#klutz will solace

[mediumgayitalian]

“Thought you might like this.”

Nico turns the thin plastic casing over in his hands. It catches the limited light from the one open window, refracting a burst of rainbow across the shadowy ceiling.

“What…is it?”

“Mixtape.” Will rocks back on his heels, hands swinging slightly at his sides. He hums idly, flicking his gaze across the room faster than Nico can track. Distracted. “Songs ‘n stuff.”

Contrary to popular belief, Nico knows what a mixtape is. CDs as well, for that matter. In fact he distinctly remembers when they came out — the transition from cassette to CD was a triumphant one. Way easier for him to save his game processes and transfer to new machines as they came. (He wonders, idly, what happened to his stack of CDs left at the Lotus. Are they still there, standing alone in his half of the room? Next to his dresser, across from Bianca’s coin and token collection? Is there enough dust in that standstill place to cover the entire living space in a thick blanket of forgotten memory?)

“I can see that, Solace. I meant — why.”

“Because!” Solace gestures grandly, hands fluttering in some particular way that means nothing, really; just accentuates his wide grin, his twinkling eyes. The rocking he’s constantly doing, back and forth, back and forth, the twitching of his fingers. Electrons on a wire. “It’s been a while since you’ve had a radio or anything, right? Figured you might have a couple years to catch up on. Might be fun.”

Nico turns the CD case over again in his hand, peripherally aware of the shifting rainbows, still, reflecting off Will’s hair now, dying it redgreengold. There’s sharpie scrawled across the surface, completely illegible except for the plethora of exclamation points, the doodle of a cat, and the chain of flowers drawn carefully around the edge.

Will is smiling so, so brightly.

“Thank you,” Nico says quietly. He clears his throat, looking away. “I’ll, um. I’ll listen to it. Tonight.”

“Great!” Will chirps. “I got lots more, I’ll stop by after my shift and you can tell me what you liked. That way you can have more input on karaoke night.”

“Oh, I’m not gonna —”

“See you tomorrow! Write down what you think!”

“— do that.”

Nico returns his parting wave helplessly, watching as he sprints down the stairs and then, for no discernible reason, cartwheels three times on his way across the common. Immediately upon righting himself he walks into a (thankfully unlit) brazier and goes sprawling, calling out, to no one, I’m okay! and bounding back off.

“How are you alive,” Nico mutters to himself. He turns back to the CD case, running his thumb across the edges. He notices, for the first time, the hearts that have been drawn along the clasps. A smile pushes its way across his face no matter how hard he tries to fight it back.

When he plays it that night, lying on his bed with his headphones tucked over his ears and his Walkman resting on his stomach, the first song is Walking on Sunshine.

He can’t fight back a smile then, either.

[tarttheart]

PRECIOUS LOVE: CHAPTER 4 - JAMIE TARTT x YOU

summary: you find solace in the arms of Richmond folk.

word count: 500 words

warnings: language, mention of pregnancy loss

-

chapter 4: you picked me up

Breakfast had been good. Keeley had brought you your usual big breakfast and there was nothing more comforting than gorging yourself on some greasy food first thing in the morning. Now, you two were sitting on the couch sipping green juice while watching some crummy TV movie.

Then, it happened. It all escalated so quickly you could not be sure of how any of it unfolded but you swore the universe had done it on purpose. Keeley knocked over her juice while reaching for the remote and your instinct had been to retrieve the book on the coffee table, fearing damage to what you had tucked inside. But with all the hullabaloo, your grip had not been tight and the unsecured print came flying out, settling near Keeley’s feet, print side up.

“Fuck, sorry, I’m such a klutz when I’m hungover,” Keeley had said as she cleaned up the mess on the table. She glanced down at her feet for a moment, doing a double take when it registered what had fallen there.

Keeley bent over and you racked her brain trying to find a plausible excuse for what Keeley was looking at.

“Babes, what is this? What’s going on?” Keeley asked, confused.

You closed your eyes trying your best to keep breathing through it all, “babes, this is an ultrasound. Your ultrasound…”

And for the second time in your life, you muttered the words “I was pregnant”.

-

Rebecca Welton was a force of nature. She had to be. Being the owner of a football team was tough enough even without adding the bonus of being female in a male-dominated industry. The woman was everything you aspired to be when you grew up (except maybe the AFC Richmond part). So, you were slightly embarrassed that the first time you met Rebecca, you had been crying under your covers.

Keeley had dragged you to bed the moment the words had left your mouth. She gently put you to bed and gave you a great big hug, letting you sob into her shoulder.

“That why you pale everytime those crappy movies have a baby in it?”

“I do—“ you started to deny before realising there was no point pretending, “yes.”

“And why you bail whenever Roy turns up with Phoebe?”

You silently nodded.

“Aw babe, I’m sorry. I don’t fully know what it’s like but I know someone who can talk to not becoming a mum when they wanted to be?”

“Sure,” you agreed quietly, focusing on your pillow.

No more than an hour later, Keeley led Rebecca through your flat to your room, quickly introducing you because Rebecca certainly needed no introduction.

Rebecca sat on the edge of your bed, “I don’t know you and you don’t know me. Sometimes, that makes it easier to talk about these things because there’s no judgement.”

You sat up, leaning against your headboard, completely aware of how frazzled you looked. Pulling your knees up and into your chest, you started from the beginning, being careful to leave Jamie’s name out of it all.

-

< chapter 3 | master list | chapter 5 >

[obsoleteozymandias]

Hi there! I’d like to ask for a twst match up!

Basics:

Gender-Female, she/her/they

164 cm tall, Virgo but doesn’t act like one, INFP

+I pride myself on being a very dedicated person. If there’s a task delegated to me, I will work my hardest to see it through, even if the end results aren’t perfect. I’m not a leader but still take my responsibilities seriously because I fear disappointment and feel like I always have to prove my worth.

+I’m slow to trust, but generally a good judge of character. I’m the person you turn to if you need to vent or complain about something. Even though I don’t have many friends, the few that I do have I am very attached to. I’m mostly a loner though, perfectly happy this way, and am introverted but not to the point of a hermit.

+Adaptable: I don’t complain much about change, and usually work well with people of different personalities and backgrounds. I go with the flow most of the time.

-I’m a very irrational person. I try, but conventional logic just isn’t my strong point. This sometimes causes other people to see me as odd or stupid/lazy because my way of thinking isn’t the norm.

-I can be absentminded and a klutz. I’m always making mistakes and trying to fix my mistakes. I’ll probably annoy some people by being really forgetful and scatterbrained. I’m always reciting things or writing lists to help me remember.

Despite my own flaws, I’d still say I’m overall a well-rounded person, a jack of all trades. I enjoy learning many different things and having a wide skillset. I adapt easily and can probably fit into most dorms.

Hobbies-

Cosplay is the biggest one. I normally don’t put too much effort into my regular appearance, but I spend alot of time putting together costumes, wigs, props, and makeup, and looking my best for photoshoots and cons. I’d love to learn how to sew or make my own costumes one day.

Image editing—mostly related to cosplay above, but I enjoy editing and manipulating pictures and experimenting with all sorts of visual effects and filters just for fun. I like taking selfies and photos on my phone too, just to edit it afterwards.

Also I enjoy medieval history, ancient mythology (particularly Greek and Roman), symphonic metal and alt-rock music, tabletop games, video games (mostly JRPGS, visual novels, and otome games), musical theater, and collecting objects (antique pens and leatherbound journals).

This one, as a stan of a certain character, was very easy. 

== Twisted Wonderland ==>

I match you up with…

Sebek Zigvolt 

Sebek is difficult to say the least. He’s rude, abrasive, and often dismissive of the abilities of others. But he finds solace in you, someone who will listen to him and give him the time of day. 

It shocks him, honestly. He’s used to being dismissed, and though it wouldn’t usually bother him, for some reason the idea of you dismissing him makes his chest hurt. 

He’s most attracted to your dedication and hardworking nature. Sebek isn’t one to give up easily (or ever), and so he’s glad the two of you match eachother in your passion for simply getting shit done. 

He’ll be honest with you about your work quality, but it comes from a place of genuine love and desire to see your best work flourish. 

Whatever you make/do, he’ll brag about it to others, even mentioning it to Lilia and Silver with the same proud smugness that usually accompanies his Malleus rants. 

Sebek may not understand you way of doing things at first, but I fully believe that he could use a change of mindset, and so as he comes to understand and respect you, he’ll begin to see the advantages and reasons why you think the way you do. 

He’ll also watch you go about your hobbies, obviously interested, although trying to hide it. 

Later in the relationship, he no longer hides his fascination with your hobbies and actively learns as much about them as he can. 

Some nights are spent with you gaming and him reading, sharing facts and stories late into the night, just enjoying the presence of one another. 

[ducknotinarow]

07 Summer Casey - Fatal Blow Meme

It was like the World went into slow motion when he witnessed his daughter being hurt. Casey stared, eyes wide and body frozen. He didn't comprehend what he just saw, but his feet moved before he could comprehend anything. He skidded to his knees, managing to catch her before she hit the floor. Casey's body was trembling as he held her, cradling her, like he once did when she was a baby...

When she was small, innocent, and with this whole life set out for her. No...no she still had a life! Casey knew it; they were Jones, they don't just give up...

"Summer darlin'," Casey spoke gently, in a comforting matter, "C'mon darlin', yer a'right...."

He spoke soothingly, to help her, and himself. He carefully lifted her, cradling her to his chest. He knew he was an idiot, but he wasn't stupid, he knew there was no fixing this. But as much as he wanted to scream and cry and hunt down the fucker that did this to his daughter...it wasn't him that mattered. It was Summer. Casey didn't want her scared.

"It's okay Dumpling...it's okay, dad's 'ere," Casey soothed, "It's okay..."

He kept his voice from wavering the best he could. He felt tears in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall.

"It's okay...it's okay..."

Casey found one solace, because he knew his ma would be there to look after her on the other side. Swallowing thickly, he pressed a kiss on her forehead, just holding her,

"Dad's got ya...it's alright...it's all gonna be okay..."

Even though, he knew things were far from okay, even though, he was losing his daughter...

| Fatal blow meme

Summer's oldest memory? She knew was of Casey her Dad. Even at such a young age she knew the sound of his deep husky voice. There was always something light about it though. Even when he got upset it was there. It's how she come to know her Dad's voice. A comfort to her since she could barely even crawl. Funny she sure whenever everyone else thought about her Dad it was always something else about him that stood out. His height, being the klutz he was, willing to go fight gang members and more with just a hockey stick, being seen as possibly insane even maybe. Not to Summer though, it was always his voice. The clam that it carried with it. For a guy that swore like it was a second language and had no clue what volume control meant. Thinking Casey's vice could be soft always was something only Summer would think when it came to her Dad. But those were always her first thoughts when it did come to Casey.

