#This is a giant wip let me tell you

[itsbrucey]

Sorry guys I live for three things and that's D&D, Bears, and my Ocs and I've been trying to draw my little guys more bc they make my brain BLEED

Fun little chart thing so I can just. Be free . And now you gotta look. I'm still drawing DnDads stuff too DON'T SWEAT!!!!! like here look

Glenn Wip.

[pucked-bunnie]

shameless flirt ⎜ a.matthews

pairings: auston matthews x reader prompts: "you can rest your head on me, I don't mind" + "I dont want to be alone." genre: fluff ⎜angst ⎜friends to lovers⎜ warnings: injured players ⎜auston is a little espresso depresso ⎜just auston being in love the whole time ⎜had to make tyler the bad guy, sorry ⎜ synopsis: working as a team trainer came with many ups and downs, when you pull one of toronto's super stars the downs seem to outweigh the ups - but auston is always willing to bring you back up. word count: 4.8k authors note:  this was a WIP i had already started but when doing the prompt list request I got two request that I felt tied in nicely, so I put them all together. I also love our gentle giant auston matthews. (disclaimer : none of the hockey events in this are accurate - so dont come for me.)

(unedited)

+

+

“You need to stop staring.” You can’t help the way you jump at the words, glaring at the man behind you before turning back towards the rink. 

“I’m not staring.” You huff, flicking some hair away from your face. “I’m assessing.” The large man steps forwards leaning against the barricade besides you, his eyes trailing over your face before following your gaze to the player on the ice. 

“Assessing for what?” Auston asks, his gaze watching his teammate curiously, before moving back towards you. Your frown was deepening as you watched the Swedish player move through the drills on the ice. “Is he okay?” 

Something was wrong.

What were you seeing that he couldn’t? 

“That is for me to know and for you to probably never find out.” You sigh as you push off the wall, turning towards the large man. “What’re you doing out here anyway, don’t you have an interview to do?” Auston shrugs as he turns away from the ice to look at you. 

“Is he injured?” He questions and this time you shrug in return. 

“It’s none of your business, Auston.” You begin holding up a hand before he begins to complain, “It’s a suspicion, nothing more and once it concerns you, you’ll be the first to know.” You finish, smiling as your player makes his way to the boards, unstrapping his helmet as he skates. 

“How was that, doc?” William asks, a large grin planted on his face as he nods a quick hello to his teammate. 

“Subpar.” You respond, William’s smile dropping slightly. “You seem to be favouring your left leg, I need to do a physical on you at some stage this afternoon if you manage to catch a free moment.” You continue, looking between the two players before letting out a relaxed grin. 

“I’m sure it’s nothing, Willy. But we can’t have you out there if you can’t play your best.” William nods slowly, trying to return your smile but you can see the worries running through his head quicker then he can keep up. 

He’s hiding something from you and you are determined to find out what it is. 

“Meet me in the treatment room after you shower, we'll go over my concerns then.” You say dismissing William back to the locker room before turning to Auston, glancing up at him with a sigh. 

“You need to go do your media, Auston” He opens his mouth to say something but you shake your head before you trudge down the tunnel after William. 

Working for the Toronto Maple Leafs had been nothing short of a dream for the three years you had been with the team - with one of the senior trainers leaving after last season you had been approached to step in as a full time trainer and senior member of staff - your role changing drastically and sometimes left you in the firing line when an unpopular decision had to be made. 

“He’s getting pulled isn’t he?” Auston’s voice sounds from the door of your office. William had left your office over an hour ago his eyes watering as you gave him the bad news. You had spent the hour in silence typing up the email recommendation to the coaching staff. 

“I can’t tell you anything, Auston.” You say quietly, “You know how this works.” Auston nods, taking a few steps into the room before closing the door behind him. 

“Is it bad?” 

“Auston, please.” You respond, rubbing your fingers against your forehead, a long sigh escaping you as you slowly nod your head. “It’s bad enough that he needs to focus on rehab right now.” You say, before adding “everyone’s gonna hate me for this.” This wasn’t your first time pulling one of the core four on the team - last time the boys had been more lenient as you were one of the junior staff members and the decision had your previous supervisor taking most of the heat - this time you were on your own. 

“I could never hate you.” He says softly, his chest squeezing as he watches the tiredness smooth over your expression. 

“Thanks.” You say with a bitter laugh, closing your laptop as you reach for your bag under the desk. 

“They’ll give the team an update tomorrow.” 

Auston stands with you, his hand reaching out to pull open the door waving for you to exit first. “I’m serious doc.” He says, “I’ve got your back.” 

Twenty four hours later you watch from the doorway as the coaches deliver the news to the team - the coaches waiting till after practice to announce that William would be pulled for the foreseeable future - Auston’s eyes flick to yours every now and then as the coaches refuse to divulge too deeply into the details. 

“What do you mean he’s getting pulled?” Mitch asks softly, yanking at the straps of his padding, pulling the equipment off slowly, “He seemed completely fine.” The volume is the locker room raises as the team all share their opinions of agreement.

The coach takes a moment to let the group voice their frustration before speaking.  “Our trainers are some of the best in the world.” Sheldon begins, “They have everyone's best interest at heart - she made the call to pull Willy as it was perceived that he was trying to conceal an injury and in the long run would be doing more damage. Willy agreed it was the best thing to do with hopes that with his full focus on recovery it will make him available for the playoffs.” Sheldon's words seem to quiet the group.

Auston hands pause on the laces of his skates as he glances over to you again, seeing your head fall, your hand pushing the loose hairs out of your face, as you whisper something under your breath before lifting your head again. “Anyway, let’s wish William all the best in his recovery and hope to see him back on the ice soon.” Sheldon finishes before dismissing the group, shouting out a quick morning practice time for tomorrow morning before exiting the locker room. 

The locker room is quiet after the coach leaves, Auston risking one more glance towards you, his heart jumping in his chest as he sees your eyes already locked on him with a sad smile on your face. Auston glances away quickly engaging in the ongoing conversation besides him to try and ignore you and your gaze on the side of his face.

He still notices when you turn slowly and decides to leave the room. 

+

+

“Fuck.” Sheldon swears under his breath as the end of game horn rings - the crowd of red roaring in victory as the home team groups together on the ice, patting each other on the heads. The sea of blue fans beginning to exit the stands all sending glares of anger towards your team slowly skating their way to the bench - hoping to make a quick exit. 

The game had been an intense one - the team had been so close to pulling through but continued to miss their shots, the fire power significantly decreased since you pulled one of their top scorers. You keep your head down low as you follow the last player down the tunnel, everyone making their way into the locker room - “Doc, we need to talk for a moment.” Your steps freeze as you glance ahead to the maple leafs coach waiting to the side of the locker room - his arms folded against his chest. 

“Sure, thing.” You say, plastering a smile on your face as you step away from the group - one of the players pausing by the door of the locker room, his hand making quick work of his helmet as he glances between you and his coach. 

“You have something to say, Matthews?” Auston glances at his coach, his mouth opening slightly before closing again, his gaze trailing over to you, your head moving side to side in the smallest movement he barely catches it. 

“It’s okay.” He can see you mouth the words, your head motioning for him to enter the room behind him before turning back towards his coach. 

“Don’t be too hard on her.” He says quietly into the hallway not waiting for you or Sheldon to respond before trudging into the locker room. 

“We both know that your decision to pull Nylander is one that can’t be reversed until you sign off on his physical.” Sheldon begins - the leafs had implemented a new protocol on the return of players from the injury reserve, the doctor who made the decision to pull the player had to be the one to sign them off on returning to avoid players and coaches undermining the doctors decision. 

You nod your head slowly - your smile faltering as you catch on to what the coach is hinting at. “You want me to sign him off early?” Your question almost comes out of your mouth as a scoff - your eyebrows raised as your smile officially switches to a frown. “You want me to break protocol for this?” You reiterate, your own arms crossing against your chest as you stare down the coach. 

“No, of course not.” Sheldon’s words come out with a nervous laugh - his gaze flicking over the hallways as he takes a step forwards - his voice lowers as he speaks again. “We only have one more game before the playoffs - we need our team back at full potential.” 

You nod taking in his words, giving him a second to continue, “You understand, don’t you? You know what this would mean to the team - to be able to begin the playoffs as a force to be reckoned with… we can’t do that without our core four.” You shake your head as you take a step away from the desperate coach. 

“No can do, Sheldon.” Your words are firm as you glance to the players beginning to hover at the door of the locker room. “I’m not going to risk him injuring himself permanently for the sake of playing a game.” You know your words are making the coach angry - his rage simmering as a red tint rises up his neck. “I care about our players, and I’d hope you’d share the same sentiment, coach.” The words hiss out of you as you glare at the man, not wasting anymore time in making your way into the medical bay besides the locker room - closing the door tightly behind you. 

You miss the way the rest of the team let out whistles of shock as their coach lets out a huff of displeasure.

You miss the way Auston watches you walk away, a slight grin on his face before his coach dismisses him to finish pulling off his gear. 

+

+

The team was two hours behind schedule - most of the staff already seated on the plane waiting for the players to join them so everyone could make the three hour flight back home. Slowly the players made their way onto the plane - each taking up their normal seats, most of the time the players would sit amongst each other while the staff would find their own seats towards the back of the plane - Sheldon considered it another of his many ways for the team to get closer together. 

“Auston, you gonna join us for some black jack?” Mitch’s voice carries through the airplane - his hands already shuffling a deck of cards, two of his team mates looking up at the newest arrival in anticipation. 

Auston hesitates looking between the empty seat next to you - and his best friend waiting for him to take the seat across from him. “I think I’m gonna miss out this time.” Auston says slowly walking further down the aisle - Mitch looking at his friend in disbelief. “I’m just super tired.” Auston adds as he shoves his bag in the overhead locker before dropping into the seat beside you - your eyes shooting over to him in confusion - your hand lifting to pull one of your AirPods out of your ear. 

“What are you doing?” You sneer under your breath - not missing the way some of his teammates glare over at you. “You need to move - staff and players don’t sit together, Auston.” Your hands shove at him lightly, but Auston makes himself comfortable in the seat beside you, a soft smile on his face as he ignores your pleading, clicking the seat belt at his hips and settling into the seat.

“This is ridiculous.” You huff, giving up on trying to move the large man, pressing play on the iPad screen in front of you, one AirPod still in your ear as the movie continues. “What’re you watching?” Auston asks as the flight attendants move down the plane checking everyone is buckled in and comfortable. 

You let out a long yawn as you shoot him a glare, “None of your business.” If your words were meant to stop Auston from interacting with you, they seemed to be doing quite the opposite. 

“You’re tired?” He questions as you let out another yawn, slapping a hand over your mouth to cover the movement, “You can rest your head on me.” He says softly, lowering his left shoulder, patting against the hard muscle with a grin, “I don’t mind.” He adds quickly, lowering his shoulder a little bit more. 

“Auston, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

“It’s probably not.” He agrees, his right hand reaching over to shuffle your iPad into the middle of your seats, before reaching over his body to gently pull your head down onto his shoulder, his left hand, grabbing for yours - your fingers lacing together as he sits your joined hands comfortably in your lap. 

“But that’s never really stopped me before.” 

Your breath gets caught in your chest as you think of all the ways people must be whispering about your position - not daring to lift your head off Auston’s shoulder to look around at the people around you - not daring to lift your head from the comfortable fabric of Auston’s fleece jumper. 

“Rest, doc.” He whispers softly, his hand squeezing yours, as he watches the movie on the screen, pulling the spare AirPod out of its case to shove in his ear. 

You’re not sure when you fall asleep but you wake to Auston’s hand squeezing yours, his head laying softly on top of yours, a jacket thrown over your torso, the movie credits playing on the screen of your iPad. 

“We’ve arrived.” The flight attendant says quietly, her gaze flicking over you and the man beside you with a knowing grin - leaving as you thank her, detaching your hand from Auston’s, the man letting out a soft groan, his hand reaching out to take yours again. 

“We’re here.” You whisper to him, slipping his jacket off of you to place back into his lap, gathering all your stuff before shoving it into your backpack - gently reaching to pull the remaining AirPod out of Auston’s ear, sliding it back into the case. “Auston?” You say softly as you shake his shoulder lightly. 

He sits up slowly, stretching his arms above his head as he glances over at you, your bag already slung over your shoulder as you wait for him to move so you can exit the plane. 

“Same time tomorrow?” He asks, undoing the belt in his lap, and stepping out into the aisle. You shake your head as you pass him, not able to stop the spreading grin on your face. 

+

+

Your head falls forwards as the end of game horn sounds for the last time in the regular season - the leafs lost again - the final game of their season they lost and they lost by two. Even though they were still guaranteed a position in the playoffs it never felt good to start the first round on a loss. 

Not to mention the news hitting the team yesterday that they would be up against Boston in the first round - the two teams notorious for having very intense games. 

No one says anything as the team makes their way back to the locker room - everyone stripping off their gear with heavy heads, most wanting nothing more than to get on the plane and head back home, you included. You can’t ignore the way people glare at you as you enter the room, some players whispering to each other under their breath in frustration. 

Some of the team still makes friendly conversation or sends you tight smiles as you help them unwrap their tape - or roll out their tight muscles, but most say nothing. Your final patient never makes his way into your medical bay - the other doctors packing up as you wait for the tall brunette to pop his head into the room, but nothing, not even a glimpse of the large player. 

“We’re going to take this stuff out to the crew, are you alright to pack up the rest?” One of your colleagues asks as he passes by you -  a few cases in his hands. 

“Yeah, I’ll be good to go in just a moment.” You say softly, letting out a quiet sigh as you turn to pack up your equipment, turning as you head a soft knock on the door. 

“Do you still have time to help me get this tape off?” His voice is quieter than usual - the player you were waiting for standing by the open door - his skin red from where he had tried to rip the strapping tape off on his own. You nod quickly, taking in his sad eyes - the skin around them redder than usual. 

“I tried to get it off myself, but you’re clearly too good at your job.” Auston says a bitter chuckle coming out as he takes a seat on the table in front of you - your hands digging through your bags for the adhesive removal spray. 

“Why didn’t you come ask for help sooner?” You ask quietly, as you behind to spray the remover on the remaining tape wincing at the rash spreading across his skin where the tape was already removed. “You could’ve gotten someone else to remove it.” You add quickly the thought that maybe he was trying to avoid you running through your head quickly. 

“Why would I do that?” His question confuses you, your eyebrows furrowing but you continue pulling off the tape. “You think I’m avoiding you?” 

“Aren’t you?” You ask bitterly, remembering the looks of the others on the team, the ones that clearly blame you for the loss. “Everyone else hates me right now, so it’s not like I blame you.” Auston just watches as you pull your bottom lip between your teeth, your chin wobbling as you try to suck in the overwhelming disappointment that’s been growing in yourself. He watches as you focus all your attention on pulling off the tape, keeping your attention on his sore skin as you rub soothing cream over the rash that he gave to himself. 

“I could never hate you.” He says softly as you twist the lid back onto the cream, standing from his spot on your bench, his hands raising to your face, lifting your head to tilt up towards him. “I told you when you first made the decision - I could never hate you, no matter what anyone else thinks - not even what you think, do you understand?” Your chin trembles as his thumb strokes against your cheeks softly, your head nodding in confirmation, his hands staying just under your jaw as he lets out a soft sigh.

“Then why are you sad? Why didn’t you come to me to help?” Your question stalls Auston’s ministrations on your skin, his thumbs stopping in their motions as he stares down at you, his jaw clenching as he tries to find his words. 

“I’m just disappointed.” 

“Disappointed?” 

“In myself.” He confirms before adding, “In the team, we let one person's absence throw us off the ball - we do this every god damn year.” His forehead drops to yours, his hands slipping away from your face, sliding over your shoulder before grazing down your arms, his fingers reaching out to lace with yours. “I thought we were going to do better this year… I thought I would do better.” 

The sound of footsteps in the locker room makes the two of you jump, your hands slipping out of his as you quickly throw the rest of your equipment into their cases, turning back to Auston with a soft smile. “You should finish getting change for the flight.” Auston nods, frowning as he glances out into the locker room seeing the other doctors hovering by the door. 

“You’ll wait for me?” He asks quickly, your head nodding before you can even register what he asked, his body slipping through the door before you can take back your agreement. 

