheeks as he spun. 

“Peel!” He yelled, waving at the other trooper by the mains and he threw back a thumbs up, hands clenching over the crank. 

Gearshift dropped into a roll across the damp floor, ignoring the way his blacks slid over the puddles, soaking him further, and grasped the idle hose where it lay.  He aimed it just as Boil grabbed a half full bucket of water, spraying him back against the ship and the bucket rattled to the floor, water spilling out across the deck. 

“What the kriff is going on here!” Trapper yelled, narrowly avoiding a sponge to the face, staring at the three of them despairingly, his gaze softening a little in surprise when he spotted Gearshift but only briefly.  “Sergeant?”

“Nothing to see here, kid.” Gearshift grimaced, dropping the hose and taking the hand Crys offered him. 

Crys hauled him up and he released a genuine laugh when his foot slipped on the damp floor, Cry’s tight grasp of his arm steadying his.

“Right.” Trapper grumbled, swiping the sponge from the ground at his feet and giving it a squeeze, water dripping over his glove.  “Nothing at all.”

A splitting whistle drew their gazes and Peel jogged back to them.  “Switch is coming.”

“Well, we tried.” Boil excused, leaning an arm against a wing and Gearshift watched it slide down the slick surface.  “Switch is not going to be happy.”

“He’s got company.” Peel added quickly and panic flickered across his plain features. 

Quickly, Gearshift bent to fiddle with the hose, ramming the nozzle so it looked like it had been shut and clearing the tear of any blockage before settling it back on the durasteel, waving the others off and Trapper followed him over to the mains.

“You’re gonna fix this problem by causing a bigger problem?” He hissed, glancing back over his shoulder as Switch’s voice echoed to them, his panic growing as the section officer spotted their unique little disaster zone.

“Crys.” Switch yelled, stamping over, his boots kicking up tiny sprays in the puddles.  “I told you to clean the gunships, not drown them!”

The Commander picked up the broken hose, inspecting the nozzle, and even from behind his straight stance, the diagonal lines on his thigh plates were easily recognizable and Gearshift flexed his hands around the crank ready. 

“I’d run, if I were you.” He warned Trapper and the trooper wasted no time hesitating.

Gearshift twisted the crank as far as it would go, the synthleather buzzing as a great stream of water rushed through it, shooting through the broken nozzle and blasting the bonnet from Cody’s head, the shock knocking him back a few steps.  The hose fell from his hand as he did, flailing about wildly until Waxer stamped his foot on the winding leather and yanked back the crank to stop the gushing water.

Boil and Crys fought to contain their laughter as Cody steadied himself and Gearshift leaned casually on the crank, one hand resting on his hip lazily as the commander’s head snapped around the hangar for the culprit.  His bucket landed with a thud at his feet, bouncing twice before settling.

“Gunships are practically spotless, Commander.” Gearshift grinned, waving the hand at his hip towards the line of larty’s.  “Take a look.”

“Gearshift.” Cody practically growled, water dripping off his scarred features and he ran a hand through his damp hair.  “I thought I left you in charge?”

Gearshift’s own black locks dribbled water into his increasingly soggy blacks and he pushed off the crank, threading his fingers through it, bending slightly to ring it out on the durasteel before grabbing Cody’s helmet and walking up without a single care in the galaxy.

“You did.” He smiled sweetly and offered his helmet, meeting his scathing look when he took it.  “I wouldn’t do it again, if I were you.”

dividers by @saradika For @212thappreciation Week Day 6 Prompt: Clone Life

[greenleaf4stuff]

Of Convenience 6.2

(all previous parts of "Of Convenience")

Adar x Celebrimbor (silverscars) political marriage AU, 6th snippet, part 2. Celebrimbor has an unfortunate run-in with a bigger threat than he expected. Thankfully, Adar arrives in time to take care of it. Celebrimbor is rather intrigued as a result.

Just some competence kink and Adar protecting Celebrimbor, who takes notice. Warning: If you are squeamish about Damrod graphically threatening violence towards Celebrimbor, or show-level violence being described in regards to a hill troll, you might want to skip this one!

Thank you lovely people again for the likes and replies! This has already gone on way longer than I expected thanks to you! <3

The easy conversation between Celebrimbor and Glûg was cut short, however, when he and his guards heard heavy footsteps close in on them and Celebrimbor saw various uruk either slowly back up or run past him and Adar's lieutenants.

As the elf turned in the direction of the commotion, he felt his heart jump into his throat as his eyes rose high, then higher, and finally settled on the misshapen face of a hill troll.

A hill troll, who was slowly but surely moving in the direction of their little group – and all the while, his eyes firmly rested on Celebrimbor.

Next to him, Glûg snarled and threw some words at the other lieutenant, who quickly shouted something urgent in black speech. The smith could hear the call repeated further along the camp, but was far too focused on the threat in front of him to pay any mind to what might have been said.

The troll finally came to stand some paces away from the elf and his guards. He continued to look at Celebrimbor for a long moment before a mean grin broke out across his face.

"Elf meat," he simply stated, tone giddy.

The smith gulped, and contemplated that perhaps, his cursing of Eru might have been a bit of a bad idea, considering that he seemed intent to throw ever more danger Celebrimbor’s way.

Next to him, Glûg made to step forward and raise his spear at the troll. The smith quickly shot out his arm and held him back. Glûg was staring at him in disbelief. "Adar sent me to guard you. Let me do my duty!"

"Don’t be a fool," the elf hissed in response, "You have no way to best him. Your spear would hardly do any damage before tore you apart. Think of your child."

The uruk seemed ready to argue with Celebrimbor, but still let himself be pushed backwards as the smith gave him a light shove. He stared imploringly at the uruk. "Let me try and handle this before you risk your life, at least."

Truth be told, the chances were slim – trolls couldn’t be charmed with clever words and appeals to their better qualities. If they even had any of those. And judging by the fact that the troll saw Celebrimbor as food...well, it was difficult as prey argue with one’s hunter.

Perhaps, he might be able to use his elven strength and speed against the other, if worst came to worst, but it would surely put the camp at risk. And without a proper weapon, Celebrimbor knew he didn’t exactly have an advantage.

"Greetings," the smith tried, deliberately cordial, and still kept himself between the troll and the two uruk guards. He could see that not all of Adar’s children had fled; some were still nearby, standing half-hidden behind the tents and crates. "My name is Celebrimbor. Who might you be?"