Funny in some sense that her biological sperm donor seemed to be a full opposite in just about ever way he could be. Summer knew about Hun, from stories her Dad's had told her about. Never thinking him a threat because her Dad's could always beat him. Maybe that was just some reassurance even after she learned the connection even she shared with Hun. He wasn't a threat.

Until she finally came face to face with the man. She knew she was just bait for her Dad. Year long feud between the pair but Casey didn't fall for those as much since her pop's was always with him to. It would take a lot for her Dad not to have his usual partner right beside him. Like the chance of their daughters life being at risk to lure Casey out and without the aid of the turtles. And Summer handed him that damn chance. This was all her doing all her fault, as if just being born was her crime alone. But that was how she felt and took it even to be. Made worse when her dad was thrown into the cell with her. Hun just gloating at his win and it made her hate him. Summer never hated anyone before. In her whole life. Despite everything she heard or been through herself. But Hun? the way he just tossed her Dad in as if he were no more than a discarded gum wrapper. Why put her dad through all of this if that just how he was going to deal with them?

If it weren't for her, her Dad wouldn't be in this situation. She isn't ungrateful or dumb she knew very well her Dad would do anything for her. Even do as Hun said. Come here with no back up, there was no way Pop's and and her uncles would let him though would they? Her Dad came without a word to anyone else. Because he had to for her. Was it really ever a wonder she did anything she did? The second the thought crossed her mind she followed it after all. Look who she learned these traits from. And one of them was here in this cell with her. Battered and bruised past recognition right now.

"Sorry 'bout ya movie star looks Dad, 'm sure Pop's will still think ya handsome." Summer said just grateful her dad was able to move and talk. That warmth and clam she knew his voice for was strong and in full swing. Why she was able to crack the joke she did, she truly believed everything was going to be okay. The reunion was short lived though heavy foot steps and deep taunting mockery voice and this new burning feeling in Summer only grew. Even when her Dad moved to shield her staying between her and Hun. This feeling was just taking her over like it seeped into her veins and was traveling into her heart. Everything about him she couldn't stand. Hadn't her hurt her Dad enough? going on about coming back for the second round wanting to make it worse so Summer would be there to witness it?

"Coward!" Summer finally spoke up spewing out the venom that was building up in the back of her throat. Not caring for what Casey may say to draw attention away from her. And she knew it, she knew her Dad's would do anything to keep her safe. And that just made everything going on worse for her. Moving to stand up "Acttin' 'ike some top dog but you had to use a little girl to even get my Dad here! Cause ya know he couldn't give a shit 'bout you anymore! and you Can' even make it a fair fight?" Summer mocked. Funny she was once so scared of Hun now? She saw nothing but some big joke. Though it didn't seem like Hun was taking to well to being mocked. Forcing Casey to stand saying something to Casey about teaching Summer not to run her mouth. But all his words were noting more than faint mumbling, as Summer's eyes grew large.

"Leave him alone!" Was all Summer could bring herself to do yell out as she tried to keep her grip on her Dad's arm tight, as if she could over power Hun in anyway. Summer wasn't one to give up to easy no matter, just adjusting her hold on Casey's arm holding on to him the best that she was able to do. It was all her fault all of this was simply her doing and she felt like she had to correct it. She just didn't want to see her Dad hurt anymore just for her sake of all things. She just wanted to make it up to him. For worrying him so much for being why he was forced into this whole mess. She knew her Pop's and Uncles would be here soon, he knew her Dad so well. Soon as they saw Casey was gone? they would know to come here. They just..they just had to hold out a little longer. "No!" Was all Summer could say as Hun kept trying to shake her off from Casey only growing more and more annoyed with this 'pest' as he kept calling her. And what happens to a pest?

Summer hardly felt the metal pipe slam against her skull, in fact she more felt how her grip on her Dad grew weak. Summer felt stunned at best but she manged to push the pain back. She been slammed during hockey games enough times to learn how to tough it out. Teeth grit as she found it in her to hold on to Casey again. The second she was hurt she heard her Dad. The struggle between the three of them only grew worse. Casey trying to fight off Hun for daring to land anything short of a finger aimed her way, so that hit? Was far over the line. But enough for Hun to decide he already done it once, the force of the pipe once against slam into Summer's head. This time she felt it for sure the shock from the last wearing off. At best Summer just stumbled but she held on followed her Dad's own movements as he tried to stay in between them. She knew the pair were shouting and fighting but she just couldn't let go it was the only real thought in her mind.

Another hit, and something just didn't feel right she swore for a second there she was looking at the ground and at Hun and her Dad and the same time? She squuezed her eyes shut she thought but could still see the floor? she tried to open both eyes but she could get her right eye to open now? it was like her focus was all on her left only? the whole right side of her face was in so much pain. Her mind was growing hazy as she was being shook left and right. She tried her best to focus on what was going on, She could only really see her Dad. For so reason she thought she was home, the sound of fighting was coming from the tv in the living room they must have been watching movies after one of her practices. An odd copper taste filled her mouth, must be from the overly old pot they used to cook in. There was red on her sleeve, did they eat chili or spaghetti that night? Pasta was heavy but good for carbs. She ate a lot of pasta during hockey season. It was a cheap and filling meal too though, between three big eaters. It always put her into a food coma. That must be why she felt so tried right?

"Dad" she spoke but was unheard, so she tugged on Casey's arm "Can you carry me to..bed" something smacked her again all she could hear was a ring her body grew limp and she fell heavily to the floor. Did she fall off the couch? she done it before. A lot hit her head on the coffee table once, heh scared both dad's to death. Maybe that's why her head hurt so much right now?

The whole room feel silent she just felt so tried now, practice must have been real hard. Coach only ran them ragged when he felt they were screwing around too much. Whatever they were watching must have gotten to the best scene the loud muffled sounds of yelling. A clear fight breaking out. She'll just have to watch it tomorrow must be good if neither of her dad's were telling her to go bed, she was too tried to do it anyway though. If she stayed like this long enough? one of them would pick her up and carry her to bed. Summer knew they wouldn't be able to just leave her on the floor like this. When she dose felt her self lift suddenly she notes there is no other sound going on? she'll just keep her eyes closed longer so she won't have to move on her own.

"Summer darlin',"

And there it is, that comforting tone, so full of warmth that Summer always known her Dad for. But she really dosent wanna get up she wants to stick to the act so she can be carried instead. So we'll acted she turly believes it herself.

"C'mon darlin', yer a'right...."

Did she really hit her head again? Why else would Dad be so worried. Once again she tried to open her right eye just won't she must be that tried she thinks but her left opens just fine. Unaware of the mess the right side of her face has become. The constant hits have caved it in. Where blonde roots would be seen were coated in red thick blood. Funny red was always their color, it was the color of Papa’s mask. The color Dad wore so often, a color Summer insisted was her ‘lucky’ color and there for had to always have red. And that why she would untie her papa’s mask from her sleeve and put it on to her hockey stick before a game. Summer isn’t sure why but her Dad calling her ‘Darling’ just sticks out far to much. She somehow comes to thier living room meals away and she’s right back in that cell and in so much pain.

"It's okay Dumpling...it's okay, dad's 'ere," Casey soothed, "It's okay..."

Despite that warmth and comfort Summer always felt when listening to Casey speak there something in their she hasn’t ever heard before, it’s almost like a good bye. It’s weird her Dad has told her bye before so many times why dose this hidden one? Carry such a sadness to it. Summer isn’t sure but part of her feels like even though her Dad is likely to get out from this cell and make it back home. He will be doing so by himself. She can’t even feel the feeling of his kiss on her forehead. She can’t feel anything in fact. She can’t feel that warmth that just radiates from her Dad s naturally that makes Papa and her cuddle up with him on winter nights to the skating rink as they keep hot cocoa in their hands and hr Dad, drapes the old blanket on side over each of the as they snuggle in against his sides. And papa remarks that Dad is naturally warm when ever Dad calls him a wuss because he snuck in when Dad was only trying to cover her. She wishes papa was here..not for any reason. Outside so she could tell him good bye too. She wishes she listened better to them, she thinks before letting her eye close once more.

"Dad's got ya...it's alright...it's all gonna be okay..."

It’s not though. An yet Summer finds a way to smile “I just wanna got a bed Dad, I don’ wanna walk myself.” Her act was broken but he would give in and carry her to bed like always. She was certain. Under different circumstances that is. “I’ll tell grandma hi, don’ worry.” She promises with one last breath.

[my-apollo-gies]

nico: did it hurt when you fell-?

will: from heaven? i... didn't think you were much of a flirt.

nico: no, from the top of the stairs.

will:

nico: we all saw you, will.

[spectoris]

unmasked

summary: the night your best friend comes to you for help is the night that changes both of your lives

pairing: adrian chase x gn!reader

genre: semi-angst to fluff, friends to lovers

warnings: swearing, canon typical violence, mentions of blood and wounds

word count: 1.4k

a/n: i highkey don’t like this but i’m posting it anyway yolo

It was nearly three in the morning when a figure stumbled past your apartment window. You weren’t typically awake at this hour, but work demanded a new report by eight o’clock, and you were only two thirds done. So, when you saw the shadow through your curtains, you prayed it was a trick of your tired mind. That was, until, a heavy thump landed against your front door, followed by groaning and a weak knock. Whoever was on the other side wasn’t making an active effort to get in. But then you caught wind of your name—faint, but audible, and in a familiar voice—and you threw the door open without a second thought.

“Holy fuck!”

If you hadn’t held your arms out, Adrian would’ve toppled over you. Dressed in only socks, boxers, and a t-shirt, you ushered him into your apartment onto your couch. Something warm and wet coated your hands. You absentmindedly brushed them across your sleep shirt, eyes wide when you spotted the red streaks on the fabric. You looked down at Adrian. A portion of his shirt was stained with blood, which he tried to cover with his hand. A good look at his face revealed numerous cuts and fresh bruises blossoming across his blanched skin. 

“Oh my god, Adrian, what happened?”

“Hey,” he murmured, slumped on your couch. “S’fine. Just a little boo boo.”

“Fuck, let me look.”

