#//and book 3 shouldn't be too far off (I hope)

[a-queenoffairys]

after a long break I'm finally back to working on the chronicles, and I'm now up to book 3 chapter 15. the end feels so close yet so far.

I fell off it for a few reasons but mostly because I was getting bored with the story and it felt like a chore trying to get through it. even just doing a single chapter takes a long time (rightfully so, translation shouldn't be rushed) and combined with a plot that wasn't holding my attention, it was hard to motivate myself to keep going. taking a break was good, and seeing the state of the currently available release, the job really needs to be done. but hey, I have until september to make it before the 10-year anniversary window closes (aaaaghhhh)

some spoilers ahead

and it's a shame because I did really enjoy books 1 and 2. they were a nice cosy story about the gang recounting their story and then beginning to unravel the mysteries of the hermitage and anthea's disappearance, all while xana is working to get closer to them and infiltrate the group, being very careful with the information he chooses to reveal so as not to tip them off or give them an advantage.

then book 3 comes along and it starts off ok. but if I could point to the spot where things took a nosedive, I think it was when xana showed up in humanoid form. there's something not good about the characters thinking of xana as this dangerous, merciless, emotionless computer program that's out to kill them, and xana acting all powerful and evil, but then he just starts dumping exposition and giving his enemies useful information seemingly only to move the plot along. it was weird when he was like "I could kill you right now, I don't even care" to ulrich and then they just go on a gay little stroll around the city together and xana helpfully explains more things with an evil smirk on his face.

it's also around that same time the gang gets split up and there are lots more other characters involved, a lot of them either completely new, or existing characters who've been changed a hell of a lot. and I get it but it feels a bit messy, and the darker tone is hampered by caricature characters.

I don't have much of an issue with the overall plot, I think it's mainly just the characterisation that could have used work. also the handling of the abusive parent stuff uhhhhh

anyway I wouldn't say the books are bad, I just wish they were better :B and at least every cl sequel/adaptation manages to get jim right

[a-edgar-allan-hoe]

Wild Horses

Part 4

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Doctor!Reader, other characters x reader

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3

A/N: I hope y’all like this chapter and I apologize if it took long! Reblogs and feedback are much appreciated, I love hearing y’alls thoughts. Don't be afraid to stop by and say hi and if there are any ideas you guys would like to have in this story, just let me know! And as always, I hope you lovelies have a beautiful day! 💜💜💜 Also I apologize if some of the tags don't go through, I make sure to add each and every one of you lovelies but the tagging system here sucks ass.

Story Summary: Imagine being the new physician assigned to the team and a certain masked individual takes a new keen concealed interest in you. The two of you are too awkward to function.

Chapter Summary: 🎶Don't be suspicious.🎶

Warnings and notes: language, violence, blood and gore, fluff, angst, slow-burn, mentions of sexual themes

(Quick Disclaimer: I am not a doctor nor have any professional knowledge or experience involving surgical procedures. I am just a student studying in the medical field who has just started taking courses that are more degree-related. So I apologize if some of the stuff may be inaccurate.)

🍂Simon Riley. Simon MOTHERFUCKING Riley. The only man to exist that has managed to accomplish aggravating you in every possible way imaginable. For a woman known to have a great deal of patience, he sure as hell didn’t even need to lift a finger to break that record. Might as well put him in the Guinness Book of World Records for ‘The Most Stubborn Asshole Man Alive’ because you’re pretty sure if you looked up the words stubborn and asshole in a dictionary, his face would pop up.

🍂All you did was help stitch him up from a gunshot wound that could’ve gone way south if not done correctly. And when you tell him to come to you if he has any injures or illnesses because you want to help him, what does he do? What does this asshole of a man do? Insults you! Right to your face! I mean sure it wasn’t a direct insult nor were any of his words particularly insulting, but it was still rude and it offended you.

🍂“Meh don’ bother. I’m a big tough dummy and I eat rocks and tea for breakfast. I don’ need your help.” You mock with a shake of your head and a widened stance, mimicking both the voice and stature of the masked English soldier. The little ‘altercation’ had left you nearly fuming, pushing you to go outside to get some of that chilly night air in order to cool off. “I bet you use Gorilla Glue on all your wounds and call it a day.” You scoff, returning to your original posture. You better pray Ghost isn't lurking around somewhere unless you want your ass beat.

🍂Your dad had always taught you kindness and patience, being the down-to-earth soul he was, but boy was this man absolutely testing the everlasting shit out of you. You almost had to mutter out a small apology in your father’s honor for the obscene and colorful language that fell from your lips. But the more you thought about the absolute 6'4 idiot of a man, the more you became frustrated over it. All that body mass and not a single ounce of a brain. How he has managed to come this far without dying of an infection, you have no clue.

“Hope you like that fucking sour apple Dum-Dum you lollipop thief. You’re lucky I don’t dye your stupid mask pink.” You don't know what came in you in that heated moment but next thing you know you were practically planning your funeral and writing a will of your inheritance for your cat back home. Because if there's one thing you shouldn't do, it's kicking a random metal can just lying around on the street. Let's just say you were fucked because the sound that came out of you was equivalent to the screeching of a dying narwhal. The way the throbbing in your big toe had you clutching the wall and wheezing like a fish reeled right out of the water begging the creator for mercy was enough to produce some sweat out of you. And just your luck, as if the night couldn’t get any worse, Price had heard the noise and went to investigate it. Shouldn't this man have better things to do?

The face you pulled would have risen some concern from your colleagues back at the hospital in the states, a widened smile and pain-filled eyes, and you can’t help but to thank the poorly lit lamp streets for obstructing it. You swear you feel like your head is about to explode from the way you tried to keep it all together. But as Price asked if you were alright, looking over your stiffened and awkward stance, one hand out on the wall and your injured foot crossed over the other, all you could do was nod frantically and let out a wheezed ‘Yup. Finer than frog hair split four ways’. You pray that he doesn’t think you’re constipated or something from the strain in your voice. Coward. I would have faked a fall and had him carry me over the threshold.

Price of course doesn’t get American lingo and has no clue what the fuck you just said but takes it as a yes. Just you wait till he goes back in and tells the others what he heard. The man practically opens up the computer and searches up the phrase that you uttered just to find the meaning, all while the others crowd around. And after scrolling through a bunch of different articles involving different American slang, they collectively decide to learn a bunch of them in order to communicate with you. I lied. Because literally from this day forth, they randomly spit out different words and phrases just to tease your American accent. Actually Soap is the only one who does that………….just Soap.

Anyways……..

When Price finally closes the door behind him, you’re back to gritting your teeth and cursing at the pain in your toe and blaming it for your misfortunes, waiting a couple minutes so as to not run into the captain or the others before hurrying limping back into the building and into your room.

What did I tell ya. Should have just asked for Price to carry you back.

After inspecting your toe as what felt to be broken, you were glad to find out that it was just a grade 1 sprain. As painful as it was, for a successful recovery all it needed was some ice, taping, drugs, and a lot of rest. Rest......right. Like you were gonna get any of that.

Should've just reported it to Price.

Guess you can add one more injury to your list of things that are in the process of healing. The men come back from the mission bloodied and bruised with gunshot wounds, and you…….well you sprain your toe from trying to kick a can of beans or whatever the hell that stupid metal cylinder was filled with.

As if you weren't stressed enough before. Now you had to worry about hiding this tiny injury from the rest of the team to prevent them worrying about you. Also because you don’t want them to start asking questions about how it happened in the first place and find out that a can of beans was the culprit behind it. Hm, sounds a lot like someone else.

When you finally laid in bed that night, drugged out on melatonin and pain killers and wearing an oversized tee and a pair of shorts, you couldn’t stop drumming your fingers against your stomach, your injured foot propped up on a pillow with your big toe wrapped and taped up looking like you borrowed Fred Flintstone’s foot. Now just how were you going to hide that? It’s not like you can just grab a pair of those circus clown shoes or an orthopedic boot or some crutches and hope no one notices. And while you stared up at the ceiling, the drumming of your fingers coming to a stop as you contemplated on the idea while waiting to crash out from the melatonin you took, there is only one thing left that came to mind. So, in one swift motion, you grab the spare pillow closest to you and scream into it. A really long, really shrill scream that would have put the banshees to shame. Yup. You can now say you had officially reached your breaking point.

And what happens when you’re stressed? You have strange dreams, like really strange dreams. I’m talking weird vivid outlandish shit that feel too real kind of dreams. Because when you wake up the next morning, sweat beaded at your forehead, you can only think about the very explicit dream you had last night. The one involving you and the team and a series of very……………how can I say this, rated porn shit. It all felt real, too fucking real, because when you move your legs over to hang off the side of the bed, there’s a tenderness there and well………….everything else that comes with it.

“Yo what the actual fucking shit.” You groan, resting your elbows onto your thighs as you shove your face into your hands and rub at your forehead and cheeks.

How the hell were you going to face the team after waking up from something like that? You could almost paint a picture of the entire sequence as if it just happened, and boy was the image going to be burned into the back of your mind like the searing of a branding iron.

You were embarrassed just thinking about it. Every time you closed your eyes, you were reminded of the way their hands and lips roamed every inch of your body, the way their skin almost burned against yours, the stubble of their facial hair grazing against the sensitive skin that lined your inner thighs and the wetness of their tongues, the sounds of their low grunts and moans that escaped from deep within their chests that mingled with your soft ones as their heated breaths fanned your neck, the sharp smell of metal that paired with the rhythmic swaying of their dog tags as they dangled above you with each movement, and the pulling sensation in the pit of your stomach after reaching your high with each of them.

And then there was Ghost, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, the way he looked you over with disgust while you were on your back when each of them hovered over you. And when he finally stood in front of you, when there seemed to be no one else, glaring down at you from under that mask of his, and uttering one single phrase, 'you harlot of a tart', you woke up. Typical ole Ghost. An asshole in reality and an asshole in dreams.

You needed air, a shower, and a change of clothes, desperately. Price had given you the day off when you finished patching the men up last night. And that is exactly what you were going to do. But first you needed to clean yourself up, preferably with holy water if there was any, and then........well...you needed to get out of this building and get some fresh air because what in the 60s psychedelic orgy was that.

Lazily getting up from your bed, you quickly tie your tangled hair up in a simple bun and slide on a pair of slippers over your fuzzy socks, throwing on your plush Grogu and Mandalorian patterned robe over your sleeping clothes and pulling the hood of your robe over your head to provide extra warmth. Today was a much needed day off after the shit storm that was yesterday. As part of your regular morning routine on the days you didn't work, you grab your other mug that you finally found after rummaging through your things; the one shaped like the head of Kermit the Frog and decide to make yourself a cup of coffee to wake yourself up first and foremost.

Making sure to balance your weight on your uninjured foot, you wobble over to the kitchen, your empty mug in hand and your bottle of pain pills in the other that rattled slightly every time you dragged your feet across the floor. Your eyes tear up as you let out a long and dragged out yawn, squinting in the process which prevents you from seeing just what you were walking into as you place your mug on the countertop with a high-pithed clink.

If you thought today was going to have some mercy on your poor soul........................well you're wrong. Because while you have your back turned to the dining table behind you as you try to start up the coffee machine, you had forgotten that the thing was still broken in the first place, and also the fact that you live with five, now six, other men, and their eyes were now all on you. Girl if you don't turn your ass around-

"Mornin-"

"Sweet baby Jesus!" You nearly jump a foot into the air, spinning around in a frenzy with a wild look to see that the whole crew had been at the dining table the entire time and that you weren’t the only one scared out of their wits.

Did you just say ‘sweet baby Jesus?’ They haven’t heard that one before.

You stare wide-eyed in fright at the men seated at the table, your hair a mess and your heart so close to bursting out of your ribcage you swear you'd have to chase after it as you clutch the counter behind you.

There is an obvious awkward silence in the air as everyone stares at the inharmonious mess that is you and your startled state, curiously eyeing the large Grogu ears that were attached to the sides of the hood of your Star Wars plush robe and your bare calves that peeked out from underneath the hem down to your fuzzy socks that had cats all over it. You're practically following their eyes as they look over to your bottle of pills and your Kermit mug on the counter beside you before looking back at you. Oh to be able to read what went through their heads.

Despite your clashing wardrobe that made him question your taste in attire, there was one thing Ghost had focused on more, one that was obvious to those who knew it, a dainty tattoo of the unmistakable silhouette of a rose along the side of your calf. Was that the same rose off of Depeche Mode's 'Violator' album cover? It sure was, because right in the center of the stem where the rose was cut off, were the words 'violator' in cursive. Be still his heart. Is this man planning a proposal and your entire wedding? He was almost curious to find out what other bands or artists you listened to. Maybe he'll sneak a peek at your playlist-

"Howdy! You eh...........ya look worn slap out......I reckon." Soap smiles, trying to mimic the southern American accent but failing miserably, which only earns a round of groans of agitation at the table as the team roll their eyes. All but König of course, he's just as clueless as you are. He wasn't there when the team were searching up American slang.

You-what? The hell is this man on about?

"Jesus-" Price rolls his eyes at Soap's antics as he goes to take a sip of his coffee.

"......................" You're still mute. Your eyes dart between each of them, your thoughts only replaying the pornographic images of your dream as this sudden irrational fear begins to develop that they might be able to get a glimpse of your thoughts. Make a run for it-

"................Ye awright there wee lass? Yer lookin’ a bit peely wally." Soap's smile drops.

You're lookin a bit what?

"Mate, shut up." Gaz whispers to Soap after noticing your disconcerted expression. It was making him nervous, no doubt, and the fact that you weren't saying anything only made it worse.

The whole team were practically waiting for you to say something, but all you could do was stare. Girl either you say something or just take your clothes off and let them have you right then and there on the dining table, bandaged toe and everything if your dream distracts you that much-

"Guten morgen schatz (good morning love)." König sent a wave in your direction to try to ease the tension only to drop his hand back down after seeing that you did not respond. Poor dude is worried you’ve fallen ill and is practically sitting on the edge of his seat, analyzing every detail of your body language and ready to leap to your rescue in case you show any signs of falling unconscious.

Even Ghost couldn't stop the annoyed sigh/huff that escaped, shaking his head at the uncomfortable and nuisance of a situation as he took a sip of his tea, the motion catching your attention. That is when you first noticed that he had the lower half of his mask lifted up to his nose. Was this the first you had seen of part of his face? You found yourself tracing over the outline of his jaw and the cool-toned, medium blonde stubble the color of pale sand after a storm that lined the skin there, following along the curves of his lips and noticing the small scar that traveled down until his words from your dream echoed in your head, the same lips that said to you 'you harlot of a tart'. And as you lifted your gaze to his eyes, you found them narrowing at you. Shit.

"There's uh.......there's a cuppa coffee for you in the fridge there." Price nods towards the fridge near you, hoping that would snap you out of whatever trance you are in. I mean if you don't want it, I'll take it.

"....................." You had this overwhelming urge to puke and the last thing you wanted was to unload your stomach's contents of microwaved pasta right in front of everyone.

"Eh....estas bien amor? (you alright love?)" Alejandro's words pull you out of your thoughts. Oh what I would give to have this man ask me if I'm alright-

Bitch just say something-

“Блядь (fuck).”

Wha-what? That’s not what I meant-

The men quickly give each other a glance from the side of their eye. Did you just blurt something in Russian?

".................sorry what?” You squint with a scrunch of your nose, pulling the collar of your robe over your braless chest as a faint heat rose to your cheeks, utterly terrified to look them in the eye lest you'd get flashbacks. Should've just made a run for it when you first saw them-

More silence, nonexistent chirping of crickets that makes you want to crawl into a hole and decompose. Then there is the sound of someone slurping. Who-NOW WHO'S SLURPING?

