#{his name for the man he inhabits is the man downstairs}

[kylo-wrecked]

“Can I not implore you to return?” (From the prohibition verse, human!Phasma)

Ren adjusted his cufflinks. They were square emeralds with an onyx trim, uncanny in their resemblance to the holocrons he still sought.

"Return?" he smiled. "Which one of us? Me or the other guy?"

He sauntered over to Phasma and leaned in as if she were about to give her a kiss—or a nip.

"Would you like to say hello?" Ren said softly. "To the man downstairs? While he's still at home?" 

The man whose vessel carried itself with the gait of a hellion stood before Phasma, assured of its artistry and might. The man whose spirit pleaded behind the snake eyes of his incarcerator.

"He won't be in for long."

[aislinrayne]

[𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱]

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: After a particularly rough case, Reader starts acting distant. Lockwood thinks giving her space will help. When he's woken by the phone ringing, George doesn't need to know what happened to know it's probably Lockwood's fault.

ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: Mature/Explicit.

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: Alcohol consumption, strong language, sexual content (second base with intent to go further), anxious avoidant Reader, Reader is shorter than Lockwood, drunk Reader, Reader is harassed at the bar, brief touch without consent, no use of y/n.

𝔄𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯'𝔰 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: Fuck I love playing with different kinds of dynamics. I've had this sitting partially drafted in my writing folder for a year now, and the brain-goblins wouldn't let me keep working on SM until this was done lmao Please let this be the year I finally get a handle on my creative flow fml

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 6.1k

    The first time the phone rings, both inhabitants of 35 Portland Row manage to remain deep in a well earned slumber.

  The second time the phone rings, it successfully rouses one George Karim.  Muttering a string of colourful insults under his breath that - had he been in his family home - would have earned him a smack over the head with his mother’s slipper, he reluctantly drags himself from the warmth and comfort of his duvet.  Letting out a long suffering sigh that lasts through the entire shuffle from his room to the phone on the floor below, he lifts it from the receiver and greets the caller with a noise somewhere between ‘hello’ and ‘fuck off’.

  “Evening, sorry to wake you.  This is James, calling from The Royal Oak.  Is there a, uh-”  Even over the numerous voices and the clinking of glass in the background, George can hear the gruff sounding man being interrupted by a woman’s voice mumbling incoherently before all sound is muffled by a palm being pressed over the mic on the other end, “-sorry, did you say…?  Really, sweetheart?  Alright, but don’t try to blame this on me tomorrow when you sober up.”  

  Then the phone is back to full volume. “Sorry about that, I’ve got a young lady here who says she lives at this address?  She’s too drunk to get herself home and this is the number she gave for someone she trusts to come get her.  But, uh, she-”  James seems like he’d rather not say the next bit, “well, she just keeps asking for ‘that selfish wanker’?  Won’t give me a name otherwise.”

  There’s not a lot in this world capable of rendering George completely speechless, but that…  That does it.  He allows the phone to drop from his ear for a moment, resting it on his shoulder as he attempts to compose himself and reply to the nice man on the other end of the line.

  “Uh…  Yeah, she- she’s ours.  Probably talking about our boss, then.  I’ll, uh…  I’ll go wake him.  I’m sure he’ll be there very soon.”  He has to speak up over the sound of James choking and sputtering in surprise to say a polite ‘thank you’ and ‘goodbye’, before slamming the phone down and jogging up the stairs to wake his friend.  

  He pauses for a moment halfway up, considering heading back downstairs to grab a boot to throw at the door.  Unfortunately his need for immediate answers outweighs his urge to be petty, so he settles for pounding loudly on the door instead.   There’s quiet rustling and not so quiet cursing on the other side before it’s ripped open.

  “What?!”  A dishevelled Anthony Lockwood snaps, blinking sleep from glaring eyes and leaning on the doorframe in an endeavour to keep himself upright.

  “Just got a call from The Royal Oak, down on York Street?  Turns out they have a resident of this address drunkenly calling for a ‘selfish wanker’ to come pick her up.”  George crosses his arms, raising a challenging eyebrow at the taller man.  

  Lockwood’s expression shifts from its existing irritated frown into confusion, then straight to alarm.  He wastes no time flipping the light switch beside the doorway, bathing the room in light as he crosses it to tug one of his dresser drawers open.

  “Can you call me a Night Cab, please?  Offer them double fare to prioritise.”  He calls over his bare shoulder, searching for a t-shirt and hoodie to toss on.  His researcher says nothing as he complies, deciding to save the interrogation for later.

  Anthony is properly worried.     Their third roommate had come back from their last job acting distant.  They’d been separated by a pair of particularly nasty Spectre’s for close to an hour, but she’d succeeded in securing the Source’s and they’d all made it out in one piece.  He’d been so caught up in pride for his team he hadn’t noticed the effect it had on her until days later.  When he tried to approach her with his concerns, she clammed up and looked as though she was about to cry before excusing herself to her room.  None of the members of his agency, himself included, had seen her exit her room for two days after that.   He hadn’t asked about it since, and while giving her space seemed to be working by way of not making her cry, he was starting to wonder if it had been upsetting her in a different way.     Even taking all of that into consideration, there’s still no way he could have seen a phone call like this coming at 2:56 AM on a Tuesday.

  All he can find is a sleeveless black undershirt.  With a huff of frustration he pulls it over his head, kicking the drawer closed simultaneously, then pulling open the one above it.  The joggers he fell asleep in are fine enough, so after a fit of undignified hopping across the room to cover his feet with pink socks he grabs a random hoodie off of the armchair by the window, shrugs into it, and zips it on his way down the stairs.

  George is waiting for him at the bottom, staring at his watch.

  “Your cab should be here in three minutes, mine should be here in thirteen.”  He looks up from his wrist, meeting his boss’s confused look with an exasperated one.  “I’m heading to Flo’s for the night, so whatever you fucked up, mate?  Fix it.”  Karim claps him on the shoulder, walking past him to pack an overnight bag.  It might not be conventional, but Anthony knows it’s the closest thing to encouragement he’s going to get.

  The next several minutes pass in a blur of waiting and worrying, until finally it’s 3:14 AM and he’s slipping the cab driver an extra twenty quid to wait for them, swearing to be no longer than fifteen minutes.  The ungodly-early morning air is sharp and cold, cutting to the bone as soon as he steps out of the comforting warmth of the vehicle.  It’s plenty enough encouragement to hurry his way to the building, pulling the door open to slip into the soft golden warmth and loud ambiance of the pub.  

  He hesitates on the doormat, catching sight of the other patrons.  Thankfully it isn’t a particularly highbrow establishment, but it's nice enough for him to feel noticeably underdressed in black joggers and a grey zip-up.  And then he lays eyes on her, and all insecurities are immediately banished by the sharp knife of shock burying itself in his gut.  

  She’s balanced on a table, wearing a little black dress he’d never seen before.  Her arms are raised above her head, fingers combing through her hair as her hips sway to the bass of the music in a way that probably would have had his mouth watering if it wasn’t for present circumstances.   He isn’t the only one noticing her.  There’s a group of men standing around the table, watching her with hungry eyes that make his skin crawl with disgust.   A tall blonde man pushes his way past the rest of the crowd, deep set ice blue eyes chasing up her legs.  She seems to either be unaware of his presence, or too lost in the music to care.  Even from his position across the room he can see her eyes are out of focus, drifting away for split seconds every few beats from the speakers on the wall.     The man raises a hand and grabs her thigh, using enough pressure to leave visible fingermarks.

  Lockwood finds himself frozen in place, blood boiling as he mentally considers how challenging talking his way out of a murder charge could really be.  Surely not that much harder than talking his way out of an arson charge, and he’d done that often enough to be confident in his abilities.

  Before his sleep deprived mind can break free of its indecision, the girl spins around abruptly and slaps the lecherous limb away from her.  The slime of a man attached to it is none too happy about that, making a move to grab for her arm.  Her normally impeccable reflexes are slowed by the alcohol, she can’t move fast enough to avoid the attack.  When his fingers close around her wrist, he pulls.  Hard.     She teeters on the edge of the table, her short cry of pain audible even over the music.

  Huh.  He’d always thought the whole ‘seeing red’ thing was entirely turn of phrase, but as it turns out, there’s actually a modicum of truth to it.

  He’s halfway across the bar by the time he realises he’s in motion, but he’s not about to stop.  Closing the remaining distance in a few purposeful strides, he grabs the creep’s arm in a vice grip.  The blonde releases his hold on her immediately, instinctively trying to pull away from the pain.  Lockwood lets him stumble away in surprise, wasting no time placing himself in between his friend and the threat to her safety.  At first he’s optimistic he might have a chance to vent some anger when the wanker locks eyes with him, but whatever he’d seen in Anthony’s was enough to make him back down and stumble off with an insincere apology.  

  Reminding himself to focus his attention where it belongs, he turns to look up at the girl on the table.  Her face lights up with delight when she recognizes him, then swiftly sours the longer she looks at him.   He feels like an absolute prick for not noticing the dark circles around her eyes sooner.  Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he reaches up to offer her both of his hands, palms up.  She sways in place for a moment, scowling pensively at the proffered appendages.  He studies her face while he waits patiently, trying to find any hint of what could be bothering her enough to take this approach to forgetting.

  With a tiny hiccup she finally caves, placing her hands in his and allowing him to help her to solid ground.  Once both of her feet are securely on the sticky floor, he offers her his arm for support.  She gives him another little glare, but just like before, she eventually accepts his help.   Scanning the other tables and chairs around her makeshift stage, he sees no sign of a purse or jacket that he recognises in the slightest.

  “Did you bring anything with you, sweetheart?”  He asks her directly, leaning closer to her ear to be heard over the noise.  If he didn’t know any better he’d say she looks almost flustered; eyes glazed, cheeks flushed a beautiful shade of pink, looking through him rather than at him as she tries to filter his words through the haze of liquor clouding her mind.     Although he’s prepared to wait as long as it takes for her to answer, he can’t help but feel a touch relieved when the bartender waves him over holding a familiar leather clutch.  Gently taking her by the arm, he guides her to a nearby chair to sit and wait for him to collect her belongings.  Giving a final warning look to the remaining crowd for good measure, he leaves her side to approach the bar.

  The man behind it is average height, with mid length dark hair as well kept as his perfectly trimmed goatee.  He abandons the glass he’s polishing, tossing the white cloth he’d been using over his shoulder and offering Anthony a calloused hand.  “I take it you must be-”

  “‘That selfish wanker’?  Present and accounted for, though I also answer to ‘Anthony’.”  He replies, accepting the handshake.  

  The other man’s grip is firm but friendly, and he throws his head back in merriment at Lockwood’s unexpected introduction.  “James, pleasure to finally meet you.  I’ve heard a lot about you from your little Songbird over there.”

  Lockwood winces.  “Not all bad, hopefully.”

  “No, not all bad.”  James soothes before leaning in conspiratorially, “Just don’t tell her I said that.”

  He shoots him a wink as he settles back, and now it’s Anthony’s turn to laugh.  It’s decided then and there; they like each other.

  He reaches behind the lip of the bar, grabbing the clutch he’d tucked out of sight until he could determine Lockwood’s identity.  “This is all she brought with her.  You’ve got a safe way home?”

  Anthony takes it from him with a grateful smile.  “Yeah, paid the driver to stick around.  I consider myself pretty good at multitasking, just not ‘keeping her upright and not getting ghost-touched’ good.”  James lets loose a hearty laugh in response.

  The screech of wood against the floor draws their attention back to the woman formerly in the chair, now standing unsteadily a few feet away.

  “And that’s my cue.  Pleasure to meet you, James.  And, uh-”  He glances back at her involuntarily.  “Thank you.  For keeping an eye on her, calling us, the lot of it.”

  The bartender smirks, quirking an eyebrow and giving him a knowing look.  “It's what any decent person would do.  Don’t be a stranger now, either of you.”

  Lockwood departs the bar, clutch in hand, with a salute and a promise to be back another time.   She seems confused at first when he tries to get her attention, switching to stare at him reproachfully when she recognises him again.  He sighs, trying to tuck away his own feelings of exhaustion and defeat.  

  “Let's get you home, love.”  He murmurs, offering his arm again.  She takes it without hesitation this time, leaning heavily against him as they make their way to the exit.  Pausing on the doormat, he carefully extracts his limb from her grip, soothing her little noise of protest by assuring she’d be using him as a crutch again momentarily.  The metal of the zipper is cold against his bare arms as he shrugs his hoodie off, blatantly ignoring her attempts to argue with him and draping the grey fabric over her shoulders.