His limp hand fell off his side easily, allowing you to raise his shirt. Beneath the blood that continued to dribble with each cough he gave was a cut. You weren’t sure how deep it was, but it wasn’t looking pretty. His breathing was getting shallower.

“Jesus, Adrian, you need to go to the hospital!”

“No.” The hand on your wrist was firm, gripping tight enough so you couldn’t move, but not to the point it hurt. “No cops. No hospitals.”

“Are you in trouble?” You rushed to the bathroom for your first-aid kit, throwing questions over your shoulder. “Is there someone out there looking for you? Because I’m not the best fighter, so I can’t really help you.”

Kneeling by his side, you began cleaning his wound, brows furrowed each time he winced and hissed at the pain. This wasn’t from a fall or an accident. Adrian wasn’t that much of a klutz, and despite what everyone thought, he wasn’t utterly stupid. What could’ve possibly led to this? 

Most of the blood had been mopped up. The wound was clearer now; it didn’t seem too threatening, nothing a few stitches couldn’t fix. Still, your worry remained. Of course it would. You hadn’t known Adrian for that long, only a year or less, but there was a solace you sought within each other. Sure, he was ditzy sometimes, but he was fun and easygoing. There weren’t many out there you felt connected to, people whom you felt truly saw you, as cliche as it sounded. Adrian knew just the right things to say (okay, not all the time; they were wildly inappropriate most of the time). He could make you smile in the most trying of times, make you feel less shitty about your unamusing life. He was your best friend.

“Is this okay?” You cleaned the rest of the wound with an alcohol pad. Adrian’s hand reached for yours, squeezing tight as it stung his skin. 

“I’m okay,” he sighed. His voice sounded lighter, inching back to his typical chipper self. Your shoulders lost some of their tension.

“So…are you going to tell me what happened?”

You tried your best to lighten the atmosphere, cracking a small smile and wiggling your finger in his face. His stayed stoic aside from his bottom lip caught between his teeth. He was wrestling himself over something, eyes staring through your door which remained ajar.

“I-If I do,” Adrian whispered. “Do you promise not to tell anyone? And I mean it—not a single person.”

“Of course.”

“Look outside.”

There was nothing in sight besides the parking lot and overhead lights. Then it was there, a heap of black and blue beside your door. In the middle, a glimpse of red. Gingerly, you bent down to pick it up, taking a moment to realize a mask was in your hands. Your thumb ran over its red visor, then you froze. A chill shot up your spine.

“Y/N..?”

No. 

Of all people, it had to be Adrian. Adrian Chase, the man on your couch. Adrian Chase, your best friend. Adrian Chase. Vigilante.

You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, until his voice called you back inside. The mask remained in your shaky grip, speckled with blood and dirt. You weren’t sure what was on his face. Concern? Guilt? Or hiding the fact he was going to kill you next? Whatever it was, you hovered above him, eyes empty, tongue dry, unable to form a coherent sentence. 

“Please tell me this isn’t yours.” You held the mask up with a quivering hand. “Please.”

The Adrian you knew wasn’t capable of this. Except, you didn’t really know him at all. He knew your full name, your favorite color, memorized your order at Fennel Fields, even the fucking time you were born. How much did you know about him? Well, he had an older brother named Gut, he worked at Fennel Fields, and…

Nothing else.

How you managed to maintain a friendship with a stranger was remarkable. Because past the surface, past everything one would learn from a single glance, there was nothing else about Adrian you could recollect. So, how much had he gathered? How much did he have under his belt, waiting for the perfect chance to strike?

Vigilante didn’t wait. If he wanted to, you would’ve already been dead.

“I’m sorry.”

His weak hand reached for yours, just out of grasp. You let the mask fall to your side and sat beside Adrian, staring at the floor. 

“I didn’t know how else to tell you.” His voice cracked. “Hell, I made an effort to make sure no one knew, and then…I don’t know. It just happened. I was there for the world to see.”

Your inhale was labored, broken by the lump in your throat and the tears in your eyes. What you were crying about, you weren’t exactly sure. It wasn’t in fear for your life—you were still in one piece, in much, much better condition than Adrian. It was…grief. A sense of betrayal. Either because your best friend didn’t confide in you his biggest secret, or the fact it was real.

“Look at me.”

Every muscle and bone was locked in place. 

“Look at me, please.”

His fingertips were light against your jaw, gently turning your head towards his. For a moment, they pass against your lips, gone as quick as they came. Adrian’s expression was soft, pleading for your to understand (as if it was going to be that easy).

“I-I know it’s crazy right now, but believe me when I say I don’t want to hurt you. I could never hurt you. Never.”

His hand found a resting place on your thigh, thumb rubbing small circles in the fabric of your pajama pants. It would’ve been a lie to say your heart hadn’t sped up, or your head began to feel light. Not necessarily in a bad way, but…different. Comfortable. And it wasn’t the first time you had felt like this.

“Do you trust me?”

A slow inhale. “I do.”

“Good.” Beneath his smile was still a twinge of worry. “Because I trust you, too. Even if you gave me up to the police, I wouldn’t be mad. Sad, maybe, but I’d respect your choice because I respect everyone’s choice. Well, almost everyone.”

There he was again, the Adrian who spoke his mind without fear. The sheer ridiculousness of it made you crack a grin and a breathy laugh, which he raised his brows at. At least you weren’t as tense. 

His tired head had fallen on your shoulder, followed by an extended yawn. He wasn’t flinching as much as before, bleeding stopped, and the adrenaline washed away. His hand remained on your thigh, unmoving and warm. You placed yours on top of his, deciding it best you didn’t move (you didn’t want to, anyway).

What would come after, this double life of Adrian and Vigilante and keeping his secret, was going to be a pain to adjust to. That you’d deal with later, you thought as your eyelids began to fall. You and Adrian would tackle it head-on, together.

[digital-corruption]

I'm not too late! It's still 2021 somewhere in the world! Ahem... this New Year’s one-shot was requested by a lovely reader who was looking for something to brighten their day. So I rolled my sleeves up and said, "Challenge accepted!"

This is dedicated to everyone who could use a pick-me-up! May your New Year be a little bit brighter each day! 😁

A Duskwood New Year

MC: Damnit! 😣

Jake: What’s wrong?

MC: I just missed the train! 😓

MC: If I wasn’t such a klutz I would have made it!

MC: But no, I had to slip on my arse! 😤

Jake: Can you take the next one?

MC: No, that was the last one to Duskwood today.

MC: First my car, now this... 😩

MC: Looks like New Years alone again. Yay me! 😞

MC: I don't even have any champagne and the shops are already closed

MC: And all I've got at home is mac and cheese

Jake: I like macaroni and cheese :)

MC: SHIT! 😡

Jake: MC?

MC: Sorry, just realized I'm bleeding

Jake: From the fall?

MC: Yeah

Jake: :(

Jake: MC, I have to go, but I'll be back as soon as I can.

Jake: I hope I can get back in time for your New Year.

Jake: Please take care until then.

Jake is now offline.

Of course I missed his final messages as I was searching my bag for band-aids. I had found some, but applying them to my elbow was a whole other story. It took 4 in the end, 3 to cover the scratch and the 4th... we don't discuss the 4th. Because of that, I didn't get a chance to say good-bye before Jake logged out. Now I was worried sick as he left urgently, which was never a good sign. Please universe, forget everything else, don’t let him get caught. I can’t afford to lose him. I sent a quick text to Jessy to let her know I wouldn’t be coming and to give everyone else my regards.

I shuffled home to my apartment building carefully to avoid further slippage on the ice. Despite having two roommates, tonight they were out at their own parties so the apartment was quiet. The kitchen was a madhouse as washing up had been neglected again, but there was no way I had any energy to do it. I dropped my bag on the one empty spot on the table and walked off to the couch.

The area around the TV was a disaster with rubbish everywhere. I pushed it all aside to collapse on the couch face first. I should’ve been driving into Duskwood right then if everything had been going according to plan. We were all going to meet up at Hannah and Thomas' house and ring in the New Year together, it was going to be great. We hadn’t seen, well, I hadn’t seen them for so long. I missed their crazy hijinks and after the stress of the holiday season, I really could have used it.

Thinking of them, I pulled out my phone and checked my contacts. Of course none of them were online right now. They were probably all sitting around the table chatting away. Had they finished eating yet? Or maybe they were already digging into Cleo’s cake since they no longer would feel obligated to wait for me.

Well, if I was going to be stuck at home alone for New Years, I was going to do it in comfort. I rolled off the couch and dragged myself to my bedroom to change into my lounge pants and my sweater. Oh and of course, my fluffy slippers.

After getting changed, I searched around the kitchen for a clean pot and my back-up reserve of boxed mac and cheese. I picked up the box and found it empty. There was a note inside, “Sorry, I'll buy you more tomorrow! I promise!” The note did not look new, I wondered how long ago my mystery thief had stolen the contents.

Then I spotted it in the back, a lone can of pumpkin soup. I did not dare check its use by date. Surely pumpkin soup never expires.

Having prepared the soup in the only clean pot in the apartment, I sat back down on the couch with the last remaining clean bowl and spoon to eat. As usual, there was nothing worth watching on the TV, but I left it on for the noise while I ate.

The only solace I had that night was the knowledge that I could go up to the roof top just before midnight and watch the fireworks from there. Maybe Jake would be back by then and I could at least share the moment with him. Maybe the day wouldn’t be a total waste.

Having finished my most luxurious meal, I left my empty bowl on the coffee table, leaned back and kicked my feet up with my fluffy slippers. The broadcast on the TV was displaying the celebrations around the world. Maybe that was enough. If Jake didn’t make it back in time, it'd just be me alone. If no one is around to celebrate with you, what’s the point. I was so lost in my thoughts I hadn’t noticed it was already 10. I checked my phone again and still nothing, but looking at Jake’s last messages gave me an ounce of hope again. I'd be there waiting for him at midnight so hopefully he would be there.

However as time past and the clock turned 11:46, hope started fade again. Still no sign of him on my phone. Please don’t let today be the day he gets caught. That is not how I want to start the new year.

Outside in the hallway there was a sudden whirlwind of loud noise and voices. Someone else on the floor must have been having a wild party and it just spilled into the hall. I groaned at the thought of having to listen to them all night long. The voices though just kept getting louder and louder.

“Here it is!” a female voice announced enthusiastically.

Suddenly there was a frantic knock at the door.

“MC! Hurry up! It’s almost time!” a male voice shouted.

