#i've been doing so much dancing and running around this week so my feet are all achy :')

[smile-files]

oh golly my feet hurt!! anyway here are some camp bug pictures :)

[killerlookz]

hiiiii i adore your writing soooo sooo much!! i was literally dancing in my room to joosts music and i thought of a new fic idea:3 can you write something where Joost comes back home and the reader is dancing to his songs in their apartment, the reader doesnt notice him at first, completely in the moment and when they do, they get all embarrassed and its all fluff and cute??(((:

awww this is so cute <33 ty sm anon!!!

Dance With Me? | Joost Klein

content: gn! reader, no warnings rlly! just fluff :-) the song in question for this fic is Joost Klein 2 btw! this fic contains rpf and has been tagged as such, do not continue if that makes you uncomfortable

word count: 1.2k(just a wee little blurb!)

Sundays had always been your least favorite day of the week, a bleak reminder that the hours of the weekend were waning and you'd have to return to the monotony of the weekdays. Perhaps the worst part of Sundays was that they were your designated cleaning day, you would much prefer spending your last day free from work lazing on the couch or curled up in bed, but instead, once again you found yourself bouncing around your apartment straightening up whatever cleaning you had left unfinished throughout the week.

The silence of your empty apartment had been getting to you, bored out of your mind as you stood on a chair to dust off a bookshelf. The only thing you figured that would this slightly more tolerable was music at least the apartment wouldn't be so damn quiet.

You hop down from the chair, scurrying into the living room to turn on your speakers. It wasn't long until music was flowing into the apartment, loud, and probably obnoxious to the neighbors, but it hadn't been late enough to warrant a noise complaint- so they would just have to deal with it for now.

Among the many plusses of having a musician for a boyfriend, you had to admit being in possession of a stellar stereo system was definitely one of them. You had been able to hear the music just as perfectly as you pranced back into your bedroom, not exactly eager to get back to cleaning.

Though it would seem not much cleaning would get done after that point, more focused on the music than any of the tasks you had at hand.

"Joost Klein maar m'n stack die is groot!" You sang along with the lyrics that boomed over the speaker. Another plus of having a musician boyfriend was that he was a damn good musician., "De regering zoekt mij, maar ze vinden me nooit!"

You had found yourself jumping around to the music, a smile pressed onto your face as you swayed your head back and forth in time to the beat.

Still jumping, your arms in the air you start to spin around when suddenly the breath is knocked out of you at the sight of a figure in the doorway to your bedroom. Your body grows rigid, stopping dead in your tracks as your mind races to the worst-case scenario.

Luckily it hadn't exactly been the worst-case scenario, as your eyes focused and you were able to see your boyfriend leaning against the doorframe, a wide grin plastered on his face.

"Why'd you stop?" He asks, clearly amused, "I was enjoying your performance. I think you might put me out of a job."

"Joost!" Your voice is sharp like you're scolding him for being in his own home. Your eyes widen at the shock, not having expected him to be home, much less having even heard him walk through the door, "I thought you said you'd be running errands all day."

Embarrassment begins to grow on your face, your eyes refusing to meet Joost's, a sheepish smile tugging at your lips as your body grows hot.

"I've actually been gone awhile," He chuckles, "I finished my errands."

"Hmm," You hum, looking down at your feet, "Time flies." You mumble.

"It does when you're having fun, which you looked to be having." Joost muses, an eyebrow-raising behind the thick rims of his glasses.

"Cleaning was getting boring," You shrug, still refusing to make eye contact out of sheer embarrassment.

Joost can clearly sense your unease as his smile still rests on his face, beginning to bob his head up and down, slowly walking towards you with some grove in his step,

"Maar ik blijf Joost en ik bleef in de derde zitten," Joost lowly sings along to his own voice over the speaker, his movements becoming livelier as he gets closer to you, "Soms haat ik kittens en haat ik ook science-fiction."

He grabs your hands, as to ask you to dance with him, but you're reluctant, only holding his hands in front of him as he dances on his own continuing to sing along to his own song.

"C'mon," He urges, "Dance with me?" An exaggerated pout rests on his lips as he stares down at you with big, blue, puppy-dog eyes. You can't exactly resist that look, slowly stepping back and forth to appease his request.

He pulls at your arms as he jumps up and down to the music, just about forcing you to move with more excitement, your embarrassment quickly subsiding as Joost dances in a manner similar to how you had been just moments prior.

"Joost Klein maar m'n stack die is groot!" Eventually, the two of you are singing, bouncing up and down in sync with each other and you can't believe you had ever been embarrassed in front of Joost in the first place. It had seemed so trivial now that the two of you danced together, after four years together you were sure you had seen each other in much more embarrassing situations, you knew better, that he would never pass any judgment on you, "De regering zoekt mij, maar ze vinden me nooit!" You practically yell to each other, oversized grins burned into both of your faces.

The song soon fades out, allowing for a song that wasn't Joost's to start playing.

"You've got some good music taste," Joost teases, the two of your movements dying down.

"Meh," You shrug, "Joost is kind of mid, I think Ski Aggu is better,"

Joost clicks his tongue, shaking his head in joking disapproval,

"You're lucky you're cute." A kiss is pressed against your forehead. The small gesture leaves you with butterflies in your stomach, despite the length of time the pair of you had been together, every touch from him seemed to feel like you were falling in love for the first time all over again.

"You get much cleaning done?" He pulls back

You look around the bedroom, the bed still unmade, clothes strewn upon your dresser, various items scattered around your desk. You feel yourself becoming stressed again at the task ahead of you.

"Not quite." You respond sheepishly, you sigh, "I should probably-"

"It can wait, relax, liefje," Joost cuts you off, "I think we should continue our little dance party."

"Easy for you to say when you've gotten everything you need to get done today,"

"Hmm," Joost puckers his lips, twisting his face into an expression that makes it obvious he's thinking, "How about..." He trails off for a moment, inching closer to you, "You stay here and dance with me, and I'll clean the whole apartment while you're at work tomorrow."

It's an easy proposition to accept, not having to clean? Fine by you.

"Deal?" He asks, smiling down at you.

"Deal," You quickly nod.

"Eh," he holds up a finger, "We need to seal the deal."

You raise your eyebrows up at him, waiting for what he's going to say next,

"You gotta give me a kiss to seal our deal,"

You giggle, standing up on your tip toes, placing both of your hands on Joost's shoulders as you reach up to press your lips to his.

He's quick to kiss you back, resting his hands on your waist as he engages you in a soft, passionate kiss.

"Okay," He nods, "Now it's a deal."

[ericshoney]

Party girl ~ Matt Sturniolo

Summary: Matt goes to one of Tara's party with Nick and Chris, only to find interest in the quiet girl in the kitchen.

Warnings: probably swearing, fluff, alcohol mentioned

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

Matt didn't want to go to Tara's party, he wasn't in the mood. However, like most times, Chris and Nick persuaded him to go, and here he was, driving to her place.

"Can't I just go home and pick you both up later?" He suggested.

"No Matt!" Chris shouted.

"Come on, let's go." Nick said.

Matt sighed as he followed his brothers towards the loud and lively house. Music was blasting out and many people were already drinking and dancing.

The trio walked into the house, greeting a few people as they walked and soon found the host in the kitchen, drinking a bottle of beer. She smiled once she saw the identical three.

"Hey guys! I'm so glad you all could make it!" She exclaimed, emphasising the all, thinking Matt wasn't going to show.

"We're all happy to be here." Chris said, throwing his brother a cheeky smile.

"Yeah, fucking ecstatic." Matt grumbled, earning a slap from Nick, who was the only one who heard.

"Well there's soda in the fridge, help yourselves!" Tara cheered, rushing off to greet some more guests who had arrived.

Nick went over to the fridge and grabbed three sodas, passing them to Chris and Matt. The three quietly watched the party go on before heading to mingle. Matt followed behind Nick, throwing the odd word in here and there with a conversation.

But as Nick was chatting away to Larray, Matt glanced around, his focus soon being drawn to the kitchen where a girl sat on the kitchen counter and Tara next to her.

Matt's feet worked quicker than his brain and he drifted from Nick and headed to the kitchen. Tara noticed his presence first and smiled.

"Hey Matt, I have the female equivalent of you here." She said with a small laugh.

Matt looked at the girl who was still sat on the counter, a can of coke in her hand, a blank expression on her face.

"Fuck off." She grumbled.

"Matt this is Y/n, Y/n meet Matt, he's not really a party fan either." Tara introduced.

"Nice to meet you." Matt said, offering a hand to the quiet girl.

She silently shook his hand, a small smile making a way to her face.

"I'll be right back....Jake get the fuck down your way to drunk!" Tara shouted, running off to her friend.

Matt chuckled slightly and lent against the counter next to Y/n. The girl quietly sipped her drink, swaying her feet softly.

"So....not much of a talker?" Matt asked carefully.

"Not really....sorry." She answered.

"No it's okay. I'm the same really, only talking around my brothers." He replied.

"Too loud as well." She admitted.

Matt looked around and saw the backyard was fairly empty. He nodded his head that way, looking at the girl.

"Want to get some air?" He suggested.

Y/n nodded and hopped off the counter, following the slightly taller male towards the outdoor space. Both sitting on the sofa, relaxing slightly.

"Is that better?" Matt asked.

"Yeah, thank you." She replied.

"So, how do you know Tara?" Matt questioned, trying to break the ice.

"We've been friends for years, I just moved back to LA a week ago." She answered.

"Oh that's cool, did you move in with Tara then?" He responded.

"No, I got my own apartment down the street, but I'm here most of the time." She replied with a small giggle.

He chuckled and smiled, nodding at her reply. The two feel quiet for a bit before Y/n spoke up again.

"If your not a party guy, what made you come here?" She asked.

"My brothers, Chris and Nick. I've avoided many parties but they persuaded me to come. Now I'm here I'm actually happy." He answered.

"How come?" She questioned, tilting her head slightly.

"Cause I got to meet you." He replied, smiling at the girl.

Y/n smiled as the two continued getting to know each other. Both were smiling and laughing, coming out of their shells, not realising what the time was. Soon Chris and Nick came out, seeing their brother chatting and smiling with the unknown girl.

"Hey Matt, you ready to go home?" Nick asked, drawing his attention away.

"Oh uh yeah. Text me?" Matt replied, turning his attention back to Y/n.

She smiled and nodded as Matt left with his brothers, the three getting back in the car and driving home quietly.

"So...who's the girl?" Chris asked as they arrived home.

"Y/n, a friend of Tara's. She's really cool and sweet." Matt replied, smiling happily.

Nick and Chris both shared a look, smiling at each other.

"So, happy we dragged you to the party?" Nick asked.

"Very happy." Matt nodded.

At the start of the night, Matt was unhappy to go to Tara's party, now after meeting Y/n, he was much happier to make a new friend and maybe something more in the future.

[deafsignifcantother]

if music be the food of love chapter 10

♥ here you go lovies, it’s series time | chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five, chapter six, chapter seven, chapter eight, chapter nine, chapter eleven ♥ summary: husk has some news that confirms one of your worries, oh how you hate having your worries confirmed. ♥ relationships: aroace Alastor x deaf female reader (now purely romance) ♥ word count: 3.3k ♥ pinterest board ' it has outfit inspo in it now ♥ notes: reader sits on alastor's lap, i'm a bowtie hater, drunk and sad reader

You depart your room after redoing his ascot, and then you both go separate ways. A pair of cockroaches scuttle under your feet, practically running in circles. You stop and watch them. It's as if they're dancing. Their thick bodies rock back and forth against the speed of their tiny legs, and they move so fast that they appear to be vibrating.

To not disturb them, you take a big step forward, lifting your dress and passing them with the politeness of a princess. When you release your puffed dress layers, a gust of air brushes past them. You hope they have a good rest of their day.

The hotel's maze-like habitat has been long memorized; you're used to the desolate hallways, so when somebody grabs your arm, a hand much smaller than Alastor's, your eyes darken when you turn around.

Husk grips onto you with a touch so light it's comparable to a child. He's touching you; has he ever done that? You fight the urge to grimace, the overlord in you clouding your friendliness. He's a friend, he's a friend, he's a friend.

"Can I talk to you?" He slowly withdraws his hand. You look him up and down. When you turn to face him fully, his ears bend back. Nervousness. Fear? No, possibly just pure anxiety.

"It's early Husker, at least fix me a drink first."

He is tentative when he leads you to the elevator. Therefore, he doesn't even look at you when the numbers on the elevator light up and the doors open. All the doors appear the same to you—dark red and under stripped chandeliers. He didn't hold the door for you when he opened the entrance to his room, filled with the pungent smell of sweat and felines. The sun barely penetrated his closed curtains.

"The extermination is in a few weeks," he turns to you. "What are you going to do?"

Your eyebrows raise. You're not going to fight. You never have and never planned on it. The realization of Husk's question hits you quicker than you'd like. You've never second-doubted your decision to leave, but you hum when Husk makes the opposing suggestion. Would Alastor let you go? Does the demon cherish you enough to ensure your safety, or is he curious enough to force you to battle?

"You don't think he'd let me flee, do you?" You ask, hiding the dread growing in your stomach.

He shakes his head. "I don't think he's ever intended to."

"Before," you start, picturing him at the bar and you sitting before him, "You said to me he told you I was coming."

"After Charlie brought up the extermination."

"I thought so," you lied. How many hidden plans did Alastor have? Many. Many.

After finding the abandoned, discreet home amongst the trees, you stayed there throughout every massacre. Angels never bothered you, never even knew you were there. You would remove your speaker, turn the lights off, and wait for it to end. If you looked out your window, you only saw the portal in the sky. In the end, there was a trace of those winged entities that you've been exposed to every year, but you've never thought about what the battle must look like. You step past Husk, sitting on his stiff bed.

"There's a war ahead," Husk signs. "Are you ready for it?"

You look around his room. A heavily worn deck of cards is on his desk, and button-ups are visible in an open wardrobe. Despite your growing nervousness, you try to hold your pose.

"Tell me," you start, ignoring his question. "Yes, somewhere deep in my heart I've considered it, so I know you're the one to tell me the truth. Was he always intending me to fight against the angels?"

At his hesitance, you continue, "To sacrifice me? To see how long I'd last?"

He wouldn't lie to you; with this, he knows the truth is not the easiest thing for you to get. "I ain't gonna claim to know what goes on in Alastor's head... but I do know that when he mentioned you, it wasn't for any good reason. Alastor doesn't do things out of the kindness of his heart."

"I'm more than aware." With the sick pounding of your heart, you focus your energy on maintaining eye contact. "But what do you think? What do you believe?"

He can see the uncertainty in your eyes. He takes a deep breath, standing awkwardly. "Listen, kid." Kid. How rude. "We both know he's a cunning bastard, and I wouldn't put it past him to use even you for... whatever reason he has in mind."

"Might have he changed his mind?"

Once you have sign it, you realize how pathetic you must be.

"Changed his mind? Hell, it's Alastor we're talking about. But for you... I've seen him change his mind as often as he changes his socks. Still, be cautious."