The troll didn’t seem to be the least bit surprised at the smith's greeting. Or perhaps he wasn’t sparing much thought to anything but the potential meal in front of him, come to think of it.

"Damrod."

The smith nodded. "Damrod. Pleased to make your aquaintance?"

The troll couldn’t be dissuaded. "It has been a long time since I have eaten an elf. You will do nicely."

"I’d actually think that I am a bit too bony to make for a fulfilling meal, after the recent strain I have been put through, to be quite honest," the smith replied and couldn't quite keep his voice from shaking as he did so.

It was a half-lie – Adar had been feeding him well, after all. It was just that, after the amounts of stress and exhaustion the smith had dealt with, his robes weren’t quite so form-fitting anymore as they had been back in Eregion.

"Hrm. We will see about that," Damrod retorted, and made to take a step forward.

Celebrimbor held up his hands to make the other halt his movements as he tried to search for words, but Glûg beat him to it. "Adar wants this elf alive, troll. Leave your dirty paws off of him!"

The smith silently cursed and motioned for the uruk to stay back, but it only ended up with the two of them glaring at each other for a brief moment before they turned their attention back to the menace in front of them.

"Adar would have told me if that were true. He mentioned no elf."

"I am mentioning it now, Damrod," came a new voice from slightly behind Celebrimbor, who both felt a weight drop off his shoulders and his heart seize at the words – glad he wasn’t facing this danger alone anymore, but worried about yet another person who would be at risk due to the troll. "My lieuntenant is right. That elf is mine, leave him be. You aren’t even supposed to be in the camp proper."

The Lord Father of the uruk walked by the smith without taking his eyes off of Damrod, but Celebrimbor couldn’t help following the other with his gaze. Adar’s presence was commanding as he slowly walked up to the troll, seemingly unafraid.

He did have his hand placed on the handle of his sword, however.

It didn’t escape the smith that Adar was directing his path in such a way that it had him step between Celebrimbor, the lieutenants and their opponent as if by accident. The elf suspected it to be anything but.

"What do you need an elf for?" the troll asked, sounding petulant. He was still focused on the smith as he spoke.

"This elf is from a noble house. I have married him, and he will give me the ability to enter the elven city and drag out Sauron," Adar explained calmly. "So that we, you and I, may kill him."

The troll thought on that for a moment. "Hrmph. So I cannot even kill and eat elves in battle?"

A pause, and then he grinned once more, malicious as his gaze finally settled on Adar. "He can still be that without legs. Can’t he? He can live without those. Also, he won’t be able to run away if I take them."

Celebrimbor felt himself blanch, and looked down his legs before his gaze shot up once more. Ignoring the fact that such an injury could be life-threatening even for an elf – he rather liked his legs?

Damrod took another step towards the elf, and suddenly Adar stepped backwards as well until his back was almost up against Celebrimbor’s chest, arm outstretched as if to shield him. He still didn’t look at the smith, who stretched out a hand and lightly placed it on Adar’s arm – not to clutch, as he wouldn’t want to hinder the uruk’s movements, but because he needed to let the other know where he was.

And also, he was unsettled enough that he needed something to ground himself. Despite the danger, the smith couldn’t help but notice how firm the arm in his hold was. How he could feel Adar’s body heat and smell the metal of his armor due to their closeness.

"Celebrimbor will stay in one piece. That is not up for discussion," Adar replied, and his voice did sound decidedly more strained now.

And then, he drew his sword. "Though you are right about one thing, Damrod – some things can be lived without. And I think my army can live without you being part of it."

Neither Celebrimbor nor the troll had any time to react to the Lord Father’s words before Adar lifted his free hand to the smith’s chest and pushed him backwards roughly – the elf stumbled and almost fell, but found himself caught in Glûg’s hold instead. Who didn’t even let the smith get his bearings before he yanked him further back and away from what was quickly turning into the site of a dangerous fight.

The troll seemed more stunned than anything, and Adar used that advantage to sprint forward and get in the first hit of his sword.

The elf watched, mesmerized, as Adar spun about the troll and quickly slashed the back his heels while avoiding the grasping hands of Damrod. The hill troll bellowed as he dropped to his knees and swiped his arms about as he tried to catch Adar, but he was clearly too slow and too immobile to do so.

The uruk kept his distance and remained in Damrod’s blind spot, adjusting the hold on the sword as he studied the troll’s movements with a drawn expression. Whether it was anger or concentration, Celebrimbor couldn’t tell.

Adar was deliberate in his movements and didn’t waste any of his strength as he let Damrod rage and flail about. The smith wasn’t quite sure what did eventually cause the uruk to spring into action again – it must have been some cue Celebrimbor couldn’t parse as someone who mostly existed as a non-combatant. But eventually, the uruk grasped the handle of his sword with two hands and began to sprint at Damrod’s back.

With a few steps and two jumps up Damrod's arm, he had reached the troll’s shoulders, and drove his sword into the back of the troll’s neck in one quick thrust. It went through like a knife cutting through butter, despite the fact that trolls were quite sturdy creatures.

Celebrimbor couldn’t help but be awed at the uruk’s display of skill and strength. Very few elves could fell a hill troll all on their own, and even fewer could do it in such few attacks as Adar had peformed.

Damrod gurgled and tried to hold the front of his throat, to get a grasp of Adar’s sword, but Adar withdrew it and leapt from the troll’s back before he even got close. Safely out of reach, the uruk began to walk back to where the elf and Glûg were frozen in place.

For a moment, it looked as if the troll would struggle back to his feet, snarling and glaring in the direction of the group, before he toppled over and onto the ground. It did not take long before his body stilled completely.

The elf released a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, and could feel Glûg do the same behind him. The lieutenant soon began to pull Celebrimbor up and back into a standing position from where he’d been slouched into the uruk’s chest.

Still, the smith couldn’t take his eyes off of Adar, who didn’t even have a scratch or a drop of blood on him. He merely shook his sword to clean off some of the thick, black liquid on it, and then sheated it again as he came to a stop right in front of Celebrimbor.

He reached out, and grasped Celebrimbor’s elbow when the elf’s legs shook precariously for a moment. As he steadied the smith, he asked, "Are you alright?" and let his eyes move over Celebrimbor’s body, undoutably looking for injuries.

Both the concern and the other’s searching gaze made the smith feel strangely warm inside. He lifted the arm Adar had a hold of without shaking his grip, and placed his hand on the inside of the uruk’s elbow. Adar’s head jerked up, and the two locked eyes.

