#purchase it & leave without being tempted

[bibleofficial]

literally got off the train bought a beer & started chugging it as soon as i was out of the store

[nezuscribe]

𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙𝙮, 𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: being needy for gojo because he’s been so busy shouldn’t have lead to you desperately riding him but you know what they say; desperate times call for desperate measures

warnings: mdni 18+, dry humping, needy reader, gojo being a tease but that’s about it

word count: 1.2k

jjk masterlist

something that sets gojo off, like really off, is when you act needy. and before he can’t think clearly, you’re not always like this, right? no, he knows for sure that you only act this way when you want something from him. the way you rarely look him in the eyes, and when you do it’s with that soft pout and a hopeless look in them. 

he knows how you feel, honestly, truly, he does. he’s much rather be in bed with you, exploring the softness of your body (much like every other night), but things were due and no matter how much he wanted to put them off he couldn’t wait any longer. 

but gods be damned in saying you weren’t trying to tease, or at least tempt him. 

especially with that gloss you put on your lips shines in the dim light of his office, your skin warm to the touch as you lean against him, pawing at his thighs as you keen for him. 

“‘toru,” you murmur with a small whine in his ear, biting his lobe when you start trailing your lips down his jaw, not missing the way his breathing hitched as you grinned momentarily at the sound, “miss you so much, it’s so lonely without you.”

he can only grunt, his hand mindlessly traveling over your back, trying his best to focus on the paperwork in front of him as his other hand flexes and relaxes, trying to keep his calm. 

“don’t you miss me too, ‘toru?” you ask sweetly, your brows furrowing as you turned to sit on top of the mahogany desk, you night dress shifting upwards as you crossed your legs, giving him a slight peak of your thighs and the fact that you weren’t even wearing underwear. 

fuck. 

“i do, sweetheart,” he muttered, glancing at you as his cheeks flushes at the sight of you, “miss you so fuckin’ much but you know i got things to finish.”

you nod sleepily, your lips wobbling just a bit as you rub at your tired eyes, only wanting to talk to him for a bit before you’d got to sleep, knowing he’d wake up too early in the morning for you and you probably won’t see him until late tomorrow night. it’s difficult knowing that there probably wasn’t going to be a time this week where he could reserve just for you, but you were trying to be okay with that. you knew he’d make it up as fast as he could; but the hollow feeling in your chest was growing and you knew he could be the only one to patch it up.

“no i get it ‘toru, see you in a bit baby,” you tell him as you haul yourself off the table, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead as you go to leave, not able to turn around when you feel his grip tightening on your waist. 

you could see the war raging behind his eyes, desperation and desire mixing with necessity as he groans, gingerly guiding you to his lap as his hands find purchase on your hips. 

“fuck, sweetheart, can’t say shit like that…lookin’ at me like that,” he murmurs under his breath, his hands running across the satin that adorned your body, going up to cup your jaw to lean you to look at him, “it’s impossible to say no now, hm?” and it’s more so a question for himself as you meekly nod, not even noticing the bulge growing beneath you as you slowly shift, trying to get rid of the ache growing inside of you. 

but no matter how much his eyes glaze over or his breathing becomes choppy, he still notices the small movements, grinning softly as he brings your head down a bit lower. 

“how ‘bout this,” his cold finger traces the goosebumps on your shoulder, kissing the skin as he went down, never breaking eye contact with you as you whines quietly, “be a good girl and sit here for a little longer and i’ll hurry this shit up and go to bed with you?” 

you’re quick to nod, whispering a small yes as you collapse into his chest, your lips near his neck as your leg sprawls out over his thighs, happy with the compromise. 

but the seconds soon turned into excruciatingly long minutes and that ache only grew worse and worse, and every time he shifted in his seat or moved so you’d be more comfortable, you felt his hard on scraping by your entrance, only making the wait worse. 

so you decided moving a little won’t hurt, trying to be sleek as you grind your pussy on his dick, hoping he didn’t take too much notice of the whimpers you’d let out every now and then. 

but the throbbing only grew and so did the desperation, trying to move up and down, left or right in any way to make the empty feeling inside you a little better. 

gojo could only grin slyly, his writing seizing as his hand on your back trailing up to grip your neck, forcing you to look at him as he pecked at your lips. 

“you’re needy tonight, aren’t you?” it was a stupid question because the sweat on your cupids bow and the way your eyes fluttered shut whenever your clit rubbed against the rough material of his pants could answer for him. 

“mhm, ‘m sorry…missed you too much,” you tried to explain, grinding yourself on him as your wetness began to seep out, staining the expensive material as he let you continue, enjoying the show as you gave up, not trying to conceal it anymore as you began to ride him. 

he moved the straps of the gown down, his eyes glinting at the taste of your leveled nipples, his thumb running over both of them as he groaned drolly in the back of his throat, taking one into his mouth as you let out a cry at the feeling, shucking your pace as his tongue teased your tit. 

“f-fuck,” you whimpered grabbing onto his shoulder for support, anything to make it feel better as you gnawed on your lip, “you feel s-so good ‘toru, missed this so much,” you told him, your fingers curling into his hair as he moved onto the other breast. 

“taste so good sweetheart, missed your tits so fuckin’ much,” he said through a mouthful, his watchful eyes taking in the magnificent sight. 

with everything going on, he moved down his hand to tweak at your clit, the added sensation enough to make you lose your mind, throwing your head back in ecstasy at the feeling. the humping mixed with his added ministrations made it all feel heavenly. the nights you spent with your fingers buried in your pussy couldn’t compare to this, even if it wasn’t as much as it usually was with gojo.

“m-mmh! so good! so fucking good ‘toru!” you let out through little breaths, your chest rising and falling as his movements quickened at the sound of your moans. 

it wasn’t before long when that coil in you snapped, white blinding your eyes as you moaned with no care in the world, sounds so sinful that even gojo wasn’t immune to it. you could feel your toes curling, your thighs straddling him as your pussy clenched around nothing, your release making an even bigger stain on his pants as your breathing slowed down with your movements, sweat beading your neck as you glanced down at your lover. 

“‘m sorry ‘toru, i made a mess all over you,” you noted, looking down as your slick connected to the fabric of his pants, leaning down for a small apologetic kiss but whimpering when he pulled back, desperate for any sort of contact with him because you know that in the end you distracted him from what had to be done, “i’ll be sit still now, p-promise!” 

but he only chuckles, rubbing soothing shapes into your thighs despite his eyes holding a different kind of emotion. 

“i know you’re sorry sweetheart,” he shifted a little, his hands flying as he went to undo his buckle, sliding down the zipper as his dick sprung out, his head an angry red as it leaked down its impressive length, “but you distracted me too much and now i don’t think i can finish these papers. so how about you be a good girl for me and make up for it?”

[another-lost-mc]

Pet

When the demon brothers put you in harm's way, Barbatos steps in to save you, whether you want him to or not.

BARBATOS & gn!Reader 1.4k words | NSFW | Yandere Barbatos | Forced Imprisonment Content warnings: Yandere thoughts/behaviours, memory flashbacks, forced imprisonment, mentions of starvation/forced feeding, mentions of animal cruelty/death, minor mentions of blood, Stockholm Syndrome. A/N: Without giving too much away, their relationship is platonic in this installment. Please read the content warnings before continuing. The Creepy Castle AU [Part 3] PREVIOUS

Barbatos waits for his young master to settle into bed for the evening, and then he heads to the kitchen. The castle is quiet this time of night and he doesn’t worry about being observed. He hums quietly when he sets a tray on the countertop and begins preparing a late snack for you. 

Your appetite still isn’t what it used to be, and you can’t stomach the rich foods he would normally make for you. It doesn’t take long to heat up a piece of dry toast, and he puts a handful of plump, purple hellberries into a small bowl. Once he’s satisfied, he leaves the kitchen with the tray. He can’t help but smile - you used to be so stubborn about eating before.

When Barbatos first brought you to his room, you refused to eat everything he offered you. He knew you must be starved by now - it’s been far too long since you last ate something. You weren’t tempted by the food he gave you, or the desperate bargains he tried to make with you to get you to eat.

Barbatos did what he needed to do, and he frowned when you squirmed in his hold. “I don’t want to do this, but you leave me no choice,” he reminded you when he finally forced your mouth open to feed you himself.

“I promised to take care of you. I’m all that you have now.” He shushed you when you sputtered awkwardly and liquid dripped from the corners of your mouth.

After he fed you, he made sure you were cleaned up and kept warm. He held you close to his chest until you stopped trembling. He hoped you found his heartbeat against your ear comforting. “I’ll bring you something to eat tomorrow, so please try not to be stubborn. I don’t want to force you again - but I will, if I must.”

When Barbatos slips into his room and locks the door behind him, he sets the tray on his nightstand. He’s excited to see you after a long day by the prince’s side. Sometimes he’s able to find a few spare minutes to sneak away and see you, but most days he’s simply too busy and can’t leave his post. You occupy his thoughts when he’s not with you.

You’re still fast asleep when he checks on you. You’re buried under the plush bedding he purchased specially for you. He hides you in a dark, secluded part of his room where no one would dare think to search for you. He even modified the space with magic to make it larger and more comfortable.

You must sense his presence because you stir and blink sleepily, looking around in a daze before you realize he’s kneeling beside you. He offers his hand to help lift you out of your bed, and you greet him happily. Barbatos believes you trust him now, finally. It didn’t always used to be this way.

Barbatos flinched when you bit him. He expected some resistance from you, perhaps some anger while you adjusted to your new living conditions, but you never tried to hurt him before. 

He was livid.