You almost frog-blink. Be cautious? With him? You've spent years being cautious around him enough to trust his hands with your life. But those years away, those cursed years, must have changed him. He would have never done this before then.

You square your shoulders, tilting your head up, robotically signing. "What do you suppose I do about it?"

Oh, how do you wish Zestial had a cellphone. Is it time for another visit? You should tell Alastor he had asked you to come over and never return. That ancient soul will protect you from anything the deer has planned for you.

"If you're able to, figure out what his angle is." Immediately, Husk turns to his desk, opens a drawer, and pulls out an unopened bottle of Buchanan's. "Do you want some?"

"Yes. What a pleasing offer."

"I don't have glasses, so here. It's a gift."

You stand to pull it from him when he offers it.

"A parting one?"

"No," he shakes his head with a furrow of his brows. Your joke does not entertain him. "Don't even think about it."

.

Exiting his room, you are greeted by the fresh smell of what you assume is a usual hotel. Your gaze goes from the ceiling to the elevator ahead. What choice do you have? You wander down, steps slow, treasuring the moment of isolation. There's one plan in mind to play on his affection for you. He must have changed his mind even a little bit. This romantic development is unique to him, that's for sure. It could mean that he decided to do anything but risk your demise. Or possibly not; it could have led him to anticipate your fight even more. The thought of him swooping in to save you from harm is more than charming, unknown.

But angels are different than demons. You can handle your own against one of your kind; it's undeniable that angels could destroy you in a second.

If romance doesn't work, what else do you have? What do you have against him?

You claw at your palm, the other hand still gripping the bottle.

What are his weaknesses? What do you have against the Radio Demon?

Your mind flickers through the years you've spent together. He's never never appeared sad-

No, he has.

Alastor's ears droop when he talks about his mother, when reminisces about their time together when he was alive. But what could that mean for you?

Mother, mother, mother.

A hum leaves your lips. You could play on that, for sure. And it could be unfair, but he started it. Stepping into the elevator, you slowly develop a plan. What are some motherly actions? Reading to him, rubbing his head, gentle touches and lullabies? Could you find a way to play music like that? If it means your life, you'll find a way.

As you step towards the top of the staircase, you look down at the people below. Angel is texting on the couch; Nifty is scurrying and stabbing holes into the carpet.

The angel in the shape of a woman walks across the lobby, noticing your figure before anybody else and looking at you. The stoic look on her face doesn't falter, but she does mutter something, eyes flickering away.

Every day you fight the urge to regard these residents with contempt.

Just a few weeks ago, Alastor came to speak with you about the hotel. You've now started considering his offer as blabbering, but he convinced you nonetheless; you decided to be annoyed he hadn't come by sooner. He had smiled to you and signed; it only hits you now that he remembered the language even after over half a decade of absence.

The bar looks desolate without Husk behind the barrier. 'Congierge', as if he'd partake in that. You run your hand across the structure, placing the bottle down. When you sit, you can only stare at the bronze shelves as you use your nails to pop the drink open. You hold the sour-smelling bottle to your lips, spinning on the stool, eyes dazing over in thought.

Where would you even begin? You should find a way to feed him just as he had fed you, as if he'd let you. But that's the fun of this, isn't it? Seeing what he'll let you do. It's like a masked adventure. You've driven him to sensitivity while he's driving you to sadism. You smile at the thought.

You drink until the bottle is around half empty and push the opened bottle over the counter without being bothered by its loud clattering. Whether it is shattered or not doesn't even cross your mind as you lift yourself, turning to the side before your body does. Alastor isn't here. You expected him to grab you. An empty lobby greets you. Angel is nowhere to be seen, and the only sign that Nifty is even there is the ragged floor.

You grunt. It's not an uncommon circumstance for you. With the flickering of the lights, the isolation quickly becomes charming. The hotel is comforting when so barren. The flavorless sting in your throat clouds every bit of saliva you swallow down. You stumble when the wooden floor turns into carpet—stumble, what are you, 16? Considerably ridiculous. You hold your breath when you step up the stairs. Nothing is worse to you than apparent intoxication, which the V's entertained many decades ago. Valentino would hold your waist and dance; you'd follow his slow footsteps. Velvette must still have the videos. You think about that as you step up the stairs. What you noticed most about the V tower was the posters of themselves they hung up. It's like your living world, where wealthy families hang paintings of themselves over fireplaces. But theirs are marginally less affluent and infinitely more self-absorbed. Though, who are you to talk? Vox gifted you a poster of your own, although an inappropriately funny one (bright red lipstick, kissy marks framing your body, loved wineglass in your hand). Where is it now? A part of you wishes more than anything you can say hello to them again, but alliances are alliances, and enemies are enemies.

Your music traditionally plays familiar sounds that can be repetitive when you lack severe emotions, and with the wooziness of intoxication, the only noticeable difference is glissandos.

Alastor's room seems miles away. There are times when, as impending as the doom can be, you open the door to his absence and get the clue of fear. You wonder if it'll get on his last nerve each time you let yourself in. It doesn't stop you. As you've said before, he'd never hurt you. And as he retorted, "physically."

The rest of the walk proceeded slowly, painfully so. With every step, your brain stood on edge as you grew accustomed to Alastor's sudden appearance. But his presence isn't haunting the hallways. Thankfully, mercifully, his doorknob opens with ease. He often locks it, but Lord knows your hair pins pry it open as easy as slipping in earrings.

Despite the intrusion, you open the door slowly. Alastor sits at his desk, the lamp off but light still illuminating his stacks of papers, the ones hanging from the skeleton on his wall.

He doesn't glance over at you, but his smile does grow, and he drops his pen. You kick your shoes off and close the door behind you.

What now, what now, what now, what now?

You start to chew on the inside of your mouth but stop. There needs to be no sign of nervousness.

When you wrap your arms around his neck, he tilts his head, leaning into you. The side of his head nuzzles into your bicep. Your other hand brushes against a fabric, cotton, not silk. He took the ascot off. A hum leaves you. He kept everything else except the ascot, replacing it with a bowtie. He kisses your sleeve and then grabs your wrist, moving your hand to brush his lips against your knuckles.

His eyes follow you when you lower from his grasp. Pressing one hip against the desk, you swoop his bangs from his face and press a kiss to his forehead, a soft one, a hand cradling his face. With your body this close, he can smell the drunkness. When you try to place another kiss, he tilts his head up; you stop, your eyes meeting each other at an equal level.

You can see your reflection in his monocle.

You sign. "It was the ascot, wasn't it?"

"Oh, my dear, I loved the ascot. Truly, I did! Just thought it didn't suit me."

The banter is familiar, so easy to fall into.

"I quite liked the boys who wore them," you sign, smiling at how his smile tightens; you kiss the corner of his lips, pulling back with an opposite, warm smile. "But I suppose the bow tie is a close second, though they're entirely past my time."

All he knows from your time is museum pieces and infamous paintings.

What you love most about these conversations is how you can distinctly notice when Alastor searches through his memory. His usually stable iris will flicker back and forth just slightly. He shifts his weight, using his foot against the wall to push back his seat. He grabs both your hands with him, leading you into his lap. Your dress cascades down the side as you sit horizontally across his thighs.

"Ah, really now? Perhaps I'll have to wear ascots more often then, just for you, darling." He signs, completely dishonest, the teasing not going past your head.

To someone your age, his outfit is only a few trends before contemporary fashion like Velvette's. From the coat that holds his body to the bowtie he keeps around his neck, what others consider outdated is your modern. And in comparison, you look like a figure of class and an entirely ancient elegance.

"Would you actually?" Your sly smile and signs portray a preppy expression. "I might have to keep you to that."

"You're threatening me." He jokes, a hand reaching to grip your waist as he quickly bounce his heels, boosting your body upwards in one motion. His light tone is a response to your intoxication. You laugh, realizing in a second that you've long forgotten your intent at motherly behavior. You're draped across his lap and giggling like a girl. Holding a mature composure is complicated when he's holding you like this. The idea of The Radio Demon cooing at you leaves you completely vulnerable. And for a deadly, terrifying overlord yourself, he finds you thoroughly adorable.

You tilt your head. "You're the one who offered it, are you not a man of your word?"

He takes a second to admire your expression. Never in his afterlife had he thought that he would end up like this, lovestruck and affectionate. He can barely respond; the sight of him before him is entrancing. Here are two overlords, dangerous and vile, holding each other kindly. The words of your comical conversation dance together like cockroaches.

"Of course I am, my dear. Of course I am."

"Then perhaps we can venture outside together while you wear what you consider the non-suiting ascot."

"Are you simply trying to get me to put it back on? I believe I made it clear that any ascot-"

"Tomorrow, what do you think?" You grab his hands and put them down. Your previous despair toward him is gone, replaced by the adoration you've developed.

His smile drops just a bit, and his eyes widen at the smallest amount. Beyond being willing to merely stroll in public, your wanting to do it by his side brings back decades of memories. Oh, how he's missed watching the citizens avoid the two of you, pointing out his favorite restaurants, and going inside with you. "You want to be seen in public again?"

"I do, I think you should show me around. I want to see what the world has been up to since I've been gone. Since we've been gone. Let's go explore, yes?" Your eyes investigate his expression, trying to decipher if it's hesitance or surprise.

He studies you back. He gives a soft smile, his facade returning as he nods. "It certainly sounds like a lovely idea, dear."

You lift a finger, straightening your spine. "The ascot will be included though." Your other hand rests on his shoulder, a small gesture of approval, a gentle touch.

He rolls his eyes. "I'm starting to think you only want me to wear an ascot, darling!"

"Perhaps, or perhaps not. Who's to say?" You grab one of his hands, put it to your cheek, and rest your head on it. Your smirk comes subconsciously; you hardly notice how loving you're being. He lets out a huff through his nose, letting his thumb brush over the soft skin.

His other hand lifts. "You're insufferable, you know that?"

You hum. "I wonder who I learnt it from."

With a slight turn of your head, you kiss his gloved palm. With strangely unfamiliar softness on his features, you can only match his jesting tone.

"Me?" He laughs in mock surprise, hand twitching as you kiss it. "How dare you, my dearest! I am a bastion of courtesy. Maybe you've become a sassy thing all on your own."

"Sassy? You think I'm sassy? You dare say that, you?" You pipe up. Your eyes widen slightly, and your smile only grows. You kiss his hand again, this time a quick peck, but your lips remain close as you sign. "You're the sassiest man I've ever met."

He gently presses his claws against your cheekbone as he responds. He could taunt you all day and never get tired of it. "You wound me with your words, you're practically bursting with cheeky wit."

"Yes, I am. But tomorrow, yes?" You rewind, sitting up off his lap, releasing his hand.

He gives a slight nod. "Tomorrow, my love! I'll retrieve you sometime in the afternoon, how does that sound? We can start exploring the city."

"Oh, how I adore you more than anything." You lean and softly kiss his cheek. Once you lift, his eyes lock on yours with his usual stare, his strict smile locked onto his face. Your mind wanders to his wretched intentions, forcing you into battle to test your life. It's sobering. You continue, trying not to give away your souring mood, focusing on the good things so your music remains golden. "Thank you for everything, Alastor."

He sits rigid, once again caught off guard by your affection. His thoughts are still momentarily, processing the feeling of your lips on his face. He is thankful you hadn't kissed his lips, despite how much he would've wanted it. It's kind of you to remember his indecision toward direct physical tenderness without his initiation. The kiss on the cheek is a welcomed middle ground, not too overwhelming nor emotionally far away.

"Of course, darling. You're very welcome."

When you step away, one of his hands returns to his desk, signaling an ending conversation. So you give him a small, mostly sarcastic bow, turning to your room to plan your outfit for tomorrow. A day dress, indeed. Should you go lace? That would be funny.

[bbyquokka]

🤌🏻 you've seen the vid of binnie taking a donut from a STAY at the fan meet? Imagine that it wasn't just any STAY it also happened to be his s/o!

Just thoughts of binnie scanning which stay to take from and he spots you and takes yo donut and you sit there like.

... "bruh, I got this for us to eat at home why 😭" still had fun at the fan meet tho and you adore interacting with your boyfriend at fan meets loool.

powdered donuts paired with sugary sweet love

FLUFF BELOW CUT – MINORS, AGELESS & DEFAULT BLOGS; DNI

warnings: she/her pronouns used, idol au, food mentioned (donuts), established relationship. words: 0.6k ~ (689)

dont repost. dont translate. feedback and reblogs are highly advised and appreciated!

the local bakery is just a few blocks away from where skz are currently holding their fan meeting. you can hear the sounds of the cheers and screams from the many stays as well as the music for s-class playing.

as you step inside the bakery, pick out four donuts for you to indulge later on tonight. you hear his voice bellowing in your ears as you pay. you smile to yourself as you listen to his cheerful laugh, a laugh that erupts from deep within his chest whilst making everyone else around him laugh too from how contagious it is.

you step outside, clutching the box. you decide on making a detour to see how the fan met is going plus, you want to see your lover after not seeing him for a few weeks.

you stand a few feet away from the crowd. enough to be seen by changbin but not enough to be shooed away from the event organisers plus security.

you chuckle to yourself as you watch skz interact with stays, taking photos and talking to them. you spot changbin, feeling your heart swell and butterflies flutter in your stomach from how beautiful and soft he looks. your body fills with pride, eyes filling with tears as you watch him. you couldn't be proud of changbin, proud of how far he has come.

you've watched him struggle with his own mind at times. the exhausting hours, the never ending sleepless nights and his body battered and bruised from the ruthless dance practises as well as him losing his voice a couple of times. you've been by his side, his shoulder to lean on and you're so proud of him for sticking at it and never giving up.

whilst reminiscing, you fail to notice changbin making a mad dash towards you only to be stopped by security. changbin frowns and pouts, protesting as you watch him become flustered and somewhat annoyed.

“she's my girlfriend! she won't hurt me, just let me past please.” you see him mouth, practically begging the guy, but security just won't budge–until stray kids manager comes over and explains the situation and who you are. luckily for you, you're on good terms with skz and the team behind them, which allows you just that little bit of leeway when it comes to stuff like this.

changbin hugs the manager before beaming as bright as the sun. he runs over to you, engulfing you in his arms. your eyes widen as you laugh, holding the box of donuts away so you don't drop them.

“i've missed you so fucking much.” changbin whispers, eyes closing as he inhales that scent of yours he has missing so dearly. you smile softly to yourself, melting into his body. the scratchy fabric of his outfit rubs against your cheek but you endure it just to be held by changbin that little bit longer.

“i've missed you too binnie. so so much.” you whisper.

“i only have a few minutes until i have to go back. i know i shouldn't stray away from stays but as soon as i saw you, my body went into autopilot.”

“i understand baby. you have a job to do so it's ok.” changbin pulls away slowly before cupping your cheeks and kissing you sweetly on the lips. you hum softly, reciprocating the kiss and melting into his touch and the heat from the palm of his hands.

“what you got there then?” he says, nodding at the box of donuts.