  The cold breeze cuts into him once they’re outside, but he carefully schools his expression to avoid showing her it's affecting him at all.  Despite having paid the man extra, he’s still pleasantly surprised to see the black cab still waiting at the curb.   It’s easier than he’d expected to load her into the comfortable back seat.  She doesn’t even try to swat his hand away when he places it on top of her head to prevent her bouncing it off the roof in her attempt to get in.   Once she’s scooted to the far side, he climbs in after her.  She seems lost in thought, staring absently at the headrest in front of her.  He leans closer slowly, giving her ample time to move away if she doesn’t want him in her space.  When she remains stationary, he reaches across her body to grab her seatbelt, gently buckling her in and tightening the belt over her hips.  

  She finally looks at him, expression blank as she studies his features.  It’s clear her mind is elsewhere, and she returns to staring at the black leather so quickly he wonders if he’d imagined the whole thing.   He gives their driver the all clear, directing him to drop them off where he’d first picked him up before slumping back into his seat for the uncomfortably quiet ride home.

  They’re half-way there when he can stand to ignore the elephant in the room no longer.  The words slip out before he can think of a more tactful way to ask;  “What’s going on with you?”

  She turns to look at him so slowly it’s almost unnerving. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  She answers bitterly, her voice laced with the same steel as her eyes.

  “That’s bloody horseshit!”  He scoffs, far too tired to hold back.  “If there was nothing wrong, I wouldn’t have gotten a call tonight.”

  Her mouth opens and closes soundlessly for several seconds, seemingly overwhelmed by the number colourful insults she’d like to hurl at him.  

  “Like you care.”  She finally mutters, shaking her head and turning away from him to stare pointedly out her window.

  “...What?”  He manages to put his frustration on hold for a moment, making room for his growing concern.  “Of course I care, what makes you think I wouldn’t?”

  She laughs darkly, shaking her head.  “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?!”  He cries in exasperation.

  She whips around to face him.  “You knew I was struggling!  You knew, and you ignored it because it was easier than dealing with me!”  Her eyes are wild, chest heaving as she draws in air like she has to fight for every breath.

  All hostility drains out of him in an instant, leaving him uncomfortably hollow in its absence.  He’s intimately aware of her eyes searching his face, trying to gain some kind of insight into his mind.     He feels like he’s just stumbled into a minefield, and in a way he has.  If his next words aren’t carefully chosen, he could detonate one and destroy his friendship with someone he can’t live without.

  Organising his thoughts and taking a deep breath, he plunges ahead.

  “I’m sorry.  I thought by giving you space I was giving you what you needed, but I should have just talked to you.  And you’re right, I was being selfish, just… not in the way you’re thinking.”  She looks like she’s about to interrupt, but he ploughs on.  “I was afraid if I pushed too hard you’d shut me out.  I thought it would be safer to stay silent and let you come to me when you were ready, but it was my responsibility to communicate that to you, and I failed.”

  They sit in stillness for far longer than he’s comfortable with, his words hanging in the air between them.

  When she finally puts him out of his misery, he has to strain to hear her over the rumble of the car.  “It wasn’t two Spectres.”

  It feels like someone’s poured ice down his back.  “...What?”

  “The last job?  We thought it was just two Spectres, but it wasn’t.  It-”  Her voice shakes, then dies.  She has to stop and breathe, looking like she’s about to be crushed by the weight of the words on her tongue.  “One of them was a Fetch.”

  Staring down at his hands, he searches for the right words to say.  Is he supposed to say anything at all?  If he interrupts now, will she shut him out?  If he doesn’t, will she think he doesn’t care?     A point of personal pride for him is being able to read people, to shape himself into whatever role they need him to fill, but… he has no idea who she needs him to be right now.  

  She hesitantly continues.  “It was you.”  

  He looks up at her only to find her eyes already on him.  “It wasn’t.”

  She laughs sadly, but doesn’t look away.  When she tips her head to concede the point, the light catches at the corner of her eye.  “Right.  It did use your face, though.”

  “Whatever it said, it isn’t true.”  He can’t resist the urge to reach across the seat between them, wiping the tear from her cheek and hoping she can feel the truth in his words when he says;  “A Fetch will find your worst fear and exploit it.  And I swear to you, I will never allow anything to make you feel afraid like this again.”

  Silence stretches on between them, becoming heavier with every second passing them by.  His thumb continues stroking her face slowly, absentmindedly.  If he didn’t know any better, he’d think her eyes had drifted to his lips. 

  “Kiss me.”

  His hand falls from her face.   For a second, he thinks it’s him that’s said it.  When he realises it wasn’t, the potential implications of her words make his heart stutter.  There’s a chance this is just a drunken impulse, a need for comfort in a moment of vulnerability.   If it is, what the hell is he supposed to do about it?  If he gives in to her, will he be able to carry on working beside her once he’s had a taste of the life with her he doesn’t even allow himself to dream about?   On the flip side, there’s a chance that this is an actual confession.  The Fetch had chosen his face to torment her, and as horrifying as that had been to hear, it only would have done so if she felt something for him.  Maybe she feels the same as he does.  Maybe the reason he can never figure out what mask to put on for her, is that she’s only ever needed him to be himself.     Hope fills every inch of him as he stares at her, enraptured.

  Then, he realises he’s been quiet for long enough for panic to fill her eyes.

  “Ask me in the morning.”  He breathes, feeling as perplexed as she looks when the words come out of his mouth.  She’s confused that he hasn’t directly shot her down.  He’s confused that he’s capable of this kind of restraint while sleep deprived.

  “What?”  She frowns, blinking as her eyes lose focus for a split second in her bewilderment. 

  Feeling more confident in his decision, he smiles softly at her. “Ask me when you’re sober, and when we’re not in this nice man’s cab.” 

  The driver laughs, trying and failing to cover it with a guilty cough.

  Once they reach 35 Portland Row,  Anthony covers the fare and slips the man a generous tip for enduring their antics before exiting the cab.  The emotional intensity of the ride home had been enough to partially sober up his companion, but he still isn’t sold on her ability to climb stairs without assistance.     He keeps his arm wrapped tightly around her waist until they reach the door of her room - formerly Lucy’s - on the top level of the house before reluctantly removing it.  She wobbles for a moment, but it seems to be more from her leaning to chase his touch than any serious instability.  They stand there for a while, neither willing to walk away from the other, until a large yawn overtakes her.

  He chuckles, suddenly remembering James’ nickname for her.  “Goodnight, Songbird.”

  “That’s a stupid nickname.”  She complains, scrunching up her face in distaste.  When all he does is laugh some more, she sighs and carries on.  “Goodnight, Anthony.  Sweet dreams.”

  He disagrees completely, of course.  From her lips, his name is the sweetest song he’s ever heard.   Turning away from him, she places her hand on the doorknob but doesn’t make any move to twist it.  He’s about to ask her if something is wrong when she turns back to him swiftly, closing the distance between them and standing on her toes to brace her hands on his shoulders as she presses the ghost of a kiss against his cheek.  By the time he’s raised trembling fingers to the tingling skin, she’s already in her room with the door closed behind her.

  He spends his early morning dreaming of the flutter of wings, and birds gently pecking him on the cheek.

  When he’s woken by persistent knocking on his door once more, Anthony Lockwood finds himself wondering what precisely he had done to piss off Hypnos in a past life.

  Still on high alert from his unusual evening, he’s out of bed and across the room without a second thought.  When he pulls the door open he’s entirely expecting another emergency, not to find the girl of his dreams standing there staring steadfast at her feet.

  “I am so sorry about last night, I should have told you what was going on instead of going on a bloody bender.  That was incredibly immature and irresponsible of me and I completely understand if you want to fire me.”  She starts slow, but by the end of her apology the words are flying out of her mouth.  Despite her best efforts, the misery in her voice as she says the last bit is tangible.

  Why would he want that?  Still not entirely awake, the first thing out of his mouth is the first thought in his mind.  “Please don’t leave.”

  “...What?”  Not even remotely prepared for that response, she finally looks up at him.  As their eyes meet, reality sets in and time seems to slow.

  When he takes a proper look at her, he completely forgets the entirety of the English language.  Her hair is mussed from sleep, remnants of last night's makeup smudged under her eyes.  She’d apparently had the mental faculties to change into her pyjamas the night previous, and while he’d seen her in those shorts often enough to control the urge to stare, something about her wearing his hoodie zipped over them was making him feel like a moron.  He’d never seen anyone more beautiful in his life.   On the other side of the doorway, she’s having a very similar crisis.  His sleep tousled hair only doubled her ever present urge to rake her fingers through it.  And not only had he been in such a hurry to answer the door he hadn’t bothered to slip on a shirt, his joggers were also sitting dangerously low on his hips.     Their eyes snap back to each other's faces in tandem, both flushing almost comical shades of red.

  “Did you mean what you said last night?”  He asks hurriedly, heart pounding in his throat.

  “I said a lot of things.”  She wraps her arms around herself, laughing nervously.  “Which part?”  

  He keeps his eyes fixed on hers, searching them for some clue to tell him what comes next.

  Mustering more courage than she thought she was capable of, she answers honestly.  “Yeah, I did.  Every word.”

  Mimicking his actions from the night before he extends both of his hands towards her, palms up.   She tilts her head quizzically, but places her hands in his.  He uses them to pull her close enough their bodies are almost touching, guiding her arms to rest on his shoulders, releasing them to place one hand on her waist and the other on the side of her neck.  She inhales sharply when he leans in, his thumb lightly stroking her jaw while her gaze flickers between his eyes and lips.   He’s studying her face like he never wants to forget a single detail, but he doesn’t get any closer.  She’s lightheaded and pretty sure she’s going to die if he doesn’t kiss her soon, which is probably why it’s not until she sees the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile that she realises what he’s waiting for.  

  “Kiss me.”  She breathes.

  He doesn’t need to be told a third time.   He leans down and kisses her like he’ll never get the chance to do so again, like the world is falling to pieces around them and the only thing that can save them is the feeling of her lips against his.     The hand on the side of her throat slides back to bury itself in her hair, cradling the back of her head to take the strain off her neck from their notable difference in height.  Her hands wander the expanse of bare skin across his back, mapping every muscle and scar like it’s the braille translation of his life story.  He shivers under her touch, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her body tight to his in a desperate attempt to fill the yawning pit within him that had grown larger with every day he believed he’d never get to hold her like this.  

  As she runs her hands down his sides to his hips he gasps involuntarily, deepening their kiss with enthusiasm.  Driven by curiosity, she lets her nails graze his skin as she retraces her previous path.  The noise he makes in response is downright sinful, but so is the feeling of his rapier-calloused skin against her back as he slips his hand under the hem of his hoodie.  Her breath catches as his fingers trace featherlight patterns up and down her spine, feeling him grinning between kisses when he notices she’s not wearing anything beneath the grey material.  When he nips at her lower lip, she drags her nails down his back, and the last of his restraint abandons him.  

  Both of his hands drop, fingers dimpling the flesh of her upper thighs.  As in sync as they are in the field he’d never dared to imagine the same would apply to the bedroom, so he’s a little blown away when she understands his intentions immediately, jumping as he lifts her up to wrap her legs around his hips without breaking from each other.  Now he’s the one craning his neck to capture her lips, the floor creaking beneath his feet as he crosses the short distance to the wall, pressing her back against it and groaning at the restrained whimper that slips free from her.

  “Please don’t hold back.  I want to hear you sing for me, my little Songbird.”  He urges, adjusting his grip to slide his hands up her sides under his hoodie, palming one of her breasts and swiping a thumb experimentally across her skin to carefully catch one of her nipples between his thumb and the side of his forefinger.  She finally breaks, back arching away from the wall, head falling back against it as she moans unabashedly.  All of his strength threatens to leave him when she rolls her hips against his, dropping his free hand to grab at the plush of her ass and pull her impossibly closer as he whispers praise between frenzied kisses pressed to her throat.  She buries her hands in his hair, gasping for air as his ministrations travel to her collarbones then slowly down the centre of her chest, placing an open-mouthed kiss to swell of her breast-

  The front door slams open, startling them apart.  There’s the sound of shuffling beneath them as someone kicks off their shoes.

  “OI, MATE!”  George’s voice calls from the base of the stairs, “Did you fix it?”

  They look at each other, dazed and drunk off each other.  A confused frown decorates her features, mouth falling open to ask him what the hell their other roommate is talking about.  He shakes his head in exasperation, shooting her a look that reads ‘I’ll fill you in later’ and dropping his head to rest on her chest.  They take as many seconds as they dare like that, her fingers combing through his hair soothingly as he wraps his arms around her back, basking in the warmth of her body against his.  Reluctantly, he lifts his head and steps away from the wall, gently setting her back on her feet and pressing a kiss to her temple.  She seems hesitant to move away from him at all, back to staring at her feet instead of looking at him.  He’s known her for long enough to know she’s overthinking.