"Sorry." Gaz utters a quick apology, dragging his tongue over his lips as he places his cup of tea down on the table.

"The coffee machine is broken love." Price adds.

"I know that." You state with a blink, startling the men on how quickly you suddenly respond as if nothing happened as you shove your bottle of pills in the pocket of your robe before unplugging the machine from the wall and tucking it under your arm.

The team can't help but watch as you leave the area with your mug in hand and the coffee machine in the other, each of them as confused as the next. What in the-

"What the bloody hell was that?" Price blurts out.

"Don' know. Anyone know what's the matta' with her?" Gaz watches you go with concern in his brow.

"Ah dinnae ken." Soap shrugs as he takes a sip of his coffee. "Ah think some nugget-lavvy-heid meid her up tae high doh."

"Mate," Gaz rubs his face. "English-"

"Ah said." Soap translates. "Ah think some eejit has riled her up."

The way Ghost nearly snaps his head to glare at the Scot. Why does he have a feeling he was talking about him in particular? There's absolutely no fucking way-Wait. The lollie. The fucking sour apple lollie. Was that some kind of an insult?

"Well that's a load of rubbish." Price comments. "If ye ask me, she's just knackered from mending yer sorry arses up."

The way Soap, Alejandro, König, and Ghost glare at him.

"Yeh but......why'd she take the coffee maker?"

"She's prolly gonna give it a fix." Gaz answers Soap's questions with a shrug.

Soap sits back in his seat with a pause, pondering on what Gaz had just said before turning to him with a confused look. ".................but ah thowght she's a doctor."

"Fuckin' hell Soap."

By the time that you return to your room, slamming the door behind you, you're already cussing yourself out for acting the way you did back there. Now they definitely were going to think that something was wrong with you. And if they did, what would you say? That you had a dream y'all were playing multiplayer adult twister? No. HELL NO. You'd almost prefer them to think you were a spy and take you out-and I don't mean take you out as in dinner, I mean take you out as in a firing squad take you out. All the waterboarding and the fingernail-pulling in the world could not pry that info out of you. If only that dream did not affect you as much, if only.

Hm. You know what, maybe Ghost IS to blame in all of this. You only get wacky dreams when you're stressed. After all, he was the one who got under your skin, not Soap, not Gaz, nor Price, definitely not Konig, and not even Alejandro.

There was only one other person who ever managed to get on your nerves the first time you got to know them, only one person who never failed to make you roll your eyes every time they opened their mouth: your ex. But even then, at least the two of you got along no matter the snarky comments you made towards each other. And as annoying as he was at times, he always found a way to bring a smile onto your face no matter how hard you tried to hide it. Ghost on the other hand, well…….he’s something else alright. This man literally has you wanting to rip your own hair out and hike to the Himalayas to seek some kind of therapy yourself.

"God I'm such an idiot." You growl between clenched teeth, tossing the coffee machine into the trash before limping around your room with your hands on your hips. You definitely needed to get out of the building or else you just might go mad. And with the men there who just witnessed you at your most vulnerable and natural self, the last thing you wanted was to be within their vicinity. Changing out of your sleeping pajamas, you threw on an oversized hoodie and a pair of sweats, grabbing one of your beanies and tucking your hair into it before throwing on a pair of sneakers. You’re already cracked out on pain meds so you might as well run a few errands while you're out, as well as grab a new coffee machine because god knows that's the only thing that keeps you sane these days. You’re so caught up in the process of rushing to get the hell out of there that you fail to notice the masked soldier standing right beside your door a foot away.

“Holy fucking-!” You jump in your skin, hand clutching your chest once you notice Ghost leaning against the wall in the same exact stance like in your dream. Jesus fucking Christ. “Ghost! I uh did not see you there. You nearly had me rushing to the hospital for heart failure haha.” You laugh nervously through your teeth, trying to maintain your polite manners as to not anger the contracted killer. What the hell is he doing here and what does he want? Sending the man a polite smile in hopes that he would just go about his business, you pull your keys out of your pocket, the jingling of the metal making up for the extreme silence that filled the dusty air between the two of you.

“………………………”

Jesus fucking christ. He's just standing there isn't he-

"Uh. Can I help you?” You ask, turning to the man who only stared in your direction, as still as an unused puppet. Only he seems to ALWAYS have something up his ass. At least a puppet talks.

Damn that fuckin politeness of yours, Ghost thought to himself. “......................You're bein’ dodgy." He did not like the way you were acting back there. It was as if you were hiding something. And being the person he was, he found it suspicious.

Oh if he were to see the reason behind it. You're pretty sure it would make his mask blush.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." You press your lips together, fixating on your keys in your hands as you try to lock your door.

"Your behavior. You're up to something."

Ah yes. Good ole Ghost. Trusting no one but himself, the little shit-

"Says the one standing right outside my room." You mutter to yourself, cursing under your breath at the way you fumbled your keys and were unable to lock your door due to how he glared at you as if you had put salt instead of sugar in the queen's tea. You bet your bottom you probably looked like a shmuck struggling with something as simple as locking the fucking door. If this dumbo doesn't scram-

"Come again?"

This man was really starting to get on one of your last nerves. “What? Didn't anyone ever tell you it’s rude to lurk outside a lady’s door? You can get your ass tased for some shit like that.” You snark before letting out a quick breath of air at finally getting your key in the lock. One step closer to getting the hell out.

There it is, the real you. Ghost almost can't help the way a slight amusement builds within him at watching you get riled up like this, the faintest hairline of a smirk begging to pull at the corner of his mouth. But despite his little fragment of entertainment from the show of emotion he had managed to string out from you, he had to remind himself the real reason he was here. “The hell are you up to?”

“Nunya.”

“Nunya?” Ghost narrows his eyes, not sure what you were getting at and at the same time not liking where this was going. He swears if this is one of your little tricks-

“Nunya damn beeswax that’s what.”

“What-“ Ghost straightens himself off the wall, hands lowered to his sides. Okay now you were just annoying.

“How was the sour apple lollipop?” You remark, not being able to hold back the snide comment that slipped from your lips. You prayed he would get the meaning behind your little 'token of gratitude' from last night.

You should not have said that-

Bitch I’d become a track star in the fraction of a second-

“You-“ Ghost takes a step towards you but stops from the way you whip your head towards him.

“I know you did it, you little burglar. What, you think I wouldn’t notice that some fish-and-chips-eating crackpot was ransacking my lollipop stash?”

Da foq did you just call him? Ghost is stupefied as he stands there blinking at you, hands ever so slightly tensing. How the bloody hell did you find out? Did you know about the apples as well? Please don't know about the apples- And as he tries to open his mouth to say something, you don't even give him a chance.

“You know, for someone that is known to be stealthy and whatnot, you sure do leave a mess of your Sephora eyeshadow everywhere.”

Oh now you’ve definitely popped a nerve.

“What? You gonna stab me?” You quirk a brow at watching him tense up. “Please, be my guest. Just make sure it’s quick and that I’m officially dead so my student debt disappears.”

Bitch don’t give him a reason tf-

Jesus you talk a bloody lot when you’re nervous, Ghost looks at you confused as he cocks his head back. Well he sure didn’t expect that answer. Doesn't change the fact that he's pissed though.

“You know, you should be glad I didn’t write your Skeletor ass up for not only neglecting medical treatment but also stealing my damn treats.”

“Ye’ve got some nerve ye little tosser-“ Ghost grabs you by your upper arm and yanks you to him as he glares down at you.

Your poor toe-

“Ow! Someone outta teach you some manners.” You sputter, surprised from his sudden and forceful movement. And yet, you can’t help but find yourself flustered at being manhandled no matter how much you tried to preserve your vexation towards him. Ohhh, were you attracted to this? Wait, am I attracted to this???? Nah-

“Yer a real pain in the arse you know that.” Ghost can’t help but to roll his eyes, knowing damn well he did not handle you that roughly to begin with, despite your reaction.

But you and I know it’s just your toe-

“Yeah no shit. I’ve been told.” You roll your eyes in a dramatic manner. “But if you wanna be real, you’re like a bad hemorrhoid if we’re being honest.”

Did you just-

“Whot the bloody hell did yuh just call me?” Ghost snarls as he yanks you even closer to him, your chest bumping into his. Did you just call him a fucking hemorrhoid?

The jerky movement elicits a small gasp from your lips, pried right out of your lungs before you glare back at him with as much as you can muster; your jaw clenched, brows drawn together, and your eyes shooting straight up into his even more menacing ones. You try not to think about those nonexistent slander of words he uttered to you. Dream or not, that shit hurt. And as you think back to the dream you had, you were swiftly brought back to the circumstance right in front of you, immediately aware of the lack of distance between the two of you and the way your chest was pressed up against his.

A heat starts to form in the pit of your stomach, slowly making its way from your core and unfurling out to every inch of your skin, like being brushed over with a velvety feather under the warmth of the sun. His grip on your arm is almost revering if it weren't for its threatening nature as you stare up at him, and you swear you could feel the subtlest shift in his fingers through the thick fabric of your hoodie from the way his thumb ever so slightly grazes across. Your sharp gaze softens, admiring the way the sun's rays from the nearby window lit up his lashes like wisps of gold, like the feathers of an oriole bird soaring over the deep brown valleys that resemble his eyes.

He smelled like last night’s whiskey, a hint of the cigarette he smoked this morning, and his cologne that smells of sandalwood and pine trees. It’s almost refreshing. And in this moment, you don’t even care that you literally look like a teenage boy with your hair tucked into your beanie, wearing a pair of converse and your vans baggie hoodie and sweats. There was only one thing on your mind, one thing only.

“Let go of me.” The only words you managed to breathe out.

“Or what?"

“…………..I’ll scream.”

*cue Princess Leia's theme*

Kiss him. *insert Emperor Palpatine voice* Do it-

You found yourself burning for this innate desire, this need for him to push you against the wall and have his way with you, to have him lift the bottom of his mask and feel his lips on yours, traveling down to the angle of your jaw and your neck and just about everywhere there was you, all of you. Simon had noticed this sudden shift in your demeanor, the way your biceps loosened under his fingers through the course fabric of his gloves, the way your lashes fluttered against the ridges and deep ravines of your irises as you stared up at him with a far-off look that yet seemed so close. Were you-no, can't be.

The way you looked under him appeared to lure him in, not to mention your scent, that same perfume that seemed to have dug its claws into him since the moment he first met you. His eyes now lowered to your parted lips as he found himself focusing on their shape and the short shallow breaths that drifted through, wondering about how they'd feel, their softness, their taste. And as his head lowered just the smallest inch towards you, he noticed once more the small circular scar on the side of your neck. Only this time, he was finally able to make out what it was, and it reminded him too much of his own past. How that scar came about to form on your skin, he had no clue. But it was none of his concern, he had to tell himself. Clenching his jaw, Ghost drew himself back, once again returning to that cold and forbidding presence that was there before.

Actually it’s a good thing you didn’t try to score a smooch. You’d probably just get WWE body-slammed-

“Can I go now?” You clear your throat. “I’ve got chickens to tend to and errands to run.”

"What errands?"

"Why? You gonna help me pick out some zucchinis?" You cock your head back. "Now if you could release that lego grip of yours I'd appreciate it."

Ghost lets out a hmph, the only thing he can do despite his frustration as he loosens his grip just as you tear your arm away from him.

“Thank you." You give him a condescending smile before reaching into your tote bag to grab something while Ghost watches you intently, hoping it’s not another lollie. Lies. Y'all know he wants one-

“Here are your blood results by the way since you refused to stop by my office to go over them.” You slap the papers onto his chest, which earns you another glare from him. “So don’t come whining to me when you don’t understand a thing it says on there.” You snark one last time before heading off to the front entrance.

"Oh and another thing." You turn back around. "I'd cut down on the smoking and drinking if I were you."

All Ghost could do was watch you walk off with the slightest stomp in your step before breathing out a “Fuckin h-“

“Goddamn son a bitch.” You grit your teeth, stuffing your hands in the pocket of your hoodie once you step out of the building. You swear that man goes out of his way to annoy the everlasting shit out of you. “Fucking shitbag cumguzzler ass-OH MY GOD!”

You stop suddenly at the sound of a small animal, your eyes wide and mouth hung open as you look towards the ground to see a tiny tabby kitten trotting in your direction from the bushes, it's tail fluffed straight up in the air as it was excited to see you.

“Hi there little guy.” You coo at the small ginger ball of fur making its way towards you before bending down and reaching a hand out. "What're you doing here all by yourself huh?"

The kitten stares at your outstretched hand, giving it a sniff before finally rubbing its head against your palm with its eyes shut. You almost had to bite your tongue from the squeal that just ripped out of your throat. I lied. You did squeal.

“Ahhh omg." Your smiled, your heart swelling at seeing the kitten warm up to you as it came up even closer and lifted its tiny paws to rest up on your bent knees. It was as if you had completely forgotten the mayhem that was today, as if it was just you and this tiny kitten and no one else.

"Oh you’re coming home with me.” You carefully pick up the kitten with both your hands before cradling it against your chest, stroking your tired fingers through its soft and yet dusty fur.

“Mew.” The kitten let out another meow, the small rumbling in his chest vibrating against yours as his pupils widened, nearly blackening out his pale yellow irises as he stared up at you.

“You know what." You gasp. "I shall call you Spot." (Kudos if you know where the name is from.)

“Mew”

“You don't have any siblings hiding out in the bushes ready to jump me and steal my credit cards do ya?"

“Mew.”

“Shit.” You mutter out, your smile dropping as a realization comes to you. How the hell were you going to hide the kitten?

Tag List: @swissy23 @sualocin @kristalhi @deakyspuff @sometimes-i-write-good @hamilfanyu @princessranch @ig-you-idiot @obitoshotaf @cavern-creature @at0mschutzbunker @eddiesbixch696 @souls-rain @euovennia @i-wish-we-could-stay @depressedacidtest @gh0stm3g @thequeenofbigmacs @k1llerch4n @abbiesxox @feraltiddies @wand-erer5 @1redheaded3dragon @anisa269 @jocecymoo @mango-corner @classickook @trueee33 @sockertop @lupskelly @chxbits @kuwizo @sluxm3ozt @tobybestupid @anarchygoose @lez-zuha @thatoneautor0123 @aloudplace @ella-error505 @awkward-0 @ariessux @kermitdefroghere @urloverx @alldaysdreamers @rat-elbows @watersquirtpewpewboomm @izzyisstuff @notabotiswear @thecraziestcrayon @lilwingedwolfy @sprkthere @shyyxzi @bookmark-anon @simplecole18 @itsourkisses-blog @here4thespice @sunndust @josephquinnswhore @spooniscute @xghostyx666 @nikolai-m-s @he4rtbloss0m @classifiedtoe @killergoddessmm @sm8th0p @lunarayx @iwannabeazoldyck @butterflypillows @lobeliaaaaaa @mxtokko

[f1-giuki]

i'm here again. lestappen chussy smut with touch tank by quinnie <3

Caro have I ever asked your hand in marriage? 🥺❤️ FINALLY HERE WITH THE CHUSSY!!! it's been 84 years but I managed to write some chussy action😭 Hope you like this, even if it's long af😭💖 The song choice was amazing and I hope I did it justice!!!!!!!💖💖💖

touch tank - prompt post

-

“Where has Charles gone? This is supposed to be her championship pool party!” George complains, holding his Martini glass tightly in his hands.

Lando rolls his eyes.

“It's her championship party, if she wants to sneak out with someone, it's her right to do so…” Oscar argues.

