#I know they were taxed badly as well

[lale-txt]

❉ in a long-distance relationship ↳ w/ Nanami & Naoya (separate)

a/n: getting into my clown car because originally i was planning to write this for four characters in total, then i blinked and suddenly i had written over 2k words in headcanons and drabbles and decided to call it a day. i personally want to thank Nanami and Naoya for representing the both flawless and horrendous ends of the spectrum regarding my taste in fictional men ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

contains: headcanons are sfw & gn!reader, drabbles are ns.fw & afab!reader. i'll put individual warnings before each drabble later in the text.

word count: 2.3k

❦ 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈

the driest texter known to man

it’s not like Nanami won’t think of you and text you throughout the day, it’s more that his texts read as if they’re coming from your tax consultant rather than from the love of your life

“Arrived at the accommodation. Room is very clean. About to head out for work, will call you later tonight. Love you, K. PS: Heard Lawson has cabbage on sale this week.”

he’s never beating the old man allegations

it’s an obstacle that yours and his work often requires you both to travel and spend time apart, but to Nanami, once committed, long distance was never a reason for things not to work out between you

he keeps his promises and calls when he said he would, he sends you flowers when he can’t bring them back home in person and he orders you food when you’re having a rough day, staying on the phone with you while you eat and letting you vent if you need to 

when he misses you (which he always does), he lets you know. no matter how far apart, Nanami would never make you doubt if you’re on his mind and in his heart 

often he’d send you photos of his lunch or local specialities, sometimes photos from the local pigeons too when they’d pick up the crumbs of his sandwich at his feet

“Those two seem inseparable. Made me think of us. Miss your voice, will call you tonight. What are you having for lunch? Careful when you cut the cabbage.”

at night, after another draining day of fighting curses, the only thing keeping Nanami going is the prospect of hearing your voice over the speaker

he will close his eyes and imagine you snuggled up in bed while talking to him, waiting for him to come home, and oh, how badly he wants to be by your side and never let you go

cw: afab!reader (no pronouns used, 'cunt' and 'pussy' used to describe genitalia), phone sex, panty sniffing, masturbation (with said panties), dirty talk, breeding kink (no mention of pregnancy or babies), mention of: brat taming, mirror sex and hair pulling

“Sorry, love. Were you asleep already?”

Nanami’s voice is quiet, almost like an apology for calling you this late. He knows you’re always staying up and fighting your sleepiness, despite him telling you not to wait for him—he’s grateful you do though, because hearing your voice is the one thing that will get him through each day, no matter how long it drags on.

“Mhm, not quite yet,” you mumble into your phone and smile at the sound of his voice. “‘m all cozy in bed though, it still smells like you. Only missing your warmth.”

Nanami laughs quietly at the other end of the line. He has no problems imagining you right now, having the big bed you bought together all for yourself but still curling up on his side of the mattress, where his scent still lingers. He hums softly.

“That was quite the surprise I found in my pocket this morning.”

You hear some rustling sounds and a pair of pants getting unzipped, and the grin on your face widens. Putting your phone on speaker, you set it down on the pillow next to you and roll over on your back, feeling more awake now.

“Well? Did you like it?”, you coo.

“Loved it.”

The panties you slipped into Nanami’s jacket before he left are now dangling from his finger in the dim light of the bedside lamp. He picked them out for you a while ago and now you were simply returning the favor, knowing how lonely it can get on a solo mission. He closes his big fist around them and brings them to his face, inhaling your musk and making him groan quietly. His cock aches in his boxers, precum staining them slightly, but he doesn’t touch himself yet.

“God, I miss you,” he mutters after catching another whiff of your worn panties. “Want to taste you so badly, love. When I get home, I’ll have you sit on my face till your legs give out.”

You chuckle at the prospect of it. Wouldn’t be the first time.

“Did you touch yourself with my panties?”, you ask in a sultry voice and you can hear Nanami growl a little at the other end of the line.

“I’m doing it right now,” he replies in a husky voice, having his bottoms hastily pulled down his thighs and now fisting his cock with your panties wrapped around it. The fabric feels soft and expensive, and the thought of how they clung to your cunt when you soaked through them has his mind spinning circles.

“Good. I want to hear you cum,” you whisper, closing your eyes for a better imagination. “Tell me what you want to do with me when you’re back home.”

Nanami pumps his fat cock with one hand, the other holding his phone to his ear. He’s sprawled out in an armchair, head in the back of his neck, his eyes shut as well. His breath comes out raggedly.

“Gonna fill your pretty little cunt to the brim,” he mumbles. “Tongue, fingers, cock. Everything. Whatever you beg for, I’ll give it to you. Gonna pump you so full of my cum, you’ll have it ruin your panties for days, but you’d like that, don’t you?”

“Fuck,” you mewl at the other end of the line, kicking back the sheets and spreading your legs to touch yourself to his words. Your fingers reached nowhere as deep as Nanami's, but it was better than nothing.

“Gonna bend you over and fuck you on every flat surface in our house,” he rasps. “In front of the big mirror too, so you can see the faces you make when you cum on my cock. Wanna feel how tight you get when you’re milking me. As if you’re trying to remember the shape of my cock forever. Made for me, only me. And if you’re gonna be a brat, which I know you will, I’ll stuff your mouth with your panties and pull your hair till I fucked some obedience into you.”

Nanami groans; he is so close. Damn, if only you were here for him to bury himself in the warmth of your cunt. Your whimpering at the other end of the line and your panties wrapped around his cock as he pumps himself are enough to send him tumbling over the edge, a supernova of pent up lust and frustration unleashing within him. The silken fabric soaks up all of his cum, sticky and hot against his skin. He made a mess, but cleaning up was for later.

“You good, love?”, he asks in a raspy voice and can’t help but smile at the sound of your heavy breathing.

“Came so hard I saw stars a little,” you confess over the speaker and snicker. You’ll definitely have to change the sheets before Nanami gets home. As if you two wouldn’t ruin them anyway.

“Good, good,” he laughs. “Now sleep, dear, I kept you up for too long. I’ll be home tomorrow night, okay? Can’t wait to kiss you.”

❦ 𝐍𝐀𝐎𝐘𝐀

Naoya hates being apart from you and he doesn’t understand why you take on missions that require you to leave the Zen’in estate aka him

in his eyes, as his spouse there’s no need for you to work at all, you should just stay at home with him or accompany him on his business trips 

he can and he will yap about this while you pack your bags, while he drives you to the train station (he insists to escort you there himself), while carrying your luggage and even between goodbye kisses. seriously, this man never learned how to shut up in his entire life

the night prior, Naoya had made sure to leave plenty of hickeys all over your body, as a reminder who you belong to 

he’s clearly bored out of his mind without you around, your phone blowing up with text and voice messages from him, demanding your unrestricted attention and getting pouty when you don’t immediately reply to him

it’s not like Naoya is jealous or worried that you’d see someone else behind his back–his ego is too big to consider this even a possibility

he’s simply the undefeated champion in the pain in the ass competition 

he’ll act nonchalant when you call him once you’re back at your hotel, trying to sound as if he wasn’t pacing restlessly around all day until his phone finally lit up with your name on display

asking you about your day comes second, first you’ll have to listen to him whining how much it sucks without you around and that this’ll be the last time that he’s allowing you as your husband to go on a solo mission (he’s ignoring your unrestrained laughter about it), and that you’ll have to think of something to make it up to him on your way home which will be in 3 days, 11 hours and 27 minutes (he’s counting)

cw: afab!reader (no pronouns used, 'cunt' and 'pussy' used to describe genitalia), video call sex, dirty talk, masturbation, praise kink, mention of spitting, sweet talking Naoya into submission, he has nipple piercings in this one, Naoya being his own warning

“Seriously? You couldn’t wait three seconds to at least show me your face before flipping the camera to your dick?”

You lie on your stomach in a hotel bed that’s way too big for you alone, fresh out of the shower, glancing down at your phone in your hand. After a long day of fighting an extremely nasty curse, you crave nothing more than rubbing one out to the voice of your husband and passing out immediately afterwards. Your hips grind lazily into a pillow between your legs, feeling that familiar throb, while Naoya on the other end strokes himself on display as slowly, his thumb drawing circles over his leaking tip. His moans are slightly muffled over the speaker.

“Can’t help it, babe, I’ve been like this all day, aching for ya. Had my cock throbbing even at family dinner. Been thinking about nothing other than stuffing all of yer greedy holes. Just look–”

The movements of the video get a bit shaky when he fists his cock, pumping himself at a leisurely pace. You’ve memorized every vein of his cock, feeling your mouth water a little at the sight of it. While Naoya wasn’t a size king, he had the girth and you vividly remember how he knocked the air out of your lungs when he pounded you into the mattress for the very first time. You roll your hips some more, chasing for the right friction to get you off, the camera still aimed at your face. 

“Then gimme a show at least,” you whine and put on a small pout which you know Naoya can never resist. If there’s anything Naoya loves, then it’s attention and praise, and he is way too easy to bait into whatever could offer him that.

“Oh, ‘m gonna give yer a show, baby. Gonna make ya regret not being here with me. I’d have ya drooling all over my cock if yer were here with me now,” he rattles. “Would spit in yer mouth, that’s how ya like it, dontcha?” 

The display turns dark and blurry for a moment, and you can practically feel the excitement from the other end of the line when Naoya props his phone up against something to have his hands free. He is so obedient at times, yet he would hate to hear that. For the first time today you get a glimpse of his face now, the pink of his tongue poking out slightly between his lips, his hakama pants hanging unfastened from his hips, his cock resting heavy on his thigh when he leans back.

“The shirt, too,” you demand. “Take it off.”

“Nah, too many buttons,” Naoya huffs and grips his cock again, making sure to angle it just right at the camera. Oh, how he wished you were on your knees before him right now. All the ways he’d mess you up. 

“Then pull it up at least. C’mon, put it in your mouth like I do it for you sometimes,” you coax him in your sweetest, sultriest voice. “I know you can be a good boy for me.”

Naoya’s hips yerk up slightly at the praise and he lets out a shaky breath, clearly trying to restrain himself from coming too fast. His resilience is crumbling so easily at the sight of your pretty face and he hastily grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it up, biting down on it to keep the fabric from sliding down again. One nice side effect of this was that with his mouth stuffed, he would shut up for once. 

“Mmm, yes. That’s it, so good, aren’t you?” you coo and have Naoya gripping his cock tighter, his movements getting sloppy. His abs contracted with every jerk of his hand, and soon he was whining and panting, legs spread apart so beautifully for your perfect view. 

“Are you gonna cum for me, baby?”, you ask while grinding against your pillow, mesmerized by the sight on your display. Seeing a man like Naoya falter so easily at your words alone has you feeling a certain kind of arousal, pooling right in your stomach. 

It makes you want to wreck him entirely. 

Naoya nods and whimpers, using his free hand to play with his nipple piercing, all while his other pumps himself into a higher sphere. His hips are bucking and precum is drooling from his pink tip, making a mess out of him and amplifying the lewd sounds. 

He doesn’t last long, and when he cums thick white ropes fall onto his stomach, his mouth hanging agape. His cheeks are flushed and he mewls while he keeps stroking himself, milking every last drop out of him while chanting your name in a needy voice.

This. This might be your favorite sight ever. 

“Such a good boy. So good for me. Now bend over for me, hm? Show’s not over yet.”

[inkskinned]

okay yes it's often bad and hard and sometimes i am so anxious my whole body feels like it's vibrating but also at the same time the gps took me a different way on my drive and i got to see more of the river than i usually do and yesterday the sun was still above the horizon after 7pm and that was amazing and the whole sky turned an orange-gold like how they try to make ice cream taste; you know, one of those evenings that just tears you open no matter how jaded you get. it's warm for the first time here and people had lined up against the water just to stand outside and watch the sunset

and yeah it's tax season no i haven't done mine yet but when i mentioned it offhand in a single side-comment three days later my friend sent me a list of helpful tips and followed up to see if i'd need help on them

there's this parking lot for a walking trail near where i live and one of the two google reviews is my actual favorite: love it here. there were so many beautiful parking spots but sadly we could only take one. and no this person isn't going to go viral and probably the only people navigating to this spot are extremely local - but there's something so precious to me about someone taking the time to write something that will make strangers in their community laugh, even though there's no way for me to tell them good one! directly

yes i am not doing well sometimes i'm doing even very-badly but recently i have been given enough breathing room to say okay, this situation is bad, but then it will be over, and you will be moving onto the next thing and it's true that i need to get groceries and pay rent and argue with my health insurance but it is also true that in the absolute stress and anarchy of my life today someone recognized my dog before they recognized me and was so excited because "they tell everyone about the greyhound in the area and didn't get a picture before so can they take a picture now please"

in class we all stand in a circle and are all grown adults and for a moment while the teacher is figuring something out, we all hold hands, just to be silly and connected. for no reason at all at 8pm on a thursday my friends and i start breaking out the dance moves to high school musical. my coworker gchats me during a meeting about the book he recommended to me and i'm enjoying reading

i help a high school set up for a star-themed dance and while putting up streamers i find graffiti that says if you're reading this, i love you, and we're both going to get out of here right next to fuck everyone, live out of spite, don't let the fuckers make you die. on the bridge where i walk my dog someone has written i love you and on the sidewalk in chalk someone has written i love you and on the side of the water tower someone has written i love you

at the bottom of a text post an internet poet says - i love you, i love you, i love you. i've never met you, i love you because you exist and we exist together. and isnt that enough for now. just for this moment, i mean. like, if you just close your eyes and breathe - somewhere, across this world, i love you, because you're here with me.