"I am a little shaken, but otherwise unharmed – thanks to you. And your guard," the smith confirmed, and turned a shaky smile at Glûg. Then he turned back to his husband. "How about you? Are you okay?"

Adar stared at him for a breath, expression unreadable, before he nodded. "I am fine. He tried, but he couldn’t reach me."

Neither he nor Celebrimbor had let go of the other, and the smith didn’t feel inclined to bring attention to that fact – or change anything about it. Adar’s hand was a warm, comforting weight through Celebrimbor's robe, and despite the ability for violence he had just displayed, his hold was decidedly light – gentle.

The uruk turned his face to Glûg, then. "How about you, child?"

The lieutenant bowed slightly. "Lord Father. I am unharmed as well."

Adar nodded, and placed his free hand on the uruk’s shoulder in a gesture of support. The uruk seemed to preen under his leader’s attention.

The moment did not last long, and Adar quickly withdrew his hands again – both of them. The feeling of dissappointment was a surprise for the smith, but he chalked it up to how unsettled he still felt due to the unexpected danger.

He was even more surprised when, after that, he felt a hand between his shoulder blades, and caught sight of Adar watching him.

"I hate to cut your exploration short, Celebrimbor. But I think I’d be more at ease if you remained in our tent for the rest of the day," he explained. A pause, a snort, and then he added, "You seem particularly skilled at attracting danger."

The elf would have been indignant, if he hadn’t caught himself wishing to return to the imagined safety of the tent as well. He nodded in assent, but his mind continued to linger on a particular, little piece of Adar’s previous sentence.

‘Our tent,’ the elf thought, and let himself be lead along by his husband, whose hand still remained firmly on his back. Celebrimbor was sure Adar hadn’t even been aware of his choice of words, and yet-

The warmth he had felt before spread across his chest and down to the tips of his fingers. Once he wasn’t quite so much in need of a chair to sit down in and some time to contemplate the day’s events, the smith knew he’d have to try and examine that more closely.

For now, however, Celebrimbor let himself be guided back, Adar walking by his side as he talked to Glûg and the other lieutenant. If there was a small smile spreading across the elf's face for a moment despite what had just happened, well, that was only for Celebrimbor to know.

[unoislazy]

Sneak Peak?

(Arthur Morgan x reader)

Because it’s been so long since I’ve written I feel like I’ve lost my touch a bit. I’m gonna leave a snippet of something I’ve written so far and I would like to know how you guys feel about it!!

Context: Childhood friends to lovers

“I’m in a lot of trouble right now.” He said, nearly out of breath as he grabbed your hand desperately. You stared at him for a moment, trying to process what he was saying as you tried to string together a proper sentence.

“You’ll be alright, right? You always make it out okay.” You said optimistically. The boy in-front of you gave you a charming smile. He had just shown up on your doorstep, which was no different than normal but this time he was winded and bleeding… Your concern was evident through the farrowing of your eyebrows and the worry in your eyes, but you dared not voice them, not now.

“You know I do, but… I don’t think we can stay here for much longer.” He replied, looking back over his back as if he was being watched. You too looked over his back trying to see if you could make out any figures in the area behind him, but to you there was not a soul in sight.

“We?” You asked, taken aback. It was almost as if you had only then processed his words as you took your attention off the empty area of dirt and leaves behind the boy and turned to once again meet his striking blue eyes.

“Me and the gang, we got into some issues with the law and I only have a few hours before I have to go.” He explained. You knew this was going to happen eventually, but even so you still didn’t feel as if you prepared yourself well enough for this day to come.

“Before you leave… I want you to take this.” You quickly grabbed a letter that you had stored in your drawer, in preparation for this day. “I don’t want you to open it until you’re gone, okay?” To that, the boy nodded.

“I promise you I’ll come back to you.”

And with a swift kiss on the forehead, and longing goodbyes, he was gone. That was the last you had seen or heard of the boy named “Arthur Morgan” for quite some time.

Many years had passed at this point and whilst you had never forgotten that boy, you had a strong feeling he had forgotten about you. Or worse.

But it was no concern of yours now, you were grown now. There was no point in delving into the “what ifs” of your childish fantasy. You still lived in the same old house, living a quiet life. A boring yet decent one, you didn’t know why you stayed. You had everything you’d need to leave and lead a more eventful life.

However, deep down you knew why you stayed.

You stayed for him.

On the off chance that that boy would find his way back to you. That he would come back and keep the promise he made to you all those years ago. But the other side of you knew, that was never gonna happen.

Your internal argument continued until you heard a knock on your door.

You brushed off your hands from the residue left over from whatever task you had found yourself partaking in before turning to get the door. You didn’t often get visitors but when you did it was usually just one of your neighbors or a family friend coming to check up on you. So with that expectation in mind, you walked towards the door and grabbed the handle with confidence, twisting and yanking it open with ease while saying your greetings to who you thought would be,

“Mrs. Baker I told you last time, I don’t need any more b-”

You cut your sentence short as your eyes quickly landed upon, not the older woman you expected, but a younger man. He was quite tall and he looked to be about your age, and despite his rough appearance he stood on your porch as awkwardly as a school boy in the front of a class.

“Oh, I’m sorry I thought you were someone else, how can I help you?” You asked, deciding it was best to find out what this man was here for. Upon further inspection, you realized there was a strange nostalgic quality to his face. You couldn’t quite place it before but it felt as if you had seen this man once before.

“I.. uh…” The man started, before he quickly turned towards his satchel and began to dig through it. It didn’t take long for him to grab a thin envelope out and display it. It was clearly opened but a name was visible on the front. “Is there anyone here by this name?” He asked.

You curiously looked towards the envelope and noticed…

It was your name.

Your eyebrows scrunched as you looked from the envelope to the man holding it once again. Why would this man be asking for you…?

It was then you took a closer look at him, he was quite tan, his hair was a gorgeous brown and his eyes…

His eyes

“Arthur…?” You whispered. It couldn’t be.

“How do you know my…” The man before her looked at her with a puzzled look before it quickly clicked with him. How could he not recognize you? Sure it had been several years since he had been back but he prided himself on being able to memorize your features.

Unfortunately the memory betrays one no matter how hard they try to defy it.

[qwordavoider]

And maybe some 💭💭💭 too? I'm soooo obsessed with that one!