But you do as requested, handing off your cases to the other doctors promising them you’d meet them on the plane, making excuses about Auston wanting to talk about a treatment plan for his shoulder - they both nod understandingly moving quickly to get the last of the equipment to the trucks to take to the airport. 

Auston’s surprised to see you still standing outside the locker room when he exits - his back thrown over his shoulder, a large white hooding thrown over your uniform as you turn towards him. The two of you walk to the bus in silence, neither knowing why you had stayed. 

Neither of you know why you still stayed as you sit next to each other on the bus. 

As you fall into your seats besides each other on the plane. 

Auston’s surprised again as you take hold of his hand once the flight takes off - your gaze focused on the window as the plane levels out - your headphones over your ears as you pretend your thumb isn’t rubbing gentle circles on the back of his hand. 

“What is going on with you two?” Auston’s head shoots up from the video playing on his phone, Mitch leaning over the back of the chair in front of him, his eyes lingering on the joined hands sitting in your lap. If you head Mitch you pretend not to, your chin in your hand as you keep watching the black sky pass by. 

“None of your business.” Auston replies, praying to whoever will listen that you don’t pay attention to Mitch’s interrogations, praying that you don’t take your hand out of his. “Mitch drop it.” Auston sneers as his friend's gaze drops to your joined hands again, Auston squeezing yours as he feels your fingers loosen on his. “Please.” Auston adds, Mitch’s eyebrows raising in surprise as he throws his hands up in surrender. 

The rest of the flight passes in silence, most of his teammates busy with their own unwinding processes, a lot of the staff sleeping for as much of the flight as possible. 

Neither of you two sleep. 

Neither of you acknowledge the other until the plane stops on the runway - the players and staff quickly making their way off the plane, stretching their limbs as they go. 

“Do you have a ride home?” Auston asks, his chest tightening as you finally pull your hands out of his, the warmth of your skin lingering in his palm. You shake your head softly, pulling out your phone and flashing the Uber app on your screen. “Come home with me.” Auston says wincing as the words hit him as soon as he says them. 

“Not like that - I mean I wouldn’t be against it but… I just…” 

“What do you mean then, Auston?” You interrupt, your face soft as you wait for him to respond, giving him the time to collect himself. 

“I don’t want to be alone.” He admits quietly, “I’d really like to spend some more time with you.” You don’t say anything, glancing down at the open app on your phone before glancing back up at him - handing your unlocked phone over, the arrival address waiting. 

“No way in hell you’re paying for the ride.” He hisses, pushing your phone back towards you as he pulls his own phone out of his pocket, reaching overhead to pull his backpack out of the locker, his hand reaching out for yours as he drags your off the plane behind him - the two of you bypassing the rest of the staff, Auston sneaking to grab your two suitcases before rushing you off the runway and into the airport an Uber waiting out the front. 

Auston sits comfortably in the silence, his hand warm between the two of you - his heart beating so fast he’s glad you know how to do CPR cause he might need it if you do anything else. 

Auston thanks the driver as he pulls up outside his building - pulling the bags from the trunk - your small duffle stacked on top of his suitcase - the bags dragged behind him as he also drags you behind him and into the empty lobby. 

“This place is really fancy.” You say as he scans his house fob - the elevator automatically selecting the floor for his condo. Auston doesn’t say anything, pretty sure he’d throw up if he attempted to get words out. 

“Are you okay?” You question as the elevator dings - the doors opening to the front door of his condo - the only condo on this floor. 

“Mhm.” He answers, swallowing his nerves as he shoves his key into the lock, opening the door as quickly as possible pulling you quickly into his empty apartment. 

“No Felix?” You question as you glance around, an empty crate sitting in the living room with no sign of the dog. 

“He’s at Mitch’s - Felix loves visiting Zeus when we go on roadies.” Auston finally speaks, his hand dropping yours for just a moment to set up your bags by the front door, pulling his large puffer off his shoulders and throwing it over a coat rack by the front door.   

“Make yourself at home.” Auston says as he strides into the kitchen grabbing two bottles of water from the fridge, his gaze shooting over to your body relaxing into the cushions of his oversized couch. 

“Where the hell did you get this thing?” You question as he hands you your bottle of water, slumping into the seat beside you, a grin on his face as he watches you settle in further. 

“I don’t know if my sister bought it.” He says quickly, your eyes squeezed shut as he reaches for a blanket draped over the back of the couch, throwing it over your lap. 

“Well I need the link.” You comment on bliss twisting the lid off the water as you take a sip. 

“It was almost ten thousand though.” Auston’s hand moves to pat your back as the water gets stuck in your throat - coughs racking your body as you pat your chest. 

“Never-mind then.” 

“You can use mine whenever you want.” Auston says and you scoff, falling back against the couch as you drop the evil water besides you on the couch. “I’m not kidding.” He adds. 

Auston doesn’t know what makes him change his position. 

He’s not sure why he lies down on the couch, his head gently landing in your lap. 

He’s not sure what to do when he feels your fingers thread in his hair, running softly through his messy locks - the water from his shower still making the ends of his hair wet and tangled. 

Auston’s not sure when you both fall asleep - his phone making him squint as he checks the time - the four am flashing as he throws the device to the other side of the couch. 

He drags himself off the couch slowly, careful not to wake you as he slides his arms under your body, lifting you gently with a soft grunt as he scuttles down the hallway - his room only lit by the lights of the other high building through his window, his body freezing as you let out a soft whine as he drops you onto his mattress dragging his duvet down the bed to throw over your body. 

He doesn’t know what makes him round the bed, sliding onto the mattress behind you, pulling the blanket over his body as well, his mind running so fast as you turn on the mattress, your hands reaching out to tangle in the fabric of his shirt, your body shuffling in the cold sheets to move closer to him. 

“Don’t make things awkward, Auston.” You huff, as one of your hands releases his shirt, grabbing his frozen arm to drape over your waist, a happy hum leaving you as he pulls you tighter against him, his chin resting against the top of your head. “We’re going to have to talk about this in the morning.” You say. 

“I know.” He responds. 

Neither of you know when you fall back asleep.

But neither of you complain as you wake up bundled together in the large king bed. 

[tadc-harlequin-au]

Harlequin AU - "Stalemate" (canon, fic)

This is a wip art! It will be updated in the future.

══════☸☸☸════════════☸☸☸══════

One step.

Leather shoes made their way on uneven grounds.

The crinkling of glass underneath the soles made their way prominent to the stepper’s ears, but she couldn’t care less.

This was the last known location of the man she’d been tracking for a while now. And this is the moment of truth. Did she still got it? Or will she fall as a trophy on a mantle?

Time to find out.

Squeaks of a rusty metal gate aired out into the open, gathering the attention of a few unwanted pests. But in quick succession, they were no more, swiftly falling prey to the sharp blade of the Puppet. There was not even a chance for them to strike.

Satisfied with her work, she straddles into the grounds of the mansion. First, the gardens.

One could say it was a serene scene, but for her it was a mere distraction. Unimportant. Simply delaying the inevitable.

She steps out into the lush open grass of the area. A huge empty space filled with nothing but prickly green underneath the blue hues of the night. She found amusement in the fact that there’s a chance she can ruin this place once she meets her opponent.

A lone, mossy fountain sat on the front. Not interesting.

She makes her way onto the stairs of the mansion entrance. Each step fills her with more vigor, excitement coursing through her being. The giant, elegant oak door groaned in protest as she pushed it open.

Empty.

No matter, there were many rooms.

She quickly hears the puttering sound of rotor blades spinning, and she looks to her right, finding a mini-blimp with a literal sharp smile, and a vacant expression on it’s glossy eyes.

“Hellloooooo,” it said, dragging the last syllable playfully, “Can I help you with anything?” The blimp asked with not a care in the world.

“I’m looking for someone.” The Puppet claims, pulling out a parchment of a wanted poster. It was useless to waste her energy on this… creature. So she will entertain it’s questions for now.

“Oh! You’re looking for the boss! I’ll lead you to him!” The blimp confirms her suspicions.

He was in this place, and she’d successfully tracked her target down. Now all that was needed was proof of her soon-to-be victory. It was only by a few rooms that she’d found him.

But the sight wasn’t as grand as she envisioned.

She expected a confident, prideful, and powerful fighter….

NOT whatever this mess who’s currently laying on the ground and leaning deactivated against an office desk was. WHAT THE FUCK.

Did she seriously come all this way for nothing?! She felt a little furious, and she redirected her burning gaze onto the blimp, grasping tightly onto the sword and pointing it’s sharp end with malice. The Blimp did not seem to react at her wordless threat at all, still flashing a sharp smile as it slowly turned to face her.

“EXPLAIN.” She demanded. “HE CAN’T BE ALREADY DEACTIVATED.”

“Oh, this is just something that happens allllll the time. Give him a little time.” The Blimp answered, and turned it’s attention back to 'the boss'. She kicked a leg, no response.

“Let me try!” The Blimp says, and with a clearing of it’s throat, it shouts. “BOSS! Someone’s here to see you!”

And in an instant, the exposed chest of the man lit up in two separate hues, and he sits up straight as if plunged underwater for long.

“GAH! WHA- WHO IS IT!” He yelps in surprise, holding a glass bottle by it’s neck as if ready to throw. His shocked gaze soon falls on…. To the Harlequin, who unveils her tattered covers protecting her from outside elements, and reveals her face.

“Puppetmaster. I’ve come to challenge you.”

He blinks a couple of times with wide eyes, and his stare keeps shifting from the blimp, to her, and then repeat. After a while, his gaze falters and an unimpressed groan escapes the strange Puppet across from her. “Not again…” He mutters under his breath. "Bubble, what did I tell you about letting people you don't know in?"

...Not again?

“Wh- What do you mean “not again”- This is the FIRST time I’ve come here!” She replied, and the Puppetmaster only crosses his arms as soon as he manages to get up on two feet.

“And it certainly won’t be the LAST, I see.” He shuffles away, the metal cane tapping to the marble ground with each step he took, and the Harlequin is left utterly confused. She grumpily follows him to the main lounge, ready to demand once more.

“Are you fucking deaf or what? I said I’ve come to challenge you!”

“Not interested.” He feels around in a bookshelf, pulling out a rather large tome. He opens it and retrieves a bottle full of liquid.

He was really testing her patience, huh?

As soon as he turns around, The Harlequin makes quick work of slicing the bottle in half just to show how serious she is. The glass quickly detaches, and the liquid spills onto the floor, leaving the Puppetmaster with an unamused, disappointed stare.

“.... That was the last of it’s kind, by the way. You just killed off one of my favorite drinks” He replies with a hint of unserious humor, and it makes her teeth grit in frustration.

“I AM NOT LEAVING THIS PLACE UNTIL I GET WHAT I FUCKING CAME FOR!” She angrily responds. “So you either stop with your shit and fight me, OR ELSE.” She points the sword straight at his core, and the pair of dentures simply rolls his eye to the side, and pushes the blade away.

“Hmm. You know, for a moment, I really thought you were different.” He drops to the floor and detaches a tile after tapping at a seemingly hollow tile with the cane, revealing yet another hidden compartment full of unknown bottles. He sticks his tongue out a little as he reaches for them, but as soon as one was retrieved, The Harlequin repeats the same action as before, as well as shattering the other bottles within.

He blinks once, then twice. “Can you stop wasting the only thing that’s keeping me from jumping off of the deep end, pretty please?” He pleads, but it’s completely devoid of sincerity.

She growls, and grabs his collar. He is slightly surprised, but quickly goes back to his uncaring attitude while staring at her grip. “Umm… Normally I would not mind the touch, but you’re wrinkling my shirt.” His carefree attitude was picking at her nerves, and she bares her sharp teeth at him. His eyes widen a little, but it’s clearly not from fear.

He shakes it off, and squints at her humorlessly, unfazed by the threat.

“I am not repeating myself again, Puppetmaster. FIGHT. ME.” There’s a surprising yet subtle hint of desperation in her tone, but it was heavily masked by her aggressive tone and he finds himself disgruntled at his own thoughts.

He sighs.

“I don’t see a point in accepting that offer from a rookie like you, who doesn’t seem to know what fights they wanna pick… But fine.” He relents, “I’ll entertain you a little. I’d rather not cause more mess than usual for my little helper, though. All I ask is that we pick a different location.”

She was a little insulted at the term he had called her. But she swallowed her pride down in favor of the fact that he was finally agreeing to the duel. “Very well then.” She lets go of the collar. “I’m fine with any location of your choosing.”

“Much appreciated, dear. I know an abandoned circus arena that is ideal for this.” He taps his cane to the ground, in contemplation.

“In fact… I think you might like it as much as I do.”

══════☸☸☸════════════☸☸☸══════

It wasn’t the walk towards this “arena” that was agonizing.

But rather the wait she had to comply with if she wanted his participation. Nonetheless, he parts the curtains that cover the entrance, but she only crosses her arms and taps her foot. She was antsy, and his stare was questioning.

“You… won’t go first?”

“Why would I? You’re leading the way.” She replies in clear annoyance.

His gaze shifts to the entrance, trying not to be bothered about this as he makes his way inside. As soon as the Harlequin makes her way inside, spotlights let out a loud click as they all simultaneously turn on, all shining at the sand-filled arena slightly damaged by time… or something else entirely.

There’s a little prickling feeling that settles in her chest, and she can sense her core thrum in dissonance. But she doesn’t understand it, so naturally, she shrugs it off as if it never existed.

The Puppetmaster has had his back turned against her all this time. His head hung low, as if staring into the very ground. But she simply clutches at her sword with her left arm, the grip making a loud metallic clunk. He taps his cane to the ground, and it echoes throughout the tent despite the consistency of the very plane they stand on.

“Are you ready?” His voice, despite them being meters apart, is loud, bold and clear.

She grips her sword harder, unsheathing a little. Her right feet drags across the ground, an obvious stance of preparation before the action.

His eyes are hidden, depriving her of reading his full intent once he turns to face his opponent. Nonetheless, she squints, wordlessly giving him her answer.

The cane taps onto the ground yet again, and she rushes like a cobra. There’s a faint hum of voices in the background but she can’t decipher it.

Distractions.

That was all it is.

And a fighter does NOT get distracted.

She unsheathes the sword fully, ready to lunge as soon as she was close enough. A battle cry escapes her as she swings at the sudden cloud of dust that appeared in front of her.

“Slow.”

He easily avoids the swing, and she barely has a second to react at the speed of his movements, finding herself stumbling. Utterly confused, she quickly turns around to face where he had gone. He was now in the middle of the arena, side-eyeing her with interest that she interprets as complete mockery. 

She clutches the sword with both hands and another battle scream erupts from her. He grips at his cane harder, eyes once more hidden as his jaws snap shut in focus. She leaps into the air to bring down a hard slash, but his cane blocks her attempt, and it results in sparks flying from the exertion of force between both parties.

The Puppetmaster quickly ends this standstill by pushing her back, making her feet drag across the ground from the force by a mile.

“...Yet adept form.” He comments, squinting his eyes at her.

She wipes away at her face, just in case. Her posture straightens in confusion, but it is quickly taken over by anger. “YOU ASSHAT, STOP OBSERVING ME AND FIGHT!” a complain, but her expression changes to confusion once more as he disappears in a cloud of dust from her sight.

Where the FUCK did he go NOW?!

His form appears out of nowhere. Looming over. His eyes are devoid of pupils, and for a moment, she finds herself stuttering.

“H-HOLD ON W-WA-WAIT JUST A SECOND!”

There was no time for waiting in a duel of course, but it slipped from her mouth before she could even think about it fully. She could only assume that he was disorienting her, and it was working effectively.

His cane twirls on his hand, and he uses the other end of the metal rod to push her to bend backwards, just to avoid the flaring poke of electricity surging through the cane. There was no time for the Harlequin to get back up, and she cursed herself for making rookie mistakes, and proving his words right.

What was wrong with her today, of all days?

He sweeps her legs, knocking her off-balance down to the ground, but her athletic build allowed for a very quick recovery, and she was back to steadying her stance again.

“Fascinating. What an impressive reflex. You have a fast recovery.” 

The Puppetmaster seems to be taking notes of her actions, and it was then that she realizes he was simply toying with her.

“Maybe this could work… Hm.”

Her sword drops to the ground a loud clank, which forces his gaze to look up at her. But it was too late.