  “Hey, look at me.”  He slips his fingers beneath her chin, gently lifting her face to meet his concerned gaze.  “What’s on your mind, darling?”  

  “I don’t-”  She starts strong but stops suddenly, shifting anxiously.  “I really don’t want this to be a one time thing, or - or just a way to blow off steam-”

  He lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, cradling her face and pressing a brief but searing kiss against her lips.  She softens, melting into his touch.

  “Good,” He murmurs as he pulls away, tucking her hair behind her ear and giving her a peck on the cheek like the one she’d given him the night before, “because I don’t think I can survive another day of not being able to kiss you.”

  George chooses that moment to begin his ascent of the stairs.  They break away from each other, struggling to make themselves presentable before he makes it to the landing.  Anthony rushes to grab a shirt from the foot of the bed, throwing it over his head haphazardly  She squeaks when she finds the zipper of his hoodie down to her navel, shooting him a teasingly chastising look when he snickers and crosses past her to greet their researcher in the hall, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame it.  She yanks the zip as high as it will go, trying to smooth her own hair as she approaches the bookshelf and grabs something at random.  She throws herself into the armchair in the corner of his room just in time, flipping the book open to roughly the halfway point and staring intently at the page as George reaches the top step.

  “Good morning!”  Anthony greets him far too cheerfully, leaning against the doorframe in an attempt to obscure the other man’s view of his room.  

  “...Morning.”  George replies, not even trying to disguise his attempts to peer around his boss.  “How’d it go last night?”  

  “Um - fine!  Yeah, just fine.  Perfectly fine.  Everything is… fine.”  She closes her eyes, letting out a slow quiet sigh at his obvious nerves.  

  Adjusting the book to make sure it’s in his line of sight, she grits her teeth and bites the bullet.  “Morning, Georgie!”  

  Lockwood looks over his shoulder at her in alarm, but at her reassuring nod he steps hesitantly out of the way so she’s in clear view.

  George inspects her with narrowed eyes.  “You are significantly less hungover than I’d expected.”

  She winces, not able to fault him in the slightest for the disappointment in his voice.  “Yeah, pretty sure it just hasn’t hit me yet.  Sorry about that.  It won’t happen again, Scouts Honour.”

  “Why are you in Lockwood’s room?”  His brow furrows almost imperceptibly.

  She doesn’t miss a beat.  “I was so drunk last night he was worried I was going to fall asleep on my back and choke on my own vomit, so he made me sleep in this ridiculously uncomfortable chair.”

  Both men fix their eyes on her.  Anthony looks horrified, while George looks strangely impressed.  The bespectacled man studies her for another moment and she holds her breath, hoping he’d bought it.  Shrugging a ‘fair enough’, he bids them a temporary farewell and walks into his own room, closing the door behind him.  

  She huffs a sigh of relief, closing her eyes and slumping back in the chair as the tension drains from her body.  When she cracks an eye a few long moments later, Anthony is still standing in the doorway with the same look of horror plastered across his face.

  “What’s wrong?”  She asks, worry laced in every syllable.  

  “I didn’t even think of that!  I could have let you die!”  He seethes, throwing his hands up in annoyance at himself.  

  She has to fight the urge to laugh at him, focusing instead on gathering her strength to stand and walk over to take his hands in her own.  

  “I appreciate the concern, my love, but I wasn’t that drunk by the time you got me home.”  She smiles fondly at him, lifting his hands to press soft kisses to each knuckle.  When she glances up at him even his ears are flushed pink, looking at her with a lovesick smile.  

  “Call me that again?”  He implores, pulling her against him.

  With a quiet laugh, she drapes her arms over his shoulders before replying.  “My love.”

  They lose themselves in each other for another several minutes, only parting grudgingly at the rumble of his stomach and the threat of another interruption.

  George waits until later that morning when Lucy, Kipps, and Holly have joined them and they’re all in the kitchen eating breakfast to comment on Anthony’s inside out shirt, and how impressed he is that the sixth member of their agency has learned to read upside down.   As Lucy slowly turns to look at them, eyes wide and jaw seemingly aiming to touch the floor, Anthony lets the red-faced young woman beside him hide her blush in his shoulder.  For some reason, he can’t even bring himself to be annoyed.  Grinning proudly, he winks at the Listener, causing her to shriek loudly and demand to know the full story.

  When his girlfriend looks up to shoot him a warning look, he mimics zipping his lips.  “Gentlemen don’t kiss and tell, Luce.”

  Lucy’s demands are finally met five years later when James taps the side of his champagne flute with his knife, drawing the attention of the room full of guests to tell his favourite story about the bride and groom.

⤛⊹ 𝔣𝔦𝔫 ⊹⤜

taglist: @tessas4 @chloejaniceeee @shakespearseclipse @ettadear @kassandra1000

𝔉𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱, 𝔱𝔞𝔭 [𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢]

[writtenbowss]

MORE WINGED SINNER READER X ADAM PLSSSS🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️ i love their chemistry and the whole massage thing was so cute, could we maybe get an aftermath of when reader wakes up?? or a whole separate story of the two, ur choice!

- 🦝anon

OFCCC BESTIE!!! WELCOME TO THE BLOG OMG

also I agree, I like their chemistry of just... Cocky asshole and cold but easily soothed reader,,,, like MMMM

Welcome racoon anon!! Enjoy your stay!!

Rough awakening || Adam x winged sinner!reader

---

Safe to say Adam was not expecting to be punched awake after falling asleep with you on his chest, when you punched him he launched up and you fell back, head lowered as you attempted to gather your thoughts.

You had just woken up from a nice nap, almost forgetting about what caused you to fall asleep like that, but seeing Adams resting face was enough of a wake up call to realize you fell asleep on him. Your face flustered when you realized you were coaxed asleep by him, and being pissed off you punch his face, which is where you two are now.

Even though you tried to hide your flustered face, he instantly knew you were blushing from your visible ears turning a light shade of pink, he smirked and spoke cockily "hah! Don't try to hide it cold tits, I know you enjoyed me massaging your back!"

Angrily, you got up off the bed and stormed out of the room muttering curses and telling him to shut up, as he reaches out to you, you not even bothering to look in any mirror to fix yourself up for any interaction with the other hotel inhabitants.

You passed by angeldust who was making his way downstairs when he saw how you looked, looking a bit surprised before attempting to speak to you "woah, what happened to you? Ya look like you were gettin all hot n' heavy with someone!" He said while making the sex gesture with his hands

Even though you wanted to tell him fuck off, you knew better, you're here to redeem yourself after all. So you storm into your room, slumping to the floor as your wings relax, having been tense the entire way to your quarters. Turning your head, you see yourself in the mirror, your hair is a bit messy from the nap, face flushed from embarrassment and slight anger, and clothes in slight disarray. Now you know what angel meant.

Instead you curl into a ball, bringing your wings to surround you so you don't have to look in the mirror anymore, hoping that those damned thoughts come back. Why would anyone be interested in you? Everyone in hell either wants to kill or have sex. Sometimes both. You had learnt that lesson before, reluctantly remembering your own first days in hell as your fingers trace over the faint scar on your left wing, being slightly covered by the feathers that you've become accustomed to.

Quickly burrying your head into your arms, wanting to forget that time, you're stronger now. You won't let anyone ruin your chance to get to heaven and finally have that security of safeness, not even the stubborn, cocky, annoyingly handsome first man....what are you thinking?! It's ADAM, the same man who destroyed the hotel and attempted to kill your friends!

Squeezing your eyes shut, your mind wanders, beginning to form the very face of the man who you despise...but that stupid smirk of his just pisses you off in the best way possible.

-----

Yawners.... Adam POV soon? 🤔

-Ash (this guy has me in chokehold HELLO??) (also this may end up being a series uhmmm) (potential series name?? Send suggestionsss)

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Music, beer and touch

warning : fluff, tiny comfort, kissing, tiny tiny smutish nothing graphical, drinking beer

Info : Can be seen as a sequel to Flower in Hell or just a stand alone

Euronymous x fem reader

masterlist-Rory's characters, masterlist-Lords of Chaos 2018

Disclaimer : I don't want to glorify anything, it's about the actors who play a role, not the real events.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was dark and evening was coming over the small town when she was still awake in her room. She heard the talk of her family and her parents' friends from downstairs in the living room. The evening had been nice, but it quickly became boring and worrying about political issues with her uncle was too much for her. That's why she went upstairs to her room relatively quickly.

But that was not the reason why she was sitting on her bed, her notebook in one hand and the phone with the answering machine in the other. ,,Hey Y/n uh Euronymous here...listen if you're up for a party come by today" she played his voice again and ran over the small keys before she took her pen and continued writing the sentence she had interrupted.

She knew that the band founder must have looked up her address in the phone book. But although it was funny, she found it rather amusing. ,,The eternal blue in the darkness," she finished the sentence and looked at her window. She saw that the darkness was around her and that the moon and the streetlights illuminated the night.

She knew that she had nothing better to do that evening than to write down her fascination for the black-haired man. ,,You'd better be there," she murmured as she put the phone down on the bed and threw her notebook into her small bag.

Before she got up from her bed and went to her wardrobe. Knowing that she was still in the sleepwear she had wrapped herself in to end her evening early, she knew she had to change to probably get into the party. Lifting her clothes from left to right through her wardrobe, she finally decided on a black top and a simple but tighter fitting pair of leather trousers. 

It was late summer and still relatively warm in the evening, so she reached for her short leather jacket before grabbing her bag and heading downstairs. Slipping on her boots, she saw her family through the doorframe, still sitting at the table. Laughing and playing cards. ,,I'm off again!" she called inside before opening the door and hearing another ,,All right, have fun darling" from her mother before the door closed and she walked down the street towards the town where her destination was.

On her way through the shadows and the short light levels of the street lamps she hardly met any people. Most of the inhabitants were either already asleep, at home or in clubs in larger cities. But she wouldn't be alone for long when she saw the record shop at the end of the street that ended in an intersection.

A small smile of relief crept onto her lips, knowing that she didn't have to walk around alone in the dark anymore. Finally arriving at the shop, she opened the door before stepping inside and, to her surprise, pretending there was no one inside.

Walking through the shelves and leaning slightly over the bars she saw that there was no one sitting in the beanbag or lying in the bed above. ,,Was he kidding me?" she mumbled questioningly before her gaze caught on a doorway that had been lightly covered with a long black sheet.

Looking around one last time and jumping over her shadow, she decided to move on. The party must be in the basement she thought as she pulled aside the curtain and started to walk down a few stairs when she heard music and chatter.

Going down another set of stairs at a slight angle she came to a relatively large basement with white stone walls lightly hung with chains, posters and the name of the band Mayhem in black paint all over them. She knew she was in the right place.

Looking around she saw the scattered candles whose wax had already melted into a small white mass on the floor, a torture device also stood in the corner and for a moment she wondered if she had underestimated Euronymous. ,,If that's not the doll, what are you doing here?" she heard the voice of the brown-haired man from last time. She saw him take a sip of his beer before she saw the armour he was wearing.

It seemed homemade but it didn't make him any less funny. ,,Do you want a beer daisy?" asked Faust who she recognised walking over to the beer crate on the floor and looking at her.

Thanking him, she took it and looked around slightly for help when she realised she didn't have a beer opener. She saw the brown-haired man coming towards her again, along with a few others. She saw him suddenly pull out a knife and for a moment she feared the worst.

But he took the beer from her and opened the lid with the knife before giving it back to her harder than necessary. ,,She's here because I invited her, Varg," she finally heard Euronymous' voice coming from the basement. Whistles and laughter went through the group and she noticed the writing on the wall.

The inner circle was black and slowly she had the feeling that she had stepped into something she didn't understand. ,,So this is some kind of club?" she asked and took a sip of the beer, watching Varg look at his friends as if there was an open secret between them all. Before Euronymous walked over and stood by her before putting his arm around her.

She felt herself getting more nervous, took another sip of the alcohol and she swore that he must feel her fast heartbeat. ,,You could say that...but that's not why I wanted you to come" he told her and pulled her closer. She saw his friends instantly start to cheer as he pushed her towards the stairs.

Not hard but protective as if to get her away from his band and his group. Before he broke away from her he pulled the curtain closed behind him and gave her a slightly apologetic look. ,,Sorry all too drunk" he mumbled before his eyes fell on the large beanbag and she saw the various films someone had laid out.

Walking over to the VHS tapes she looked through the films, all of which were horror films. ,,Thought maybe a movie and some good music would be better than being puked on downstairs," he suggested and watched as he walked over to her holding a small tape recorder. Picking out Friday the Thirteenth, she put in the VHS tape and sat down next to Euronymous on the beanbag.