Yes, of course! This is going to have a double use, because @inawickedlittletown 🫶🏼 tagged me for WIP Wednesday. So here is more of my amnesia wip following the last snippet I posted here

-

Buck pauses at that. He was expecting to have to fight a little more on that point. At least to the same extent he had with Hen and Chim in the first coma dream. So he’s momentarily shocked into silence and decides to take the opportunity to evaluate Tommy a little more. Which once again leaves him confused about who this man is, because his suggestion seems genuine. 

And for some reason it gives him the confidence to try and come up with ideas. At first there’s nothing that really sticks out, except for the fact that everything was wrong. But come to think of it, he doesn’t ever think it was night time. It was always bright and sunny despite how terrible the changes in his life were. So time of day.

“Well, what time is it?” Buck asks. 

Tommy looks at his watch before saying, “Almost noon.”

Buck nodded his head. That was more than he ever got in the coma dream. Then he remembers something else that changed that didn’t have anything to do with Bobby. 

So he turns to Maddie, “You’re still with Chimney, right?”

And thankfully a small smile breaks through the worry lining Maddie’s face, “Yeah I am.”

“Good, because I never want to imagine you married to Doug again.”

Buck racks his brain some more. There has to be something else.  

“Eddie. He’s still here, right? His parents didn’t take Chris to El Paso?” Buck asks. 

He notices the look that Tommy gives Maddie and how she flinches a little bit.

“What?”

Once again, it’s Tommy who answers, “Eddie moved to El Paso to follow Chris after he asked to move in with his grandparents.”

-

Not tagging anyone for WIP Wednesday (since it's not Wednesday for me for much longer), but feel free to consider yourself tagged if you want an excuse to post something.

Make me write

[artficlly]

daughter of the rotsál snippet

hi all, ive been hit with my usual seasonal depression yippe... my goal for this month was to write 50k words. i am currently at 37k on the first draft of the daughter of rotsál. this fic is turning out to be a lot longer than i first anticipated it would be so it's been a bit overwhelming to work on. per usual my imposter syndrome is telling me i'm a bad writer (as is the curse of a creative). thought i'd share a snippet with you all, so here is a full scene where isolde the oc meets bucky for the first time.

in the mean time while i suffer writing this first draft, would you guys be interested in seeing some more snippets or lore bits? i did contemplate writing a one-shot just so i would have something more to post than these ramblings haha. let me know!

Head held high, Isolde strode through the emerging path, ignoring the whispers and stares. 

“Ah, here she is.” Father Dreykov spoke, his hand finding the small of Isolde’s back as he guided her before the Naraki leadership. “Isolde. The bride.”

The Naraki leadership loomed before her, a half-circle of men clad in armour and furs, each radiating authority. The man in the seat was undeniably the Ealdorman Steve of House Rogers. He sat tall, his posture regal yet relaxed, his broad shoulders draped in a wolf fur cloak, his armour battle-worn, streaked with faint scratches and dents. His face was as commanding as the rest of him—a square jaw, strong cheekbones, and a mouth set in a line of quiet contemplation. His golden hair was tied back, though a few strands had escaped to frame his face. His blue eyes settled on Isolde with an unsettling intensity. His wife, Lady Peggy, stood tall and poised, a hand resting lightly on Steve’s shoulder. 

Isolde was sure that if Lord Steve wasn’t already married, she would have been offered as a bride to him instead. Isolde swallowed hard as Peggy’s gaze lingered, her expression unreadable. There was no malice in her eyes, but neither was there comfort. Isolde got the impression that this was not a woman who tolerated weakness—not in herself, not in her husband, and certainly not in anyone who might step into their world.

“She is Idamirian.” Lord Steve spoke, a hint of surprise in his words. 

“Well, yes. She was once before she became a daughter of the Rotsál.” Father Dreykov replied, and Isolde recognised a slight hesitancy in his words, as if he was carefully selecting each that passed his lips. “Do you take issue with this?”

Isolde’s chest tightened.

“No. The opposite.” Lord Steve raised his hand to absentmindedly stroke the stubble across his jaw. “I wasn’t aware that any from Idamir survived.”

They didn’t. Hatred coiled in Isolde’s gut like a mighty serpent, and it took everything in her not to sneer at the Ealdorman. His words were so casual, so dismissive—the anger that roared in her veins was as hot as any molten rock that rained from the sky. Of course the Naraki hadn’t thought of the repercussions; of course, they had thought Idamir extinct except those already married into their bloodlines. 

“I expect most didn’t.” Father Dreykov chuckled in relief. “Isolde was one of the few we managed to save during The Black Dawn.”

“An Idamirian daughter of the Rotsál…” Lord Steve pondered aloud. His pronunciation of Rotsál rolled across his tongue with a rumble, his southern accent thick. “A good choice, priest. I will give you that. There is worth in such a bride. She speaks our language, I presume?”

Yes. Yes, she did. Isolde remembered quite vividly the number of times she had been scolded and beaten for her southern accent slipping through in etiquette classes. The Rotsál aimed to neutralise, ensuring a girl could fit in any and all situations. She had not spoken the language in nearly a decade, so she imagined she would be rusty and stiff in ability, but she had spent the first thirteen years of her life communicating in nearly strictly the southern tongue. 

“No, not that I am aware. The Southclaw is not exactly something we cultivate when raising these girls.”

Isolde held her tongue, but annoyance swept through her. Her knowledge of the language would have to be a surprise for her husband once they were wed. Her husband… she wondered which of the armed thegns positioned around and behind Steve would be him. They all had an equal bulkiness to their stature, pure muscle and strength, lined with scars. She did not dare squint too closely at them nor meet their eye. 

“A shame. She will have to learn.” Steve replied with a sigh, settling further into his seat. “What exactly do you cultivate in a bride, priest? I have only ever known your Rotsálian daughters to be assassins, or they meddle in politics that aren’t their own, dressed up in riches to disguise the fact that below it all, they are just simple whores.”

The casual way in which Steve spoke to Father Dreykov astonished Isolde; it was as if disrespect dripped from his every word. It was a carefully constructed vision of mutual respect between the two; that was for sure. All for the sake of alliances. Yet Steve seemed eager to push the boundaries, prodding at Father Dreykov in the hopes that he may pop. 

Isolde’s eyes shot over to look at Father Dreykov, equal parts shock and equal parts horror seeping through her neutral facade. Father Dreykov, to his credit, had not gone red in the face; rather he puffed out his chest and let out a strained chuckle. “That is why daughters of the Rotsál are so special, you see… they are trained to be anything you need them to be. I would not… doubt their prowess.”