“That's why we can't see Max!” Carlos snickers, making the others laugh.

“Max? Did she invite Max, of all people? I thought they were mates on track only!” George asks, confused.

“Have you been living under a rock, George?” Oscar asks with a small smile.

“I beg your pardon?” George asks after taking a sip of his drink. Alex, on his side, has to keep a loud laugh from escaping his mouth.

“Mate, they've been dating for the past season, what is wrong with you?” Lando asks, disgusted that he finished his concoction of rum and Capri sun.

“Actually, they're together now, since the competition between them got tighter,” Carlos explains, proudly showcasing his knowledge.

“Since the Tuesday of Brazil, I think, Max asked her before the Sprint,” Oscar points out.

“How the fuck do you know this?” George keeps on asking.

“We have eyes, George…” Alex laughs.

Max and Charles are not far away from the party going on in the garden and adjacent beach of the Dubai villa Charles rented. They're on the roof of the building, where the sunspots are, giggling and sneaking away to have five minutes where they don't have to shake hands, accept congratulations for the championship! and sorry for the championship! or withstand some teasing. Five minutes where they can be freaks in love.

The 2025 season was one for the books, with Charles becoming the first-ever woman to win a Formula 1 world championship and Ferrari winning the title again after 18 years. Italy turned completely red, with people and celebrations filling the streets during the day and fireworks illuminating the night. The dream came true for Charles. Win with Ferrari. Against Max. Her boyfriend. She ticked off every point from her list, except having a moment for herself.

The party on Sunday was crazy and the sex with Max in the bathroom of the club was crazier.

Monday felt like a fever dream littered with soft kisses, with realisation slowly sinking in, as all the journalists left in the Emirates asked her all types of questions. The president of the Italian Republic and the Prince of Monaco also asked her for official events where she could be honoured as a champion by the local institutions.

Tuesday was calmer, in a way. Charles wanted another celebration, with just her friends, so she rented a villa in the morning for the afternoon. Her wish was everybody's command. She's a Ferrari world champion. But the party felt stuffy after a while, and Charles, in her bright red bikini, wanted nothing more than to feel Max's cold lips on her skin, looking at his messy hair and sunburned face, so they disappeared on the rooftop of the villa, where a few sunbeds were waiting for them.

Max doesn't bother closing the door to the rooftop, he's too preoccupied kissing Charles, with her legs wrapped around his waist, and trying not to fall as she keeps rubbing herself on his dick.

Max gently lowers her on the soft towel covering the sunbed and kneels between her legs. Charles Leclerc is a sight to behold, splayed out underneath him, her short and curly hair creating a delicious brown halo around her head. She thinks about all the religious imagery created with her face. If she's the Virgin Mary, then he shall be God. Maybe she shouldn't think about him putting a baby in her. Maybe later.

“No reward for the champion?” She asks, with a sly grin on her lips. The red lipstick she wore has moved all over her lips and on Max's.

Max laughs and rolls his eyes. They can hear laughter coming from two floors down, where the party is still going on. Max blushes a little.

“What? Are you afraid they will find out how good you can eat me out?” Charles asks, slowly undoing the strings of her bikini bottoms on her hips, baring her pussy to him. Shameless. Max loves her too much.

She knows he's salivating at the sight in front of him. He's thirsty, no matter how many times he quenches his thirst at such a source.

She watches him kneel on the ground and pulls her closer to him from her knees. Max feels such a deep hunger inside of him.

Charles moans in anticipation and Max licks a fat stripe over her cunt, making her laugh. The Max show is about to begin.

He leaves kisses all over her pussy, keeping eye contact with Charles. When she throws her head back Max sucks her clit lightly, enjoying how she writhes under him. He starts licking at her folds, savouring and claiming, sucking, as his hands keep her thighs spread. Charles moans and Max laughs, reverberating on her pussy. She fists his short hair, pushing his face closer to her core.

Max moves one hand to her labia, toying with the wetness he finds there as he goes back to her clit, sucking and flicking it with his tongue. Charles is always so sensitive, so easy for him to take apart. He gently bites her folds and enjoys when she clenches over nothing. He teases her again with kitten licks at her entrance and when she tugs his hair meanly he grins and starts fucking her with his tongue.

Charles moans and the thought of all the people downstairs comes blaring in her brain, making her impossibly wetter. Max, slurping and sucking, is the only one who doesn't make her feel like a maniac. He gets it.

He coats his middle finger in her arousal and starts teasing Charles’ entrance, looking up at her, covered in spit, searching for consent, breaking his rhythm and driving her crazy. She groans and nods and Max slowly replaces his tongue with his finger, moving up to kiss her mons Venus.

As he pumps his finger in and out he places his other hand over her lower belly, claiming the soft skin there. Charles sobs and undoes her bikini bra, playing with her breasts, pinching her nipples and pulling them, moaning louder as Max inserts another finger in her and fucks her.

He looks so good, gentle and devoted, with his baby blue linen shirt open, matching his ice eyes. Charles could come on the spot, thinking just about her lover. So big and safe and brave. She feels like just a girl when she's with him, in the most positive sense. She's just Charles, whether on an F1 track around the world, in an ice cream shop in Italy, or with her tits out in the Emirates afternoon sun. She's not some kind of circus animal with him.

Charles comes, squirting on his face, as he curls his fingers inside her, licking at her cunt and stimulating her clit with his nose.

He licks her clean and she sobs happily. Before it gets to be too much, Max lets her go, sitting next to her. She hugs him from the side and Max holds her with a big and dumb smile, as she inhales his scent, mixed with the salt in the air.

“I love you,” he says, stupidly in love, and she grins, with her forehead against his bicep.

“I love you too,” she says, laughing as Max drags her on his lap, making her sit there gently, lending her back to the sun.

“Oh God, Oscar, mate, you were right! They were fucking on the roof!” George shrieks in the garden, making her and Max laugh.

[animemensblog]

What you deserve

Akaza x reader, some of Douma x reader

Summary: Douma found you hiding under a blanket, behind a small home. He killed your abuser, then took you in- but still hurts you like the last. Well that's until Akaza walks in on Douma hurting you.

Warnings: they're demons, so yes violence is almost guaranteed lol. This involves an abusive/degrading relationship, smut/fluff with Akaza- praising, dom!Akaza/sub!reader, oral-f!receiving, overstimulation, soft sex with him <3

I wanted to do human Akaza but I think it's more precious when a demon falls for a human🥲

-----MINORS~ AGELESS DNI-----

The bed shook slightly as he turned away from you, causing you to awake. There he was, Douma lying contently after a fulfilling night, or so he thinks. As much as he likes to talk big, he's not much into pleasuring others. He's selfish in every way and nothing turns you off more.

You were embarrassed.

Disgusted, even.

He's a demon who will live until his head comes off, technically has all the time in the world. Yet he can't take a few extra minutes to satisfy you. It's odd to prioritize this considering your situation, but it's all you can do.

You lean over to see if he's sleeping before leaving, knowing damn well he's not going to wake up soon after fucking him.

On your walk, you ran into many servants and guests, almost all of them asking where the rest of you was. You were talking with a maid when a particular guest turns the corner. When you look over, Akaza is already staring at you.

There's only been one time Akaza and you talked with Douma present, all the other times it's just you two. He knows your interests, likes and dislikes, knows your favorite flower and book, even knows your everyday scent. The day he met you, he knew you'd be his sole reason for visiting this dreadful estate.

Akaza practically runs over to you, and places a small rock in your hand. He's got the cutest smile on as cradles your hands in his.

"I found this. It's the prettiest f/c rock I've seen so far"

"Thank you", you were inspecting all the lines and chips on the somehow smooth surface while he was admiring you. Akaza is always proud when he makes you smile, it's his goal each time he visits.

You two realized your closeness when a loud voice booms down the hall, forcing you to step back. Any smile on your faces fell as Douma came closer, you could feel his stare.

"Akaza! How lovely, wasn't expecting you." He says as his arm wraps around you, his gaze falling on your little gift. Doesn't take him long to connect the dots.

"I know, I only came to return this gem you left at our last meeting." He gestures to your gift hoping to cover your ass, Douma doesn't take the bait.

"Nonsense, we don't carry around these things. Here let me," he states before taking and throwing the rock away from you "excuse us, we have business to attend to". Akaza was wanting to reach out to apologize, to remind you what's about to happen is his fault, not yours. Akaza knows he shouldn't give you anything unless it's for Douma too.

All you hear from Douma is mumbling before he tosses you on the floor, moving over to grab some rope. "Did Akaza take you?" He says loud enough for just you to hear.

"I'm not sure I understand my lord"

"I said, did Akaza take you? Did he free you from that monster? Is he the one who cares for you?"

"No my lord" you say as your head moves to the floor

"Then don't accept anything from him, he doesn't deserve your attention." He ties your arms and ankles together, then kicks you towards the middle of the room. "I don't get why he gets your attention. Everyone says when he's here, you're there with him."

With every comment and hit, you could feel his anger spilling over. Then when you don't acknowledge his words, he moves to grab a cane that happens to be in the room (he put it in there knowing who you were visiting) and beat you with it.

Your body couldn't be covered and you knew no one would save you until after he's finished, that's if he allows them to touch you.

A soft knock came before the door slid open, your cries and shaking immediately stop, hoping Douma sees your effort to hide his abuse.

"Akaza! Hello again, I thought you'd go back by now."

"Forgive me but I can't this time" Akaza states

"What would you need to ask forgiveness for? You should know it's her fault for tempting you and using you." Douma says before going back to his 'business'.

"I wasn't talking to you." Akaza walks over and starts to untie you, noting all the damage. He sits you up and fixes any stray hairs. "Are you okay enough to walk?" You drop your head and refused to say or do anything. He opts for just picking you up and holding you against his chest.

During this, Douma couldn't pull himself to speak. He was confused but intimidated that he was that brave to interrupt. So, he lets Akaza leave, fully believing he'll let this happen then go and collect you.

As he held you, he grabbed your hand and put the same rock from earlier in it. "I really wanted you to have this" he mumbles against your head. Soon after, you fell asleep as he walked you back to a place he is staying at. He sets you down on the bed while he cleans up any wound. Wiping up the blood, covering cuts and bruises, then cleaning off your skin.

Akaza found every sound you made adorable, any sigh or grunt when he touched your injuries. All the times you crinkled your nose and tossed your head, he thinks he could watch you for hours. That's creepy isn't it? He thinks to himself, letting out a scoff as he stands up. But seeing how uncomfortable you looked, he couldn't pull himself away. So he laid beside you and kept watching.

Until you tossed over too fast for him to react and smacked him, in which the impact woke you up. It took mere seconds to realize you were trying to fight him.

"I'm so sorry Akaza,"you say while holding his face, soothing the red spot. Holding back your giggles, "I swear I didn't mean to"

Akaza was tossing his head back and letting out a loud laugh, trying to tell you its okay but couldn't breathe long enough to.

"Do you think my strength is that pathetic or what?" You say, letting your giggles escape

"No, not at all. It was rather painful, actually" he holds your hand against his face.

"I'm sorry" you whisper to him before placing a gentle peck on his opposite cheek. You say it again when you place one on his forehead, he moves your hands so you can leave another.

His hands found your back and started moving down, following your spine. He hums every time you kiss him and whimpers when you reach his lips. Your hand holding his chin as you start to move above him.

Akazas grip gets tighter and sets you on your back, he kisses your neck and hugs you. Your nails rakes down his back as his kisses become licks, and licks to sucks.

Your legs wrap around his waist and pull him closer, rubbing yourself against him. It's been so long since you've wanted someone like this, and you're not scared to come off desperate.

His kisses trail to your lips and he moans into you, grinding hard enough to make you slightly bounce. He barely stops himself when he feels your nipples slide against his chest, he wants to be rough but he's scared to when you're hurting.

You release his hips and start sliding down your dress, revealing yourself to him. He sits up, taking the rest off then took off his pants. "I've always been curious about how you feel" you say as you pull him back down.

"I can't say you're the only one. I know there's a reason he was keeping me away from you." He kisses you again but messier, tongues in each other's mouths and hands exploring every spot. Your hand reaches down to rub his tip between your folds, causing Akaza to gasp and pull away to look. He watches as your wetness collects before you move it to your hole, he looks backs at you and thrusts in.

"Will you tell me if-f I- if it hurts?" You can only nod as he pushes further. A whimper that sounds like a cry escapes your lips, then your face crinkles, he stops.

"Why did you stop?" You moan out

"I think if I move right now I'll cum too fast" he claims, knowing damn well he can last longer. He just figured if you didn't say it hurt, you were scared to say something. He leans down to kiss you then continues moving until you're full.

"You feel s-so good" you toss your head against the pillow, back arching off the blankets. His thrusts start out slow but got faster the louder your moans got.

His head nuzzles into your neck, making sure you're the only one who hears his moans. "You're so tight- fuck, sucking me in". He pants and nibbles against your ear, one hand reaching for your breasts and the other finding your clit.

As he makes small circles, Akaza feels you tighten around him, making him stall. "God damn- fuck, you're a little too tight y/n. I can't fucking move" a soft laugh leaves his lips.

"I think you might be too big"

"Impossible, I fit perfectly just a minute ago" he spreads your lips to see you clench around him. "Sweetheart, you have to relax for me."

He forces himself to move and pushes further than last time, making a small bulge appear. Your moans changed to screams and his grunts turned into whimpers and deep moans. His hand that was on your clit moved to your lower stomach, feeling how full you were.

His other hand leaves your chest and swirl your throbbing nub once again, sending you into a frenzy. Your hips raise off the bed, and he forces them back down, then cages you in with his forearms. Your arms reach around him to pull your upper half against him, hovering enough to kiss him.

"I love how needy you are" he says, angling his hips to find that soft spot "you're taking me so well."

"Right there, p-please don't stop" you fall back against the pillow as he rubs your clit faster. "Fuck, Akaza, baby it feels s-so gooddd."

"Yeah? Right here?" His head drops to leaves marks along your neck. "I want you to cum for me, please y/n, I wanna know how it feels." A moan is all you can manage to get out, scratching his back.

He brings his mouth to your ear and whispers, "cum for me, sweetheart. Please." Next thing you know, your eyes are shut and you're creaming all over him. Now you can feel every vein and throb, every sense being enhanced. Akaza sits back up watching your pussy and how it reacts.

He doesn't stop thrusting and playing and feeling your pussy lips with his thumb, he's so lost in how you two look he doesn't realize the tears slipping down your cheeks or your legs aggressively twitching against his thighs.

Akaza's thrusts get sloppy and slower, "where do you want me?" You're so overstimulated you can't give a response, instead you wrap your legs around him holding him inside.

"You're so fucking tight, it's unbelievable. Your moans are so beautiful. It's like music- fuck" he continues his praising, still missing how you're falling apart underneath him. Akaza let's out one more moan and cums in you, keeping you close until he stops throbbing. His eyes were shut, his fingers caressing wherever they landed.

When he opened his eyes he looked at you, and decided that's not enough for him. He pulls out quickly and places his head between your legs, forcing your thighs on his shoulders.

He doesn't wait to dive in and clean you up, licking up your cum, taking in how well you taste. Your hands find the blanket and grip it, trying to ground yourself after so much stimulation. Akaza's tongue goes deeper and slides up to your clit. Sucking and nibbling it, aiming to pull another orgasm. Didn't take too long to cum on his tongue, and you couldn't wait any longer- you had to push his head away.

His eyebrows furrowed and a small pout forms, bummed you're stopping his meal, until he sees your tears and twitching.