“You take for granted everything I’ve done for you,” he hissed, and you cowered away from him. He wasn’t yelling, but his tone was sharp and deadly; his eyes flashed with a hint of violence. “I’ve changed parts of myself to accommodate you, because I wanted to help you.”

He glanced away, convincing no one that he was unaffected by your rejection. “Perhaps some time apart will remind you not to bite the hand that feeds you.”

In the days since that incident, Barbatos was true to his word and avoided you. He brought you food like clockwork - you started eating on your own, thankfully - but he barely spared you a glance when he left the dish by your side.

He left you as quickly as he came, and he refused to acknowledge you or speak to you. He shrunk your living quarters so they were even smaller than before, barely giving you room to move about freely, and he left you shrouded in darkness.

You were used to listening to him talk about his day, usually while he held you in his bed in the late hours of the evening. This new, unusual silence hurt you. You missed the warm candlelight of his room, and his soft voice and gentle touches. You missed him, but you didn’t know how to tell him.

Barbatos became increasingly distracted as the tension with you weighed heavily on his mind. He had no doubt what he was doing was the best for you. He didn’t want to punish you like this. He only wanted you to understand that he was trying to care for you the best he could. He knew it was worth it. He cared about you, and he hoped one day you would care for him too.

He must’ve been so distraught over you that his mask of indifference cracked. One afternoon, Diavolo sensed something was bothering him and took pity on his friend. Barbatos was dismissed earlier than normal from his duties. He wasn’t used to having this much spare time, and he didn’t want to waste this chance. It was nearly two weeks ago when you hurt him - perhaps you would be more reasonable now.

Barbatos went straight to his private quarters, but he sensed something was wrong as soon as he entered the room. He heard the rat before he saw it; it was making quiet, snarling sounds as it approached the dark corner where Barbatos kept you.

Instinct took over, and the disgusting creature didn't stand a chance. He was only grateful that you didn’t have to watch what happened next. He cleaned the blood off himself and the floor before he checked on you.

He visibly sighed in relief when he realized you were startled but otherwise unharmed. You shook with fear in the corner of your bed. Perhaps you weren’t very fond of rats either. 

“It’s gone now,” he promised quietly, eyes suddenly blurry with tears. All his anger and frustration melted away when he realized nothing else mattered except that you were safe. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here sooner. I’m sorry for everything.”

When he offered you his hand again, you didn’t hesitate to accept him.

Barbatos watches you eat and sets aside the leftovers once you're finished. He lays on his bed and settles against his pillows. He lifts you to his chest so you can rest against him.

Even he has to admit that this arrangement was uncomfortable at first, and more than a little bit strange. When he looks at you now, safe and happy with him in the quiet sanctuary he’s built for you, he’s sure now he made the right choice to bring you here.

It’s only by a stroke of luck that he’s the one that found you. The accident happened nearly two months ago. He knew he couldn’t trust your safety to Lucifer and his brothers - not when they’re the ones that got you into this mess to begin with.

Barbatos is gentle when he strokes you, and he watches you fall asleep. You’re so delicate.

“Oi, what was that for, Levi?!”

“You haven’t paid me back the money you owe me!”

You were putting alchemy supplies back on the shelf in the potions lab when you heard the demon brothers arguing nearby. You’re not sure who knocked into you from behind, but you grunted from the force and lost your balance. You stumbled forward and banged into one of the storage shelves. When you regained your bearings, you looked up just in time to see the bottles of strange liquids and substances rock haphazardly before they fell towards you.

A booming explosion rocked the floor, and your demon friends rushed towards the cloud of noxious fumes that the volatile mixture of ingredients created.

“No one is allowed any closer until we make sure it’s not dangerous—“ the professor said when he stepped in front of Mammon.

“But someone is in there!” Levi yelled. Mammon and Levi both shouted your name desperately even as the rest of their classmates dragged them back.

By the time Diavolo and Lucifer arrived to investigate the accident, there was no trace of you. The only evidence of your survival was your pact marks with each of the brothers that remained intact, but they couldn’t find you anywhere.

Barbatos strokes the little mouse sleeping on his chest with the gentlest touch of his bare finger. Sometimes he thinks about changing you back. He knows he should. It took him so long to accept you like this, but he admits that he enjoys it now. It’s difficult for him not to, not when you curl against his hand and trust him to keep you safe.

Perhaps he’ll keep you like this a little longer.

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Fool's Errand Pt 1

Part (1) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Warnings: Back to some good, ol' whump here. Minor ptsd, blood, broken nose, needles, profanity

WC: 3,183

“Damn it, get down!!”

“I am! Any lower and I'll need a kriffing shovel!” I snapped back, tempted to mute him just to hear myself think.

“I’ve got eyes on her, Cross; just focus on finding us a way in!” Even Echo's voice held the faintest rush of unease.

We'd known this wouldn't be easy. They'd caught someone – some big-name politician I hadn't made much effort to remember, but the Republic deemed them important enough to send us behind enemy lines to get them back.

The Marauder lay hidden nearly a dozen klicks away, nestled amidst brambles and fallen logs until even I struggled to notice it. We’d stolen a pair of Separatist transports to approach the black ops site without raising much suspicion and split up to search the compound faster. Tech and Wrecker infiltrated the northern side, Echo and I came in from the south, and Hunter was on his own along the crumbling remains of the eastern wall with Crosshair posted in the nearby tree line. He’d violently opposed my going in, but we had no means of knowing what kind of state our target would be in when we found them.

The politician was the least of my concerns, though. I’d been on edge since entering those transports. The ping of the metal walkways against our boots, the hum of the engine, even the color of the walls… it was just too similar. But were weren't on Agamar, and I hated how softly the others were stepping around me. I hated even more the undeniable knowledge that I needed them to.

That tension hadn’t lessened as we reached the Separatist black site. It looked abandoned; scarce buildings in such a perfect state of intentional disarray as to almost promise nothing but ancient debris and decades of dust lay within, but Tech's scans confirmed massive power fluctuations underground. It wasn't a huge compound, but it didn't need to be. Barely a half dozen structures remained standing, skeletal framework partially hidden by an overgrowth we now used to our own advantage as we crawled through the dense brush, thorns somehow numerous enough and sharp enough to occasionally find purchase in the slim crescents of skin left unprotected between sections of armor.

Echo and I had just finished sweeping through the second building in search of an entrance to the lower level when the site’s defenses suddenly roared to life. Numerous turrets burst from the soil that, mere seconds prior has shown no trace of anything beyond untouched wilds, and we’d just managed to hide behind a partially caved-in room before being noticed.

I could hear dozens of gears whirring to life just beyond our dilapidated shelter, the harsh crunch of leaves and branches breaking beneath heavy, metallic feet. Droids were flooding the site. We were pinned down by the turrets. And Hunter wasn’t answering his com.

“Can we make it to the next structure?” Echo asked, voice forced into a whisper.

“Not yet.” There was a long moment of silence, and I could feel myself tensing more with each passing second, legs coiled beneath me. “Now!” We were moving before the hushed order fell silent, both crouched so low that we were practically crawling, one hand occasionally darting to the ground in a gate more natural to some forest dwelling beast, but our awkward appearance didn't matter. The half dozen droids mere meters to our right posed little threat in and of themselves, but revealing our presence now might cause untold numbers to swarm. If they had Hunter, our only hope to free him was to keep ourselves hidden.

My legs burned from the effort of keeping up with Echo. He moved as though he’d been born for such things, body stalking preternaturally through tall grass and biting bramble effortlessly, but I still found myself watching him, worried I'd note some hint of a falter in his stride, but whatever strain the motion surely wrought upon his residual limbs was a torture to which he was far too accustomed to show amidst the threat lingering over us.

“Down!” We dropped harshly to the ground, and my every instinct balked at the helpless position. Mere seconds passed before the almost musical chorus of shifting counterweights and metallic limbs raced through the foliage just feet ahead of us. Droidekas. The nervous tension dancing beneath my skin turned to dread in an instant, ice bursting through my chest in a rush of panic. I didn't want to notice the way Echo glanced back toward me, the depth of concern that tiny movement conveyed. The droid presence was no longer a simple annoyance. We were in danger.

Was Crosshair switching between com channels to warn Tech and Wrecker lest their chatter create a lethal distraction? Were they balancing the risk of striking first versus continuing what felt like a doomed plight to remain unnoticed? My lungs ached from the effort of controlling each breath, body eager to fall into the too tempting frenzy of fear.

Echo’s hand flared out, signaling me to move around his left flank before readying his pistol, attention trained toward the sound of machinery falling into formation. I knew at least fifteen meters still lay between us and the next building; knew that he was purposefully placing himself between me and the enemy units; that, even among this squad of elites, Echo was the most capable soldier I could hope to have guarding my back, but, still, I had to grind my teeth against useless objections, abhorred at the very thought of letting him act either as distraction or delay if we were seen.

That fear surged anew at every shuffle of leaves and snap of twigs as I crawled forward, stealing one final glance just as I passed him. He couldn’t see the plea in my eyes, the order begging to scream from lips carefully trapped between ground teeth that he not put himself in danger, but he didn’t have to. With the smallest movement, he looked toward me in kind and offered the faintest nod, and that tiny gesture was enough to push me on.

He waited until several feet separated us before he started after me, and something about that, about knowing he was following just behind me granted me a confidence I had no right feeling, determination numbing me to the burn in my arms as I hauled myself through an undergrowth that showed no sign of the wear it ought to have from the abuse of concealing a Separatist base.

When the ridge of a tattered roof finally jutted above the line of greenery, I couldn’t restrain the deep sigh of relief, but I had to remind myself that any façade of safety feigned by the crumbling walls granted only a fool’s comfort and forced myself to pause just shy of the entrance. Echo didn’t stop until he was nearly flush against my side, and we both waited with bated breath.