Lord Steve’s curiosity peaked, and he leant forward in his seat. “So this one is a bride, but if required, she can be an assassin? A whore?” 

“If that is what you want from her, then yes.”

Steve leant back in his seat once more with a chuckle, looking over his shoulder at a warrior who stood half-drenched in the shadows. “You hear that, Bucky? An assassin in your mix. Is this to your liking?”

Steve’s words hung in the air, a strange blend of jest and command, and as the name was spoken, the figure in the shadows began to move. Slowly, deliberately, the man called Bucky stepped forward, peeling himself from the darkness like a predator emerging from its den. The flickering firelight from the torches cast sharp, angular shadows across his face, revealing a visage that seemed carved from ice.

The infamous Bucky of House Barnes, the White Wolf, the Vetur Soldat, Thegn and Warlord was every inch the Naraki warrior. His shoulders were broad, his frame tall and imposing, clad in dark leather armour. The left pauldron bore faint, jagged etchings in the Naraki style, designs that marked him as a warrior of high standing, though not overly ornate. Across his shoulders a mantle of white wolf fur, its edges worn and weathered by years of riding beneath ash-laden skies

His face was a harsh masterpiece, handsome in a way that unsettled more than it comforted. A strong jawline was covered with stubble, two days old, Isolde estimated. His cheekbones were sharp, his nose slightly crooked—broken at least once in his past. The most striking feature, however, were his eyes: cold, piercing, and unrelenting. Steel blue, they cut through the dim light. They were the eyes of a man who had seen too much and felt too little, who measured the world and its people with a calculated detachment.

His hair, dark and shoulder-length, was pulled back loosely, a few messy strands falling forward to frame his face. A scar ran from the corner of his jaw up to his cheekbone. His left hand rested on the pommel of his sword, the leather-wrapped hilt worn smooth from use. 

“She looks too weak… too small to do any real damage, don’t you think?” The man replied, his tone callous and cold, though edged with a cruel amusement. A rumble of laughter passed over the tent. His expression barely shifted as he scanned her from head to toe, his lips pressing into a thin line that spoke of disappointment—or disdain. Whatever he was looking for, he did not see it in her. Isolde recognised the undeniable sting of disappointment in his expression. His words, though directed at Steve, were aimed at Isolde, each one sinking into her like a barbed arrow.

“You want a different bride?” Steve queried. Isolde held her breath. Perhaps this was a blessing in disguise, even if it felt like her cheeks burned in shame under the scrutiny of so many eyes. She would never hear the end of it when she returned to Rotsál Manor, denied and dismissed. Spoiled goods. The other Sisters would mock her relentlessly, not even good enough for a Naraki Savage. Would she ever be offered another mission? Or would she be cast away, ruined? How could she look Natasha in the face… how could she face Sister June—

“No. She will do.”

Despite the hatred and the disgust, Isolde found herself exhaling sharply in relief. She would do.

She would do.

Father Dreykov gave her a pleased look, the other Father’s bristling in approval.  

Isolde noticed how Lady Peggy subtly twitched, her nails digging into the shoulder of her husband. The blond man tipped his chin up, meeting the eye of his wife. Then, with a gentle elegance, the brunette woman leant over to whisper into her husband's ear.

“My wife wishes to ask a question.” Steve spoke up, the hint of a smile pulling at his lips. Bucky, who had begun his retreat back into the shadows, hesitated.

“Of course.” Father Dreykov offered with a slight bow of his head. Isolde wondered if the Father’s skin crawled every time he was forced to show respect to these Horselords. She wondered if rage boiled beneath the surface, knowing he had to treat these inferior men as equals. 

“Does your bride have no tongue?” Lady Peggy’s tone cut through the tent like a knife. The crowd shifted in agreement. “Does she not speak? I would like to hear her speak on this matter of marriage before any finalisation.”

Isolde’s eyes shifted to Father Dreykov. The Father, knowing how many eyes lay upon them, subtly nodded his head in permission. 

“I speak, my lady.” Isolde silently thanked Lord Velka that her voice held steady. 

Lady Peggy’s brow quirked in surprise, a delighted smirk pulling at her lips. Even Lord Bucky, in all his indifference, grew still at the sound of her voice. 

“Idamirian… your mother was a healer, I presume?”

“Yes.”

“And your father a blacksmith?”

“No. He was a hunter.”

Lady Peggy’s head quirked in surprise. 

“And you can ride a horse?” 

“Yes.”

“What about running a household, a village? The duties expected of a thegn's wife?”

“Yes.”

Peggy paused, a small hmph passing her lips. Her fingers trailed a pattern across her husband's shoulder, swirling in thought as she continued to assess Isolde with clever eyes. “And how old were you? The day of the Black Dawn?”

The memories flooded back to her. The earth rocked, the walls shaking so hard that dust fell from the roof. Dishes clattered, clay bowls and plates slipping off shelves and shattering by the hearth. The explosion, the boom of it so loud that she thought her head would be split in two…her mother, her face was blurry now, ushering her from the house as the walls caved in. You must go. You must run. Ash rained from the sky, coating every surface. In the distance, a plume of smoke so large, an indescribable mass—

Isolde swallowed back the bitter taste, relaxing her jaw to ensure the words she spoke did not sound through grit teeth. “Three and ten.”

“Which makes you…”

“Three and twenty.”

The question confused Isolde. What was the Lady looking for, evidence that she was unfit? That she was a child, unfitting of such a position? 

“And do you consent to this marriage?”

A quizzical expression slipped onto her face before she could catch it, her body twisting to glance at Father Dreykov as if asking what he made of the question. She found herself stumped momentarily, consent? Why would she need to consent when it was Lord Velka’s will?

“I do.” Isolde finally replied, spine straightening.

“No, do you truly consent to this marriage? You have not been forced or persuaded into this?”

Maybe her confusion betrayed her, or perhaps her tone was not final enough. Her gaze shifted to Father Dreykov once more, brows knitting together before she spoke up once more, more forcefully this time. “I do—”

“Don’t look at the priest. Look at me.” Lady Peggy cut her off immediately, and Isolde snapped her eyes back to meet hers. There was a fierceness to her tone but an underlying worry Isolde could interpret. “Do you consent? You can say no. Tell me, truthfully.” 