"I'm so so sorry" he speaks as he wipes it all away, "I got lost in you. You're just that good, honey" he kisses your dried tears and massaging your thighs, he was trying so hard to calm you down.

"It's okay" you mumble, "it felt good. Better than I thought it would."

"Heh, I'm glad. Still, please forgive me for over-doing it." He jumps straight to cleaning you off, licking his fingers clean of your juices, then tucked you both under the covers.

"Akaza?"

"Hm?"

"Thank you", you pull him closer replaying everything that went down. From him saving you to devouring you ~ pun intended hehe.

Although you made that comment, it took Akaza hours to realize you've never gotten off before, took even longer when he figured out he was the first and only guy to do it.

He's silly, protective and loving; no one better than him to be your savior.

[i-fucking-hate-ppl]

Hello! I see that you write for Hazbin Hotel, I hope I'm not being a bother but I'd like to request Alastor with a friend/significant other that identifies as non binary. Seeing as he's from a time period where LGBTQ people weren't exactly accepted I wonder what his opinion would be. Would he be homophobic? Or would he be confused/slightly weirded out and need someone to explain to him for him to understand and accept?

You're hardly a bother dearie! I hope you enjoy!

Platonic

He would be confused and most certainly has no clue what you're going on about! Those terms hardly existed in his time, or at least weren't common knowledge, it was all just slurs unfortunately.

Even with his time in hell, he was too busy off doing his.. broadcasts and whatnot to become better educated on the subject.

Once you explain it he will.. still be rather confused but he's quite the polite and proper man, a gentleman really, so he won't ever say anything bad.

Just a "Oh! Well that's.. quite interesting!"

He might say some offensive things from time to time, on accident of course. A small correction is all that's needed.

"Sorry my dear! I wasn't aware!"

And that's that, he'll never say it again.

He tries to be respectful, and tries to avoid bringing it up so he won't offend you. And rather brings his question to random ass people he finds because he doesn't give two fucks about them.

If you start mentioning asexual he'll be like oh hey, that's me! Haha!

Obviously he gets better with time, and it's something you two bond over with a cup of tea.

"And he dared to misgender me, after i politely corrected him! What a prick am I right?"

"Most definitely dear. I could take care of him, if you wish."

"...Uh like bring him soup when he's sick or..."

Or

"A man came onto me on my way back this evening."

"Jesus! I hope he got what he deserved!"

"He most certainly did! I ripped his dick off! Haha!"

"...Good for you? I mean uh, you go!"

Sometimes you're slightly concerned by him..

Romantic

As stated before, confused and has no idea what you are talking about.

Although this time he is more interested, you are his lover after all, he should try to understand to his full extent!

He will ask you many questions, and word them very carefully so he won't upset you. And anything he think may be slightly offensive, well it's back to torturing questioning the information out of homeless people.

"You should have told me sooner dear! It's hardly an issue at all! I have no problem with the community, be a giraffe for all I care!"

"You shouldn't have a problem with the community since you're an ace in the hole, also that's.. a little bit offensive."

"A what now?"

Further explanation needed. He's heard it twice now, tell him.

Once you explain he'll realize that you were most certainly correct! Any sexual attraction towards you is very, very far and few between and most of the time he'd much rather just sit and read a book with you with some jazz playing from a radio in the backround.

He won't treat you any differently than he did before hand. <3

[ur-fav-inactive-writer]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠

Uncle!Klaus x Niece!Reader | Recommended by: @popfishjr

WC: 688

It was a dark Saturday evening, your father, Diego, was out doing... whatever Diego does on a dark Saturday evening. So, you decided, what better to do than hang out with your favourite uncle, Uncle Klaus. You rolled out of bed and reached for the phone. Klaus was never busy on a Saturday, usually he would spend his Saturdays with you, so you called him and told him to come pick you up. He agreed, excitedly talking about what he had planned.

"Oh my, dear, dear (Y/N/N), you will LOVE what I have planned today!"

Intrigued, you questioned what he meant however he refused to tell you. Excited to find out what he meant, you rushed to get ready and waited to hear the honk of the horn to tell you that Klaus was there and ready to collect you.

~*~*~*~*~

As you finished doing your hair, you heard the HONK and rushed to put your shoes on and get out of the house. As you shut and locked the door, you turned around to be greeted with the sight of your uncle sat in his car with a child-like smile on his face. Quickly, you walked up to the car, pulled the door open, and sat down next to your uncle.

"Will you tell me what we're doing now?"

"Nope, no chance, you'll find out soon enough!"

As you drove further into the city, you were greeted with bright, fun-coloured lights and you felt the car slow down. Finally, you realised what Klaus had planned. He was taking you to a carnival. You grinned happily, and looked over to Klaus. As you pulled into the parking lot, you got hit with memories from years back when you went to the carnival with Klaus and your dad.

You got out of the car and Klaus grabbed you by the sleeve and dragged you to some of the rides. You screamed from the thrill and held onto your uncle on the rides. Laughs and shrieks of happiness were all that emanated from you and your uncle. Dizzy from the rides, you stumbled over to the cotton candy stands, you giggled as you shared it with your uncle. He reached into his pockets and realised quickly he didn't have enough money to keep paying for all the fun things the both of you wanted.

"Hey, (Y/N/N)? Don't tell your Dad about what I'm about to do."

You looked at him, perplexed, as he stood from the bench and walked over to a wealthy-looking man. You sat there, staring at him, unknowing to what he was about to do. Sneakily, he reached into the mans pockets and pickpocketed some money. You gasped but as Klaus held a finger to his lips playfully you couldn't help but let out a small laugh. You knew Klaus shouldn't be doing that but you were used to a lot of his illegal shenanigans.

Before he could get too far from the man, the victim of the theft realised what had happened and turned around to see Klaus with his money. You heard the man shout and he began to chase Klaus and you. You shot up from the bench, hearing a string of 'Shit!' fall from Klaus' mouth. You ran as fast as you could with your uncle, you ran through some attractions, hoping to lose the man. The man hadn't lost you and Klaus but he had been significantly slowed down so there was now quite a bit of distance between you and the man. You managed to make it to the car and threw yourselves in and sped off before the man could reach you.

As you slowed down, realising the man couldn't get to you anymore, the panic wore off and you and Klaus began to laugh hysterically. You laughed about the incident all the way back to your house. After a long day, you both stumbled into the living room. Too tired to change or even go up to your room, you and klaus collapsed onto the couch and fell asleep quickly.

As chaotic as it was, you deemed it a pretty successful day.

~*~*~*~*~

A/N: Really hate this but hope you enjoyed reading!!! <3

Taglist: @shefollowedthestars @book-place

[natalieironside]

hello ms. comrade Ironside, longtime reader, first time caller.

as a fellow writer of queer erotica, I was wondering if you had any thoughts/spoons to share those thoughts on wordpress being swept into the AI debacle under automattic? (I think that’s what you use to host your cool website, forgive me if I am mistaken.) I’m trying to figure out where to set up an author website of my own so I don’t have to host my stuff on tumblr anymore, but I’m a bit gun-shy in the current moment. I know AI trawling is inevitable in today’s internet, but as someone who’s been doing the indie author thing for some time (and admirably!), is there something you would recommend, best practices or otherwise, to someone just trying to get their metaphorical kite off the ground? or anything you wish you knew when you set up your own author-type socials? any thought at all would be genuinely appreciated.

thanks for your time, and I hope you and yours are as well as can be expected 🖤

I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but afaik nothing approaching best practices has been figured out yet; it's all already happening and there's precious little as can be done to put the toothpaste back in the tube. Of course I uncheck all the little boxes in settings and deny them my consent or whatever, but I don't think a gaggle of unimaginative piss-bellied technocrats who decided it was a sensible use of vast amounts of water and power to teach a computer how to write very badly are what I'd call trustworthy. I'm still gonna move all my website shit off of Wordpress because they won't let me get rid of the stupid AI assistant thing, but that's more a case of their UI being ugly and dumb than me thinking it'll actually do any good.

Best I can tell you on that front is to try to find yourself a niche and develop yourself as an artist from there; "Write the kinds of books you wish other people were writing" is good general advice, and a human operator is always going to be capable of things a predictive network just isn't. Other ppl are gonna disagree with that, but they're wrong. Their understanding of resource allocation and scarcity is just childishly naive and you shouldn't waste your time listening to people who think we're gonna solve climate change with apps or whatever.

Far as social media goes, this is still the best one for hocking books as far as I can tell. I'm hearing a lot of good things about Cohost and Pillowfort, but their user bases are still quite small, and I haven't found the indie author community on Bluesky yet. If Tumblr goes belly up I'll probably end up migrating to one of those first two primarily b/c I think longform blogging is the secret stuff for ppl like me who are just too crabby and agoraphobic to be Twitter influencers; I may not be any good at videos or regular quick posts or documenting the writing process (which is too bad, b/c a lot of my friends who do that stuff seem to be having fun with it), but I sure can Lay Out Some Thoughts in A Few Paragraphs and I like to think that's something ppl expect from a novelist.

Also, never get in a public argument, don't go posting Your Thoughts On The Issues unless someone asked or you feel like you've got something interesting to say, and be very selective with how much and what personal information you give out to the hoi polloi. Those are my 3 rules for how to do social media good.

[honey-milk-depresso]

I may have been late, but I'm still attending an event AS good as this one. I wanted to order a headcanon of Azul, Jamil, Vil and Jade with a reader known for being apathetic and who for the first time smiles, and that smile is directed at them. I'm in love with tropes like this \(*-*)/

And I hope you're all right

This sounds like a gap moe reader! If you don't know what that means:

Gap moe is referring to someone who does something completely contradictory to what their usual habits/personality/appearance.

I did one for Jade and A*ul over here and here respectively, so I'll be doing for Vil and Jamil only for this one! Hope you enjoy!

TWST Gap Moe S/o (Jamil and Vil)

Jamil Viper

He honestly didn't mind much about your cold, closed-off personality. So long as you didn't bother him with annoyance, he was relatively okay with it.

However, he's quite intrigued with how someone like you manage to befriend your rambunctious, cheerful and certainly loud friends, more specifically, Ace and Deuce.

It's quite funny seeing them argue while you look apathetic amongst the two. That had him wonder if you were really all that emotionless and cynical.

You know what they say: you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, and Jamil gradually wanted to know more about you. So, he tried talking to you.

Admittedly, it was pretty difficult since with most other students, you also kept sentences far too short and ended conversation after conversation with a blank face and blunt answers. But after some time, he somehow manages to become acquaintance with you.

One day in particular, you and Jamil were hanging out in the kitchen preparing for another one of Kalim's parties again. You left to get him some kitchen towels in the supply closet for him.

With that, Jamil started humming to himself, and he slowly swayed to his own tune with a smile, becoming blissfully oblivious to his surroundings. He hadn't notice you came back looking at him dancing and humming all while cooking until you knocked on the doorframe, startling the vice dorm leader.

"S-s/o!" he stuttered, growing flustered with embarrassment that you caught him in his little private serenade. Expecting you to just walk back with the same expressionless face, his eyes grew wide when he heard a soft chuckle. He turned to you, and he faced a smile he's never seen before. A smile from you.

"Cute," you said softly, as you placed the kitchen towel on the kitchen counter before taking a bowl with ingredients and stirring it with a spatula, as if that didn't happen.

Jamil blushed even more. God did that caught him by a real surprise. <3

Vil Schoenheit

Like Jamil, he wasn't bothered by your apathetic attitude, he actually preferred it that way. With your straightforward, sweet and short answers, Vil was fine that you were blunt.

However, it made him rather baffled by how you even manage to befriend... how did Cater call them? Ah, how you even manage to be friends with the Adeuce combo who were completely opposite from you.

And like Jamil, he found it rather amusing to see you expressionless while eating your lunch, while the two of them were talking about their day, even asking about yours as if you were talking to them and in the conversation. Perhaps you were more of a listener?

Vil grew a bit curious and tried to talk to you. From that moment, that was the only time he grew a little irked by your bluntness. No matter what conversation, you always seem to end it quickly.

And somehow just like Jamil (again-), he became an acquaintance of yours.

It happened when you two were in his room, and he was doing his usual makeup routine with you watching. Already growing accustomed to your emotionless facial expression (well, ironically-), he casually asked you to come forward and allow him to help you do some makeup.

You sat on his chair, as he does so he hums to himself. Halfway through, he heard a snort as he saw your lips curled to a small smile. "You're humming's cute."

He blinked. Was this the first time he had seen you smiled before? He was definitely caught off guard, but he smiled calmly at you with a faint pink blush dusting his cheeks.

"Me? Cute? Why, s/o, you should take a look at yourself in the mirror." <3

Reblogs help! ^^

[pharawee]

I just finished watching Love Syndrome: The Beginning and... I actually really liked what they did with the source material. It's interesting that this and the series are by the same production company and director but other than the choice of skinny jeans (someone must have been a big fan lmao) and Tuss reprising his role as Neil, the movie has a very different vibe imo.

It's also unfinished, meaning it ends on a cliffhanger with a big 'to be continued' - which probably isn't intentional seeing as they were originally aiming for a cinematic release (not to mention the sudden passing of the producer/director). I can't blame them either because I think they made the deliberate decision to mostly leave this as is to honour the director's final work:

As it is, I think the movie is a very solid piece of entertainment with some really nice acting, especially by Bix Tagon as Itt.

I've read most of the novels in the Love Syndrome universe and they're actually very same-y with the same non-con kink repeated throughout pretty much every couple's story (and there's A LOT of couples). This is why Day and Itt were never my faves (especially since the tropes really be troping with these two) and tbh I wasn't really into Long and Frank's version of them either (which isn't their fault at all - I just don't think Frank was a good fit for Itt), but Nef and Bix really make them work for me this time.

For one, there's zero romanticisation. Day is positively unhinged and there's zero doubt that Itt is the victim here. The scenes between them are incredibly brutal to watch but at the same time there's this almost stageplay-like feeling to them - as if every little piece of dialogue and acting has its place and nothing is drawn out or glossed over. I really appreciated that (as difficult as their scenes were to watch). I don't think that's easy to accomplish. I saw in some of the bts that they worked closely with either an acting coach or an intimacy coordinator (or both) throughout the filming of Day and Itt's scenes and imo it really shows. As bad as it sounds because Day is such a horrible person and Itt is straightup going through hell, theirs really were the most interesting scenes in the movie for me.

According to MDL Nef and Bix are rookie actors too so kudos to them for doing an incredible job. I hope we get to see more of them especially since Day and Itt's story is far from finished and I'd really like to see if they can pull off the transition from toxic hate to toxic love (imo it didn't work at all in the series, mostly because it started with book 3).

As for Gear and Night, they chose to almost completely sanitise their story (except for the initial bet itself) which imo was a good choice because in the novel reading about the same trope over and over again got tired real fast. Night takes Gear back relatively quickly and then they just pick up where they left off (but with Night more or less in control now).

Plus, Tiger Tanawat (who btw is a Change 2561 artist) as Night is such a mood:

I already loved Rossi as Night but dang (also, I need that shirt). 🫠

There's also some cute Four and Gus moments that unfortunately (or fortunately - seeing as how the writer of the novel also seems to have an age gap kink that's better left unmentioned 😬) gloss over most of their story. Knot, Fu and Neil kind of appear but that's about it.