[lesbianrobin]

ok since people r very into my chris fic i shall share some of my random behind the scenes thoughts while writing it:

adriana has literally been waiting her entire life for her obviously gay older brother who joined the army to avoid his wife and then moved to los angeles to be a sexy firefighter to COME OUT ALREADY and by the time we meet her in this fic she is like Vibrating with the need to be like EDDIE IS GAYYYYYYY ARE YOU PEOPLE BLIND??? which is why it takes like absolutely zero prodding from chris for her to spill all of eddie's business. i think when eddie was little he was a very obviously gay little boy and as he grew up he learned how to Be Normal but adriana never forgot and she's like deeply sad about it.

chris is So fucking miserable at his grandparents' house he misses video games so bad. i couldn't find a way to really incorporate this without it feeling like a cheap "look he's a TEEN BOY" thing but yeah the second he gets back home he is slamming that headset on and gaming until eddie tells him he has to take a break or he'll burn his eyes out of his sockets.

there are a Lot of songs on buck and eddie's joint depression playlist that i listed and then cut for practicality's sake but if there's any like interest in that i could maybe put together + link the full playlist for y'all?

buck's "maddie" playlist is entirely music he listened to growing up bc it makes him think of her. as a younger sibling my music taste from birth to like. age fifteen ish. was just wholly whatever my older sister listened to and i think buck is the same way. i don't think buck necessarily listens to this playlist on his own very often but if he's hanging out with maddie and/or babysitting jee-yun he'll put it on because it makes him happy to enjoy some 90s/00s nostalgia with his best girls. sometimes he'll play it in the car when he's driving chris somewhere because he wants to carry forward some of those good memories he has with maddie with chris.

buck and eddie's texts were written in order to coincide with each other! eddie texts more frequently than buck but i think if you pay attention you can sometimes tell which days buck Also sent chris a text bc they match. some of them were sent specifically in the wake of very emotionally taxing shifts where they both wanted so badly to call chris and beg him to come home but they knew that wouldn't go well and they didn't want to make chris feel guilty so they tried to play it cool.

speaking of buck and eddie: i don't think that eddie's conversation with chris is necessarily the First step in eddie realizing he's gay or moving toward something romantic with buck. keep in mind that chris has been gone for at least two weeks by the time he talks to either of them, and buck and eddie spend the vast majority of their time together. this fic is restricted to chris' pov, and he has no way of knowing whether, say, buck and tommy broke up, or whether his dad has been thinking about some things differently since he's been gone. buck and eddie Also have to spend twelve hours in a car together just the two of them between the end of the fic and their reunion with chris. this is not me saying that buck and tommy DID break up or that buddie got together while chris was away (i don't actually have a solid "canon" for where they're at), just that i intentionally left space for a wide range of possibilities due to chris' limited knowledge of what's going on with them!!

i kinda intentionally did not delve too deeply into the psychology of the diaz parents here because i think their behavior is a bit inscrutable to chris. the vast majority of his memories of them are from when he was really little, and therefore i think he doesn't actually know them very well as people. he knows that there's some tension between them and eddie, but prior to this fic he never really bothered to question Why. all he knows is that his grandparents will probably come and get him if he calls, and that it'll hurt his dad's feelings, and in the immediate aftermath of the kim debacle that's all he cares about. once he's in el paso, he starts noticing some things that make him a bit uncomfortable, but he never does determine for sure what their motivations and opinions are about this whole situation, whether they're treating him a certain way bc he's the grandkid or bc of his cerebral palsy, and whether their treatment of eddie really does stem from homophobia or not. at the end of the day he's thirteen years old and i wanted to leave his grandparents' True Selves as a bit of a mystery because 1. i don't think They necessarily know why they do what they do and 2. i don't think there's any one answer that would be satisfying.

chris literally had zero intention of saying anything to eddie about the Gay Thing he just is very much thirteen years old and emotional and he fundamentally Trusts his father to never like. lash out at him for saying something like that. so he doesn't try too hard to hold it back and impulsively says Hey Dad Are You Gay Maybe because he's never gone so long without talking to his dad before and he's just bursting with thoughts and feelings. he's not even trying to do a buddie matchmaking thing it's just that the easiest way to make his argument is to be like (points at buck).

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Can you write something with gale and Maureen? Like him taking care of her when she’s sick? Or trying to help her fall asleep?

Love this request doll, thank you. I’ve gotten quite a few requests asking for a fic of him taking care of her when she’s sick/cold, etc, and while I’ll certainly write another corresponding with those, I felt like yours gave me a chance to establish a little chronology of his doting on her. Which leads us to—helping her fall asleep on the:

First Night

It had been lights out for over an hour now, and still, Gale could sense the shifting restless around him. As the men’s initial post-battle fatigue had lessened and the dull predictability of one’s camp days settled in, the nights became longer, less restful and more of a routine than a respite. They could lay in their beds most the day or else walk and sit and lay somewhere else, there was no exhausted relief to be found climbing into a bunk. Gale missed the taxing demand for rest that came with a regimented military life. He knew he wasn’t alone in it.

Now there was the invigorating addition of the presence of the women at camp, and like kids at a sleepover -or so Gale heard sleepovers were like that, he’d never been to one- all rooms were filled with restless chit chat and lack of calm. He’d had to go along the hall of his integrated combine before lights out to warn everyone to shush it.

At least they were amalgamating well.

There was so much to catch up on by each crew and any new bit of information a new prisoner carried in was worth more than Broadway tickets back home, added to that was the old natural way of men not knowing when to shut the hell up around the fairer sex.

So Gale had knocked on doors and doused lightbulbs like the bucket of cold water that he was, and then returned to his own bunk in the subsequent quiet, only to cave and allow John Brady thirty more minutes of risky light use to keep mending -and watch his tolerably death-like and unconscious sister as she shallowly breathed on a lower bunk.

Gale had once hauled himself up and out of his second tier bunk opposite her to put his hand in front of Ida’s lips, she had gotten so still for a bit. “You should sleep by her.” he told Brady, recalling times his father’s warmth had been the only thing to keep him alive some nights in the park. He was rather certain Johnny meant to do it anyway, but he wasn’t a readable fella and his curt nod was all Gale got along with the ever faithful, “yes sir.”

When Gale had finally demanded they cut the bulb, he watched as Brady carefully climbed in and lay behind Ida without disturbing her, two lanky, stacked sardines with plenty of room and not enough fat on either of them to keep a water bottle thawed in this weather. Gale shrugged and flicked the light -family genes couldn’t be helped.

What could be helped was Maureen’s dripping hair. After the showers she had sat herself down at the table and demanded they deal her a hand of cards, burnt auburn hair dripping ice water down the back of her borrowed shirt.

Her shivers rattled her so badly she had dropped her cards multiple times, made worse by her mangled hands. They’d paused the game to have Hambone and Tallulah come in and wrench her middle and fourth fingers straight. Hamilton swore he had experience from his own injuries and T. Smith had grown up on a farm, excellent referrals both. The ordeal could’ve been worse, Gale supposed.

Benny had gagged while watching it, Gale had wanted to while holding her wrist down, Hambone had growled “fuck” more times than John had ever heard him during a mission and Ida didn’t even wake from Maureen’s yells -so out of it was she on the bunk she’d wobbled into and fallen asleep on.

Now Maureen sat stubbornly at the table in the dark, still consulting her deck of cards as if she could discern a diamond from a spade.

“Bed.” Gale told her despite her petulance, and the boys were good enough not to encourage her rebellion for once, taking themselves to their own bunks with little fanfare, “Don’t wanna get us in trouble for lights on your first night do ya? Make Ida stand out in the cold for inspections? Good, because I don’t want you out there with that hair.”

“It’s taking forever to dry and I don’t want to get my pillow wet.” Maureen protested.

“You can’t just sit here in the dark.” he muttered.

“Johnny would’ve.” she hit back. Gale wasn’t sure since when John Brady had been the yardstick by which Maureen measured human behavior, but it had been about as long as Gale knew her.

“Yeah but now Johnny’s in bed like a good boy.” Gale observed.

He heard someone titter and if he had to throw a dart at the offender in the gray dark it would be aimed towards Demarco’s bunk. “Johnny hasn’t got my hair. Ida either…anymore.” she added with childlike insensitivity.

“You should braid it.” Demarco’s voice suggested from the dark of his bunk.

“Hands can’t do squat.” Maureen was starting to sound offended by how often they forgot about her hands. She’d dropped her cards as often from their gnarled swelling as from her shivers, and every time one of the guys tried to ignore it or give a kinder explanation she would hold them up like she wanted them to recall what she was working with. Most of the fellas would’ve rather looked into hell’s portal than keep contemplating her hands or what they meant.

“Lemme braid your hair.” Gale told her, he didn’t ask and he didn’t thank Benny for the suggestion.

Maureen scoffed as he scooped up the frigid, wet strands from her shoulders and began to divide them in his hands. “Like you know how.”

“I do.” he patiently insisted after a few moments of the more convincing argument of his actually braiding it.

“Who else have you done this for? Who taught you?” Maureen’s jealousy was palpable to everyone and even Brady snickered softly at her this time.

“Horses, Maureen. My uncle had horses.”

Maureen didn’t reply to that, in fact, besides brawling japes during cards and her arguments against bedtime,

she hadn’t said much since coming back from the showers. She was cold to the touch when Gale finished his braid and squeezed the last bit of wet he could from the woven rope and then he bodily deposited her in her bunk. An adjacent one to his, on the same level, their heads were nearly beside each other’s in the cramped stack.

And now, an hour afterwards, everyone was still tossing in the dark except for Ida and her brother, and Gale had no peace with Maureen’s chattering teeth just a few inches away and her crushed hands dancing in front of his eyes everytime he closed them.

He thought of a lot of things to whisper to her, questions, comforts, even jokes. They never got out of his tightening throat as sixty minutes ticked by and he kept staring up at the slats of the bunk above him like that would keep the flashing image of her hands away. Suddenly the chatter of teeth stopped and he felt himself begin to relax in turn, hopeful she’d drifted off.

The unmistakable sound of a sob followed shortly after and it messed with the rhythm of his heart worse than jumping from his spiraling plane had.

“Maureen?” he questioned softly, as if there could be any doubt.

The sobs only gained frequency and vigor. Gale rolled himself over on his belly, and without thinking it through for once, impulsively threaded his arm through the divide to her bunk, laying his arm along her pillow and cupping the cheek closest to him. The humid blast of her breath against his palm tore at him and he thumbed over her wobbling lips. “Maureen,” he begged again, hoarse from his damn throat and in an effort to be quiet, “what- what is it?”

What can I do?—is what he meant.

“Having a cry Cleven.” She informed him angrily and without discretion in her volume except for what her sniffles required, “Can’t a gal have a well earned cry? Told you I wouldn’t manage to sleep.”

Ah, so the cry was his fault. Gale sighed and couldn’t help his sideways glance at Ida’s bunk. Not that he wanted such unnatural, deathly peace for Maureen. It would scare the fuck out of Gale, just as it was scaring the fuck outta Johnny who Gale knew was owl eyed awake right across from him and his now sobbing bombardier.

“I’m sorry.” Gale offered her impotently, childish habits coming to the fore in his helplessness, -how sorry he’d been time and again growing up, sorry for wall street crashing and Hoover having won that last time and the fact there weren’t any more quarters left for a soda and that the malnourished dog lost that one race and being sorry, so goddamn sorry all the damn time just so his father would finally absolve him with, “it’s ok, son” in return.

“And now my pillow’s wet!” -Maureen never absolved him of shit, she piled on and somehow Gale found himself devoted to that honest cruelty too, in a more mature, twisted, fucked sorta way. “I told you my pillow would get wet and I’d be cold!”

“You can have mine.” he tried.

“Oh yeah, and get it wet too.” her anger huffed out into his palm and it made him feel funny, like he was feeling her breath all along him, her emotion too, her outright disapproval of him. It always made him feel funny, feel desperate without feeling wrong or sorry. He’d never taken the fall for something that wasn’t his to own up to, not since he became a man. Not until her. He felt himself swelling against the mattress and wanted to say sorry for that, too.

—can’t help it around you.

He’d taken up excuse making as well since her, it proved so damn effective. Way more than his apologies.

“I could use cooling down.” he realized aloud and tugged her damp pillow out from under her head without warning, “Don’t fuckin’ test me Kendeigh, not tonight.” he warned at her stiff neck as he used her braid to lift her head and slide his under her head.

He settled his confiscated pillow closer to hers, his cheek pressed to her tears and shower wet, their heads practically aligned and in the dim light he could make out the curve of her nose. Such a pretty nose, he’d been enchanted with it from the minute she cocked her head at him in the glass nose of Our Baby.

Maureen had stopped crying. Her arm swung above her head and slithered under his blankets until she’d grabbed hold of what she wanted, bringing his hand up by the wrist until it was cupping her cheek again. She nuzzled her face into it and kissed his palm, the glitter of her eyes discernible between his fingers to the scrutiny of a lover as enamored as Gale.

“Sorry.” she whispered at long last into his palm and he shuddered.

“Don’t be sorry.” he commanded.

“I feel better.” she said.

“Good.”

Her hand darted out the top of her blanket and cupped his cheek, mirroring him. She thumbed at the smooth skin of his face with a swollen thumb until she found his poorly healed scar. “Wanna give it a try?” she asked. “We swapped pillows, it’s wet anyway, no one would know.”

“I don’t need a cry.” he declined gently.

“Ooh, does my Major need other things?” Maureen’s voice had gone saucy -and thankfully hushed- despite the stuffed up quality of her nose but the thought of her hands curdled his reaction to the tease immediately.

“No.” he breathed, hating the crowded room and the faux intimacy of this moment. Maureen was always more immune to intrusion but he couldn’t pretend to match her. “I just need you safe.” he begged, for if her ordeal had ended at her arrival here, he felt his had just begun.