“Tech and Wrecker found an entrance. If you don’t find one in there, stay hidden until they report back.” Crosshair’s voice fell into a carefully detached hum. I wanted to respond, to offer some reassurance, but we couldn’t risk even that, so I merely watched in silence as Echo took point once more, waiting for his signal before following him into the derelict structure.

Once, it stood a couple stories high, brick walls more akin to a school than a prison, but there was no sign of such possibilities within any longer. Nature had reclaimed the half-dozen rooms and interconnecting hallways long ago. Ferns draped through shattered windows, and mounds of dirt collected in the corners reached halfway to the ceilings. There was no broken furniture nor remnants of belongings hidden amidst the rubble, and I found myself wondering if it had ever been anything more than this. Had the Separatists built it solely to be abandoned; its fate preordained to ruin from the start purely to act as camouflage for what horrors lay below? I wanted to hate them for it but knew it was fueled by naivety; knew that far more had been wasted for less in this war on both sides and that even more would be lost before there would be any hope of armistice.

Only after Echo stood did I move to regain my footing as well, body still hunched forward in that instinctive drive to hide as we searched each room in turn. When he paused in what must have been the central chamber, attention trained in the corner just to the right of the doorway, I stepped back toward the hall, carefully watching for any signs of encroaching danger, my own pistols at the ready.

“We’re heading in.” Echo stated seconds before the hiss of an airlock screamed through the tense silence.

“Copy.” Crosshair replied shortly. He hated this. I knew he hated this: being forced to wait behind as we tread beyond his sight, beyond his reach should something go wrong, and my heart ached knowing there was no comfort I could offer as I turned to follow his brother down the narrow porthole into what was surely a maze of identical passages designed to be inescapable.

No veneer of color was granted to bare metal walls and exposed purlins overhead, and what few lights flickered within granted only fleeting glimpses of the lifeless passageways. This place was not created for comfort. Every detail was made through cruel intent to rob those trapped here of even the thought of warmth, and I couldn’t force the memory of that filth-stained cell from my mind; the scent of stale moisture and blood and rot.

My stride must have faltered; my pace slowed or breath hitched. Something drew Echo’s attention back to me, and shame sank into my gut like something rancid and squirming, and I couldn’t find the strength to push it back in time to dismiss it entirely.

“You alright?” He whispered it, body leaning carefully over mine as though he could hide me from the nightmare surrounding us, and I hated the fact that I couldn’t bring myself to answer him directly.

“Let’s just get Hunter and the damn politician, and get out of here.” I nearly growled. He hesitated a moment longer, and I wanted to yell; to shout that there wasn’t time for this, to berate myself for causing even this short delay, shoulders pulling back with a determination fueled by the rage I felt toward myself for my weakness. He drew a slow breath before wrenching his focus back toward the long hallway, and a shaky sigh of relief escaped me.

I wouldn’t have noticed the port had Echo not stopped suddenly beside it, needing only to shoot a quick look for me to take watch as he plugged himself in. There was no cover here, nowhere we could hide if a patrol came upon us, and each second we lingered stoked the anxious certainty that we were moments from being found, but I didn’t waver, attention shifting between the direction we’d come from and the path ahead.

“Tech, Wrecker; looks like the target’s in the far west corner. Are you guys near there?”

“We are.” Tech responded quickly. “Have you located Hunter?”

“No, but we’ll head east and see what we can find.” My heart dropped at Echo’s response, and I fought to convince myself that that didn’t mean they didn’t have him; that didn’t mean he was…

Echo disconnected from the port, and I forced myself back to attention. He didn’t say anything more before continuing forward at a quick trot, weapon held loosely before him. Our footsteps boomed around us, mocking our every attempt at quiet. We slowed at every intersection, carefully searching down each hall before crossing. It was a perfect grid, an even number of paces separating each corner for what felt like eternity.

I heard it first. It was wet. An occasional crunch of metal against meat. I knew that sound. I knew the heat of abused flesh swelling beneath the assault; knew they would kill him long before he talked.

My hand was reaching for him before consciously acknowledging the movement; a quick tap on Echo’s shoulder singling him to stop. He needed only to pause before he heard it, too, and I watched his body tense as he reached the same conclusion I had, breath quickening beneath a flare of rage and dread. Without a word, we took off toward the wretched sound. There was a rhythm to it. Two strikes and a pause. Two strikes. Pause. I couldn’t hear what they asked in those fleeting seconds between, but my mind wouldn’t let it remain quiet long enough to wonder.

Who ordered the hit?

I swallowed back the bile that tasted too akin to rancid water.

We barely slowed at crossings now, nearly sprinting through the underground base.

Who placed the bombs?

Two strikes. I could hear him cough in the brief silence that followed, heard the splatter of liquid against metal and knew it was blood.

Echo looked over his shoulder to catch my gaze, to make sure I was ready, before tearing through the door. An alarm blared. The lights flashed a deep red that paled beneath the blue of our blaster fire filling the small cell. His armor was gone, blacks torn where they’d snagged on metal fists. I didn’t count them, nor did I need my overlay’s targeting system as Echo and I stormed the room, both strafing the enemy units in a frenzied rush.

I vaguely noticed the lethal elegance of the man beside me as he dove between a pair of B2s, rolling to his feet behind them, pistol already raised and firing before he’d come to a stop. I ducked to the side just as another droid raised its arm, the wall behind me hissing as metal melted beneath the powerful, crimson shots. It didn’t get the chance to fire again, and I watched with eager satisfaction as the towering machine fell heavily to the floor.

It took mere seconds. I didn’t have time to find a new target before Echo felled the few remaining enemies, sparing only a fleeting thought toward a figure among the metal corpses that was far too soft to belong among the droids, nor did I pause to wonder if it had been my shot or Echo’s that claimed their life. Whoever they were, I was too happy to leave them to rot among the destruction they sowed, attention training instead on Hunter.

Already, Echo was working to sever the bounds securing his wrists to the metal slab behind him, and I rushed forward to catch him as his first arm fell free, wincing at the stifled groan my touch drew from him.

“T… took yuh… long ‘nough.” He slurred, jaw barely moving around the strained words.

“Not our fault you let yourself get caught at a kriffing black site.” Echo retorted, already working on his other wrist.

“S… st’nned m…” His reply broke into an agonizing flurry of coughs, thick drops of crimson smearing across my chest plate.

“Alright, enough – you can make all the excuses you want after I patch you up,” I interrupted, a gentle warning in my hushed voice, “For now, just try to slow your breathing and stay awake, alright?” His head shifted toward me in silent consent, and my worry spiked. He was barely recognizable from the sickeningly wrong angle of his nose, and already his eyes were nearly swollen shut. His ribs were far worse off, however. I could see the heavy bruising through tears in his shirt, could hear the rattle in his every hitched, shallow breath.

“I presume the alarm indicates that you’ve found Hunter?” Tech asked just as the other shackle clicked open. Hunter fell against me with a choked grunt, and I tried not to imagine the pain shooting through his torso.

“Easy; just sit back.” I murmured softly, carefully guiding him to the ground.

“Yeah. He’s hurt, but Doc’s with him.” Echo responded, already treading back toward the door to watch for incoming troops. He paused briefly at the figure lying amongst the droids, but I didn’t see what he did, attention devoted to helping the wheezing man before me.

“Hunter, I want you to focus on me for a bit, okay?” My voice left in a whisper void of the urgency with which I dug through my bag. He hummed some manner of a reply, but I couldn’t make out anything akin to actual speech.

“We located the prisoner, but… it seems we were only given a portion of the information regarding this mission.” I had to stifle a surge of frustration that I could hear mirrored in Tech’s clipped statement as my scanner buzzed to life.

“Great.” Echo groaned.

“We’ll rendezvous at the Marauder and discuss how to proceed. Crosshair, is-” He was interrupted by a violent shockwave tearing through the base.

“That… wasn’t me.” Wrecker said hesitantly after a moment of tense silence.

“All clear.” I nearly scoffed at the haughty pride in Crosshair’s voice before returning my attention to the scan results, stomach twisting as I read over his injuries.

“Looks like you’re gonna live, Sarg.” I managed to tease softly despite my own dread, earning a groan heavy with mock disappointment. “You’re going to be pissing blood for a week, though.” He let out an even less thrilled grunt that drew a quiet chuckle from me. “How about I get some pain killers in you, and you let me help you back to the ship?” His eyelids shifted but weren’t able to fully open. Still, he offered no objection when I laid an autoinjector against his neck, and my worry grew at how quickly his body went limp.

“How is he?” Echo asked, voice tense as he walked back toward us. My gaze caught on a sack thrown over his shoulder. “His armor.” He explained, much to my relief. They hadn’t had him long, so it shouldn’t have surprised me that they wouldn’t have had time to dispose of it, but it was still a stroke of luck that he was able to find it so easily.

“He’ll be alright… but we should hurry.” Even through our opaque visors, I knew he felt the intensity with which I held his gaze, that he understood the truth behind my carefully even reply. He gave a small nod and dropped to a knee at Hunter’s other side.

“Hey, brother, think you can hold on to me?” My lips pulled into a small smile at the gentleness of Echo’s deep voice, the care in his movements as he eased Hunter’s arm over his shoulders. I threw my bag back on and followed suit with his other arm.

“Mmm… m’alri’.” His dismissal faded into a barely audible mumble as we pulled him upright, head slumping toward his chest.

“Those drugs won’t last long.” I warned quietly. Again, Echo responded with a short nod, and, together, we began the lock trek back toward an exit I doubted I’d ever find without him.