A very hard kick met his face and he barely had the reaction time for it. He could feel the blow produce a gust of wind as he flew to the old safety bleachers (much to it’s destruction), and a loud crack permeated the air as one of his teeth flew off and broke in half.

A heavy cloud of yellow dust hid him from the view of the fuming Harlequin.

He rises up, seemingly unaffected until he reaches to check at the loss of a denticle. A black substance covered his gloves’ fingertips. His gaze once more lands on the Harlequin, who is now emitting visible hot steam from her body, breathing heavily as her eyes shone brightly with the intent of murder.

“I’ve HAD it up to HERE, with your STUPID ANTICS!” She stepped a foot onto the ground, and the cement underneath the sand crumbled. The lights slowly flickered in response, and his eyes widens in alert.

Uh oh. This was not good. The fight needs to be ended as fast as possible now.

“I suppose I should’ve been paying more attention to a duel.” He clutches at his cane for support as he stands up undamaged (besides the lost tooth), but lets go of it as soon as it’s job is complete.

If she won’t possess a weapon, then it wouldn’t be right for him to possess his either.

Both of them rushed at each other in high feats of speed, and a small crater was created as a proof of the intensity of the hit. When the Harlequin would deliver a punch, a dense gust of wind would be produced as the Puppetmaster blocked each time.

There was now more steam emitting from her body, and the clock was ticking. He had no choice.

With a revenge kick to her torso that she blocks with both arms, he sends her flying to where she had previously dropped her sword, as he rushes to his own “weapon” of choice too. 

She grabbed at the sword and rushed.

He grabbed his cane and did the same.

The speed executed between both parties was unmatched, and a heavy cloud was produced for the last time in the middle of the arena as both fighters collided their weapons.

Their gazes were intense, the Harlequin smiling when she pointed her sword directly at his core. But the blue light emitting from the Puppetmaster’s cane made her look down to where it was pointed.

It was also at her core.

Satisfied with the way the Harlequin stopped fighting out of slight confusion, he opts to explain the current situation.

“Now, you can pry open my core and deactivate me just as easily,” he starts. “... But if you so much as move the required centimeter to do so, the tip of my cane will touch your core which will shock your heart with the amount of electricity that can power 5 large cities.”

Her eyes widened.

“We’re both made of metal. How the fuck are you going to defend yourself from this?!”

“I won’t.”

It was a simple statement that made the Harlequin realize what he’s doing. “Do you have a shitty death wish or something? That’s crazy! There’s no way you can produce that much charge either, you’re just fucking bluffing!”

“Am I, now?” There was not a hint of humor nor sarcasm in his tone. He was dead serious.

She couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t fucking believe it.

“We’re at a stalemate, dear.” She gripped the handle of her sword with much intensity, baring her teeth in frustration and denial.

“This fight is over.” He proclaims no winners, and the Harlequin begins to kick the remaining sand in the arena all around, throwing a temper tantrum.

“NO!” She shouted while gripping at her head, uncaring of the noise. “NO, NO, NO! THIS WASN’T SUPPOSED TO END THIS WAY! YOU CHEATED YOUR WAY OUT OF THIS, YOU-” Her joints stopped responding to her actions, and she finds herself kneeling onto the ground. Horror filled her entire system as she tried to decipher what’s happening, but before she knew it, All she could see now was the tattered, faded yellow-red stripes of the tent ceiling.

And then the view of his stupid dentures face came into her sight, and he was back to observing her again.

“You’re still functional, are you?”

“UNFORTUNATELY.” She grit her teeth.

“Hm.” An acknowledgement.

She could hear the way he takes a seat onto the ground beside her.

“You’re quite an odd one.”

“CAN YOU STOP TALKING.”

“Hm….” He contemplates. “No, I don’t think I will~.” There’s a smug pitch in his tone (that would’ve made a vein pop somewhere in her head if she was organic). “You’re the first sane Puppet I’ve talked to in a long while.”

… Was this somehow some kind of cruel punishment?

“Just let your body cool down and re-adjust for now. You really pushed yourself back there.” She couldn’t exactly tell what he was doing, but if the slightly muffled way of speaking was any indication, she could only assume he was checking his now missing tooth.

But that wasn’t what grabbed the Harlequin’s attention. Rather, she was slightly intrigued about how he knows what’s happened to her, when she didn’t.

“What are you even talking about? What’s happened to me?” She asked, temper slowly subsiding, although irritation was still present.

“What’s happened is that you accidentally began to overcharge yourself.” He was more than glad to explain. “Your body couldn’t keep up with the amount of energy spent, and now here you are, lying down on the ground.” He taps at the sand above her head with the golden sphere of his cane. “You also nearly overheated that you could’ve exploded your core. But you can’t feel that, can you?”

She sighs. “Of course I fucking don’t. I’m a Puppet. I don’t feel things, I just do things. At least that’s what I think I should be doing.”

There was a moment of silence between them, one that the Harlequin was more than glad to have. But almost as if being mocked by timing, this quiet was broken by the voice of Puppetmaster once more.

“What’s your directive.”

“Fight SOMETHING, I guess.”

“No.”

“What?”

“Tell me your FULL directive. I don’t want a summarized version.”

She sighs again. “FIND— FIGHT— PROTECT—- CITY—- FROM HARM.” There was a slight pause and a bit of glitching in her voice when she recited the blanks.

“…Well, I must say, this is quite the predicament.”

“Can you stop being so fucking cryptic and just tell me?!”

“... You’re broken.”

“EXCUSE ME?”

“An incomplete line of command. It’s making you act on your own." He explains. "For shorter terms, you’re a loose cannon.” He mutters something else under his breath that the Harlequin couldn’t hear, and for a moment, there’s an unreadable tone with his delivery that she can’t decipher.

“Wha… what the hell does any of that mumbo jumbo even mean…” She would drag her hand across her face if she could right about now.

“Say, how would you feel about an alliance?”

“I feel like punching another one of your teeth out, that’s for sure.”

“I’m flattered, but also serious. You and I are quite possibly the only Puppets left sane here in this world. And I have an idea that I can only really do with YOUR help.”

“I’m not fucking interested in your passion project.”

“Your purpose seems to say otherwise.”

Her brow creases. “What, are you gonna say it involves fighting something?”

“Not just that. It’s also to protect this city from further harm.” Now that got her attention. She’s cautious, but in all honesty, also intrigued.

“We can discuss this even further once you’re all good to go. But for now…” He trails off as he stands up, and she can finally move a little bit of her joints on her fingers. Her body was seemingly cooling down to allow slight movements again.

“My name is Caine. Do you have a name?” For a moment, she senses a foreign bit of deja vu.

“... Just the code on my shoulder.”

“What is it?”

“P-1210.”

“Well, I can’t be calling you that. How about a proper one?”

“Whatever knocks your socks off, I guess.”

“ ‘Pomni’. What about ‘Pomni’. ”

There’s a response at her core that she couldn’t fully understand. But it seems that it wants her to agree.

“... Sure, I-I…I guess.”

“Pomni it is.”

══════☸☸☸════════════☸☸☸══════

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Guileless

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, manipulation, dejection, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The reader attempts to move past her ruination, but is reminded of her tarnish conscience at every turn. (Regency AU, tall!reader)

Masterlist

Character: Steve Rogers, Thor Odinson

Note: thanks to those who waited on this one!.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like I love coffee and that’s a lot and probably unhealthy. Take care. 💖

It should be the happiest time in your life. You should be elated, and yet, as ever it is, every victory precedes a treacherous defeat. A proposal one day, and despair the next. That nipping of doom in your gut, that ever present doubt, is made certain by the passage of time. It has been much too long. 

You sit in the pews, throat tight as you keep your chin locked. You breathe slowly, as if too sudden an intake might unleash the tempest brewing inside of you. It is more than nerves, you know it, that sicken you so. You should be happy for your pending nuptials but you are only horrified at the thought. 

The bishop reads out the banns before the rows; the first for yourself, the third for your sister. She will be permitted to wed and your mother has presided over much of planning already. You dip your head as your name rings out beside Lord Odinson’s and you swallow back a swell of bile. You’ve been gulping down your own stomach for much of the morning, ever since you caught a whiff of pickled shallots in passing the kitchens. 

You push your head up and your hand down to your lap, knowing you will be observed. You must at least look certain of your fate. You must sit proud for the engagement all would put into question. For the time until it shall all dissolve, you must play your part. 

You can barely keep from wilting where you are. A prudent woman might bite her tongue. She may commit to the theatre of it all. She might lie and get away with the folly. You glance over at Lord Odinson, just across the aisle, and you know you cannot. It isn’t one lie, it’s a lifetimes’ worth of betrayal. 

Yet how should you tell it? It isn’t only him who must know. Your father would need good reason why you’d rather the convent to a proper marriage. You will be ruined but you could not put that stain upon the only person who was ever kind to you. Lord Odinson deserves an honest wife and a child of his own. 

Your insides sour and you nearly spasm as you fight the tide of nausea, brought upon by more than your forsaken condition. Your eyes trail away from your betrothed to another man bound in promise. Lord Rogers sits with your sister, as ever, and she leans on him shamelessly, even beneath the Lord’s rafters. 

She would deny it. She would laugh in your face should you ever reveal the absolute truth. No, you must confess the sin as your own and that alone. You will not name the culprit for they would they never believe you and he would never admit it himself. 

Yet, you know that the Duke Rogers will ever be triumphant in knowing that he has brought the monstrous giant to her knees. You are his Goliath, the vile retched creature he has slain in his valour. He will be hero and you be the villain. 

💟

You hand the letter to the carrier just before noon. You don’t expect an audience to be granted until the next morning at earliest. Lord Odinson is a busy man; an ambassador in much demand between the house and society. Even his betrothed must request his presence. 

The cart rattles through the gates and you watch it fade off into the grim horizon. The winter bites in the air, adding to the chill in your bones. That coldness that freeze over your heart. You must be strong now, as strong as the valkyrie he misnamed you as. 

When you go to Lord Odinson, you will bring the crown to him. You will hand it back and admit your tainted stature to him. You will show him how truly small you are.  

At least, that is what you intend. You may prove yourself weak as ever. However it should unfold, this engagement cannot persist. 

“A day! A day and I shall call you husband,” Cora’s shrill tone greets you as you come through the front doors. She is in the sitting room with Lord Rogers. Your mother continues to fawn over the last-minute details for their wedding. “Isn’t it very exciting, my lord?” 

“And I shall call you wife.” 

“And Duchess,” she preens with a trilling laugh, “oh, how elaborate I shall be.” 

“My Athena,” Rogers drones back, “my goddess, my beloved.” 

“Oh, how darling,” your mother preens over them, “it shall be resplendent. I’ve made certain the cake will be exactly as you like it, dearie. The cook has even procured some citrus for the lemonade.” 

The mention of lemonade makes you shrivel. You recall the sunny day when Lord Rogers spoke to you over a weeping beverage. As you fell for that virulent charm. And all that came after. 

You peer at the grim windows and frown. How everything does change so quickly. Happiness is fleeting and yet disappointment comes as a chronic plight. You will never know a day without shame. 

You flit off without notice. Your heart rents at the thought that you will not have the same fervour. You will not sit and plan your own wedding with Lord Odinson. All your fanciful dreams have evaporated. It is one thing to put a mask on, to pretend as virgin, but you could never foist a bastard upon the kind man who has shown you a taste happiness. You will be certain to thank him for all he’s done but you will not spit in his face. 

As you get to the bedroom doors, your stomach churns violently and you burst through, not stopping as you rush to the pot and fall to your knees. You wretch into it as your body contracts painfully. You empty your stomach until you are panting and hollow. 

“Sister,” Alina startles you as she rolls to the edge of the bed, a novel in hand, “is it a winter ague?” 

“I...” you shakily wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, “I believe so.” 

That lie alone singes your tongue like a brand. Your eyes well with tears and you flick them away with your lashes. You sit back on your heels and heave out a pungent breath. 

“Oh, how awful, and just before the wedding,” she sits up and shuts the novel. “Let us pray it passes quickly. You needn’t delay your own nuptials.” 

“Mm, no, that wouldn’t be...” you let the sentence tail off and you stand, taking the pot with you, “I’ll dump it before it can stink.” 

“If you are unwell, call for the maid.” 

“No, it is fine,” you insist, “I didn’t mean to disturb your reading.” 

“You didn’t,” she insists. “What’s the matter, sissie? You hardly seem a lady about to marry.” 

“I...” you croak, “it is the ague, that’s all.” 

“Mm, perhaps Lord Odinson might offer some comfort should it get any worse. He does seem the character,” she offers. 

“Or perhaps he is better to stay away. You as well, should it pass onto anyone else,” you hold the pot to your stomach and turn, carrying it out without another word. Albina huffs and falls back onto the bed, the flutter of pages following shortly after. 

You descend and keep along the wall, passing through the kitchens and beyond the servants’ quarters to the rear of the manse. You come out into the crisp air and overturn the pot well away from the house. A wave of dizziness washes over you, silver spots dotting your vision. Perhaps it is an ague. Oh how you wish it were. 

You set the pot down as you grasp at some stability. You stand and wipe your clammy forehead. Your hand drifts down to your bodice and you let it venture further. You try to feel your stomach through the layers. It is tauter than it once was but no rounder. Not as yet. 

You sit on a low stump, the seat the stabler uses to shoe the horses. You let the frigid air seep through your dress and stare at the grey clouds that blot out the sun. You hold your chin, elbows on your legs, hunched over as you let the stagnancy of that moment swallow you. 

For a moment, you believe that you can make time stand still. That you might stretch on this fantasy a little longer. That a single second might be spent into an eternity. You shake your head and close your eyes as your cheeks tingle with the cold. 

You try to picture the convent. You imagine dark halls and darker mornings. Prayers and repentance filling the days and keeping wakeless the nights. Would the nuns even accept a ruined soul like yours? 

“Miss,” Mary, the broom girl, stands along the path back to the house, “you have a caller.” 

You sit up and blink, a caller? How long have you been there? You shiver and rise, towering over the young servant like the mottled forest creature of wives tales. You nod and stride past her, rubbing your arms to warm yourself as you return to the house. 

It cannot be him. Not already. You’re not prepared. It has been all you can think of and yet you are wholly unready for it. 

You carry on inside and come into the main hall. Lord Odinson waits, your mother chittering at his elbow as Lord Rogers and Cora stand in the archway to the west wing. 

“You will be at the wedding tomorrow? We did not receive your response sir,” your mother pleads as she tugs his sleeve. 

“Ah, yes, did I not give it?” Odinson says coolly, “certainly I will come with some Asgardian ale to christen the blissful newlyweds.” 

“And we thank you for such generosity,” Cora coos. 

“I’m certain refreshments will be plenty,” Lord Rogers deflects. 

“Ah,” Lord Odinson’s attention is drawn by your emergence from behind the staircase, “my valkyrie, you called for me and I am here.” 

“I... you have come so... swiftly,” you remark, your voice teetering. 

“Of course,” he assures as he crosses the polished floor, “as ever I will for my beloved.” He approaches and takes your hands in his, kissing your knuckles, “you are like ice,” he feels your hands and covers them with his gloved ones, “are you ill?” 

“No, uh, yes, no,” you stammer, “sir, I only meant... I only thought to speak with you.” 

“I do cherish the tenor of your sweet voice, lady, I would ride so fast as I might to hear it,” he assures. 

“You rode... all this way, my lord?” 

“I do prefer to be in a saddle,” he affirms, “so, shall we converse? Perhaps we might have some tea to warm you, my valkyrie.” 

“Please,” you cringe, wishing he would quit his honeyed words, “I do not require it. Perhaps somewhere private...” 

“With chaperone of course,” your mother insists. You blanch but do your best not to show your unease. “Pollo! Pollo!” She claps, “forgive me I will not be able to do so myself as I have much to attend to for the morrow, but we have a groom here... Pollo!” 

She cries out and the dark-haired man appears. The old groom has a round belly and wine-reddened cheeks. He doesn’t speak more than Italian but he is steadfast in his service. Your mother bids him, pointing at you, then shoos him with a flick of her fingers. 