I wonder - providing we ever get to see the second part of this movie - if they'll scrap the horrible Neil as the villain side plot or not because I could totally do without that. 😬😬

That being said, if you thought The Effect was difficult to stomach then you probably shouldn't watch this. Love Syndrome never hides the fact what it is about but it unfortunately doesn't offer any content warnings. Its SA scenes are explicit and realistic so if that's upsetting to you please please don't watch this. 🙏

[meowizard]

rating cookie's forms while chopping wood part one

from someone who's taken classes

starting off very strong! she's using both hands; sliding her top hand down when she swings. her body is angled correctly, although she does seem to slightly lose her balance at some point, judging how she moves her front foot. crucially, she doesn't seem to be looking at the target, so 9/10

you may think i'm biased, but this is genuinely alright! she's not exactly holding it correctly, but that's fine because of the short distance. she's going for accuracy rather than power, which, for a beginner, will yield better results. i wouldn't hire her though. 7/10

no. she's looking at the target for a second, she's not even pretending to hold it right, i- ugh. her feet aren't on the ground, meaning there's no power and next to nothing is going to happen to that wood. she is managing to hit in an arc down and below her waist, so she scrapes her way to 1/10

here's the Actual Axeman- ..... maybe the axe is far too small, but dude, no one is above proper form. i'm perplexed. its very natural for him, and you can tell by the fact he doesn't brace at all for impact. but... he's hitting the wood adjacent to his shoulders. he's holding it like it's a tennis racquet. i was hoping for better. 6/10

he's trying to go for the biggest swing, and the transfer of weight is too much for him. the axe looks like it could slip out of his hands at any moment. he's angled himself right, but that's how you get this big swing. bonus points because no one should have given him an axe. 2/10

cheating bastard. i guess??? i fucking GUESS??? their form is good??? but there's no way i can't give blackberry a 0/10.

he's not a lumberjack, we get it. i don't know why he's bending like that, or why he's leaning back. there is attempt to hold it correctly, but his right arm should be much nearer the head of the axe. 4/10

theres a tiny rebound on the axe, and he loses his balance (very similarly to alchemist!), so he shouldn't be swinging it this far. he wouldn't get anything chopped quickly or neatly, per se, but it would be fine for firewood. 7/10

dreadful!!! on god!!! his coat is making me SO nervous. he's doing some strange hip action that puts his leg muscles at risk of being pulled. he's likely to harm someone else, if not himself, chopping that high. 2/10

he has no fucking clue what he's doing. clearly, he's only been observing tea knight - the one-handedness (literally. he only has one arm), the unblinking, the shoulder-high chops.... he assumes proper form like the book-smart nerd he is, but, to be honest, he's more helpful around his antiques. 3/10

part two

[screamingcrows]

AAAHHHHH WEBBY KISS!!!! 🎲

To the anon who sent me this on the 22nd of May at 4am, I'm sorry it took a while lmao, I forgot~

You rolled 5! That's "a firm kiss" :3 ('Beta' is the webtoon segment)

When you accepted The Second's proposition to shift your role into a companion of sorts, your expectations had been low to say the least. A man rumored for his astounding arrogance and even greater achievements appeared far beyond the reach of such mundanities.

Much less that he'd willingly sacrifice hours of a, competent you hoped, subordinate for such a thing.

'We have all been growing increasingly agitated, I hypothesise this might ease the worst of it.'

Clear-cut responsibilities. Reduced hours. Increased pay. A trial period to establish the effect. There'd been no reason to decline.

Upturned lips and satisfied hums had become more frequent after your tools had been replaced with access to his private collection of old tomes and a couch dragged into the workshop. It hardly came as a surprise that he'd been correct, not if the way his gait oozed with satisfaction every time those crimson eyes locked with your gaze.

Omega's head was currently on your shoulder, the segments voice tinged with thinly veiled excitement as he continued to elaborate on his newly acquired responsibilities.

The mission in Sumeru.

For all their knowledge and perspectives, envy seemed to remain a well hidden constant in all versions. Perhaps Dottore realised the chaos that would ensue were he to delegate such an important experiment when the segments were already barely remaining cordial.

You were a cushion. A brief silence ensued as Omega adjusted, face turning towards you in anticipation. The simple smile and nod you provided would've been adequate, asking a follow-up question made him grin, a low chuckle passing his lips before continuing his monologue.

His hair was soft between your fingers, neatly styled strands somehow always managing to return to their original position. Times like these, the accusations made against both the man in your lap and the Fatui seemed ridiculous.

The steady hum of machinery, gears clicking as they turned and steady footsteps as someone paced back and forth. Omega's weight against your body, the heat from him providing a pleasant substitute for the usual cool air, the slight tone of bragging, it was all so painfully normal at a glance.

Words of praise had barely left your lips when the air was sucked out of the room, the doors swinging open with too much force as everyone glanced towards the disturbance.

Ruffled cerulean hair and a black and white mask. What remained visible of Beta's face was contorted in a chilling sneer, his eyes burning with fury as they locked on you.

Words weren't exchanged as much as barked, nothing able to stop the young segment's advance through the room. The white coat was pulled taught across his shoulders, arms clutching a leatherbound book tightly to his chest.

A hand on your cheek forced you to look at Omega, a knowing smile on his lips when he gently chastised your mind for wandering, clearly intending to pick up where he'd left off as if uninterested in the commotion, several segments and assistants trying to placate Beta with reminders of the altered schedule. The raging segment all but snarling remarks about how one shouldn't be entitled to everything.

Clamor wasn't exactly uncommon, a shaky breath leaving your lips as your eyes closed in an attempt at refocusing, wishing you could tune out the callous segment as they so easily did each other.

A jolt to your left ripped any shred of tranquility from your clutches, heart thumpind loudly enough to hurt as your eyes flew open just in time to see Omega thrown aside. The downed segment merely laughed as he reached for the beaked mask now resting on the concrete floor.

Before you could stand to aid, intervene, anything really, Beta's lips collided with yours and stole away any coherent thought. Sharp teeth carefully dragged along your lips, swiftly replaced by a prodding tongue demanding entrance.

Quiet murmurs and uneasy discussions at the blatant breach of protocol were drowned out when a firm hand placed itself at the back of your neck, fingers gripping so tight it bordered on painful as it held you captive.

[acourtofthought]

This is a weird question but do you really genuinely believe there's no possibility of an elriel book? And if sjm writes them well you'll enjoy reading it ? I don't ship gwynriel or Elriel. Gorgeous Elucien fan arts are what brought me into this fandom and I started the series solely to read their love story. But with all the elriel "confirmations" I can't help but think that elriel is a possibility so I'm trying to mentally prepare myself.

You are so right, there is nothing quite like Elucien fanart in this ACOTAR world and if E/riel were to happen then we lose the beautiful aesthetic of Elucien and gain, once again, another golden-brown haired femaled (often pictured with the dagger she returned without looking back) with a batboy who has Illyrian tattoos.

Would I still read an E/riel book? I would because I really do like Elain's character and I'd like to read her journey regardless of things not turning out the way I had hoped but I'd be devastated over the lost potential of Elucien. SJM has gone out of her way to show us how complimentary they would be together, how Lucien is the only male love interest who has treated her with respect so far, she even painted the picture in our heads of where they'd go on vacation (back before she thought she'd be writing the spin-offs and was more open with what their journey entailed), so it would be difficult to act like those things never mattered.

I never like to say something with absolute conviction as I feel it's inviting karma to say, "well let me just show you how many ways you can be wrong" (😂) but I do feel very strongly that E/riel is not happening. For me the debate is "will Elucien or Gwynriel get the next book" with me leaning in favor of Elucien and E/riel as a possibility makes up a very small percentage of my thoughts.

People are going crazy over her recent interviews. That a journalist writing "Elain and Az" in her article has E/riels claiming that it's SJMs version of a soft launch getting us used to the idea of E/riel. Or even some Gwynriels claiming that because she said she wanted to explore Az more in the future, he's definitely getting the next book though to me it seems she's talking about a later book because she was already drafting the next ACOTAR in September (so wouldn't she have already explored his character?).

But what seems to be her pattern is whenever she has a potential love triangle (ish) situation, she goes quiet.

In TOG, she waited to release an Aelin / Rowan Bonus until after a specific book because she felt the bonus would be too obvious a hint about them ending up together as mates and some still held out hope for Chaol / Celaena and believed Rowan lost his mate.

We have the interview below that shows she kept the possibility of Feysand a secret until after the release of ACOMAF.

She also talks about the things she put in book 3 that she was looking forward to seeing her readers excited over because, once again, it was only her, her editor and a couple of critique partners who knew "all these secrets".

She was giddy to talk about the end of CC2 because it was a secret she had kept for a very long time and told no one about.

So knowing that she does like her secrets, shouldn't the fact that Elain and / or Az are being mentioned in interviews be something that makes others nervous considering Lucien's name is almost never mentioned?

It could just as easily means he's not her focus right now but could it not also mean that she's trying to draw focus away from him so the next book being announced is a surprise?

E/riels and some Gwynriels will claim Lucien is irrelevant, that SF was centered around either E/riel or Az but Tamlin was mentioned in ACOTAR 731 times with Rhys mentioned 232 times yet Feyre ended up with Rhys in the next book. Chaol wasn't even in Empire of Storms yet he got the book after and ended up with Yrene who had never been mentioned by name prior to that.

All this talk about buildup, relevancy to the book that preceeded the new release because of name mentions or how often SJM speaks about someone in interviews as proof of something but those arguments are flimsy because we've seen her do this type of stuff before and she still turned around and surprised the reader.

The Elucien bond was introduced in book 2 and it is not just Elain's bond, it's Lucien's too especially when for him, it's been an even bigger deal because his first love was killed and he spent centuries believing she was his mate. That's an enormously angst-y setup which is the exact sort of a thing an author would want to explore versus the one where Az can't admit to being over Mor while lusting after Elain but not envisioning a future with her while also being jealous of Lucien who has only helped them and somehow turning that into a believable romance.

SJM did not create Lucien in the likeness of Jamie Fraser who she was obsessed with, mate him to Elain who she said shares her energy, only to have them never explore their mating bond which is the most sacred thing to the fae and as of SF, we see that Elain is beginning to embrace some of her fae self.

Elain fighting her pull to Lucien by ignoring him is no different than Nesta fighting her pull to Cassian by pushing him away in the novella but it's clear their story is still waiting to be told.

I find it difficult to believe that SJM had Lucien chased out of his home in book 3, finding a group of friends in the human lands in the novella while the reader knows he's heir to Day and have been waiting for that big reveal, only to then have him showing frustration with his living situation in SF but plans on having him remain in the human lands and the defunct Spring Court for yet another book (which they need as a strong ally) while Az gets his HEA with Elain.

Where Elain and Az spend the next book building up the "Dusk Court" (because that's still a thing going around) when the "Dusk Court" had nothing to do Spring, Tamlin, Koschei, Vassa or Beron as we left off in SF.

Everyone keeps claiming Az and / or Elain are needed to move the plot forward but honestly, Lucien is the one needed to truly move the plot forward and Elain by his side makes the most sense because they as a team have the powers and the connections to make something happen.

Elain is the only one who had visions of the box Koschei hides. She is the one who had visions of Vassa and the other girls trapped at the lake.

Lucien is the only one with real ties (and not just "I spy on you to gather information" ties) to Beron, Spring, the humans (which involves the treaty) and even Koschei considering he was at the lake when Papa Archeron negotiated with him and he is living with the female Koschei is now preparing to call back. He is the "son" of the man with his sights set on the lands of Spring. He is the one who is friends with Tamlin and performed in the Rite last and the NC needs Spring as an ally as well as their army. He is the one who is friends with the humans who are leading an ungoverned land and it is the human lands that Vallahan has their sights set on. "The Queen of Vallahan even asked me what the point of a peace treaty would be when another war, this time against the humans, might redraw the territory lines far below the wall."

Az and Elain would keep the plot in the Night Court outside of him possibly spying elsewhere and didn't we already see him doing that in SF? With Eris also providing them Intel? What is more spying going to do when we already know what Koschei and Berons goals are and the goal is to now stop them.

To me, the only person that is currently in a position to make a real difference at this point is Lucien and the love interest that makes the most sense to help him do these things is Elain.

Lucien has been made an underdog by the IC and I think the fandom has adopted that mentality (they've done the same with Elain).

And it makes me wonder if they are not about to be the best kept secret of all if SJM announces an Elucien book as the next one.

[love-toxin]

Trapped - Harley Kunuk

a/n: for reference for any new lovelies--this is a piece featuring one of my ocs <3 this is cut to be a little shorter but lmk if you'd like me to finish the next part!

(cws: gn!reader, yandere, depression/mental illness, non-yandere stalker, blood, injury, nightmares, meet-cute, minor violence, misuse of farm tools, teasing, protective yandere, mutual pining, sharing a bed, fluff and comfort)

word count: 7.3k

This whole "get out into nature" thing really hasn't panned out for you so far, has it? It's a little embarrassing to be honest. All you wanted was to inject a bit of fresh air into your daily diet, all with the hope that it might improve your mental health–maybe your physical health, too.

Yet here you sit in the dirt, your scraped hands held close to your chest while a total stranger helps you out of the prickly situation you've stumbled into. Made even more humiliating for the reason that this particular stranger is….well, he's not any run-of-the-mill good Samaritan. Those types don't generally trek through stretches of wooded areas with no paths, armed with a hatchet on his belt and all manner of hooks attached to it to carry back the catch from his traps.

When you'd first spotted him through the trees after stepping in one of those rabbit traps (currently still clamped around your ankle) you figured he was a lumberjack or something. Maybe a serial killer with those dead eyes and stoic expression, but you'd prayed not. You could see his wild, unruly black hair tied back in a thick ponytail to keep it out of his face, his huge frame that stood hulking and tall next to the barren trees, his worn-in flannel under a heavy leather coat and jeans permanently stained with dirt and who knows what else…he gave off the impression of what you imagine a giant would look like, although the pale smattering of freckles over his slanted nose and the gleam of brown in his dark eyes as he turned had sent a strange shiver down the back of your neck. In fact, your cries for help had almost instantly died down when you caught him in your peripheral, because you feared he might be the type of person to take advantage of your suffering–he just looked mean, and you distinctly recall the way your breath hitched in your dry throat when he started walking towards you.

But you've learned your lesson to not judge a book by its cover, and quickly, because he's been nothing but helpful so far–with just a dash of sass in the process. You did step in his trap, after all, which he'd supposedly been looking forward to checking for a nice, fat rabbit to make a stew out of. And based off of how deep it's buried itself into your skin, it probably won't be any good for other rabbits with your blood all over it.

"You really shouldn't wander out here blindly. It's dangerous." His muttering like he's not even addressing you would otherwise put you off, were he not so close and handling your leg so gently as he pries the blunt claws of the trap off. He's been trying for the better part of twenty minutes, but without any tools aside from his hands it's been slow-going. He tends to be gentler when the touch trap scrapes against you or digs in deeper, so in a bid not to hurt you further he's abandoned the idea of trying to preserve the trap itself–now the aim is just to get it off you by any means necessary, and based off the blood from his own hands and from your leg, it's not going nearly as well as he would've liked. "Not just cause of my traps. There's animals out here, too."

"I didn't think it would be," You admit bashfully, a heat further rising to your cheeks. He glances up at you as stone-faced as he was before, but something in his expression flinches like he's intentionally trying to keep a wall up. The sounds of the forest around you luckily keep you grounded as you adjust your position, your hand tentative as it grasps his shoulder for balance. Does he work out? His muscles aren't that noticeable at first glance but you're positioned in a weird way, he probably looks a lot bigger when he's not so close you're practically breathing on him. Then again he kind of has to be, considering the snare is giving him more trouble than he expected and snaps back to dig into your ankle for the nth time–eliciting a pained yelp from you in the process–but with a gruff "Fuckin' piece of trash-" grumbled right next to your ear, he finally manages to wedge his fingers between your flesh and the steel and wrenches it back down with harsh, brute strength.