The thumb stroking Gale’s cheek dipped lower until it was tracing his upper lip, slipping to the crease of his mouth, gently parting his plush lips until she had her finger past them, resting on his teeth. “I’m with you.” Maureen muttered, “Of course I’ll be safe.”

Gale closed his mouth around her, tongue lathing at the pad of her thumb, cheeks hollowed in an innate impulse for suction. Maureen’s presence made him feel odd, always had. Her nose came to rest against his and that was the last he recalled of the night, the gusts of her breath evening out against his face, the weight of her thumb on his tongue, the drowsy and unheeded regret that he had already compromised so far on their first night.

When he was startled awake next morning by a shake to the shoulder, mouth dry and her thumb still between his teeth, Cleven could only be grateful it was by Brady and unseen by the rest of the still sleeping men. The fact Maureen seemed to have been already awake and merely staring at him while he slept was another unsettling matter. As were the deep circles under Brady’s soft eyes: the kid looked like he hadn’t slept a wink and Gale wondered briefly how long his poor subordinate had stared at his bunk and hoped the thumb would fall out before rousing his superior. Or if Maureen had made eye contact during it. Oh for God’s sake...

Obviously Brady’s patience had run out with a hard shake, because -“It’s Ida, she won’t fuckin’ respond but she’s bowin’ up till I think her neck might snap.”

Well that got Gale tumbling out of bed.

💋 Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s lifeblood, please feel free to scream in comments or the inbox, I love it and wanna hear it all. Trust me, nothing is “too dumb”. Your thoughts mean the world to me.

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[the-fiction-witch]

Wicked

Media The Artful Dodger (Pre show Release)

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack X Reader

Rating Smut

I stood doing a little prep work for this afternoon's surgery sorting the tools I'd need, making sure I had a good sharp needle, a good pile of rags when I heard the office door open.

"Dr Dawkins, Sir?" His voice spoke up

"Ummm? What is it?" I asked turning slightly to see my small excuse for an assistant boy, he had a name... I just, can't remember what it is.

"it appears we may be out of some tonics sir."

"Out?"

"Yes sir."

"You checked the back of the storeroom?"

"Yes sir. Nothing. only a few empty bottles of painkillers and chloroform."

"Christ." I sighed setting my work down "Alright. I'll deal with it. You prep everything else for the surgery this afternoon" I told him taking off my apron and grabbing my jacket as I headed out of the office and out of the house.

I went through town begrudgingly arriving at the little shop with a dusty blue shop front and the painted lettering 'Y/l/n's' I sighed and opened the door heading inside the pharmacy, seeing the back wall littered with Tronics and potions, a cabinet of various items and her.

She stood behind the counter working on something inside a pestle and mortar with an apron over her long grey dress. She glanced up as the bell on the door tolled and immediately we were at odds with one another.

"Well. If it isn't the town Butcher" She said

"Big talk from the town witch" I snapped back

"Sociopath"

"Craven"

"Madman"

"crazy girl"

"What do you want Dawkins?" she glared "Or have you just come to cause me trouble?" She asked taking the powder she had been grinding and weighing it out on her scale adjusting it slightly

"I need some stuff. I have surgery this afternoon, It's a full leg amputation I'm going to need cleansing water, painkillers, a blood thinner, and likely some cloro and my storerooms out" I explained

"I see," she said taking her now-weighed powder and adding it to her small pill press slowly forming the powered into pressed tablets "That sounds like quite the problem"

"you know I can't do the surgery without them"

"No no that would be a terrible idea. Esspcaily for your white shirt" she giggled as she worked

"Do you have any in stock?"

"I might."

"Y/n" I complained "I need it for my surgery he'll be arriving in an hour"

"Ohh my, that's cutting it very close"

"Y/n. will you sell me the damn stuff." I told her and she glared "...Please"

“I suppose if it's an utter emergency I suppose I could spare a bottle or two” she smirked “if you beg”

“I'm not begging you. If rather just buckle belt the guy down then beg you”

“Suit yourself Dawkins” She shrugs

I grit my teeth and rolled my eyes doing my best not to be a dick “Please y/n. Please.”

“I can't hear you”

“Please y/n!”

“I don't know, how badly do you need it”

“Please y/n. I need it and you're my only option” I sighed

“Little louder?” She giggled “I couldn't hear that “

“I need it and you're my only option”

“And I'd say you're a pretty foolish boy for forgetting it” She smiled wickedly “Would you say so? Foolish boy?’

‘yes.” I sighed

“Yes, what?”

“I am foolish”

“And all together now”

“Please y/n you're my only option and I badly need it… and I am a foolish boy for not getting it sooner so can you please sell me the stuff?”

“Alright” she smiled fetching the things I needed from around her shop setting them on the counter between us and adding things up on her till "That will be sixteen dollars" 

"sixteen- What! That's ludicrous!" 

"Such are the prices, Doctor" 

"How did you work that out?"

"Well we have all the items added together, then the bag charge as you can't carry all this just in your pockets doctor" she giggled "and then we have the emergency tax that's an extra ten per cent, Then the interrupting me tax, then the non-sale we're having this week where all times are actually ten per cent up their usual price, and of course the typical bottle fee's, cork fee's, air tax and the extra add a zero button because it's you doctor" She explained 

"Even so that doesn't add right. That bottle says fifteen pence right on the label!" I argued 

and her response to that was to take the label off the bottle and throw it behind her "Now it doesn't" 

"And bottle tax! I returned all your bottles last I was here"

"You did, but they weren't clean"

"Yes, they were. I boiled them myself"

"One had a spot on it"

"if it had a spot on it, it had a spot on it when you gave it to me" 

"Sixteen Dollars Dr Dawkins or get out of my shop"

"Fine. You wicked little thing" I complained getting my money

"I call it being a good businesswoman" She smiled 

"Shit. I've only got twelve" 

"Ohh my, what a shame guess no drugs for you"

"Y/n I need them"

"And I need to charge"

"I'll pay you the rest next week"

"I've heard that before"

"Y/n this is insane"

"Sixteen dollars or get out."

"All alright I'll let you borrow my tools without charge next time"

"Any tools I need?"

"....yes." I sighed

" So twelve dollars and free tool borrowing?"

"Only one tool y/n"

"you're still short."

"...and the usual."

"Alright" she smiled taking my dollar coins and putting everything into a bag for me "I want my tool borrowed in writing"

"Fine" I sighed I took her note and wrote her a pass for a free tool borrowing which she happily took before she jumped the counter went to the door locked it and turned the sign to closed 

"Come on then Doctor" she giggled heading into the back so I slipped my jacket off and followed her into the back store room shutting the door behind me, she sat herself up on a cleared self so I went over to stand between her legs "so? I haven't got all day"

"Alright" I smirked pulling her into an intense kiss, as usual, our kiss was angry, and frustrating as we often were with each other but that only made it more aggressive and entertaining, we made out heavily for a few minutes my hands often taking grips of her hips, her ass and at times her breasts but she usual slapped my hands off if I tried to get at them anymore then just running my hand over them she grabbed my pants by the hem to tug me closer to her so I happily undid them for her as she tugged up her own dress until it was completely around her waist I pulled my erection out and stroked myself a few times before we moved and adjusted until I was inside her "Fuck-"

"Best hurry you have surgery later" she giggled 

"Don't tell me what to do" I warned her holding her hips as I started my thrusts she giggled biting on my neck as I got faster and faster doing my best not to reveal how good it felt given it would only amuse her and I didn't want to give her the satisfaction and she didn't either but I know her well enough to know as she bites her lips and gasps quickly when she's close I knew I was close holding her tightly doing my best not to make any noise but she grabbed my shirt tight and tightened herself around me as she reached her orgasm "Fuck-" I groaned pulling out and finishing across her dress resting my hands on the wall and trying to get my breath back "You wicked little thing" 

"Absolutely Doctor" she giggled fixing her dress and heading off back to the main shop I calmed down and followed her out getting my jacket and everything I needed for surgery and the store room "Have a good day" she smiled

"Thank you, you too," I told her taking my stuff and heading back home.

[simp999]

A New Home Ch. 40

Various! Splatoon Manga x Skilled! Isekai'd! Reader

Wc: 1.2k

Back to the Start! Previous Next

Once you got back to the helicopter, you realised Goggles was missing. Ah, that's right- the octo expansion. Well, you supposed you'd leave the story alone for a while, focusing on your own.

Before leaving Grizz.co, you offer a half-hearted wave at Mask, taking off.

You wondered if you lived up to his expectations in that Salmon Run shift. Did you do okay? Did you get enough eggs for his expectations? You shook your head to rid the thoughts.

Where else to go but to train to distract yourself? To the training area you went. You picked up a random weapon from Ammo Knights, given you didn't have your main. You figured you'd practice with something new.

You trained until your legs were ready to give out. You couldn't get every word of that interaction out of your head. They hated you, didn't they? What made you think you could be friends with your favorite characters? You finally sat with your face in your hands, struggling to hold back your tears. What would you do now that you were homeless, and overall stuck in this world? Try to find a way back?

Did you really want to go back?

It was now a choice between which world was worse.

You had more potential here, you thought. Until offishials found out you existed. Do police even exist here? There was still so much to learn. You still had a few friends, such as the blue and green team for the time being. Maybe... maybe even team Monarch could be considered friends. You didn't have to pay taxes, you didn't have anything under your name. Would you get hunted down if the wrong people found out you existed? Would anyone you knew attempt to protect you?

You were stuck in more ways than one. Stuck in this world, stuck in your own head, and stuck between choices to be made. Your head swiftly quirked up as you heard someone enter, but you were too late with your reaction time.

Your reaction time was too late. Now that's rare. How out of it were you?

Oh cod, out of everyone that could have shown up.

You were face-to-face with a Yellow-Green squid who stood shocked in front of you: puffy, red-faced.

You looked so... tired. Vulnerable.

Sad.

He almost just wanted to pick you up and hold you. But that wasn't something his mind nor body would allow. Not with all the questions racing through his mind. Blunt as ever,

"... Why are you crying?"

You stayed frozen. You didn't want your voice to crack, but you felt like he deserved any information he asked for. Your voice came out small and broken.

"I don't know what to do. I'm stuck here, where everyone wants me gone."

His brows furrowed.

"Who said they wanted you gone?"

It was a genuine question. He was honestly confused. And maybe a little angry. He wanted to pummel whoever had told you that... maybe.

You sniffled. "The S4?" You moreso questioned than stated.

He blinked. He was no good at what he was about to do, but he'd try. For you.

He quietly sat down beside you, an awkward distance away.

"We never said that. We just needed some time to think it over. "

He wasn't sure where to go from there.

He really was bad at comforting.

You sniffled again and toyed with your fingers, looking away from him. You brought your knees up, and placed your temple against them, head facing away from Rider.

"Did you guys figure it out?"

"I don't know about them, but I'm still unsure.

I can tell you mean no harm, though."

You paused. You turned your head to lazily face him, gaze still anywhere but on Rider.

"What are we?"

And suddenly he remembered all those moments with you.

All the ones where you wouldn't catch his blush, or the way he stayed quiet, afraid of messing up his words. The way he grew jealous of Stealth during all the times you'd innocently tease him.

It was happening the whole time- he admired your and your strength, he thought.

He thought.

The way he wanted to battle you so badly, only so that he could see your strategies up close, of course... No. That wasn't it. It was only so that he could see you up close.

He shook his head. What was the question? Oh, right.

He knew you meant it platonically.

"I don't know."

But he didn't.

He didn't know what he wanted now. He was stuck, too.

"Can we figure it out together? I don't like being away from my favorite people."

He sat, gazing at you with thoughtfulness.

"That sounded selfish, I'm sorry."

He shook his head.

"You're right. I think they might appreciate some better communication."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You felt so small, figuratively. You once again felt like you just landed here, and you were somehow face to face with your idols.

Except this time, you were unsure if your very own idols hated you. Even more anxiety-inducing than your first meetings with each of them.

You all sat around a table, but it felt like they were all staring at you. Did they expect you to speak first? Your head stayed down. Aloha had his chin in the palm of his hand, Army was writing something down, and Skull was sitting silently, glaring? Maybe just staring, you couldn't tell. Mask had yet to show.

"Cod, can someone please say somethin'? M' gettin' bored!"

Thanks Aloha.

You mumbled:

"I'm sorry."

A combined hum from Rider and Army came.

"I'm sorry for hurting you guys. I know it must be tough to understand everything- hell, I don't understand half of it. I'm sorry for putting you through this."

You spoke between small sniffles and with slurred words. There was so much to think about, and you had no reason to drag them all into it. You should've just continued to avoid them... you were such a mess. You sighed deeply, tears pricking your eyes. Not this again...

"You need sleep."

You lazily tilted your eyes to face Army. He could tell how drained you were by all of this.

"Yeah, sweetheart. We're not mad, so don't get that image in that pretty lil' head o' yours. We just need time ta digest, y'know?"

Aloha reached his hand over to yours, rubbing his thumb over the back of it. Rider sent a small glare his way.

"I imagine you needed time when you first got here, right? Something like that," He continued off of Aloha's statement.

Skull nodded, and was the first to stand up after realising what Army had said.

He guided you to his room, with a quite massive bed- you weren't to surprised, given how tall he is - he kind of needed it.

"Are you sure?"

He nodded- it was rare of him to take naps during the day, why was this an issue for you? He didn't understand.

"Alright then,"

You looked back at him before carefully getting cozy in his massive bed.

"Thank you. So very much,"

You smiled. You were so tired, even he could tell. He nodded again, pointing at a jar next to his bed. It was a candy jar. Aww. Your smile warmed. You'd have one when you woke up, you thought.

.

.

.

May. 29. 24

Next Part

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

For make me write!! Thank you so much for all you do write though!

🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮 (Always more Cranberry I can’t explain how excited I am for part 2 and the snippets I have read..gah)

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸 (I think I may have spoke to soon on thinking Eddie is healing…I mean he is right…RIGHT?!!?!! Please tell me he is)

🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮 (Ah the Bobby seeing Buck’s past had me in tears I don’t think Im ready for the opposite of that but oh well I guess I need to be) 🧟🧟🧟🧟(I was hooked by the end of the last chapter. I love apocalyptic AUs. Also the ending broke my heart, but I’m can’t wait to see Maddie and Eddie eventually make it to their library)

🚨🚨(Lots of COVID lockdown stories going around…however they make for such interesting explorations!!!!!!)

Thank you! You are so kind!

30 for 🦮 (YAY THANK YOU!):

---

“Okay,” Chris sniffs.

Buck carries Cranberry back into the house. It’s been just a year since his amputation, and bending and lifting heavy weights on his prosthetic isn’t exactly comfortable. Cranberry isn’t too heavy. Not much more than fifty pounds. But the gait back into the house, to the bedroom, where he rests her on the mattress, is a bit taxing for him. Still, it hurts him less than it would hurt her. 

Twenty minutes later, he’s off the phone with the vet, laying next to Cranberry on the bed, and holding an ice pack to her paw. The vet thinks it’s likely not serious. She’s advised Buck to crate-rest her for a few days, ice the injury, and if the pain gets worse, to bring her in.

“It’s going to be okay,” Buck assures Chris. “She’s just going to be sore for a while. Kind of like when your dad is sore after a tough shift at work.”

Chris leans his head over the bed, and presses his cheek into her fur. 

“I’m sorry, Cranberry,” he cries. “I didn’t mean to do it.”

Buck exhales, feeling a little guilty. He could have reacted a hell of a lot better. He’d just been freaked out. 

“It was an accident, Chris. You were both having fun.”

“Does she hate me now?” Chris asks, noticing how Cranberry isn’t wiggling and happy like she usually is with him. 

“No, Chris, she could never hate you. She’s just not feeling well. Okay?”

“Okay,” Chris mumbles. 

“Why don’t you go get your iPad and we can all watch a movie together? She’d like it if you kept her company.” Buck suggests. 

“Yes please,” Chris says in a little voice. He walks off to get his device.

---

24 for 🩸 (SOMEONE is healing and someone is not, is all I will say):

---

“You know. All are welcome. They’re just looking for experience.”

“Then I think it sounds like a good idea.” Chris decides before taking another bite of ice cream. 

“It would be more dangerous than staying home,” Eddie tells him. “But probably not more dangerous than being a firefighter. There are risks, anyway. Which is why I wanted to run it by you before I make a choice either way.”

Chris considers this.

“Thank you, Dad,” he says quietly.

“You’re welcome,” Eddie replies. “We’re a team, right?”

He hopes that this is still true, after everything. 

“We are,” Christopher agrees. Eddie feels a wash of relief. 

“I think you need to do something where you help people,” Chris says eventually. “It’s who you are, Dad.”

Eddie takes a deep breath. 

“Thank you, buddy.” 

He had no idea how badly he needed to hear to feel, again, that he was living a life that would make his son proud of him. The way he’d been proud of him when he became a firefighter. That life is in his line of sight again, Eddie thinks. Finally.

---

18 for 🔮:

---

“Me?” Buck asks. “I mean… Uh… I think so?”

They pause a few feet away from each other. Buck feels crippled with awkwardness. He doesn’t know what to do from here. 

“I…” Bobby starts. “Did you…”

“I passed out,” Buck says.

Bobby nods. “Me too.”

“Were you…” Buck swallows nervously. “Did you have any weird dreams?”

Bobby’s expression wilts, just a little. So he did, then.

---

12 for 🧟 (ah yay thank you!):

---

Eddie is really banking on Maddie’s brother having settled somewhere safe. Somewhere decent. He is really banking on Maddie being as good of a person as she seemed. He needed her to be.

He’s running out of options, otherwise. 

The thing is, with each passing day, the likelihood of finding Shannon alive is dwindling. He knows that. He’s not stupid. It’s been too many months. But Eddie has failed Shannon so many times. All he has done is fail her. If there is any chance, any sliver of hope, that he can help her now?

---

6 for 🚨 (yeah for some reason I am in my writing about covid era?):

---

Buck gets his shield. They celebrate over cupcakes and two liter bottles of soda. There’s nothing else to be done.

“We will have a proper party when this is over,” Bobby promises. 

Whenever the hell that will be. 

Afterwards, Buck and Eddie pull Bobby into his office to come clear. 

[zjpg]

no body, no crime

summary inspired by no body, no crime by taylor swift

pairing lando norris x este , ??? (reader) x revenge

warnings cheating, death and murder

a/n i hope this is good omg i'm kinda scared hahaahah. anyway live laugh love taylor swift.

Este's a friend of mine, We meet up every Tuesday night for dinner and a glass of wine

"Sorry I'm late, traffic." celeste huff and sits across from her friend. The wine has been waiting in it's corked bottle, but her exact salad order was already placed at her side of the table. "No worries, baby-love" her best friend smiles at her as the young waiter walks over and pops the wine's cork

This was their weekly thing, always has been since they were in high school. Hard to believe that the two girls that were sat at this table talking about things like marriage, taxes and alcohol were once two younger girls gossiping about boys, weekend sports games, and hair color. That's just how things change sometime. But the older of the two hated changed. Always has. Always will.

That's why they kept this Tuesday tradition even through college. They always had dinner together, same restaurant, same table, same wine, same orders. No changes. Just the way they liked it, loved it.

"How's Lando?" The older woman asked her friend before sipping her wine. An unpleasant taste makes its way through her mouth, replacing the usually enjoyable red wine once she saw celeste's face change into a saddened and depressed expression.

"Well, he's great. I just, I've noticed some things recently..."

She says, "That ain't my Merlot on his mouth That ain't my jewelry on our joint account"

"It's just... I drink the same wine he does,"

"Merlot," her friend nods, earning a nod back. Lando had money, coming from a rich background and growing up in an even richer future as a Formula 1 driver. He drives on circuits everywhere around the world, from america to italy to tokyo. so it's safe to say he knew their wines. Celeste was the same, growing up in a just as wealthy family, she's enjoyed her moms expensive wines since she was in high school, which was odd amongst the crowd of teenagers that were drinking spirits and beers.

"Yeah, and the merlot we drink, it doesn't leave that red stain on his lips." She lets out a small sigh before pushing further into her point, "And I only wear silver jewelry, always have, but I went through our bank accounts for bills and I saw gold jewelry being bought on his account."

Maybe she's exaggerating, but the more she's looked back on the past few months, things start making sense. Less time together, less sex, quieter 'I love you's. She wondered if he was bored, she tried her best to keep their relationship exciting in many different ways. But nothing has changed.

The older friend wanted so badly to go online and expose him, call him out on his bullshit that Este has been crying about for the past few months. She wanted to end his little fanbase, maybe even his career. But there wasn't enough proof, she needed proof.

No body, no crime.

"I think he did it, but... I just can't prove it"

The next Tuesday cam by and she hadn't heard from Celeste at all that day, nonetheless, she still showed up to their usual restaurant. But after about an hour she made a call to their other friend, Inez, she works with Celeste, they've all been fairly close since school. Though Inez isn't the most trustworthy source, she knows she would get an honest answer as to where Celeste was. "I haven't seen her, I thought she was sick but our boss said she hasn't even called in sick. We figured she just got too sick to call this morning."

But that's not like Celeste. Her best friend had seen her call into their high school to let them know she wasn't making it even when she had food poisoning. She knows that's not the case. She left the restaurant, making her way to the Norris household. "I haven't seen her either, I tried filing a report but they said I have to wait 24 hours." He seemed panicked, like he had been crying and screaming all day long. His voice was practically gone and his hands were shaking more than a small dog stuck in the winter snow.

Hе reports his missing wife. And I noticed when I passed his house his truck has got some brand new tires.

The tires was one thing, maybe he genuinely needed tires. His face is all over the news along with Celeste's talking about his missing wife, but they don't bother to mention his new side pieces that just moved in...

"his mistress moved in, sleeps in Este's bed and everything!" Inez's nosy ass came in hand from time to time. She saw the move in truck when she was making her way to work one day. At first she thought it was Lando that was moving out, turns out the mistress that their dear friend had been worrying about weeks before had moved in.

"I think he did it, I just can't prove it."

"No body, no crime." Inez shrugged, not thinking much of her friends statement, surely Norris wasn't up to anything? He loved Este. Right?

As time went on, it was obvious. He did it. Even the police think so, but rich people always get their way don't they? She starts coming up with a plan. Vengeance. It ran through her bloodstream, it felt like a burning sensation.

"Good thing my daddy made me get a boating license when I was fifteen." Everything was going according to plan, it was perfect.

"Hey, Lando." She gave him a smile. It had been four months since Celeste was presumed dead, the investigation went silent a while ago and the whole town gave up hope of finding her. Her name is no longer a trending topic, but her voice and face are still gone.

The racing driver looked at his dead wife's friend with shock but nervousness. He tries to cover it with a mask of sadness, but she knew better than to fall for a man's lies. She was invited in, seeing no trace on her friend anywhere in the mansion that Celeste had called home.

"What are you doing here?" He asked once the door closed and locked behind him. He knew something was up, he was smart but not much of a genius, clearly. "Just catching up Norris," She smiled at the taller individual, "I see you and the new girl are getting along just fine. That didn't take long?"

"It's been a year."

"Took you barely 10 months to move her in." She states back. "I wanna show you something."

The drive to the docks was a good 10 minutes, Monaco is a great place to live when you want to buy a fancy new yacht. Her dad's yacht was nothing compared to Lando's driving competitor, but it was still very impressive. "Your dad's yacht?"

The amount of parties that were thrown around and on the yacht were crazy, it's how him and Este met in the first place. He thought it was a sweet gesture from the girl, though she saw the look on his face the entire time they were on the water. He looked sea sick, but she knows the driver had been on plenty of yacht's in his life, he's not sea sick.

He was quick to realize what was happening when they stopped in the middle of the nowhere on the deep waters. He knew, he came to terms with it, but he was so sure they would catch her, unlike they did him. His name is bigger, his house, his cars, his bank account, they're all bigger. But her? She's simply just... better.

"I've cleaned enough houses to know how to cover up a scene." Was the last thing he would hear that night. They next morning she would let her father know that the boat is cleaned, smells of fresh lemons and other citrus like aroma's. "Thank you sweetheart, glad to know you still have time to clean that ole' thing between your classes," He handed her some wadded up cash. The monthly occurrence of cleaning for her parents, everything from their yard to the yacht, they are just far too old to do it themselves.

News stations, media outlets, and other headlining articles went crazy after the mistress filed a missing persons report. Lando Norris missing nearly a full year after his wife's disappearance.

"Formula 1 McLaren driver, Lando Norris, was reported missing last night after not coming home from a boating trip with some friends. Officials have yet to give anymore details."

Good things Este's sisters gonna swear she was with me.

"She was with me, dude, I told you this. We all went out on the yacht, he got too drunk so we sent him home." Alana swore up and down her truth, another cover up that will never slip her teeth. Her parents always said she would be a good actor, she got away with everything as a kid. Este used to hate it.

"To his wife?"

"They're married? I don't know, man, I guess. She seemed pretty pissed if you ask me."

Good thing his mistress took out a big life insurance policy

She was cleared, no proof, no evidence. they checked the camera's, Alana and her sisters friend helping each other drag Lando's drunken body back in the truck. The yacht was clean, "I clean it at this time every month for my parents, they're getting too old to scrub it down like they used to, ya know?" The maid and her parents vouched for her, it's true, the end every month when it wasn't too cold or hot, she was at the docs. The other boat owners even agreed.

"They think she did it, but they just can't prove it." The news reporter stated as a picture of the now widowed mistress was shown on the screen. The television shuts off as a smirk is splattered on their faces.

"She thinks I did it." She smiles at the younger, chuckling in disbelief as if she was crazy for thinking just a thing. "She just can't prove it. But, like we've always said, No body." She raises up her wine glass.

Celeste copies the gesture with a venomous smile, "No crime."

taglist: @enhacolor @bibissparkles @blueanfield

[peaches2217]

Fuck it! Expectant Parents Mareach post. Putting this one under a Read More to hide my shame. Y'all were warned.

(But actually thank y'all, I wanted to get this out of my system so bad 😭)

✨ The first person Peach tells isn't Mario, but Toadsworth. She wants to surprise Mario with the news and is willing to wait until later in the evening, but she wants her surrogate father to know right away. Mario spends the rest of the day wondering why Toadsworth can't look at him without suddenly having to excuse himself, only to burst into ugly-crying one room over, but he decides it's probably not good.

✨ And of course he's incorrect! The news doesn't come out of nowhere; they've discussed it in the past, and recently they've decided they're ready. Now, when I say recently, I mean recently. The biggest surprise is that she's already pregnant.

✨ "Can't blame a girl for being eager!" Daisy jokes. "Making the baby's the fun part, after all." Before Peach can smack her hand in retribution, Peasley adds in, all too casually, "If the red one is anything like his brother, then I certainly understand that enthusiasm." Peach threatens to revoke their titles of Uncle and Honorary Aunt if they don't stop talking immediately.

✨ You know the ending of the All Stars version of Lost Levels, where Peach covers every surface inch of Mario's face with kisses? Peach ends up on the receiving end of that, a lot. That's his wife! She's carrying their child! She's beautiful and strong and perfect! And if he doesn't kiss her a thousand times right this instant he is going to spontaneously combust! Peach laughs through the entire process because his mustache tickles, and that makes it even better.