What she thought would be an unpleasant situation turned out differently. Watching the film together, they soon found themselves talking about the film, the music, the gore and the murders. How he listened to her with a slight smile as she talked about her favourite slashers. The fascination and interest in his gaze that was directed at her.

How he put his arm around her again and giggled when she flinched at a jumpscare and held on to him. Feeling her cheeks heat up and giving him a nervous smile as she took another sip of her beer and looked back at the screen. Approaching the climax of the film, she barely noticed how he placed the headphones on her head, muffled in his awareness of her surroundings.

Before, only a moment later, she flinched in shock as the loud music hit her ears. Looking at Euronymous curiously, he handed her a cassette and she saw the Mayhem logo on the cover. He's showing me his music, she said, closing her eyes for a moment to hear the different instruments, voices and sounds.

As far as the music was concerned, she was relatively new, having only listened to it from time to time, having been to a few clubs. But the music was good more than good. The hard loud fast sounds paired with the fantastic voice of the singer. Immersed in the music, she suddenly felt him put a hand on her cheek and pull her closer.

Opening her eyes, she saw at the last moment how he came closer to her, overcoming the last few centimetres between them before she felt his lips on hers. To her surprise, he was gentle and even gave her time to pull away, but she did not. Maybe she had lost herself in the music or in him. Maybe she had lost her heart to him but she returned the kiss.

Her hands went to his body and held on tightly, feeling his hand pulling her hair even closer. Heard his fingers playing with the thin straps of her top, seemingly wanting to pull her down at any moment.

She gasped as he playfully pulled her hair and pushed her down onto the floor, off the beanbag that was not suitable for this. She heard him smirk at her reaction and, as if in a trance, her fingers stroked any skin she could get her hands on under his shirt. ,,Do you like what you see?" she heard him purr and was about to reply when they suddenly heard a ,,Shit this is going to be good porn" from Varg.

The black-haired man rose from her and helped her sit up before they both turned to the doorway and saw the group standing there with big grins. She saw the somehow proud grin of Euronymous and despite everything she couldn't help but giggle.

Before she decided to end it, she stood up and took the walkman with her. Giving Euronymous a wink before saying, ,,Thanks for your time...and for this, we'll see you again," she said goodbye with a smile and a wave before walking out of the shop.

Outside, she put on her headphones again and continued to play the music before happily walking home, moving her head slightly to the music. Knowing that she would have to go to the Mayhem founder's parties more often now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[th3w00ds]

Hey I know it says your requests are open but I wanted to double check if they are? Also I saw your post for Noah and not gonna lie I really like him so I was wondering if I could request something with him? But I hope you have a good day and or night!

Yesss they are open!! Here it is!!

All We Seem to Do Is Lose

@namelessmunster @nwtbobsessedemo @colourfulmes @bondoes-art @themoonisrotting

Title From: Now or Never by Three Days Grace

Fandom: Youtuber Egos

AU: None

A/N: Noah!!! The ghost guy!! I wanted to write for him and this was an excuse to do so- also sorry if the bits of dialogue that were lyrics from Phasmophobia the Musical are weird or anything, I tried to make them fit T-T

Content Warnings: Graphic violence, blood, injury, gore, disturbing imagery

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

A group of ghost hunters, two men, Sam and Dean, and one woman, Jo, walked towards the two story house that a ghost was rumored to inhabit. They had left their designated ‘van man,’ Hud, in their truck to monitor them, relay info to them and to make sure nothing bad happened to them while they worked.

“You guys ready for this?” Dean asked the other two, shifting on his feet and running a hand through his hair. Jo nodded, also bouncing on her feet.

“It’s not gonna be that bad, Dean. It’s probably just a Poltergeist or something,” Sam said as they walked. He went ahead of Dean and Jo, opening the door to the house. “Candygram for Noah Walker!” Sam shouted.

“You’re about twenty years too late,” Jo said, shaking her head, “this guy died a long time ago.” 

Dean, who was already on his way upstairs, spoke into his walkie-talkie. “Run that profile again for us, Hud.” 

“The ghost’s name is Noah Walker. Elderly, probably shy, and moderately dangerous.” Hud explained, with all of their radios connected to the van so they all could communicate with Hud and each other. 

“And hopefully, photogenic!” Sam joked. 

“Yeah, Sam, joke about it all you want. That’ll help us get the job done,” Dean grunted into the radio. 

“Once we’ve determined its classification, it’ll be relatively harmless. Using its name should help neutralize it,” Hud added. 

“Copy that,” Dean said, looking around the second floor of the house with his flashlight. Sam and Jo were downstairs doing their sweep. 

“There are some scratches on the walls,” Sam said, taking a photo of them. Dean sniffed the air, and his nose involuntarily twitched in response to the smell.

“Sulfur’s in the air.” He said, continuing to look around. 

“Noted. Could it be a Demon then?” Hud speculated aloud. Jo looked in the kitchen for a specific item, and found it. Bottles of salt. She walked upstairs, and poured out the salt onto the floor, placing a device on the wall as well. 

“I don’t know, but I’ve got some salt spread on the second floor, plus a sonic sensor,” Jo said, “If it comes through here, we’ll know,” The EMF detector she had in her pocket suddenly started making a high pitched noise, and she looked at it for a moment. “The EMF is green.” 

“Okay… not too bad yet,” Sam stated. 

“Something tells me we’re going to be here a while,” Dean said right as Sam interjected, “The temperature is falling!” A phone close to Dean began to ring, and he picked it up, holding it to his ear. There was nobody on the other end. “Are one of you calling? Don’t prank me during the middle of a job,”

Jo had set up multiple cameras around the upstairs, faintly hearing the ringing phone from the room she supposed Dean was in. “Cameras are rolling, now we finally might catch this ghost on film,” 

As Dean walked into a bigger space, the lights in the house started to flicker. “Anybody got eyes on the fuse box?” 

Hud chuckled, “A little darkness never killed anyone!”

“Spoken like someone hiding in a well lit mini-van!” Sam pointed out. 

Dean walked around the room more, and found a sink filled with water, about to overflow. He turned off the tap, and radioed it to his teammates. “The sink upstairs was turned on. Had to be our ghost, since Jo is out in the hall and Sam is downstairs, right Hud?” 

No answer from Hud. Apparently that wasn’t an important enough question for their resident bookworm to answer.

When Jo looked back at the salt pile, she saw a footprint in it. Noah! “Footprints in the salt, I repeat, footprints in the salt.” 

Sam, who was exploring downstairs, had heard something thud behind a dresser. He reached behind it, and grasped at something. Sam managed to pull it out, and saw that it was a bone. “I have a sneaking suspicion that someone here was into the occult,” 

“Occult? Seriously?” Dean said. “This guy’s a nutjob then,” 

“Activity in your proximity!” Hud suddenly said through the radio, “Hey, look alive guys, this party’s just begun!” 

Dean, Sam and Jo all ran back to the entrance of the house. Sam was running through a separate room far from the entrance, and Dean and Jo had run into each other upstairs. Sam attempted to open the door, but it was locked. 

“Guys! The door is locked!” Sam said. 

“No time for games! Call out its name!” Dean shouted at Sam. Sam opened the door, and let out a scream as something attacked him. When Dean and Jo heard it, there was no mistaking it. 

It was Sam. 

He had to be dead. 

Jo hit her head against the wall behind her, and Dean flinched. This ghost, this… Noah Walker had taken their friend from them. 

They went to go find Sam’s body, and they did. It was right next to the dresser and bone that he had found. Jo took a photo of his body, and Hud talked to them again. 

“Wasn’t a Demon, huh?” 

“Negative,” Jo replied, lighting a candle, “It sure wanted us in the dark though.”

“Huh. Looks like we might be hunting a Mare then,” Hud said. 

Dean, who was sitting beside Sam’s body, spoke up. “Something isn’t right… where did we go wrong?” 

“Let me see your light,” Jo said, holding her hand open for Dean’s light. She shined it on the floor, and it looked as though there were fingerprints. “Were these prints here all along?” They got up and followed the trail of fingerprints, leading them up the stairs, but Jo didn’t notice that Dean turned back. 

“I’ve got a view of ghostly orbs near you! But watch your back cuz the hunt has just begun,” Hud said. “All the evidence points to one fact. We’ve got a Poltergeist who’s on the attack!”

Jo followed the fingerprints into a normal looking room, where they suddenly stopped. She looked around, confused.

Dean was downstairs, flipping through his book on ghosts. All the signs seemed to fit the description of a Poltergeist, like Hud had said. 

“Say its name!” Dean said into the radio, just to hear Jo’s frantic screaming from upstairs. He quickly rushed up to help her, and entered the room she had followed the prints to. Jo had a deep gash in her chest, with blood splattered on the rest of her. 

Without thinking, Dean turned on his radio, and snapped at Hud. “I thought this thing was a Poltergeist!”

“It is! The only type that leaves ghost orbs and fingerprints.”

“And typically a mess the size of New Jersey!” Dean shouted, knocking over objects on top of a desk, which shattered when they fell to the floor. 

Dean opened his journal again. “What could we have missed?! Every page of this thing is a waste!” He exclaimed, ripping apart the journal and throwing the paper to the ground. 

Hud started talking again. “Another ghost exists that’s quite unlike any kind we’ve faced, you know. It’s freezing cold and several centuries old-“ 

Sam suddenly snapped awake. The EMF reader that Jo had accidentally left next to him was beeping, and it was… red. Oh no. Oh no no no no no. He looked around the room, and then something appeared on the wall. 

I LIED.

“-it leaves both prints and orbs, or so I’ve long been told!” 

Sam got up and started to run to the van, but tripped and fell. He grunted, but crawled onwards, and finally reached the van. He let out a sickened gasp at what he saw. 

Hud was dead, killed the same way Jo was. His torso was sliced clean open, and the body still held his radio in his radio in his right hand. He had probably been dead since they left their van. 

“Burn all your smudging sticks, destroy that crucifix, put out the candle wicks, and once you’re done…” Hud continued to explain to Dean.

“What now?” Dean asked Hud. 

“Say its name,” he replied. 

Sam struggled to get to his feet, running back to the house. The door was locked. Sam could only watch as Dean did what Hud- no, Noah- instructed.

“Noah Walker, you will meet your end!” Dean shouted into the empty house. 

“Louder!” Hud encouraged him.

“Noah Walker, you’ve murdered my friends!” 

“AGAIN!”

“Enter this place! Show me your face! Noah Walker!” Dean finished his reprieve, not hearing Sam banging on the front door, trying to get in. 

‘Hud’ burst out into a fit of manic laughter.

“HAHAHA! Excellent! That was perfection!” He said. 

“Now what?” Dean asked into his radio, his voice dripping with contempt for the ghost that had killed his friends.

“Now..” ‘Hud’ said, his voice was cracking from being filtered through the radio, but what he said next was clear. “I kill you.” 

Dean turned around, feeling a presence behind him. A figure leapt as him, tearing his chest open as if it was opening a birthday present. Dean felt pain, and his body twitched- this time not from the smell of sulfur, but from the fact his guts were being torn out by a ghost. 

He kept twitching, too. That look in his eyes… it was something that Noah particularly enjoyed. The look of not being able to save yourself, not being able to end the pain- it was glorious. 

Noah relished in it. Three kills in one night, with one more about to be added to that counter. Sam was still banging on the door.

Poor Sam, his friends murdered by a centuries old spirit. Not that Noah felt sympathy towards him.

Noah got up, his fingers and clothes still stained with the blood of Hud, Jo and Dean. He calmly walked up to the front door, and opened it.

“I didn’t invite any visitors tonight,” he said, grinning at the sight of Sam’s horror stricken face. “Oh, hey Sam! Come on in, I wanna show you something!” 

Noah grabbed the trembling ghost hunter’s collar and dragged him inside, slamming the door shut and locking it. 

He threw Sam to the ground, placing a boot on his chest. 

“So… how does it feel? Knowing that your friends are dead? That you, oh poor, poor you, couldn’t save them?”Noah taunted. “Yeah, I killed your little van guy first, Hud was his name right? You guys are so gullible, actually believing my act as him! As soon as you left that van I killed him, and you didn’t notice. How does that feel?” He laughed. “Good?” 

“How… how could you?!” Sam shouted, trying to pull Noah’s foot off of him, “HOW COULD YOU KILL MY FRIENDS LIKE THAT?!”

“Calm down, boy. This is just a normal Tuesday night for me!” Noah said. Sam struggled as Noah pressed his boot into his chest, harder, and harder, holyshitithurtsomuchMAKEITSTOPMAKEITSTOPPLEASEPLEASE-

Crunch. 

Noah laughed as he looked at Sam’s corpse, moving his boot up and away from the hunter’s currently caved in chest. 