“oh!” you open the box to show him the powdery, sugar coated dough. “just a small snack for tonight. thought i'd treat myself for after dinner.”

“yum!” changbin smirks playfully as he grabs a donut. you pout and whine as you watch him take a bite out of the soft dough. “this is delicious! very sweet, but delicious!”

“binnie!” you whine. he giggles softly as you sigh and roll your eyes playfully at him. you reach out, swiping some powdered sugar away from the corner of his lips with your thumb.

“it's a good thing i love and adore you, seo changbin.”

note: soft binnie eating donuts equals a yes from me. 🥺 he's so baby girl coded -sobs-

tags (open): @sstarryoong ; @oshimee ; @fairylouist ; @septicrebel ; @bbujiikseu ; @alyszaen ; @writerracha ; @aestheticsluut ; @xcookiemonsteer

[coffeeghoulie]

For the soft kiss prompts, pls could you do #8 with mountain/dew? Take your time ofc!!

Ps. I love all your fics 🫶

Prompt from this list: #8 sharing a kiss while cleaning their wounds

Contains minor injury and a brief mention of blood

Mountain is not a clumsy ghoul. The earth beneath his feet knows him, acknowledges the gifts the Old One made him with. He is tall and steady, walks upon the earth Topside confidently. That doesn't mean he doesn't get distracted.

There's a gaggle of water ghouls who work in the main greenhouse, there to help with the watering, making the already cramped space that much tighter. Mountain glances to Ivy and Pebble, who are discussing something animatedly a few rows down, and sighs, hauling another bag of potting mix over his shoulder and making his way over to them.

A flash of something bright catches Mountain's eye, and he turns to face it. There's a water ghoul staring at him, a slight little thing, long white-silver hair flowing over his shoulders like liquid metal, big blue eyes boring into his skull. When he realize he's been caught staring, the ghoul jolts, darting behind a row of tomato plants that need repotting like a startled deer. Mountain shifts the bag over his shoulder, returning to his task, setting the potting mix down near his fellow earth ghouls.

The next time the ghoul nearly runs into him, he stares up at the branches of Mountain's antlers, giggling a little under his breath before watering the green bean plant on the trellis next to him. Mountain furrows his brow, reaching up to find little clusters of white snapdragons blooming around the base of them. He feels his face heat as the water ghoul smiles, his nose crinkling as he grins, turning around another bend and disappearing from sight.

He and the water ghoul cross paths every once in a while, and Mountain can't help himself but stare back every time they stumble upon each other. The water ghoul is undoubtedly beautiful, unworldly and siren-like, and Mountain watches enraptured as a teal blush blooms on his sharp cheekbones each time he darts away. It goes like this for weeks, almost an entire season.

It's late one summer evening when it changes, the sun almost set behind the treeline. All of the other ghouls have head inside for the night, but Mountain's in the middle of pruning the juniper bushes lining the greenhouse, and he's never been one to leave a project unfinished.

It's repetitive work, soothing, and Mountain loses himself in it, so much so he doesn't hear the water ghoul walking up behind him.

There's a hand on his shoulder. Mountain yelps, a loud squeak, losing his balance and grabbing at the juniper bushes, the sharp leaves piercing his skin as he scrambles.

"Oh, shit, are you okay?" A voice asks, siren-like and alluring, and Mountain turns, eyes wide as he stares up at the water ghoul he's been dancing around.

"Just my pride," Mountain stammers, glancing down at his palms, the dozens of minuscule cuts from the sharp leaves.

The water ghoul's sharp eyes lock onto his palms, watches as a droplet of blood oozes out from a few of the cuts. "Shit, I just wanted to ask if you'd get dinner with me, I didn't mean to scare you and get you hurt."

Mountain shrugs, unable to tear his eyes away from the water ghoul. "I'm fine, really," he says, knowing his cheeks are flushing dark olive, the snapdragons blooming full force around his antlers.

The ghoul tilts his head, his silver hair flowing like water over his shoulder. "You're bleeding," he says, taking one of Mountain's hands in his own. It makes Mountain's head spin, really seeing just how small his hands are compared to his. "At least let me wrap them up."

Mountain gets to his feet slowly, towering over the water ghoul. "If it makes you feel better..." he trails off, realizing he doesn't know his name.

"Dewdrop, but people only really call me that when I'm in trouble. Dew works just fine," The water ghoul says, pressing a hand to his chest. "I've heard Pebble call you Mountain, which tracks," Dew laughs, craning his neck to look Mountain in the eye. "You wanna come in with me? I'll get the first aid kit. Don't know how many times I've been stupid and gotten myself hurt."

Mountain watches as he laughs at himself, following the water ghoul to the work table in the back of the greenhouse, standing on his tippy toes to grab the first aid kit from the cabinets. He rummages through the case, pulling out alcohol wipes and a roll of gauze. "Gimme your hands, juniper."

"Juniper?" Mountain repeats, flushing darker, from embarrassment or fluster, he can't quite tell, but he gives Dew his hands anyways.

Dew hums, smirking a little as he wipes the cuts on Mountain's palm, Mountain steady and unflinching as the alcohol stings. "Can I call you that? If not, I'll stop, promise."

He thinks for a moment, eyes locked on Dew's slight hands, the long, spindly fingers. "If I can call you waterlily," he says, and Dew looks up to meet his eyes. "I saw that time you tripped into the retaining pond."

Dew blushes teal, shoulders shaking in silent laughter. He grabs the roll of gauze, wrapping it securely around Mountain's palms. "We've got a deal, juniper."

"Thank you, Dew," Mountain says, low and sincere as Dew finishes wrapping his hands. He moves to pull his hands away, but Dew holds tight to one of them, kissing his knuckles.

"It's nothing, juniper," Dew says, still blushing bright teal as he stares up at the earth ghoul. "I was gonna ask if you wanted to get dinner with me. It's late, all of the others left hours ago."

Mountain grins, standing from the table, Dew's hand still in his. "That sounds like a deal, waterlily."

[triplesilverstar]

Encounter

Rating: G

Pairing: Vash X F!Reader

CW: Drinking, Time skip, canon typical violence, Awkward flirting, Bad pick up lines

Word count: 1565

A/N: So starting to post my series over here and the first one in it where you meet the infamous Humanoid Typhoon for the first time. More below the divider.

Just about everyone in Jeneora Rock was celebrating, what had been turning into a bleak situation with no chance of a turn around, the plant that had been malfunctioning and causing so much heartache to the town had been fixed.

The stranger that had wandered into town had been able to repair the plant, and repair it for free at that, a Hero. A real windfall for the town that meant there was money for other priorities in keeping the townsfolk alive.

As dusk came and went, the party seemed to keep going and the booze was flowing freely at the diner, said Hero enjoying himself and having a good time. Though one figure sitting at the bar kept grabbing his attention. She’d been there when he first rolled into town that afternoon, and the moment he’d meet her gaze he found himself intrigued. People your age didn’t have eyes like that. He also had a nagging feeling you had something to do with the feeling of being watched he’d had all day.

Having swallowed the last of his latest drink he smiled sliding up beside you at the bar “Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk past you again?” Glancing out of the corner of his eye, the glass you had been raising stopped, your own gaze flicking over to him. He had a good view of your profile from this angle, and he did have to admit he enjoyed what he saw.

“What I believe” the glass was returned to the bar top and your hand spayed out beside it “is none of your business” the scowl on your face was enough to make him take a step back hands up in the air.

“No reason to be so hostile, friend” walking closer again and now leaning on the bar beside you “how about I get you a drink to show there's no hard feelings?”

Rolling your eyes you turn to look straight at him “Sure, I’m having water” he felt the bite in that one. Head hanging down, his hair grazing the bar top, and over the din of the diner heard you sigh. “Is that your response whenever someone doesn’t fall at your feet? So much for the legendary lady killer.” The last part was muttered so quietly he almost missed it.

His head rose, expression neutral as he turned to you again “Pardon?” snorting you turned to face him fully.

“I know who you are” your voice was whisper soft but hearing those words left his blood running cold “Vash the Stampede. And I'm not fooled by the act you put on, a dance and show to hide.” Another sigh escaped you, hand reaching up to scratch at your own hair before turning to look at the booze behind the bar. “But I don’t get you.”

This time you didn’t stop as you took a mouthful of water from the glass, setting it back down “everything I've heard about you, says you're the best gunslinger out there, that you destroy whole towns without a thought. Yet today, you saved this town. Leaves a deal of confusion, got any answers for that?”

“Maybe you shouldn’t judge a book?” a soft smile is gracing his features now, mirrored sunglasses hiding his eyes. You snort, and this time he watches the corners of your lips upturn ever so slightly.

“Maybe. You are a nice payday though” his own expression falls and a grin lights up your own “So. I’ll make you a deal. After what you did today, I won’t try anything for.” Your eyes glance up like you're picturing something in your head “the next week, and within 100 iles of this place. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds a little too good to be true to be honest.” While his tone conveyed his disbelief he still held out his hand “I guess I’ll get to see if the Ghost Sniper is as honest as they say.”

You rolled your eyes again but grasped his hand in return “That is a dumb moniker” this time it was Vash who snorted.

“You do seem to be among the living” You were finishing your own glass as Rosa finally made a turn back towards both of you, interrupting whatever Vash was going to say next. You’d both been lost in the last few moments.

“You two need a refill now that you're done flirting with each other?” you flushed red and started sputtering smacking your chest to dislodge the liquid that had gone the wrong way.

“Sure, I'll have whatever she’s having.”

“Two waters coming up” surprised danced across his face, mouth agape.

“You really are drinking water?” You narrowed your eyes at that, done coughing.

“Why is that such a surprise?”

“I guess I didn’t expect it, is all” his hand was rubbing the back of his head while he laughed.

You smirked at him, taking the new glass “Don’t judge a book” laughter rang out after having his own words thrown back at him. After a few moments of silence Vash left you where you were, off to rejoin the celebrations you seemed to be ignoring. Rosa came back smiling, leaning on the bar across from you.

“What?” you narrowed your eyes at her, that knowing smile making one of your eyebrows raise as she kept silent, shaking her head.

“First time I’ve seen you respond to anyone like that since you rolled into town two weeks ago, quite the chat you two seemed to be having.” Ah, while you liked Rosa, she did seem to like fishing for information, giving the inclination she hadn’t heard what the two of you had been discussing.

“Should I send your breakfast up to his room in the morning?” her attempt at teasing pulling a snort of disdain out of you.

“Absolutely not.” Her face fell at that, her own exasperated sigh escaping, before shaking her head at you.

“Too bad. I think you two would make a good couple, you both seem kinda lonely.” You glance at her before finishing your water and standing up, throwing a few bills on the counter.

“I think you’ve got the wrong idea there, Rosa. I’ll see you in the morning.” Waving goodbye you headed out the door towards the hotel located just above. Hitting the cool air you find yourself shaking your head. You and Vash the Stampede? Yea right.

- Six years later -

“I thought you said no one recognized you?” snapping as you ducked down behind the half buried ship piece outside of town, and sending a glare at the blond next to you.

“These guys weren’t in town earlier! They must have followed me after I left” high pitched and desperate, Vash was reloading his pistol, peeking out around the meager cover you shared.

“Regardless, they’re here now!” You flop over on your side, looking through your scope before Vash pulls you back in by your feet. “I counted six. How many did you see?”

“I counted nine while running.”

Nodding you crouch beside him “how do you wanna handle this?” He seemed to be in thought before giving you a lopsided smile.

“I think it’s time we left.”

“Genius decision.” Snorting at him and throwing a thumb over your shoulder “are we asking nicely or assuming they’ll just let us walk away?” You could fill a canteen with the amount of sarcasm dripping from your mouth.

“Still have any of those smoke bombs left?” you nod at him “Here’s the plan, you throw down some cover and we split up. They’ve set up to cover both sides, so I’ll go one way and, most likely, they'll follow after me. Allowing you to make a clean break and grab our toma to run off. We’re not far from Jeneora Rock so we can meet up there, at least as long as you don’t get lost again.”

“Why do I feel like that’s a dig at me?”

“Mayfly, you can get lost in a town with one street.” The tips of your ears feel like they’re on fire. “That's why you get the toma, if you get lost he’ll take you to the nearest town, which as long as you go far enough in the opposite direction from here will be Jeneora Rock.”

“Well that’s going to be a blast from the past.” Your mind quickly flashes to a feisty diner owner, “Ya know, Rosa thought we’d make a good couple.”

“Seriously?” His face falls at your comment “Now isn’t the time to be reminiscing Mayfly”

“Yea, yea, I’m just thinking she’s gonna tease the daylight out of me for telling her she was wrong back then.” You prep the smoke bomb, grasping it and looking to Vash for his signal to throw it with enough force to activate it.

He leans forward, a chaste peck pressed to your forehead “See you in a few days, try and stay out of trouble.” A smirk graces your lips, and you shake your head.

“Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?” He smiles, pushing his mirrored lenses up his face and turning from you, he gives you the signal. You hurl the smoke bomb, and after a few moments of hearing them scramble after Vash you run for the toma. Fingers crossed you don’t actually get lost on the way to your meetup location. Again.

[gillianthecat]

wondered why I haven't seen you around in a while and I see this update from four days ago 🥺 I hope youre okay!! sending much love 💗💓💕

🥹 it means so much to have you check in!

I'm doing well! Had some mild symptoms during the week last week and also a migraine that may or may not have been related, but I'm feeling better now.

Mostly I haven't been posting anything because I haven't been watching any QL, so I don't have a lot to say. Also I've been procrastinating on a bunch of housekeeping chores and sometimes my procrastination means that I also don't do anything else in the world that's productive or creative. Which sometimes extends to posting on here🤷🏻‍♀️Thanks brain! But I have been out dancing a bunch which had been lots of fun! It's feels very good to be getting back into it.

The latest gossip in my life (since it just happened and I'm itching to talk about it) is that I finally ran into my ex-boyfriend last week at the tango event. I was not expecting it, though I probably should have been. It was supremely awkward at first (I was walking into a room, saw his back, turned right around and had to go to the rest rooms to settle myself) but it actually ended up being fine. We danced together, chatted a little bit and he wasn't weird about it. It didn't help though that I was still rather out of sorts from my gynecology appointment that day. But I muddled though.

I saw him again tonight, and this time was only mildly started. It was fine, we chatted and danced BUT THEN he dropped on me that he's now friendly with my OTHER tango dancer ex-boyfriend. Who had left the tango scene for years but is apparently back and now my exes bond over tango music?? (And god knows what else 🫣) He told me this in the middle of a set of dances and then I kept tripping over my feet as I was distracted by trying to process this. So now I have an ex-boyfriend club, I guess. After we finished dancing I had to go walk in circles for a minute to calm down, lol.

It is actually good to get news about the other ex-boyfriend because last I heard from him he had cancer and I honestly wasn't sure he was still alive. But he is! And back to dancing which is a good sign. And at least now I'm prepared for the possibility of running into him, which would have been totally shocking. Now if it happens it will just be very awkward, which is survivable.

Anyways. Thanks for providing an opening for me to get this mild drama off my chest 😁 I am never dating a tango dancer again! Makes the community way too awkward.