No, it couldn’t be. I stood up shaking nervously.

“MC~! I need to use the toilet!” another voice butted it. There was a sound of a slap behind the door. “Hey! Ow, that hurt!”

I couldn’t help, but laugh even as tears started to well up in my eyes. I opened the door slowly and sure enough they were all there waiting on the other side.

Dan pushed past me wearing novelty 2022 glasses, a multi-coloured top hat, green feather boa, and carrying a half empty bottle of whiskey shouting, “Wooo! Finally! I was busting!”

Thomas went after him mouthing, “Sorry" to me as he went.

“I-I don’t understand,” I looked back at the others.

“The strangest thing happened! We were all about to start eating cake when a limousine showed up at the door! Then there was this strange message on all of our phones,” Lilly winked.

“Yup, it asked us to get in!” Hannah beamed.

“Well actually it said, ‘Get in the limo,’” Richy clarified. “How strange that someone could arrange for a limousine last minute on New Year’s Eve though.”

No one pointed out to Richy the obvious explanation. Doing so would bring up further questions with likely dubious answers. We all silently agreed it was better not to know.

“So, are you going to invite us in or not?” Jessy tilted her head and smiled.

I suddenly remembered the state of everything, “But I'm not dressed and my place is a mess.”

“Uh, did you not see Dan?” Jessy giggled. “He's already won the worst dressed award for tonight.”

“Yes, and your fluffy slippers are too cute,” Cleo pointed at my feet. “But you know, this cake isn't going to eat itself.”

Before I knew it the others had pushed their way in. Cleo and Hannah went to the kitchen and started to dig out some plates and cutlery to wash up for serving out the cake. Jessy and Lilly tidied up around the TV. Richy went to assist Thomas with a very drunk Dan, who was trying to get out onto my balcony. I do not have a balcony.

“You guys,” I sniffed. “You didn’t need to come all the way here for me.”

“Uh, yeah, we do!” Jessy turned to look at me with the biggest smile. “I don't know how you do things here, but in Duskwood we always go to our family in need and tonight that's you!”

“Hey, everyone! Sixty seconds!” Richy announced.

“Wait!” I called out. “We have to go to the roof! Trust me!”

“Rooftop party!” Dan cheered.

I quickly grabbed my keys and led the way out of the apartment and to the stairs. Thankfully it was only one flight of stairs to the roof.

“Hurry!” Lilly yelled. “There’s not much time left!”

I looked back and saw she had her phone out with a countdown open on the screen.

“10!” she announced.

“9!” the others joined in.

“8!”

I fumbled with the keys in the dark stairwell trying to find the right one.

“7!”

“6!”

I barely had the roof unlocked before Dan burst past me.

“5!”

I stepped aside while holding the door open to let the others through.

“4!”

Everyone was through, I turned back and marvelled at them standing on the rooftop of my building with the city’s lights behind them.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!” drunk Dan shouted at the top of his lungs with his arms stretched out on the edge of the rooftop clearly too early.

We all laughed as the clock struck 12 and the city’s sky lit up with fireworks. The laughter soon turned to singing, well more mumbling, as we desperately tried to remember the lyrics of Auld Lang Syne with our arms around each other. As soon as we finished, we started to exchange hugs and wish each other individually a Happy New Year.

But something, no someone was still missing. I glanced at my phone and still there was no update from Jake. My heart sunk again. My thoughts were interrupted though a strange sound. The others were too occupied to notice, but I heard it. I turned to look back at the door for the building and in the darkness, I could see a hooded figure in the shadows trying to catch his breath. I smiled and left the group to walk over to him.

“Happy New Year, Jake,” I grinned.

He lifted his hand to wipe my tear-stained cheek with his thumb, “Happy New Year, MC.”

[kornflake82]

I already get a good vibe from your profile oh my god- could I have narancia trying to tell his crush he likes her thank you ❤

hello! thank you so much, i’m so happy that I've passed the vibe check!! here's some orange juice for you! i based this off the song bombastic love by britney spears, so read the lyrics or give it a listen! 

bombastic love . (narancia confessing to a fem crush)

narancia was always a late sleeper, usually the last of bucciarati’s gang to dredge his way out of the bedroom while still wiping the sleep from his eyes. when he started waking up later and later, though his dedicated capo started to worry. 

“narancia--” bruno set a firm hand on his shoulder, causing the shorter man to jump before facing his superior. “b-bruno! is something wrong?” he asked, doing his best to sound alert and awake, despite having barely woken up but a few minutes prior. “narancia, i know you like to sleep, but you’re mistaken if you don’t think i haven’t noticed you waking up later each day. i’m sure you--” 

“bruno, it’s okay, i’ve just, uh, been heading to bed a little late these days. and i know, i know, go to bed sooner. don’t worry, bruno! i’ll be up and at ‘em tomorrow for sure.” narancia interrupted, not giving bucciarati the slightest chance to lecture him for something he just wouldn’t understand. bruno furrowed his brow, giving narancia a warning glare before walking off with a sigh. 

 no, of course he doesn’t understand, because bruno’s not the one seeing visions of you taking his hand while lying under the stars in his sleep, no. bruno’s not the one dreaming of you cupping his cheeks before going in for a kiss, whispering sweet nothings he would do his damndest to remember throughout the day. of course he doesn’t understand, so narancia gave him the most half-assed excuse he could understand--get off my back. 

when it came to you, narancia had only thought of you as a friend, a damn good one at that. you two had amazing chemistry on the battlefront; it was almost as if your stands were tied to each other by the red string of fate. he wasn’t the only one who took notice of that of course. hell, even bruno would be impressed by how well the two of you worked together which is why he started partnering you up on missions more and more. narancia hadn’t really realized, though, that the more time he spent with you--learning about your favorite color all the way to how you ended up alongside him in passione--he developed feelings for you. he simply brushed it off as the fact that since he worked with you the most, you became his closest confidant. 

his subconscious was desperately trying to get a hold of him, trying to make him realize not to compromise his true feelings, the fact that he and you should be--

“nara!!” you eagerly bounded up to him, greeting him with the bright smile he loved so much. “o-oh, y/n! what are you up to?” the faint blush on his cheeks deepened the longer he looked at you. your voice lingered in his head, and for the first time since meeting you, narancia felt nervous around you. why? why now? 

“up to finding you, sleepyhead! i just got this from bucciarati-” you waved a manila folder in front of him which ended up snapping him back from his thoughts--all of you, of course. “oh! what’s this?” you gave him an exasperated look as you landed a playful punch to his chest. “all that sleeping is turning your brain to mush, nara. what else do you think it is?” you waved the folder around again, this time a little too wildly, and its contents fell to the floor with an almost inaudible thump. instinctively, both you and narancia dove for the papers; however, when both of your hands met, he mindlessly entangled his digits with your own smaller ones. “n-nara, it’s okay, i got it--” 

“OH, Y/N, I,” he coughed, trying to calm the rising panic in his voice, “I, uh, didn’t even realize i did that! d-don’t worry about the papers, i-i got it.” his lean figure visibly trembled as he quickly gathered the folder messily, clutching it tightly before his chest to keep the slipping papers from falling once more. “narancia, are you alright?” you asked, noticing the flush coloring his cheeks and the sheen of sweat accruing at his brow. the soft pads of your fingers ghosted along his arm and made all the hairs on hid body stand on end. “y-yes! yes, y/n, i’m fine! don’t worry about me, just a little, uh, sleepy.” 

you blinked at him while trying you hardest not to break into a fit of laughter. “narancia...you’re sleepy?!” narancia took a step back, now holding the folder with two hands. “uh, yeah, i think im g-gonna go splash some cold water on my face,” he took a few steps in the other direction before spinning right back around again, “oh, right! y/n, don’t you need this folder?” 

you barely had a second to even register all that transpired within the last 5 minutes, the sight of the folder being thrust back in your direction snapping you back with a start. “ah, n-no, actually, nara, bruno told me to give it to you. he told me there was something in there he wanted you to get a chance to look over before i did...something about needing you to devise a plan on your own so you can start taking the lead a little more, i dunno.” you shrugged, giving him an awkward smile before you stepped back. “well, uh, i think i’ll leave you to your planning, nara. come get me when you’re done, okay? i’ll just be in my room waiting for you.” before he could say another word you hurriedly found solace in your bedroom. 

you hadn’t noticed the burning in your cheeks and the faint tremor of your hands, but they became achingly apparent the second you shut your door behind you. was nara always that cute? your mind was racing, going a mile a minute. even when he was acting like a total klutz, you couldn’t help but subconcsiously admire the way his raven hair messily framed his face--youthful, yet prettied with age. the way his hand felt around yours lingered on you like a phantom, causing you to slide down your door like a lovesick teen. have you always cherished him this much?

**

meanwhile in the bathroom, narancia splashed his face with freezing cold water nearly 5 times. what the hell was wrong with him?! first those damn dreams, then the way the heat in his cheeks would radiate to his reddened ears when your visage hung in his mind, now the tremble of his voice? “merda, narancia...pull yourself together!” he cursed under his breath. as he crashed back upon his bed with a groan, his violet gaze met with the folder lying limp on the bedside table; of course, he forgot to even see what the hell bruno’s deal was. taking the lead? planning without his partner? it made less and less sense the more he replayed your words in his mind--though, that could be because he was too focused on remembering the harmony that was the sound your voice. 

with an exasperated sigh, narancia sat up and leaned over to snatch the folder, emptying its contents carelessly across the bed. “cosa diavolo sta succedendo?!*” in his tremblng hands was--bruno’s credit card? and with a note attached: 

“narancia, 

i see the way you smile aorund y/n, the way you lose yourself in her gaze and your undeniable dedication to her partnership. i think your oversleeping will resolve itself once you finally take the lead. 

take her out tonight--that’s an order.

-bruno.” 

narancia nearly fainted. too much was happening and too many thoughts raced into his mind as he struggled to even hold the card still enough to remove the sticky note. “so a date..he wants me to ask her on a date--” 

“nara?” 

narancia’s head snapped to the doorway, and seeing your figure frozen in the doorway made his blood run cold. when the hell did you get there? “y/n! wh-what’s up?” he asked, the tremor of his voice only making your own panic worsen. “uh, i came to see h-how you’re doing, but...who are you asking on a date? i-if you dont mind me asking!” your heart pounded in your chest as your mind pleaded not to hear another girl’s name, not to hear anyone but you. narancia glanced back to the note-- take her out, that’s an order--then back to you. “uh, y/n...” he set the card aside, getting up to close the distance between the two of you, then gently held both of your hands.