He deeply inhaled, then sighed, running his hand through his hair. Noah would leave the door open, leading to someone coming in and seeing the bodies, calling the police, and eventually word would reach more investigators. That was if Noah cared enough to stay in this house for long. 

Maybe an extra week or two to see if anyone found ‘em. 

[blackjackkent]

Here we are!

It's as pleasant an atmosphere as you'd expect. The air has a greenish tinge to it and there's a distant, sourceless hum all around. Flocks of agitated bats flit around the ceiling.

There are several thralls wandering the building, mopping and cleaning and mumbling to themselves. All of their names start with V, which feels a little on the nose.

"The master is pure," one of them mumbles as Hector approaches. "His palace must be pure. No stain. No smudge. No taint. Pure."

They're not paying super good attention though because Hector was able to steal a giant painting off the wall and it wasn't even treated as stealing by the game, let alone by the house's inhabitants.

There is a lower floor to check out, plus a few side rooms on the floor where we came in, and... this:

That seems fine. Let's look at literally anything else first.

A man named Vilhelm approaches the group as we start to head for the stairs. I was originally going to describe him as a thrall, but his eyes aren't red, which leads me to believe he might actually be in control of himself here, oddly enough.

"Another guest for the master's celebration? I'm afraid you're too late, you'll have to--" he begins, then double-takes. "Master Astarion? What are you doing here? Why aren't you downstairs?"

Hector may be bad at lying, but to Astarion it comes like breathing, flows out of him like water. "Well, obviously I'm on my way down now," he answers smoothly without missing a beat. "So if you could just point us in the right direction..."

Vilhelm looks, if anything, more alarmed. "But you're too late. The doors have been sealed - the ritual is about to begin!"

Gods, Hector thinks grimly. We really could not have cut this any closer, could we? Even if he was good at subtlety, it seems as if the time for it may rapidly be running out.

He looks steadily at the man, raises one eyebrow, and says firmly. "Take my advice. Run. Get out of here while you still can." If this man truly isn't a vampire (yet), he'll give him one chance to leave.

But Vilhelm doesn't take it.

"Abandon the master?" he says, baffled. "At his moment of triumph? What is wrong with you?" He flicks a glare at Astarion. "Do you wish to spite him again?"

Shaking his head, he begins to back away. "I do not have any more time to waste. There is too much to do. Too much to prepare."

Turning, he darts away down the corridor.

------

"Damn," Hector mutters.

"We were all like that," Astarion says bitterly. "Not even a moment of rebellion. We could no more stand against him than we could fly. Impossible. Not even worth thinking about."

Hector gives him a sideways look. "You're not going back to that," he says quietly. "You make your own calls now. Whatever happens here, you're free already - we're just confirming it."

"I know," Astarion snaps derisively. "Don't waste our time stating the obvious." But there is a hint of agitation in the way his eyes flick around the room, taking in every detail, watching every shadow, that leads Hector to believe he might have needed to hear it more than he let on.

[dilf-din]

Safe Place to Land: Part 9

—A Frankie Morales Story—

WC: 2500

Warnings: none, brief alcohol mention, fluff fluff fluff

A/N: I hate to give anything away, but friends, we have made it to the wedding chapter! If you want to see my Pinterest board for their special day, it’s linked here. Enjoy!!

Saturday February 7, 2009

The clock crept past midnight so quickly. Then one, two, and finally three. You found yourself stretched out across a plush bed atop the covers with Sadie by your side. Your hand idly picking at a loose thread on the blue plaid comforter. The rough wood of the walls decorated with artwork of bears and moose you could only assume came from the home goods store in town. Sadie’s parents had graciously lent you their cabin for your bachelorette weekend. You had spent the night binging junk food, drinking pink cocktails, and singing loudly to Taylor Swift. Marissa and your two cousins were fast asleep in the two bedrooms across the hall. A few cabins down, Frankie and his boys were having their bachelor weekend. Some friends of Sadie’s parents chipping in their own cabin for the cause. You planned on spending the day together tomorrow snowboarding and grilling dinner together. It was nice knowing he was just around the corner.

Your head buzzed slightly from the alcohol, eyes burning from the sheer exhaustion of staying up way too late. Sadie was zoned out on her phone, mindlessly scrolling through Facebook. You wiggled the covers down with your legs and snuggled beneath them, Sadie wordlessly following suit.

“Did you have a good time tonight?” she asked, turning her body to plug her phone in to charge for a few hours before cradling a pillow in her arms and facing you.

“No, I’m miserable, I hate being in the mountains with my favorite people,” you jested.

“Shut up,” she breathed a small laugh. “It’s crazy to think about the first time you ever came to stay here with us,” she said softly.

“We were, what, ten?”

She wrinkled her nose, “Yeah because I had those horrible hangs that Robby P teased me about.”

You giggled, “They were just like a centimeter too short.”

“Frankie loved you even then,” she said with a gentle smile.

Your cheeks warmed, partially from the tequila, but mostly from the thought of the man who inhabited your thoughts, who had walked through fire with you. The man whose laugh captivated you, whose arms were like a fortress against the chaos of the world.

You felt your eyes drifting closed as the thought of him enveloped you like a warm blanket, a covering of familiarity and peace.

You awoke to a familiar voice calling your name.

“Beunos días mi esposa hermosa,” Frankie sang, rolling his weight on top of you, straddling the lump of your body from where it was curled beneath the blankets.

“Hey, you can’t call me that till next week,” you smiled sleepily, turning your body to face him. “What are you doing here so early.”

“First, it’s almost noon,” he laughed, “And second, the guys are downstairs making breakfast so we can get ready to go.”

You reached a hand up to cradle his jaw and he leaned into the touch, pressing a scruffy kiss to your palm. “How long did you guys stay up last night?”

“Too long,” he said with a groan, drawing a giggle from you.

“Same here.”

He leaned down for a tender kiss, “Get dressed and let’s go eat.”

The sound of raucous laughter and silverware clinking drew you down the stairs, the smooth wood of the bannister familiar beneath your fingertips as you ascended. The Miller brothers were roughhousing in the middle of the living room, Will easily holding Benny in a headlock. Santiago and Sadie were arguing about how to make better pancakes. Frankie stood in the middle refereeing both fights. He had asked Tom to be in the wedding party, but he had a Valentine’s Day trip planned with Molly so it ended up just being the other three boys.

You took a seat next to Marissa and started to pile a plate with eggs and bacon.

“Listen, OW!” Santi started shooting a look at Sadie who had elbowed him in the ribs.

“Tell us which pancakes you like better,” Sadie blurted.

“But you can’t know whose are whose first,” Santi tagged on.

A bemused look crossed your face as you fished one from each pile and carefully took a bite. You looked solemnly between the piles before holding up your winner.

Santi yelped in victory while Sadie gasped, “TRAITOR.”

“Sorry,” you laughed, “A like ‘em a little underdone.”

“Told you,” Santi gloated.

“Oh whatever,” Sadie huffed turning to tackle the pile of dishes in the sink.

You cocked your head, shooting your eyes at Sadie and back to Santi. He shook his head no a little too enthusiastically. You shrugged and lathered your plate in maple syrup, the heavy food hitting to absorb the mild hangover you were facing. Maybe spending the day on bright white slopes reflecting the sun wasn’t your best idea so far. You were sure to get some complaints on the back end for the headaches endured today.

Marissa leaned her head on your shoulder and you pressed a kiss to her the very top.

“How did you sleep?” you asked through a bite of bacon.

“Like a rock,” she smiled into your shoulder, “Those beds are comfy as hell.”

“The Becks are loaded,” you said with emphasis on the last word, “I’m still not sure what Sadie’s dad does for a living,” you laughed.

“Well it was really nice of them to let us all stay here,” she smiled lifting her head from your shoulder. “I’m gonna go shower before we head out.”

“Make sure you dry your hair!” you called after her.

Frankie slid into the empty space next to you almost instantly. This time you were the one who leaned into his shoulder.

“Mmmm, I missed you last night. Sadie doesn’t hold me like you do.”

He chuckled and nuzzled into your hair.

“Yeah but Santi snores like you.”

“Oh so you felt right at home.”

He snickered into your hair.

“They seem to be getting along,” you gestured at Santi and Sadie.

“It’s because they’re the same person.”

“What have we done,” you said in mock horror.

“I’m glad they’re having fun,” he smiled.

In that moment, everything started to feel more real. The threads of your lives pulling together in clean, even stitches. The edges matching up like they were always made to be one seamless piece. Not impervious to rips or tears, but able to be mended with steady hands and patience. The people who held you both together when you were apart together in one room felt more right than either of you could put words to. Frankie’s hand found your thigh and gave it a squeeze, a simple touch telling you his mind was on the same page as usual.

Saturday, February 14 2009

Today was the day. The morning slipped through your fingers. Hair and makeup were a blur. You heard the photographer guiding you through portraits with your bridesmaids, but you could only think of one thing, or one person, rather.

The bridal party was gathered in a small suite near the door leading out into the ceremony area.

“You look beautiful,” Benny smiled at you, holding his hand out so you could spin and show off every angle of your dress. “I might have to steal a dance.”

“There’s always room on my card for you, Ben,” you smiled back.

You smoothed out the front of your skirt, butterflies starting to take over as you waited for the last few minutes to tick by. The two of you had opted to not do a first look so you were eager to get to your groom. The silver bracelet your dad had left you for Christmas hanging from your wrist right below the end of your sleeve. The dress you fell in love with wasn’t too extravagant, it had a sweetheart neckline with long, lace sleeves embroidered with delicate flowers. The skirt fanned out just enough for your taste. In your hair, you wore a golden clip with emerald accents to match the deep green dresses of the bridesmaids. The boys were in classic black suits with emerald green ties and socks. Frankie’s suit was a deep green velvet and you were itching to see him in it.

The music for the procession pulled you from your thoughts as your friends paired up to walk down the aisle before you. Will and your cousin Lydia were the last to head out before you. Your mom took your hand in hers, smiling deeply.

“You ready?”

“Yeah,” you smiled back.

“I always knew it would be him,” she said fondly.

“Me too.”

When given your cue, the two of you stepped out the double doors and made your way down the stone path. The air was chilly as the sun was gearing up to sing its swan song for the evening. Your heart was beating so hard you could feel it in your ears making everything fuzzy, then you saw him, and all you knew was peace. The stirring in your soul breathed a sigh of relief as you made your way to him, your Frankie. Handsome as ever. His mouth agape as he took you in. Your mother kissed your cheek and exited to her seat, Frankie swallowed down a lump as you linked your arm with his to take those last few steps together. Sadie reached out the take your bouquet into her hands, her eyes brimming with tears already. You smiled at her and turned back to face Frankie.

You stood hand in hand, savoring the feel of his skin on yours, drinking in the way his brown eyes sparkled golden under the glow of the lights. His lip trembled slightly, but enough for you to notice as you listened to the minister prattle on about love and devotion.

“The couple has chosen to recite their own vows, Francisco, you may start,” he announced with a smile.

Frankie drew in a deep breath, pulling a small stack of papers out of his inner breast pocket. He spoke your name with a tremor in his voice then paused before continuing with more composure.

“My love, mi amor. I have longed for this day since we were children, even then, I completely underestimated what it would feel like to be standing before you in this moment, glowing the way that you do, looking at me so softly like only you can. You see straight through me, through all of the walls and fronts. You push right to the root of the problem every time, and then you help me climb my way out, hand in hand.

You are the light I chase after when the clouds start to roll in. You are the joy in every day, even when we are apart. When I am spiraling and feel like I’m out of control, I know you’re my safe place to land.

I will spend every day of my life knowing how lucky I am to have been chosen by you. I vow to protect and honor you. To keep you safe and warm. To uplift you when things get heavy, to always stay by your side.

I am yours. Always.”

Halfway through you were both pouring tears. Behind him, Benny was silently bawling, wiping tears away with his fingers.

You smiled and took in your own shaky breath before looking down at the words you had carefully scrawled out weeks ago.

“Francisco, Frankie, my love. I could stand here and list the countless reasons I love you, and honestly I thought about it, but I didn’t want to keep everyone captive here for a month. So I settled on a few of my favorite things.

You single-handedly taught me what it means to be loved fully. You have patched me up so many times in the decade and a half I’ve had the pleasure of knowing you. You are always patient, always kind, always understanding. Even the smallest of my problems you handle with such care. You make me feel beautiful, you make me feel worthy, you make me feel like I can do anything. Your encouragement has gotten me through some of my darkest days. I only have you to thank for drawing out the best parts of me.

Our road has not been an easy one, but my love, it has been worth it. Waiting for you is something I do gladly every time you leave, because the joy in my life when you are beside me is like no other. I vow to always be here for you to come home to, to care for you day and night, no matter where in the world you are. I promise to weather any storm with you, and to always follow where you lead. Always.”