He shrugs and bows his head, nearing you and the duke. You peer over at your sister and Lord Rogers as they watch. The former stares at your betrothed as he clings still to your hands and the latter narrows his eyes in your direction. Just the sight of him makes you even more sick than before. Of any, he cannot know though you expect should Cora find out, it will not be a secret. 

“The sun room, perhaps,” Odinson suggests. 

“As you wish,” you agree. 

He offers his arms and you accept it. He guides you along, well-acquainted to the halls already, and takes you around to the sun room. The curtains are closed and the space is dim with the shadow of winter. The groom claims the armchair in the corner, making it groan with his weight, as another servant follows to light a lamp and put flint to the fireplace. 

When all is lit, you detach from Odinson and retreat from him. You mash your hands together and sway, spinning back to face him as he watches you intently. He seems unbothered by the spontaneity of it all. 

“You missed me? I have longed to see you again,” he beams. 

“Please,” you show your palms, “please, I... we must speak.” 

“Of? Name anything and it shall be yours. As my wife, you will never want for anything, valkyrie.” 

You wince as if struck. You drop your arms and your head. You stalk over to the bench that looks toward the window and sit, slumped forward as you shake your head. He approaches as he lets out a long exhale. He sits beside you. 

“Something is amiss. Forgive me for making light, I came upon mistaken sentiment,” his voice is grave, “you have something to say and I must listen. As ever, I am the storm but these winds have calmed.” 

You rock and another hot tinge settles behind your eyes. You roll them up and sit straight. You crane to see over your shoulder. Rollo’s eyes are closed as he’s halfway to sleeping. It is propriety alone that has him sat in that chair. 

You look ahead once more, “I cannot marry you.” 

He sucks in air and snorts, “what?” 

“I cannot—it cannot—I'm sorry, Lord Odinson.” 

“Why ever should you change your mind? The banns are read and will be again,” he touches your arm and you shy away. 

“You deserve... better.” 

“I deserve you,” he insists. 

“Please, sir, let me find the words,” you beg touch your temples as you try to rein in your wits. You close your eyes and shudder. 

“You are cold still, perhaps you might move closer to the fire--” 

“It hardly matters,” you lower your hands and clutch them tight.  

You make yourself look at him. You must. He warrants at least the truth told to his face and not the floor. His blue eyes twinkle as his usually bright face is stern. 

“I am...” you take a breath and struggle to let it back out as the words burn the tip of your tongue, “I... am with... child.” 

You choke out the last word and nearly faint. You stare at him, waiting for him to explode. You mightn’t even have a say in who knows should he speak too loudly. His eyes search yours and he blinks. He turns his face down and looks at his lap, gripping his thighs as he nods and hums. 

“That’s wonderful,” he says. 

“Pardon?” 

“Yes, it’s wonderful. We’ll have a child.” 

“Sir, I—we haven’t... it is another man’s,” you feel as if you shouldn’t have to explain this. 

“Why certainly he put it there, yes, but I would claim it,” he faces you again. 

Your eyes round, “why should you do that? That isn’t... proper. I am not proper, sir. I am telling you that I have been... corrupted. I should never have said yes.” 

“But you did.” 

“You needn’t-- it isn’t fair.” 

“Perhaps it isn’t fair that you should have to carry the cad’s seed,” he agrees, “for any many who would lay with a lady and not seek her hand, well, he can be nothing else.” 

You’re quiet as disbelief clouds around you. He can’t possibly mean it. He must be in shock. Certainly, he wouldn’t just accept another’s child. 

“Sir, you shouldn’t-- you shouldn’t do this. I am releasing you.” 

“I don’t want to be released,” he says sullenly. 

“Why? Why would you do this?” You ask. 

“I meant all I said to you, from the first breath, my valkyrie,” he proclaims. “And I mean it still.” 

“But, sir, you cannot—I cannot live with myself--” 

“You are honourable. Honest. You have told me this when you did not need to. When you could’ve claimed an early birth, when you could have kept quiet, yet you did not. That says more than a fleeting tryst. For that’s what it was, yes? Or do you lay with this man still?” 

You shake your head and look down at your fingers as you twists them until they hurt, “just once. Only once. It was... unplanned. It wasn’t...” your voice cracks. 

His chest inflates with a sonorous breath, “did you want it?” 

“Pardon?” You murmur. 

“Unplanned... did you... was it... your tryst, was it willing?” 

You put your fist to your mouth and sob. You can’t say it. You won’t. You replay it in your head every night and you think of how you told him to stop and yet you did not stop him. You should have fought more. You should have screamed. 

“I didn’t make him stop,” you eke around your hand. 

“Make him? Did you ask him to begin?” 

“Please, sir, I cannot—please just end this and I will ask my father for the convent once more. I cannot bring this shame on you.” 

“Shame? Shame is the man, if I should call him that, who has done this,” he snarls and reaches for you, taking your hand. “I swore you would be my wife and I will hold to that. As you swore to be my wife. We will see the altar together. As one.” 

“You do not have to--” 

“I want to,” he growls and you look up at his angry face. You’ve never seen such fury in him. “I have never done anything but by my own whim and will not change that now.” 

“You are too nice, sir. Too nice, I cannot ask it--” 

“Who?” He sneers. 

“Sir?” 

“Who has done this to you?” 

“I cannot--” 

“I should know.” 

“No, please, I wouldn’t-- it would be my ruin--” 

“No, it would be his and you protect him still, so tell me.” 

“No, no I will not. That I cannot tell you, sir. To say it would defeat me completely.” 

He sighs into a snarls and lowers his chin. He sounds like a simmering bull, readying for the charge. You tug on your hand but he will not release you. You relent and let him cling to you. 

Silence, suffocating and still.  

“My brother was an orphan. We took him in when he was young. He is a duke, same as me, now,” he declares as he squares his posture. “You wouldn’t know the difference. And I won’t. Not between this child and our next.” 

“Sir, surely--” 

“We are to have a child,” he says, “that is happy news and I thank you for bringing me here to hear it.” He pets your hand and leans his arm against yours. He brings your fingers up to your mouth and kisses them, “one day, I will know who the culprit is and on that, I will surely split his skull. Not for his bastard, for that child has no sin, but for your honour, lady. For my wife’s honour.” 

💟

Cora’s wedding to Lord Rogers culminates in a grand luncheon. The bride is a beautiful mist of tears as she accepts the well wishes of her guests. She basks in the attention as you gladly languish in the shadows. 

Despite Lord Odinson’s unexpected and reassuring reaction, you’re still uncertain. You don’t know if he’s keeping a good face on until he knows how to act, perhaps renegs his grace, or if you might come to pay for your discretion later in your union. You’re prepared to meet your atonement, however it comes. 

As you sit for the meal, the chair beside you is claimed almost at once. Your betrothed has appeared throughout the event but you’ve hardly been at his side. Each time you see him, his eyes skim the crowd as if he can see right through every one of them. Yet, when he looks at you, you feel only warmth. You don’t understand how he can look at you as such. 

“How do you fare, today, my valkyrie?” He asks as he straightens his cravat, “you look well.” 

“Good, I think.” 

“Glad to hear it,” he raises his glass for a servant to fill it with sherry. You opt for lemon water, as much as your tumultuous stomach can handle. 

“I thought we might have our own reception at Nine Pillars,” he suggests. 

“I would like that,” you agree, your eyes drifting beyond him, to your father’s gardens, where... “whatever you may offer, I will be grateful for.” 

“Mighty valkyrie, full of grace,” he praises and reaches for a platter, “ooh, they have some sweet ham here with pineapple.” 

He takes a helping and puts it on your plate. You smell the tangy fruit and the underline savoury waft of the meat. You lurch and grasp the edge of the table. You give a panicked look to Odinson as he peers down at the food. He switches your plates out swiftly. 

“Tell me, what are you in the mind for then?” He leans in so his arm touches yours as you sip from the lemon water to quell your stomach. “Valkyrie, give me your command and I will obey.” 

You give him a coy grin, “you can be so silly.” 

“Silly. Mad. All for love,” he assures you.  

“Is their anything dry?” You ask, “bread, perhaps.” 

“Sourdough,” he reaches to take the basket as others help themselves to the spread. 

“I’ll have some of that.” 

“With marmalade?” He offers.  

“No,” your face pinches at the thought, “no, bread will do.” 

You blink and shake of another tide of sickness. As you do, your eyes meet another pair further down the table, amid the rabble of voices. Lord Rogers tilts his head as Cora tugs on his sleeve and giggles up at the couple behind them. He hardly seems to notice as he stares you down. 

You go rigid and quickly look away. You touch Odinson’s arm to keep from panicking. He looks at you, then down the table. He doesn’t say anything, merely carves off a chunk of bread for you. 

You pick away at the hard crust and the dry spongey inside. You take small bites, cautious of upsetting your volatile stomach. The afternoon wears on, course after course, and you avoid those dishes which threaten to overthrow your restraint. 

At last, the cake is serves, a tiered sponge with cream and fruit and candied sugar spun in a facsimile fountain atop it. It’s splended and beautiful. The couple are served first as they smiles in delight. The doling out of servings takes some time as guests wait patiently for their turn and the cake is pushed on a cart from chair to chair. 

When it comes your turn, your name rises over the crowd. You sit up and glance over, relieved at least not to watch the layers of custard and cake hit your plate. Lord Rogers has his hand on the back of his wife’s chair. 

“And how do you like the dessert? I believe you’ve been saving space for it all day, eh?” He chirps. 

You angle your head in confusion. You look down then at Odinson who sits a little taller as he leans forward. 

“You’ve hardly indulged, so I hope you might show your support and delight in this delectable dessert,” Rogers taunts. “A wedding is no place for a sour face.” 

Your lips part. You’re stunned. How could he be so bold as to call you out? Among all his guests and he must torment you. Was one night not enough. Your whole life as his violation thrives within your womb. Lord Odinson subtly touches your elbows. 

“I am most happy for you and my sister,” you rebuff, “and you are correct, I’ve been in much anticipation for dessert.” 

You take your fork and scoop up a heaping mouthful. You smile at it even as your insides rage. You make yourself taste it. It’s so sweet and smooth and wonderful, but your stomach mulches as if it is rubbish. Your cheeks tremble and you swallow, nearly gagging. 

“To you, sir, and my sister, Cora, I wish a happy marriage,” you force out as you hide your mouth behind a handkerchief. 

“To the happy couple,” Lord Odinson raises his glass and the table erupts, at once, the attention shifted back to them. 

You brace his arm and squeeze. You fight but you cannot withhold the uproar within. You stand and rush away, frantically searching for somewhere to hide and spew your guts. 

💟

The days overcome your doubts. The weeks come with more affectations; your sickness ebbs and flows and the temperature feels at times hotter then colder, swaying back forth, while some moments you spend with a throbbing head and pulsing feet. The most obvious symptom of your condition is the tightness of your stay. Soon, you will be showing more than you like, but for now, loosened laces can ease your discomfort. 

Your wedding day fast approaches. Time does seem to defy any human whim. You wish it would slow so you could catch your breath. Much like your husband-to-be who has yet to falter in his affections. 

You sit before the mirror with the grown of silver petals in your lap. There is one still bent from Cora’s envy but you will keep it to the back of your head. You will wear it as proudly as that night Lord Odinson gifted it to you. You hope for the day you might both forget all else. 

If it is to be. If he is at the altar waiting still. 

Albina and Hannah take the crown from you and secure it among your styled locks. Albina smiles at your reflection as Hannah jabs you with a pin. You nervously wring your hands as you admire the lavender shade of your gown. You wish you’d had more of it, that you hadn’t needed to trim it in ivory to make up for your height. Still, it is beautiful and the nicest dress you’ve ever worn. 

“Are you nervous?” Albina asks. 

“Suppose,” you admit and lift your chin, “very, truly.” Though not for the reason she might think. 

“Lord Odinson is kind. He should be gentle,” Hannah says. 

Your cheeks tinge at her suggestion, “sister.” 

“Well, it is what we are all thinking, isn’t it?” She shrugs. 

“I hope I do not find a husband so soon,” Albina adds, “I would like to enjoy my books a little longer.” 

“You might take on the spinster’s mantel then,” Hannah snipes. 

“It shouldn’t be so bad,” you murmur. “Every woman must do it. Eventually. It cannot be so horrible.” 

You lower your head again, trying to hide the emotion battling in your chest. It was bad, that first time. Lord Rogers hadn’t been kind at all. Would Lord Odinson be any different? For Rogers seemed kind at first glance only to be cruel upon touch. 

What if you husband did not want to meet his duty? What if he could not knowing you had lain with another? You would not blame him and without consummation, he might still turn you away. 

“Cora said it was more painful than anything she’s ever felt,” Hannah undercuts your dread. “Though she still loves her husband well.” 

“You shouldn’t speak of that,” you gird. 

“Why not? Won’t you tell us how it is so we may be ready?” She challenges. 

“I... I... It’s rather strange to speak of it.” 

“You are strange,” Hannah retorts with a huff. 

“But pretty,” Albina chimes, “look at you, sissie. You truly look like a queen in that crown.” 

You meet the gaze of your reflection. You do look better than you ever have before. You wonder if they notice the new fullness in your cheeks. If they do, they don’t mention it. You take a deep breath. 

“I shouldn’t keep them waiting any longer,” you stand.  

If you wait any longer, you might lose your nerve. 

The bishop waits in the grand hall of Nine Pillars as you emerge from the rooms allotted for your preparations. The crowd stands among the columns and hushes as you appear at the end of the hall. You face the clergy man and for an instant, your heart dangles precariously, ready to plummet.  

Where is Lord Odinson? 

His golden head pops up beside the bishop and he fixes the flower tucked into his lapel. His long blond hair is draw back as a scarlet bow holds it back, its ears peeking out behind his nape. He is smiling as he pauses and his eyes meet yours across the space. 

You can see even from there how his features slacken and for a moment, you are breathless. He looks as stricken. You put one foot down and let your long legs carry you. 

All your doubts float away. The faces around you haze together and the world crumbles to dust. It's only you and that man.  

💟

The ceremony gives way to a soiree, bodies clustered together, partners dancing, and you among them. Your husband, a husband, has your hand in his as he leads you in the steps. This man, this wonderful forgiving man you vowed yourself too nearly sweeps you off your feet, a sensation you've never known before. 

Your cheer blooms from you as his cheeks flush in his excess. He barely pauses to receive kind words from his guest. His elation is contagious. It gives no way to your fears. 

"Do you know what I thought upon the altar, beautiful valkyrie," he purrs, "I nearly fell upon my knees even." 

"What?" You smile, glowing up at him. 

"That the gods did bless me. That you must be sent from them, a gift to me, mere mortal." 

You can't help but pat his chest, "you flatter." 

"You are too modest," he guides you along, "you are a statue come too life, art in the flesh." 

"My husband... you words are too sweet." 

"I know, I know, the wedding night is still ahead of us, I do run too fast," he chuckles, "but how can I help the anticipation? 

Your lashes flick and giggle, "husband." 

"That word has never sounded sweeter," he grins, "but a sweeter noise might be my own name. Say it for me, valkyrie." 

Your cheeks burn hot, "Thor?" 

"Delicious," he growls nearly baring his teeth, "and I shall savour every sound you make. Every moan and mewl. Every breath and laugh. Just as every part of you." 

It's too good to be true. You deign to let yourself feel it all but you must. If even only for tonight. If only for the next moment. You will have a morsel of happiness if it's all you have to chew on for the rest of your life. 

💟

The night wears on and so do you. Your feet ache, as does most of you, and your voice is raw from laughing and talking. It is the first that you ever spent an event not along the wall or hiding in some shadow. It is a night all your own, or so your husband has made it feel. 

Yet, he does not tire. Not as quickly. As he booms and bawls to the amusement of all, you cling to his arm and repress a yawn. You will not spoil his fun, you will persist. 

Still, you cannot ignore all urges of your humanity. You press a hand to his sleeve and excuse yourself, promising to return. Your husband pauses to bid you not be long and you're further abashed at his attention. 

You flit off to find the privy. You've been several times over the day. Your bladder swells no matter how little you drink. As you progress, you find your body is contradictory to your mind. 

You venture down the corridor and sweep into the room. Once relieved, you emerge feeling lighter but no less tired. The silent desolation of the corridor rather makes your exhaustion all the more potent. 

You turn towards the statue of a warrior, you recognise it, it is the means by which you've found your way. Before you can pass it, a figure appears from behind it and you falter in your slippers. 