Next Chapter

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[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

hi Ange! If you are taking requests for drabbles regarding your Ettore series, could you write maybe write a subby Ettore? Reading that he finally kissed the girl got me thinking about him letting his guard down and allows her to be on top and pleasure him🫠

Sorry to have kept you waiting so long for this!

I don't envision Ettore as being submissive, so I've adapted this to fit the series as best as I can. I hope you enjoy it.

Warnings: Language, violence, choking, smut. Word count: ~1200

Main series masterlist

Author's note: No gods, no masters, no tag lists. Only scabs community label fics. If you find yourself tempted to slap a label on this, please block me instead.

“You spend more time in the fucking Box than you do anywhere else.” Ettore glowers at her.

“Don’t be stupid.” She rolls her eyes. “I don’t use it any more than anyone else onboard.”

“Why bother with it...” He says darkly, roughly grabbing her hand and placing it over the rapidly growing bulge in his scrubs. “...when you’ve got this?”

She sighs, pulling away from him. “We’ve spoken about this. Get it through your thick skull; we can’t get caught!”

Monte rounds the corner and she steps away from Ettore. He gives them both a curt nod as he passes.

“Fuckin’ cock block.” Ettore mutters under his breath, though it’s loud enough for her to hear and she is certain Monte must have too.

That bloody idiot was going to get them both found out.

She hurries away from him and spends the next few days doing all she can to avoid him. In her mind, the less they are seen together the better. The last thing she needs is for people to start growing suspicious and asking questions.

It feels almost painful to keep her distance, when she is drawn to him on instinct. The pull of their physical attraction to each other, coupled with their dysfunctional kinship leaves her feeling desperately lonely, and practically aching for his touch. Not that she’d ever admit that to him.

She refuses to meet his piercing gaze and finds any excuse to ensure she is never left alone with him. It’s just for a few days, she tells herself, let Monte forget what he heard and then things can go back to how they were.

The throbbing sensation between her legs is almost too much to bear as she lays in her bunk. This is ridiculous. They had gone longer than this without being together before. However, it’s usually circumstance that separates them, somehow it feels worse when it’s self imposed.

She groans in frustration, climbing from the mattress and stalking down the corridor. She has only one destination in mind; The Box. The quicker she finds relief the quicker she’ll be able to fall asleep, she reasons.

Her breath catches in her throat when it appears that Ettore has had the same idea. She stops in her tracks. He is just a few paces ahead of her, about to go inside, the muscled planes of his back illuminated in the low artificial lighting.

He turns when he sees her and her heart races. She doesn’t miss the tick of his jaw, the flare of his nostrils, or the way his eyes darken as he drinks in the sight of her. She knows that look, knows what he gets like when he stares at her like that.

“No.” She tells him simply, the wobble in her voice betraying the fear she’s attempting to mask.

She turns to flee from him, but he is too quick for her, closing the gap in a few long strides and tackling her to the floor. She presses the palm of her hand against his face, attempting to push him away, but he easily overpowers her. It’s impossible for her to get any purchase on the smooth linoleum floor in order to properly defend herself, and Ettore is much too strong for her anyway.

“Stop it.” She grits out in frustration, as he pins her wrists above her head, irritated at the way her body responds to him, practically arching into him.

He leans in to kiss her and she bites down on his lip, causing him to pull back with a hiss of pain, releasing her wrists as he does so.

Seizing her only opportunity to take back control of the situation, her hand flies out, gripping his throat with such force that he topples over. It’s only once she finds herself on top of him in their scuffle that she feels how painfully hard he is against her.

She stares at his face for a moment, his pupils are blown wide with lust as her fingers continue to squeeze around his neck. She softens, her resolve crumbling, desire for him winning out over the need to put some space between them.

Their hands work hurriedly to rid each other of their trousers and underwear, and she sinks down onto him. She has to bite her lip to stop herself crying out in relief as she stretches to accommodate him. Her hand finds its way back to Ettore’s throat once she begins to rock her hips back and forth, surprised when he doesn’t try to push her off. He stares up at her instead, jaw slightly slack and eyes hooded. 

She sets a hurried pace, aware they could be caught at any moment. She clenches around him at the thought, causing Ettore to grunt. He pulls himself up, planting his feet onto the floor and meets her thrust for thrust.

As her fingers slacken around his neck, his hand winds itself into the hair at the back of her head, pulling hard.

She whimpers, the tightening in her lower belly growing more intense as the lewd, wet sounds of him pushing up into her, in sync with her downwards movements, intermingle with his laboured breaths.

His pulse flutters wildly against her fingertips and, with another tug of her tresses, she finally topples over the edge, reapplying pressure to his jugular as she fights to stay silent in the wake of the pleasure that washes over her in white hot waves.

This triggers Ettore’s own release, as his movements become sloppy, finally stilling as he pulsates and spills himself inside of her, eyes screwed shut and lips parted.

They stay like this for a few moments, allowing each other to catch their breaths.

“You didn’t think I’d just let you end things, did you?” He says, once his heart rate has evened out.

“What are you talking about?” She asks, her eyebrows pinching together in confusion, still feeling light headed from her climax.

“You haven’t even bothered to look at me in days.” He tells her, sounding petulant.

“I’m not ending things, stupid.” She chides softly. “Monte heard you call him a cock block. I was putting some temporary distance between us, so people wouldn’t get suspicious.”

For the briefest of flashes she notices something akin to boyish happiness pass across Ettore’s face, it makes him appear soft, vulnerable, but it disappears so quickly she wonders if perhaps she imagined it as his cold, hardened stare returns.

“So you still wanna...keep doing this then?”

She nods. “I just need you to be more careful. Be more discreet.”

She climbs off of him on shaky legs and begins to redress.

“Let you use The Box in peace, you mean?” He asks, pulling his bottoms back on and standing up.

She sighs. This was clearly always going to be a bone of contention for him.

“You know you feel better than that, right?”

He lets out a dry chuckle. “Little prick tease.” He says with a wink, before walking away.

[foolishlovers]

hi <3 soooo I was wondering if you have fic recs with historical setting? Like in canon through the ages or human historical fics?

yes of course 💜 here are some i enjoyed:

A half-penny will do by penny_archer (G, 2k) It’s Christmas in Victorian England and Crowley is trying not-very-hard to hide the fact that he’s been giving pickpocketing lessons to the disenfranchised youth of London. Oh, and he has a cute gift for Aziraphale that’s totally not a big deal.

Fighting Dirty by curtaincall (M, 9k) Aziraphale knows exactly what’s happening: Hell has sent up a devilishly attractive demon to tempt him into sinning against God. So he’ll act like he’s falling for it, pretend he doesn’t know just what Crowley’s doing. And he certainly won’t give in. Crowley knows exactly what’s happening: Heaven has sent down a divinely beautiful angel to dazzle him into revealing Hell’s plans. So he’ll act like he’s falling for it, pretend he doesn’t know just what Aziraphale’s doing. And he certainly won’t give in. (Or: an angel and a demon spend 6000 years each convinced the other one is a honey trap)

from autumn blooms spring summer fruit by blackeyedblonde (E, 9k) In the potter’s shed, Crowley picked up a trowel and threatened a yearling lemon tree still residing within its earthenware pot before he would allow himself to sit at the gardening table and pull the folded newspaper Aziraphale had given him from his smock. Enclosed on the inside were two gifts. One was the small velvet pouch that contained a pair of golden earrings strung with twin baroque pearls that did not squeak when he curiously rubbed one against his canine tooth. The other was the familiar sight of neat copperplate writing at the bottom of page seven of the paper, done in lead pencil so the words could be more easily smudged out with a bit of rubber. A gift, Lord Fell had written. I will come find you an hour after the molting brown bird has gone to bed.

An Arrangement of Convenience by Blue_Sparkle (E, 13k) Aziraphale works to purchase a bookshop space, but currently being a woman-shaped creature has its drawbacks when faced with rude property owners. The most obvious solution is to get Crowley to act as his husband and deal with all that nonsense, of course.

The road to rapture has a lot of pit stops by emmagrant01 (E, 17k) Five times they kissed over four thousand years, and one time they actually meant it.

Time Flies (When You're Having Fun) by Mussimm (E, 23k) Versailles, 1769 - Aziraphale has a blessing to perform at a masquerade ball and it's important that he gets this one right. So important, in fact, that he can't seem to leave until he does. But with a fancy dress, an attentive demon and an endless supply of champagne, it's a little challenging to stay on mission.

An Ineffable Midsummer Night's Dream by Sabotaged_Words (T, 25k) London, 1605. Aziraphale urgently needs Crowley's help. The premiere of William Shakespeare's latest work is in danger! The only way to save the play is for Crowley to take on the role of Puck - and that will take a lot of convincing. Come explore some more of Azriaphale's and Crowley's life in the Elisabethean era, where the ineffable idiots are little theatre nerds, have to deal with unwanted advances, and suddenly face the question if they, in fact, could be even friends?

Flowers From The Grave Of Our Friendship by WaitingToBeBroken (E, 50k) Crowley is very good at temptation, not so good with what comes afterwards. Aziraphale knows demons don't love so he is happy to take anything Crowley would give him. Both of them are too blind to realize the thing they want is right in front of them.

More Than by NaroMoreau (E, 55k) Crowley would like to spend another year without marrying, especially when thrust-forced to pick a husband. She refuses to cave in on a matter of principles. She refuses to cave in specifically on a matter of not wanting to be married to Lucien Morningstar. But she might need a hand to break free from such a burden. And who knows? She might even find something else along the way.

Against Expectations by Blue_Sparkle, summerofspock (E, 69k) After being pressured by their families into a marriage neither of them want, Aziraphale and Crowley resign themselves to an unfulfilling life together. For Aziraphale that means trying to be the dutiful wife she was always taught to be and for Crowley it means hiding an important part of who he is.