It really is so good to get this ask from you 🫶 How is life treating you? I have the tags for most of the current shows filtered, so I end up not seeing most of your posts these days 🙁

[yelenasdiary]

hey if you’re still taking requests for Flufftober can you do a florence x reader where r has had a stressful day so florence makes her favourite dinner runs her a bath ect and at the end flo gives reader a massage 

Stress Relief || Flufftober

Pairing: Florence Pugh x Reader 

Summary: After a stressful day, a home cooked meal and the loving arms of your girl make things all better.  

Fluff | 1.1K | No Warnings |  

AC: This reminded me of how much I really need to get a massage lmao! Anyways, enjoy!! X

Flufftober Masterlist

It was simply just one of those days where everything seemed to be moving faster than you could process, work was more demanding than usual and you felt there wasn't enough hours in the day to get deadlines completed. All week you've been doing a couple hours of overtime just to make sure you could leave your job Friday afternoon without any deadlines becoming and overdue issue. Florence, your partner of three years had no problem waiting up for you with a warm bath or shower running ready for you when you walked through the door. 

Tonight, was no different as you were greeted with the strong smell of a homemade lasagna and the sound of Florence singing along to her playlist. You couldn't help but smile at the mental image of her dancing around the kitchen like she always does. You kicked your shoes off and threw your keys into the bowl by the door and made your way to the kitchen. 

"Hi honey!" Florence smiled when she spun around and saw you, "how was your day?" She asked as she walked up to you and kissed you softly. "Long and stressful, how was yours?" You replied as she handed you a glass of your favorite drink, "thank you" you smiled. "Billie girl and I had some fun; we went for a big walk didn't we!" Florence coo'd at the pup sitting by your feet waiting for any food scraps to drop on the floor, "then we had the idea to make your favourite end the week on a good note" Florence said as she wrapped her arms around your waist, "you've been so stressed this week that I've planned a weekend full of relaxing and mind clearing" she adds. 

Instantly you felt yourself melt in her arms, loving the warmth of her hold. "You're the best, I mean that" you smiled softly and kissed her softly, brushing the messy strains of hair behind her ear. "I've got a bath ready for you, it shouldn't be as hot as it was 10 minutes ago, take your drink and enjoy a bubble bath. Dinner will be at least another 45 minutes" Florence gently turned you in the direction of the bathroom and gave you a soft push towards it. "Like it said, you're the best! Thank you, baby" you spoke as you walked towards the bathroom.

The bath was full of bubbles with some rose petals floating on top and some candles lit to set a relaxing setting. You placed your drink on the countertop and smiled to yourself when you saw the book you'd been wanting to get into for months now with a posted note on the cover.

"I thought you'd want this too x" 

With that, you undressed and grabbed your book and drink and placed them carefully near the bath as you sunk into the warm water, your body already thanking Florence for the much-needed relaxant salts she'd poured into the water. While reading your book and sipping your drink you could faintly hear Florence still singing along to her playlist making you smile at the background noise, the stressful thoughts of work starting to leave your mind the more you let yourself relax. 

You could tell when dinner was ready when you heard Florence grabbing plates from the cupboard. Making a mental note of the page you were up too and your glass now empty, you pulled the plug and wrapped yourself in a towel. 

"Darling, you didn't have to get out yet! I was going to wait for it to cool down first before telling you it was ready" Florence wiped her hands on her apron as you placed your empty glass on the countertop, "Baby, the water was beginning to get cold" you replied, "and thank you for adding my book and for doing all of this, I don't deserve you" you add. 

"Baby, you deserve the world and more" she kissed your cheek, "I love you and I just want to take care of you like you do for me" she continued. 

"I really don't deserve you" you chuckled, "I love you" you kissed her softly. 

After dinner you helped Florence clean up even though she insisted you go make yourself comfortable on the sofa and get a movie ready for the two of you to watch before going to bed but you loved doing the little things like this with Florence. Doing dishes together, folding the washing, preparing the dinner table, all of you. They were the tiny things that she didn't know meant more to you than she'd know. 

"Baby, let me clean the rest, go lay on the sofa and pick a movie or series. I have one last surprise for you" she smiled taking the drying towel form your hands. "If you insist" you chuckled and walked into the living room. Billie was curled up in her spot on the armchair snoring as if she was the one who'd just completed a tough week at work. "You and me both girl" you spoke to yourself as you got comfortable on the sofa. 

"Lay on your stomach, I'm going to give your back a massage! I brought oils and everything" Florence came into the living room with a proud smile holding up the products. You chuckled as you looked at her, "are you sure? I think the bath was perfect" spoke. 

"Yep! Now roll over and take your shirt off, this is going to be the best massage of your live" she boosted. A massage sounded like paradise while having to sit in an uncomfortable chair for most of your day, so you took your shirt off and rolled onto your stomach. "It might be a little cold at first" Florence said as she got herself set with the oils and cream on the coffee table.

 She poured a generous amount of oil on your back before you felt her hands gently rubbed your back, pushing out any knots she could feel. Her hands were warm which made up for the coldness from the oil and creams she rubbed in circles on your back. Florence worked your lower back, spine, hips, neck and shoulders as you relaxed even more. "God, honey, this really is the best massage. I could get used to this" you smiled with your eyes closed, you swore if she kept going, she could put you to sleep. 

"Shhh darling, just relax and let me get rid of these knots you've collected" she spoke softly before you felt her lips on your cheek. After a few more moments Florence smiled softly when she noticed that you'd fallen asleep to her touch, she pulled a throw blanket over you and kissed your cheek once more. 

"Come on Billie girl, let's go leave ma to rest" she whispered and pattered her lap softly for Billie to follow her upstairs while she took a shower.  

Taglist: @red1culous | @bentleywolf29 | @natasha-belova | @jeyramarie | @lissaaaa145 | @high--power | @parkerdaramitzzzz | @mmmmokdok | @wackymcstupid | @kiwiana145  | @sophie-xox | @shin-conan-kun | @nattyolw | @ripofflizzie | @get-the-fuck-outta-here | @goofy-goonie | @makegoodchoices | @apollo2907 | @marvelfan98 | @wandaroman0ff | @dumb-fawkin-bitch | @lovelyy-moonlight | @santana1437 | @sophie-xox

[zero-to-zero-to-zero-again]

Ophidiophobia (3)

Part One Part Two

Word Count: 1,934

TW's: Unintentional Fearplay, Angst, Fear of Death, Profanity, Mild Gore, Injury, Calling A Person An "It", Panic Attacks

Characters: C!Tommy, C!Wilbur

Summary: Tommy's one safeguard was his wings. if all else failed, he could fly to safety. But they're out of commission. And the naga's closeby.

Was there any better way to spell fucked than T-O-M-M-Y? That's all he was. He'd managed to drag himself away but he didn't get far. He couldn't. His wings were a wreck, his body was even worse for wear, and his legs hurt too much to even attempt to run again.

The telltale sound of a tail sliding across the forest floor made his stomach do a record setting amount of backflips. He pressed a hand to his lips as though quieting his breathing would somehow save his life. Rough bark dug into his back as he pressed himself flatter against the trunk.

The sounds ceased.

Did the naga give up? Did it know where he was but was planning on waiting him out? Was it-

"I told you to sit," Wilbur said. He didn't sound happy. Well, he never really did, but now he sounded super not happy. Tommy looked up to find the naga towering straight over him.

"W-why would I listen to you?" Tommy forced out between shuddering breaths. He hugged his knees up close to his chest. The naga let out a heavy sigh. Tommy winced as it lowered its torso to the ground.

"I'm older than you. I'm bigger than you. And..."

Tommy braced himself for whatever was coming after that "and". It couldn't possibly be anything good. Wilbur laid propped up by his elbows against the forest floor. A clawed finger poked one of Tommy's ragged wings. He yelped.

"...you're hurt," Wilbur finally finished.

Tommy hadn't expected to be chastised like that. He honestly hadn't expected to survive this long when he finally went toe-to-toe with the naga.

"Leave me alone," Tommy whined.

"No. Unlike you, I don't abandon my friends."

Friends? Were they friends? Sure, they'd been hanging out for a couple weeks but that was different. That was when Tommy was safely out of reach and this thing was always a good ten feet away from him.

Fingers roughly his size reached for him.

"S-stop!" Tommy exclaimed. He weakly batted at the digits to no avail. He blinked away the black spots dancing around the edges of his vision. "Don't touch me d...dickhead."

Wilbur didn't listen. Tommy's arms were pinned at his sides as he was unceremoniously lifted off the ground. He tried to flail his feet but he was practically drained of all fight. There was no telling how long he'd been running for. He just wanted it all to end.

The fingers gripping him were warm. Too warm. Tommy didn't like this. He half expected to be lifted up to the naga's mouth but was instead simply held there. He twitched in the uncomfortable grip, elbows digging into his sides.

"You're hurting me," he mumbled deliriously. It wasn't like it would come as a shock to the snake that its malicious actions were having a negative result on its prey. Wilbur didn't say a word. He simply shifted his hold, spilling Tommy into an open palm and keeping him there within a cage of fingers.

The naga didn't go far. If it did, Tommy didn't really remember the journey. He ended up leaning against the very fingers holding him captive in a desperate attempt to stay conscious. The warm, squishy flesh was replaced by cool, hard stone. He blinked drowsily at the snake.

Tommy won whatever staring contest the two had going for a handful of seconds as the naga turned its attention to something Tommy couldn't quite see.

"I've still got big plans. So many places to see. So many wives to have," Tommy slurred.

"Is that so?" Wilbur muttered. He fished through an assortment of different collections from his hoard.

"Yeah. So don't kill me."

Wilbur froze. He grimaced, blanching at the bird hybrid's words.

"Why would I do that?" he demanded.

Was this a trick question?

"You killed that rabbit."

"You're not a rabbit."

The silence that hung over them was heavy. Wilbur raked his fingers through his chestnut curls.

"I'm not going to apologize for eating things that I need to eat, Tommy. Rabbits don't talk. They don't follow me around or tell me all about their little misadventures or nap with me by the pond. If I ever find a rabbit that fits that criteria, I'll save it from a lynx, too."

Tommy didn't quite know how to respond to that. He blamed the murkiness of his mind on the bloodloss but he was starting to think that even a completely sober brain wouldn't afford him the words he was looking for.

Tommy winced as the naga pressed something cold to his shoulder. With one hand keeping him still and the other pressing something on him, Tommy was faced with far more hands on him than he would have ever wanted.

"Hey, Wilbur?" Tommy muttered.

"Hm?"

Wilbur paused to look at the winged boy just in time to see his eyes roll back in his head.

...

"Wha-what's-where-"

"Tommy, go back to sleep."

"I'm-"

"Fine. You're fine."

"...mmkay."

...

Tommy's head was throbbing. The world around him was a blur as he blinked away the heavy fog of grogginess. He massaged his temples between his thumbs. What sort of bender had he gone on last night? He squinted to take in his unfamiliar surroundings. He didn't remember falling asleep under a canopy of twisted branches.

Maybe it was only then that he registered the rhythmic sounds of breathing nearby.

All at once, the memories came rushing back. His heart stuttered to a halt in his chest. If he was here, where was-

There. Right in front of him, the naga laid there in a blissful slumber with his head resting between his folded arms. Tommy's every instinct begged him to escape. He stood up as silently as possible, wincing as pain zipped through his body in bolts.

The only real way out was through the opening in the shelter. To get to that, he'd have to evade the many coils of brassy scales wound loosely around him. It would be a hell of a lot easier if he could just fly over them.

He tentatively unfolded his wings from his back. Bad idea. Terrible idea, even. He let out a cry as his vision flashed white. He shoved his fist into his mouth in a futile attempt to muffle the sound. A horrible aching sensation coursed through his back.

The tail shifted around him. He dared to slowly turn around to find two glittery, gold eyes bearing down on him. The naga regarded him with a tired expression. He braced his cheek against his fist, propping his elbow up on the ground.

Tommy took a wary step back. Shit.

"How are you feeling?" Wilbur asked, drowsily wiping the sands of sleep from his eyes. Tommy formed a few different words with his mouth but none of them ever left his lips. Wilbur's eyes narrowed. "Are you actually awake this time?"

Clawed fingers reached for him. Tommy snapped out of whatever trance he'd allowed himself to get caught in. He leapt back, effectively bumping straight into the first ring of coils around him. His hands slipped against the cool, glassy scales as he struggled to find purchase.

"I'm awake! Very much awake. Never been awaker," he insisted.

"Calm down. You're going to jostle your injuries," Wilbur said with a roll of his eyes.

Calm down? Calm down?

"There's a giant fucking snaking man holding me hostage! What do you expect me to do? Sit down and meditate?" Tommy demanded.

"I'm not holding you hostage," Wilbur said simply.

"Then move."

"No."

Tommy's emotions had gone from terror to incredulity to pure wrath. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. Wilbur only tilted his head.

"If you can't vault a few coils, how could you possible think that you're well enough to go running around all on your own?" the naga inquired.

That...ugh, if there was one thing worse than a cocky bitch, it was a cocky bitch who-for all their cocky bitchiness-made some semblance of sense.

"So you're just going to keep me here? It could take ages for my wing to heal," Tommy groaned. He went to move his wings a bit more for emphasis to find them restricted. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked over his shoulder to find frayed, beige fabric tied snugly over his injured wing.

"No, you can leave the burrow. You're just not leaving my sight," Wilbur said as though it were a perfectly normal thing to say.

Tommy chewed at his lower lip.

"And then when I get better, you'll let me leave your territory?"

Wilbur studied him in consideration. Tommy could practically see the "no" hovering on his lips but the fact that he seemed at least a little bit conflicted gave him a foolishly substantial amount of hope.

"Well, once you've got your wings back, I won't be able to stop you, will I?"

Not...exactly the answer that Tommy wanted to hear. Better than an admission to planning on keeping him captive, though. Or, maybe that was Wilbur's way of telling him he was still going to be held hostage? Tommy's head spun with all the information he was taking in.

Wilbur had bandaged the worst of his wounds and, from the looks of it, cleared away most of the dirt caked on his skin. That said, Wilbur was planning on shadowing him all hours of the day until he was healed up, which could be anywhere from weeks to months. So for weeks, a giant naga would be slinking after him. And he wouldn't be able to get away.

The walls of the burrow were slowly closing in around him. Try as he might to keep his breathing steady, there wasn't enough oxygen in the air to keep his lungs functional. Trembling fingers clutched the messy fabric over his chest. Maybe he'd take a second to catch his breath once the room stop spinning.

Tears numbly spilled down his cheeks.

He didn't even register the fingers closing in around him until the touch had retreated.

His ragged breathing gradually steadied as the outside world came into focus around him. The breeze in his hair, the sun on his face, the grass beneath his feet; all elements that sang, "freedom" into his ringing ears.

He swiped the tear stains from his cheeks with a sniffle. He turned to find Wilbur still laying in the burrow, an unreadable expression flickering across his sharp features.