 “n-nara, i--!” he shushed you, thumb gliding gently across the back of your hand. “y/n...i’m going to take the lead now. i’m going to make sure you never have a doubt in your mind about my next move ever again!” with newfound confidence he gave your hands a careful squeeze, before continuing, “y/n, cara...well, there’s no better way for me to say this, but,” your heart burned with desire, trembling body nearly melting as narancia took you into his surprisingly strong embrace. 

“i love you, y/n. and i want to show you just how much i love you...how does tonight sound, carina?”

*what the hell is going on?

[teaspoon-full-of-sugar]

kissed by mist and can dew attitude

pairing: harry styles x reader (farmers market au)

warnings: awkwardness!! shy!baker!harry, mentions of the qu*rantine, drug use, harry's chest hair, giggly, sweet high sex, some dirty talk :) unprotected sex

word count: 3.4k

synopsis: harry is an idiot, and y/n is a bit of a tease

author’s note: you can read this for a little background to this au (but it’s not really necessary; i tend to over explain things anyway, so you can get a pretty good understanding just from this) literally no one asked for this, but market season is coming up again, and i missed writing about these two :( hope you enjoy! xx

masterlist

—

Harry is so tired of being cooped up in this house.

Don’t get him wrong, he loves staying home.

He is normally the introvert that puts all other introverts to shame. He loves staying at home, he loves hiding away after a stressful day at work, he goes out of his way to not talk to anyone while he’s out, and he very rarely ever goes out on the weekends. He loves just being able to stay at home, relax, and not worry about anyone bothering him.

But, at a certain point, it becomes too much; now, he just wants to get out, go for a walk, go to the grocery store, talk to someone other than Y/N, just do something, anything, other than staying at home. Yes, it’s for a good reason, and he doesn’t want to be responsible for the illness spreading, but it’s also straining on his mental, physical, and financial health.

He honestly wants to go back to work.

Since this entire situation started, Harry has only had a couple of shifts at The Sweet Spot, since, apparently, cafes are “essential businesses”, but the nutrition store next door isn’t (the world definitely has their priorities straight). Honestly, it was kind of nice; he didn’t have to schmooze any customers, since he only saw the delivery drivers. There was the occasional ignorant person who would come up to the doors and pull on them, despite the very clear signs saying that they were not open to the public, only to find them locked, and Harry very happily told them to go away.

However, Marty couldn’t afford to have him take up any more shifts, which he completely understands, so he’s been stuck home for weeks.

Needless to say, both he and Y/N have been getting a little stir crazy.

They tried to keep a somewhat healthy lifestyle in the beginning, hiking the nearby trails or walking at the park, but everything started to become too crowded. They even went cycling, but Harry proved to be even more of a klutz on a bike than on his own two feet, resulting in a bump on his head and a scraped elbow, which is still healing beneath a floral printed plaster.

Y/N’s had some failed experiments, leading to several four-hour kitchen clean-ups, and she also started a “Fermentation Station”, with dozens of glass jars filled with fermenting fruits and teas, the smell of yeast strong in the air. She was so proud of herself the first time she made carbonated water from things they already had in the house (“Look, Harry, it’s so convenient”). She ended up adding more and more things to her collection. They argued about it for a couple of days before she finally settled and moved her jars to the back porch after the kitchen started smelling like alcohol.

While Y/N has her experiments, Harry stress-bakes. He can’t even count how many loaves of bread, fruit pastries, cookies, and cakes he has made. He made crepes using sourdough starter. That’s how bored he’s been. He waited five whole days for his starter to mature, just to make four crepes between himself and Y/N.

But, there’s only so many things to do before you’ve completely run out of ideas.

On this particularly boring day, it’s two in the afternoon before they finally get out of bed, no thanks to their terrible sleep schedules, and they move onto the couch, which is officially broken in after how many hours they’ve spent on it. It’s sunny outside, bright and warm, the bright light beaming through the large bay windows in the living room, making staying inside even worse.

Y/N convinces him to paint his fingernails (and not just his toenails), and he happily indulges her. It’s nice feeling pampered for once, and whenever Y/N gets into her let’s-have-a-spa-day moods, she goes all out. While his toenails, painted with a pretty green color called Can Dew Attitude and a shimmery top coat on them, dried, she put some all-natural mud mask on his face, that bubbled and seeped into his skin.

“This is great for your pores,” she says as she puts a lukewarm cloth on his mask. “Not that you have bad skin. It’s better than mine, you ass.”

He just smiles, feeling the clay crack, and leans into her touch. She’s gentle, waiting until most of it is soft and pliable before she wipes it away. As she dries his face, with a towelette that smells like lavender and honey, his freshened skin, flushed and smooth, glows in the afternoon sun, his pretty eyes magnified behind a pair of thick, black framed glasses. Y/N sits across from him, her leg tucked up underneath her with his hand steady on her knee.

“It’s not gonna, like,” he pauses, glancing warily at his nails, “poison you or anything, right?”

“What?” She laughs, putting an oil around his cuticles. He leans forward, watching her carefully. He readjusts the headband, inadvertently pushing it back a little too far, until some curls slip onto his forehead. She hits the bottle of Kissed by Mist against her palm, the pale pink polish making a nice ticking sound. She starts on his nails, but not before making a comment about how cute his little pinkie is, which makes him flustered.

“It’s not gonna poison you when I, ya know, like… when I…”

He motions with his free hand, grouping his ring and middle fingers together and curling them, and he bites on his cheek, brows furrowed, trying to see any changes in her expression. He stops and shakes his head, a frail blush creeping up to his ears.

“By the way you’re reacting, ‘m assuming it’s not a thing,” he sighs.

“No, the polish will not poison me when you finger—“

“Shh,” he hushes her, pressing his hand against her lips. She pushes him away.

“Harry, we are the only ones here,” she says, finishing his right hand.

“Ya know what that mouth does to me,” he mutters.

“Really? You get turned on when I say, ‘finger me’?”

“Ya know I do,” he pouts, grappling for her. His hands twist the thick cotton of her jumper for only a second before she’s scooting away, swatting at him.

“No, H, your nails are still wet,” she says, and he groans, sinking back into the couch cushions.

“So bored.”

“Everyone is,” she says, filing down his left thumb nail.

“Wanna get high?”

He just wants to stop this feeling of absolute boredom. It’s better since Y/N is here with him, but it’s getting to a certain point where he’s willing to do just about anything to feel, well, anything.

One night, they tried her “prison wine”, which was just cranberry cocktail and yeast that fermented for a couple of days; it tasted worse than it sounds. It did, however, get them very drunk, and they woke up the next morning with pounding headaches, upset stomach, and purple stained lips. It was honestly the worst hangover he’s ever had, and he vowed to never try it again.

Getting stoned has then become a regular thing. On those horribly boring nights where they had absolutely nothing to do, where they’ve both been on the couch for hours, not being able to find the willpower to move, and on those nights where they just wanted to feel and simply be elsewhere, they found solace in the warming daze.

She grins.

“Sure, I think we still have some gummies,” she says, moving toward their “special” drawer in the side table.

“Only a half this time, lovie,” he says as she turns back, and she rolls her eyes.

“They were a lot stronger than the other ones,” she says, ripping the poorly stuck tape from the plastic packaging.

“I know,” he smiles, popping the candy in his mouth. She sits back down beside him, her leg thrown over his lap. He moves his hand dangerously close to her inner thigh, his fingers dancing along the length of her thigh until they reach the hem of her panties, tugging at the material until it snaps back. He’s so close to feeling her warmth, if only he moves just a little further, but she yanks his hand back, puts it on her knee, and gives him a smug little smile, continuing her work.

It takes an hour, or two more coats of nail polish, for the edibles to kick in, but when they do, Harry thinks he pissed himself. Forgetting about Y/N’s leg across his lap, he mistakes her warmth as pee, and he jerks up, jolting her. She looks up at him, blinking. There’s a strip of white polish on the side of his thumb.

“You are so good at this,” he says slowly. He honestly couldn’t imagine painting such tiny details if he were sober; he doesn’t know how she’s doing it stoned. She’s swaying and blinking slowly, but she looks focused, her brows furrowed.

“You’re good at this,” she mumbles.

“What?” He laughs.

“I don’t know,” she says. “It’s easy if I can concentrate.” Her eyes flicker up to his, a smirk curled over her lips.

“‘M I distracting you?” He raises a brow.

“I can feel your cock,” she says.

“Please, don’t say cock while you’re touching my cock,” he says, readjusting his growing bulge. She just chuckles and moves her foot along his boxers, where his semi and the top of his thighs connect. His hips twitch.

She barely caps the nail polish before she tosses it to the side and straddles him. He cups her hips, the fact that his nails are still wet long gone from both of their minds. She holds him by the neck, tilting his head back. Before she can capture his lips, he hesitates, his hands tracing along her thighs.

“Are you sure?”

Even though they’re practically living together at this point and have had sex plenty of times, he can’t help but ask her that same question every time. He’s never been one to feel secure in himself, and to have someone who is so open and willing to trust him, it’s overwhelming and intimidating sometimes.

“Of course, H,” she says, nibbling at his bottom lip, and then, he kisses her, fully and profoundly. He could just melt into her, his senses consumed by her warmth and love. He wouldn’t go as far as saying that the sex is better than when they’re sober. It’s great all the time, but there’s something about being high, with his skin buzzing and all of his senses heightened yet dulled at the same time, that makes the experience different. It’s different because he’s not worried about what he’s doing and saying; he’s focusing on the feeling, all of the sensations and simply her.

She tries to pull his shirt over his head, but it gets caught on the chain around his neck, and she tugs a little too hard, yanking it tightly around his throat.

“Easy, Y/N,” he laughs, holding onto her wrists. “I know you’re eager to get me naked, but I think you forget that I am also precious cargo.” Her lips sink into a pout, and he’s able to get the shirt off, throwing it off to the side, his headband going with it.

“You are precious,” she says, squishing his cheeks together. She cups the back of his neck and pecks his lips, gentle and loving. “Love these little baby hairs,” she says, running her hand over his skin, teasing and tugging on his chest hairs.

“They’re not baby hairs,” he says, pouting. He teases his hands along her hips, nails digging into her fleshy skin. “I am a man.”