On Espionage and Prophecy (or How to Accidentally, but Wholly, Fall in Love With a Soho Bookseller) by RockSaltAndRoll (E, 133k) 1941 is the London Blitz and the year that MI5 really comes into its own with the now infamous ‘double cross’ system. The service keep tabs on suspects, root out enemy agents and try to turn them into doubles. Anthony J Crowley is fucking great at this job. He can be sneaky, underhanded and damn ruthless but also charming and kind. It’s what makes him good at turning. Aziraphale is just a regular Soho bookseller who loves his shop and books and good food and wine when he’s approached by a woman claiming to be MI5, wanting to recruit him for espionage. The poor man is too trusting and gets the shock of his life when he’s approached by a charming but dangerous-looking man also claiming to be MI5. Crowley recruits Aziraphale to double cross a double crosser and Aziraphale takes to espionage like a duck to water. Danger, hijinks, and sex ensue.

[bohobooks]

If I'm allowed to ask for another request could I possibly ask for a sebastian sallow X reader?

Where in the heat of a battle against ashwinders one almost hit seb with crucio bur the reader pushes him out the the way taking the hit and falls to the floor screaming in pain, sebastian goes full panic mode and quickly finished off the rest and ashwinders then rushed the reader to the infirmary and while they lay in bed the two finally confess their feelings to one another?

Heat of the Moment (Sebastian Sallow x Reader)

A/N: That title gave the Supernatural fan in me violent flashbacks.

Warnings: Violence, swearing, slight mentions of throwing up.

♤♤♤♠︎♤♤♤♠︎♤♤♤♠︎♤♤♤♠︎♤♤♤♠︎

The battle was like any other, really. It started the usual way, Seb and I stumbling across one of their pop up camps and deciding within seconds to annihilate them all without hesitation. In all honesty I had hoped with Rookwood dead and Harlow in Askaban that the Ashwinders would fizzled themselves out by now. Alas, some of these stains on humanity are very, very stubborn.

"Bombarda!" I hear Sebastian yell, quickly followed by the sounds of an explosion and a man screaming. Meanwhile I was taking out the last Ashwinder, using my ancient magic to smash them into the ground like a rag doll.

When the freak in the bowler hat was sufficiently dead, I turned to Sebastian. The grin on my face dropped within milliseconds as I saw him walking towards me. His beaming, cheeky smile told me that he had no idea of the group of three ashwinders that had appeared behind him.

The next few moments went in slow motion, feeling like an eternity yet having no time. Knowing words would not be enough, I lunged at Sebastian as the first crackle of red left the tip of the ashwinder's wand.

My hand found purchase on Sebastians shoulder, and using my momentum I swung myself around him. I had just placed myself between him and the ashwinder when the tendrils of the curse grab onto me, lighting every fiber of my being on fire.

One second, Sebastian was there in my grasp- the fall air was chilled and smelled of leaves and fire from the camp. The next, there was nothing but white hot pain- and the feeling of my soul being flayed to bits.

◇◇◆◇◇◆◇◇◆◇◇◆◇◇◆◇◇◆◇◇◆

Sebastian's POV

I watched Y/n in amazement as she lifted the last ashwinder in the air, and proceeded to throw them into the ground. Once, twice, a third time- they were most certainly dead at this point- a fourth, and a fifth and final time.

As the bag of bones that had only a second ago been a person falls to rest on the forest floor, y/n turns to me grinning. I approach them, a warm feeling spreading in my chest. They were so powerful, truly like a modern god/goddess. And they were mine.

Well, not really mine. Yet. We were just friends, but-

The grin drops from their face as their eyes look past me. Within a second they lunge at me, flinging themselves behind me and turning me around in the process. It doesn't take me long to realize, 3 more ashwinders had been sneaking up on me.

Y/n's eyes dull, and they begin to scream. Their screams quickly grow quiet as they obliterate their throat. Vomit rushes into the back of my throat at the hollow thud that comes from the sound of their body hitting the dirt.

All at once I see red, and nothing but.

My eyes are pryed off of the love of my life writhing on the forest floor, finding the monster infront of me.

Like a man possessed, I had no control over my actions. My anger mastered my actions- a voice that was my own but darker escaped my mouth.

"Imperio!"

The face of the man who had been torturing Y/n wipes clean of its evil grin, and turns to his companions quickly killing them. I had been tempted to make the Ashwinder kill himself, but I knew that I would rather be the one to do it, "Diffindo!"

The man began bleeding out profusely.

"Incendio!"

The man lights up like lava. I let the man scream in agony for a moment, before ending it all with a single flick of my wand.

Turning to look at Y/n, I see them laying unconscious on the forest floor, shivering. Their body jerks in minut convulsions as the echo of the curse ricochets within them. Once again feeling the bile rising up, I fight off the feeling and kneel beside them intending to lift them.

The sound of gurgling with each breath becomes clearer as I kneel closer to their level, and I notice the small bit of blood bubbling from between their lips. Suddenly, the bile wins the fight; I twist around, falling down to my hands and knees as the contents of my stomach empties themselves.

I pant, wiping my mouth with the sleeve of my robe, and crawl back over to my friend. Shoving my hands under their fragile body, I lift them.

"It's alright, you'll be alright." My voice doesn't sound so sure, and I have a feeling they can't hear me anyway. My heart aches as I look down at them, and realize all at once that my reassurances weren't for them, they were for me. I wasn't about to lose the love of my life before I could tell them what they meant to me.

◇◇◇◆◇◇◇◆◇◇◇◆◇◇◇◆◇◇◇◆◇◇◇◆

Y/n's Pov

It's funny, the way it feels sometimes when you wake up from a dreamless sleep. Like you just begin existing out of the void- a conscious built from darkness.

That's what it felt like when I woke up, that I was nothing. Then suddenly, voices.

"Mr. Sallow, it's been 3 days. I urge you to go back to class."

"With all possible respect due, Nurse Blainey: no."

"Mr. Sallow-"

"Ma'am, I will go throw myself down the nearest flight of stairs to injure myself if I have to. I. Am. Staying."

There's a sigh, "Fine, Mr. Sallow. I must say, as much as I feel you should be focusing on your education, your dedication to your friend is admirable." Soft footsteps move away, and a door closes in the distance.

I gain, or I suppose regain, control of my body. Willing my eyes open, I see Sebastian sitting in a chair next to my bed. He looked tired, staring off into space at things that weren't there. His pallid face brought the dark circles under his eyes into stark contrast.

"Seb?" My voice sounds more like a croak, startling myself.

His eyes turn to me, and he practically flings himself onto his knees to kneel beside the bed. His hand finds mine, quickly holding it up to his mouth like a prayer.

His voice is low and gravelly, he had clearly been crying, "Y/n, love. You're awake. I thought- Merlins sake I thought I lost you. I thought-" His shoulders shake and he begins to sob.

"Seb, it's okay."

"No, Y/n! It not okay! I thought you were going to die in my arms before I even got the chance to tell you that-" his voice wavers a bit but he continues, "Before I got the chance to tell you I am madly in love with you. There is not a single thing in this world that means more to me than you do. I would die- no. I would kill for you. I would burn down this entire fucking world for you. You are the only thing that matters to me, and I thought that you would die a violent death as I held you."

I slip my hand out of Sebastians grasp and slide it up against his cheek, and like an unconscious thought, his eyes flutter closed and he leans into my palm.

"I'm here Sebastian, I'm alive and I've heard you. You are what keeps me going after everything. To say I love you feels like a trivial thing compared to what I feel, but there are no proper words for it. So, I love you."

____________________________________

[right-hand-of-the-black-sand]

Can you write headcanons for a first date with Mozenrath

First date with Mozenrath (Headcanons and ideas)

SFW first. Some slight NSFW headcanons will be featured at the bottom and tagged as such.

Headcanons after the cut due to the long post.

General headcanons:

First of all, how'd you land a date with this guy?! You're either really lucky or really valuable if you get him to agree to an actual date. ...Or it's blackmail on your part.

Mozenrath's interactions are built entirely off of getting something from someone. If you're dating him, you must want something from him, whether it be sex, arm-candy, riches, to steal his collection of magical artifacts… he can't comprehend why else you'd choose to physically stay around him. He figures that once you get what you want, then you'll leave, just as he hopes to leave once he gets what he wants.

When Mozenrath feels that things are going according to his plan, he keeps his signature smirk on and keeps himself very close to you. You've fallen into his trap! His trap of getting you to have feelings for him! Now he just needs to play his cards right…

He prefers to stick to areas that he knows very well. No one around to interfere, nowhere for someone to ambush him… No one to distract you from him…

Expect the date to feature meals made by him or his mamluks (good luck) or the opportunity to look out on the… scenery (literally just black sand).

He gets physically close to you no matter what. You've seen how close he gets to his enemies! There's, like, 12” between his face and yours 90% of the time. It's his way of showing dominance over his enemies, but it ended up being a habit for people he genuinely likes too.

Mozenrath gets very handsy right away. Not in a sensual way or anything, but just about anywhere around your body that isn't sensual is fair game to him. He'll feel at your face, your head, your shoulders and arms, hips… Legs are less common, but don't put it past him. Touching is another way that he shows dominance over something, so it makes him feel in control.

He's quicker to grab your wrist than he is your hand. Once he feels more of a connection towards you, he'll start grabbing at your hand.

Kissing is something that he expects, but doesn't necessarily look forward to unless he has genuine feelings towards you. At that point, he may even surprise you with it by pressing his lips to yours without waiting for you to act first. He'll kiss without asking on the first date, but as he grows more comfortable with you and starts respecting you as a person, then he'll start asking if he could kiss you. …Or maybe (gasp) if you could kiss him?!??!