With your vows spoken, you both wordlessly extended your pinkies to seal it with a promise.

You exchanged rings with laughs and tears falling simultaneously. When you were finally free to kiss and embrace, you almost leapt to him to close the gap. Cheers and whistles filled the air but the only sound you would remember twenty years from now is the way he whispered, “I love you, Mrs. Morales,” into your mouth, pressing another kiss to your lips to seal it there.

The next few hours passed in a blur as you were rushed off to pictures of just the two of you. After the wedding party was announced, you ate as quickly as you could seated at a long table with the rest of your friends. The moon, the tall green candles, and the lights hanging from the trees casting an ethereal glow on the whole evening.

When the time came for dancing, everyone migrated to the gazebo. Warm lights wrapped around each column, candles lining the front and back steps up to the floor. Sadie and Santi sat side by side on a pair of stools in front of the bar. Santi had a beautiful dark guitar slung across his lap. They had worked Till Kingdom Come into a ballad slow enough to dance to and offered to perform it as a duet for your first dance.

Santi’s low voice sang out as he carefully strummed the melody. Sadie’s voice blending beautifully as she harmonized. They had been practicing for weeks and it sounded incredible. Frankie held you close in the middle of the floor and you let the song wash over you. The feelings of love and community thick around you. These were your people. They had fought alongside you to get you to this moment. Both of your hearts were full to bursting the whole evening.

They sang the last lines alternating on and off, like lovers in dialogue, promising each other forever.

Just say you’ll wait, you’ll wait for me

Just say you’ll wait, you’ll wait for me

Taglist: @littlenosoul @mirasantidotes @certifiedhunter @daff0dilfs @rav3n-pascal22 @evitamarija @reiya-djarin @wonwoosthetic @djarinsstuff @sotvtaughtmehowtofeel @k-k0129 @casa-boiardi @coureurs-de-bois9

[sinclair-enterprises]

Arcane 3:10 To Yuma AU 1/?

Ekko kicked through the entrance to The Last Drop, the saloon doors swinging wildly as he briskly strode inside.

“Smeech!” The name reverberated in throughout the silent establishment. It was then that Ekko noticed the venue was surprisingly empty. Typically around noon there'd be at least some of the local rail workers sitting around chewing peanuts and chugging down whiskey with their spare company pay. Now, though, the saloon was devoid of any inhabitants. The slimy businessman had said he would be here. Where was he?

A quick survey of the room revealed tables and chairs set up to accommodate the Last Drop's usual clientele. Ekko noted glasses half empty left next to cheap playing cards, the latter spread out as if the players had just been there. The bar itself was also left unattended, an unthinkable occurrence given the steely professionalism drilled into the staff by the establishment's upper management.  Quite simply, the whole thing felt off. The sudden opening of a door from somewhere behind and above him immediately put him on alert, although it was only at the sound of a very familiar voice that the hair at the back of his head stood on end.

"Look a little bent, rancher."

Ekko furiously whirled around, shotgun aimed at the upper floor of the saloon from where the sultry words had been uttered.  

The sight of bright blue hair neatly kept in its usual twin braids all but confirmed the presence of the morning's unwanted interloper. Blue eyes gazed down at him from a lightly freckled face stretched out into a rather characteristic feral grin.

"You here to wake some snakes?"

It was then that movement behind her caused Ekko to refocus and notice the sheepish form of the Last Drop's current bartender in the midst of hurriedly buttoning up his shirt. Thieram, something or other. Not that Ekko had ever paid him much attention. Now the rancher noted the barkeep's disheveled appearance, so at odds with his usual carefully tailored countenance. The younger man shrank back from Ekko's scrutiny, a blush blooming on his flushed cheeks. From the corner of his eyes the rancher noticed Jinx's grin growing wider.

Ah.

"Uh, you want something to drink, sir?" the bartender asked hesitantly.

"No thanks," Ekko replied without looking at Thieram. His eyes tracked the blue-haired gunslinger as she moved to go downstairs. Her gun belt and holster were swiftly strapped on as she softly made her way down the steps, signature white bowler hat set on her head only once she'd reached eye level with him.

Ekko remained silent. His eyes hardened as Jinx sauntered towards the bar. Distantly he noted the irregular metallic clicking of her spurs hitting the hardwood floor.

"You got your horses back, didn'tcha? And your cattle?"

He backed up a couple steps, hands holding tightly to the shotgun at his waist. As if it would do him any good.

"Yeah, I got my horses back. But you killed two of my herd."

Jinx stopped within arm's reach of Ekko, leaning against the bar while she straightened out her ruffled vest. Her eyes issued a silent challenge as she unflinchingly returned his stare.

"Hell, they died for a good cause."

Her flippant remark only caused him to narrow his eyes further.

Jinx rolled her eyes and threw her head back in exasperation.

"Alright, alright. But you know, them beeves of yours... they wouldn't even have fed a hungry dog. Tell you what-" here she slid an assortment of coins at him from a white leather pouch-"that should cover it?"

Ekko continued to regard her in silence.

"How much you get for a day's work, Ekko?"

"Two dollars, when I hire out," he responded.

"Well, there's two dollars for half a day."

Two more dollar coins slid his way across the bar.

He hesitated slightly before forcing himself to pocket the money, the metal feeling unusually cool in his hands.

From the corner of his eye he noticed a shadow passing across one of the windows. The unmistakable silhouette of a Winchester flitted over the saloon's translucent curtains.

They know she's here.

He looked sharply back to Jinx, who had turned her attention to the many bottles decorating the wall. No doubt she was wondering which one to make off with. Completely oblivious. A part of Ekko tugged at him to warn her, to hide her from the crooked local sheriff and his loathsome deputies like they did for each other when they were little. But they weren't kids anymore, and she was the furthest thing from his friend. Even if the law wasn't all it was cracked up to be in Bisbee, she would still face what she deserved.

But does she deserve it?

Ekko grit his teeth.

"You took up my boy's time, too," he said harshly.

Jinx turned back to him, chewing thoughtfully on her tongue.

"You're right. I did."

The clinking of metal preceded the appearance of a further two dollar coins on the weathered bar countertop. Jinx slid them over more forcefully, eyes trained on Ekko's face the entire time. He slowly gathered up the money and pocketed it as well.

By this time Thieram had made it halfway down the steps, his nervous eyes flicking between the gunslinger and the rancher. Ekko refused to acknowledge him.

The rancher's attention was called back to Jinx as she pulled on her overcoat.

"Anything else you wanna get paid for, Ekko?" she asked bemusedly.

"Give me five dollars extra."

Jinx huffed and crossed her arms.

"And what's that for?"

"For makin' me nervous."

She shook her head tiredly and was on the point of responding when the loud cocking of a gun made her freeze.

"Hands up, outlaw."

[silvervulture1021]

Employment: chapter one

(I wrote this for @hollowsart this is based on their universe for the spiderman characters. Silvia Rhode is my OC. Everything else is theirs. Enjoy!!’

Silvia Rhode had always wanted a job at Oscorp, but she never expected it to happen. Her grandfather, Phineas Mason, was good friends with an employee named Otto Octavius. Silvia had met Otto a few times, and he decided to talk to Norman about hiring her. He was reluctant but gave in and hired her as Oscorp’s receptionist.

It wasn’t her preferred role, but she was just happy to be working here. Her job consisted of taking phone calls, greeting clients and employees, and filing paperwork for Norman. She decorated her desk with cute little animal figurines and plants. Of course one bowl of plants had a few little inhabitants. Thirteen little snails glided around the leafy bowl, wiggling their eye stalks happily. Next to them was a large candy bowl. Silvia always gave anyone who comes through those front doors a piece of candy. She had been working for about a week now.

The doors opened and Otto Octavius walked inside. “Good morning Ms. Rhode.” He greeted Silvia with a pleased smile. He held his hand out expectantly. Silvia smiled and placed an octopus shaped mint in his hand. “Good morning Dr. Octavius!” She replied back. “Mr. Osborn is waiting for you in the lab. Oh! He told me to give you these.” She handed him a folder with a smile.

“Thank you my dear, I’ll see you later!” He waved as he walked out. She went back to typing out reports on her computer. Norman had an appointment in an hour with Hammerhead. She smiled and got out a special sucker for him, a shark shaped on. She loved messing with him.

When Hammerhead walked in, she smiled brighter than the sun. Oh he knew. “What?” He snapped. She held her hand out, sucker grasped inside. “Here you go Mr. Hammerhead.” He took it from her, scowling. He pushed past and went to the elevator, pressing the top button. When he was alone, he smiled. He liked the little interactions with her.

Hammerhead stepped out, finding Norman’s office empty. He helped himself to Norman’s chair and started to eat the piece of candy. Norman walked in a few moments later. “Sorry I’m late- what's that?” he questioned, looking none too pleased.

“This? Piece of candy from your receptionist.” He answered. “She gives me one every time.” He finished it and threw it away. “Now, down to business. The big man wants to make you an offer.” He grinned.

The meeting ended shortly, with a very pleased Hammerhead leaving with a case of money. Norman came downstairs shortly after, fuming. He stormed over to the receptionist desk. “Ms. Rhode.” He said, in a threatening voice.

Silvia looked up at him. “Yes Mr. Osborn?” She did not like his tone of voice. Norman grabbed her hand and slammed it down on the desk, leaning in close. “This is a respectable business, Ms. Rhode. There is no room for childish antics in my company. This is your first and final warning: get rid of your filthy slimy snails and for the love of god no more candy!” He yelled, letting go of her hand.

As he walked off, tears ran down her face. Her first week and she was already on thin ice. She wiped her tears away and threw her candy away, and tucked the snail bowl under the desk. She’d bring them home on her lunch break. She was really upset. What a great start…

END CHAPTER ONE

[good-vibes-mostly]

Day 6: shy

((these ocs were tagged 'snip snip' before, but that's no longer relevant or valid to their story gahhhhh))

The front door of Newbie’s house opens and shuts, grabbing the attention of the current inhabitants of said house. Newbie looks towards their bedroom door, head tilting slightly. They’re listening to the sound of the footsteps, determining who it could be. 

“Oh,” says Newbie, a look of equal parts surprise and apprehension taking over their features, “my parents are home.”

They stand up, posture already settling into something a little less natural, a little more parent-friendly presentable. “You’ll have to take off your hat, they’re not a big fan of… hey, where’d you go?”

Goggles kid is gone. Just moments before, the dimension hopper was seated on his friend’s bed, but now he is nowhere to be found. 

Newbie opens their mouth, probably to call his name, but is sadly interrupted by the ringing of the bell installed above their door. They huff, but go downstairs all the same.

-

After they speak to their parents, -who only popped in to pick up a file from their office they’d forgotten- Newbie goes back to their room, only to find their best friend Goggles kid sitting sheepishly on the bed again, as if he never left.

They throw up their hands in a what the hell man? gesture.

Goggles kid shrugs helplessly. “... I got scared.”

[kinetic-elaboration]

I posted 2,129 times in 2022

498 posts created (23%)

1,631 posts reblogged (77%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@justbecauseyoubelievesomething

@princessrhcenyra

@kinetic-elaboration

@liftthesewingstofly

@bellamybb

I tagged 2,121 of my posts in 2022

#q - 1,013 posts

#art - 344 posts

#the year 2022 - 342 posts

#gif - 229 posts

#photography - 214 posts

#dracula daily - 193 posts

#2022: rl - 142 posts

#the 100 - 102 posts

#mundane - 91 posts

#2022: fandom thoughts - 76 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#but it's interesting that his natural tendencies are to be grim which is of course not the jim kirk stereotype cough cough at certain people

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

May 29: Murven, Lake

18 notes - Posted May 29, 2022

#4

January 9: Murven, Beach

22 notes - Posted January 10, 2022

#3

March 21: Bellarke, Dropship Night

44 notes - Posted March 21, 2022

#2

Shining Like the Good Part of a Bad Time

Bellamy-centric, Bellarke

9.7k

Rated T

Summary: Bellamy and the boys head down the coast on a whim, ready to have the best summer of their lives. They work tourist season jobs and hang out on the beach, listen to the rambling stories of their landlord, who owns the surf shop downstairs, and flirt with the locals.

Then one afternoon, at his job behind the counter of a record store, Bellamy meets a beautiful, rich, unattainable, ex-Daddy's girl, and for the rest of the summer, he can't get her out of his head.

READ ON AO3.

50 notes - Posted October 11, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

May 12: Random Dracula Thoughts

 Random list of things I’ve been really enjoying about Dracula:

That the catalyzing event of the narrative is “vampire wants to buy real estate.” That the first character we meet is just a young lawyer on a business trip. The combination of the horrific/magical with the business-like/mundane: the mythical creature, though he has inhuman powers and abilities, must still exist in the same world as any real people, buy things, own property, solicit legal advice.