"I didn't...say any of that to scare you, Tommy," he began. His words faltered. Like he didn't know which ones to say. "I'm...worried...about you. I don't like seeing you hurt. You...can leave when you're better. I just wish you'd say goodbye this time."

Tommy only gawked at him a moment. Wilbur's usually unwavering gaze darted between Tommy and nothing in particular in the distance. Tommy blew out a heavy breath. Whatever happened to the days where Wilbur was convinced that Tommy was obsessed with him?

"Just...stay back a little bit, big man. You're fucking massive," Tommy relented.

The corners of Wilbur's lips twitched up. Tommy got the strangest feeling that was the closest thing he'd ever gotten to a smile. Wilbur only nodded, retreating a little further into the burrow in good faith.

"Thanks," Tommy laughed, despite himself. He dusted himself off, taking a moment to stretch out his weary limbs. He took a few experimental steps forward before checking over his shoulder. The naga hadn't so much as budged but his eyes were still glued to Tommy's every movement. The boy sighed with a shake of his head. "Bitch."

[phoenixradiant]

Hey all I've been in a Daurian-writing mood lately, and since the character intros are held up by my current pixel art escapades (i.e. No character portraits atm), thought I'd write something instead, so here, have a treat. Not my best work, but passable for something that isn't part of Kelovir proper.

The Wolf - Lycoris

Lycoris had never killed anyone before. She'd wanted to- in her situation, who wouldn't- she'd had nightmares about it, she'd trained to be able to; but by Awai's grace, it had never come to that. Until now, at least. Her dark green hair flew out behind her as she dove under the bandit's next swing. Battle wasn't a dance, not in the mystical sense many regarded it, but there was a sort of rhythm to the steps. Rolling to her feet without wasting an instant, she backpedaled another few steps, trying to remember where she'd dropped her sword. Finally she spied it on the ground in a patch of tall grass. Lycoris raised her hand to her forehead, then imploded into mist. For a brief moment, she was as a spirit, gliding effortlessly through the air, hearing light, the pleasant tones of late morning bathing her in warmth. Then she began to fall. She hit the ground hard, but her fingers closed around her sword and she was on her feet again before the bandit had even realized she was behind him now. A dull pounding in the back of her skull reminded her not to get reckless. She ignored it, flinging her newly recovered blade at the man's back. It sunk in deep, but the wound began to close almost instantly. She raised her hand to her forehead once again. The pounding multiplied a hundredfold. She couldn't feel the warmth through the pain. She was trying to think, but her head felt like splitting. She waited for the pain to abate, floating there in the world of light. It didn't. She'd finally pushed herself too far. Should've waited, she thought, a few more seconds between glides. She couldn't think much more than that; it was drowned out by her mind's screaming. She searched for something soothing, something familiar, solid. Something free from pain. Nothing. There never was anything. She had to push through the pain. She always did. She was good at it, by now. Her hand grasped her sword once again, but this time she drifted down onto both feet. Lycoris stepped back, pulling her blade out of the man's back before swinging wide through his neck. His body tried to grow a new head and his head tried to grow a new body, but eventually both gave up. From stories her father told her, other lands were less... brutal. You killed people and they died quickly, stayed dead, unless they were demons. These days she questioned how he'd known. Lycoris staggered a half dozen steps away from the pooling blood before collapsing to her knees. Separate herself from her mind. Like she'd practiced. Breathe in. Breathe out. Trace a prayer for mercy on her forehead. Breathe in. Breathe out. Separate the mind. What was left? Body and soul. Doing and being. No more thinking. Lycoris stood, pain receding slightly, and continued along the road.

---

Lycoris was running out of people to help. It was time to move on. She drew a few sketches of the plants in question, then handed them to the boy. "Give this to your mother. You're going to need to forage all of these and grind them into paste and eat it once every two days for the next three weeks." He nodded earnestly; they always did that, acting like she was some sort of angel, for her words to be internalized and proclaimed to the world. She admitted to herself it was fulfilling in a way. But that wasn't why she did it. She helped people because it was good to do so, and because doing good felt good. So maybe she was an angel, in an odd sort of way. Someone who did good for the sake of good. And that was why it was time to move on. There was more good to be done elsewhere. She patted the boy on the shoulder and turned to leave. "You sure you don't want to stay, priestess?" A shepherd asked as she passed the village gate. It reminded her of home, how the grass grew so plentifully you could keep the sheep within eyesight of the village. Then she realized what he'd asked. Her hands clenched, though she hoped he didn't notice. "I've said before, I'm no priestess." The shepherd shrugged. "You're a Daurian. Makes no difference to me. Now do ya want to stay or not? In just a few days we've a festival, seems to me you could use 'ne o' those at least. Few days can't hurt." "Can't hurt me, maybe. But there's people who need me. Some of them desperately. I'd best be off. Thank you for your hospitality." She smiled as she bowed, but strode swiftly into the wilderness like a child running back home through a dark forest. They hung on her every word like she was an angel, but she knew the truth. They were brave. She wasn't.

---

The salve was a touch too thick, too viscous. Lycoris moved to add some water, thought better of it, and poured out the contents of her wooden cup instead. The wine mixed better than water did, for reasons Lycoris hadn't studied enough to quite understand. She would love nothing more than have understood, to have spent the days cloistered away in study, reading until her eyes grew heavy and her skin turned paler than marble for want of sunlight. But she couldn't. She knew that. That was why she'd sworn the oath. "Cor? You're making that face again." Lycoris drew herself back to the present. She turned to the young Thasnian woman whose bandages she was changing as they sat watching the sunset. "Was I? Sorry, just concentrating." "I'd believe that if it hadn't been half a minute since you'd actually done anything." She smiled, a teasing, yet half-serious smile. That was exactly the kind of smile her brother used to give her. "Something on your mind?" "No more than usual, Seln." "So yes." Lycoris grimaced. Seln was infuriatingly perceptive like that. Or perhaps she was just easy to read. Lycoris brushed the salve across one side of the bandage before beginning to wrap it around Seln's foot. "At the moment I'm thinking that you ought to be more careful running through the street barefoot." "And the moment before that?" "I was thinking how annoying your questions were getting." "And before that, Cor?" Lycoris pulled the bandage taut, painted on a touch more of the salve to act as glue, and secured the loose end to the rest of the binding. She neglected to answer. "Why do I keep coming back here, Seln?" "Because I need your help, and no one here knows how to do it the way you do." "You hadn't yet driven a stake through your foot when I came here the first two times. Yet I came back a third." "Well, the sunset's nice," Seln offered. "And we've a proper temple. I suppose you'd like that." Lycoris shrugged. She'd never liked temples, though she'd never been able to place exactly why either. "And I suppose it's pretty quiet here. It's not like everywhere else, where there's a festival every three weeks and if not that than a wedding, or a war, or a plague. Here we just... are. I like that. I don't see why you wouldn't." She knew why she wouldn't. The same reason she wasn't a priestess. The same reason it bothered her that she'd been here so many times before. The rest of her people were like dogs. They lived each day serving their masters, be they mortal or divine, and in return they were taken care of generously, and allowed to live life in the otherwise reclusive communities of western Alador. Nor were her people alone; it seemed that this was how most lived their lives, and were happy to do so. Lycoris, like a wolf, envied the dogs, loved the life they led, but it could not be hers. By nature she feared it. Hated it. And so she tried. Each day she would not rest until she had done the work of the dogs, to help a poor soul in need, in hopes that one day, the work would make her ready for the reward. She'd made that oath five years before. "Cor?" Seln drew her hand back to slap her back to reality. Lycoris stirred. "I- Seln, I don't think- I have to go. I don't know when I'll be back." "Lycoris, what's-" But she was already running away.

---

Lycoris ran for hours, through twilight into the night, her light pack beating into her back with every frantic pounding step. Tears were streaming down her face, moonlight illuminating wet streaks from where she'd wiped them away with her hands. She couldn't go back. She couldn't live like them. Not yet. Maybe never. She stumbled to her knees, heart racing, but body and mind giving out. She couldn't keep going. But she had to. Lycoris gathered herself and looked into the place where spirits glided and light made sound, listening to its soothing tones. It was calming. A beautiful place. One that pained her to even watch. No longer frenzied or panicked, Lycoris lay down among the dew-touched grass, not shaking, not lashing out, but weeping all the more for her stillness.

[syn4k]

He sat in his chair in front of his newly minted desk with a slight stretch upwards, facing the shining planks and gentle orange glow of the rest of house. A well-worn pen lay on the surface of the desk, next to a new notebook and a small cordial of black ink. Out of a small leather pouch came a small box, inside which rested a nib, which was then screwed onto the pen in place of the old one.

After months of travel, Pixl figured he'd take the long way round with his journaling tonight.

He hadn't had much time to jot things down ever since he'd shown up here- between running from spiders, trying to cobble (hah) enough diamonds together to craft a pickaxe, running from spiders, and visiting the Nether to make some horribly time-consuming roof tiles, he'd been a bit busy. But new worlds were always lots of work, after all, and he'd thrown himself into the hustle and bustle of getting started so many times that the routine was more like supple leather: worn and familiar, the actions practiced and almost a dance.

Ah. There his mind went, wandering again as it often did when he wasn't able to access a pen or paper or (more commonly) a reliable power source to plug his laptop or phone into. Some worlds didn't even *have* electricity as Earth knew it- redstone was just a crude spark of magic dust to them, but he'd gotten lucky this time. At least he'd be able to actually contact people without resorting to magical means.

The pen hovered over the paper, words momentarily forgotten, and with a sigh Pix set it to the paper and starting writing.

"June 6th-

The long gap between this update and the last has an actual explanation this time: I've finally found the world that Fwhip sent the details of, after weeks of getting lost. Walking out of time and space is really weird. I got there in the end, though, hence the new journal and the first entry.

It seems the universe is not done with Pixl the archaeologist, not yet. I arrived- (fashionably) late as I often am) -not in my regular outfit, but something very close to what I'd worn in the second world of Empires. I've discovered that I can pull some rather strange and downright improbable things out of gravel, including lapis lazuli, carrots, and once an entire cake that I refuse to touch. Shelby says it tastes fine, with a faint aftertaste of dirt. I have not asked why she knows what dirt tastes like, nor will I because I do as well.

This world is populated with most of the people who were on Empires but with a couple new faces as well. I'm familiar with Scar, of course, but I've heard of Owen- a pilot who crash landed here and is on a quest to get an origin of his own beyond human. Sausage told me that, and also cheerfully informed me that he blew up the poor lad's camera. I'll have to figure out how to make a new one and also inform him when we inevitably cross paths that being human isn't quite a bad thing.

I myself have spent the past few days seperated from contact with the rest of the world, though, busy running around and gathering samples of literally every cool looking rock I could get my hands on and unfamiliar fauna, including Nether reeds- the lava equivalent of sugarcane- and proceeded to spend the next three days weaving it into roof tiles. No regrets.

I know I'll be here a while, so I've gone ahead and built myself a nice little house on a stony outcrop. It has four wings with things like tinkering tables, my desk, a loft with my bed, and of course, the front door, because I'm not interested in phasing through walls. Again. That was a difficult month and a half.

That's about everything, I suppose. I've been building for two days. I'm going to go to bed now and probably sleep in."

The journal snapped shut with a satisfying thock, glass dinged as the cap was screwed back onto the jar of ink, wood creaked as two feet climbed the ladder, and then the little house was silent for the rest of the night and well into the morning.

[anonwyvern]

13. Dancing for CrossxEvelyn

Aaaaand

3. Holding hands for CrossxCharon (because I just know antics will happen with them 🤣🤣)

((Also I joined you Discord server 👀👀👀))

✨OTP ASKS✨

(Ohmygawd I ugly snorted at the holding hands prompt, that's some good shit 😂)

Dancing

(Cross x Evelyn)

Knock knock

Lydia lifted her head from the new schematic she was poring over, a singed eyebrow slowly rising in surprise at the sight she saw. Cross was standing just in the doorway of her workshop, dressed to the nines in a tailored dark green suit and shined black dress shoes.

He sheepishly held out a bowtie. "Ya mind? Kind of hard without all my fingers."

"Wow," she said as she wiped her greased hands on a rag. "You clean up nice." She pointed with her elbow to the suit as she quickly scrubbed her stained face. "Where in the world did you get something like that?"

Cross looked down at his formal attire, running a hand down the sleeve of his dinner jacket. "Let's just say it was worth the price I paid."

She dropped her towel and walked over, taking the bowtie in her hands and fumbling with it under his collar. "So, what's the occasion?"

He kept his chin raised slightly as she tightened the finishing touches. "...it's just somethin' I've been wantin' to do."

Lydia gave him a sly look. "Does Evelyn even know?"

"Nope."

She smoothed the bowtie and stood back to assess her due diligence before her face pinched together. “Please tell me you aren't taking her to Scuzzy’s."

He chuckled. "I bought the place last week and had it cleared out.”

Her jaw dropped. “You what?! How did you manage that?! How much did that even cost?! Is that what the guys have been doing this whole time?!"

His bony fingertip settled under her chin and clicked her mouth shut. He winked. "Helps to have some favors finally paid."

"So, wait, hold on...we own a bar?! Scuzzy's?!"

Cross patted her shoulder, slightly jostling her to the side. "You can have some fun with it when we're done, and only when we're done. Capeesh?"

She grinned. It was good to have the old Cross back.

---

Evelyn twirled in a circle, the navy blue sequins of her dress glittering diamonds along the wall. She then tapped the toe of her cream-colored heels a few times before looking upward and flashing the ghoul a dazzling smile.

"I love it. How did you know my size?" she questioned, snugging an arm around his as he opened the door of their room.

Charon softly snorted, grabbing her ass with one huge palm and giving a light squeeze.

They left the compound and walked under a rare, clear night sky, the stars just above their heads twinkling the ones on her dress. Evelyn shrugged into the merc's bomber jacket a little more closely to ward off the faint chill as they crossed the bridge separating old state lines, the Piscataqua River lapping beneath their feet and the soft lights of Scuzzy's on the riverbank heralding their destination.

"It's so quiet," she noticed, her breath fogging the air. She turned her head to his. "Do you think he'll be back soon?"

Charon nodded. "It is a simple package. I am sure he is on his way."

"Did he tell you what kind? He wouldn't tell me."

The ghoul playfully nudged her with his elbow. "He did."

They continued, her heels tap tap tap down the road as she waited for him to continue, but when it appeared he would take Cross' secret with him to the grave, she huffed and muttered to the side, "It's something totally perverted, isn't it?"

Charon halted, making her freeze in place. She blinked as he took his arm away to pull out a scarf that he then put around her eyes.

"Um, what are we doing?"

"It is a surprise," was all he rumbled, and then he carefully tightened it before leading her blindly along. "Do not peek."

The tips of her ears slightly perked up as she heightened her hearing for any clue as to what was about to commence. A door opened. The soft play of music. The door creaked closed. Footsteps. A mumble of words, too garbled and low for her to hear. More footsteps. The door again. And then-

Silence.

The scarf was carefully untied and lifted away, and she blinked at the new world she had been pulled into.