The tent had fallen into a hush. Lord Bucky watched her carefully with narrowed eyes. She only now realised that the lid and waterline were marked with a smudged kohl, adding to the intimidation of his stare. Isolde was consenting, wasn’t she? She had trained her entire life for a mission as important as this—why would her opinion, her decision, ever come into question? She had no reason to question her autonomy; The Order of Rotsál knew what was best for her. This was her mission, her path.

“I consent to this marriage, my lady.” Isolde cut back, words final.

Peggy inhaled sharply, then with a tight nod, she turned to look at her husband. It seemed Isolde’s words had convinced her, or at least for the moment. 

Steve looked up at his wife with a smile, eyes wide with unmistakable love. “Wonderful. Tonight, we will celebrate. Come nightfall tomorrow, they will be wed, and our two clans will be bound by blood.”

[purehypnotic]

can i kindly req for arthur morgan hcs,, he falls in love with reader?? -🩷

thank you SO SO much for this request !! it’s our pleasure, love you! hope we did you justice

🧸🏜 arthur morgan x reader, falling in love HCs 🏜🧸

gender neutral, sfw

𖤓⋆｡° ✮ 𓄀⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 𖤓⋆｡° ✮ 𓄀⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 𖤓⋆｡° ✮ 𓄀⋆⭒˚｡

-Arthur slumped in his seat near the bar, thumbing a chipped glass of whiskey. The sun was beating down mercilessly on Valentine, and Arthur found relief in the shade of the saloon.

-until he saw your body fling across the window outside.

-ever the good samaritan, Arthur scrambled to check on you. He tripped on his own feet to rush and survey the situation, expecting the worst reasons as to why you would be thrown so harshly.

-His hand flew to his mouth to stifle a chuckle when he saw a riderless horse and your ankle tangled up in the reins.

-Arthur bit back a smartass comment as he went to help you up, when a few things about you caught his eye.

-first, your outfit was buttoned wrong, as if you had rushed to throw something on.

-second, you weren’t wearing spurs (who the hell doesn’t wear spurs around here?)

-and third, you flinched like a feral cat when he hauled you up by the waist. Arthur had a sneaking suspicion of what was going on.

-“You don’t know how to ride a horse, do ya now?” He squinted at you.

-You lifted a finger to the man’s face, ready to spit back at the accusation when you locked eyes with him.

-Something in his gaze told you he wasn’t trying to belittle you, just offering a hand.

-Lowering your hand, you let out a sigh of frustration. You had run for so long, had fought with everything you had, but still couldn’t figure out how to mount a damn horse. But the blue eyed man in front of you seemed like he knew. He seemed sturdy, reliable, and you had given up all dignity when you caught yourself nearly drooling over his build.

-Grabbing the reins of the horse, you hung your head and held them out to Arthur’s chest.

-”just help please”

-He explained each piece of equipment, showed you how to approach the pony without spooking it, and he found himself laughing when you struggled to jump atop the saddle.

-He offered you a boost, letting his hands linger on you for a bit longer than necessary. You let out a laugh of victory, and the pure joy on your face knocked the breath from Arthur’s lungs.

-With the rush of his racing heart, Arthur impulsively hauled himself up behind you.

-”This alright?” He asked in a low voice as he reached around you to grab the reins. He adjusted himself so he could speak closer to your ear, and his movement caused your back to press into his chest.

-(he did it on purpose).

- Arthur spent the rest of his day taking you on a tour through some backroads, teaching you to steer the whole way through.

-It was the most peaceful evening he’d ever had.

-You made conversation easy. The strange way his heart pounded made him loose-lipped around you, and he gladly told you snippets of his life.

-He told you stories about growing up in the gang, about tricking John into taking showers, about Hosea teaching him to read. And you accepted each story as if they were nuggets of gold. (he loved that)

-You had eventually opened up to him about being a runaway, explaining that you had never needed to learn to ride before going on the run. His heart squeezed to think of what you must have seen.

-As the sun dipped low and the sky turned purple, Arthur realized he had guided your horse toward camp out of habit.

-Despite being a hardened, tough man, Arthur couldn’t let you go.

-He pressed a kiss to your hair and decided that another addition to the gang couldn’t hurt.

𖤓⋆｡° ✮ 𓄀⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 𖤓⋆｡° ✮ 𓄀⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 𖤓⋆｡° ✮ 𓄀⋆⭒˚｡

as always,

love katie 💌

[jihyoruri]

So since you put out the very generous offer of wowyn and other idols interaction I'd like to make a request please

It could also be snippets but I'd like to know how other idols first react to how different she is on and off stage

It could be any idol of your choice but i just wanna know you know for science 😏

(okay I decided to do winter shes a very important relationship when it comes to yn, this is also during eleven era so yn’s personality wasn’t really out there yet to the public.)

☆ NOT WHAT SHE WAS EXPECTING kim minjeong x wow!yn (little bit of jimin x reader)

minjeong let out a deep sigh and turned to jimin, “do you know yn form ive?”

jimin gave a pointed look, who doesn’t know yn?

“yes.” jimin responded, adjusting herself in her seat, “she’s aeri’s best friend.”

“yea, I know she’s aeri unnie’s best friend but we have never met her.” minjeong said, her voice filled with annoyance.

jimin furrowed her eyebrows at minjeong, confused on why the girl is so annoyed, “does it matter that we’ve never her?”

she short haired girl shifted uncomfortably, “no…” she trailed off. “it’s just I’m a little interested in her that’s all, and it sucks that aeri unnie hasn’t introduced her to us.”

now it was jimins turn to be uncomfortable, how does she tell minjeong that she’s interested in the girl that she’s interested in? how does she tell her that she knows why aeri hasn’t introduce yn to them yet?

minjeong spoke up again, “maybe I should just go up to her and ask her for her number, maybe I can take charge.”

jimin raised one of her eyebrows take charge?

“I mean it shouldn’t be that hard.” the girl continued. “she seems pretty easy and fragile.” winter said with a small smile, “I mean she was the cute one with the bow in eleven.”

Jimin looked at her like she has gone insane, “maybe you should just talk to aeri, ask her about it, you know?

“ask who about what?” both girls snap their head in the direction of the voice, only to see aeri and and figure behind her.

minjeong’s eyes widened when the girl comes from behind aeri, it was yn in all her glory.

her gaze trails yn, from her face, to her silver long chains on her neck to her crop that looks like it was straight out of a 2000s emo movie to her low rise jean skirt that’s topped with a belt with a gigantic star all the way down to her plat forms.

this is not what she was expecting.