✨ Also, her feet like never touch the ground the whole pregnancy. The second she mentions her feet being sore or touches her back with a small wince or even just makes a face that looks anything other than content, Mario scoops her up and carries her wherever it is she's needing to go. She stops trying to protest a month in.

✨ To that end, keeping her comfortable throughout the process is a role Mario not only falls into flawlessly, but absolutely adores. He runs hot bubble baths for her every other night because royal work is taxing when you're simultaneously growing an entire human, he rubs her feet while she eats tiramisu in bed because it's 2AM and she woke up crying she wanted that particular snack so badly, he uses his Firebrand to soothe all of her aches and pains on command, and it's some of the most fulfilling work he feels he's ever done.

✨ They decide eventually that they want their child to know Italian fluently (Peach is still trying to learn it, and what better way than having both a husband and a child to hold her accountable?). So nearly every night, once Peach is comfy in bed, Mario will lay his head on her stomach and have one-sided conversations or sing a few songs; since she doesn't get to hear him speak in his native tongue at length too often unless she requests it, Peach is enraptured the whole time. She even has him teach her a few of the simpler songs so their baby will recognize the language in her voice as well. Any time Mario catches her singing one of those songs to herself, hand on her belly and gentle smile on her face, he melts into a puddle on the spot. Cue the face kisses.

✨ Mario decides pretty quickly that they're having a girl. He starts addressing her stomach as (la nostra) principessina, his contributions to name ideas are all feminine or neutral, and Luigi and Peasley jump on board too, discussing all the ways they're going to spoil their niece rotten, because a princess deserves no less! "What in the world are you going to do if it's not a girl?" Peach asks Mario one night. "I'll love them all the same!" is Mario's response. "...but I'm pretty sure she's a girl."

✨ When Peach goes into labor, the head nurse argues against Mario's presence at first, because she insists an untrained man taking up space in the room will merely be a hindrance (whether or not that man happens to be King Consort). Mario bluntly tells her she'll have to drag him out herself if she wants him gone. The nurse is a Toad and Mario is over 200lbs, so she relents.

✨ The labor ends up being long and difficult and Mario doesn't leave Peach's side for even a moment of it. It's emotionally draining, seeing her in so much pain for so long and not being able to do much about it, all while staying calm and being as much help as possible, but his perseverance is a big part of what sees her through. All that collectedness goes out the window the second he's holding their new baby in his arms. Peach just gives him a tired giggle and pats his back while he bawls his eyes out.

✨ Mario was right! They have a little girl with her papa's hair and face shape and her mama's eyes and nose. And when he sees his new granddaughter for the first time, Toadsworth may or may not vow to commit war crimes for her should the need ever arise. Peach chooses to believe she's just hearing things in her exhaustion.

[thecameronchronicles]

Gullible Part 2

PART 1!

TW: Cheating. Smut. Language. Dark!Rafe. Dark themes of manipulation. Semi-public sexual encounter.

SUMMARY: Rafe learns about your decision to leave or stay with your husband.

WORD COUNT: 1700

REQUESTED:

Anonymous asked:

Part 2 of Gullible please please please 🙏🏽 need to know if she left her husband or not ????

Anonymous asked:

I NEED a part 2 of gullible 

I can’t stop thinking of maybe reader did leave her husband and her and rafe show up together at midsummers and make it official but everyone is taking about them and she feels self conscious but rafe cheers her up and they fuck in the bathroom 

Or 

She didn’t leave him and rafe is pissed off about it so he makes up a plan to get caught by her husband 

Gullible Part 2

It had been months since you first uttered those words to him. And yet, the ring remained set in dominance on your left hand. It became a focal point for his glare through the handful of events he was forced to behave, a sharpening of his eyes he didn't care to hide the broadcast. Even as his father nudged him to correct his focus, you were well aware of your lover's dwindling patience. A thin and frail string set to snap at the first instance he'd get you alone. And so for you, the circumstances were simple. Don't be alone with Rafe. 

But much like everything in his life, Rafe had a way of getting what he wanted. 

Between conversations of upcoming charity events and comparing yacht sizes, you excused yourself from the table with the hope of doing so unnoticed. But as always, he noticed. I'm the same scrutinized sharpness he always held you in with observation, and you were taken aback in the belief you evaded him yet again. 

A sudden broad arm projecting before your eyes made you gasp as your eyes darted to the direction of your mutual collection of tax bracket socials just beyond the corner. 

"Rafe..."

"How long are gonna play this game?"

"Game?" You asked as he set his second arm in motion, a slow guidance now pinning you to the wall. Once again, your eye moved in analysis as he was shameless for you now. A thumb parting your lips placed you to motion away from him as he only turned you back to meet his gaze. 

"Did you think I forgot about your little promise to me? Six months until Christmas and you promised you'd be mine...waking up where you couldn't walk...But you keep playing these games and that inability to walk won't be from fucking you." He held your jaw almost sweetly but used his body against yours to weigh you down more aggressively as he leaned his lips to your ear. 

"It will be from tying you to the bed and forcing you to make all those little lies up to me. One edged orgasm at a time...If I'd even let you come at all…"

"It's complicated-"

"You like my cock better than his." He shrugged. "What's complicated about that?" He questioned as his hand managed to move to the skin beneath your skirt as your eyes rolled closed. 

"Or am I wrong and you aren't ruining your poor little panties thinking about how badly you want me to touch you right now..." But where you expected to feel the brush of his hand to your clit, he teased your nipple instead. Yet, it warranted the same parting of your lips. 

"Rafe.."

"Every night without you, I'm left picturing you with him. In bed. Naked." His jaw clenched as he made a sudden grasp for your hair. The delicate bun was disheveled by his grip as you gasped from such dominant motivations. 

"He tries, I'm sure. Why wouldn't he? And you lie to him...telling him you love him...that he's the best you've had...but he doesn't know how you drip for me...how you have for over a year...how you will every time you look at me...even when you don't think I notice. But I do." He pulled at your nipples through the fabric. 

"That blush when you think about my lips on your skin...The way you play with your necklace when you imagine those same fingers wrapped around my dick or mine playing in your panties-"

"Rafe-"

"Tell me I'm wrong that when you bite your bottom lip you aren't thinking of sucking me off..." He tightened his grip in your hair, "Maybe me on my knees for you?"

"Tell me and I'll let you go back to him, needing to use a vibrator just to get off, all while thinking of me." You clenched your jaw. "Or, you can stop playing a Stepford wife and be the whore for me we both know you really are..." 

"Not here...Please..." You urged with your hand gathering the fabric of his shirt. In only a moment's consideration, he tore you by only your wrist and into the bathroom of the country club. Ironically, the first moment he'd touched you this way you had intended to be the last. 

"Rafe-"

"I prefer it when you don't talk until I'm inside you...then I like those little whimpers you make for me-" But as he pushed you towards the vanity, you kept him at bay with a flat palm to his chest. 

"We can't." He paused at your words. 

"You didn't mean it." He slowly began to nod. 

"I did...at the time..." He scoffed. 

"So you went home that night and realized he could make you happy? Ignoring you? Always undermining you. Correcting you...Flirting with every fucking waitress from here to The Cut?" You looked away. 

"I could take care of you-"

"How, Rafe? You can't even take care of yourself." His jaw clenched before you were forced to face the vanity. 

"I don't need to. I can take care of you." He positioned one of your hands to the mirror as the other unlatched his belt from behind. Your eye followed him as your parted lips spoke his name. But before your pleading eyes or whimpers could convince him otherwise, he fisted your skirt high enough to be a threat to your sex once again. 

"Rafe..."

"Nobody knows your body like me. How you like to watch it be fucked. How you like to be told your dirty and bad...a whore..." Your bottom lip was imprisoned by your teeth in an attempt to remain silent. 

"Because for me, you are. And you love that you are. You love how I leave you aching just long enough to remember it. My cologne on your dress and my cum on your tongue....beneath that pretty little manicure... dripping down your thighs...all right under his nose. All while he thinks he has you to himself. Right, baby?"

"Look at you right now," He scoffed, smirking into your cheek as his eyes found yours in the reflection. 

"You want this. And you hate that you do. But you won't leave. Not him. And not me. So you're left with a choice..."

You winced to the withdraw of his cock. 

"You can come now with me. Or leave with him. But if you do..." He dropped to his knees,pulling your panties to your ankles before turning you to face him. 

"You won't get to feel this ever again...let me just remind you..." He angled his mouth against your sex in perfect precision. The heel in which your toes had curled within fell to the floor with an echo as you gripped the vanity behind you. In seconds, your dominant hand came to his hair before he collected it and set it back to the cold marble behind you. 

"Come with me. Or leave with him." He growled between your legs. "I'm not waiting anymore."

"I can't, Rafe!" He withdrew, wiping his mouth and standing over you. 

"What changed?"

"This is sex, Rafe." You confessed, but the truth broadcast behind such teary eyes. You wanted it to be with no strings attached. And yet, from the very moment you felt his kiss and his touch, you came to regret ever meeting your husband. And yet, you didn't want to hurt Rafe. Not anymore than you already had. 

"I don't believe you." He explained, nearly deadpanned to fight his own emotions. 

"You don't have to. But you have to respect it." You collected your wrist and left the bathroom with whatever remaining dignity you could muster before turning to face him one final time. 

But he hadn't expected you to call his bluff. He wasn't prepared to leave the club without you. He believed his touch and words were enough. But as he watched you at the table in the hours that followed, he dulled his anger one drink at a time until his father corrected his recklessness.

"It doesn't happen that fast-" Rafe heard your voice as he stumbled out of the bathroom, leaning against the doorway of a meeting room you'd ignorantly left ajar when speaking to your husband. 

"All you were supposed to do was lay on your back and let him fuck you. Get pregnant so we could extort Ward just like he extorted my father..."

"It's-"

"Did you fall for the kid or something?" You scowled at his choice of adjective as Rafe was anything but inexperienced. Yet to your husband, Rafe was only a stepping stone or an obstacle, depending on the day. 

"I just think there is a different way we can go about it..."

"What changed your mind-"

"You didn't give me much of a-" 

Your husband silenced you with a grip to your jaw. 

"You wanted a baby and the only fucking way I could stand to look at you was to make you useful...but believe me, nobody would miss you if-" Blind rage fueled Rafe as he barrled into the room and surprised you. In seconds, he held your husband by his collar. Without a word, Rafe's knuckles were bruised and bloody by the constant collision made to your husband's face. 

"Rafe!" You pleaded as he now turns to face you. The same anger towards your husband was now directed to you. 

"You wanted a baby?" He almost growled, pleased with his dark intentions as you backed into the table. 

"I'll give you a fucking baby, baby..."

TAGLIST: @hopebaker @drewspisces @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4tangerine @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @camilynn @sweetestdesire @onmykneesforrafe @jjmaybanksangel @phildunphyisadilf @mashdan0916 @belcalis9503

MASTERLIST

RAFE CAMERON MASTERLIST

2ND RAFE CAMERON MASTERLIST

MARCH MADNESS MASTERLIST

[ehlnofay]

Summerfest Day 4 - ENAMOURED

Efri leans over the scaled black fence until her feet are off the ground, spelled light quavering in the air above her hands, and says delightedly, “Oh, can I touch them?”

“Do not,” J’zargo says plaintive behind her, because all her friends are big boring babies, and Kazari huffs hard enough that she feels the fabric ruffle on the backs of her knees.

She wants to touch them. She wants to touch them very badly. She hasn’t had much chance at all to even look at them yet in the time they’ve been here in the underground village, since they spent most of it being watched (in, you know, a manner of speaking) and escorted and very carefully supervised, but she’s had glimpses of the big purple-black bugs in their fenced-off corners, wiggly as snakes and shiny as beetles, and now she’s finally getting to look at them properly and she wants to touch them. They’ve got these cool spikes along the ridges of their backs and huge sharp-looking mandibles that they click and clatter, making noises like the elves do, and she’s never ever ever seen a bug that big and she wants to see what it feels like.

Everything here is something she’s never ever ever seen before. It’s extremely exciting, and was from the beginning, even if it was also a bit scary, at the beginning. It would be hard for it not to be scary – snow ghosts are like dragons, a bit, things that straddle the line between fable and fact. Dragons were legends and yarns and then all of a sudden they were burning towns down; and Onmund says the clatter-coats were strange creepy stories from up in the high north, once, common enough in folklore, but unsubstantiated. Still not very well known. Seeing things you’ve never seen before, that you weren’t even sure are real, is always a bit of a fright (Efri was startled when first she met Kazari), and the snow elves had been threatening them with weapons, at the time, which didn’t help. But that was all a misunderstanding, and it’s cleared up now, and they’re being allowed to look around the cave-village without anyone needing to worry about fighting, so Efri wants to see all of it, right up close, like she couldn’t when they were all still wary of each other. She remembers seeing ponds, before, milk-white, with people all poised statue-still around the edges with spears or nets or traps; she saw the cave bugs, but only from a distance. She saw all the funny little huts but she hasn’t seen the inside of most of them. She knows so little. There is so much still to learn.

(It is hard to clear up misunderstandings when nobody speaks a lick of the same language, but they managed; a woman with sky blue veins and a little bit of hair twisted up in these amazing shapes did mind-magic, which Efri didn’t even know was a thing before today, so they could kind of communicate for a little bit. Brelyna says it’s rare and probably taxing, so they might not be able to do it again. Efri wishes she’d known what they were going to do ahead of time. There are so many questions she would have asked if she’d known to plan them all. She wants to know what their clothes are made of. She wants to know what the ridged tattoos are for and why almost everyone has them. She wants to know if everything is made of the bug-shells, because almost everything she sees looks like bug-shells. She wants to know how they talk and if they can talk to the bugs because they make the same sort of clattering noises and if they ever go into the grand halls of the dwarven ruin and if they ever make their way above surface, and she wants to tell them about the sky and the trees and the mountains and the snow. She’s trying to copy their tapping-talking, but they do need to get back to managing the Eye thing sooner rather than later and there’s not time to learn a language, worst luck. It’s all a shame. But it’s all also incredible, because they might not have long before they have to get back to business but they do have right now, and she is making the most of it.)