She gasped, "Wow."

Long gone was the dive bar known as Scuzzy's, the only joint this side of the water that was reputable for its distilled beers and drunken brawls. Nearly every piece of furniture had been initiated as an improvised weapon and accordingly destroyed and duct-taped back together. Mercs of all shapes, sizes, contracts, skills, and morals had come to Scuzzy's to pay their tributes with a baptized black eye and missing tooth, and now, all the blood, shit, piss, and cigarette stains had been washed away and sanded down to be reclaimed to its former Pre-War glory.

The floor was adorned with plush rugs, the furniture upholstered in velvet. The bar counter was no longer an old ship's timber nearly crumbling apart from musty wood rot, but was replaced by a marble slab that had been cut and polished. Strings of lights illuminated the once grungy, dim corners, and a pristine jukebox played Nat "King" Cole in the corner.

"I don't want to see tomorrow,"

"Hey, baby," a voice rasped behind her.

"Unless I see it with you."

She turned, her eyes growing wide and her cheeks burning warm and her heart beating much too fast behind her ribs.

"Wow," she repeated, breathless.

Cross was stunning. She drank in every drop of him, from head, to toe, every inch of well-defined muscle nicely fitted underneath the rich color of a dark green that she had only seen in her dreams of misty, old forests and their scented pines that dripped rain.

He scratched at his brow. "You ain't havin' another stroke, are ya?"

The quip blushed a shy smile on her lips, and she meekly clasped her hands together as she softly said, "You look very handsome."

"Yeah?" He grinned, fidgeting his hands in his pant pockets.

It was then that she realized he was flustered, too. It sunk a wet heat in the pit of her belly, and she nervously wrung her fingers together.

"Yeah."

He stepped forward, closing the space between them, and rubbed a hand over his bald head as he let loose a deep breath. "You're the most beautiful fuckin' woman I've ever laid eyes on," he garbled somewhat awkwardly. He then cleared his throat, shaking his head as he tried again. "Do you, uh, want a drink- shitsorryno, I mean-"

She took his hand and gave it a squeeze. "I would love a Nuka-Cola."

The merc nodded vigorously, pulling her along behind him as they made for the bar counter.

"Ya want to sit at the bar, or-?" he asked again, his rasp still unsure.

His endearing bashfulness exploded butterflies in her stomach as she pointed to a stool.

"Right there is okay."

She claimed her seat as he walked around to the front and unbuttoned his jacket to shrug out of. Her eyes glued to the swell of his biceps and the width of his forearms as he rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, the ghoul completely unaware of her ogling as he plunked a few ice cubes into a glass and popped the cap off her choice of soda.

He set the fizzing pops before her, raising a brow muscle at the hint of drool dribbling from the corner of her lips. "Ya that thirsty?"

Evelyn stupidly blinked as she wiped at her mouth and swiped at her drink, taking a sip before she could say something unintelligible. Forming a single, coherent thought seemed futile as he set an arm down to lean close to her, the fabric of his shirt pulling tight and the suspenders over his broad shoulders stretching and by God she could even see the bulge in his pants-

She choked on her drink, spewing soda to the side as she coughed and very ungracefully gargled like a warthog to clear her lungs.

Cross tapped his knuckles on the counter and took her iced drink away. "Ya want to dance?"

An inhuman sort of sound left her throat.

"...that a yes?"

She nodded after smearing sticky soda all over her lips, and he came around the counter to gently disrobe his bomber jacket from her shoulders. He set it aside, lightly tracing his fingertips down the naked skin of her spine.

"C'mere, baby."

She took his offered hand, and he pulled her towards him, gently circling them to the middle of the room and swaying under the soft light. She stepped on his foot.

"You'll one day get it," he rasped, then continued with a tease, "maybe 'fore the next bombs drop, if we're lucky."

She rolled her eyes and leaned into him, listening to the deep, smooth beat of his heart pounding in his chest as he expertly twirled them around in tempo to a mellow tune.

His hand guiding her at the small of her back crept down a bit further to grope her ass. "Ya like how we did the place?"

"It's beautiful. Is it yours, now?"

"I got it for you." When she instantly flipped her head up to stare at him, he chuckled. "Goin' to need a new name."

She tapped a finger to her lips before breaking out in a wide smile, and before he knew it, he was in love with her all over again.

"The Crossroads," she decreed.

Cross rasped thickly as he stared at the perfect view down the front of her dress, "Hmm. Got a nice ring to it."

Evelyn giggled as she pulled him down by the collar, saying with a tinge of husk, "Damn right it does."

And it was christened with a kiss.

Holding Hands

(Charon x Cross)

“Oh my God,” Evelyn breathed out as she pointed to the Pre-War kiddie's marvel just out of reach. “What the fuck is that?!”

Cross came around the side, shoving his hands deep in his bomber jacket pockets and snapping some bubbles from the gum in his mouth. “Huh. Ain’t never thought I’d see it in person.”

The neon-green ball of ooze set high on its pedestal in the middle of the dilapidated toy store glowed with all the promise of a child’s wonderment and delight. Faded posters plastered on a board that advertised the (slightly) radiated slime beamed pictures of smiling children…and a five-page, very finely printed, warning disclosure.

Cross scratched at his brow as he squinted at the barely legible liability statement, mumbling to himself, “…loss of vision, loss of limbs, addition of limbs (heh), vomiting blood, uncontrollable diarrhea-" He paused for a moment before rasping without looking up, “What’d ya have for lunch again?”

No answer, and he raised his eyes.

Evelyn had bypassed the ‘employee-only’ stanchions and was on the tips of her toes, going to make a grab for the gelatinous (not) repurposed nuclear waste.

“Hey!” Cross barked, and she froze mere inches from the ball of slime as he scolded her, “Fuck did I just say?”

Her hands instead came to her sides as she crossed her arms in a pout. “What?! It wouldn’t be here if it was that dangerous.”

“You shittin’ me?” he rasped as he pointed a bony fingertip to the piles of skeletons lying ominously around. “That ain’t too much of a fuckin’ clue for you, Space Cadet?”

Her eyes squinted slightly, the insult not sticking the landing. “Space Cadet?”

A thud of heavy boots from deeper within the cavernous remains of the store announced their third party member. Charon took in the scene and simply sighed.

“You are lucky you are immune,” was all he said.

Evelyn curtly shrugged and turned to eye her prize again, but the merc growled as he stepped forward, a human skull crushed to dust under his boot.

“I ain’t takin’ any chances,” he said firmly- no ifs, ands, or buts.

The frown of her lip dipped a little further, venturing from peeved to disappointed.

“But it looks cool,” she said sadly.

Cross’ glower slowly crumbled into indecisiveness under the pressure of her pleading puppy look. The big eyes and the quivering lip somehow seemed to always slip past his defenses, and he was soon standing before the pedestal to grab at The Ooze!

“Damn lucky is right,” he muttered under his breath as he placed a hand over the thing. It immediately swallowed his fingers, his palm, and all the way down to his wrist with a sickening slurp! He grimaced at the icky sensation of the slime having devoured his entire right hand, and he held it up and wiggled it in the air, unable to unlatch it.

“What’s it feel like?! Can I try?!” She began to extend her wiggling fingers for it, but he simply lifted his arm to keep her out of reach. “Hey!”

“Not till I know it’s safe,” he growled.

She scoffed, “Oh please, it’s a children’s toy!”

“You would be surprised,” Charon rasped flatly as he came to make his own inspection of The Ooze!

The merc held it over for him to take, and the ferryman dipped a few fingers in the squelching slime to be completely enveloped. He pulled, and Cross grunted as he was nearly tipped over.

"Just take the damn thing," Cross growled.

The muscle of Charon's brow twitched as he gave a second attempt, to only receive the same outcome.

He snarled as he yanked with more force, “I am trying.”

The merc stumbled into the man as he partially swept him off his feet, and together their captive hands interlaced at the fingers. Both ghouls shrugged the other one off and looked down at the slime, before raising their eyes simultaneously to share a single thought of I don't know what we expected. They then glanced at Evelyn just standing in her spot, her barely contained laughter threatening to burst her at the seams.

“You passin’ gas over there?” Cross rasped dourly at her flushed face and cheeky smile.

“Oh my God!” she cackled, unable to contain herself any longer as she burst wide open with a bellyful of laughter. She wheezed, wiping the tears from her eyes as she began to walk away, “Where’s that camera?!”

Charon took a step forward just as Cross took his own in the opposite direction, and both their shoulders practically dislocated from their sockets as they refused to yield to the opposing force. The ferryman whipped a glare around just as Cross snarled at him.

"Hey!" Evelyn called over from a side room. "Think I found something."

Cross grumbled to himself, "Thank Christ."

Their smoothskin came bumbling over with a sheet of yellowed paper in her hand, waving it in the air like a battle flag. "It says on this to 'Please see the manager in the event of contact with The Ooze!'"

Charon pinched his brow as Cross directed his smoldering glower to her instead.

The merc gave a quick look around, his rasp dripping with sardonic sarcasm. "Don't think he's in today."

"Do you think I'm stupid?" she bristled, and when he said nothing to refute it, she scoffed and tossed the paper over her shoulder to stomp off. "Have fun jacking each other off for the rest of your lives."

"Evelyn."

"Yeah, yeah," she snarked as she took to the stationary escalator, stomping to the upper levels without looking back. "I remember seeing the manager's office somewhere up here. I'll be right back."

The ghouls waited a few moments in silence before the merc sighed and indicated with his chin to a bench against the wall. With coordinated steps, they both came to sit beside each other, their fingers still interlocked together in the dense mass of goop.

Cross wormed around his jacket for a pack of bubblegum, popping two pieces free. "Might be here awhile."

Charon took the stick of stale gum. "I sincerely hope not."

Cross pocketed the carton away and chewed, blowing a few bubbles for a moment. They quietly indulged themselves with their treat and private thoughts, and then Cross titled his head to the side to peer up to the second-floor landing. There was no sight, or sound, and he grumbly sighed and leaned back.

"Got to take a shit," he grumbled to himself.

Charon shifted in his seat, rasping just as lowly, "...I as well."

Cross cupped his free hand around his mouth and yelled, "Hey! Fuck you doin' up there?!"

There was a sudden great big BOOM, and both ghouls jumped to their feet and whipped out their weapons, making a race for the stairs when their legs tangled together in an uncoordinated tango. They collapsed to the floor in a heap of limbs, skittering guns, and pained grunts. Cross coughed while Charon lifted himself partway with his free hand, and then they both blinked. The merc was pinned beneath the slightly bigger ghoul, Charon's thighs straddling him at the hips and their heavy breathing washing over their faces.

A thundering of feet made them quickly glance up. Evelyn had raced down the stairs, pausing for only a very brief moment to take in the scene.

"It sure as hell ain't what it looks like," Cross rasped.

A flutter of...disappointment, downturned her lips and smoothed her brow, before she seemed to have remembered the dangers coming for them and proceeded to scurry for the safety of outside, leaving the duo in their rather intimate position.

Cross yelled after her, "Hey! Evelyn!" He then growled as he put his weight in shoving the other ghoul off, "Get the fuck off me!"

They both awkwardly stood, but not without a tangle of buckles and snapping of leather straps and the laces of their boots snagging one another. Something skittering whipped their heads on a dime, and they both slowly followed the journey of a very sizeable glowing radroach crawling to the base of their feet.

Its antennas twitched, once, twice, and then it very cautiously stood on its hind end and wiggled its mandibles for The Ooze!

The ghouls shared a look.

"...do you think she will come back?" Charon rasped quietly so as not to scare their mutated friend.

The radroach continued to nibble away as they sat on their bench and waited with tedious patience for it to free them from their 'get-along' slime.

Cross squinted his eyes and shrugged his shoulders. "Probably back at Kittery by now." He then twitched as he felt the radroach chew on his index finger. "Watch it, ya little bastard."

Charon snorted. "You are probably right."

More silence, and then the merc turned his head.

"We're never tellin' anyone 'bout this."

"Agree."

[lyriumlullaby-ao3]

WIP tag game <3

i was tagged by the lovely @illusivesoul, thank you so much!!

i'm gonna tag @broodwolf221, @starstruckkittyface, @jazzmckay, and anybody else who wants an excuse to show off part of their WIP!

seriously. tag me. i love this shit lmao

okayyyy i really struggled to pick a bit to share, but then i remembered this cute, tropey scene i wrote that immediately precedes Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts in my longfic that i don't think i've shared! it's Miri (my inky) and Cullen as they're still in their awkward "oh my god i think i like you" phase lmao. hope you enjoy! <3

Miri found the gardens to be rather sterile. They were too carefully groomed, the angles made where the paths that wound between hedges met were too sharp, and the flowers seemed dull—too perfect in their appearance, and entirely lacking in their scent. It was disappointing to her, and especially so here, on the outskirts of the Dales, of all places. The Keeper and hahrens of her clan had always told fanciful stories of the beauty of the Dales at the time of Halamshiral, and while Miri highly doubted that they were completely true, these gardens could never compare even to what she’d seen in the Emerald Graves. They were too domesticated, too tamed by human hands—just as the Dales themselves were now, she supposed, all these ages since their fall. She had longed to leap from her horse and run laughing into the forests she’d seen to the south of here on their journey, tugging Solas along with her to explore all the things he’d missed during those weeks he’d been gone, and now the soles of her feet itched with the same desire. 

Still, it was quiet here, and Josephine had yet to find her to pester her about more etiquette or dancing lessons, so she supposed she couldn’t really complain. Miri contented herself with pulling at the strings of the Fade with her fingertips to make some of the plants grow a little wild, spilling out of pots and over walkways and fixing the uninspiring blossoms so that the gardens were filled with their fragrance. She had just made several new flower buds bloom on a gardenia bush, its sweet aroma wafting around her as she closed her eyes to admire her handiwork. Keeping them shut as she began stepping away to continue, Miri stumbled unexpectedly into something very large and very solid behind her. Strong hands grasped her by the arms and kept her from falling, and she jumped as her eyes flew open, spinning around and backing away quickly. 

Her heart rate slowed some when she looked up into bright eyes shining gold in the sunlight filtering through the treetops overhead and realized it was just Cullen. Miri let out a breath, chuckling as she clutched at her chest. “Commander! You startled me, I didn’t hear you approach.”

“I can see that, Inquisitor,” he hummed, that crooked smile of his pulling at his scar as he turned her usual joke back around on her. He looked better today than he had the last several weeks, even after their lengthy journey. The shadows under his eyes were all but gone, and he was freshly shaven again. His withdrawals must not be bothering him as much as usual. “Although I feel I must tell you, I’ve been here for some time, sitting right over there,” he teased, gesturing at an overly ornate marble bench behind himself where a book lay abandoned. “It was really you who approached, not me.”

“Ah, that explains it. I can usually hear you coming a mile away with all that plate and mail you wear. Don’t you ever take that off?” Miri joked back.