If he's trying to impress you, he'll give you some valuable items as gifts. He may start out with things that only look costly so that he can give the actually valuable stuff to people of status to impress them. You'll graduate to receiving nice things over time, but that's not what actually shows his affection. The ultimate goal is to start receiving items that were made or purchased for you personally.

Mozenrath may not care for people much, but he is very good at figuring out what's important to you. Most of the time. He's still bitter about his partnership with Khartoum…

Anyway, he doesn't give you what he believes is important to you right away. He'll tease you with it or try to tempt you if he needs you to move forward with something during the date, but he does give it to you once he's gotten all that he wants from you. Once he starts trusting that you won't leave him after getting what you want, he'll give you these personalized items as casual gifts.

Mozenrath's love-language is gift giving. He's very quick to talk and very quick to touch, he'll offer up quality time to keep you around and, if you get far enough, he may actually start helping you with stuff. Casually giving you personal items, though, is how you know you've been occupying his thoughts.

Xerxes is supposed to only watch from a distance. He does not watch from a distance.

Mozenrath spends most of the date telling Xerxes to get back to his post. Xerxes does go back a few times, but he's curious how the date's going. …Also, are you going to finish that meal, or…?

On the other hand, if you, against all odds, manage to get him to go out somewhere public, a bunch of his plans go out the window.

There's so many witnesses. So many people who may try to steal his fancy clothes or jewelry or may recognize him from his past exploits.

He doesn't mind being recognized too much since that means that he’s at least feared, but having someone point out a murderous sorcerer in the middle of a crowded area would bring about more ruckus than he wants to deal with. More likely than not, he'd have to teleport away. May leave you behind if he's not too attached.

Types of dates:

Art museums? Eh, he'd go along with it, but he prefers the grizzly stories behind the art rather than just looking at the physical surface of a piece. (“Perhaps you wish for me to make you into a work of art, my dearest?” -Said while passing a more gruesome sculpture)

Get a drink together? Ehh… It's likely that Mozenrath had it made himself. Just be careful that the drink isn't laced with something. Wouldn't put it past him to try and end the date early just to get a new undead minion or hostage. (“Oh, what's the matter? Too sophisticated for a drink, my love?”)

Libraries or bookstores? Eh, it's a good idea for a later date, but not the first. There wouldn't be much focus on you while he's scouting out what information to... research later. Shame that the collection he was looking at happened to disappear a few days later (“... … … …Oh, you're still here?”)

Taking Mozenrath out to a marketplace wouldn't be something he'd look forward to, as he'd expect you to try and coerce him into buying you a gift. Expect a lot of sarcastic remarks from him about the goods on display and the people selling them. If you catch him staring at something, though, maybe you could ask him about it. It may legitimately impress him if you purchase something for his sake. (“...A gift? Well, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised.”)

Taking him out to eat somewhere also wouldn't be the first thing that he would prefer, as he's rather suspicious about anyone he doesn't know preparing his food for him. He may even suspect you of knowing the people working in the area and for this all being a trick to drug or poison him. Expect for him to make casual remarks about himself while he's testing his food and drink for poison and eyeing the workers suspiciously. (“Hmm? Ah… No, I am simply checking the quality. Best to be certain before whetting my appetite.”)

I honestly think an aquarium date or something of the like would work out great if you played your cards right. Point out things that he may find interesting, offer up interesting facts, listen to his lectures about biology… He’s a bit uncertain how he feels about the eels. Why should he be impressed when he has something similar but so much better?! …All the same, he still finds himself watching them. ("...I am well aware that eels can traverse many obstacles. It makes it quite a pain to catch Xerxes at times.")

He wouldn't be focusing on you much during a museum date. What? Where did those fossilized remains go? Eh, you were probably seeing things. Time to go before the guards show up. ("It was to be removed the next day! It shall see far better use in my collections.")

Good luck getting him on a hike. The most time Mozenrath spends outdoors is when he's shopping at the marketplace or scouting out other kingdoms for his future invasions. The idea of sweating and dragging his feet out in the hot sun while ruining his nice clothes is not something appealing to him, especially if it's an area outside of his kingdom where he feels open to be ambushed. (“...Are you… quite done… with trying to torture me?! Do you wish for me to leave you stranded out here?!”)

Going out to a nice garden or the like isn't the best idea, but it isn't the worst one. Mozenrath would look rather bored most of the time, focusing more on talking about himself or getting information out of you. Maybe a plant or two does catch his attention. …No, he wouldn't steal it. Why would you think that? Besides, he has a better plant to show you back in his growroom… (“You have a green thumb, do you? …Perhaps you would be interested in seeing something green and carnivorous, my love?”)

Watching the sunset honestly is probably the best idea of the bunch. Mozenrath doesn't get a lot of sun in his own kingdom, so taking him up to a high place (given that he's allowed to teleport or fly) may give him the opportunity to see something that he doesn't often get to. Watching the sunset actually holds some nostalgic and very positive memories for Mozenrath, so as long as you allow him to scan for potential ambushes or the like, then he'd be rather happy with this experience. (“...Hmm? I'm… pondering. …The sun's light does make you appear rather... exquisite, my love.”)

Similarly, Mozenrath has rather fond memories of stargazing. He would prefer to do it by himself at first, but having the opportunity to show off his knowledge of astronomy would be very nice for him. (“The moon does appear round to the naked eye, my dear, but it is, in fact, a Scalene ellipsoid, or what is referred to as an imperfect sphere. Think of it as an egg, or perhaps the shape of a lemon. If we deform the sphere by means of an affine transformation…”)

Date ideas that were too funny not to include:

Goat yoga. Could you even imagine?! Mozenrath eyeing you suspiciously while he's being encouraged to stretch or bend over, wondering just what part of him you're looking at, if any. He's never been the most flexible, so it takes a bit of time to get him in a comfortable position, but the moment he gets down and a freakin’ goat jumps on top of him?! Expect him to be twisting around like a cat while trying to toss off the ungulate. He gets kicked out fairly quickly. (“YOU'RE LAUGHING?! Your plan was to get my clothes between the teeth of an ungulate?! So you could laugh?!”)

Surprisingly, Mozenrath doesn't hate axe throwing. He's never been the most physically apt, as it's the gauntlet that keeps his energy up most of the time, so he believes such an offer is another opportunity to laugh at or ambush him. With weapons! He's a bit surprised to see that you're having fun, though, and that you're excited to let him try. …Honestly, the axe feels nice in his hands. Gives him a sense of power that he normally wouldn't feel without the gauntlet. If you're not afraid of giving Mozenrath a weapon and you don't laugh at him if he falls short of the competition, then he would be alright with the experience. …What, no, he didn't use magic to get the axe in the target! Why would you think that?! (“I am rather impressed that you're trusting me with a weapon, my dear. …Perhaps you're aware of what power I have when I'm empty-handed!”)

If you could get him into an escape room, oh boy… Just be prepared to flee or pay for damages if he runs out of time. Mozenrath may not always be the best with puzzles (see 'The Lost City of the Sun'), but he gets such a high when he gets his brain going. Only issue is that he's not the best with teamwork, so you may end up standing to the side for most of the time while he works his magic, pun intended. Even if you didn't participate too much, he would still see this as a positive experience and be happy that you got to see his intelligence at work. Whether you both finish the puzzles or not, treat him to something nice afterward to keep that positive mood going. He would love you for that. ("Our captor seems to be interested in steganography, though he hasn't gotten far in his studies. How unfortunate for him that I have!")

Haunted house attractions… I think you can tell why this would be a terrible idea for a first date or a date with Moze in general. If Mozenrath isn’t insulting the cheap props, makeup, effects, and the like, he's punching out or detonating anything that happens to startle him. (“I AM THE GREATEST SORCERER OF OUR AGE! YOU DARE TRY TO PROVOKE ME?!?!”)

Slight NSFW

Mozenrath would personally prefer that there's no sex on the first date. He saves such intimacy for when he's trying to get something from someone. If he feels that he won't be able to get you back after this date or you still have something that he wants, he'll offer sex in order to keep you around. He'll be genuinely impressed if you refuse ('How could you refuse me?! I'm ravishing!' ~ Mozey's brain), but that wouldn't compare to how he'd feel if you refused for his sake. He genuinely didn't think you cared about what he wanted.

Taking Mozenrath out anywhere that features something more seductive definitely gets his mind going, but maybe not in the way you figured. He'd spend most of the time watching you with raised brows, seeing how you reacted to the performances of the people before you. Perhaps he could use this information for some blackmail… ("I wasn't aware that you were so keen on seeing skin, my dear. ...Perhaps I could show you skin that has been removed from its host?")

Conclusion

The first date is definitely an attempt to control you. He didn't expect to actually grow fond of you. …Why is he still thinking of you?! Did you curse him?! Was this all some kind of trick?!

Mozenrath rants his anger and woes away to Xerxes. Xerxes is very confused.

[dreaming-in-4d]

Sympathy for the Shapechanger

Haarlep drabble feat. Fem!Tav

--

Tav kept their eyes locked upon the fiend that lay before them. She wanted to save her strength for the upcoming battle with Raphael. Having that in mind, she wasn't looking for a fight or a f*ck. How was she to deny the proposition laid out before her without putting herself and her friends in danger.

Finally, she spoke up, "I admit your offer is very tempting..." She saw Haarlep crack a smile, "...I'm going to have to decline."

The shapechanger's grin immediately faltered. His brow narrowed in disgust and disappointment.

"But I understand why you would lay out such a proposition."

Haarlep's expression shifted once again, confused and maybe even a little curious at what this lowly mortal had to say.