All of the unspoken between Jonathan and Dracula. Jonathan knows he is kept captive and Dracula probably knows that Jonathan knows--he sets him up to know, because the knowledge is not a threat to him--and yet they continue conversing as normal. The psychological drama of it. The undercurrents of terror that then inevitably flow through the must ordinary topics of conversation or events.

That Dracula calls Jonathan his “friend,” and my weird suspicion that in a twisted way, he means it.

The framing of the creeping wrongness of the castle and its inhabitant through Jonathan’s journal. As I explained initially in the tags of my reblog of this post, we are with Jonathan intimately, in his head, reading his own words, and yet we are not with him in the present as events unfold. We are reading his purposefully mediated summary of his experiences--and his thoughts and his fears. If he cannot say something to himself, he cannot say it to us. So, quoting from my tags, when he does make a point explicitly, it is “because it’s so real and so unavoidable and so stark that he cannot look away from it even for his own peace of mind.” Stoker understands that there is another layer of knowledge necessary to name the unthinkable, to sit down and purposefully form the words and write them down, and that when people sit down to write up notes on their own lives, even just for themselves, they are by definition forming a narrative about themselves. The form is not just cursory, it shapes everything about how information is revealed and when--which is of course integral to horror.

The line “What manner of creature is it in the semblance of man?”

That at the center of this horror is Jonathan, alone in a distant place, with one other person, who might not be a person, having to be careful with every move, every sentence, not knowing when the “friend” captor might turn, his ability to reason clearly upended by his nocturnal existence and the very strangeness of his reality--”I am encompassed about with terrors that I dare not think of”--and how this is in many ways terribly familiar, particularly the part about helplessness in a world turned upside down.

(As an aside, about Dracula Daily specifically, “you’re going to stay with me another month” hits different when you know you can’t make that month go faster or slower for yourself by the pace of your reading. You’re gonna be in the castle with Dracula until June too!)

200 notes - Posted May 12, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[prolix-yuy]

Chapter 8: Until Dawn’s New Light

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: A rising sun. A tense meeting. An unexpected reunion. A goodbye.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, descriptions of sexual acts, allusions to sex.

Cross-posted on AO3

One Very Good Night Masterlist || I Think of You Series Masterlist

When you wake you’re alone, your hand hanging over the edge of the bed. You thought he might slip out while you were sleeping, but it still made you ache to realize it.

Sitting up makes muscles scream all over your body. Your hamstrings feel tight (he bent your knees up to your chest to fuck you deeper), lower back sore (from the force he pounded into you from behind) and a deep tightness in the joints of your hips (obviously).

You’ve slept enough to brave the world, so you gather up your things. Your clothes are folded neatly on top of the linen chest. The image makes your heart throb with sentimentality that you quickly push down. You slip your breast band over your head, but your underwear are nowhere to be found. Sighing, you pull on your pants and top while silently checking for bruises and marks on your body. You wanted a souvenir, a memory of this night, but Mando was careful with his strength.

It’s early enough that you don’t need to rush out, so you take your time tidying the space for Alyslibe’s next guest. She was kind enough to host you for the most mind-blowing night of your life, and at half price, you owe her one (you’ll never reveal why).

You gather the sheets up and carry them to the laundry room, then break into the cleaning supplies to freshen up the space. You’re humming even as your body pings and twinges with discomfort. The reminders make you smile to yourself, dirty little secrets.

Once the room looks like you never inhabited it, you grab your coat and venture downstairs to head back home. You were hoping for a quiet early departure, maybe a few words with Alysibe and a nod to Joeken if he was around. Your name being whined from the common room drops your stomach.

“Good morning, Jal,” you say with a tired smile as you watch Jalween barely lift her head from her cup of caf. The Twi’lek boy is nowhere to be found.

“Oh Maker, I’m never going to drink again,” she moans. You shake your head, this part of your outings not something you’re normally privy to. Her makeup is dark below her eyes and her hair looks finger combed into a semblance of neatness.

“Better take Alys up on breakfast then, something smells good in the kitchen.” You feel transformed since you last saw Jalween, taller, broader, grounded. You don’t want to say you got confidence fucked into you, but the boost to your ego helps.

“When my mouth stops tasting like a Bantha’s asshole I’ll consider it.” She looks up to you bleary-eyed. “Where’d you get off to last night?”

“I stayed here, too late to walk home.” A multitude of words want to crowd up behind your lips but you don’t say anything. Mando gave you his trust last night, and you were going to keep it safe with you. “You?”

“Had to listen to someone getting absolutely railed all night. I barely slept.” Jalween rests her head in her hand, looking slightly morose. “Good for her.”

(please Maker let me have a good poker face for once in my life)

You raise your eyebrows and nod, shifting your weight from foot to foot. Jalween isn’t even looking at you. You thank the stars for that.

“Well, I’m going to head out, do you want to walk back together?” You mean it sincerely. With all of Jalween’s annoyances and frustrations, she is still your oldest friend. You may not share what happened to you last night, but you could still be her shoulder to lean on.

“Nope, waiting for Benmar to get up. He’s got a speeder bike. He’s taking me into the city today to the shops. I told him I needed a new dress and he insisted we go to the best stores to find the perfect one.” She smiles and you feel like this is supposed to be a brag, that a handsome man is sweeping her off her feet while you watch from the sidelines.

(she likes it that way)

“Okay, well I’ll see you later then,” you say as you walk out of the common room and over to Alyslibe at the counter. Jalween returns to sulking into her caf and hums a goodbye. Alyslibe chats with you for a few minutes, asking about the restaurant (she’s happy for your promotion) and when you’ll be by next (you tease that you’ll repay her then - maybe with the honey loaf you'd been practicing). You let her know that the room is ready for guests (she’s grateful) and you move to head out the door. You catch her face crinkling up in confusion as you turn and come face to chestplate with Mando.

You feel your mouth drop open. You didn’t expect to see him again. You barely believed he wasn’t a dream you conjured up last night, your body’s protestations your only proof. You especially didn’t think you’d see him in bright daylight.

He’s slung some sort of weapon across his back and his thumb is looped into his belt. He stands with the self-assured posture of someone who can be wherever he wants whenever he wants and no one can tell him otherwise. With full light on him he looks less like a hulking shadow and more like a bounty hunter, present and concentrated, gleaming. The helmet you stared into is less expressive now. You begin to feel small again, dwarfed by the large presences in your life.

“I thought you might sleep more.” He speaks at a normal volume and you feel Alyslibe’s eyes burning holes into your skull.

(good thing I did all of that redemption cleanup, she’s going to damn me after this)

You clear your throat and try to tamp down your surprise.

“Wanted to get an early start back. Today’s shipment day and I’m needed at work early.” The nonchalance you put into your voice impresses you, and seems to impress Mando too. He takes a step towards you and the parallels between last night and now shoot a coil of excitement through your belly.

“I can walk you home, if you like.” Yes, yes you would like that immensely but Alyslibe’s eyes still on you remind you of who you are, where you are. A desert town with a Mandalorian escort would bring too much attention to you, too many questions.

(but do you care? Sounds exciting)

“Probably not the best idea. People would talk.” The words taste bitter on your tongue and you regret them immediately. He seems to understand, no disappointment or offense in his posture.

“I enjoyed your company,” Mando says and he’s definitely doing this on purpose now. The smile that creeps on your face is unstoppable no matter how you try to hide it. You hear Alyslibe get called into the kitchen and her steps are reluctant as they fade from the entryway.

Mando closes the distance once you’re alone, slipping one hand on your lower back and the other on your cheek. You reach up to place yours over his, the gloves back on but you know what his hands feel like.

(only you?)

“Maybe you can enjoy it again?” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them. “If you’re back here, sometime.”

(shit)

Mando’s head tilts and you feel (fondness?) some emotion pass through him.

“Maybe.”

It’s good enough for you.

You’re prepared for him to leave, dropping your hand from his, but he takes your wrist and leads it to a pocket in his pants. Your brow furrows as he dips your fingers inside.

“Mando,” you whisper, a scandalous giggle on your lips, “did you steal my underwear?”

Mando’s hand returns to your face and his knuckle strokes under your chin. His body shifts closer to you and you soften into his hold.

“Needed something to remember you by.” Your smile feels like it’s going to crack your face. “And to see you smile one more time.”

Your chest fills with warmth, rubbing your face against Mando’s fingers. Suddenly you feel the hand on your back slide down to grab a handful of your ass and the one on your face slide his thumb across your bottom lip, the tip barely brushing into your mouth. The quick change leaves you breathless as Mando nods at something over your shoulder.

“And maybe give you something to brag about.” His words are nonsense as he releases you, your head spinning (how can he do that so fast?)

“Ret'urcye mhi, Mesh’la,” he whispers, then he’s sweeping out of the inn, a flurry of light and darkness against the desert vista. You stand there for a moment and try to process what just happened when you hear Jalween’s voice behind you.

“What the fuck was that?”

PREVIOUS || NEXT

[mutual-monsters]

oh, i looked for your name on the ouija board

Pairing: Ghost!Bucky x human!gn!reader

TW: horror elements (nothing too spooky tho)

MINORS DNI !!! 🔞

Summary: It’s not just the moving in that’s a pain in the ass, it’s the getting used to the new house, and its other inhabitants, too.

Word count: 870

A/N: Boy, is this based on a lot of things. Firstly, I wanna give a huge shoutout to @bonky-n-steeb for letting me adapt this blurb of hers. I knew the second I saw it that a ghost au was in the cards for me, and I am beyond grateful for Skye and her help in this process.

Also, the title of this fic is a line from this Fall Out Boy song (which I love dearly).

One last thing before you move on to the actual fic, this is my first time writing ghosts in many, many years. The last time, if I correctly recall, was American Horror Story fanfiction from my youth, so getting to write this was a real treat. I hope you all enjoy!

Standing in line at a hippie shop you had to ask yourself, in all sincerity, what the fuck am I doing here again? I mean, how integrally sound and spiritually communicative can the products from a place called Lovely Rita’s be anyway? but lurched ahead in line towards the cashier anyways.

“Is this all?” They say, a perfect mix of judgmental and apathetic seeping from their monotone as you gaze upon their layered unwashed hair.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“$30.54.”

It takes the utter silence of the car ride home for the severity of the last few weeks to weigh on you. What, with moving into a new house, hoping to renovate it, only to find you weren’t the only one living there. It had all begun with objects disappearing a reappearing. Then, your friends started to complain of cold spots, shadows, the usual, but it had reached its peak when one day your friends had come over to help you paint and claimed to have seen a man in your bedroom window as they pulled into your driveway. This is when the activity really kicked up.

After all of this, you had decided to look into the history of the house but were disappointed by what was found online, leaving you to resort to the library. Looking through their database you were able to find all of the properties' previous owners, and interesting enough, one death on the property. Intrigued, you clicked.

NAME: JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES

STATUS: DECEASED

DATE OF BIRTH: MARCH 10, 1917

DATE OF DEATH: NOVEMBER 16, 1951

CAUSE OF DEATH: PNEUMONIA

It was paired with a newspaper clipping.

Sargent Barnes died on the evening of November 16 after a week-long battle with pneumonia. Mr. Barnes died at home surrounded by friends and loved ones. He is survived by his mother and sister. His work with Captain Steve Rogers as a member of the Howling Commandos was instrumental during the war, before being honorably discharged due to amputation and experimentation from the Germans.

That was when you had decided to look into communicating with the dead.

Opening your front door, you begin to wonder why exactly you had never seen James yourself. Obviously, he was there, but why was he too shy to show himself to you. You sit the bag from the shop down near your couch and mutter a soft, “that better stay there” before heading to the shower upstairs.

Now, it is one thing to be afraid of mirrors. It is a complete other to step out of the shower only to find a pair of eyes staring at you through the steam in the mirror that aren’t yours and then have them be gone right after you’ve blinked.

Enter James. You quip silently. No, this isn’t funny. Rushing downstairs, robe still on, hair still wet, you rip the ouija board out of the bag, fumbling with the plastic and tearing its box a little in the process.

“James,” You say, voice shaky and unsure, “if you’re in here, I need you to talk to me. Please.”

No answer. No knocking. No flickering lights. No movement from the planchet. Not even a single gust of wind. No James.

“Goddamit James! This is my house and you will cooperate! Talk to me!”

Nothing. You begin to wonder if James is even real. If ghost even exists. And then:

Slam!

“What the fuck was that?”

You trek your way back upstairs, to find your bathroom door (the one you had left distinctly open) slammed shut.

Overwhelmed, you find yourself crying on your bed for a good, long while.

When you finally get up and find it in yourself to get dressed, you decide to try to speak to James one final time.