Cullen flushed, looking away and rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly. “What? Oh, I, uh… Of course I do, it’s not as if I sleep in it, and I do have to bathe sometimes—” his teeth clenched and his flush deepened as Miri fought back a giggle at his expression. He was so easy to fluster—he almost did it to himself. “What are you doing out here, anyway?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Fixing their horrible flowers,” Miri replied, pulling a face.

Now it was Cullen’s turn to laugh. “‘Horrible?’ What’s wrong with them?”

“They’re terrible!” Miri scoffed, rolling her eyes slightly as a smile tugged at her lips. “They’re all form and no substance. They don’t even smell like anything.”

Cullen bent over the shrub she’d just been blooming and lifted a hand to bring one of its flowers to his nose as he inhaled deeply. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—it smells like a flower,” he replied, his expression bemused.

“Well, I already fixed that one,” Miri grinned. “What about you, what are you doing out here?”

Cullen flushed again, suddenly very interested in his boots. “Ah, well, I’m… uh, keeping clear of a number of… very enthusiastic young ladies inside the chateau. And a couple of enthusiastic young men, as well, I suppose. I’m not sure exactly who they are, but they wouldn’t leave me alone. I tried staying in my room, but they wouldn’t stop knocking and calling through the door,” he sighed. “I’m hoping they won’t look for me here.”

Miri couldn’t suppress her laughter this time. “You’re… hiding? From some girls?” 

“I’m not hiding! I simply don’t want to be bothered by them, I have more import—” he cut off, freezing as the sound of several tittering voices reached them from just down the path. They sounded like they were just around the corner. Cullen’s face blanched as Miri turned to look over her shoulder, and then all at once, Miri felt strong arms wrap around her torso and she was tugged into a gap in the hedges. 

Cullen held her pressed up against him in the space between the prickly branches—there wasn’t really even room for one average sized person in this little hollow, let alone two, especially if one of them happened to be as large as the Commander was. The hard plate of his cuirass pressed against her chest uncomfortably and restricted her breathing. Or, she thought it was his cuirass, anyway—why else would she suddenly be struggling to get enough air? There wasn’t any room for Miri to step away from him, and she could feel the heat of his hand pressing into her back as she craned her neck back to look at him. He lifted one finger to his lips, begging her to stay silent, but it was unnecessary—Miri couldn’t even breathe as his lyrium tang pressed into her lungs, the smell of it like the scent of a lightning storm on the wind just before the rain began. There was no way she could have made a sound even if she’d wanted to. 

Miri watched as Cullen’s eyes darted back and forth, panicked as the voices drew nearer. His gloved finger was still pressed up against his lips, puckered slightly outwards as he silently hushed her. She felt her breath catch when his eyes fell to hers, seemingly realizing for the first time how closely he held her to him, and a flush crept up his neck as she watched, but it was too late—the voices of Cullen’s admirers were just outside their hiding spot now. If either of them moved, they’d be discovered for sure. 

Cullen didn’t look away from her as she had expected—he held her gaze for an impossibly long moment while they waited for the voices to leave again. Miri felt frozen there, unable to move even if he hadn’t been holding her so tightly. His finger slowly left his lips, the rest of them uncurling from against his palm as his hand fell to her face. Gently, he lifted a tiny braid that had fallen loose from the rest of her style and into her face, tucking it reverently back behind her left ear where it belonged. Miri shivered at his touch when his soft glove brushed against the sensitive skin of her pointed ear, making a chill run down her spine. The voices were gone—but Cullen’s grip didn’t loosen on her waist. She watched as his eyes fell to her mouth, licking his lips and swallowing hard—

And then he released her. She stumbled backwards out of the hedge, nearly straight into the gardenia bush, gasping for breath. “Cullen, what in the Void—”

“I’m sorry, I could hear them coming, I panicked, and—Maker’s breath,” he mumbled, his mouth opening and closing as he searched for words.

A nervous giggle tore itself from her throat as Miri tried desperately to find something to do with her hands—what did normal people do with their hands in normal situations? “I noticed,” she gasped, still giggling. “Why did you pull me in with you?”

“I… I don’t know,” he breathed, looking at her strangely. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine, Cullen, you don’t have to—”

“Would you just—” he hissed, his brow furrowing for a moment and his hands coming up to slice at the air dramatically before he softened and his voice evened back out, “—let me apologize? I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I wasn’t thinking, I just…”

“You just reacted. I understand. It’s fine, Cullen, really—you didn’t make me uncomfortable.” Miri was surprised at how true the words felt as she said them. A templar had just grabbed her, pulled her into a bush, and held her flush against his body—touching her rather intimately, while he was at it—and she wasn’t uncomfortable with it? Maybe she was ill, she thought, pressing her cool hands to her flushed cheeks. 

But he isn’t a templar, something in Miri whispered, making her look back up at him again to find him watching her. Cullen’s face was still flushed pink to the tips of his ears, his lips parted as if he were about to say something. Miri didn’t know how it was always like this with him—either talking over one another, rushing to speak as words tumbled out of her before she’d even thought them through, or standing stock still, suspended in silence, staring at one another as seconds stretched stiffly between them, both waiting for the other to blink first. There was something about it that made her think of an the halla she’d accidentally killed when her magic first manifested, held motionless in a pillar of ice, though still alive, straining against the magic that held it as it slowly suffocated. 

Cullen leaned slowly towards her, and for a moment, Miri’s brain blanked out as his tall frame bent over hers, his face so close she could hear the quiet sound of his breath—and then he straightened again, twirling one of the fresh gardenia blossoms from the plant behind her in his nimble fingers. He flushed a bit deeper then, looking a little unsure of himself once more, then lifted the flower towards her stem first, a question in his one raised eyebrow. 

Miri wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, her mind still scrambling to catch up after the last few minutes, but she nodded anyway, and he gently tucked the bloom into her hair where he’d just brushed it over her ear. “These are lovely, Lavellan. It would be a shame to leave them all here where no one will truly appreciate what you’ve done with them. You should take one.” 

He grew bashful then when she didn’t reply, stunned into silence. Cullen stepped back from her, fiddling with one of his gloves with the opposite hand. “Well then, I’ll, uh. I’ll leave you to enjoy the gardens. Inquisitor,” he murmured, nodding at her and then hurrying away.

Miri reached a hand up to touch the flower tucked into her hair. “Thank you,” she whispered after him, far too late. He was already gone.

[liminalpebble]

The Refugee: Chapter 9

Masterlist link

As she left the room Lea felt every instinct, as she had for so many years, to run. Her impulse to avoid feelings or threats by continuing to move took over and she found her feet carrying her toward her quarters, and then passing them and continuing to walk and walk through the labyrinthine keep. Without realizing it, she was moving toward the medical wing, and very nearly ran directly into Magnus.

“Lea! What brings you out here?”

“I...I'm not sure. I just kept walking. I'm sorry. I didn't notice you there.”

Magnus detected the worry in her eyes, and her hair hanging loosely disheveled. Something felt very wrong to him. He felt his heart drop a little. What has he done to her now? He pondered.

“I'm sorry, I'm interrupting your work. I'll head back,” she said a bit absently.

“No no! It's no trouble. Are you okay?” he asked, putting an arm around her shoulder trying to meet her vacant gaze.

“Yes. Just turned around, I think.”

“It's easy to do here. I have some time. Let me walk you back.

----

“What the hell did you do to her, Loki?” Magnus said, riled pale face now ruddy with a small flush of anger. The two friends ate dinner together in their private lounge, per their routine.

Loki balked at the accusation in his voice and rolled his eyes. “I didn't do anything. Do you really think so little of me? I'm not an animal. As I said, we simply had a discussion about what her responsibilities will be. She's fine, Magnus. She's not a child.”

“No, but we are so much more powerful than her, she might as well be. Think of how terrifying that must be. To be a prisoner in a place where every single person, even the servants, could easily use magic to destroy her if she doesn't dance well enough or refuses to go to your bedchambers. She was raised hearing stories that had you haunting her nightmares. That must do things to a person.” Then more quietly he said, “And it's not a discussion when she's being ordered, especially to your bed. It's despicable, Loki.”

“Magnus, it's because of my mercy that she's even alive. I've made her comfortable...probably more comfortable and provided for than she's ever been. I've delivered her from a grueling peasant life. Isn't that the fantasy of every peasant girl, to be swept away to a palace and a life of luxury by a king? I'll give her anything she could possibly want and indulge any pursuit she could dream of. And you, my friend, have been quite the charming welcoming committee, haven't you? What a way you have with people...so cheery and affable, with your bleeding heart. I'm sure she's totally enamored with all your saccharine gestures. Let me know when the wedding is, will you? I'll either send flowers or poison your mead. I haven't decided which yet.”

“Do you ever get tired of this theatrical envy, Loki? Isn't this becoming tedious, especially for a man like you, quickly bored by everything? What about when you're bored of her? Will you just throw her away? You're envious of Thor, Odin, and now me? She enjoys my company for the same reason you do, Loki. I'm the only one here showing her some goddamn companionship.”

“That's enough, Magnus,” Loki growled into his goblet as he sipped his wine. Then with the barest smirk he quipped, “I hate you so much.”

“I hate you too, you utter prick,” Magnus huffed, but smiled.

-----

Loki decided after their odd last encounter to allow Lea some weeks to herself to adjust. Magnus recommended it and Loki thought it prudent, though it irked him to agree to it. She had several weeks to simply explore the citadel in her own time. Lea, for her part, was grateful for the reprieve in which to orient herself, although the nagging fear of a call to the king's chambers loomed in her mind. After spending days visiting libraries, arboretums, observatories, and training grounds to clear and distract her hungry mind, she felt as if she had only scratched the surface of the enormous citadel. Then one day, just as she finished dressing and preparing herself for the day, she answered the door to see the king himself.

“Ah...Lenora. Good morning. Today I'd like introduce you to the linguistics division. Are you ready? Do you need a moment?”

She was shocked to realized that he was, in fact, nervous around her. Even in her strange situation she found it a bit amusing that this menacing mage-king, who was a good foot taller than her, was looking at her uneasily, as if she might bite. He was wearing his green and leather attire again today, rather than armor or some other imposing royal uniform. His hair was carefully oiled in place, tunic impeccable, and he smelled pleasantly of pine and mint as if he had just bathed. She realized with amusement that he was trying to simultaneously impress, but not threaten her. He had considered this encounter at length and carefully, but tried to seem as if he hadn't. She actually found it rather touching. Lenora, on the other hand, wore another one of those warm simple dresses from the back of the closet. He made a displeased face as he noticed it, reaching out to touch the simple flannel.

“Do you purposefully try to still look like a peasant?”

“What's the matter with this? It's new and tidy. Why should it matter?”

He rolled his eyes. “Trust me it matters. Appearances matter.”

“I am a peasant. If I changed clothes, I'd still be a peasant in a nice dress and much less comfortable.”

“Fair enough,” he shrugged. Realizing his attempt pick a fun little fight was petering out.

The department was an odd mix of scholars and soldiers, all gathered around various reference tomes and magical glowing display boards for all to see and write on. Many contained scribble after scribble of text and notes from many different hands. There was a low but constant hum of conversation around the large hall, all focused in a similar flow, like a hive. The buzz faded to a reverent hush and greeting to their king. However, as soon as the room full of men noticed the small woman following behind him, loud grumbles spanned the room. Lenora sometimes forgot that Asgardians, for all their wealth and magic, were terribly primitive about gender relations. It grated especially on her nerves, as the Morhari were extremely egalitarian in these matters. The irrational uselessness of sexism was apparently also an annoyance to Loki, judging by how he addressed the division.

“Silence!” he bellowed, “You're biases are your own concern. We have a Morhari scholar at our disposal, a multi-front war to win, a race to solve dozens of coded messages, and at least three tongues to decipher. We need what she has to offer. If you have something useful to say, I will listen to your concerns, but I will not tolerate boorish idiocy.”

A cacophony of “Sire, but...” and “Your Majesty...surely you can't mean...” followed by indignant grumbles ensued. Loki was about to silence them again, but let them continue for his own amusement a few moments longer. Smirking with his arms crossed, he noticed Lea wordlessly elbow through the crowd to the large display board. Most of the analysts had been huddled around it in frustration before this interruption, and apparently for some time. She read it, considered it silently for a few moments, then decisively picked up the stylus to begin writing the translation in her neat precise script. When she was finished she placed the glowing stylus back on its ledge, turned and deliberately dropped a large tome with a loud crash to the floor.

Everyone but Loki jumped at the noise, turned to read the board, and shut their mouths in stunned silence. Lea simply said, “Show me the others, please”.  Loki was snickering and grinning so widely his cheeks ached.

“Miss Lenora of the Morhari, gentlemen. Please assist her efforts for the next few hours and the foreseeable future. As you were.” Loki glided out the door with long strides, stopping just a moment to nod a bemused farewell to Lea.

By the time she left for the day Lea was exhausted in every way, but it felt worth it. She had earned the respect of most of the men with her little stunt at their introduction. Now those who still glared and grimaced at least had the good sense to swallow it in order to work efficiently. Her head hurt. A servant met her on the way to her quarters to relay a message.

“Miss Lea, His Highness requests that you join him and his advisers in the banquet room this evening. He sends this gown to wear.” Lea thanked her and read the note;

If you want respect, Lenora, you have to dress the part. You've already acted the part to perfection this morning. It's time to stop looking like a peasant.

-----

The gown was not comfortable, but it was undeniably beautiful, a deep burgundy embroidered with gold; stiff-bodiced and long sleeved. In spite of the Asgardian dress, she proudly straightened her Morhari necklace and earrings. If he wanted to dress her up like a doll she would humor him, but she would retain these pieces of herself. She heard a knock at the door and, deeming herself as ready as she could be, she open it.

Loki stood before her in his green and golden armor and his long green cape. His expression matched his outfit, haughty and regal. She noticed the flicker in his eyes before he tamed it. He gave her a swift bow and kissed her hand. “You look ravishing,” he said. He knew the burgundy would flatter her when he chose the piece, and was anxious to see her in it. He did pride himself on good taste and style.

“Thank you. You look handsome...and somewhat threatening.”

“That is sort of the point.”

“This is very uncomfortable.”

“And you think a suit of armor isn't?”

“Unlike my situation, no one is making you wear it, you know.”

“My title demands it. I really need to teach you about the importance of dressing the part...show you the meaning of style, elegance, attention to detail. Oh speaking of which...”

He turned to present an elaborate hair clip laced with rubies and gold to match her gown.

She looked genuinely impressed and surprised by the gift, which pleased him.

“Thank you but I...I can't accept this.”

“You can and you will. This isn't a gift of charity. It matches the gown and it's impressive. You need to be impressive tonight. It's part of my plan to gain you some respect around here.” He smiled and said “Turn around.” Then the smile fell as they both remembered the last time he made that order and fixed her hair. He was determined to replace that memory with this one; a more pleasant one. He was brushing the long straight strands away from her face, fastening the clip behind her ear, when he noticed that she hadn't laced up her gown properly, probably not realizing that she needed a servant to assist.

“What are you laughing at?”

“Did you not ask the maid to lace your dress?”

“No. Was I supposed to?”