“Oh, I know,” she chuckles, feeling his hips jerk up, pressing his swelling bulge into her. He wraps his arms around her waist, fingers tracing along the expanse of her back, and nestles his face into her chest. She shifts further up on his lap, fingers carding through his soft hair. Being far too lazy to take it off, he sucks on her breasts through her worn tee, her nipples hardening in his teeth. She pushes his boxers down and readjusts herself over him, rubbing her clothed pussy along his pulsing cock. She tugs her panties to the side, and he moans at the sudden warmth, her arousal coating him.

“You like that?” She asks breathily, rocking her hips faster. “Like feeling me drip onto your cock?”

“What if I just—” She teases the head of his cock, just barely pushing him inside before she pulls out. He can barely make a sound, his throat tightening when

“You like it when I tease your cock? Can feel you throbbing.” Her eyes roll back at the burning feeling of him just breaking past the barrier of her tightness. “So needy for me, bubba.”

“Such a dirty mouth,” he moans.

“Tell me, babe.” She holds him by the jaw, the pads of her fingers pressing perfectly into his pressure points, and he struggles for breath, making his head even lighter and obscured. He grins. “Tell me how much you love my pussy,” she says as she sinks fully onto him, her walls swallowing him easily.

“Fuck,” he moans, long and drawn out. His head falls onto the couch cushions, eyes closing to savor the feeling of her gripping him, but she pulls him back, forcing him to keep eye contact. “I love it; love you more, though,” he says.

“Say it,” she coos.

He blushes, heat spreading from his chest to the tip of his ears. He has never been vocal when it comes to sex; he always gets flustered and anxious when having a normal conversation, so he couldn’t even imagine how how awkward he would be while trying to talk dirty. It’s even more difficult because of how much she’s teasing him, slow and languid movements up and down his cock, his head just barely inside her before she comes back down, her hips grinding against his. She has this look in her hooded eyes, a lustful and greedy look, that’s telling him to give in to his instincts.

“Love y-your pussy, baby,” he moans.

“Yeah?” She starts riding him faster, her walls milking him. He groans. “Tell me how it feels, H.” She smirks, like an actual full blown, teasing smirk; she knows exactly how good she’s making him feel. She likes seeing him so flustered and babbly and incoherent.

“So fucking good, so warm and wet, perfect for me, lovie,” he says, and she grins, teeth bared. She kisses him, messily and harshly. His arms wrap tightly around her waist, stilling her hips, and a hand travels up the length of her spine, beginning at the curve of her bum, dipping momentarily beneath her large tee, before moving up to the back of her neck, pressing her lips tighter to his. He cradles her head while he moves onto the floor, but it’s not nearly as graceful as he hoped it would be. They crash to the ground.

“Oh, god,” she squeals, and her walls squeeze him painfully tight. Her nails dig into his back.

“Wha’s wrong?” He wipes the sweat from his forehead, fingers raking through his hair.

“No, no,” she stutters, hands moving onto the swell of his ass, keeping him still. “You’re so deep.”

He swears his arms are going to give out at the sound of her sweet little whisper, her voice weak and broken.

“H-how deep?”

He can’t help the break in his voice, and embarrassment floods him. He’s honestly trying his hardest to sound sexy, but he just sounds like an idiot.

“As deep as the ocean,” she mumbles, and she looks so positively fucked, out of it and dazed with hooded eyes; he honestly doesn't even think she realizes what she said because when he starts laughing, she gives him the cutest look, her brows furrowed, lips curled. “What?”

“Congrats,” he says, leaning back and onto his knees, his arms curled under her thighs, knees hooked over his arms. “You almost just made me go soft. Never done that before.”

“Shut up,” she says, grinding her hips into him. His thrusts start slow, deliberate, but the more she reacts to him, the more she bucks and grinds, the faster they become, until he can’t anymore, driving his cock in with fast, precise thrusts.

“You look so good like this,” he says, groping her breasts over her tee, nipples swollen and hard. They move with every thrust of his hips.

“Thanks, it’s the shirt,” she says breathily, a weak smile on her lips. “It covers up all my ugly parts.”

“Tha’s not what I meant,” he says, frowning. He leans over her, hands on either side of her head, and she lets out a weak moan as his cock moves deeper inside her. “Look beautiful all the time.” He genuinely looks sad as he brushes away a bead of sweat from her forehead. “You don’ have to take your shirt off when we have sex, not if you don’ want to. I take it off normally because I thought it would be more comfortable for you, and, le’s be honest, your tits are amazing, and I love seeing your curves and your—”

She suddenly pulls him in for a kiss, ceasing his ramblings. He’s cute when he gets all nervous; despite the fact he’s balls deep inside her, he’s still a worrier. It’s sweet that he’s concerned about how she’s feeling, even though he’s not fully present, with red cheeks and hooded eyes, chest heaving for breath. She raises her hips, grinding up into him, her swollen clit just barely grazing against his abdomen. She clenches around him at the sharp, sudden burst of pleasure.

She raises her feet from the floor, and he presses her knees to her chest. The sound of him fucking himself into her wet cunt fills the air, obscenities and pleasured whimpers joining. Not having the energy to kiss fully, he traces his lips along the curve of her jaw, tender and messy. His thrusts become sharper and deeper, knocking the breath from her lungs with every move of his hips.

“Oh, god, ‘m so fucking wet.” She laughs, feeling through her soaked curls to her throbbing clit. She really is; her arousal drips onto their thighs and into the carpet. Her head spins, burning pleasure building as he grinds into her and spreads her legs further apart.

“Fuckin’ hell—” He whines as she tightens around him, her fingers rubbing her little clit raw.

“‘M gonna come,” she moans, tugging at his hair. “C’mon, baby,” she coos, “want you to—” She swallows thickly, her breathing shallow. Her eyes roll back as she pinches her poor swollen clit, her thighs trembling. She meets his thrusts, eager for her impending orgasm. “Want you to come in me, wanna feel your cum in my—”

She lets out one loud moan, her body trembling and shuddering beneath him as pleasure rushes through her, leaving her limbs tingling and her mind muddled. They bask in the afterglow, their breaths in sync and deep, and he slumps onto her, wrapping his arms around her, tracing his hands over any piece of skin he can. He just wants to savor this feeling, the closeness, the warmth, the tenderness.

Her hand suddenly fishes over to the caramels that Harry made a couple days ago, which have been taunting her in a faux-crystal bowl on the coffee table for the past couple of minutes. The make-shift wax paper wrapper crinkles, and the sound makes him look up, his eyes still hooded, movements languid with exhaustion. He opens his mouth sleepily, and she rips the caramel in half. They both moan at the same time at the taste and fall into a fit of giggles. He moves to his side, his chest pressed to her back, softening cock pressed to the curve of her bum.

“Sorry,” he says, “messed up your art.” He flashes his nails, the pink paint still soft and pliable, littered with nicks and dents and imprints from the couch cushions. She hooks her fingers through his and tugs his hand down to her lips.

“Worth it.”

—

[lieblxng]

@undefeatablechampion​ | Moved

"Not a tablespoon?" Leon held up the spoon he was currently holding, looking towards his brothers. "This isn't a tablespoon, is it...?"

He was pants with directions with navigating, but Leon admitted that he wasn't exactly...er, a culinary genius.

“Lee, my man, you nearly destroyed the entire recipe!” [ Hop gave a sarcastic frown and took the tablespoon out of his hand and replaced it with a teaspoon. This morning the two were spending the day together; Leon didn’t know how to cook, and Hop took it upon himself to help change this. However, it was taking longer than he expected, it seemed. Despite always looking up to his brother Leon and seeing him as a nearly impossible idol to reach, whenever he was home, It reminded him that they were brothers after all; it’d calm his nerves. At least he could cook better than the former champion of Galar. He took solace in that alone. ]

“You always follow the measurements until you can efficiently eye them! I think you’re out here tryna poison us.” [ he chuckled, because it was always funny to see Leon like this. He was a klutz with a lot of things, and while that made him dangerous to a certain extend, it made him more...human. Not that Hop didn’t see him human, but he’d always idolize him to the extend where he felt like it was a shame that Hop was related to him. ]

[ That was beginning to change, though. ]

[ohbells-arc]

                                         starter call   ;   accepting   /   @herflame​

     bella knew she shouldn’t be wandering the woods alone. even if she wasn’t such a klutz, she was still a danger magnet, and despite forks being as small as it is...there was a lot of danger to be found here. but she finds a solace in these woods, woods that once felt too green now feel like a blanket, wrapping her up tightly as she tries to sort through a seemingly endless array of thoughts that won’t slow down.

   and that’s how she stumbles onto rain. though bella had spoken to her some, she’d tried to stay a little more on the fringe of it all. remembering all too well what it was like to be the shiny new person in a place like this. all she really knew was from edward muttering to her to be c a u t i o u s around the new girl. but she’d not pushed further for more information, it seemed too intrusive at the time. now though......she regrets not asking more considering the impossibility of what she’s just witnessed.

   anyone else would follow the instinct to run away. even bella, despite her penchant for walking ( stumbling ) headfirst into danger, knows she should go. if only because this feels too private a moment to walk in on. but there’s no way she can simply run without drawing more attention to herself. so she does was she does best and comes forward. “   h e y,   ” she says with an awkward wave, “   i uh--  i’m a pro at weird, so if you wanna talk about  ...   whatever that was, i’m here to listen   ...   or i can just  p r e t e n d i didn’t see anything   ...   ” of course that wasn’t really true, curiosity did tend to get the better of her more often than not.

[warlocks-and-warkeys]

Name: Kayen Serrano

Race/Class/Alignment: Neutral Good Human Variant Eldritch Knight

Vitals: shaggy blonde hair, green eyes, perpetual five o’clock shadow, tall and lanky, horrible posture, will do his best to go an entire day without having to get dressed in anything fancier than his pajamas, in possession of an intensely well-loved, floppy-brimmed hat that he refuses to part with (I use Urahara Kisuke from Bleach as reference for him because I can’t draw >< )

Personality: Kayen is first and foremost a DAD. Frequently an overprotective worrywart with nonexistent fashion sense. Likes to make terrible jokes but also capable of dispensing hard-won wisdom as the situation calls for it. He cares very deeply for everyone in his life, and doesn’t possess a single mean or hateful bone in his body. (That’s not to say he won’t still go off to fight and stop the badguys, but he can never bring himself to actually hate them. He turns that energy instead towards sympathy for the people they hurt.) He is quite the klutz, however, and is one of those people who plays up his own incompetence and stupidity so much in day-to-day life that he’s grown to believe it himself. Favorite hobbies are fishing and taking naps.