"You've spent so long bound to one person. You're craving something new. Why else would you inquire for even a fraction of passion from the first thing to pass through that door that isn't your master."

The incubus' emotions twisted in a kaleidoscope of fiendish frustration. He was unable to produce a witty retort for the first time in all his years. How was this woman capable of tearing into his heart, leaving him feeling vulnerable?

Through slightly gritted teeth, Haarlep responded, "As much as it infuriates me to admit, your words ring with truth."

Tav felt a sudden rush of pride for having gotten through to him.

"Perhaps a new deal can be arranged. Kill Raphael and release me from this static servitude."

"Already in motion, sweetheart," Tav answered. The party began exiting the archdevil's chambers. "If we don't return within the hour, feel free to assume our failure."

Haarlep nodded in acknowledgement.

--

The entire party was exhausted after eliminating the arrogant archdevil. The glossy blackness of devil's blood was strewn across their faces and soaked into their clothes. They returned to the bed chamber to find Haarlep devoid of his former master's appearance. His hair was a deep crimson, his skin tanned as if it had been kissed by the sun.

"The heroes of the realm return," he stated somewhat smugly, "no worse for wear considering your foe."

"Any worse and we'd be dead," Lae'zel remarked.

The leather-clad fiend presented a chest containing several gold and platinum pieces. This would definitely cover the party's need for a new wardrobe. Tav's heart was set on purchasing her own tent. No more sleeping out in dirt while on the road.

"What will you do now?" Shadowheart inquired of the Shapechanger.

"In all honesty, no idea," Haarlep admitted. "I wasn't expecting you lot to actually best Raphael."

The party could not argue with his statement. Tav's mind turned to Sharess' Caress and a pair of devious drow. What better place for an incubus?

Haarlep shifted to hide his more monstrous attributes and they all returned to the material plane. Tav directed her new friend? ally? towards the bordelo. Before departing, Haarlep handed off an additional offering to her: a ruby-encrusted choker.

"It will make anyone who wears it immune to being charmed," he informed her.

The young woman thanked him before leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. Haarlep chuckled.

"What fun we could've had together, my dear."

"Whatever you say, hon."

The two then parted ways.

[faeofmoons]

husband yamato headcanons bcs i love him and i'm very normal about him i swear

small warning for hinted posessiveness/controling behavior.

ʚ🫀ɞ the married life with yamato would be no exaggeration of having the perfect husband. even while having such a taxing occupation as running the twilight order (not to mention his other jobs), he fufills his duty of a doting, benevolent spouse with ease.

ʚ🫀ɞ gifting you sweet little offertories that tie to your intrests, showering you with endless affection and adoration as soon as he enters your shared home from working, even taking you out to various restaurants when he's feeling extra loving.

ʚ🫀ɞ but of course, he would much rather indulge in you within the walls of the humble home you both share. everything that he could ever need is there, and no prying eyes to discern his actions of affection.

ʚ🫀ɞ not that he would care if said acts of fondness for you were witnessed by strangers, he almost never leaves the house with you without his hand confining your waist or it being on the small of your back.

ʚ🫀ɞ his love languages? physical touch and acts of service without a doubt. it is almost impossible for yamato to keep his hands off of you.

ʚ🫀ɞ he touches each trace of your face, chin, hips, and thighs with care, a contently warm smile curls upon his lips as he admires every curve, scar, and mark on your body as if you were an irresitible fruit. to him, you were the epitomy of perfection.

ʚ🫀ɞ his acts of service is as equally as displayed as his physical affection. you want food? he'll cook your favorite meals. you want a specific something from a store? consider it already purchased. don't even mention the house chores, he does them before you even notice.

ʚ🫀ɞ now, with as lovely as yamato is, everyone has their pros and cons. yamato is no exception to that.

ʚ🫀ɞ for starters, it is no suprise that he is a posessive and controlling man. after he had been freed from his controlling adoptive father kokuzan after his death, yamato has never felt more than to be in need of power.

ʚ🫀ɞ everything that surrounds him shall be bound to his hand if he so desires. his organization, his younger sister; and you.

ʚ🫀ɞ according to his autonomy, he is only so controlling and posessive to keep you close, and to never allow you to slip through the cracks of having a illusory fling with anyone else. you are his spouse, after all. you two are dedicated to each other until death, just as your vows said.

ʚ🫀ɞ at times, the way you act unruly when it comes to this side of him tempts him to use that music box. despite his thin-threaded patience, he is reluctant to inflict its power on you. sure, he has done it once or twice to brusque your frustration, but the consequential uses of the box hits him beforehand.

ʚ🫀ɞ the last thing yamato ever wants to do is make you suffer, and to tear apart this marriage. he cannot afford to sacrifice the one thing he loves and cherishes because of his selfish, power hungry desire to keep you to himself and in his hands.

ʚ🫀ɞ yamato loves you dearly to the moon and back, and he would be willing to anything you ask of him to prove that fact. but you don't have to; you knew that from the moments you said 'yes' and 'I do'.

closing notes: eee first time posting my writing, hoping i did decently and hope that y'all liked it!

[zyxelia]

Curse

Pairing: Junpei Yoshino X Female! Reader

WC: ~700

Summary: Watching someone you love pass away is a necessary part of being immortal. Nevertheless, a mystery man enters your life and reminds you to appreciate life just when you are about to close your heart to it. What a suprise! Possibly, your life will become less dull, right?

Immortality, once thought a gift, proves a curse as time passes. The word "immortal" falsely allures, hinting at a life free of death's specter. But reality differs—an immortal existence means traveling alone, helplessly watching loved ones depart, with no one to share your grief.

Fearful humanity labels the unfamiliar "monster," a daily insult as I walk among them. I retreated to a tower deep in the forest, a haven far from civilizations din.

Loneliness, my constant companion, led me to ancient books of spells and experiments recorded in journals. A fleeting distraction from the outside world, but the respite was brief. After endless trials and hypotheses, boredom returned.

What if I just slept?

Centuries or millennia drift by as I slumber in the abyss, losing track of time's passage. The tower's stone walls chill; silence reigns but for my breath and heartbeat. Once orderly books now lie beneath dusts shroud. Moonlight filters through the window, casting an ethereal glow on the overgrown plants.

Stirring from my long stillness, a distant sound emerges from the tower's heart—a man's voice, its purpose unclear. Mustering my strength, I climb the winding stairs to the base where a disheveled figure dances wildly.

"What are you doing?" I ask the trespasser.

"Why have you come?" Startled, he stumbles back as I approach. His eyes avoid mine, keeping distance between us.

"You've broken the tower wall," I note, eyeing the large breach. Chaos sprawls in its wake."I—I'm sorry," he stutters. "Forgive me, uh..."

"[Your name]."

"Sorry, [Your name]."

I study him in silence. Sensing my gaze, he extends his hand awkwardly. I return the gesture. "I'm Junpei, Junpei Yoshino"

"Junpei Yoshino? A lovely name—your parents no doubt chose it with care." He blushes at my words. "Why have you come?" I ask.

"I heard tales of a witch in the forest. Curiosity brought me to see for myself," he explains. "By damaging your home, I sincerely apologize."

"Well now, It's done, isn't?" I reply. "Now, what do you want?"

"I...wonder if I could visit you here daily?"

"... Yes, come when you like."

From then on, Junpei Yoshino came often, telling me of his life and asking about my past exploits. He happily joined my magical feats and experiments, replacing my solitude with shared laughter. Time flourished with his presence, dull days becoming vivid canvases. Silence and isolation shifted into echoes of joy and companionship.

"[Your name]," Junpei Yoshino says, gazing at the flower-strewn field. Blushing, he asks, "Will you...be my lover?" His words catch me off guard. He looks at the dandelion-covered ground, clearly nervous. Seeing him anew, he seems older than our first meeting—stronger, deeper-voiced, more mature.

Yet his kindness remains constant.

"Without doubt, Junpei Yoshino," I smile, filled with wordless happiness. A breeze stirs, tossing my hair.

"Why do you call me that? Are we still in the full name phase?"

"No, your name is just beautiful" upon hearing that, he blushes.

White dandelions sway as if dancing. Some take flight, following nature's rhythm. Junpei Yoshino grins, eyes glistening with tears. From that moment, we are bound.

But these cherished dreams reach their end. Kneeling at his tombstone in the rain, I grapple with the inevitable—he left me bereft. An ordinary human, gone, leaving me alone.

Once more, solitude prevails. Eons pass. All once living now dwell only in memory.

At dusk, the tranquil city bustles with activity. A modest bakery tempts me with its aroma, beckoning me inside. "Enjoy!" says the clerk, handing me my purchase. As I turn to leave, a familiar figure catches my eye—Junpei Yoshino sits alone by the window. Does he still bear that name? Or has he taken another?

Feeling uneasy, I approach, trying to speak his name when another voice interrupts. "Sorry for the wait, darling!" The bakery door opens with a jingle. Junpei Yoshino looks up, welcoming a woman who rushes to embrace him, saying she missed him.

"I missed you too," he chuckles, stroking her hair. "Let's sit and talk about your day." He kisses her forehead and she blushes, sitting down.

Silently I watch. His smiles, laughter, gaze—everything echoes the past.

Except now it's not for me.

I leave the bakery, walking the bustling streets alone. A serene, uninhabited hill on the city's edge draws me. At the summit, I sit beneath a tree and contemplate the sunset's orange hues. Beside me lies the bread I purchased. Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply.

"Even now, destiny weaves its whims."

[multimilfs]

Artemisia x Fem!Reader: Unspoken

Summary: Artemisia + 42 — “How have you survived this long by yourself?”

AO3

Prompts found here!