He couldn't stop laughing but she looked genuinely embarrassed by her ignorance.

“I'm sorry. Here...come here. God, no wonder you were uncomfortable.”

She turned again pulling her hair away from her back, as Loki's nimble fingers undid and restrung the bodice laces. She jerked a little each time he tightened the cords, not expecting the sudden tension of the corset hugging more firmly to her body, straightening her spine without warning. It excited him. He might have given a few more tugs than necessary just to enjoy her adorably clumsy responses to it. He found himself imagining how he'd love the opportunity to unlace it again, then remove the fine barrette, and allow her dark brown hair and his raven locks to fall together in a rich spectrum as they'd tumble together euphorically.

“Are you finished?”

He dragged himself reluctantly from the fantasy. “Yes. Better?”

“Much better, actually. I take it back. It is comfortable.”

Now she laughed and it was contagious, leaving them both chuckling. He realized with startling clarity that he was finally seeing her simply carelessly happy and that he would raze entire cities to her smile like that again.

Loki offered her his arm as they entered the grand but intimate dining chamber. His generals, and officers were in their formal uniforms, and bowed politely to their sovereign as he entered the room with the mysterious dark lady on his arm. Some rumors of the strange new resident had already sifted throughout the ranks. Some of the men had a look on their faces as if they were seeing an animal they had only heard about in the wild, one they thought extinct. She felt graceless. The attention of an audience wasn't new to her, true, but this wasn't an act. This was just herself, without performance or persona and it left her feeling horribly naked.

She could feel panic creeping higher and higher within her until she saw the beacon of Magnus coming towards her. He looked bright and splendid, with his thick fiery hair carefully combed and shining. His pale blue dress uniform cut a very handsome figure, emphasizing his lean height with perfect lines. The change of clothes seemed to have an effect on Magnus. He seemed less fretful and uncertain, carrying himself with a commanding poise she hadn't noticed from him before. She thought that perhaps Loki was onto something with his theory of clothing.

“Lea! Darling! You look just gorgeous,” Magnus said with the fullest, most luminescent grin. He grabbed her hands and planted a kiss on each cheek, handing her a glass of wine and toasting her with his own.

“So do you! Handsome, I mean. You look very handsome.”

“Ha. Thank you but I'd settle for gorgeous as well,” he said in his light charming way.

Loki broke in, “If you two are quite finished, I'd like to introduce Lenora to our cabinet.”

“By all means! Don't let me keep you. Sire...Lea.” he nodded to them both and stood behind his seat as they all did, awaiting Loki's address and then permission to sit. Again, Lea was placed at his left, Magnus to his right, and she wondered if he did this on purpose as some kind of formality.

“Gentlemen, I've gathered you this evening to introduce you to our wonderful new resource in military intelligence. Lady Lenora of the Morhari is a skilled linguist and has, apparently, an uncanny knack for the puzzles. Many of you will make her acquaintance, if you haven't already, as you continue to work with the division. I know our Asgardian roots have unfortunately also given us habits towards the irrationalities of bias, bigotry, and sexism within our ranks, however, you men are by my side because you are intelligent. You are certainly intelligent enough not to entertain or carry on such absurd traditional habits. Miss Lenora, we welcome you as an asset to the Laufeyson Empire”.

His pleasant speech had the undertone of a threat or command regarding their behavior, rather than an observation, but somehow this didn't detract from the grace of his words. Loki nodded to her, indicating that it was her turn to say something. Lea looked around the table to the uncertain faces of war-hardened commanders, slick politicians, haughty academics, and advisers, and steadied her nerves with a breath.

“Thank you, Your Highness. I am at your service, gentlemen.” She nodded a little frantically to Loki, pleading for him to talk again and relieve her of this. He gladly did this, clearly enjoying the sound of his own pristine voice. As soon as he finished, Magnus approached.

“To Lady Lenora of the Morhari,” said Magnus lifting his glass to initiate a toast. And Lenora, finding a courage she was unaware of, spoke a traditional Morhari toast. “ Shuni kansa...to the memory of my lost people. May I be a worthy legacy.”

The room fell to a hush as the glasses hesitantly clinked once more.

Loki broke the tension, inviting everyone to sit and begin the service of their meal. He would be angry later.

After the dinner was cleared and the company milled about the room, Lea caught the sound of one man confiding in hushed tones to another in a High Asgardian language.

“ 'I'm at your service, gentlemen'. I'm sure she is. She used to work as a whore and a dancer for Madame Beatrice, you know.”

She snapped her head to him, glaring, and said in perfect High Asgardian, “Sir, have you already forgotten my credentials? I was not a lady of pleasure, although if I were I would also deserve your respect. I would speak more kindly of my sisters if I were you, as I imagine the only woman who would endure your company would be one who is well paid to do so.”

Loki and Magnus caught everything, and smiled mischievously to each other.

“Shall I kill him?” Loki said lightly, raising an eyebrow.

“I think she already has,” replied Magnus with surprised amusement.

---

When all the other company left, the trio of Loki, Magnus, and Lea, were left to speak together  in arm chairs in front of the fire. Although they were already tipsy, Magnus brought the decanter of liquor and three tumblers over to the low table and began to pour. When he finished and sat, he raised his tumbler in a toast. “Shuni kansa, Lea. Your legacy is worthy.”

Lea smiled, clearly very touched by the gesture, and to her surprise Loki also toasted with no words of complaint. “I thought you'd be angry by now,” Lea said to Loki.

“I'm much too entertained by you today to be angry,” Loki said honestly, and exhaled a little laugh as he eased back into his chair. He went on to describe her antics in the linguistics division to Magnus' animated delight. Lea was becoming uncomfortable, even before Loki began telling Magnus the hilarious saga or her badly laced dress, so she interrupted.

“That reminds me. I want a uniform. I'm in the division. I should be wearing the same uniform.”

Loki huffed his reply. “I can't give you a uniform, Lenora.”

“Why not? Am I not doing exactly the same job?”

“You are. A better job, probably, but I can't give you a uniform because there isn't one with a skirt.”

The liquid courage had taken full effect upon Lea now. “Are you serious? You had a gown ready for me in mere hours today. Do you mean to tell me the emperor himself can't procure a simple uniform skirt? Or just give me trousers like everyone else.”

Loki sighed, “If I give you a uniform with trousers it will only detract from your goal of assimilation. These backwards Asgardian elders will be in a useless tizzy over a woman in men's clothing. Nothing will get done.”

“Remarkable. In a culture with the Valkyrie, Lady Sif, and Hela they still insist that the other women of their society adhere to such ridiculous standards. Compromise, then. Give me the appropriate uniform, and I will agree to wear it with a skirt. Is that fair enough?”

“Cognitive dissonance is a failing of Asgardians as much as anyone else. Fine! You insufferable woman. But you have to take these off.” He reached to her necklace and earrings.

“No.”

“Yes. Your only jewelry should be the badges showing your credentials.”

“These are the emblems of my credentials, and they will stay.”

“Fine! I've decided to just pick my battles with you Lenora.”

“Are you so afraid of losing to a puny non-sorcerer?”

“No. It's that I might never get anything else done and I'm a busy man.”

Magnus laughed the loudest at this exchange, although all three did a bit, loosened up by an evening of drink.

“Well, now that I've irritated you, my job is done. Good night, gentlemen,” Lea said wobbling a little on her path to the door.

Loki, drunk and tired, magically changed his armor into his pajamas. He huffed over his shoulder. “Magnus, walk her back, will you?”

“I heard that. I don't need anyone to walk me back. I'm not a dog.”

“How about if I just happen to be going in the same direction, Lea? My quarters are down that wing anyway. I need to call it a night too and get out of this damned uncomfortable suit.”

She nodded. Loki grumbled from where he was slumped on his seat, eyes already closed, long legs draped over the arm of the chair sloppily as he splayed sideways. “I swear, Magnus, she's adopting all of our bad habits. We've corrupted her terribly.”

The two laughed at that as they took their leave, and Magnus offered his arm yet again.

“That's sweet of you Magnus, but you really don't need to do those formalities.”

“And what if I just want to stumble around with a lovely lady on my arm?”

She rolled her eyes. “As long as you don't pull me down with you if you fall. I'm not a lady, Magnus, I'm a stray in a nice dress.”

Magnus stopped her a moment to look at her seriously, “Well, apparently the kitten does have claws...but, don't say that about yourself. Please. You're amazing. How can you see yourself in the mirror, like this, and not be in awe of yourself.

“I...I don't actually remember if I looked in a mirror today. I suppose I must have.”

“You absolutely should! You won't be able to take your eyes off yourself. I know when I'm in formal attire I can't pull myself away from this beautiful man in the mirror.”

She chuckled. “Now you're sounding like Loki. But you do look very gorgeous and beautiful.”

Magnus curtsied and batted his eyelashes dramatically, and they both laughed hysterically.

Walking ahead, their giggles fizzled out into a comfortable silence until they arrived at the door to her quarters.

“Thank you, good doctor. I'm here safe and sound. Will you make it to your door?”

“Ah...well unless there are suddenly pickpockets and roving gangs in the halls of the palace I think I'll be okay. It's a pretty safe neighborhood.”

She gave him a friendly shove. “Point taken. Oh...I just remembered, I can't undo these laces myself. Please help me or I'll never get out of this thing.”

“Uh...sure. Of course,” he said stepping carefully into her quarters.

She turned around for him to loosen the laces, not even considering that it could make him so warm in the cheeks or cause his heartbeat to sprint. He tried to seem relaxed as he moved her hair out of the way, so close he could smell her perfume. He fumbled a little at the complicated knot Loki had made, a little amused at how unintentionally symbolic it was. He laughed.

“What is it?”

“It's just that I'm a surgeon and I'm struggling with my motor skills undoing corset laces. I'm beginning to question my competence now.”

With his fingers against her spine he could feel her breathy laugh roll through her. He grazed the narrow line of her bare skin as the dress loosened. Her fragrance like honey and incense, made him feel more drunk, more dizzy. He longed to tug those laces all the way open and trail his lips along the tender skin of her shoulder blades, her neck, bury his face into her smooth fragrant hair, pull her close against him in a rustle of rich fabric. He found it so easy to imagine exactly the path his lips and hands would take along her body. He reluctantly came back to himself, leaving his daydream behind.

“Ah...there you go. It think it's loose enough to wiggle out of now.”

“Thank you, Magnus. I was beginning to think I might have to live in this dress,” she joked, oblivious to what ideas Magnus was suffering from, or the effect she had on him.

He simply smiled and said, “No problem. Good night Lea...and you really should look in the mirror. You ought to know how gorgeous you looked today. You look and acted every bit a lady.”

He kissed her hand and made the rest of his solitary way to his quarters in a warm and confused daze.  

@lokisgoodgirl @lokisprettygirl @gigglingtigger @goblingirlsarah (Thank you so much for wanting to come along on this journey)

[noobsomeexagerjunk]

day 5 update of my first disco elysium run! semi-blind bc i got stuck and unironically started looking shit up to progress my game

(earlier details of said run can be seen here)

prefacing this that my Harry's signature is Inland Empire, the base general stat bars going by 4 for Intellect, 3 for Psyche, 1 for Physique, and 2 for Motorics. my man's been every idealogy except fascist, teetering the line between Sorry Cop, Boring Cop, and somehow the Superstar Cop copotypes.

i hope to give my first Harry a happy enough ending but I don't want to lose the cringefail energy too much haha, the game decides!

i'll make another post or reblog when i finish the day. or game. it's the end of the week i guess

politcally my Harry is pretty centrist & moralist but i'm playing him as someone who doesn't want to be but hasn't figured out where he really wants to stand. the amnesia and shame contributes to the indecisiveness. he does want to get better as a person and craves Kim's friendship. He and I dread the gilding of the Church of Dolores Dei

- Turns out exhausting all the dialogue options with Klaasje was the way to help me finally get through Titus. I can't believe my attempts to keep my Harry from discussing anything remotely reminding him of his drug addiction (for RP reasons) kept me from fucking answers. I'm making him braver now, but more tempted to take shit in again bc I've been playing him sober besides the health and morale medicines from Frittte and he is still f r a g i l e. I failed the Authority skillcheck thrice and at that point Kim fucking spoke for me, his patience is insane

- Did not cuss out the racist lorry driver enough. Espirit de Corps has convinced me of a truth I didn't need to be reminded of (shaky backbone). I need to make it up to Kim

- Losing my fucking mind, René fucking dies?!?!? does this happen after exhausting some dialogue options or is he destined to die on Day 5??? Gaston I'm so sorry, and to think you loved him dearly.

- Took René's uniform and I gotta be real I dress my Harry up in an unholy balance of aesthetic, rp, and stats. So I went around wearing the pants from René's uniform coupled with some RCM uniform, the gift from Lena (more powerful than that bastard tie) and those red shoes from the Church. Whenever I change I make some effort to kept at least one piece of the default outfit (and will stop doing that once my Harry picks a side) and my god. Only after asking around the fishing village for Ruby does Kim pull me aside to tell me I look like a fascist. Why didn't you tell me sooner, I would've done otherwise. I agreed to change and forgot I acquired that brown detective coat. I feel like I'll start changing my clothes less bc of the sick coat (except for necessary stat boost bcs failed skillchecks have been slowing me down so fucking bad man). Goes nicely with the detective hat Annette gives me

- I can't believe how incredibly loreblocking these failed white skillchecks are giving me, like i feel some shit would have been solved so much faster had i figured them out in day 1. Took me too long to finally get our anoid dance music enjoyers to move into the Church with our radio girl. shout out crab man tiago

- Found Ruby! Died in the encounter bc I forgot to replenish my health. Bless Autosave. Ran back to Frittte to literally replenish and dress up to pump my pain threshold stat (that i gotta be real, really neglected for rp purposes).

- Ruby offing herself caught me off guard and then it clicked that I have given no reason for anyone in town to trust me and Kim. Yeah fuck, she wanted to make sure we couldn't get anymore out of her. Klaasje Klaasje Klaasje...

- THE TRIBUNAL. I mean, stopping it at the pace I was at was impossible but did I really need to walk straight into it after watching Ruby die????? Fucking hell dude. Shoutout Inland Empire for warning me as we were a few feet away from all of it, I could change up into appropriate stat clothing. I got the warning about the tribunal at Day 2 and assumed it would be happening five days after said warning, not literally at Day 5

- Klaasje fucking left. I think I understand what people say when the skillsets aren't always right <- why bother to reason???? but my Harry still persisted, even after what happened to Ruby

- I heavily debated shooting Rudd, but I wasn't sure if an even 42% would do me favors. Kim sweeping in to shoot the bastard himself gagged me. Of course you took the lead here, your volition was always stronger than dear old Harry's

- Fuck me I get shot TWICE????

- BLESS BLESS BLESS my dear lieutenant listened to me and avoided getting shot too

- I've been playing on Psychological voice mode up til Day 5 where I switched to Full. Limbic System gives me the creeps

- I chose to survive. Thank you for being there, Kim. You deserve some rest too. What do you mean we jumped straight to Day 7