A sharp twang echoes through the forest, the sound and his hard motion startling you enough for your nails to dig into his shoulder through the leather. You'd be surprised if a big guy like him would even feel it, and you think that especially so when you cast a glance down and feel your heart skip at the carnage lying before you. You almost feel worse for the trap than you do yourself–you've got some stinging dents, scrapes, and punctures in your skin from the teeth clamping down on them, but with his bare hands Harley's bent the steel jaws back so far they've snapped off the base of the trap completely. One of them lies shattered in pieces in the dirt, the spring holding it all together looks completely bent out of place, by all accounts it's completely unsalvageable. And completely your fault.

"Thank you. I'm really sorry-"

"For what? This?" He cuts you off by holding up a handful of his snare's remains, but only shows some remorse after the fact, like he's not used to the normalcy of human interaction…it's a big leap considering you don't know him from Adam, but you can only make assumptions about some strange man you've never seen who dresses like a lumberjack but can barely string a few words together at a time.

Harley tosses the mangled trap aside, completely oblivious to the way you flinch at the way it flies and tumbles to the soil in a discordant symphony of rough clanging. "It's garbage anyways. Hasn't caught squat…just you."

As he says that, his eyes draw over from the pile of junk back towards you, quietly creeping upward until they meet your own. Maybe you're imagining things, but you feel some odd sense of kinship with him…you feel like he's looking deeper into your soul than you realize, right up until he coughs and gets back up to his feet with a grunt.

"Don't step into my traps again, unless you turn into a rabbit."

All things considered, your nose scrunches a bit as the unexpectedly gentle giant towers over you once more. The snare had been covered in leaves and all manner of brush, plus he'd set it up right next to a rotting log that you'd stepped over and subsequently fallen down when the snap and the pain threw you off balance. Only a hawk could've spotted such a well-hidden trap in the midst of an otherwise empty forest, and you release a huff from your chapped lips as you struggle to stand with the help of his outstretched hand.

"If I'd seen the trap, I wouldn't have stepped in…uh, what was that? Was that supposed to be a joke?" Harley flushes at once, faster than your eyes can manage to process since he turns around so his back is facing you. He's already taking steps away, his nerves showing through his facade as he nearly stumbles over a tree root before steadying himself against the trunk.

"I mean it. Watch your feet around here."

"Uh…Harley, hey! Wait!"

To your surprise, he actually stops and turns back around to face you–this time with concern written clear on his features at how urgent your tone is. Wisps of black hair fly free from his ponytail and whip against his cheeks as a breeze suddenly blows through the empty trees, and more than ever you draw your arms tight around yourself to keep out the cold. You didn't dress for this weather most certainly, and part of you knows you don't want him to leave partly because you're losing that warmth that had made you feel so secure.

"Um…I, uh, don't know if I can make it back. I'm kinda far from home, and my ankle.." You glance down at the exposed patch of skin above your sneaker and Harley's eyes flicker before they follow, a trail of fresh blood dripping down your goosebump-covered skin as you put pressure on it. "...I-It really hurts."

You fully expect him to tell you you're fine, that you don't need any help, or that you're just being a baby and want more sympathy. But he comes back, draws closer slowly like he's approaching a wounded animal, and gestures behind you towards the stump you'd been leaning back against. When you sit yourself down on the cold, mossy wood, he rolls up his dirty sleeves and crouches down in front of you–this time with his face right near your knee, and you have to look anywhere but at his concentrated expression while he pulls your ankle into his massive grasp. It looks and feels so tiny in his hand, like you're a doll compared to him, and as much as your fingers itch to touch his hair now that it's so close you keep digging them into the stump below you. He just keeps observing the wounds, gently pressing a finger around the area of each while easing off when he feels you cringe in pain.

"...Hurts? Can you feel that?"

"Yeah, it…yeah, hurts. It really hurts. Sorry-" Somehow the touching, the eyes on your wound, they choke you up before you even know what's happening. The pain runs deeper than the physical sores and you know that, or you did, you just didn't expect it to well up so much that you find yourself shedding tears in front of a complete stranger. Your pitiful sniffles and wiping your nose with your sleeve are what finally attract his attention. Harley peers up from his deep concentration and you can hear his breath hitch in his throat, clearly unsure of how to proceed in the face of this unexpected development. If he were you, he might've just gotten to his feet and scurried away from the scene.

"...Wait here. I don't live far, I'll go get my kit and come back. Don't cry."

The way he says it doesn't feel patronizing, not like it should. You hadn't noticed until his face draws closer that through your tear streaked vision, his brow is set low and his brown eyes soft with a gentle glimmer of care. You catch a glimpse of his hand hovering near your cheek out of your peripheral, the warmth soaking into your skin–but before it can make contact, he's sucking his teeth and tugging it away before he stands for the second time. He repeats that command to stay where you are, and with a step back and a turn on his heels he's headed back in the direction he came from. He's out of sight in less than a minute, which is somehow oddly comforting as you dry your puffy eyes with your sleeves and sit there in wait, sniffling all the while in the cold. Hopefully he won't be long…hopefully he'll actually come back. You've got a good feeling he will, even as the minutes tick by and you hug yourself tighter when the cold of the late day sets in. It'll be dark before you know it, and on this leg you won't be getting far even if you'd brought a torch with you.

It's probably been a solid few minutes before the sounds of snapping twigs alerts you to someone else's presence. The angle confuses you though, because Harley left in the direction you're facing and the noise is coming from behind you. A whisper of something in the back of your head begs you to turn around, and just when you do, your line of sight aligns with a stranger who stops in his tracks as soon as you catch him in your vision. You're on your feet as quickly as you can be with one of them incapacitated, your heart jumping into your throat at the sound of him mumbling something incoherent in your direction.

He's definitely not Harley. Definitely not somebody you recognize either; older, squirrely, raggedy-looking but somewhat put together. A white coat sits on thin shoulders with sleeves that inch down over knobby hands worn with age, aside from that he's dressed just as any other trail walker you would see–at the actual trails at least, not this patch of forest that's further out of town and has a reputation for being bear country. You'd probably never even notice him if your eyes passed him on the street or a walk where the couples and families go on the trails, he seems like the typical older man you'd see anywhere. Except for those eyes that feel like they're bulging out from behind thick-rimmed wire glasses, roaming over you from head to toe and giving you an intense, icky feeling of being sized up like meat.

"Is that guy your boyfriend?" The staredown continues as he throws that strangely accusative question your way, hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket so you can't see what he might be holding. What you don't know he is holding.

"Uh, what? Do I know you?" You shake your head in disbelief, taking great caution to step back slowly enough that you don't slip on your weak ankle.

"I've seen you walking here alone. Is the big guy your boyfriend? Is he your dad?" He still has his hands in his pockets. Your brain won't stop imagining all the things he could be hiding in there–and the disjointed way he walks and the questions he's asking unnerve you to your core. And did he just admit he's watched you walking around here? This area of the woods isn't even remotely near a trail and you picked it for that very reason…unless it's an odd coincidence, it's forcing you to think back to every moment you've spent here and all the times he could've been watching. As if things couldn't get worse, your only reprieve is still nowhere in sight, Harley's footsteps nowhere near close enough for you to hear them. Who knows when he'll be back, either? It might be too late by then.

"I've got a lot of money. I can pay him." He steps forward and you take a huge one back. Your options are dwindling and you didn't have many in the first place. You can't possibly think he's harmless now that you're this far–he clearly has some creepy imagination and the only person who could save you, the only person who even knows you're here, definitely isn't close enough to hear you scream for help if you tried.

"H-He's coming back right now," You search for those words in the deepest pits of your stomach where your hope has fallen flat. The man glances around, his head turning in big, sweeping arcs to search the woods for any sign of said rescuer. Your heart hits the wall of your ribcage so hard you feel like you're gonna sink to your knees, or at least be sick all over the ground. You're not safe and you know it, and he knows it.

"I don't see him."

He takes another shaky, measured step towards you and you stumble back to take your own, but all you manage to do is trip and fall back on your behind in the mess of leaves underfoot. Those next few steps he takes towards his prey are quick and heavy in your ears, and in a burst of panic when you can finally get your voice out you sob Harley's name in a shaky, tremoring pitch that breaks with frantic desperation.

The doomed silence that follows is cut by the sound of wind whipping harshly through the trees–and in a matter of seconds, followed by the violent thwack that echoes throughout the woods as a blade flings itself across your vision and embeds itself in a tree trunk before you.

The hatchet marks a degree of separation between you and the man you hadn't realized had been stalking you for a while, landing barely an inch away from his nose. He staggers back out of shock and nearly falls over a root himself, but upon turning his gaze towards the source of the attempted assault, his bug eyes widen and he scrambles to run away with his tail tucked between his legs. No sense of relief washes over you until you spot your savior, his gait tense as he steps out from the trees and into the clearing–you only inhale a shaky breath when you see that long hair trailing down his back, the softness of his flannel sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he reaches out to grasp the handle of the hatchet. With a deft, one-handed tug, it dislodges from the dead tree with a rough crunching sound and falls to hang down at his side. He doesn't move to look over his shoulder at you until the man has disappeared from his vision, but when he does he finally sets the tool back on his belt and crosses that short distance to kneel in front of you, his first-aid kit dangling on a clasp on the opposite side.

You'd expect him to be upset by that rather violent reaction even if it's not directed at you, but he's cooled down already, enough that his touches are gentle on your skin. At least on the outside. There's a storm brewing behind his eyes that you thankfully won't have to witness, because all that awful business he's cooking up as revenge won't be for your precious, pure eyes.

"You okay?" His deep voice couldn't be more soothing than it is in this moment, your eyes filling with a fresh set of tears that, this time, he's quick to brush away for you with his calloused thumbs. His shushing and soft, sweet crooning don't fit the scary vision of the man wielding that frightening weapon, yet his soothing touches and words are so comforting you just end up melting into his warmth. Not a word of protest escapes you when he suggests taking you back home, nor when he carefully leans your crying self into his shoulder so he can slide his hands beneath you, and lifts you off the ground and into his arms with a grunt.

Your legs dangling over one arm and your back supported by the other, Harley bridal carries you away from the scene and through the forest down a path only he can see. One still filled with roots to trip him up and dry leaves to crunch underfoot, but he barely stumbles at all with you perched delicately in his arms.

"Did I scare you? I'm sorry." You shake your head and lift it from where it's buried in his neck, a trembling hand wiping your face for what feels like the millionth time today.

"No…no, he scared me, Harley. Thank you, I.." You whimper, your words falling apart as you hesitate briefly–but in the next moment you're clinging to him, his taut biceps pressed to your soft flesh and your arms pulled tight around his neck, warming his face in the process. Maybe that dark flush is just the cold, but maybe it really is something else after all. "Please don't leave me."

A shake of his head is enough to sate you, some loose strands of his hair tickling your skin as he readjusts his grip to keep you upright. Every time he moves, even encumbered by your weight, he does so with so much ease you feel like you don't weigh an ounce in his arms.

"I did catch you, so I guess I get to keep you." A smile curving against his skin goes unnoticed but the tug on his shirt as he steps over a fallen log doesn't, your instinct to grip him tighter when he's unsteady is what leads him to brace you closer to his chest. Safer.

"So I am a bunny now? You'd better not turn me into rabbit stew, then." You chuckle, a sniffle peppering your breath.

"You do look tasty." You tuck in your arm before elbowing him in the chest, not like it really does anything but tickle when he's built like a brick wall. But it's out of shyness and embarrassment because those words sound devious out of his mouth, that slowly-spreading grin and rumbly voice sending a palpable shiver up the back of your neck like he's speaking to your thoughts directly. Does he know? He acts coy, but is it that easy for him to tell that you like him? Because you do. You really, really do.

It takes everything in you not to press your lips to his cheek in thanks, because while it would be quite sweet you don't exactly want to cross any boundaries of his. You just enjoy the ride for what it is, Harley's strong arms cushioning you every step of the way until the shade from the trees overhead disappears and the ground evens out. By the time you lift your head to look, he's crossed the grassy field that separates the land between the forest and his home, and is already slipping through the side door to a decent-looking farmhouse by the road. A soft couch lies beneath a grand window facing the open yard and it's where he sets you down, supporting your weight right up until the moment you hit the cushions and release your tight hold on his shoulders.

It's a little embarrassing to be treated so delicately for an injury that isn't terribly serious, but that's exactly how Harley addresses it. He slips your mud-caked shoes off for you and drops them on the doormat outside, tosses the kit on his kitchen counter you're facing, and excuses himself for a moment to wash his hands and search for some stronger medicine in his bathroom cabinet around the corner. The room itself is wide with the kitchen on the far side and the living room on the other, an archway sitting opposite to the side door that leads to a hallway, at the end of which lies the bathroom next to a set of stairs you can't quite see from here, but you can only imagine are there since there's clearly a second floor above you. As kitschy as it is with the creaky wood flooring and a few minor patches of water damage against the 70s-esque wallpaper, it's the definition of cozy–a fireplace sits near you along with a coffee table and two armchairs, along with a rug that looks thick and soft with age. The cabinets in the kitchen all look like similar wood to the floor, the linoleum just as old but well-scrubbed and clean of any muddy boot prints or grass, and the cream-coloured vintage fridge hums quietly with a dozen or so notes tacked to it, with scribbly drawings of things to memorize rather than actual words. Even from here, you can make out things like a certain number of eggs to bring somewhere and a particular part of a machine that somewhat looks like it belongs in a truck. And with all the natural light filtering in from the huge windows, one by your head and the other facing out above the kitchen sink, the whole first floor of the house stays warm and comfy-looking even as the sun begins to set.

"Is this where you live?" You call out and he hums loudly in agreement, busying himself with digging around the shelves through the open door. You crane your head to peek outside again, curious about the odd little hatches you can see from here and the fences around some big, grassy open areas. You just barely manage to catch a glimpse of a larger, more impressive building a little further off that looks like it could be a barn, and suddenly the weight of the cushions shifts as Harley takes his seat by your feet with a tube of something clutched in his hand. With relative confidence he squeezes a dollop on to his finger, hands you the tube to make sure you're not allergic to whatever it is, and gently presses the cream to your skin and swipes it right over your wounds.

The hiss that erupts from you at that first touch halts his progress briefly, but he's back to rubbing it in once he's given you a look and probably realized that it's not that bad. It just stings–but as he explains, it's disinfectant, so it's important to apply before you're exposed to a nasty strain of bacteria.

"How–ow! H-How long have you lived here?" Wincing, you sit up higher against the arm of the couch to get a better look. One glance at the blood staining his hands turns your stomach, however, and you're quick to peer back out the window in the hopes of shifting your focus elsewhere.

"The farm?" He queries, gaze sliding towards those same structures out the window before he finds an answer. "...Long time. Twenty years, maybe?"

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-nine."

"No kidding." You crack a wobbly smile, the burning sensation having slowly run its course through your poor, abused ankle. "We're not too far apart. So you grew up on a farm?"

"Kinda. Just helped out."

"Do you have cows?"

Shhhrup. He snips off a length of gauze and pins it to your ankle with a warm finger, slowly rolling the band around it in wide, careful circles. On each pass around he pulls it taut to tighten it and stem the bleeding, though it doesn't mean it doesn't make you flinch each time.

"Yeah. Chickens, too."

"You do?"

"Of course. See the building there? That's my coop." Once he's finally finished with pinning the dressing into place, he helps you lean up with his palm held out, your fingers grasping it firmly to steady yourself as you peer out the window towards the direction he's pointing. The way he talks about it gives off a sense of pride, but that alone is clear by the smile that breaks his stoic facade when you ask if you can see the cows and the chickens.