Bio: Kayen was a protector in service to a temple of holy worshippers when, somewhat predictably, he fell in love with one of the priestesses. This of course was against the rules of the temple and when they were found out, judgement came down swift and harsh. By then they’d had a child in secret and attempted to run away together. The priestess wound up giving her life to give Kayen a chance to escape with their daughter, and he’s been on the run from the temple ever since. He finds solace now in small-town life where he can hide raise his daughter in peace, and now and then takes on the odd adventure quest to help support her.

Quote: “You can’t go through life thinking everyone around you will one day disappoint. That’s just no way to be.”

Theme Song: “Shackled” by Vertical Horizon

Kayen is one of my oldest OCs and I have an iteration of him in pretty much every game system I’ve ever played. (He’s almost always the first one I roll up to test out a new set of rules.) I love him dearly, and only wrestle a teensy bit with the perpetual fridgeing of his significant other in his backstory. In most versions he finds love again (the poor boy falls in love fairly easily) and settles down with someone else to eventually have a son.

I love him because of his energy. He is a bottomless well of care and empathy, and is such an inherently Good Person that he frequently comes off as naive and unintelligent. But he’s competent and convicted when the situation calls for it, while simultaneously presenting a perpetually worried, somewhat manically dithering demeanor.

His earliest incarnation was as a Jedi in the Star Wars universe, so I picked spells for him based on that (and do the best I can to make his weapon a lightsaber), and the original inspiration that sparked him was, I think, this character from the manga Immortal Rain:

Gimme that good, good, grieving Single Dad energy. /rolls around in it/

[lacrossepapi]

Happiness is a Buttefly

This is set to Lana del Rey’s Happiness is a Butterfly 

Words: 2428               Ao3: Link

This was insane. Stiles felt his heart racing as he thought over the last few weeks. He’d returned to Beacon Hills and discovered that it was possible to live a relatively quiet life now that the Nemeton was appeased. That had been a shock on its own, but the larger shock that hit Stiles on his first day home was that the Nemeton was appeased because Peter Hale bound himself to it. Peter, who had always said he only stuck around for Derek and Cora, was now the only pack member to reside there full time. Stiles’ return meant that there was now two pack members in Beacon Hills year round. 

He had rushed to the rebuilt Hale House and discovered Peter sitting in a rocking chair on the porch, a soft gray cardigan around his shoulders and a steaming cup in his hands. Stiles had stumbled at the sight. Peter had always been hot, sexy, fierce, and Stiles had been attracted to that. This Peter on the other hand? Soft, warm, cozy Peter sent a pulse of want down Stiles’ spine too, in a different way but no less strong. 

He had taunted the human for stumbling before welcoming him home with a hug, cheek rubbing affectionately against Stiles’, and a soft ‘I always did like you best Stiles.’ Something in the man had fundamentally changed in the years Stiles had been away, yet Peter was still Peter and Stiles still felt so drawn to him that he couldn’t stop the invitation to dinner from slipping out of his mouth. 

The odd thing was, Peter declined the offer. Peter continued to decline his offers, even though every time Stiles visited the werewolf his actions spoke of a yearning to see and touch Stiles. Muttered things like ‘It is always a pleasure, Stiles.’ and bold statements made with heated eye contact like, ‘I don’t know why you gift me with your presence but I’m grateful.” left Stiles feeling like a ship out to sea. He was being rocked this way and that by Peter’s behavior and knew Peter well enough by now that he knew what the man was doing. 

Stiles checked the time one more time before sending Peter his location, entering the bar, and praying to a god he didn’t believe in. Maybe he’ll be able to save the werewolf from himself. 

Do you want me or do you not?

I heard one thing, now I'm hearing another

Dropped a pin to my parking spot

The bar was hot, it's 2 am, it feels like summer

Stiles nursed his vodka cranberry and pointedly did not look at his phone. If he couldn’t get Peter out of the house then Stiles would content himself to a life indoors. He’d been in love with Peter since he was seventeen. Stilinski’s fall in love fast and they stay there. They had both endured lives so dark, and Stiles had found a light, soothing solace in Peter long before the man had even looked at him twice. Peter did not deny himself simple pleasures, but he did deny himself the pleasures necessary to be healthy. Stiles had noticed it quickly, seeing past all the pompousness and sarcasm. 

Stiles followed the thought process of ‘If I’m miserable all the time, why would I deny myself any happiness I found?” and lived his life accordingly. When he discovered he was falling in love with an older man, who had enough baggage and psychological land mines to bury them both, he didn’t hesitate for a moment. Contentment was so rare in Beacon Hills already and Stiles feel peaceful next to Peter. That’s all that mattered to him in the end. In those moments of peace with Peter, Stiles was able to learn more about the man’s life than he ever thought Peter would give up willingly. 

Peter was a Scorpio, his favorite ice cream flavor was mint moose tracks, and he used to spend his days watching the pack’s children. He was the only teenager in a pack full of adults and babies, and looking at him in the light of Derek’s desk lamp Stiles could see the young man he’d been. Peter had loved taking care of his nephews, nieces, and cousins. He spoke fondly of his aunt Ruby who’d teach him about magic and the world around them while the younger kids slept. Peter had smiled then, the memory still brought butterflies to Stiles’ stomach six years later.

He was starting to get drunk on his nostalgia of a man he thought would love him back one day, and the alcohol burning his throat. 

Happiness is a butterfly

Try to catch it like every night

It escapes from my hands into moonlight

Every day is a lullaby

I hum it on the phone like every night

And sing it for my babies on the tour life

Ah ah

His phone chimed, and Stiles couldn’t resist checking it. 

Not very smart to send a murderer your location, Bambi.

Peter made jokes about being a villain, but he was no longer the half-mad man he once was. He’d more than paid for his crimes by now. 

What could you possibly do to me that hasn’t already been done? Come drink with me.

Stiles sent the message off before he could rethink it. If Peter was the villain of this story, then Stiles would gladly get caught in his traps. Stiles has had his heart, mind, and body broken and come out the other side stronger. There’s nothing left for Peter to break, not that the werewolf would even try. 

Peter had been alone for at least two years now, wrestling with his guilt and shame on his own. The man that Stiles found waiting at the Hale House was not the same man he’d left there four years ago. His trips back had been so brief the first two years, always full of fighting and fear. He hadn’t even questioned why they called him back less and less the last two years of his degree. Now, he knows though, knows that Peter sacrificed any chance at having a life outside the horrors and traumas he endured here to bring peace to his home land. Now, he knows that he isn’t going anywhere either. Stiles will stay with Peter no matter what. 

The door chime made Stiles glance up, already telling himself there was no way it was Peter, and directly into a pair of sad blue eyes that spoke of grief and fear. 

Peter had actually come to the bar. 

For a moment they stared at each other, both surprised the werewolf was there, before Stiles smiled at Peter and patted the seat beside him. 

If he's a serial killer, then what's the worst

That could happen to a girl who's already hurt?

I'm already hurt

If he's as bad as they say, then I guess I'm cursed

Looking into his eyes, I think he's already hurt

He's already hurt

The bar around them was once loud, now a quiet buzz as all of Stiles’ focus zoomed in on Peter and the wary look he had in that moment. Stiles doesn’t know what to do with the melancholy that clings to Peter, so he does the only thing he knows will work: distracting. Stiles is able to needle Peter until he relaxes and they converse as easily as they would’ve  before Peter had been left in solitude with only his inner thoughts as company. Stiles talks of his dad, and Peter informs him that Derek is currently helping an associate of Deaton’s that recently took down a puppy mill. 

They share a smile over a picture of Derek covered in fur and smiling with a freshly shaved poodle in his hands. They share a laugh over a picture of Cora hanging out the window of a jeep, her tongue out and her hair whipping wildly around head, in a jungle somewhere without consistent service. They share a kiss over a vodka cranberry. 

Stiles hadn’t meant to do it, but Peter looked so handsome in the colored fluorescents he couldn’t stop himself. He leaned fully into the kiss, his arm going up onto the bar to support his weight.

He didn’t understand why Peter had jumped back so fast, breaking their kiss abruptly, until he looked down at his now sticky arm. Of course a complete klutz like Stiles would ruin his first kiss with Peter by spilling his drink. At least it didn’t get on either of their clothes. 

When Stiles’ eyes found Peter’s again, the older man wasn’t making eye contact and seemed to be disappointed. Stiles hurriedly apologized for being an idiot and knocking over his drink, but Peter just admonished him for calling himself an idiot. 

The werewolf decided it was time to go, no word of their kiss. Stiles was four vodka cranberries in and more than a little drunk, which meant a tantrum when they got outside. 

Peter really started it by wrapping Stiles in his cardigan before ushering him into a taxi. He refused to let the other man shut the door and part ways. He demanded to know why he couldn’t ride home with Peter. When Peter pointed out that he drove his motorcycle, which Stiles hadn’t even known the man owned, Stiles protested that he wasn’t too drunk to ride on the back. 

“What’s the real problem, Stiles? You’re not like this, even when you are drunk.” Peter’s worry was clear in his breathtaking eyes. 

“I’m not that drunk.” He muttered petulantly, getting out of the taxi. 

When Peter only stared at him, he sighed, “I just wanted to spend more time with you. We could go dancing if you won’t let me ride your motorcycle?” 

Peter smiled sadly at him and shook his head before motioning for Stiles to follow him to Stiles’ Jeep. 

I said, "Don't be a jerk, don't call me a taxi"

Sitting in your sweatshirt, crying in the backseat

Ooh

I just wanna dance with you

Hollywood and Vine, Black Rabbit in the alley

I just wanna hold you tight down the avenue

I just wanna dance with you

I just wanna dance with you

Baby, I just wanna dance (dance)

With you (dance)

Baby, I just wanna dance (dance)

With you

Peter took them to downtown and parked across from Jungle, apprehension noticeable in his movements. A war was being fought in Peter’s mind, and Stiles could only hope things would come out in his favor. They entered the club hand in hand and made their way to the bar, one more shot before show time. Stiles nodded to himself before slipping his fingers between Peter’s and gently pulling the man onto the dance floor. Something in Peter had changed the minute he realized he wasn’t going to back out of this night with Stiles and the events unfolding between them. Gone was the soft, melancholy of a man twice abandoned and left to live with ghost, and in his place was the predator Stiles had first fallen in love with. 

Peter smirked at him before he spun Stiles around and roughly pulled him against the werewolf’s chest. 

“Dance for me, Stiles.” 