You gasp and ball your hands, the man before you sending a ripple of horror through you as he smirks at your surprise. Lord Rogers' cheek dimples as he quorks his head like a cynical crow. 

"You are ever a creature of urges," he muses, "fluttering back and forth as a skittish bird." 

"My lord, I... what is the meaning--" 

"I'm afraid we've not had much of a chance to speak, have we? The blushing bride is much a titter," he chortles, "she has the gull to giggle like a maiden, even." 

"Lord Rogers," you utter, appalled. 

"But the sway of her hips do betray her true nature. That which is within her," he sneers, "as does the curdling of her face over any dish that tickles her nose." 

"Sir, I know not what you mean--" 

"I should laugh truly, to know that another will raise my bastard," he taunts, "that it is him, does entertain me more." He takes a step forward and you back, "so you will be certain to lay with him this night so he may believe he has vigour." He grabs your arms before you can elude him, "you will think of me, won't you, Athena, my fallen goddess? Of how I desecrated your--" 

Suddenly, you are staggered. Lord Rogers is swung backward and flung into the statue. There's a roar, tha same noise you would expect of a charging bear, and the flash of scarlet. You watch paralysed as Thor grabs Lord Rogers by his jacket and spins him, throwing him into the other wall. 

The smaller of the men, though they are both built well, slides to one knee, his hand on the plaster. The other is quick, wasting not a second before aims a foot into Rogers' stomach. The duke falls backward and is at once straddled beneath the larger. 

Thor lays blows upon the other man, hailing down on him like the tempest he claims himself. Your fear overflows and you push through the thick waves. You come forward numbly and pull your husband by the back of his collar.  

"Please sir, unhand him." 

"You would defend this animal!" He wails down another fist and growls. 

"No, no, I would not spare him but I would... I would have my husband not take me to my wedding night with bloodied knuckles. Thor," you pet the back of his head, "let this be a happy day. Please." 

He sits back on his heels and puffs out. He looks back at you as you step away. You put your hand to your middle.  

"Husband?" 

He snarls and spits on Lord Rogers, standing with a huff. You reach for his hand and he takes it. He squeezes as he sends one last kick of his toe to the man on the floor. 

"Let me save my strength for you, wife. I certainly would need it." 

[wolfjackle-creates]

Bring Me Home, Chapter 2 Part 3

A little shorter this week. I had my graduation ceremony over the weekend and the opportunity to hang out with my sister-in-law for the first time in a few months! (She and my brother moved states a few months back.) If you scroll down a bit, you'll be able to see how I decorated my graduation cap! I love how it turned out.

But you don't care about that. It's Wednesday! Time for a WIP Wednesday segment!

Story Summary: Tim and Danny are both neglected by parents who care more about their work than their families. They deal with this by spending too much time online and find each other playing MMORPGs. They keep up their friendship as Tim becomes Robin and Danny becomes Phantom and don't bother keeping secrets from each other.

First, Previous

Word Count: 1k

----------

Unable to get Tim’s attention, Conner asked, “Who’s Technus?”

Danny shrugged. “One of my rogues. Tuck thinks he’s the ghost of Nikolai Tesla. He’s interested in controlling all technology and will make himself a giant mechasuit cannibalized from any electronic he can find in, like, a half mile radius. Super annoying.”

Tim hummed. “You didn’t tell me about him being Nikolai Tesla.”

“It’s a new hypothesis of Tuck’s. He’s been trying to research all the ghosts that come through as part of our profiles on them. That involves trying to figure out who they might’ve been in life. We’re hoping it’ll help me deescalate confrontations to cut back on property damage. Thanks to my parents talking about how evil all ghosts are, no one trusts Phantom and I get blamed for everything.”

Tim reached out and squeezed Danny’s shoulder. Practically everything Danny ever said about his parents made him like them less. To change the subject before he learned something else that’d make him want to attack Jack and Maddie while they were under the same roof, he asked, “So why does ectoplasm harm electronics anyway?”

Danny seemed to lean into his touch. “Well, ectoplasm is complicated. It is generated in this dimension but doesn’t really belong here. It comes about through death and leads the way to the Ghost Zone. At least… that’s the hypothesis I think is the most likely. I’ve only really been studying it for a few months since my own accident, though.” He shook his head. “Anyway! When it interacts with things on Earth that aren’t trying to get to the Zone, things get weird. Especially with non-sentient things that can’t will the ectoplasm to act in a specific way. Even animals can exert some control over ectoplasm. But electronics can’t.”

It was only a few minutes more before Danny had completely disassembled the phone. He then grabbed another pipette and adjusted the volume and added ectoplasm to certain pieces. Then took a third size and did it all over again.

“How on earth did you find out how much to add?” asked Bart. “You’re changing quantities constantly.”

“Trial and error. Long and tedious trial and error. We tried dipping sections in the ectoplasm to start, but that generally fried the tech and mutated its function. Wires do do best with submersion, though. No more than a second or two for small ones. Even after we stopped submersion, we started by adding way too much—spreading it over the entire chip. But that also didn’t work. Realized just half a microliter applied to the connections was best. The camera, speaker, and microphone need more. Those get ten microliters apiece. And we just kept trying different amounts until we had something that worked. We ruined four phones before we started testing each component individually.”

Conner let out a low whistle. “Well we’re glad you have. Thanks for helping with this.”

“Of course. Anything for Tim.”

Tim’s face heated as Cassie laughed. “Yeah, our Tim has a way of winning people over, doesn’t he?”

“I think I won him over, actually.” Danny hung the pipette back up on the holder. “All right, now just to put this baby back together. Who’s hungry?”

“Me!” called Bart. “It’s been ages since we’ve last eaten.”

“You’ve got an accelerated metabolism, right? We’ll stop by a store and get some extra stuff if you need anything overnight or tomorrow.”

“I like you,” said Bart. “You should come with us when we leave. Join our team.”

Tim buried his face in his hands, did none of his teammates know the definition of subtlety? Offering Danny a place with the Teen Titans or Young Justice was the first thing he tried.

“Thanks for the offer, but as I’ve told Tim, I can’t leave Amity. No one else is capable of responding to ghost threats.”

Conner shook his head. “Looks like your parents have it under control.”

Danny laughed. “Oh hell no. They’ve got a lot of inventions and most of them do something. But it’s not always what they expect them to do. And dad’s aim is terrible.” As he spoke, he continued to reassemble Tim’s phone.

Tim couldn’t help but admire how expertly Danny’s fingers moved over the pieces. And before he knew it, Danny was handing the phone back to him.

“Should work now. Turn it on and double check.”

Tim took it and held the power button until the WE logo appeared. Sure enough, once the screen loaded, so did a dozen missed phone calls and even more missed texts.

Bruce, Dick, and Barbara had all attempted contact multiple times. Even Alfred had called once. He winced and immediately called Bruce back.

“Hey, B,” he said as soon as the call connected. “We’re all fine. Just crossed an area that messed with our tech.”

“How did it mess with your tech?” Bruce demanded.

“It’s normal in this area. But I’ve a local friend and he fixed my phone. He’ll take care of Conner’s, Cassie’s, and Bart’s after we grab some dinner. So if anyone else is worried, tell them we’re fine and they can call me in the meantime if they have questions.” Tim made sure to use civilian names so Bruce would know they were no longer in costume.

“Who is this ‘friend’?” asked Bruce.

“God, B, it’s fine. I’ve known him for years. We game online together when we can. Have since we were kids.”

“Hn.” Why was it so much harder to read Bruce over the phone than in person? It was so annoying. “I see. Where are you currently?”

“We’re in Illinois. Will probably stay here a day or two with Danny and his parents. And then we’ll come home and share everything about our trip.” Aka, submit an official report about the outcome of their mission.

“Very well. I expect to know all the details. And I want twice daily check-ins until you’re home.”

“Fine, fine. Will do. Bye, B.” Before Bruce could demand anything else, Tim hung up on him. Next he shot texts to Dick, Alfred, and Barbara assuring them he was fine and his phone was working again. Replies came instantly and he ignored them all. “All right, that’s done. Let’s go eat.”

---------

Next

I think this is the first time I've had an actual scene break to stop the segment at. I usually just go until I see a change in the conversation, but I've got my <hr> marker at this point and there's gonna be a scene change! (So I won't have to repeat a paragraph or two next time I post.)

You get a different explanation for ectoplasm in this fic! Wasn't planning on that, but it happened and I like it.

Hope you enjoyed.

Tag List Part 1

@gremlin-bot, @bonebrokebuddy, @britcision, @lady-time-lord-, @welcometosasakiworld, @akikkobara, @phoenixdemonqueen, @dolfay, @skulld3mort-1fan, @we-ezer, @markus209, @sjrose1216, @onyxlightdragon, @dragonsrequiem, @jesus-camp-the-sequel, @spidey29phangirl, @kyrianclawraith, @evilminji, @introvert-even-on-the-internet, @emergentpanda-blog, @lexdamo, @v-inari, @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit, @longlivethefallen, @undead-essence, @xye-chan, @liandrin, @seraphinedemort, @kisatamao, @schalensitzbucket, @caelestisdreamer, @runfromthemedic, @nutcase8691, @channajen, @tonicmii, @ambiguouslyominous, @vythika96, @addie-lover-of-stories, @ironicvixen, @violetfox2, @pickleking8, @mysticalcomputerdetective, @ark12, @mygood-bitch99, @squirrel-wolf, @satisfactionbroughtmeback, @sometimesthingsfallapart, @automaticsoulharmony, @d4ydr34min9, @revnantdpxdclover, @midigeria, @raginblastocyst

[diazsdimples]

Several Sentence Sunday!!

Bringing you sentences from two wips today because I am Indecisive™️ and am enjoying these both. Tagged by @theotherbuckley

First snippet is from my beloved Frostpunk AU. Eddie is purely vibing here.

Sometimes it feels like Eddie’s being moved, his body shifting from one side to another without him moving a muscle. It hurts when this happens, a sharp pain driving into his side as though a knife has been plunged through his ribs. He tries to take in a sharp breath but there’s something blocking his throat. He tries to lift a hand to claw at his mouth, to remove the obstruction, but his arms are leaden and won’t move. He whines, as much as he can with something down his throat, and he can feel his heartrate picking up. Suddenly, a heavy warmth envelops his hand, and gentle, low words penetrate through the haze, swimming through his brain until that’s all he focuses on. “It’s okay, Edmundo, you’re safe. Christopher is safe. I’m – I mean – we’re here.” It’s Eddie, not Edmundo, he wants to say. He wants nothing more than to hear this nice, calming Voice speak his name properly. He wants to hold onto the warmth in his hand so it never leaves, but it always does. Sometimes he thinks he hears his son’s voice. Not words, but small sounds that get picked up and wafted towards him. It’s usually when that Voice is nearby, mumbling soft words that tell stories of princesses and pirates and swordfights and giants, and he hears a small hum or sigh that he just knows is Christopher. He’d be able to pick out his son’s voice from a mile away. It gives him strength, knowing Christopher is close and being cared for. Sometimes he dimly wonders if the Voice and the Angel are the same, a guardian staying around and caring for him and his son as if that’s what it was put on this earth to do. Maybe he can get better, if only to see his son again and to hear the Voice and see the face it belongs to. So, Eddie drifts as his body heals, cuts knitting back together, his lungs slowly gaining strength until he feels he could take a breath without feels as though they could collapse. His heart beats steadier and with less pain. He doesn’t feel cold anymore, especially not when that heavy warmth settles on his forehead, his cheek, or around his fingers. Maybe, just maybe everything will be okay. Maybe he succeeded. Maybe he got himself and his son to safety. And if that’s true, he just hopes Shannon can forgive him.

The other snippet is from this fic that I'm co-writing with @theotherbuckley. Please enjoy some spice.

“How do you want to do this?” Eddie asks as he mouths at the length of Buck’s neck. “Think you can take me?” He says it like a challenge, one Buck seems more than happy to rise to. He draws himself to his full height — fuck, Eddie had forgotten that Buck’s got a couple of inches on him — and looks Eddie dead in the eyes. The blue of his irises are barely visible as his pupils blow, hunger burning deep as he surveys Eddie’s face as if taking inventory of his features. Buck leans forwards, his whole persona exuding cocky confidence, and he brushes his lips tantalisingly against Eddie’s, smirking as Eddie lets out a shaky breath. “Every last inch.” The last of Eddie’s resolve crumbles, and he surges forward, kissing Buck hard and dirty as he pulls him away from the door. They stumble across the room, tripping over loose items of clothing that are strewn across the floor - Buck 1.0 clearly isn’t the best housekeeper. The minute the backs of Buck’s legs hit the bed he falls backwards, dragging Eddie down with him. Eddie braces himself with an arm to the side of Buck’s head, his other hand cupping Buck’s jaw as he slowly, meticulously takes him apart with his lips. Buck groans into Eddie’s mouth and grabs a fistfull of his ass, pulling Eddie on top of him a little more so that Eddie’s whole body blankets his. Eddie slots a leg between Buck’s and smirks into the kiss as Buck grinds needily against his thigh, letting out high-pitched whines with each small thrust. “You need it badly, hmm?” Eddie hums as he breaks the kiss and begins to mouth along Buck’s jaw, down his neck, until he latches onto his collarbone. Buck nods vigorously and whines again as Eddie bites a mark into the tender skin. 

No pressure tagging @hippolotamus @daffi-990 @watchyourbuck @bidisasterevankinard @neverevan

@bibabyboybuck @aroeddiediaz @spotsandsocks @bibuckbuckgoose @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove

@nmcggg @jesuisici33 @wikiangela @loveyouanyway @cal-daisies-and-briars

@exhuastedpigeon @epicbuddieficrecs @kitteneddiediaz @hermscat @worriedbisexual

@thekristen999 @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @actuallyitsellie @idealuk @dangerpronebuddie

@houseofevanbuckley @daemonsrhaenyra @loserdiaz @elvensorceress @underwaterninja13

@rainbow-nerdss @smilingbuckley @spagheddiediaz @steadfastsaturnsrings @thewolvesof1998

@jehdogg @ohlookitsthearkhamknight @revenge-of-the-assbutt @likeamollusconarock @this-is-moony-lovegood

@morethanoneside @random-trash-animal @woogigi @redpheonixwitch @having-conniptions

(lmk if you want to be added/removed)

[suzukiblu]

For wip Wednesday, Kon is too pregnant to deal with everyone's bull-

“Right,” Bart says, vibrating for an instant before visibly forcing himself back to stillness. Or mostly-stillness, anyway. It’s Bart. “So–it’s not a datemate, it’s just whoever. And you don’t know how to find them now?” 

“No,” Kon says, tightening his jaw. “And I–and I have to tell the Kents that, and all the damn neighbors, and Clark. I have to tell them all that I don’t . . . that I just . . .”

“Why’s that a problem?” Bart asks, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. 

"Because it's Smallville! And I have to look the Kents in the eye and tell them that I'm trans and pregnant and a giant fucking slut with literally no idea who knocked me up and no way to ever even find the guy!" Kon chokes miserably, shoving the heels of his hands into his eyes. Everyone in this stupid town will talk. Everyone will talk and the Kents won’t let him keep the stupid baby anyway and–and why did he let this happen, why is he so stupid?! "Fucking Batman couldn't find this fucking guy, I'm way too big a whore for that and there is literally nothing to go on unless his DNA just so happens to be in a random database somewhere, and that'd be its own problem because it'd probably mean he was a criminal or worked for the fucking government or something!” 

"Do you wanna say it's mine, then?" Bart offers, pointing at himself. "I mean it's obviously not gonna have a Speed Force connection but we could find a way to bullshit an excuse for that. And we can just say we messed around and accidentally used too much super-speed and the condom broke, and either the Plan B didn't work on your physiology or we just figured the T would've kept you from ovulating and didn't actually think about it. That’s like, a common misconception in this time period, I keep hearing. Or just something like that, anyway." 

"I . . . why would you do that?" Kon asks in bemusement, lowering his hands just enough to blink stupidly at him. What is he . . . "That's–then everybody would think you'd had sex with me."

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

Here's another long-winded post about me combing through BG3 early access files in search of Aylin and Isobel tidbits - rummaging that already resulted in this post right here. Let me just say I'm pleased to have brought Aylin Silverblood some attention because, again, I think it's a dope name.