So she nearly tips over the edge of the fence in her excitement to lean over it, and Sissel squeaks, and their friend – the one snow elf still escorting them around, making sure that they don’t do things like fall into the bug enclosures – reaches out quick as a wink to grab the back of her mantle and haul her back onto the ground.

“Thank you,” she says, reaching awkwardly around to tap her fingers on his arm in acknowledgement, as seems polite, and he hums. (In her head, she calls him Whistle; she thinks he told them his real name, but part of it was whistling, and when she tried to copy it she just ended up spitting and he made the sort of dry hissing clicking noise that she’s pretty sure is how they laugh. So Whistle it is. Kazari could hum the right pitch but she can’t whistle or do the tongue-teeth click-clucking, and Onmund can whistle long and loud but not quite high enough, and not as clear and clean as it was supposed to be.)

 The light bobs and sputters above her hands. It’ll go out soon, but for now it’s still going strong. Efri wriggles, leans forward to press her chest against the bug-shell fence again, says, “Look at them! They’re so big!” The smallest ones are at least as long as she is tall, with mandibles as big as her head; the biggest one is enormous, as big as three horses, probably. She could sit cross-legged on its head with room to spare. It could swallow someone and they wouldn’t even get stuck in its throat.

“Looking,” J’zargo says. “Not liking.”

“Chicken,” says Efri without even looking over her shoulder, and he makes a very offended scoff.

Sissel is hanging back somewhere with Brelyna; she also doesn’t really like the cave bugs, but she’s not such a baby about it. Efri can hear her feet shuffling. “I wonder what all they’re used for… do they build everything with them?”

“I don’t know!” Efri is bouncing on her heels, a bit. (All the buildings are made of layers of careful-wrought purple-black shell; all the tools, too, all the utensils and knives and spearpoints and everything. She doesn’t know how it’s worked, how it’s harvested, if maybe it’s different kinds of exoskeleton for a house than it is for a platter or a chopping knife.) “It looks like it. I wonder if they eat them, too, like livestock. Do you?” (She directs the last question at Whistle; who, of course, does not answer.)

“Not much meat on it,” Sissel points out.

“I want to touch them,” Efri repeats, and she takes Whistle’s arm; he lets her, ears twitching. (He’s cold to the touch, like a dead fish, and he has the scar-patterns all down his wrists, but she ignores all that because that’s not the point.) She manipulates his loosely curled fingers until he’s pointing, pulls at the limb so the pointer finger jabs against her shoulder, strokes his wrist in the awkward motion one might use when patting a bird, and then shifts his arm again so he’s pointing in the vague direction of the bugs in their fenced-off corner. “Can I touch them?” she repeats, and then, for good measure, “Please?”

The light bobbing over her hands spits and flickers. It’s really hard to try to read Whistle’s face, which is actually very interesting – making faces doesn’t have much utility when no-one you know has eyes, so the snow ghosts don’t seem to quite know how, and Efri hasn’t learned whatever their equivalent is yet – but his ears move more than any elf she’s ever seen, so she mostly focuses on that. (That’s saying a lot, because Brelyna’s ears quiver when she’s annoyed. Not more than the Khajiit, though; they move them as much as their mouths when they’re talking, and J’zargo, at least, never shuts up.) After a moment, he half-straightens, the crooked angle of his back shifting before he eases back into it; he clatters his tongue, pats Efri’s arm, and hops the fence in one smooth motion.

(They’re so fast, and they move so fluidly, even though they don’t look like they should be able to, hunched over and made small with their shoulders stooped and centre of gravity held low. Efri considers, briefly, trying to see if she could move like that; but she suspects it wouldn’t work for her, and anyway, bugs.)

Efri follows gleefully – scrambles over the strange chitinous scaling of the fence and lands a little bit on her knees in the dirt. “Efri, be careful,” Onmund implores, and she turns around on purpose to stick her tongue out at him.

Kazari inclines their head in something like sympathy, signs no stopping her when she gets like this, and Efri sticks her tongue out at them, too. Then she turns back around to follow Whistle – who, it looks like, has paused to listen, face turned like a sunflower towards her. In the light bobbing over her hands, his skin practically glows.

“Bugs,” she says, and taps his arm again. She can see them down the other end of the enclosure, skittering, light glinting off their ink-dark carapaces. The big one lies mostly still, except when it moves its head, mandibles clacking.

Whistle presses a few narrow fingers into the dirt and clicks a rapid pattern with his tongue, and they come swarming. And Efri gets to touch a big bug.

They’re slippery-smooth, and ridiculously quick – she jumps out of the way at first, she’s so startled, but Whistle just leans against them, spreading his hand against sheets of keratin like people might rest their hands on the back of a dog, so Efri copies him. Runs a hand over the jagged plates along one of the bugs’ sort-of-neck, looking at its face side-on, its beady little eye flashing like a cat’s when her light bobs out of the way. Its head is spiky. The scale-plates are thick and gnarled and oil-dark, like the dead material she’s seen almost everything made out of but raw, unfinished-feeling. It clatters its mandibles at her, and she brushes her fingers along one of them, out of curiosity; her hand comes away slick.

“Eugh,” she says delightedly. “They’re slimy.”

The slime, she thinks, might not be good, because suddenly Whistle grabs her wrist, making a very shrill keening noise, and pulls her down to rub her hand on the dirt until it’s scraped dry. Maybe it’s poisonous – they look like the sort of animal that would be poisonous. Or maybe it’s just gross, to the clatter-coats, like walking around with chicken poo on your fingers. He directs her hand back firmly to the top of its head. She says, “Thank you,” even though she knows it won’t get across.

(She’s getting to touch the big maybe-poisonous bugs, and she got to sort-of talk to someone here, and maybe, if there’s time, she can go see the ponds again and learn how they fish, if it’s different with chitin-tools and underground; it’s a shame there’s so little time. Maybe, once the Eye is handled, she could come back. She wants to learn all about this place. And she’s already basically friends with Whistle.)

(All the rest of her friends hang back, even when she tells them it’s fine – she calls them fraidy-cats, and J’zargo takes mock offence – except Brelyna, which is a bit of a surprise. She has to jump to get herself over the fence, and she approaches the bugs with very little worry. Efri grins at her, and Brelyna half-shrugs and says, “They’re just insects. The way they all act sometimes, I think they’d wet themselves if they ever saw a nix.” Efri makes a note in her head to learn, when she has a moment, what a nix looks like.)

(Then Efri’s little light goes out, and she waits for someone else to strike one, because she’s been using her gloves an awful lot since she came underground and if she doesn’t let the enchantment rest they’ll probably unravel themselves.)

So that’s one thing on the list of things she’s curious about; there’s more, of course, an endless spiel. She wishes she could ask what the bugs are kept for, and how they’re reared, and what they’re called; she wants to put them in her word-book, but she doesn’t know the name past big bug and those words aren’t really worth the page space. She’d really like to see what she can find out about fishing next, because she’s certainly never tried fishing underground, but by the time she’s done patting the beetle-things – the really big one, she discovers when she works up the courage to approach it, likes to be knuckled in the chinks of its belly-armour, like a dog (or she thinks it likes it, anyway; it clicks and lolls its head when she does) – Onmund and Kazari are saying that they’re hungry, so Efri has to figure out how to try to get that across. She ends up putting Whistle’s hand on her cheek and miming chewing, which is the best way she can think of to communicate eating short of biting his fingers, which feels rude.

Eating is probably about as good as fishing, anyway, because Whistle does the hiss-click-laugh sound and leads them neatly through the gnarls of the village to a half-open hut they haven’t been to before, and there’s people cooking there so Efri gets to learn about snow elf cooking, and there’s a baby there so she gets to learn about snow elf babies. It’s in a cloth sling over someone’s chest, looking very small and squishy, eye-spots all wrinkly and ears floppy and skin as pale-translucent as the belly of a crab. “Aw,” Efri coos, “It’s a baby.” Which is obvious, but still worth noting.

Sissel says, “You don’t like babies,” which, as a general rule, is true. They’re loud and whingy and don’t do much, and it means they’re pretty boring, even though it isn’t their fault.

But, “It’s an interesting baby,” Efri says. She’s never seen a snow ghost baby before. No-one ever mentions babies in the stories. Its mother lets her hold its hand. Its knuckles are purplish; its nails are tough, like chitin.

It’s nice to get to sit by a fire, too; there’s precious little of it down here, it seems. Fire’s good for light and heat and snow elves don’t need much of either. But it makes it easier to watch them all work, weaving in and out of the sparse furniture and each other, as if they all know where everything is at all times. Efri gets to help mash something in a bowl. She’s not sure what it is. It might be some kind of vegetable, though she doesn’t know any that would grow down here. Someone takes the bowl away again, and she sprawls out over the dirt to watch. All her friends have sat down, too.

“We’ll need to keep going, soon,” Onmund says, quiet, firelight casting strange shadows through the wisps of his hair.

Efri tips her head back. “I know,” she grumbles. “It’s just all so interesting.” The staff will be interesting too, she knows; you can find something to be interested in everywhere. But she’ll miss the snow elf place. It’s all so cool, and there’s so much more to learn.

Whistle is listening from where he’s doing something to the coals of the fire; she can tell because his ears, batlike, are twitching her way. She tries, one more time, to make the right whistling noise, and again she spits all over her chin, and again he laughs, strange and alien and rustling like dry leaves.

[alexanderlightweight]

Hope your moving is going swimmingly! I am also moving soon and already stressed l. Plus work so 😬. So my request is something soothing, where Magnus and Alec are just having a lovely time. Verse of your choice

i mean, it happened and it's now past the hardest part! tbh it was stressful and super hot — twas 115ish — but the worst part is now over! Nightshade and the Abyss love the new place and the Abyss is having fun trying to assert her authority over the house — she’s tiny, it’s not going as she planned. however she is about 1/10 of Nightshade’s weight and size and she spent the first night taunting him, teasing him and smacking him with sheathed paws every time he gave in to her meowing at him. 

she likes to wait until nightshade is sleeping and then she sneaks up on him and meows at him until he wakes up and then he goes to say hi, she smacks him and then runs so he’ll chase her so he can get in trouble and so she can smack him again. he’a still really young but he’s trying so hard to be friends with her and she’s older and has no interest in actually playing with a puppy — just bullying him. she’s the stereotype of a cat who goes ‘mwahaha’ while blaming the dog for things.

btw Nightshade’s reaction is legit to just upset zoomie or shake a toy at her and cry after she hits him.

they both got in trouble for those shenanigans btw (the running in the kitchen)

moving is incredibly taxing, mentally and physically so take care of yourself! be safe <3 remember that it’s okay and necessary to take breaks and hydrate lots! 

also just so it's known in general, things will be a bit odd even with the move finishing up because my laptop got damaged pretty badly during the move and we don't know if it's salvageable yet. so i'm using my phone and saeth's when they're not using it for writing themselves.

this is in the 'petals vs' and i hope you find it soothing because i did but if not, just let me know cause everyone finds different vibes comforting! good luck on your move! let me know how it goes? i hope it is as stress free as possible and nothing breaks!

<3 lumine

—

Magnus adds two streaks of purple to his hair and one of mauve before he holds up of a sprig of wisteria, making sure that the colors match. They do and it’s with pleasure that Magnus puts in two — magically crystallized and grown — dangling earrings created from the same flowers that Alexander is going to wear.

It’s a simple night out and Magnus is in the mood for the quiet intimacy of a long walk with his beloved. 

They don’t necessarily need to dress up for what will essentially be a trek through a hidden grove, but both of them like to indulge both each other and themselves. 

“Alexander—” Magnus calls as he finishes the last touches of his craft and when he turns, it’s to find his darling watching him with soft, adoring eyes. 

Magnus manages to last an entire half-a-second before he’s crossing the room and rubbing his palms down Alexander’s shoulders and then kissing his cheek. 

“You look better.” He finally lets himself say, drinking in the sight that is a well-rested, fully healed Alexander. A kiss is pressed to his jaw and then his mouth, lips lingering with a subtle intensity that lingers almost wistfully. 

“You too, you have enough energy for this trip, right?” He’s asked carefully and Magnus can’t help his smile.

Alexander isn’t being doubtful, he’s being earnestly sweet and Magnus lingers in the languid feeling of being cared for. The last three nights have been full of portals and magic and healing and — while Alexander hunted down the ingredients needed and sharing strength — it’s Magnus who has been expending all of his energy and energy to the very brink. 

Well, Magnus and half a dozen other warlocks but only he and Cat worked the three days continuously. 

They were the only ones who could.

“I’m fine sweetheart. All I needed was a night of rest and you, safe in my arms.”

“I still think you should have let me give you a massage last night.” Alexander murmurs with a pout and Magnus laughs, pressing his fingertips to Alexander’s mouth in a gentle kiss.

“It either would have turned into something neither of us had the energy for, or you would have fallen asleep half on top of me, darling.” Magnus can’t help how soft his tone goes, “we were both spent, Alexander. You’re the only reason Cat didn’t insist on coming home with me, normally she puts her foot down when we encounter a disease like this.” Magnus winks, “she doesn’t normally trust me not to try and immediately research how it happened. However she trusts that you’re a sufficient distraction.”

“Still—” is all Alexander says, a deep yearning in his voice, “you deserve to be taken care of. Especially with how much you take care of everyone else.”