The words went straight to Stiles groin, but also to the part of his brain that reveled in Peter’s aggressive behavior. The part of his brain that held tightly onto the memories of Peter’s aggression saving his life more than once. 

The two of them danced until last call and lights up, shuffling out with the other stragglers, the embarrassed grins of new lovers on their faces. 

They drove down the boulevard with their windows down and their hands intertwined. 

Left the canyon, drove to the club

I was one thing, now I'm being another

Go down to Sunset in the truck

I'll pick you up if you're in town on the corner

Ah ah

They made it back to the Hale House and Stiles could see the doubt creeping back into Peter’s eyes. He left the werewolf to over think alone in the Jeep and made his way inside the restored pack house. When Peter finally came inside it seemed like he was about to apologize or something equally unwarranted, so Stiles rushed to inform him that he was indeed allowed to be happy. 

Peter’s shoulders sagged as a breath whooshed out of him in defeat. He made his way over to the couch and sat heavily down next to Stiles. The older man tried to say that Stiles didn’t understand,  but the human was more than equipped to understand and handle Peter’s grief. 

“Peter look at me.” Stiles had to repeat himself twice before Peter finally made eye contact. 

“You deserve to be happy. You have paid for your crimes tenfold. Do you honestly believe your family would want you to punish yourself this way?” 

Peter could only choke out his niece’s name before sinking to his knees at Stiles’ feet. The human ran his finger slowly through the werewolf’s hair as he spoke with absolute certainty, “You made a mistake. You regret that night, and you weren’t in control. No, it doesn’t bring her back and it won’t take away your guilt. But Peter that doesn’t mean you should live with the ghosts of your mistakes. Laura wouldn’t want that.” 

Peter’s breathing hitched as Stiles spoke. 

He let the other man grieve in silence for a while before grasping his hand and standing. 

“I think that’s enough for tonight. The Peter Hale I love would never kneel at anyone’s feet.” Peter’s head whipped up to face him, his eyes flashing supernaturally blue, “One last dance before we go to bed, zombiewolf.” 

Stiles smiled at him before pulling out his phone and putting on the first classic slow song he saw. 

He hummed along with Patsy Cline as he placed his hands on Peter’s shoulders and swayed them around the room gently. 

Happiness is a butterfly

We should catch it while dancing

I lose myself in the music, baby

Every day is a lullaby

Try to catch it like lightning

I sing it into my music, I'm crazy

Things aren’t better in one day, but they’re starting the journey to ‘better’ together. And in the end that’s what matters right?

If he's a serial killer, then what's the worst

That could happen to a girl who's already hurt?

I'm already hurt

If he's as bad as they say, then I guess I'm cursed

Looking into his eyes, I think he's already hurt

He's already hurt

[liittlemac-a]

@tazmily-family || x

In the midst of humid summer, his cherished pink hoodie often found itself discarded. As much as it was his favourite article of clothing, even Mac knew the heatstroke that would surely accompany wearing it in such weather was absolutely not worth it. Just wearing his pink sweatpants that were often paired with it was almost unbearable, but he would refuse to change those out for something more sensible. That much was down to simple stubborness.

Usually, the hoodie would get tied around his waist, just incase he was suddenly called up for a match. But he disctinctly recalled leaving it somewhere in order to wash it later on. He stalked around like a predator looking for it’s prey, brows becoming increasingly tighter as frustration bubbled. He had previously rifled through his room for it, and usually light feet stampeded forth towards the gym, expression descending into that akin of a storm with every step.

Mac used the side of his body to ram himself through the doors towards the gym, and a few pairs of eyes turning towards him at his unceremonious entrance. It was much later in the afternoon, so a few Fighters had retired to the gym for their cool-down excersizes post-match. His expression does not lighten despite the extra company, and in haste, he quickly rushes towards the lockers. Perhaps he had stashed it away, but he finds no such solace within.

He shut the locker door calmly, the lock clicking once it is shut. It’s almost eery how slow his movements become, considering how he’d previously charged in, not much unlike a bull towards a red sheet. Frustration is barreling towards panic, and even though he’s trying to slam on the brakes, there is no sign of slowing, let alone stopping. The temptation to slug his fist right into the door of the locker was almost overpowering, but he handled himself with ease.

Maybe Doc had picked it up, he tried to reassure his heightened pulse. Carefully neutral, he exited the gym much slower than he had entered, ignoring the puzzled looks from everyone else, and the subsequent quiet chatter amongst themselves about his behaviour (he couldn’t blame them, as he had been in quite the rush, but right now it was easier to block it out). Once outside the doors again, allowing them to shut slowly behind him. There’s a pause momentarily as he regained composure, followed by thought; where would Doc be right n--

Blue eyes catch sight of the hoodie draped upon small form, acting almost like a dress as the culprit wandered further down the hallway. A brief flash of anger hit him like a train, and for a second, the idea of speeding after them to cuss them out and to snatch the stolen item back seemed like a good one. Lucas is lucky his blonde hair gets recognised fairly quickly, and any anger held against him is withdrawn just as fast as it arose. Mischief replaces it, however.

His footsteps were barely audible even to the keenest of ears, head low, moving similarly to a cheetah persuing an antelope. One would think with how much of a klutz Mac was, that stealth wasn’t his strong point. But years of sneaking beneath the noses of the watchful eye of caretakers, not to mention the additional agility and lightness upon his tip-toes thanks to boxing, made it if he so desired, he could be rather sneaky.

Once he was close enough, that was when he made his move. He lurched forth, hands making a grab for Lucas’s shoulders, a loud ‘rahhh!’ swiftly cutting through the silence, followed by a cacophony of laughter from Mac. “Gotcha!” A grin formed, hands still upon Lucas’s shoulders, giving him a playful shake from where he stood behind him, before letting go.

“Been lookin’ f’ that thing everywhere...!” As if he had been holding his breath, a sigh of relief descends from his lungs. Of course, no hard feelings. He couldn’t hold this over Lucas’s head even if it meant his life. “If y’ wanted t’ nab it, y’ shoulda jus’ asked or somethin’!”

[picwew]

Ok, so, first post on the blog features my demon siblings who are based on the Eeveelutions (+ Eevee), so the nifty thing about them is that despite being siblings, they all have different elemental alignments.

Picrew used is here!

From top to bottom, we have:

Norman: Norman is the eldest brother, but honestly, he looks like the youngest. (His one solace is that Sweets, the actual youngest, still usually gets clocked as younger than him.) Being the representation of Eevee, he has no elemental alignment, and is actually pretty terrible at magic in general. He can make use of unaligned spells, such as transportation magics, but aside from that, he’s a real klutz. Fortunately, this doesn’t bother him; he prefers politics to magic anyway.

Trix: Trix is the second eldest, and his elemental alignment is electricity. As you can imagine, he’s the family’s wild child. Due to his fascination with music, rock n’ roll in particular, he brute forced his way to learning technomancy. He spends most of his time in the mortal realm, since demons aren’t exactly as technologically advanced as he’d prefer, but always makes time for his siblings.

Levi: Levi’s alignment is water, but it comes with a peculiar price. He was born with physical manifestations of his alignment, unlike any of his siblings, so in order to walk on land, he has to wear a bubble of water around his head, or else he won’t be able to breathe. This means that he was a bit more isolated than his siblings as a child, before he’d mastered his magic, and this has made him quite reclusive as an adult.

Blitz: Blitz’s element is fire, and he has the temper to match. He’s not a bad fellow, once you get to know him, but he tends to guard his heart. One too many nasty break-ups have left him jaded. However, he has a gentle soul underneath the scowl; he’s a romantic, a lover of the arts, and a clever conversationalist. Among his siblings, he’s considered one of the most beautiful--hence his struggles with love.

Umbra: Umbra is the embodiment of darkness. They are strongest during Walpurgisnacht and Halloween, as these are dates significant to demonkind, as well as on the solstices. Although their native magic is purely demonic, their strong connection to dark spirits has allowed them to branch out into many forms of witchcraft, shadowmancy, and even the necromantic arts. They are quiet, keeping largely to themselves, but not unfriendly if approached.

Myst: Myst, on the other hand, is extremely unfriendly, and he would like for you to leave. He will let you know this by projecting his desires into your mind via horrifically powerful psychic abilities. You will have a headache for days, and he will not feel sorry for you. This one is, er, best left to his own devices, as he prefers the company of books to that of other demons.

Florin: Finally, another friendly face; this family has a few too many introverts. Florin’s element is nature--flora, fauna, even the weather, if they concentrate. They have a deep and abiding love for all life, and have taken a vow of pacifism. That’s a good thing for us, because they may just be the strongest of their siblings. You’ll find them to be lively, impulsive company, charmingly mischievous and delightfully playful. If you enjoy long walks through the woods, they’re the friend for you.

Yule: Yule is almost as friendly as his twin, but much like winter, his is a quiet comfort. He speaks softly, barely above a whisper, and only ever if he has something kind to say. There is a sort of bashfulness to him, easily flustered as he is, but he’s always eager to meet his sibling’s new friends. Due to his alignment being ice, he struggles to keep warm, and laments that he is so cold to the touch.

Sweets: The youngest of the siblings, Sweets’ alignment is almost unprecedented among their kin. Rarely has a demon been born with such a strong connection to the faefolk and their unusual magics, for the two peoples have long despised one another. How Sweets came to possess such a connection, none can say--but it has granted them access to a vast variety of magics, from shape-shifting, to illusory magic, to healing. This diversity would normally make them top dog ‘round the homestead, but their frivolous disposition ensures that they never put their abilities to any good use.

[daydreamiist-a]

The moment the dismissal came through, the young woman burst out of the doors like hell on wheels. Boring, she found the entire discussion boring, and was more likely desiring to find some solace elsewhere. She accidentally knocks over someone as she keeps up her quick strides, she mentally curses herself at her carelessness, before turning over to the girl, offering a helping hand. "Geez, Sorry, I was a klutz there! Here, take my hand." Rin Yamazaki @ Flora? owo

@gcrdenofpixels

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Flora was not expecting to get knocked into and tumbling to the ground. But a girl stands above her as Flora looks up at the blonde from her spot on the ground. When she offers her hand, Flora gently takes it, and pulls herself up. She was in a rush herself so it was her own fault as well that she got knocked over.

"It's okay! I was rushing myself and wasn't paying as much attention as I should have either! Don't worry about it!" Dusting off the back of her pants, Flora looks back at the female sheepishly. She can be very clumsy herself so it makes sense.