With the ouija board set and the candles lit you find yourself asking, “James, are you there?”

Silence.

“James, I’m so sorry for earlier. I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just frustrated, is all.”

Again, you could hear a pin drop.

“I won’t bother you again, sir. I’m so-”

“Y’know, no one ever really called me James but my ma.” His voice comes with cold breath on your neck, sending shivers down your spine and emulating goosebumps.

Spinning around to face him you realize how handsome he is. His file didn’t include a picture, and never in your wildest dreams had you thought he’d be so suave. His charm is obvious, even as a specter.

“My friends usually called me Bucky, just somethin’ I got stuck with as a kid.” He flashes a smile, debonair and perhaps even cheeky in nature.

“Oh, I–, hello.” You blush, his charisma clearly flustering you.

“I’ve seen you around quite a bit, doll. Been trying to get your attention for a long time. Guess it finally worked.” He chuckles lightly but keeps his baby blues locked on your own eyes.

“Took you long enough.”

His smile is palpable as he pulls you in, “Listen, I dunno if the men these days are any good for dancin’, but I’m gonna let you know, I’m always here for a good time if you need me.”

And with that, he fades away into the flicker of the candlelight.

[ikaroux]

Zhongli: The Dragon Dance. (Part 1) (EN)

Version française

f!reader

Aaaah Zhongli, my sweet Zhongli, writing about followers is really painful in itself given their longevity... I didn't come here to suffer, okay! *crying in a corner*

Les Ost pour ce chapitre :

Broken Hero Onmyoji

Rabia Honkai impact

Masterlist

The port city of Liyue was abuzz with excitement as the New Year's Eve celebration took place. The streets were brightened by the laughter and chatter of passers-by and lit by paper lanterns decorated with cut-out designs of dragons, maple leaves, herons and more. Various flowers from the region decorated every part of the city, right down to the ponds with golden carp. You could see dancers strutting a flexible dragon figure in the image of the Geo Archon in the streets. Street vendors shouted at the top of their voices, selling the merits of their goods or the deliciousness of their food. Everything seemed beautiful and magical.

You had come from Mondstadt to spend the end-of-year celebrations here, with some friends who lived in the city. They had suggested that you go and see the fireworks which would take place later in the evening, but your curiosity led you to walk through the streets of Liyue alone before joining your friends.

This year the festival organisers asked the inhabitants of Liyue and their guests to wear a mask which was offered to them by the city. You knew that the festival was to end with a kind of masked ball that would take place all over the city, with musicians placed here and there, sometimes in the corridors overhanging the streets or in the harbour by the sea.

The organisers of the ball wanted everyone to be able to enjoy a moment of joy and happiness without fear, without fear of the gaze of others.

You would walk along the wooden quays, your fox mask partially covering your face. You gazed at the reflection of the city lights on the surface of the water, a smile on your face. The street was crowded but you loved it, the atmosphere was so similar to your beloved city.

As you turned your gaze to observe the quay parallel to yours, you noticed the refined figure of a tall man. His posture was refined and elegant, he stood upright with his arms crossed behind his back and his eyes fixed on the horizon. He wore a long coat that matched his build perfectly, his hair, tied back in a simple tail, swayed in the sea breeze. He wore a golden mask with the image of a dragon.

The man seemed to notice your gaze lingering on him, turning his face towards you. The masks only hid the upper part of the faces, so you could see the soft smile on his lips. Embarrassed, you ran away, slipping through the crowd of people enjoying the shops on the harbour.

As you reached the centre of the city, the sweet sounds of the typical instruments of the region echoed through the streets. You could recognise the erhu among all the instruments that were playing.

Men, women and children began to dance happily, some laughing, others giving each other longing looks.

Seduced by the warm and loving atmosphere, your lips stretched into a wide smile before quickly disappearing as a large gloved hand reached for yours. You quickly turned to see who had surprised you, thinking at first that it was one of your friends who had found you. You opened your eyes wide when you recognised the man in the dragon mask. He pulled you to him, placing his free hand on your hip, he began to dance with you, guiding you perfectly to the rhythm of the music. You were mesmerised by his amber eyes watching you intently under his mask, the soft smile on his face making your cheeks warm.

You gradually began to relax in his arms, laughing out loud as he twirled you around before pulling you back against him, a husky laugh gently rising from his throat at your adorable reactions. After several minutes of energetic dancing, he moved his hand up your back, pulling you closer to him in a slower, more sensual dance. He gently placed his cheek on the top of your head as your face rested on his chest, breathing in the lily scent that wafted from him. As you swayed gently on your feet, he picked up a silk flower that decorated one of the columns that littered the street, supporting the upper floors of the houses. He placed the little pink button in your hair (colour), admiring how well it suited you.

Your dance was suddenly interrupted when the dull sound of fireworks was added to the melody of the musical instruments, your attention instantly turned to the play of light in the sky. Your pupils shone with a new brilliance at the sight.

Dazzled by the beauty of the fireworks, you glanced at your mysterious escort, hoping that he was enjoying the show as much as you were.

Your cheeks turned a deep red as you noticed his eyes were fixed on you, your hands still linked together. He moved his face closer to you, pushing a few strands of hair out of the way.

"Thank you for the evening. "he whispered in your ear.

Without giving you time to answer, he brought the back of your hand to his lips and placed a tender kiss on it. He reluctantly let go of you before stepping back, giving you one last look before disappearing into the crowd.

"No, wait... don't go... your name... give me your name!"

But now he was out of your sight, regret tainting your heart. Why didn't you ask him before?

"(Y/N)! "

Hu Tao's voice called to you in the distance, bringing you out of your thoughts. She was accompanied by Xiangling, Chongyun and Xingqiu who waved their hands at you, their faces lit up with big smiles. Taking one last look at the place where your mysterious date had disappeared, you finally joined your friends, ending the evening with them.

Zhongli was sitting on the terrace of his flat, a steaming cup of tea in his hands. His gaze was lost in contemplation of the liquid in its container.

He was still wondering why he had left without asking your name. Even after living for thousands of years, he still felt a little foolish.

Perhaps he should have invited you to share a cup of tea with him? Perhaps he should have taken off his mask and introduced himself to you properly?

Zhongli had rarely had regrets in his long life and today was one of those rare moments. A sigh escaped his lips, from the moment he had met your gaze on the docks, you had intrigued him. He had immediately noticed from your manner that you were not from Liyue. From Mondstadt perhaps? That's what your clothes suggested.

For some reason, you dodged his gaze when he turned his attention to you, running away from the platform that separated you from him.

Curiously, Zhongli couldn't help but follow you, speeding up to avoid losing sight of you. Eventually he caught up with you, admiring your wondering eyes for a few seconds. He would have liked to take off that fox mask to better admire you, why? He didn't know. What he did know was that at that moment he wanted to share an intimate moment with you, wanting to create a peaceful and sweet memory with a stranger whose smile was brighter than the most precious of diamonds.

Zhongli had felt an intense happiness arise in him as you relaxed in his arms. He savoured the breath you projected on him as your head rested on his chest, your warmth comforted him, your laughter fascinated him, your eyes (colour) captivated him. Why was he gone? Why had he left? He might never have the opportunity to see you again. Zhongli knew, after accumulating 6,000 years of knowledge and wisdom, that feeling desire or attraction for a mortal could become something painful for both you and him. Zhongli might not be the Geo Archon anymore, but he was still a follower with a long life expectancy...

Yes, he knew... but knowing didn't stop you from hoping.

You had a hard time to wake up, the evening of the new year having been rather animated. After the fireworks, you all went to Xiangling's house to have a last drink, without alcohol for some of you, Hu Tao, Xingqiu and Xiangling taking care of the atmosphere of your little party. You were able to talk with Chongyun about your evening, the magic that the stranger in the dragon mask had worked on you still haunting you. Chongyun had listened patiently before suggesting that you might try to look for him in town tomorrow, and even though the mask had prevented you from seeing him, his presence remained intact in your mind.

So you slept at Xiangling's house. When you woke up, she was preparing breakfast with a big smile on her face. Xiangling had prepared a home-made hangover remedy for you with your meal made of blue lily of the valley flower, sweet flower and apple juice extract.

"Thank you Xiang, it's delicious."

"You're welcome (Y/n). And you have to be in shape for today!"

"Fit? Why?"

"Didn't Hu Tao tell you? We're going to show you around the city today. And then..." -She walked over to you, her hand covering the side of her mouth as if to tell you a secret. You moved closer to her.- "We need to find your handsome stranger in the dragon mask!."

You choked on your food.

"H-How did you...I didn't...!"

"Chongyun told me about it last night before he left! He didn't like seeing you so sad so he thought we could look together today."

You sighed, desperate. You couldn't blame Chongyun, after all you hadn't told him to keep it to himself and besides this boy was far too adorable to be sulking.

After you finished eating you went to take a shower before changing your clothes, combing your hair and finally applying some light makeup to your face. Hu Tao met you downstairs at Xiangling's flat, finishing his discussion with an elderly lady who greeted you with a brief nod before leaving.

"Good! (Y/n) it's time we took care of your case."

"My case huh..."

Hu tao grabbed your arm, leading you into the sparsely populated streets of Liyue. She showed you some shops while you described your dance partner's appearance to her.

"A tall, elegant and polite man with a long coat you say? Eeeeh... Reminds me of someone."

Hu Tao paused for a moment to think before being interrupted by the deep voice of a man calling out to him.

"Hu Tao there you are, I have a small... favor..."

His amber eyes met your eyes (colour), a long silence settled between the four of you, Hu tao and Xiangling swinging their eyes towards you and then the newcomer. The man did not take his eyes off you, his mouth slightly open. It was him, you were sure, it was him!

Zhongli looked at you without saying anything, too amazed to find you so easily when he had just come to Hu Tao to ask for his help. He had recognised your eyes from the moment he saw them.

He cautiously approached you, forgetting everything around him. He took your hand in his, a gentle smile appearing on the delicate features of his face. You were even more beautiful than he had imagined. He could feel your fingers trembling with emotion in his hand, tightening it to soothe you.

"Ah- I, you..."

Zhongli paid no attention to Hu Tao and Xiangling's curious looks. He was focused on you, only on you. Drawing you to him, his hand again on your lower back, he began a few dance steps to assure you that it was really him. Your tears rolled down your cheeks as a smile lit up your face. Several minutes passed before he stopped twirling you around to the beat of his heart.

"What is your name?"

"(Y/n)"

"(Y/n), what a beautiful name." -He brought your hand still buried comfortably in his to his lips, placing the most delicate of kisses.- "Zhongli. May I invite you to drink tea with me?"

"With pleasure."

Zhongli knew that forging bonds with a mortal could be painful.

He knew but... he would take that risk.

[inexplicifics]

first time & fairy tale au, Gweld/Serrit

...So look, Serrit gets to basically be Alanna the Lioness, alright? The lady knight who refused to take "only men can be knights" as a viable answer. She wins her shield (sable, a viper rampant argent) and goes off to prove that she's at least twice as capable as any of the male knights who dare to doubt her.

She kills a lot of things, and rescues a decent number of princesses (most of whom are reasonably grateful, if confused), and makes a name for herself.

She hears about the sleeping prince by accident, and in a rather garbled form. Which is to say, the legend says it's a sleeping princess. So Serrit fights her way through the thorn bushes and the dragon and the dark magic and goes tromping through the sleeping castle - which is creepy as hell, actually, she's not afraid to admit it, all these people just unconscious everywhere, even the fire frozen in place - and up the many, many, many stairs to the tallest tower. She spends the hike grousing about how it's always the damned tallest tower, can't the wicked fairies stick their sleeping princesses somewhere lower to the ground?

And then it's not a princess. It's a prince, a man of about Serrit's age with really spectacular red hair and an unfairly good face and really nice shoulders, fast asleep in a crumpled heap half on, half off the bed, with a spindle tumbled to the floor beside him.

His back is gonna hurt like hell when he wakes up, Serrit suspects.

Usually burning the curse object is enough to wake the sleeper, but Serrit tries that, and it doesn't work. The prince keeps snoring gently. So she takes a deep breath and bends down at a slightly awkward angle and brushes her lips against his.

It's the first time she's kissed a man.

It's also startlingly effective: she pulls back to discover that his very green eyes have blinked open, and he's regarding her with great interest. Below them, there is a sudden cacophony as the rest of the castle's inhabitants wake and begin to shout in surprise and wonder.

"Well," says the no longer enchanted prince, sliding off the bed and blinking up at her from the floor. "Thank you, valiant knight."

Serrit's never had a man look at her quite like that, either.

"Come downstairs and meet my parents," the prince says, rising and bowing to her. "They will want to thank our deliverer in person." He smiles, wide and eager and charming.

She has a sudden feeling that none of her training has really prepared her for this.