"When your ankle's better we'll go outside and feed them. You can ride one if you want, if you promise to be gentle with her."

"I can ride one?" Your eyes sparkle with hopeful excitement, glimmering like sea glass and crystals among the sand. You're assuming it's not that detail that has him quirking up a brighter smile than before, but you would be wrong.

"Mhm. Marnie likes giving rides–we can bribe her with some celery I've got." He speaks with a hand on your wrapped ankle, neither of you even really noticing the gesture until it dawns on both of you, and you break your shared gaze and the touch in somewhat flustered fashion. Yet, even though he sits like a golem above you with hands retracting back to his own lap, you still can't help the thought that he's just so…soft.

Maybe not on the outside necessarily, but Harley gives off a comforting, warm energy that seems completely natural to him. You've seen the itchy discomfort and awkwardness of men who would strike fear into your heart by presence alone, the unintentional fidgeting that betrays bad thoughts and cues towards what they've really got on their mind–things that they would gladly do or say if nobody was around and the chance of getting caught was low. Passing comments that just barely scrape the surface of impropriety, gestures masked with kindness but bleed through with the expectation of something in return. Harley isn't like that, or at the very least he doesn't seem like that.

"Can I get you something to drink?" He stands up and off the couch in a swift motion, the remaining roll of gauze pinched in one giant hand along with the balm and the scissors. They look almost toy-like in his massive grasp, it's actually pretty cute.

"Water?" He nods, brisk in his actions but not in the movements themselves–he takes your orders like a soldier yet moves along in a relaxed gait, the path to the kitchen like a sixth sense and the air in the house so familiar he's breathed himself into every inch of it. If you asked something of him, he could say no. Yet his willingness to do so prods at you with the thought that maybe he never has said it.

From the cupboard he produces a tall, well-worn glass, and the tap shudders to life to spit a strong jet of water straight into it once he turns it. It squeaks with age and potentially the need of some upkeep, but when he circles back around the edge of the tabletop and brings it to you, it sits clear and cool as it meets your hands and desperately refreshing when you bring it to your lips for a sip. If you knew how many cracked glasses he owns, you'd probably be twice as grateful that the one you hold stays intact as you drain it. You've never been one to remember the necessities when out for a stroll, a water bottle being one of them–the stuff he's given you now, though? It could well be the ambrosia of the gods to your parched throat, your tongue having sat so heavy and dry in your mouth that the unpleasant feeling has become a nuance and not an irritant. Maybe it's his pipes or maybe it's him, keeping a close eye and taking the glass back when it's empty to refill it again–but tap water has never tasted so good, you could swear it on your grave.

"So.." He murmurs, handing back your drink and waiting for you to down another greedy sip before he continues. "It's getting late, and you should really rest that leg. If you're okay, I can take you back home. Or…" The way he trails off lifts a brow from you, curiosity overcoming you in a gentle wave.

"Or?"

"...Or you can stay here for a bit. I mean, you can come back if you really want to, and we can see the animals then. But if you want to stay–and, uh, I can keep an eye on yo–y-your wound–you can."

You lower the glass, now half-empty, into your lap. As much as you want to let your smile peek through at how sweetly he's asking the question, you can't help but wonder about the possibilities. Is this a ruse? Does he want to get me alone? Will he flip out if I say I want to go home? Part of you wants to test him, wants to say that you do and then change your mind to see how he reacts…but another part of you trusts him, maybe errantly, but you so rarely get the opportunity to just take a chance with fate. Maybe this time, things will be different.

"I don't really have anyone to check on me, honestly, and I live alone. Maybe…if it's okay, maybe I can stay? There's not even an elevator in my-"

"Okay," He breathes suddenly, but follows it up quick with an apology for cutting you off. The enthusiasm tweaks your anxiety just a little bit, but you try your best to smooth it over. There's no going back now. "Yeah. I'll set up the spare room for you."

Within moments he's up, but before he gets to that particular task, the labour of food dawns on him and he makes a detour into the kitchen. Despite insisting that you've already eaten before you left for your walk, Harley imparts upon you a bit of homemade jam and some kind of fried bread before he takes you up to bed, the former quite sweet and tangy while the latter is a bit doughy from a day in the fridge but still delightfully warm off a pan that he heats it up in. That and a cup of fresh, warm milk and honey is what sends you upstairs to bed, the steps creaking twofold as Harley carries you there like a lame calf that needs constant tending. Belly full, sleepy, and comfortable–things could certainly be worse than this, especially when you consider what could've happened if Harley hadn't been around to rescue you today. Things could be much worse, you've found.

The spare bedroom sits just off the top of the staircase, as the second door from the end of the hall with another diagonally adjacent to it. The moment he carries you in, you can tell this used to be someone's room–the bed has been flipped and fitted with newer sheets and blankets, the walls have been scrubbed clean, but there's still shadows of frames that once hung against the honeycomb-like wallpaper and a closet nearly bursting with boxes of old belongings. Once he sets you down on the bed, the doors of which Harley's quick to close after stacking them higher and sliding them back to fit snugly inside and hopefully make you feel a little more comfortable. His disappears for a moment, but returns with what looks like a long, thick maroon shirt in his hands that would probably drape so far down on you it would act as a nightgown.

"Here. I'll wash your clothes for you tomorrow–this should do for you tonight." He waits patiently outside the door while you change, takes the clothing through the crack when you open it, and you notice that he's completely turned away when he does so even when he could probably be sure that you're decent. He bustles away with them like a rabbit, and returns just when the crickets have started chirping to show you the door–literally.

"There's a lock here," He points towards the highest point of the bedroom door, and back down towards the bottom where a wedge of polished wood sits nearby. With a measured bump of his foot he shows you how to slot it underneath, and respectively how to tug it back out with a decent amount of force. "It looks shaky but it works. I lock both the doors at night too when I close up the barn. Windows too, but these ones are hard to open anyways." He demonstrates by crossing the floor in quick strides and tugging on the window, barely able to shift it upwards a few inches before shoving it back down with a healthy amount of grunting…and to say the sounds don't have you hot in the face would be a mistake, as benign as they are.

"I'm in the room at the end of the hall. Bathroom's next door. If you need anything, just holler or come get me." He finally offers you his parting words with a hand on the doorknob, about to step out but clearly with some hesitation lingering in the way he stands. Maybe he wants to stay with you, or maybe he's nervous about leaving you alone after today. It's endearing either way, rather than concerning.

"I'll try not to wake you up." You smile back at him, truly feeling the gratitude for his kindness, but he shakes his head.

"No, come wake me for anything. Even a glass of water–I don't want you walking down those stairs and getting hurt."

Ouch. Those words sting, they really do, but not because of his personal fault–rather because you can't recall the last time you heard something like that, the last time it was said with sincerity, and it hits you like a brick and leaves you aching with a hollow feeling that you don't know what to do with. Your hands lift to rub at your arms a bit awkwardly, shifting your weight from one foot and wincing when you attempt to do so to the other, but soon enough you find the courage to speak in the wake of concern you don't know if you deserve.

"You're really sweet, Harley."

"Sweet? I'm not sweet." His expression sours at once, a pout forming on his lips that almost doesn't fit his intimidating stature. He looks as if that word alone is an insult, yet the heat rising to his face gives him no bearing when it's so obvious that he's flattered.

"You haven't let me take a step on my own all day. You're really sweet, and really nice."

"Yeah, whatever." Unable to meet your eyes he pouts even harder to try and cover it up, turning his back on you with no better answer and grabbing hold of the doorknob on his way out. "Shut up, city-slicker. And don't stay up too late."

You nearly flinch when he doesn't slam the door closed, his bad attitude striking you more as cute than intimidating. Your ears perk at the sound of his footsteps outside, muffled through the walls and growing distant as he pads down the hall–and when his own door shuts quietly, you finally tear yourself away from the threshold and patter barefoot towards the plush bed. It's nothing special, and it's a bit old, but you certainly can't complain.

You can't help but think, however, as you shut off the lamp by the bedside and hunker down for a long night…it's just a little too cold for your liking.

Whispers hum at you in the dark, surrounding you in a blanket of voices and sensations that drench you in nothing but blackness. An incessant tapping grows in volume at the back of your mind, visions flashing by at random in a grotesque show of theatre–something burns, something hurts, and in a flash of climactic panic you shoot up awake in your bed, panting and gasping and grasping at things that aren't there.

You're alone again, but not in a good way. It takes a moment to adjust to your surroundings, reintegrate into the situation you're in, but a glimpse out the window at the farm and your hand brushing the cotton fabric of the blanket brings you right back down to earth. It was just a dream, and as you peer closer, the tapping in your head was nothing more than the branch of one of the trees whipping against the window in the wind.

You're up and out of your bed before you can really think about it, limping a little but finding steadiness as you brace the wall and the door handle before coming out into the hall. It's creepier at night, much quieter than you expected save for the noise of the wind outside, and it has you hauling yourself as quickly yet quietly as possible to get to the door on the very end; the door that creaks so softly as you open and close it behind you, but doesn't cause the warm, heavy body in the bed to stir. Even as you approach him and come round the other side that he's perched on, his breathing stays even and soft like he's nearly dead to the world.

"Harley?" Your whispers grow their confidence in the dark, the hem of the long shirt swishing around your thighs as you lean over the sleeping giant. "Harley, are you awake?"

You're wary of shaking him, but your hand just barely brushes his shoulder–when it meets his heated skin, the man in question flinches and rolls over with a groan, his arm sliding off his chest to dangle off the edge of the bed. Even in the dimness you can make out the squint of his eyes at the slivers of moonlight shining through the window, his hair tousled and splayed out all over his sheets since being freed from its ponytail. He barely tilts his head in your direction, but even so he acknowledges you with a slurred hum and a rub at his eyelids to erase the sleep weighing them down.

"I-I'm sorry–" Your fingers clench at the sight of his bare chest, the skin soft-looking and riddled with the deep edges of healed scars. "-I can't sleep. The noise-"

Without a word, Harley gropes for the blanket draped over him and grabs a fistful of it, tiredly lifting it up with a yawn. It's an idea almost too good to pursue, your brain momentarily wondering whether this, too, is a joke. But not one to give up the opportunity since he seems too sleepy to tease you, you take the bait and make quick work of crawling over his buff body to flop down on his other side. Your breath quickens in your throat as soon as you're settled, but you've got no time to dwell on the enthusiasm as Harley pulls the blanket up to your shoulder, shifts his hips up, and turns on his side to face away from you.

Is this really how fate has decided to treat you? You're not too sure you're a fan of enduring a string of so many awful things just to get one good miracle–but as the warmth of the bed lulls you in, you find your smile returning slowly as you snuggle into the sheets and relax next to the man whose hands you would gladly put your life into.

Within a few minutes of laying down beside him the space feels like it's growing larger and larger between you, the cold soaking into your veins and causing your feet to retreat further and further up under the covers. It takes a bit more time to work up the courage to search for a little more than that. Enough that you're sure he's probably fallen back asleep as you shuffle closer and closer, settling in again once your hands just barely brush his spine. That's better. Harley exudes so much warmth that you could consider him a human heater, although the chill returns when he flips over on a dime and those brown eyes are staring you down, half-open, in the darkness.

It doesn't take him even a moment to survey you, examine your intentions, think about you in any way–he mindlessly throws an arm over your body, while the other stuffs itself under your neck and loops through the space for you to rest your head on his bicep. What really kills your courage is the feeling of his warm, thick thigh brushing against your bare skin between your legs, your own clamping down around it on instinct before he brushes a place that'll really have you blushing. That wasn't his intention, but it's somehow more flustering that it wasn't. He just doesn't know what he does to you.

"Warmer now?" He murmurs, eyes fluttering closed while his fingers play with a few strands of your hair. Now, with him closer than ever, you can really feel the weight on your heart ease off. A smile graces your lips barely an inch away from his, even knowing you'll be spending the better part of your night wondering what it would feel like to kiss them. You hum your answer softly. "Good. Sweet dreams."

"You too, Harley." Your head falls back against his arm, and it's only a matter of time before the warmth of his body heat and the comforting embrace of strong arms around you lulls you into a deep, dreamless sleep. The only thing you remember waking you up is a brief time between then and the sunrise, when your eyes flutter open and you feel Harley's presence has disappeared for a time. But once slumber grabs hold of you again and you vanish into the land of unconsciousness, the only thing that will cause you to stir is the distinct pitch of a rooster crowing from somewhere off in the yard, signalling the dawn of a new day that may very well be the start of the rest of your life.

[loyaltykask]

Chapter 27

@journeythroughjourneytothewest

Wukong just has to scream and that sucking works

I forget that the White Bone Demon Arc is actaully like.... super early in the jounrey. Like they have been only on 3 adventure together AT MOST and that is no including getting Bajie And Wujing. At this point they are all still strangers to one another. They are barely a year in to a 14 year journey and this is like their first real test of faith in one another. Sanzang has only see a Head monk commit suicide, get kidnapped by Yellow Wind Demon and face the Immortal Equal to Earth at this point, all that I will admit aren't Wukong's best moments. But he still has this arrogance that Wukong can and should do anything he says. I think it says a lot where this chapter is going to go when this is there first test after coming off the Ginseng Fruit arc as a team and whether this will break them or they can come out strong for it.

WHAT relatives BE TALKING ABOUT THIS?

OOOOOOO THey got CLOUT

And Wujing was a Captain i thought he was a general, need to remember that. Never thought "clowning" would be used in this context but damn good for them

Sanzang STILL Be scolding even to some rando woman DAMN

Again I just imagine Sanzang holding a 4ft monkey in his arm holding him back

See because later it is shown that Wukong HASN'T eaten human I really think he trying to push the point the demons (he including himself in this to make a point) lure human with falsehoods all the time that Sanzang shouldn't be so trusting

This also makes the idea that Bajie, Wukong, Bailong, and Wujing are all parts of Sanzang that he fighting with himself. Bajie is his worldly mind seeing a beautiful woman and trusting her for that beauty. While Wukong is the rational part of Sanzang's mind that is trying to warn him about the dangers. Sanzang not listening to Wukong is him not listening to himself, rather choosing what he want to believe instead of the truth in front of him.

Also lmao his bald head is a red

Funny enough this does suggest she was using dead bodies as her shield So the illusion is very convincing as it was once a real person but they should be long dead by now

Even here Sanzang is 1/3 convinced (kinda strange way of putting it) as though Wukong is sure of himself but Wujing and Bajie are not, hence why Bajie is vocal about his objections and Wujing opts to say nothing as he too wants to see the best in everyone, hoping that what the woman said was true.

Such symbolically filled chapters and also show the dynamics and where they stand one year into the journey. Like they are just starting to understand one another from what we see in the Ginseng Fruit arc and starting to understand their roles not only in the party but to one another as well. Sanzang is the one here who needs to grow the most in order to get past his arrogance and grow not only as a master but as a person as well. It was very smart to put this chapter early in the book, I know it’s in the second volume but this is legit just the third large trial arc on this journey setting the tone for the rest of the journey and how they interact with one another here. Sanzang still doesn’t fully trust Wukong here and Bajie letting his jealousy for his brother show I honestly think Bajie is more just wanting Wukong to get in trouble and like tease the other, cause he is disappointed by the lack of a free meal, but he is never intended for Wukong to be so far gone as to be sent away.