Now, obviously, Isobel and Aylin are both Act 2 characters, and early access only covered Act 1. So anything related to them is partial stuff that wasn't scrubbed from the game files for whatever reason, and a lot of placeholders (these are usually indicated by |the text being in vertical lines|). This all means that sometimes (usually!) there are no nice voice lines indexed by UUID and parseable dialogue trees, and you have to trawl through a giant localisation XML of every bit of text in the game instead. An additional complication is all these stories were in flux, but older bits of writing from deprecated iterations didn't get immediately removed from the files, so it's sometimes hard to tell what belongs to which version.

The biggest luck I've had with regards to these two is the 24/11/2021 version of the game - EA Patch #6 Hotfix #19, aka game version v. 4.1.1.1356845, aka the source of Aylin Silverblood (my beloved). Here's a handy list of the patch and hotfix history, if you're like me and interested in this stuff. I'm actually wrangling files from 5 versions of the game right now, ranging from March 2021 to July 2022 - it's been a fun time. This old datamining post on reddit really helped narrow down the timeframe for me to look into.

Why am I doing this? I genuinely find it fun and interesting! There's some neat writing to be found! I crave more Isobel at all times! And I'm always into WIP and "how the sausage is made" type stuff. Also, tons of cool inspo for fics and headcanons.

Note, because I know that's a popular EA tidbit: this is all from after the Halsin killing Isobel variant was scrapped. This is, in fact, the version where she gets killed and soul trapped by Balthazar, and Aylin gets framed for it.

I'm going to start this off with my favourite part, and that is snippets of an early version of the Aylin/Isobel reunion from 2021. I've done my best to put them in order, but be aware a lot of this is still me speculating.

|[CINE: Nightsong teleports the party to the plaza in front of Last Light. As she looks around trying to familiarize herself, Isobel notices your arrival from the balcony. Her reaction is pure shock, followed by an immediate rush down the stairs.]|

|[CINE: Isobel dashes out of the front of the inn, wide-eyed and out of breath. Nightsong stares at her, stunned.]|

Aylin: |(distant, shocked) Isobel.|

Isobel: |Aylin...|

|[CINE: Nightsong takes an instinctive step towards her but stumbles, collapsing to her knees, eyes blown with pain and disbelief. Isobel closes the distance between them in hasty steps, trying to help Nightsong up, but Nightsong tightly grips at her arms - as if the contact makes everything real.]|

|[CINE: Isobel's eyes fill with tears as she drops down to the ground, throwing her arms around Nightsong's shoulders in a tight embrace. Shaking, almost fearful, Nightsong returns the embrace - the first kind touch she's had in a hundred years.]|

|[CINE: Nightsong draws back from the hug, looking Isobel in the eyes. Isobel helps Nightsong to her feet. As the two of them stand, they keep their hands linked.]|

Aylin: |A hundred years. Isobel, light of my heart, where were you? (choking up) I found your body, I....|

Isobel: |I was dead, Aylin. For so long. It was Balthazar - he trapped my soul, he-|

Player: |[Doesn'tKnowRelationship] You were lovers? Did Ketheric know?|

Aylin: |(jaw tightens) We were lovers. Her father was against it. He saw nothing but future misery. I'm immortal. I would never age, but she would.|

Isobel: |He didn't understand. It doesn't matter when... (fearful, as if worried Aylin's feelings might have changed) ... I still love you so much.|

Aylin: |(her first genuine smile) And I, you. No trial or pain could ever change that. (relaxes a touch) It is why I couldn't leave your body, even when they came. Balthazar and that Sharran witch told your father that I was to blame.|

|And he believed them over you?|

Aylin: |(frowns) He believed what he wanted to believe. Ketheric saw his daughter dead, and he saw someone he wanted to hurt. Shar took that cruel thread, that moment of mortal pain, and used it to corrupt him to the core.|

Aylin: |I was put on trial, and I had no defence. The moment it was over, I was taken down to the temple and... well, you saw what they had done.|

|Isobel presses against Nightsong's side, face tight with worry, running her fingers in slow strokes up and down Nightsong's arm.|

|[CINE: Nightsong tilts her head back towards the player.]|

Aylin: |These heroes saved me. Without them, I'd still be trapped in Balthazar's soul cage, with Ketheric gripping my heart like a leech.|

|[CINE: Isobel's face falls at the mention of her father's name.]|

Isobel: |A *soul cage*? Gods.|

Isobel: |I didn't know. Gods, he didn't say a word to me. I ran away because it was Balthazar that brought me back. As I ran, I heard my father shouting... but I'd seen enough. There was no saving him.|

Aylin: |You are not your father, Isobel. (sad, wry smile) You were the only thing that kept me alive in the dark. When hope began to fade, I simply thought of you.|

Isobel: |[To player] Thank you. (smiles wide) I... I can't possibly thank you enough, for bringing Aylin back to me.|

|Nightsong smiles too, but she's lost looking at Isobel, completely tuning out everyone else around them. Isobel leans in, resting her brow against Nightsong's and closing her eyes, Nightsong's hand clutched to her chest.|

Then, there is an option to press Isobel for details:

|You said the necromancer trapped your soul. Why?| |Was Balthazar the one who killed you, Isobel?|

Isobel: |(hesitant, visibly guilty) I think Aylin would know better than I do. The last thing I remember is a blade in the dark. Too fast to feel pain. Then silence.|

Asking Isobel to go with you to Moonrise was possible at various points, leading to different responses:

Will you come with me to Moonrise? I could use your help. If we're going to stop Ketheric, you have to come with me.

Until there is a way to keep Last Light safe, I cannot leave. All I can do is pray. |Not if everyone is killed at Last Light in my absence. I'll do everything I can to help you from here, but I won't go with you.| |Not if everyone is killed at Last Light in my absence. If someone else could take my place, I would go with you. I swear it.|

|Nightsong is here, she will protect Last Light - let's go to Moonrise, like you promised.| |I want to spend the night with Aylin. Meet me at Moonrise tomorrow.| |Nightsong will protect the people while together we can stop Ketheric.|

Isobel: I... we need to get close to him, don't we? And Aylin can protect Last Light in my absence. Aylin: Isobel, I have just gotten you back. To put yourself in his hands again-

Looks like we would've had a flip of the current Act 2 boss fight, and Isobel would be the ally for the confrontation with Ketheric, not Aylin. Also, that one line right there that is our first indication of Succor™, gotta love it. Sadly, post-reunion I only have:

|TBD: Post Nightsong Reunion.| |How are you and Aylin doing?|

To borrow release version Isobel's stock line: KEEPING VERY WELL, I HOPE? In any case, I'm putting the rest under a cut, featuring options for calling Isobel out on her parentage, Aylin being from Mt. Celestia, and Balthazar being gross - among many other things.

At one point quite early on, Isobel's protection from the shadow curse wasn't a spell, but an ointment:

|Ointment of Selûne| |Ointment Container PLACEHOLDER| |Isobel filled this with precious doses of her sacred Ointment of Selûne.| |First get the ointment from Isobel.| Have you received Isobel's ointment yet? What protection can her ointment offer, exactly? You should see Isobel. If Marcus does crop up, I'd sooner you had her ointment to protect you. Can use that cleric's ointment to get you on your way. But I have to move out - now. Can I get some of your ointment? No more theories! It's time for action. Our secret weapon needs to travel to Moonrise Towers, which means they'll need your ointment. You have the ointment. You have the Gate Stone. Moonrise Towers awaits. Are you sure the ointment will last long enough?

What is now Isobel's Ominous Cough was a gradual weakening that was remarked upon and seemed to be there to create more of a sense of urgency:

I won't claim to know Isobel's craft, but Selûne's light is bright in her. Isobel's tough - though she was tougher at the start. I've rarely seen a cleric so in tune with her goddess, but the curse is taking its toll. The light used to be stronger, Isobel. How much more of this curse can you take? You look paler than death, Isobel. How much more of this curse can you take?

We have some nice concise infodumps on Ketheric:

After Ketheric turned to darkness, the Enclave joined with the Harpers to unseat him and his Sharran cohorts. We marched together, fought together, bled together... and in the end we prevailed.

Only it wasn't the end. Nothing seemed to kill Ketheric himself, so the Harpers decided to seal him in his own tomb, alive. They thought that would be enough. But they hadn't counted on Ketheric unleashing the shadow curse. We watched it drain all light and life away from this place, saw it twist people into abominations. The Harpers lost hope.

Ketheric wove the curse on this land. The moment he was sealed in that tomb, Shar's poison devoured everything in its path.

Fallen paladin. Champion of Shar. He was building an army bent on unholy conquest, but we stopped him. Killed him. Buried him.

It was not enough. General Thorm lives again. He's built a new army, and this time he marches under the banner of the Absolute.

November 2021 is the earliest mention of Aylin I found, mostly marked as not finalised and placeholder dialogue (and that reunion up there). The Nightsong as present in that patch is still very different from what we ended up getting - nobody was killing her, in fact people were coming to get her "kiss", and there was a whole thing where it seems like Shar would directly take control of her and you could help her overcome the curse, or abandon her to it - or kill her. 

Embrace the Nightsong and be sworn to Eternal Shadow.

Anyway, here are her lines (all of these exist as voice files, which is rare for stuff I put in this post - but they're done by a voice actress who doesn't sound like Helen Keeley, our final Aylin VA, so I don't know what to make of it all tbh):

Shar is the Nightsinger, and I am her Nightsong. I am her instrument, transforming the faithful into shadows. I've been here for centuries. Do you know how many priests of Shar came here, full of faith, seeking my kiss? I've been here for centuries. Thousands of Sharrans came here seeking my kiss. I drink their sorrow, their loss, their grief. Then I vomit it back into the world. All of them are shadows now. That is Shar's only reward. But Ketheric returned for my kiss, over and over. You're the first to survive my kiss intact. You're the only one who can help me. Please, you have to help. No one's ever resisted the kiss before. No one has ever resisted my kiss. But you are not merely *one*, are you? That thing in your head must be incredibly powerful to resist a goddess. Perhaps it's also divine in nature. Because a mind can't survive two masters. It breaks us. Shar's attention must be elsewhere. Speak quickly. She's watching now. She's waiting to steal my voice. But it won't last. Please - listen! I was captured by Ketheric Thorm, Shar's chosen. He turned me into this creature. I'm a slave of Shar. She owns me, just like that thing in your head owns you. I want to sing my own song. Not Shar's. Not *Ketheric's*. Find Ketheric. Kill him so I can be free! Slay Ketheric. His wretched existence binds me to this temple. Oh. That made her angry. The Lady returns! She has me again! *Again!* Stop! You've driven her away!

I am not your *spectacle*. Turn away before I strike you blind. Tell them to come and receive my kiss.

Some possible relevant tags, interactions, and outcomes include:

|The soul cage has greatly weakened Nightsong| |Debug: click to save Nightsong (sets the flag to talk to Isobel)| |We sided with Ketheric and doomed Nightsong.| |Companion comment!||But if his power is linked to this Nightsong, there must be a way to unlink it.| |You have taken control of Ketheric's Soul Cage| |You are bound to Ketheric's soul cage, taking his regenerative powers for yourself| |Bound to Soul Cage| |Soul Cage Key| |Soul Cage Research| |The book details the necromancer's research on the soul cage| |There is a glimpse of Isobel's ghost, as she takes her Father with her to the afterlife.| |There is a glimpse of Isobel's ghost terrified and in agony. Both Isobel and Ketheric will disappear.|

At one point Isobel delivers her own, Ketheric's, and Aylin's backstory as "a story", but sadly I can find very little of it, just disjointed fragments:

You seem to know a lot about Ketheric. He was a devout Selûnite who converted to Shar. They say it was Ketheric's purity that drew an angel down from Celestia. You're Isobel Thorm. The daughter who died in that story.

And there seem to be many options to question Isobel about her hiding the truth about her father:

Why are you lying to me, Isobel? Everyone thinks you're dead, Isobel. Tell me the truth, Isobel. Everything. Still, Isobel might have saved us some time had she been honest from the beginning. |Why didn't you tell me what happened from the start, Isobel?|

Ketheric. Don't you mean your father? Ketheric is your father. I know the truth. Ketheric told me at Moonrise. He wants me to bring you home. I need your father to trust me. He wants you back. You sent me after your father - Ketheric. I think we should discuss Ketheric - your father - first. For all you've said about Ketheric, you left out the part where he's your father.

To which I've found some responses:

And would you have trusted her? Ketheric's daughter? Why didn't I tell you that I was murdered, that my soul was locked away for a hundred years? What would I have told her? That my father murdered her fellow Harpers, but that I can surely be trusted?

[Attempt to read Isobel's thoughts.] *You see Ketheric standing before Isobel, although the memory is hazy. His words are unclear, but his tone is not - he is pleading with her.*

Brought back by the same man that killed me. Balthazar. Standing next to my father with a smile on his face.

But I'm not sure it would have mattered. To stand with that man, my father has surrendered to deepest evil.

I would love to know what the whole pleading thing is about, and what Isobel "didn't know" that she claims didn't matter anyway.

My father. After a century, he somehow brought me back. But I saw the monster he had become. I couldn't bear it... I ran. I ran until I found Last Light. It was like a second home to me, once. I've been studying the curse ever since, searching for answers. Trying to restore the damage my father has wrought upon this land. It's possible I may have to sacrifice myself. But this is my father's crime.

And then, there is this nugget I cannot place but that I like: 

|Your father's due will come.|

There is also an option to tell her Nightsong is Aylin (who was, at this point, a full celestial - no mention of being connected to Selûne, though, and in fact, if she was indeed from Mount Celestia as mentioned in the "story", she would not have been):

Isobel: My father's curse still blackens this earth. Have you found anything? Player: A celestial, chained to Ketheric's soul. Player: They called her Nightsong, but she told me her name was Aylin. Isobel: Aylin. She... she's alive. I knew she had to be, I… Player: Ketheric's necromancer took her to Moonrise. Isobel: His necromancer? Gods, you have to free her. Isobel: You have to go to Moonrise and free Aylin. When Ketheric is weak, this can all be over. Isobel: The truth is that I would give anything to see her again, and anything to stop my father. Free her, and you do both. Isobel: At least, the shell of my father. There's nothing left of the man that championed Selûne. Isobel: Find her. Free her. If Ketheric isn't stopped, all of us are doomed.

Player: |[Doesn'tKnowName] Aylin? Care to explain?| Isobel: The angel in my story about Ketheric. That was Aylin.

Speaking of Balthazar. Some lines from him:

[Introductory note: please imagine everything Balthazar says spoken with a wheezy voice, as if he's permanently out of breath.]

[I need to retrieve the Nightsong, but the temple is haunted and my minions cannot make it past the trial grounds. I cannot go there until the ghosts have been dealt with. Now that you are here on behalf of Ketheric, you will do all this for me.]

I, Fodder, am here on behalf of General Ketheric Thorm. Down in the depths of this temple writhes his desire. I am to bring it to him.

I created the Nightsong for General Ketheric, many moons... HEAR THAT SHAR? Many moons ago.

*As you hold the necromancer's mocking gaze, you can tell how it starts to dawn on him you are not the mere minion he thought you were.*

Along the way I found some more recent Patch 8 (2022-ish) gross Balthazar lines, some bits of which have actually survived to release:

She was a unique specimen even before I began my work. Aasimar. A god's blood united with mortal flesh.

Such fine clay she was. We grew quite close as I… remoulded her. Now she is General Thorm's shield. Her strength is his to drink upon. His pains are hers to bear.

If I never exceed her, I will still die happy. If I ever do something as gauche as truly dying, that is.

Utterly revolting! Makes my skin crawl! Man deserves a yeeting into the Shadowfell a hundred times over! But in order to not end on a gross note, I leave you with:

Ketheric Thorm. Murderer. Oathbreaker.

Aylin Silverblood. My true name. Nightsong was only ever a curse.

[unhealthyfanobsession]

Wip Wednesday for a little something coming you way this Nessian week (all my Nessian week pieces are spiralling out of control in terms of if word count so … pray for me to finish)

This is a fun little Nessian prohibition piece that might have to be 2 chapters oops:

“I’d tell you not to talk to asshole pretty boys, Nes, but girls like you never listen, do they?” He didn’t let his eyes slide to Az and Mor, glaring, even if his mind did.