“You’ll find I take plenty care of myself, especially when I’m given a good reason to.” Magnus gives a playful smirk because Alexander knows that he’s the reason Magnus is alluding to and his boy laughs, tender and sweet and Magnus aches with it.  

“Then I’ll need to find a way to stick around then, just to make sure.” 

Magnus’ breathe hitches with want, because they’ve slowly been talking about this and Magnus can’t deny Alexander’s sincerity anymore.  No one who goes to talk to the Council of Elders and some of the oldest members of the shadowworld — who requested and paid the costs of asking to feel some of the best and worst emotions associated with immortality — is insincere. 

Alexander means it.

His devotion is steadfast and his love unwavering, his trust all encompassing when it comes to Magnus and Magnus feels both ravenous and also hesitant. 

Yet how can he disrespect the adoration and devotion that he’s invoked by merely being himself, when Alexander is so guileless about it. When Alexander has made lists of places he wants to visit with Magnus, the greenhouses and gardens he wants to tend to himself when he’s retired, the fact that Alexander wants to retire.

That his beloved wants to leave the clave better than before, but leave it all the same. The day when he will step away from the burdens and responsibilities of his people and family and belong wholly to himself and to Magnus.

Alexander wants to learn and study and travel and love but he wants to only do it with Magnus and that is a treasure Magnus never realized he’d been taught could never be his. Yet to dismiss it would be to invalidate the love given him and well, Magnus would be both cruel and a fool to do that. 

And while sometimes in his long life, Magnus knows he’s been both — though rarely at the same time. It would take an act of befuddlement from his own father for Magnus to act foolishly or cruel with something so delicate concerning both Alexander’s and his own heart.

“I suppose we will.” Magnus murmurs and he summons the flower crown to his hands and gently places it on Alexander’s brow. He admires how the lavender and mauve petals look against Alexander’s features and then he blinks.

Wisteria means many things but the colors Alexander asked for, the type of flower that he normally lets Magnus pick… they mean things.

Devotion that can transcend even death. 

Longevity which implies immortality, though all things can die no matter how long they’ve lived.

“You’re a sly man when you want to be, Alexander.” Magnus murmurs, voice unrepentantly indulgent as Alexander smirks at him. There is a pleased turn to his lips and his eyes gleam with both relief and love and Magnus wants to disappear with him for at least a week.

There’s a cottage in the grove.

Nothing too elaborate but comfortable enough — Ragnor would never have helped maintain it otherwise — and it’s the perfect place for a simple weekend of intimacy. Magnus can teach Alexander to fish as he learned as a boy and he can watch Alexander with amusement when his darling shadowhunter shows off and shoots the fish with arrows and then dives for them. 

Apparently, it was quite a habit for Alexander to go to the ocean in the dead of night with his runes activated, unseen by mundanes as he practiced hunting by shooting fish and then diving for them. 

They can replant the small garden around the cottage and Magnus can teach and show Alexander some of the hybrids he and Cat and Ragnor have created and tended to over the centuries. 

“Sometimes, my love—” and Magnus pauses, adding another layer of protective magic to both Alexander and his crown, “I cannot understand how we came to be.”

Alexander understands him, if the sudden sheen to his eyes means anything.

They’ve both been horribly broken by life and shattered by people supposed to love them yet somehow,despite all the odds they found and have kept and fought for each other.

It’s a beautiful but daunting mystery and one Magnus never needs solved. 

After all, no matter how or why they met, it’s the two of them alone that have made this work.

[simonsquest]

Simon/Selena + stitching? :>

Simon returns home from a late-night hunt badly injured. He tries to sew his wounds closed himself. Selena helps him instead. CW: Graphic and detailed descriptions of wounds & blood

Simon enters his home after a hunt—quietly, as to not disturb Selena who could be sleeping within. He shuts the wooden door behind him before leaning against it, breathing steadily to himself as he comes down from the adrenaline high of combat. He tries to raise his right hand to wipe the damp and cooled blood from his face, but the pain is beginning to set in: it hurts too much to move, now. He promptly stills his arm.

Instead, Simon tries to move off of the door, beginning his search for the tools he needs to tend to his wounds.

Selena emerges from their bedroom to meet him, candleholder in hand. Ah, he disturbed her sleep with his entry.

“Forgive me for disturbing you.” Simon offers what he can of an apologetic smile, concealing his growing pain. Even in darkness, Selena can plainly see he’s injured. She approaches him, using the candle’s glow to aid in her visibility as she studies him.

She gasps softly to herself, remarking the shine of blood in the light. He’s absolutely covered in it. It is not unusual for Simon to return home injured after fighting creatures of the night, but this is vastly different than what Selena would expect to see.

“Is this blood yours? Let me look at you.” Selena inquires, inching closer.

Simon wouldn’t dream of exposing her to such gore. He steels himself, not quite knowing how to tell her no, but he tries:

“I’ll tend to my injuries. Please don’t concern yourself.”

Not desiring to be studied any longer, Simon brushes past her and into their bedroom. He begins rummaging for items in his things, promptly retrieving rags, disinfectant, needles, thread, and scissors.

As adrenaline washes away, Simon grits his teeth as his injuries announce themselves with a burning sensation. He breathes, quietly, in an attempt to ground himself before turning to exit—

Selena obstructs his path. He meets her gaze—her face conveys growing concern—does he look that bad?

Simon catches a glimpse of himself in their bedroom mirror. He’s beginning to understand her worry: he didn’t realize just how much blood masked his skin and matted his hair to his face.

Selena sets down the candle holder on the nearest surface and approaches Simon, taking the items from his hands, and setting them down as well.

Her attention returns to her husband: she scans his body, noting his torn leathers, and the blood that pools from them.

Without a moment’s hesitation, she’s reaching her hands out to unfasten his armour, starting from the clasps on his breastplate.

Simon moves to still her hands with his—oh, they’re filthy. He doesn’t want to dirty her.

“I can do it.” Simon mumbles, doing what he can to conceal his pain as he moves to unfasten his leathers by himself. Respecting his boundaries, Selena only watches as he tries.

But there’s a slowness to his movements, and she can plainly see that even undressing was taxing on him. Her mind races to examine his form—the obvious topical injuries were one thing, but she wondered if muscle had been cut, or if he has sprained or broken anything.

Simon frowns at her intense scrutiny, not making eye contact as he peels the tarnished leather off of his body, revealing his torso. The skin beneath is soaked with blood—fresh and weeping in some areas, and dried and oxygenated in others. It is a gruesome sight, and Simon does what he can to hide away from Selena’s prying eyes.

Instead, Simon collects his tools, and the candle, before moving into the foreroom. There, he retrieves the wash bucket, already full of well water. He seats himself at their dining room table and gets to work on pressing cloth against the cuts he can reach.

Much to his dismay, Selena has followed after him, though still a respectable distance away.

There’s a very deep gash along his upper right pectoral - still open and weeping fresh blood. It is a troublesome place for an injury: it affects the articulation in Simon’s dominant arm. As he presses the cloth to soak up the blood, he resolves he must take care of this wound, first.

Placing his right arm onto the table, Simon mops up the blood by pressing the cloth against the wound. Then pressing into it—firm. He does what he can to conceal his grimace, the only remnant of his pain is in the form of a slow exhale through his nose, and the tightening of his fist.

Selena only watches with building concern. She wants to help, but hesitates to overstep the boundaries established by their still impersonal relationship. All she can do is watch as Simon moves to prepare a needle and thread.

Selena notes his lack of dexterity in his right hand as he struggles to do this task. She resolves she cannot stand by and watch anymore. She approaches him before pulling up a chair by his side.

Simon looks at her through his curtain of stained hair, features hard as he continues to stifle his pain.

Her face is so full of unease. Simon loathes that he has this affect on her. It would be simpler if she was sleeping soundly when he returned…

Selena’s lithe fingers slide atop of his hand for a moment before she takes the thread and needle from him. Despite the darkness, she threads it expertly, and sets it back down on the table. She reaches for a rag and the bottle of disinfectant, next.

“Can you move your arm from the table, please?” Selena asks, and with a soft, resigned sigh, Simon does, granting her access to the wound as he turns to face her in his seat. His left arm instead rests upon the table.

Selena leans in, cupping the wound with the cloth before she saturates it with the liquid.

Simon jolts unexpectedly, startling her. He looks away, gritting his teeth as the stinging of disinfectant sears down his arm and across chest.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Selena whispers, genuine, as she presses the cloth deep into his wound. She soaks up the fluids before setting the rag down, collecting the threaded needle. Selena takes a moment to saturate the needle and thread in disinfectant before setting the bottle down to join the rag on the table.

She inches closer, closing the distance between them. Simon shifts so she can get closer still as she readies to puncture his skin.

One hand sliding onto his shoulder, she offers him a silent look. Simon nods in reply, closing his eyes as he braces for the inevitable piercing that follows.

Dutifully, Selena pierces the needle through his skin on either end of the gash, starting at the top. Simon breathes steadily, trying not to focus on it as she continues. Instead, he collects another rag and dampens it with water from the wash bucket. He wipes the blood from his face at last.

Now that the adrenaline has subsided, he ached all over. Certainly not the worst pain he has experienced, but it was still wildly unpleasant. And absurdly embarrassing. Simon is supposed to become the hero of the realm—the battle-hardened man who can endure any hardship, any pain. He breathes, trying to remind himself to avoid showing weakness in front of his newly-wed wife. It would only worsen things if she were to question his strength.

Selena is silent as she continues her task, pulling thread taut to close the wound. Simon grimaces, moving to catch the rag in hand between his teeth as Selena pierces the wound again. His jaw tightens.

Another unpleasant tug. Another puncture. Again. Each puncture is underlined; the pain building. Simon sucks air through his teeth, brows knit, as he processes it.

“Are you well?” Selena asks, quiet.

Simon nods, concealing his face in the cloth in his left hand.

“Shall we pause?” She tries, soft.

“No, I’m fine.” Simon lies.

Selena continues her task, but Simon can feel how her thumb rubs against him. A small, comforting gesture.

Simon does what he can to focus on anything other than the task. He tries to focus on Selena’s soft hands, her careful breath between them as she gives him all of her focus as time crawls on.

How fortunate that his wife is skilled in these matters, and does not appear to be repulsed by the sight of blood and gaping wounds.

Simon is pulled from his thoughts with another tug of the thread, further down his chest. He twitches involuntarily, grimacing.

Selena’s movements slow. Simon can feel the thread moving in a different way. He looks down to see Selena tying the thread closed at the end of the wound. Her fingers are stained with his blood. Simon frowns at the sight of it as Selena cuts away the loose thread end before pressing the cloth against the dribbling, sewn wound.

Selena looks up to meet his eyes. She is evidently tired, but she does what she can to conceal it.

Simon softens at the sight of her. He hands her the rag he’s been clutching onto. Selena takes it, cleaning her hands of his blood.

“Thank you.” Simon expresses as she does, voice so quiet between them. Timidly, the fingertips of Simon’s right hand—still lacking adequate dexterity—land upon Selena’s knee.

Selena slows, noting the small gesture. Boldly, she moves to close the distance between them. Simon readily cradles her cheek with his left hand as they lean in to share a chaste, gentle kiss.

They part, and Selena lingers for a moment, connecting their foreheads.

Spouses cherish the quiet moment, eyes closed, before they have to move onto the next injury.

[riplever]

[Translation] Translating my favorite moments from Shapolang

/*SPOILER WARNING*/

This is my prep work for future fic-writing.

Gu Yun suddenly goes, "Shall I leave the army to Chang Geng in the future?"

Shen Yi is stupefied. "Just how badly do you want him dead?"

From the look on his face, Shen Yi is very much taking pleasure in his suffering. Gu Yun reaches for the back of head and shoves him face-down into the blankets; then he drifts away listlessly, thinking it might be time to hang himself with a waistband of sorts.

Gu Yun knows the human heart all too well — he knows the more you avoid some things, the more heinously taboo it becomes; like what happens when poison reaches the bone — in far too deep to be removed. So it's with that logic in mind that he decides to show Chang Geng all he has to show — it's just his body after all, what else is there to it?

"If I were born a decade earlier..." Chang Geng suddenly starts.

Liao Ran's eyelid twitches.

Word by heavy word, Chang Geng finishes his sentence: "This world would be a different one."

And he never would ever let Gu Yun go.

Gu Yun does feel that he has the bigger responsibility in this whole affair, and for that he even feels guilty. Under ordinary circumstances, Chang Geng never would have gotten this close to him were if not for his unspoken approval. And even if he hadn't had enough wits to react on the spot back then, thereby leading to their "accident", he still should not have procrastinated... and allowed things to get to their present state.

"That's why..." Gu Yun could only utter those two words. His voice is cracked beyond recognition, and it was physically taxing for him to clear his throat enough to finish the sentence. "So that's why you prescribed him tranquilizers."

(T/N: I find it so interesting that 安神药 is translated as "tranquilizers" in the fandom. It's not the first thing I would have thought of, but it's quite fitting for the wild wolf analogy and is a very chilling word to see.)

At the end of his flute performance, an extremely self-satisfied Gu Yun turns around with a face full of expectations and prompts him. "Wasn't that just lovely?"

"..." Chang Geng hesitates not for a short period of time, and in the end answers sincerely. "It invigorates one's spirit and... will definitely keep our enemies at bay."

Chang Geng couldn't resist any longer. He leans down and plugs Gu Yun's lips with his own.

"My general," his thinks, heart at once sweetened and sorrowed. "Throughout history, how many have been able to shed their armors and retire in one piece from the battlefield? What was that promise for, if none other than to break my heart?"

Unlike the parting kiss on the city wall all those years ago, this one contained much less desperate passion. All of a sudden, a section of Gu Yun's armored heart caves inwards, revealing its softest and most vulnerable underbelly. It's this heart that thinks, "From here on, this person is mine."