Still not over Wukong calling Sanzang a whore and saying "I'll build you a bed so you can just fuck you're self out of the monk lifestyle you floozy"

It just occurred to me that Neither Wujing nor Bajie has seen Sanzang use the spell until now. Like Sanzang told them about it in the Ginseng Fruit arc but they had never seen it in action because he hadn't used it in the past 6 months. I think he only used it when they were at the Temple with that evil monk dude and Wukong lost the cassock but he hasn't used it since.

Yup, just check he only used the spell when he lost the cassock and hasn't used it since. Shit they really are in for a bumping ride.

I don't know why but the idea that being kind to even bugs and Sanzang is the Golden Cicada speaks to me on some

SO LIKE Sanzang has admitted that he doesn't mind dying, sure he doesn't want to but he gives off the vibes that he knows it can happen to him at any moment and he would just accept his evitable death (I'm not sure if that is low key suicidal but deadass not really saying he wants to live either). Wukong on the other hand knows this guy is going to die and being a monkey of his word wants to repay him for freeing him under the mountain. Wukong has been shown before to have a lot of gratitude to people that help him in the past, his own Master Puti and Guanyin for starters as he never forgets when he owes a debt (unless you are Ao Guang then tough shit). Sanzang thinks he hit an innocent person that hasn't wrong them yet while Wukong argues otherwise and even goes on to say that he will fight again even if Sanzang uses the spell, he isn't going to be unruly again. Clearly Sanzang is in the wrong here but also this highlights just how loyal and honest Wukong is as a character, sure he is a trickster and known to be cunning and can use deceitful tactics to get his way but overall him as a person is always honest with his intentions and what he thinks and believes, which is very interesting wonderful dichotomy.

Also, love that Wukong just..... straight out points out that an old lady probs can't give birth as his reasoning. He really is the Monkey of Mind.

Okay so like..... he was RIGHT to do so but ALSO YOU COULD HAVE GIVEN SOME WARNING SHE WAS A DEMON BEFORE DOING THAT

He uses the spell again and tries to send him away, harsh words deadass. At this point, it is clear that Sanzang is just digging in his heels refusing to trust Wukong after already set in stone in his mind that the last person they killed was an actaully person. Now any trust they have built over the last year is gone and it is only going to get worse.

I can't tell if Cheng'en is trying to make the pain like.... funny like in a cartoon but it def leaves disturbing mental images.

Even being sent away they still bicker Wukong more offended by his pride as a monk is being questioned than being sent away

Wukong this time uses the excuse of having the fillet to keep him around, that he would be dishonored coming home with it on his head, and that if Sanzang can't take it off then he better come along all the while. It is a different excuse than the first one, rather than using Sanzang's natural compassion against him, he is using Sanzang's need to bear responsibility over him. That as the master if he can't loosen it then he has no right to send him away with it still on. Which is interesting in Buddhism culture as any action Wukong does so reflects on his Master, meaning that every life Wukong takes, whether human or demon is on Sanzang's hands he is responsible for Wukong during the whole journey. It is that kind of Shifu-Tudi mentality that students are an extension of their masters and that they carry on their will through their actions. Anytime Wukong does something 'unruly' in Sanzang's eyes it is because he himself as failed as a master to teach Wukong properly. To Sanzang, Wukong's failures are his own and sending him away would be him trying to give up not only on Wukong but also on himself for not being able to properly teach Wukong.

Bajie shut the fuck up your giving the party anxiety.

Wukong be weighing his options of whether to save Sanzang from his demon if and when she catches him or just kill her now. He had a calculated risk that he will be able to talk himself out of this one.

He willing to keep Sanzang safe even if it meant getting that Spell. never was there a more brave soldier.

Deadass Wukong finally got the proof he needed cause White Bone Spirit BE FINALLY DEAD Only when true death can that the corpse be shown. Also weird that her name was in his spine but hey who am I to judge.

NO BAJIE YOU FUCK SANZANG WAS THIS CLOSE TO JUST SAYING "You were right Wukong thank you" THIS AINT YOUR TIME TO LAUGH AND TEASE THIS MONK IS SERIOUS

Out of everything Sanzang said saying that they don't need Wukong cause Wujing and Bajie are there hurt him the most. Sanzang goes on saying "I have been with you since day one! Not them!" Funny enough that Sanzang DOESn't even bother with the spell the third time, like just as he was about to recite it Wukong stopped him and they just argue. He just.... tell him to leave.

This is the most formal banishment damn, got a letter of resignation and everything Sanzang being a petty stubborn fool like this Wukong refuses to leave without bowing and even Sanzang try to dodge a bow but could not.

Wukong only be trusting Wujing here for this mission Both Wujing and Bajie not saying much, which allows for a lot of interpretation in what they could be thinking. But Sanzang still thinking that Wukong was being deceitful in his actions Wukong gives WUjing to use him name but only that.

CRYING HE IS CRYING I HOPE YALL HAPPY

[xf-cases-solved]

S1E24: The Erlenmeyer Flask

Case: Our very first season finale! We made it! And as far as X-Files finale episodes go, this one is moderately comprehensible. Mostly. It all starts when Deep Throat recruits Mulder (and by extension, Scully) to investigate the disappearance/presumed death of a guy named uh—gimme a sec—William Secare (I forget names more than I forget locations, and y'all know how often I forget locations). You will remember Secare from the cold open, when he was chased down by some cops and then shot as he jumped into the water, and also his blood is green (think Vulcan, but more acidic). Deep Throat insists that getting to the bottom of the Secare case will get them closer than ever to the Truth. 

Spoiler alert: They do not learn the Truth by the end of this episode.

They do, however, meet a grumpy scientist with a room full of monkeys, who then gets murdered and leaves behind an Erlenmeyer flask labeled "purity control" that might be relevant to the title of the episode. Between bacteria that shouldn't exist, and our first (but not last) encounter with naked guys in tanks, things start to get pretty chaotic. To top it off, Mulder gets his first hit of alien blood burny face disease of the series, and then gets taken captive. Scully and Deep Throat have to work together to save him before it's too late. This goes... not great for Deep Throat in the end. 

Mulder finds extremely damning evidence, only for it to disappear like five minutes later like usual; Scully comes face-to-face with an alien fetus as well as exterrestrial bacteria and yet somehow there are still like 6ish/7ish more seasons to go before she even considers hopping onto the alien belief train; I have that problem I have in every X-Files conspiracy ep, which is that I can't tell middle aged white men apart, nor can I remember names, so I have no idea who is doing what for the majority of the episode (wait until we get to episodes with clones and shape-shifting bounty hunters, man, it's fucking torture); Deep Throat imparts some very important wisdom; and, oh yeah, the X-Files gets shut down.

It's a season finale for the history books, y'all! But I hope you're ready for shit to really get real, bc now it's time for... season 2! ( 🛸🛸🛸🤫)

Does someone die in the cold open: I dunno, does he die? Sure looks like he should have died, what with that gun wound and everything. There's no way he couldn't have died, right? (No, he didn't die.)(At least not in the cold open, I mean.)

Does Mulder present a slideshow: Nope, no finale slideshow :(

Does the evidence survive the investigation: Lol, good one

Whodunit: -vague gesturing at middle aged white guys who work for the shadow government probably-

Convictions: You're cute

Did they solve it: No, but I'll give them experience points, because I'm a kind and benevolent stat collector. They did lose Deep Throat from their inventory tho, whomp whomp. 

[how do i determine if a case is solved? check the scale here: x]

THIS EPISODE IS SPONSORED BY: It not being monkey pee. You're lucky it's not, otherwise you'd be on your own.

***

General Total Stats:

(green means stat has changed since last ep; red means new stat added to list)

Total Cases *Definitively* Solved So Far: 12 (streak ended, and you got the x-files closed down, good job guys!)

Total Number of "Mulder/Scully, It's Me": 3 (FINALLY this stat goes up, also i changed it so it doesn't just pertain to phone calls, it's just whenever one of them says it)

Total Number of Times Scully Has Conveniently Not Seen Something Crucial: 5

Total Number of Times Mulder Has Been in Mortal Danger: 8

Total Number of Times Scully Has Been in Mortal Danger: 8

Total Number of Sexually Charged, Uncomfortably Intimate, and/or Flirty Moments Between Friendly Coworkers: 11

Total Number of Autopsies Scully Has Performed On Screen: 3 

Total Number of Times Scully Plays Doctor: 2

Total Number of Times Mulder Talks to an Informant: 13 (plus Scully and Deep Throat hang out some too) 

Total Number of Times People Making Out in a Car Are Hurt or Killed: 2

Total Number of Times Someone Correctly Guesses a Password: 2 (usually it's mulder, but scully got to do it this time)

Total Number of Nosebleeds: 4

Total Number of Times Mulder Has Tasted/Sniffed/Touched Something Questionable Without Following Proper Safety Procedures: 2 

Total Number of Times Someone Says "Trust No One": 2 (arguably the most notable "trust no one" of the series) 

Total Number of Times Someone Says "I Want to Believe": 3

Total Number of Times Someone Says "The Truth is Out There": 2

Total Number of Cigarettes Cigarette Smoking Man Has Smoked: 6 (apparently the one place he won't smoke is that storage room in the pentagon) 

Total Number of Maggie Scully Sightings: 1

Total Number of Lone Gunmen Sightings: 1

Total Number of Alex Krycek Sightings: 0 :(

Total Number of Times I Had to Look Up What State the Episode Takes Place in Even Though I Literally Just Watched It: 9½ (i upped the stat bc i did look, but i'm mad bc it was just one of those dc/maryland/adjacent areas episodes so i should have known better)

Total Number of Times I Had to Look at an Episode's Wikipedia Page to Fill This Out Because It Was Fucking Confusing and/or Too Boring for Me to Pay Attention: 5 (i followed this one fairly okay sort of)

[bonebabbles]

First Battle Aftermath

For the first battle itself go here

lol. Lmao, even.

Not, "Oh my god what have I done," but "I'm so weak. I can't even kill," while wearing Rainswept Flower like a new pair of fur boots

first Adoption Win in 3 books. What's the tally on that one-- 1 to 10?

Clear Sky doesn't understand the point of burials lmao. Dude did leave that dead mom he killed out in the open for the flies to find, until Wind Runner and Gorse Fur came across the corpse and put it in the ground.

And he can't remember killing Rainswept Flower either, in spite of the fact he was coherent enough to justify his actions to Gray Wing, because the Clear Sky chapters aren't meant to be a glimpse into the mind of a detestable character. They exist to garner your sympathy.

Was that enough regret for you? Hope you got your fill because it's RIGHT back to Gray Wing's Excuse Hour

WE?!

WE LET IT GET TOO FAR

We Let It Get Too Far

"My brother :(((( He's a good man :(((((((( He's a good guy even though he just starved Jackdaw's Cry before trying to murder everyone and told Thunder he shouldn't exist and slaughtered Rainswept Flower in a fit of rage :((((((((((((((((((( He gave up some food after I asked him to when we were like 17 so that means he could never be a bad person"

It's right there on the goddamn page, Clear Sky wasn't BORN EVIL so he's GOOD ACTUALLY because NO CAT CHANGES THAT MUCH.

It's EXPLICIT, am I going crazy here?! The narrative says EXACTLY that because he was good when he was young, he can't possibly have changed into a monster. "No one changes that much"

FEAR OR GREED. GOOD OR EVIL. The writing is SO BAD that they attempted to tell a story with an ounce of more nuance than usual and just ended up re-inventing a Light vs Darkness dichotomy with different nouns!

And just when you thought we'd hit rock bottom, StarClan arrives with the reinforcements needed to DIG DEEPER

Enjoy Clear Sky being called a fool once, just a silly little slip-up, an Oopsie Daisy. "I only wanted--" goes UNADDRESSED as Turtle titters about "killing only ever leads to more killing" because they have to find SOME way of getting mad at Tall Shadow too.

Turtle Tail says some romantic schlock to Gray Wing about the kits and thanks Thunder for scraping her pancaked body off the pavement where she died, and then Gray Wing decides that actually he's mad that her magic ghost came down from the heavens because it's Too Painful to see her again or something. Because he's a GREAT character.

"We came to spread the Good News Gospel, Gray Wing. You need to know that god is real to live here peacefully."

DOTC is about to say that the cats need StarClan to avoid these sorts of massacres, because actually Clear Sky is fearful, NOT greedy, and believing in God means he won't be so scared that he feels the need to abuse women and children

(But also that everyone's kinda responsible for the First Battle because Clear Sky is a good boy and WE let it get too far)

Anyway, Fridge Wife 2 starts interrogating Clear Sky. They do this incredibly insulting chapter transition where Gray Wing goes, "idk if he wants to listen to herrrr..." and Clear's chapter opens up with "LOVE OVERWHELMS HIM" because, AGAIN, Clear Sky's chapters exist to garner your sympathy.

"I was scared my heart would break if I had to see someone else die, which is why I wanted to kill orphans, threw disabled people out into the wilderness, clobbered a kitten, told my son he shouldn't exist, performed public humiliations, and beat 3 women to death"

Wanna take a break and go check out the tally of things he did in the past 3 books, and compare it to his self-defense? Be Storm! Go check that out, keep everything he did in mind.

Ask yourself this; were his actions truly consistent with someone who was just scared he would see someone die of starvation, OR, were they consistent with a domestic abuser who enjoys the power he has over people?

Storm buys it.

"FEAR IS WHAT DROVE YOU," she said with relief.

If you're AFRAID then ABUSE IS UNDERSTANDABLE. IT'S OKAY! It's all fine in the end if your motivator wasn't greed, AKA "BORN EVIL"

"Now you see there's no need to be afraid because God is real, death isn't the end, and the assurance of religion with an eternal afterlife will make you a better person"

They're saying pain is less painful if you believe in God and this is why Godless Heathens are bad in the Warrior Cats series. When Gray Wing decided to proselytize to Wind Runner and tell her it was good that her weakest child died, because it meant he was in a "better place", THIS is what that was building to narratively.

PIETY will fix Clear Sky's abusiveness. YAAAAAAY!

ALSO THIS IS TALL SHADOW'S FAULT TOO SOMEHOW?!

DIE AGAIN, SHADED MOSS, BEFORE I BEAT YOU INTO COSMIC DUST. I HOPE THERE'S MORE TRUCKS IN HEAVEN

"how did you know he was going to kill-" CONTEXT. CLUES.

SHE MADE AN EDUCATED GUESS BASED ON ALL THE CATS POKING HOLES IN EACH OTHER AND SHOUTING "it's murderin' time!!!"

She was a female Warrior Cats character in the general vicinity so they had to make sure to shame her because god forbid they imply that Clear Sky is the only one to blame for this bloodbath

In fact they do it again, Clear Sky snaps and starts barking at River Ripple for being a foreigner in his presence, right in front of God, and they don't skip a beat,

It CANNOT remain about Clear Sky, EVER. Storm whips over to GRAY WING and accuses HIM of bringing death to the mountains too, closing out the whole rant with, "ALL of you need to make amends"

This is like when a bully spits on you, calls you insults, and slaps and hits you where the teacher won't see, all while you keep trying to negotiate, but then YOU punch back and you both get equally punished because retaliation is just as bad as being attacked.

The book ends on the cats deciding it's time to bury the dead. Thus concludes The First Battle, and Clear Sky's Redemption Arc begins in Blazing Star. Because this means they nonsensically get rid of their main antagonist, they have to conjure up an Evil Foreigner to take his place.

"Unite or Die" isn't a message about actual peace and unity, that thing that the Non-Clear Sky cats have been hopelessly committed to, it's actually a message about how they're about to have a very convenient common enemy.

Y'know, someone who isn't "scared," just "greedy," one of those evil Godless Heathens, so we don't have to 'feel bad' about murdering him. One Eye time!