“Don’t call me that.”

“You do know more words than that, right?”

She scowled. The wrinkle in her forehead lighting something low in Cassian’s abdomen. “Yes, I know precisely how to inform trumped up gangsters that I couldn’t be less interested in whatever they,” a quick glare at Mor, “Or their girlfriends have to offer.”

“Call me a bitch if you want, doll, but don’t you ever insinuate I’d date Cassian.” Not. Fucking. Helpful. Mor.

Her date was less than impressed. “C’mon, Nesta. Let’s just get out of here, your old man’s never gonna let me take you out again if I don’t get you home soon anyway.”

“You always let him boss you around like that?” Nesta’s shoulders went tense. A sharp breath pulled kicking and screaming through the back of her throat as she bit back the words she wanted to say. Don’t do that, he wanted to growl. Don’t you dare ever hide one of your thoughts away. But Az cleared his throat, and Cassian knew what he was and wasn’t saying - don’t fuck with her. Their one rule.

No women like Nesta allowed.

Run you way through every gorgeous songbird and drunken floozy that bounced through but don’t even look at the wayward debutantes playing at rebellion.

Typical, for a perfect gal like her to be out begging for a little danger. A tiny taste of something rebellious and hot before she put on her fakest smile to take the giant diamond this leanly muscled business man would wave in her face.

She was everything he couldn’t have. Everything he and Az and Rhys agreed could have the power to drag their whole fragile (not to mention illegal) empire to the ground. Azriel was smart to warn him, but Azriel couldn’t see the bright blue flame licking her gaze. God, she would be like a wolf shoved into a pretty little apron when she laid flat on her back and let this prick pump a baby into her after a shaker of martinis.

For the first time in his life, Cassian found he didn’t much care what Azriel had to say. He wanted to save this woman from that beige life. And ruin her in the process. Good thing Cassian knew exactly how to get inside the mind of a good girl like this.

“Yes go, run along home to daddy little girl, leave the grown ups to their party. ”

[stabbyfoxandrew]

Hey I hope you have a great day! Could I get a snippet of arsonist neil please?

WIP Wednesday (8/7) | Arsonist Neil / Firefighter Andrew AU (Part 208)

The next afternoon, Andrew finds himself in the middle of a Skype call with Aaron and Nicky over lunch. The two of them let Nicky ramble and show off his goofy dog and its giant paws for a bit before Aaron drops the news on him. And Nicky nearly drops the dog. 

“She’s what?! Oh my god. Erik, Aaron’s girlfriend is pregnant!” Nicky shouts into his apartment before turning back around in his chair with a pout. “Oh fuck. He’s not even home yet.”

“So you just deafened your whole building for no reason.”

"Ah, who cares?" Nicky shrugs and sets the puppy in the floor. “Fuck. I can’t believe it. I’m gonna be a grandparent. I’m too young.”

Andrew rolls his eyes at that, but Nicky just points at him through the screen. “What about you, Katelyn-hater? Aren’t you surprised?”

“I don’t hate anyone.” Andrew says, cooly taking a sip of water. “Aaron told me yesterday.”

“YESTERDAY?!” Nicky pouts. “Why didn’t you—”

“Because you’re dramatic.” Andrew says. “Besides, it was late when he told me.”

“How far along is she?” Nicky says, ignoring him.

“We’re not really sure. She made an appointment for, um,” Aaron thinks for a moment. “I can’t remember when. Uh, shit. Soon. And the, uh, doctor will be able to tell us then.”

“You’re going with her, right?”

[koboldfactory]

Oh dear, I was sleeping when you needed asks to lift your spirits… I’m so sorry. However, I don’t think it’s too late to make you feel better. With that said, here’s a short essay on why you are an amazing artist deserving plenty of support and care.

First of all, your artistic skills is among the best I have ever seen. There’s no denying your character designs are stellar; from their wide range of body types to their intriguing backstory, they never get old. However, your creativity doesn’t stop here. It seeps on concept art and writing. I remember when I saw your desert concept art (with Rad on it) on Patreon; it was so good that I let out an audible “WOW!”. I know you haven’t published any concrete story, but the lore, world building and character backstory scattered in your posts got me hooked! I consider myself pretty picky when it comes to writing, but yours is among the only one I enjoy to the fullest.

Second of all, kobolds. Kobolds are great. Don’t you think kobolds are great? I love kobolds. Kobolds are amazing creatures: kobolds can yip, kobolds can scream, kobolds can run really fast, kobolds can roll really fast, and kobolds can kobold. I think kobolds should be admired. Kobolds are loyal to their Kobold-hoarding dragon, no matter what happens to the kobolds. Kobolds are such fascinating creatures. Did I tell you how much I love kobolds? Kobolds are great. Don’t you think kobolds are great? I love kobolds. Kobolds are amaz-

Last but not least… you (no, this isn’t some weirdo’s confession, please keep in mind it’s just platonic compliment from a fan). I don’t know you outside social media, but what I have seen on tumblr and twitter, I can tell you are an amazing individual. Despite being caught by adult life shenanigans, you still find time to defend your friend’s and other’s NSFW content from purists. You have so much stress burdened on your shoulders, yet I see you reblog/retweet fan art and write a compliment to artists. Your mental resilience is something to behold!

In conclusion, you are a wonderful person who deserves all the love and support. As mentioned previously, your creative characters, music, art and writing is something I and others inspire to achieve, and your ability to held your head on tempestuous waters is worth looking up upon. Finally, just so you know, most of us (your followers) will root you and your journey until the end of time, be it with money of praise.

May you have a wonderful December, full of joy.

PS: y’all should sub to her patreon, you won’t regret a single penny. Great WIPS, in-depth game-dev updates and glorious concept art!

But most importantly…

Giant Women

This is genuinely so heartfelt and sweet I don’t even know what to say. Like I do my best to make stuff I like and it’s not lost on me that a lot of other people like it too, but seeing stuff like this put into words has me all the more motivated and encouraged to keep making as much art as I can for as long as I can. Y’all are awesome for real. And thank you so much for all the support!!

[copepods]

hi copepods! rain world music page author and head of main wiki mapmaking here, sending an ask because of the comment character limit

i DO have an official in-wiki source for downpour's music triggers, but it's stuck in an unorganized userwiki page (https://rainworld.miraheze.org/wiki/UserWiki:MemeMan02). the main music page currently doesn't have downpour music because we were planning on doing a big table overhaul where we have multiple tables instead of having one or two giant 15-to-20-column table monstrosities that would only display properly on ultrawide monitors; said table overhaul has been in a WIP stage for a while though

great job on the music trigger maps! a lot of the base maps you used are going to become outdated in the next couple weeks as we release our brand-new vanilla region Downpour variant maps, though - would you mind telling me what you did in order to create these music trigger maps? i could help with creating another version myself, if you wanted me to

oh fantastic! thanks for letting me know! to create my maps, i just downloaded the ones from the wiki and erased a bunch of stuff i thought would be distracting from the music graphics (shelter symbols, unlocks, gate labels) then stuck music notes and labels on everything. you’re welcome to do something similar if you want to!

[britcision]

Eeeeh it was WIP Wednesday… and I’m thirsty for attention, so have a snippet from chapter two of Danny Fenton, Dead and Loving it!

(And I had to check I could paste obscene amounts of words from my notes into tumblr, since I’m not writing this in drafts for now - I lost too many sections to not hitting ‘save’ before putting my phone down)

Prompt and First chapter! (I guess I cannot make neat links on mobile, woe is me)

And the fic on AO3

@welcometosasakiworld @kyrianclawraith

@someonebored0100 @stealingyourbones

@starkcravingmad @frostedthroughghost

@akikoyuii @rainbowbunny0159

@littlefeather345 @violet-catsarelife

@serasvictoria02 @wolfjackle @blacksea21090 @secretdestinywerewolf

————————

“Hang on a second, does that mean your ghost writer friend is also an actual ghost?” Because yeah, he had googled book collectors around Gotham and came up blank.

Danny took a moment to work out what he meant, then perked up and nodded.

“Oh, yeah! That’s his actual name too, I’m not sure he was ever a living person, and I wasn’t kidding when I said he had every book ever written. A lotta first editions too. I think he’s a spirit of literature?”

Jason took a quick peek around to see if any giant and possibly book shaped palaces had appeared.

Place was covered in floating islands and purple doors, there was a chance.

“Could we… could you introduce me?” Cuz he wasn’t gonna actually ask if Jane Austen was a ghost, not on his first day.

He had some damn self control. Even if the pit was fucking purring in the back of his head and this whole weird place felt more like home than anywhere he’d been before.

Flying beside him, Danny nodded cheerfully and shot him a thumbs up.

“Oh hell yeah, he needs more friends. Probably not today though, he’s not really around this part of the Zone, and we wanna make it to the Far Frozen and back before New Years. Next time,” he added before Jason could even begin to feel disappointed.

He’d known the odds of heading right there weren’t great. Fuck, he wouldn’t have wanted to; it was just hard to remember they were here to get the pit out when it was filling him with a buzzing, humming contentment down to his toes.

Part of him wanted to be a whole lot more suspicious. Did not like how easy it was to trust Danny, to relax into this undead realm.

But it was usually the pit that nagged at him not to trust anyone. And the pit was in heaven, and Jason had spent so long fighting that constant suspicion.

If things went as well as he hoped… well, he wasn’t gonna be going easy on any of the assholes fucking with his turf.

But being able to talk to the bats without the pit’s constant paranoia… yeah, he did a little hope he’d be a bit tighter lipped.

Feelings just kept spilling out of him around Danny, apparently literally if what the kid told him about his core was to be believed.

Jason could feel enough of Danny’s emotions in return to know the kid wasn’t lying. Hopefully that was what made him trust him.

Today, he nodded and looked around.

“So, the Far Frozen. Called that because it’s far?” He asked casually, definitely not letting on any concerns.

Flying hadn’t been hard so far, but he had no idea how long this was going to work. He couldn’t even tell if it was using a muscle, but it was sure as shit one he hadn’t used before.

Danny snickered and shrugged, clearly not even a little concerned.

“Well, I opened the portal pretty close in this case, but yeah, it’s far from the more populated areas of the zone. The yetis like it, it means they can keep to themselves.”

This was kind of the problem with Danny, Jason was coming to realise.

He’d told Jason where in the zone they were going, and why. They needed to see a guy called Frostbite, because he knew the most about ghost biology.

He’d probably know what to do about Jason’s pit problem, and what Danny and Jason could do to deal with the pits themselves. Fun, exciting, Jason was 1000% up for that.

Fucking yetis had not come up.

“The what?” He asked, striving for nonchalance and wondering again if he shouldn’t have shot someone a text before leaving.

And potentially never being seen again.

Danny hesitated for a moment, brows furrowing.

There was definitely more snow ahead than there had been behind.

“I totally mentioned the yetis?” Danny said carefully, like that would somehow make it true.

Jason stifled a snicker.

“You did not mention yetis. You mentioned ghosts.”

“Yeah, they’re ghost yetis.”

“That doesn’t actually make it any better, y’know? The yeti part is still kinda important.”

Not that Jason would be hugely surprised to find an alive yeti at some point. The world had a habit of saving up its weirdest bullshit to dish out onto him.

At least he wasn’t Constantine.

Danny pulled a face and shrugged, turning so he was flying backwards.

“Well, I mentioned it now? They’re yetis. So is Frostbite, but he’s like, bigger. And their leader. I mentioned that part, right?” Danny asked hopefully.

It was pretty clearly a fair question.

Jason nodded, scanning through what he’d been told so far.

“Yeah, and that they had the ghost hospital? I guess it’s a good thing as ghosts we’re not gonna feel the cold,” Jason added idly, glancing at their increasingly frosty surroundings.

He could feel the temperature dipping, sure, but nothing serious. They hadn’t even grabbed coats.

Danny stopped flying so quickly that Jason actually overshot him and had to turn, coming back to rejoin his guide. Who looked guilty.

Jason pulled on his best deadpan face.

“Let me guess. You definitely mentioned it?” He asked dryly.

Danny groaned and slapped himself in the face, then dragged his hand slowly free.

“Okay this one’s totally not my fault? I mean. I don’t need a coat there? And usually if anyone else comes with me, we have the Spectre Speeder, and it always has coats, so it’s not like we pack?”

He gave Jason a sheepish smile, half wincing like he expected a punch.

Jason did consider it, but not seriously.

“Okay, focus up Danny. What do we need to do? How cold am I gonna get?” Cuz the longer they were sitting still, the more the chill was creeping in.

Danny let out another lingering groan then closed his eyes, calculating.

“Okay… so I can call Frostbite when we get a bit closer, and he can come meet us, and he’ll have some spare coats? And I don’t think you can technically freeze to death anymore, but you don’t have a core? So I dunno.”

Jason took a deep breath of his own, fighting a half smile. Good to know he wasn’t the only one with a bad habit of rushing in.

But even he tried to be ready for everything.

“Great. Love this plan. Especially the part where I probably can’t freeze to death,” Jason snarked.

Danny squinted at him.

“Look, it’s better than my other plan, which is I freeze you solid in my ghost ice and tow you the rest of the way. You wanna show up walking and talking or in an iceberg?”

The fact that he seemed to be serious probably should have concerned Jason more, but he was having fun.

Just imagine, Jason Todd as the responsible one in a superhero team up. Dickie would be so proud.

It’d be just like his old Robin days, except that suit was thermally regulated out the ass.

“Ooh, frozen wastes or frozen in iceberg, I’m definitely seeing the difference. Let’s just get moving so you can call your buddy before I turn into a popsicle.”

Danny stuck his tongue out at Jason, but did indeed get moving again.

“Hey, both of those are still better than our last option,” he snarked back, and maybe Jason was imagining it but they were kinda going faster.

Lucky for Jason, apparently it was willpower that made you fly in the Ghost Zone, and being a stubborn bitch had always been his stock in trade.

“Oh gee, what’s the last option? Shoot ourselves from a catapult? Build a snowman and have it carry us? Or do we close our eyes real tight and wish ourselves there?” Jason asked as sweetly as he could.

Made Danny laugh anyway, before his expression became deadly serious.

“You’re literally wishing your way there right now, smartass, but no. The last option is we call my regent and he stops time and you spend the next eighty relative years of your life listening to lectures about why I need to be fully crowned.”

Which did sound pretty last-resort-y, in Jason’s opinion. And raised an important question.

“Why are you so against being fully crowned? You seem pretty in touch with all the king shit.” Certainly willing enough to talk about it, although now that Jason thought about it, mostly to complain.

Danny pulled another reluctant face.

“Just cuz I know I can’t get out of it doesn’t mean I gotta give myself up right away. The last king was a bloodthirsty tyrant, in an enchanted sleep for thousands of years. Do you have any idea how much paperwork that stacked up?”

Danny let out a shudder that had nothing to do with the increasing cold. Thinking to the amount of report forms he’d be facing if B found out about this particular jaunt, Jason joined him.

“Yeah, okay, that sounds like it sucks,” he agreed, and Danny shot him a relieved grin.

“Right? Like, I want to live my actual life first. Do something more than struggle through college and fight ghosts. Everything worked just fine while the other guy was in prison, so what’s the rush?”

They flew in silence for a moment, Jason struggling with an entirely unexpected lump in his throat.

Danny broke it, drifting closer until their shoulders bumped.

“Sorry man. Didn’t think.”

There was a perfect snappy comeback in there about it not being the first time, but Jason didn’t have it in him. He managed a nod and gentle bump back.

It was getting cold enough now that the moisture on his cheeks stung.

From condensation. Or air resistance or something.

The Ghost Zone had high humidity, explained all of the snow.

They continued in silence for a while, then Danny sighed and slowed to a stop once more. Jason copied a little more reluctantly, brushing trails of ice from his face.

“Okay so this is gonna be just, stupid loud?” Danny said with a slightly strained cheerfulness, like they’d never stopped bantering. “You’ll probably wanna put your hands over your ears.”

Jason complied, wondering just how literal the “call” part of Danny calling ahead was gonna be. Stupid loud implied it wouldn’t be on a cellphone.

He’d not had any messages since leaving Gotham actually, and it had been a couple of hours. He should probably check…

He clapped his hands back over his ears just in time as Danny sucked in a huge breath and bellowed like a thunderstorm.