That look in Chang Geng's eyes, that expression — Shen Yi's eyes are blinded, and he gravely regrets stepping foot in the manor at this time. Gu Yun, for his part, is just as mute — his waist was pained simply from hearing the word "Stepfather".

Gu Yun wipes the salt from his mouth, reeling from the accusation at being called an "animal". He felt so grievously misunderstood that he could do no more than sit mutely in his corner, unable to plead his own case.

As he chewed on the salted yellow fish, a thought occurs to Gu Yun and he puts half of it in Shen Yi bowl. "How about you finish up dinner and get going soon? You were born with eyes, surely with them you can see how busy he is from having worked so hard all day long. Don't impose here."

An insulted Shen Yi very nearly chokes on the damned salted yellow fish bone. He retaliates lowly, "I come all this way here to play counsellor to your worries, and this is how you thank me? Gu Zixi, you would rather lust for sex than be loyal to our friendship — so this is what they mean when they say time reveals all colors!"

Gu Yun hasn't even gotten the last syllable out of his mouth when he feels a sudden warm wetness on the side of his neck. It's Chang Geng — taking advantage of the present chaos to lick a strip across Gu Yun's skin.

Through the cacophony, he could hear that low voice murmuring right inside his ear. "It's fairly romantic to die for love in this manner, wouldn't you say?"

Gu Yun is speechless.

(My favorite #2)

Perhaps the most unpredictable thing in this world is not the ill intents of one's enemies, but the heart of one's lover — oftentimes sincere, yet still, at times — fleeting.

Chang Geng pleads, "Zixi..."

"There's no need for Zixi," Gu Yun responds evenly. "You may continue addressing me as 'Stepfather'."

Chang Geng smiles without shame, and kisses him with the intent to please. This is something he'd recently discovered — that Gu Yun likes these sticky little kisses, a kind of light pressure between lips. And if he tops this off by staring at him with a careful and attentive expression afterwards, then Gu Yun will say "yes" to just about anything he asks for.

(My favorite #1)

As he said this, there is an almost imperceptible furrow between his brows, his expression practically bleak. Chang Geng has only ever seen this expression one other time, and it was during that new year's eve when they were aboard the Yuan. The Gu Yun of then had toasted three cups of wine to a legion of departed souls, his face etched with this exact same stinging loneliness — as though not even the combined might of all the lanterns in the city could bring him into light.

Chang Geng's eyes flash, and seeing that no one on the cart was paying them any mind, offers in a tantalizingly low voice, "Let me again tonight and I'll show you the blueprint for the railroad."

Horse whip in hand, Gu Yun leans back. "Let you? How many times have I let you? You've used your injuries as an excuse countless of times and you've never let me have my way. Forget it."

Liao Ran raises his eyes to meet his gaze.

Chang Geng's expression is inscrutable. "Ask Chen Qingxu for all the Gu Zixi secrets she's been keeping from me."

(My favorite #3)

Chang Geng's grip tightens as he holds Gu Yun almost protectively. For the first time in his heart, there's none of the dependency he feels towards his little stepfather, and none of the desire he feels towards his beloved. Instead, he feels as though he's cradling a young and delicate child in his arms.

In all the time he's spent ruminating on impossible what-ifs and what-could-have-beens, Chang Geng often tried to imagine what their relationship would have been like had he been been born ten, or even twenty years earlier.

And today, on the bitingly cold frontlines of the Jiangbei warfront, the missing time that he yearned so wretchedly for shrinks to a few tiny inches, left to the dust as he crosses those decades in a single step.

From head to toe, Gu Yun's body is soft everywhere. There seemed to be an invisible wound on his chest, aching dully at the lighest of efforts. He fumbles around blindly by his side, finding his monocle glasses with some fluster. "Let me..."

His head lowered, Chang Geng ignores him. He gently grips Gu Yun's wrist and pushes it back down.

(My favorite #4)

Chang Geng takes the blade and leaves.

To show that he had most definitely kept his word, and had not even so much as tip-toed past the flap of his tent, Gu Yun stood by the entrance as he waited for Chang Geng. He didn't care for any of the blood, sweat or dirt and immediately pulled him into an embrace.

It's only now that Chang Geng feels that bone-deep fatigue. Wobbling ever so slightly, he grasps Gu Yun by the waist and mutters into his ear: "I'm never letting you fight another battle again."

In his ear, Chang Geng whines "pitifully": "I don't have any money to give you. My man took all of it and spent it on wine and women. Why don't you take my body instead?"

His accent is impressive for having spent those few months between the two camps — though Gu Yun doesn't know from whence exactly he'd picked up this wet, nasally cadence from. The syllables for "my man" were especially exaggerated, drawled so petulantly long that it seeped deep into Gu Yun's ears and sent a shiver running straight down his spine. He's hapless against the guiles of a beauty like this one, and can only hand over everything as demanded.

But without any avenue to share his joy, the Yan King could only satisfy himself in secret guilty pleasure. After sending Miss Chen away, he crept back to the manor at night, and wrote a letter to Gu Yun from his room. He didn't post it, and instead tucked it under Gu Yun's pillow when the words had dried.

That still wasn't gratifying enough. Retrieving his treasure trove containing all of Gu Yun's letters, he laid on the bed and re-read every single one of them until each and every last handwritten character and turn of phrase was freshly etched into his brain. With all that in mind, his next move was to craft a "reply" from Gu Yun by imitating his love's handwriting and prose to the letter. His one-man performance only felt deserving then.

In an instant, the General's tent falls quiet — while Gu Yun alone was silenced out of fear, the others were shocked speechless to see the "new emperor" mentioned in the letter standing right here in the flesh.

Only a man like Shen Yi would break an ice this thick. "... Don't even think of blaming me for delivering the message slow."

[gyllenhaalstories]

Laurie!! 💛 (sorry, I just live in your inbox now 💖)

I'm back on duty and I'm here to tickle the collective fandom brain.

With Presumed Innocent coming out soon (aaaah), I would just like to hear all your thoughts on Rusty. 

Is he guilty? If so, would we still do unholy things with him (duh, obviously)? Or is he just an innocent little guy and only guilty of cheating and murdering pussy? He obviously likes being choked and I'm not complaining. What else might he like? Is he a pancakes or bacon/scrambled egg breakfast kinda guy? He does need his protein tho, for several reasons... 👀

Please let me/us know all your thoughts and hopes for the new show and the character we're blessed with this summer, thank youuuu.

Paying my Rusty tax for inspiration ✨ (again)

hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii! 💖 it's so good to see you in my asks again, daphne! thank you for the rusty tax (and the painful reminder that i wish this was ME) and the great questions! i've thought about that man A LOT but the majority of those thoughts are just about how badly i need him so... they're not too constructive... let's see what my -1 brain cell comes up with pretty much on the spot! 🤭

i don't think he's guilty. since the first teaser, i just had the feeling that he's innocent and his wife killed carolyn. clearly he has a talent for lying and manipulating facts (isn't it essentially his job?), he even lied to his therapist in one of the recent clips i saw! trying to lie to the human equivalent of a lie detector is both bold and dumb. he's clearly not completely innocent. cheating on your wife is bad but when your wife is ruth negga it's DOUBLE bad! i watched a quick interview of the woman who plays carolyn and oof. renate has something special. so i kind of get it <3 but i am better than a man and i would not ruin my marriage! the text messages and calls he's sending her are also very bold and dumb. he should know better than anyone how to avoid looking guilty. the dna, the messages, the stalking, the affair that was not so hidden since they were going out together and everything, this is just so stupid! he'd probably be so mad if he defended a client who basically did everything he shouldn't do and now tries to plead for innocence. i'm interested to see if we get an insight on how an attorney of his prestige and of his rank can turn into the most stupid person you've ever met. i mean, we know how, he's desperate to get his dick wet. but still, maybe there's more to it. maybe carolyn isn't that sweet, smart, picture perfect girl either. i'm giving her the side eye too.

i'm soooo excited for the show!!! my only point of reference is defending jacob so i like to compare both series. defending jacob had some really good twists so i expect the same from presumed innocent. in my opinion, one of the most powerful plot twists in defending jacob included the mother, laurie (i can still hear chris evans saying i love you laurie it was an amazing moment <3). so maybe that's why i focused on barbara sabich right away. i don't know, i'm so curious to see. i want to watch the original movie after the series, just to compare as well. i might never do it but at least i'm planning on it! anyway. can we just take a moment to appreciate how crazy it is to have this kind of show as your first television project? jake really popped off with this and his acting is absolutely insane in what we've seen so far! everyone in the cast seems solid. i'm guessing they showed most of the freaky sexy scenes in the trailers already to tease the audience, but i'm curious to know if there is more of that good stuff that they're hiding! i'm also looking forward to watch jake and peter saarsgard on screen again! and the glasses. i can't word vomit all of this and not bring up the glasses. now that we know jake is practically legally blind, i proclaim myself the protector of his corneas and i demand that he wears glasses more often. my motivation is purely selfless and it's not because i fold like a folding chair at the sight of jake with glasses (vision pun intended).

i saved the best stuff for last apparently! but mmm. what is that man into? i can't cook to save my life so he's eating cereals for breakfast. i'm kidding! (well not really but still). we know he's into choking, finger sucking, doggy style, public sex/sneaking away in a public setting, he loves the thrill of forbidden things and we see how touchy he is with carolyn so i'm guessing he's into marking because it's like a proof of something that is happening in secret of others? idk, just thinking. i don't know if his stalking habits fall into kinky or just regular obsession over the one thing he can't have under his total control, but i'd lowkey like it if he extended his stalking with some spicy elements. the way he holds on to carolyn, touches her everywhere, it's giving possessive and i love it. the ring though. oh the ring. why doesn't he take it off? does carolyn like it, does she get off knowing she has a taken man under her spell, that this greek god of a man prefers her to his wife? does rusty like the reminder of his cheating? does he like the self-inflicted guilt and pain of being reminded of his horrible and immoral actions? i think there's definitely some masochist tendencies in him. he's so quick to apologize for everything like oh no i might have killed a woman but i'm sorry tho </3 he might loooove the fake pity and fake apologies. whether he uses this tactic or if it's used on him does not really matter. to put it briefly: rusty is a FREAK and i want to be the somebody who matches his freak!

thank you for doing this, daphne! it was so fun to ramble pure nonsense fuelled by the sad 2 hours of sleep i've gotten last night 😭 i can't wait to read this tomorrow and be weirded out by how little sense it makes. i especially can't wait to read this after watching the entire series and seeing how wrongggg i was. it will be just as much fun as writing all of this! mwah mwah ily! 💖💖💖

[helluva-dump]

You know despite doing things with Adam and Lucy… I’ve grown to really enjoy writing stuff with another broken relationship.😂

Because I’ve been invested with the Bible folklore (mainly angelnology and demonology), I read more things about Ariel as well as Mammon that gave me an idea. Since Ariel not only is the Angel of nature but she’s also an Angel of prosperity where Mammon is the sin of Greed… and I thought “oooo what if she was his ex gf”

That Ariel and Mammon used to be lovers at one point when God first created the angels. Now in my headcanon, not all of the Helluva boss sins are arch angels… I think some were just regular angels like Mammon. Though in the vibe folklore it varies, but I had this thought he was just a regular Angel that went through struggles.

And when Ariel met him, she really felt so bad and offered some of her prosperity to help him get basic needs, like food, clothes, and shelter. The two of them start to hit it off and developed romantic feelings for each other.

Though God didn’t approve their relationship since he could sense something off with Mammon… Mainly anytime he is around the riches of gold they offer to help others… Mammon consumed more and more where it started to slowly corrupt him… he would always guilt trip Ariel and pressure her to grant him more of her wealth for “self love and comfort” because he’s depressed.

At one point, when she granted some wealth to poor angels and those that are struggling, Mammon WAS SO FURIOUS. He was so angry that she gave most of the wealth to those below them that he just BADLY wanted it all to himself. And they got into heated arguments over it to the point where Ariel banished him from the holy treasure, due to how it corrupted him.

And of course he got so angry and bitter that to prove he wants a selfish greedy sinner… He used that gold to make her a beautiful treasure as his offer in marriage… the only thing she had to do was join his rebellion with Lucifer to rebel against God and grant him more riches.

And we all know how that worked out at the end 😂 Ariel was too kind and compassionate to ever even stoop his low of hoarding money he didn’t need. And this lead to a massive fallout with them both, but it lead to consequences of the future of churches and Christians.

You know how sadly some preachers end up being greedy and use charity money for yatches and other things? Or why there’s so many republicans in Christianity? Let’s say because Ariel has romance with Mammon, the greed badly tainted her prosperity. Which lead to the downfall of humans being trained with greed, even in Christian spaces.

Like Azreal, Ariel too made a mistake. And she had to pay the price for this mistake she caused. God was stern with her and wasn’t happy about her affair, but she did promise him to face consequences for her actions. And that is paying a lot of of taxes for working angels and giving wealth to those charities. And somehow it did help her heal, she even went to confession and did things to help her heal from that tainted relationship.

Where Mammon on the other hand, still whines and bitches about Ariel to this day. He made up a false narrative how she BANNED him from Heaven and threw him under the bus. And how she “screw him over” all because she rejected his proposal, offer, and no longer wanted to grant him riches.

Since the show shows how misogynistic Mammon is, I headcanon he thinks less of women all because of Ariel. Especially after Ariel felt comfortable being trans, she used to make jokes before while taking a jab at greedy people and Mammon took it as a personal attack. (Much like how Contrapoints would make funny skits to de radicalize alt righters, that’s what I imagine Ariel doing with some male angels )

They sometimes counter each other over big events such as nature protests, or if they need Ariel to purge sinners that caused damage to environments for greed.

So what Lilith was to Adam, Ariel is to Mammon.