“oh.” jimin got up from her seat, “nothing we were just talking about asking yizhuo what she wants for dinner, since you’re supposed to be sleeping at somi’s.”

she says walking towards the to girls, “which leads to me asking why are you here?”

“I forgot something.” aeri said before pointing to the door, “somi’s in the car, and yn decided to accompany me like the sweetheart she is.” she teases pinching yn’s cheek only for the taller girl to slap her hand away.

aeri laughed before heading to her room, “I’m just gonna get my thing quick.” she walks backwards and gives yn a pointed look before turning around.

when she left the room, jimin gestures for minjeong to get up.

“hi.” she says to you, “I’m jimin and this is minjeong.”

your gaze slowly scans both of the girls before answering.

“I know.”

both girls are stunted with how your voice sounds it’s a complete contrast to how it sounds when you’re singing it’s raspy.

“It’s nice to meet you both.” your gaze lingering on jimin for longer than minjeong would like.

so she speaks up.

“I really like eleven.” she says loudly.

she tenses when your eyes switch from jimin to her, “thank you, I really like your music.” you compliment back.

“thank you.” both girls say at the same time, minjeong giving jimin a small glare.

“okay!”

aeris voice gets all of your attention, “I have it.”

“next time, double check your things.” you tease the older girl, walking towards her.

“shut up.” she looks at jimin and minjeong, “I’ll try and call you guys later we’re going out to eat so you won’t hear from me.” she says.

“got it.” jimin says giving her a thumbs up.

you put your arm around aeri’s shoulder and start walking towards the door, “come on babe.” you say teasingly.

“bye guys.” aeri says and all you do is give them a nod.

minjeong watches from the window as you and aeri walk out into the night into a black car, who she’s guessing is somi’s.

maybe it’s gonna be harder than she thought.

[wonderlandwalker]

Intertwined Demise | Finnick Odair x Reader

THG Masterlist / Taglist / Inbox

Summary: It only takes a single second for his world to fall apart in your hold

Content Warnings/Tags: Blood, injury, angst, a lot of insinuations but nothing explicit

Word Count: 1.1k

A/N: For some reason I can't seem to be able to write anything longer than this. But here is a little snippet of angst until I find the headspace to write properly again

Your face was covered in dirt and dust, only clean where the tears had forced their path. And if it hadn't been for that simple fact, you wouldn't even be able to tell you were crying. Your face was strong, stoic even. All emotions lacking at a time when you would expect them most.

He kept waiting for your fight or to flight, but the longer he waited, the more hopeless the situation became, the more he wished he could get through to you. Because you were standing there, frozen.

And it's strange, the things you remember when you're watching the light fade from someone's eyes. Like the time you tried to show him how to make madeleines, but how could you expect him to focus on the melting butter when you were so, so close. And really, he thought, how was he supposed to not kiss you. 

He starts yelling at you until his ears start ringing, but it's no use, you haven't moved a single muscle.  You just stand there, looking at him as if everything will be okay. As if you’ve found your world in his eyes and are prepared to leave with it. 

He wants to run to you, wants to rip you away from your own thoughts. He wants to tell you about the promise you made to teach him chess. He didn't care much for the game itself, but the time you spent playing it was time he had to spend without you, and so he was determined to learn. But it’s no use, you’re standing there like a pawn in someone else's game, and he hasn't learned how to save you yet.

And the rest of your friends, the rest of the squad is pulling at him, trying to get him to move. Telling him to come with them, that they have to go. But how could he call them friends any longer if they did not see that by asking him to leave you, they are asking him to leave a piece of himself here.

Against all their pleas, and against all their orders, he stays right there. He stays and looks at you, he looks at you as if all of a sudden, you’ll be in his arms again. You’ll be in his embrace and you’ll tell him about the colours you think you should paint the house, and he’ll always agree with you no matter which one you think is best.

But it wouldn't matter, because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get to you through the glass wall separating you. The material is in front of him as if it's mocking him. He can see you, he can see his heart being ripped from his chest, but he cant reach to get it back.

You had fallen behind, you had noticed something the others didn't and spent an extra second looking at it, but when you figured out what it was, your fate had already been written. 

When he had heard the noise, when his ears had alerted him something was wrong before his eyes could even get the chance, he had reached for you. He had reached for you to push you ahead of him, shielding you from whatever it was he had heard. He had turned around, and he had seen the last bit of space between you close up. And this shield wasn't one he would be able to get through. He wasn't the only one trying to get to you, he heard bullets being fired into the wall, but it didn't make a difference, it was too strong. 

From behind you, he could see peacekeepers turning the corner, and he starts pounding on the glass even harder, he hits it until the blood from his knuckles turns the glass into a tortured canvas. He screams out for you, but it doesn't seem like you can hear him. He sees your lips moving, and he can recognise you telling him you love him. But it doesn't calm him down like it usually would, it only makes him fight harder. Your body language is a stark contrast to your face, and he can see how afraid you really are, how guarded you’ve become, but you’re determined to make this last moment matter. He wants to give you what you’re asking for, but he can’t stop. He can’t stop the desperation in his voice or the anger in his body. 

You weren't dying, no, this was worse, you were giving up. Your tears stop and he sees you blink the last of them from your eyes. You’re still looking at him, you’re looking at him as if it will be your last opportunity to do so, and he wishes it could be a better one. 

He doesn't understand why youre not fighting, why youre not trying to get away from the men who circle around you and start to drag you away. You go with them as if they're not leading you to a world that doesn't have him in it. 

And all he could do was watch, watch as you went through agonizing despair, watch as they took you from him.

Everything around him turns silent. He no longer hears the yelling of the people behind him, he no longer pays attention to the alarm that has started to sound. 

It is in that moment that he gets it, because the moment he can no longer see you, he stops everything he’s doing. He stops screaming, he stops crying, and he drops to his knees. 

Everything around him becomes a background noise that he no longer cares enough about to identify. And he understands now. He understands the tranquillity in losing the only thing that keeps you going. He knows because it isn't even a choice. He knows he will do anything and everything to get to see you again. He will spend the rest of his life looking behind him as if you’ll be there, reaching for you until his mind starts to take pity on him and he’ll get to see you again.

And he will gladly lay down his own life to give yours back to you. Even if he doesn't get to see you again, the knowledge that you will be alright will bring him all the peace he could wish for in this moment right here.