“HEY FROSTY! PHANTOM INCOMING, BROUGHT A FRIEND. HE NEEDS A COAT!”

And then Danny gave Jason a cheery grin and nodded in the direction they’d been travelling as he cautiously removed his hands.

“He can’t get quite that loud, so we’ll have to get closer before we can hear him. Might as well keep going, right?”

Jason took another moment just to stare at the ghost. It was beginning to actually kick in that… yeah. Danny wasn’t human.

And Jason knew plenty of metahumans, people with powers. He knew Black Canary, so what the line should be is a bit fuzzy.

But.

Danny’s not fully human, not anymore. So what the hell was Jason?

The exact same asshole he was yesterday, obviously. Just with… well, his baggage compartment had already been overstuffed.

Even the thought of getting to dump the pit baggage meant that even if he was now a zombie or a ghost or whatever that was still a net loss unless he had to eat people.

Which, again, what the fuck was his life?

He almost laughed, but didn’t want to try explaining that thought process to anyone else, even if the odds were pretty good Danny’s life… existence was at least a little fucked.

He gave a smile instead, nodding and following Danny’s lead off into the frost.

Doing absolutely nothing to reassure him, Jason was no longer sure it was reflections off the ice now catching the corner of his eye.

The longer they were in the Ghost Zone, the more he kept thinking he saw stars passing across the black of Danny’s suit.

***

Frostbite did in fact come to meet them, and did in fact bring Jason a coat. The fact that said coat REALLY looked like it came from a yeti…

Well, Danny had long decided never to ask, and Jason was following his lead today. His new friend was all wrapped up again, and wasn’t even shivering anymore!

Yeah. Danny fucked up.

And he also felt a little bad even after Jason told him it was fine, a damnably cocky smirk on his lips. It felt like he’d been holding onto that “Not the first thing you’ve conveniently forgotten” line for a while.

Which, to be fair, they’d met twice ever, so how the fuck would Jason know?

Just because it was accurate didn’t mean he had to say it.

They’d had to make quite a trek back to the depths of the Far Frozen along with Frostbite since the yeti had come to meet them, but they’d made good use of the time.

Frostbite still understood more about ghost biology and even specifically halfa biology than Danny himself did, and he’d immediately seen something was up with Jason.

Reassuring him that Jason wasn’t actually fading and that his core just hadn’t formed yet hadn’t taken long; apparently, yetis could smell core formation.

Delightful fucked up information Danny wished he’d never learned, but at least he’d been right.

Surrounded by the ambient ectoplasm of the Ghost Zone, Jason’s core was already coming along in fits and bounds. Something which had alarmed Jason to hear too, but hey.

About half of his ghost problems were probably related to that slow forming core, and the other half…

Yeah. Frostbite had a Lot of questions about the Lazarus Pits. And Jason had basically nothing by way of answers beyond what he’d already told Danny.

Which, aww, he’d really been putting everything he had on the table, which was nice. The longer they spent together, the more Danny figured Jason hadn’t been honest with anyone in a while.

He kept getting this surprised look on his face, these moments where he stopped like he couldn’t believe what he was saying. Like he thought he should be more careful.

Danny could relate. Frostbite was weirdly easy to share things with, even if Danny couldn’t get him to stop calling him Great One.

The second Danny had protested, Jason got a real sneaky grin on his face that Danny wasn’t sure he liked. He knew a Bastard Little Brother face from his mirror.

Jason being older than him? Meant nothing.

For now though, they’d made it to the medical center and Jason was looking at the scanning pods with a sceptical but weirdly unsurprised eye.

Danny still hadn’t stopped making Star Trek jokes when he saw them, but. Robin. What the fuck did Batman have access to?

Frostbite gave them both a very proud smile, patting the tube fondly.

“With this, we shall determine how much corrupted ectoplasm is within you, and how best to separate your mind from its affects. Already some of it is being purged by contact with our Saviour, but for it not to be gone already shows there is a deeper problem,” the yeti explained happily.

Jason shot Danny another shit eating grin at “saviour” and Danny bit back a groan, making himself smile at Frostbite instead.

Insistent and slightly patronising hero worship aside, he really did like the guy. He always wanted to help, and usually could, which was a nice change.

“Yeah, about that? Do we know what I’m doing that’d change his corruption?” Because it’s not that he didn’t want to help too, but it might be easier if he knew how.

Frostbite gave Danny a cheerful pat next, sending the smaller ghost stumbling a little.

“Oh, some of it will happen merely from your presence, Great One. As the King of the realm, you have far more ectoplasm and it is far stronger, which will help Jason’s ectoplasm to heal on its own. But we must find the root for the problem to be solved.”

Jason chuckled and shook his head, stripping back out of the thick yeti coat.

“There’s always a catch, right? Is this gonna hurt?” It sounded like he expected the answer to be yes, and even Frostbite looked suddenly concerned.

“You should not feel anything at all, young Jason. Perhaps the feelings from your contaminated source will become stronger, but they are not negative at present?” It came out as a question, mostly tied to that concern.

And Danny could kinda see why; from everything Jason told them, he was usually only swamped by rage. Neither of his auras felt angry now, but the pit’s had jumped to betrayal pretty consistently every time it spiked.

Needing to be told that something wasn’t going to hurt him sort of pointed where those feelings might have come from.

Danny nudged closer on impulse, letting his own trust-reassurance-done this before wash gently over Jason’s aura.

[cha-melodius]

I woke up to WIP Wednesday tags from @kiwiana-writes, @sherryvalli, @littlemisskittentoes, and @leaves-of-laurelin, and just got one from @tintagel-or-cockleshells before I could post this lol, so I guess I better dig up something. Actually, I finished the chapter I mentioned on Sunday, but I now have to take a bit of a break to work on a secret exchange fic and also something else I'm keeping under wraps until next month, so this might be my last one of these for a little while. We'll see how fast the writing goes lmao.

“You don’t need interesting, you need to get laid,” Pez chimes in as he nearly collapses onto the bar for support on Henry’s other side, glistening from the exertion of dancing and drawing quite a few looks of his own. “I’m perfectly fine, actually,” Henry insists. “Besides, I’m not going to bring someone home while my sister is staying with me.” “I can stay with Pez,” she volunteers cheerfully. “Or you could go to the other guy’s place and leave me with your giant telly. I wouldn’t complain about that.” “Look, I appreciate the effort on my behalf, but I’m just— not interested,” he sighs. Bea stares at him for a moment, then seems to come to a decision. “All right then, let’s go,” she says, grabbing her jacket out of his hands and shrugging it on. “Go where?” “Home. Tea, biscuits, Bake Off.” “But you were dancing—” “And I had fun, but now I’m tired and ready to go,” she tells him. She peeks around him at Pez. “What about you, love?” “Oh, I’m staying. I’m having too much fun to leave now,” Pez says, flapping a hand at them. “Go. Snuggle on the couch and watch your baking programme.” He looks pointedly at Bea. “And don’t let him pine over either of them.” Bea’s eyebrows shoot upward. “There’s another one? How did I not know about this?” “Bloody hell, I’m not pining over anyone,” Henry protests, groaning.

Tagging @rmd-writes, @welcometololaland, @cricketnationrise, @three-drink-amy, @iboatedhere, @indomitable-love, @dumbpeachjuice, @liminalmemories21, @myheartalivewrites, @nontoxic-writes, @14carrotghoul, @orchidscript, @nicijones, @loki-is-my-kink-awakening, @mirilyawrites, @wolfpup026, @hummingbee-o0o, @dreamycloud, @daisymae-12, and anyone else who wants to jump in, tag me!

[youlikefanficdontyousquidward]

Cowboy's rules.

Summary: Mansk hates Halloween and begrudgingly has gone to a party. Reader swaps costume pieces with him and someone reminds them about the cowboy hat rules.

Recom!FemReader x Recom!Mansk

Writing a few short ones before recomweek (Basically any WIP that doesn't fit the theme)

He felt stupid. Mansk had been worn down the whole week prior. Every other recom had been not so subtly pushing him into coming to the party. He'd said no each time, no excuses, no nonsense, just no. He didn't like the noise, the lights, the awful drinks and he hated dancing. There was no way they're getting him to go to a party, not least a Halloween one.

Zdog and Walker had been the ones to finally convince him. They wouldn't tell how they'd managed it but shared a conspiratorial laugh.

"Come on you gotta tell me how you swung that!" Fike pried. Walker laughed shoving his shoulder playfully.

"No way. Lips are sealed!" She preened, skipping back from Fike's failed swipe. Zdog grinned widely at the pair. It really hadn't been all that difficult. They'd just needed to drop a little information about who would be coming and up popped Mansk's ears.

He pulled at his costume now. The jeans were his own, same with the boots and he'd just wore a button up he didn't know he had. It was the assless chaps and cowboy hat that were bothering him. The hat was just a little so small, biggest he could find, and his ears twitched uncomfortably inside. The chaps were a last minute edition, shoved on him by a smirking Walker. She'd joked he should go in just them. Earned a hiss for that joke but she just laughed dragging him out.

The team had really shown up. Lyle sporting a very tight police woman costume, Fike was a banana. Walker and Zdog sported a very nice Gomez and Morticia. Hell even the Collonel was here, dressed very nicely in a tuxedo. Mansk wasn't entirely sure who he was but he envied how comfortable he looked.

Fike spotted him moving to intercept but he paused. Mansk had locked eyes with him before but now his head was still swiveling. He was looking for someone. Fike glanced around before returning his gaze to other man. Mansk suddenly stiffened, his tail shooting up straight. Fike's brows furrowed, following his friends gaze. Y/n! He was looking at Y/n! His mouth gaped before a hand clapped over it.

"Don't say a word!" Zdog threatened though he could hardly take her seriously with the pencil mustache. Still he nodded and she let her hand drop. The three watched as he stared at you.

Mansk didn't know why he'd agreed to come. You looked amazing. The costume was rather simple, a nurse. Perfectly fitting for the teams medic but this was anything but your normal gear. The tiny white dress only just covering your ass and hugging every curve. The neck plunged low, your breasts almost spilling out. The thigh high socks, the little hat and the stethoscope, completing the look. Then there he was feeling even more stupid than before.

You chatted brightly with another woman, a human from the labs he thinks. God that red lipstick was doing it for him, just imagining it smeared and ringed around his-

"Mansk!" You chirped over the music, squeezing through bodies to his. You squeaked, tripping forward at the last moment, heals catching on someones costume. Mansk lunged forward, catching you against his chest. He'd caught your wrists and now stood frozen, your chest squished up against him.

You let out a little laugh, thanking him before stepping back a little. You're face tinged purple as you spoke, your eyes never quiet meeting his. Mansk was fine with this, he'd never been great with eye contact and it gave him more leeway to admire your form.

"You wanna get some drinks?" You asked, lightly touching his arm. Mansk nodded letting you take his arm and lead him through the crowd. The humans seemed more willing to make way with him in tow, two giants more intimidating he supposed.

Once you'd grabbed your cups you sat together at one of the sofas in the corners. Mansk was glad to be more alone with you. It was so much easier to talk when it was just the two of you. Mansk flushed at how close you had to be to hear him however.

You chatted brightly together, enjoying a second drink. Your legs flipped round over Mansk's, his hand supporting you on your thigh. Just needed to be closer to talk he reasoned, his hand painfully still against your bare skin. You tipped your head forward to his, your lips almost brushing his ear as you spoke, asking him how he was enjoying himself. He stiffened a moment before realizing you meant the party.

"It's all a bit much actually." He shifted down to you. He could feel the heat coming off your skin. He felt so hot, the room was so stuffy and with your body pressed next to him it was sweltering.

"I know what you mean! Not planning on staying after a couple of drinks." You admitted speaking up to he heard. He felt your breath fan across his throat and shuddered, looking down at you. Your head turned to face the dancers, sipping your drink.

"Me neither, can't wait to be out of this hat." Mansk grumbled. Your head flicking back to his, you looked appalled. Mansk panicked at the sudden shift before he caught the playful edge in your expression.

"You think that's bad try this!" You smirked, quickly swiping his hat. In a moment you'd replaced it with the little one you wore. It fell almost immediately, the clip not working against Mansk's shorter hair.

You laughed brightly before slapping his hat on.

"Reckon I make a good cowboy?" You giggled, your best impression of Quaritch's drawl coming out.

"I reckon you'd better be ready to follow the rules." Quritch's drawl sounded out in front of you both. You yelped in surprise, legs twitching under Mansk's now tighter grip.

"The what?" You squeaked. Mansk felt his face heat further. Sure that you'd not like the implication

"Well you know" Miles smiled darkly down at you both. "Save a horse, ride a cowboy." He barked, laughing as he swaggered away.

Mansk stayed frozen under you. He could feel the heat rising in your body, your tail thrashing around on the seat behind you.

"It's just a joke." Mansk began, mouth snapping shut when you turned to him. The purple blush tipped your ears, fanged teeth nibbling your lip. Your hands raised out of your lap touching his shoulders.

"What if I don't want it to be." You whispered. Mansk felt like the room disappeared. It was just him with your legs thrown over his lap, your honey eyes searching for a reaction across his features.

Mansk head rushed forward, smashing his lips to yours. You startled a moment before sinking into him, hands gripping around his neck. Mansk's hand trailed up your thigh, gripping the soft curves. He broke away from the kiss admiring the dazed expression you held.

"We should leave now huh?" Mansk asked, holding his hand hand out to you. You grinned widely, lip stick already smudged, and gripped his hand.

"Yes! Now!" You exclaimed, jumping up and pulling him through the crowd. Mansk tucked his head low, hoping none of the waist height humans noticed the growing hard on.

Fike saw the pair rushing past, giggling to themselves. He moved to point but his hand was pinned down. Miles smirked, shaking his head, as Mansk pulled you against him in the elevator.

[somethingclevermahogony]

WIP Announcement (and re-re introduction)

Hello everybody! I've been busy for a while and I haven't been able to respond to a lot of the tag games and asks that I've recieved, but now finally I am done (for now) and I can get back to responding to y'all and posting about my WIP!

(Left) My MC'S Narul and Ninma courtesy of @faeporcelain and (right) Narul courtesy of @veggiebr0th !

For those of you who haven't seen me before, Hello! You can call me C. I am currently working on a series of fantasy novels, The Testaments of the Green Sea. The story follows the journey of the giant Narul and the princess Ninma as they travel the lands of Kishetal. Along the way they encounter spirits, monsters, demons, magic, war, gods, pirates, and slavers.

The setting and story is based around the mythologies and cultures of the Bronze age, no knights here sorry to say.

Genre: Epic Fantasy

Themes and Tropes (Or more accurately a random assortment of words vaguely related to the plot): Found Family, immortality, loss, love, war, power, memory, magic, insanity, political shenanigans, The passage of time, growing up, queerness in the ancient world, violence, spirits, fantasy outside of medieval europe

I finished the second draft of the first book (and started book 2) and I thought that I was happy with it, but lately I've been thinking more about a lot of the characters that I've included and the stories that I want to tell and I have realized that even with 208,000 words, I wasn't able to fully capture everything that I wanted to. And so I have decided to give myself more work and to split my first book into three separate books which will let me give all of the characters and stories the attention they need without overcrowding.

And I have finally come up with titles! The series overall is called The Testaments of the Green Sea and the three new books are as follows:

The Giant and The Princess

The Pirate and The Poet

The Hammer and the Spear

Some things you can expect in the next few days:

An absolute deluge of tag game responses and ask answers, I have a lot of catching up to do ( @illarian-rambling , @mk-writes-stuff , @elizaellwrites , @elsie-writes , @willtheweaver , @phoenixradiant , @agirlandherquill , @the-ellia-west , and anyone else that I might have missed)

I will finally be posting the intro to my OC, Zatar (I'm including a drawing of him down below), and will be posting a poll or two about other characters that y'all want to be introduced to you.

I might do a poll about a poll, to see what sort of thing y'all would be interested in seeing

I will be posting a recipe for a cheesecake recipe from my world, this is a way to celebrate 200 followers (thank y'all so much btw!)

I'm excited to show y'all some new things about my WIP and to introduce you all to my OCs and world! Also, I don't think I've ever actually made an official taglist. If y'all are interested in being in a taglist for this project, send me a message or comment on this post!