Because what is there to lose, he thought, when you've already lost your mind.

[equallyloyalandlethal]

I saw a thing earlier that was somone asking for writers to keep posting snippets, and I’m nothing if not accommodating (read, I need praise to activate the internal dopamine generator so I can write at all), so here is a little snippet of something I’ve been poking at for a bit on the back burner and trying to get really rolling. Lemme know what y’all think.

Love Like Hellebores, a Tough Like Dandelions sequel:

How the woods surrounding the Martin lake house were more foreboding the Preserve as Theo ran through them, paws digging roughly into the dried, late summer leaf litter, was a mystery. Something about the bend and sway of the trees, probably. Or maybe it was the way they creaked in the wind, the trickles of a breeze whispering through the branches and brush, speaking a language he didn’t understand. The land itself wasn’t as blood-soaked as the woods closer to Beacon Hills proper, but something about it was hungry nonetheless.

Regardless, Theo had set out into them alone, ignoring how doing so was the most contrarian and stupidly backwards thing he could do. Being out among the tangled roots, no one around him that he had to hold himself together for, was freeing. Yes, every stride sent zinging chills down his spine, lifting his hackles without any real reason, but it wasn’t nearly as suffocating as being surrounded on all sides by pack.

He stopped, sides heaving like a bellow, dragging air in and out of his hung open jaws. The only sound in his ears was his own panting and the dull roar of his pulse. Apparently, full-tilt sprinting through the denser brush in the lake’s woods for an hour or two had sent the forest creatures scattering and turned them silent. To prey, a predator was a predator, regardless of what he thought of himself as. Such was the basic way of nature. The Doctors had perverted supernatural law, but even they were still bound by some of the fundamental natural ones.

He rolled his shoulders, letting out a soft breath as both the wolf and coyote were more or less settled back down beneath the smaller’s furred skin. Yeah, a run had been just what he needed. The wolf in him loved whenever the pack converged back on the town, but his coyote, and him at times, struggled not to see the influx as danger. Running, letting both his beasts have a paw on the wheel and push the more human of the worries aside, always helped. It brought the itch beneath his skin, the niggling worry that something was out there, the constant screaming in his head that he wasn't doing enough, running like this, on four paws and under a thick coat, made it all more manageable.

With slow sweeping side to side motions, he lifted his head, glancing through the darkening canopy with a sinking sort of realization.

The sun was setting.

Shit.

He promised Liam, and the others but mostly his mate, that he would be back in time for the party. It was a send-off, meant to celebrate the pack as a whole. Everyone was in town for it, aiming to send off the puppies with style. Theo shuddered, snapping at the empty air as that fact in particular reminded him this was the last night everyone was going to be together, the last night Liam would be remotely Beacon Hills-adjacent for months.

Both the canids bristled alongside him, disliking the very idea of separation, let alone the practice of tit that was going into effect tomorrow. It wasn’t often the two agreed, though Liam seemed to be as much an exception to their rules as the ones that used to govern most of Theo’s life. These days, his animals were simply needier, snapping the reins from him a little harder and more often. It had been odd, but nine months of it rendered the behavior more familiar than off-putting.

Realistically, they collectively assumed he would be late as soon as he disappeared on four legs. Runs like this always took him longer than he expected.

A startled yelp leapt out of his throat as he was tackled sideways, slamming into the ground only for paws to press into his ribs before he could scramble to his feet. The unreservedly triumphant yowl, loud enough to cover up the lingering echoes of his surprised noise, and over-proud rumbled as the feet pinning him danced in place, lifting and lowering in a hopping rhythm, were more than familiar, but that didn't assuage the bristling of his own coyote or the growl still building in his throat. Malia, joining him wasn’t abnormal, not since they worked out their shit a few months ago. They would race and wrestle and hunt in their similar shapes, his own coyote only slightly bigger than hers often enough, her own wildness needing a place to go.

The pinning was a little less familiar, and entirely unappreciated.

[fangbangerghoul]

Snippet Sunday!

I hope everyone is having a grand week! While I do not have a new chapter to post I do have a sneak peek for it! Chapter 6th of Elgara Vallas should be done before 01/15/25 and after that each chapter will be on a biweekly - monthly basis since classes start on the 15th for me.

Since the wait will be longer, I will also try to increase the word count of the chapters. We were sitting at an average of under 2k - 3k words but I will see if I can extend that to make chapters 5k - 7k. No promises but I would like to see meatier chapters from myself. Which will help because this fic will be longer than Fleeting Pleasures and I have so much in store for this journey!

If you haven't read it yet there are only 5 chapters out now to catch up! Any comments, kudos, or reblogs are appreciated and if you have anything you are working on, I'd love to see it!

Tagging: @bearlytolerant @staticpallour @lisa-and-shadow @ellstersmash @roguishcat @ronqueesha @blightedcrow @interplanet--janet @heytheresunflower @awardenandacrow @kimberbohwrites @atonalginger @skeleinor @sleepybadbear

No pressure tags! I tried to get those who I know are into veilguard content rn. If you would like to be tagged in the future or not be tagged in the future let me know!

“Not going to say hello?” The honeyed sarcastic charm came from the other side of the lounging couch. Ghoul peeked an eye open to see Neve’s brown eyes peering over at her with expectation.

“Should I?” Ghoul asked, confused she was expected to say anything at all. She had assumed everyone was doing their own thing, and hers was going to be a quick nap while she waited for whatever meal was served by the bickering duo in the kitchen.

“I suppose you don’t have to” Neve bit her lip as if stopping herself from saying something in particular, but she continued, “though I would think it would be proper to greet the people you run into.”

“Then…” Ghoul sat up from her relaxed position, the squeaking noise of movement from the cushion filling the silence as she repositioned her back to rest on the arm, facing her companion, “Hello Ms. Neve Gallus.”

“Now that’s too proper.” Her dark brows furrowed at Ghoul but there was still an amused grin on her lips. This was turning into a fun tit for tat. “Neve is fine. Just Neve.”

“Just Neve,” Ghoul nodded in agreement but then quickly added, “Minrathous�� very own detective, Just Neve, illusive member of the Shadow Dragons, hero of the night-.”

“Yeah, yeah that’s enough.” Neve interrupted putting her hand up to stop Ghoul before she could continue with her bit. Ghoul felt a little satisfaction in being able to irritate her so easily and she wondered what else could get under her skin, but she left the idea of pranking her anymore in the back of her mind.