A/N: I love Artemisia but writing for her after such a long time was definitely a bit of a challenge. That being said, I hope I was able to capture her character well enough!

Full Ficmas List

Tag List: @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @multifandomfix @escapetodreamworld @evil-feather @elenaguarnieri @imtrashinflames @nonbinary-cryptid-baby

Warning(s): Blood, Minor Violence

“Miss, miss, what about this? A beautiful dress for a beautiful woman.” 

A richly colored dress is shoved in your face and you reel back, only the hand on your back keeping you upright. The vendors are nothing if not eager this year. 

You walk past without acknowledging him and he moves on to the next woman who seems naive enough to suit his tastes. The goods are of fine quality, but the prices are enough to make even you balk. Perhaps your Father wasn’t so remiss in sending you with a companion. 

“Do you intend on making a purchase, Princess?” Artemisia asks slowly, “Or will we circle the market again?” 

You thought being so close to the water would bring her comfort, but she’s been antsy all morning. The market on the east dock is hardly the worst place she’s accompanied you to and her behavior gives you pause. 

“Impatient, Commander?” 

“Those willing to do you harm can do so easier if you follow a predictable path.” 

“That’s what you’re for.” You offer a pointed look. 

Normally, you wouldn’t take so long at the market, but you’re looking for a gift; for your very own companion, coincidentally enough. She would be leaving again in a few moons and you wanted to send something with her. 

Jewelry was off the table; she had no use for it and it would only serve as a hazard when she fought. You’d briefly considered a new sword, but knew she was too fond of her current weapons. Going down the weapons route, you decided a small, concealable dagger would serve her well. The problem was finding the right one. 

Every weapon you’d seen this far was too ornate. The hilts were made of heavy material or inlaid with a dozen gems that’d impede the point of being concealed. You need something functional that you can adjust just enough to make personal while still serving her well. 

“Be that as it may, we shouldn’t tempt them just because I’m capable of defending you.” 

“Why not?” You grin, admiring a stall of delicate chains in gold and silver, “I thought you liked spilling blood.” 

Artemisia says nothing. 

You chuckle and shake your head. 

Your eyes catch a stall with a large man hammering metal in the center of countless weapons. It lays tucked behind everything that glitters, simple and cold in its nature. This is your third time around the market and only now do you notice it; it’s the only stall not shouting to draw attention. 

Drifting towards it, the stall runner perks up. His eyes trace over you with interest. You can feel Artemisia follow close behind. She’s hardly ever far. 

“Ah, a woman of taste. Come, come, let’s see—“ He peruses his selection and holds one out to you, blade first, “Try this one.” 

Raising a brow, you reach out, only to find your wrist gripped. Artemisia glares at the man while hissing in your ear, “How have you survived this long by yourself?” 

You’re shoved roughly behind Artemisia’s form. She rips the blade from the vendor’s hands, not blinking at the blood it draws from her palm, and holds it out to you. Her eyes pierce the vendor and he seems to tremble where he stands. 

Taking the dagger from her hands carefully, you turn it over, inspecting it. It’s beautifully crafted, with a simple hilt and sharp, but ultimately doesn’t stand out to you. There’s an inscription along the blade that you try to read. You fail, coming to realize it isn’t a language you know. 

“Use it.” 

You look up, trying to place the voice. Artemisia is still glaring at the vendor, while he looks at you, but neither of their lips are moving. Turning, you find no one behind you either. 

“Did someone say something?” You ask softly. 

Artemisia turns, frowning. She shakes her head. The vendor doesn’t acknowledge your question, only stares, like there’s an answer he can’t understand without you. It makes your skin crawl. 

“Kill him.” 

Neither of their lips move. But you hear the voice all the same. 

You want to drop the dagger from your hands, but you can’t. Your fingers are wrapped around it and unmoving. It’s like your body is reacting independently of your mind, refusing to respond to basic commands, the desire and bloodlust so strong it feels like it’s all you have. 

The vendor's eyes light up. 

Every warning in your mind is going off. Something is very, very wrong here. But you step forward and turn the dagger blade out. You want to scream, but can’t open your mouth. All you can do is watch yourself pull back with the intent of burying it in his chest. 

Artemisia grabs your wrist before it sinks into his skin. He hisses and spits a curse at her, but she only rips the blade out of your hands, throwing it down at his feet. 

“Come on, Princess.” She says. 

When you don’t budge, eyes glued on the dagger, she takes matters into her own hands. You’re hefted over her shoulder. The action breaks you from your trance, shock overwhelming you. 

“Commander, put me down.” You demand. When she continues to weave through the crowds as if she doesn’t hear you, you growl, “Commander!” 

The Commander puts you back on your feet and shoves you backwards into an alley. Grabbing a couple of scarves off of the last stall she can see, she wraps one around your head. She uses the other to wrap over her own hair. You stare wordlessly up at her. 

You’re pushed into the shadows and she leans against a wall. Her eyes are focused on the main path. 

“Where did you go?” Artemisia murmurs, “When you held that weapon?” 

“I don’t know…” You admit. 

Her gaze turns on you. It’s dark and sharp, “You were going to kill him.” 

“I was. I wanted to, but it wasn’t… me.” 

She nods as if she knew all of this already. You can see her mind working a mile a minute, all while keeping a hard eye trained on the path. Dozens of people pass by before she looks away. 

“Why did you stop me?” You whisper. 

“You didn’t want to kill him.” She says simply. 

“But how could you know that?” 

“I know you, Princess.” 

Artemisia says it like it’s the most natural thing to admit. You’ve never met a soul the Commander bothered to know. It warms you from the inside and makes a smile bloom on your face. 

You lean up and place a kiss on her cheek. She stares at you and though she doesn’t say anything, you can feel the confusion radiating from her. The simple truth is that like Artemisia has never bothered to know anyone, you’ve never had anyone bother to know you. You’re a stepping stone to your brother or father in the eyes of the court or people; but not to the Commander, it seems. 

How odd. 

How lovely. 

“Kiss her,” Comes that voice again and you freeze, “Claim her.” 

When you look into Artemisia’s eyes, something clicks. You smile and grip the edge of her garment to pull her closer. The unyielding armor beneath her dress grounds you, stabilizing your mind while your heart races. 

“Artemisia.” You whisper. 

“Princess?” Artemisia asks automatically. 

“Will you kiss me?” You ask, “Will you claim me?” 

There’s a spark of recognition in her dark eyes. Her hands come up to rest on the wall behind you, arms bracketing your head as she does just that; claiming your lips and body and heart without having to say a single word. 

[fracturedporcelaindoll]

Dear diary,

I recently discovered that a pillow I had been wanting has gone on sale as such it's slightly more affordable which means I am pondering purchasing it however.... Some factors to consider ...~

It's a novelty being a dashhound shaped pillow, then the size while perfect for bed is long enough that transporting it in tote or backpack would not be doable~

So then I'd be stuck walking most likely or taking public transportation possibly with it back home and that just draws too much attention, like you'll notice a short person carrying an obviously way bigger item around~

I am not in elementary school so I worry it'd look uncute to others not that matters much but this anxiety and stuff is why I think it's better not to leave home/go outside and socialize~

Ironically it might be better to force socialization to attempt to overcome or better handle anxiety~

Then I've been considering fashion a lot lately, there's the fashion I adore and now that I have freedom to wear what I wish without worrying about school dress codes, it becomes more possible to wear such aesthetics however I am an adult and wearing childish prints no matter how adorable may seem inappropriate~

Classical elegant styles that I adore as well seem suited only for tall flawless model beauties~

At least I know that if I go to the one store they will have high quality products and I'll always be able to find another super soft oversized sweater~

I've been trying to narrow down costume for Halloween but honestly I think of too many options and that's not counting prepackaged costumes versus pieced together ones using variety of clothing options~

I may just skip it after all I haven't been feeling overly social and trick or treaters have lots of options for visiting to get candy~

I could stay in and watch movies instead which will probably be what happens~

I am half tempted to pair down wardrobe again and just invest in several pairs of fuzzy super comfy and cute pajamas sets~

After all if I can avoid socializing more than I don't have to worry about what other people would think because it's just me and comfy soft pajamas are nice~

I've started thinking about trying to write a short story or book with it being a cliche romantic story and writing a character similar to myself as one of leads but I am not really a writer~

Then it's not like some handsome charming man will sweep me off my feet, sure in a fictional world I could create character that likes me partly for the flaws I see in myself but maybe they'd find cute in some way like most romantic cliche troupes go~

I really been craving gingerbread men cookies and considering pumpkin pie since it's that time of season, well almost October is still a bit aways and fall doesn't officially start until the 22nd but the heat just makes me long for the chilly autumn and cold winter that I sooooo desire to have this year~

I am rectangular shaped or so that's what I see in the mirror on the occasion I wear a fitted dress~

Hourglass shapes are obviously attractive maybe rectangular if you're like tall and really thin but not if your short and not so thin~

I recently found out that your waist size should only be half of your height, which means I am failing there too~

I wish I could create my own winter maybe it'd improve my mood though to be fair while sitting by window as snowflakes cover everything with some hot cocoa wrapped in a blanket and wearing a cozy sweater would help some I could just get a little sad that Santa disappears after childhood, well not really but he's only there for children not so much adults which makes sense and all~

Maybe I am just being selfish, it's not like material things matter when considering life and death~

I kinda want to call my dad and be like do you think I am pretty /beautiful because I want that reassurance that I am by hearing him say that but the reality is if I did call and get the nerve to ask he'd laugh and ask me if I was asking because I wanted to hear that I was pretty/beautiful then that it didn't matter what he thinks what matters is what I think of my self, and he's not going to just give me a compliment because I want one as well that there's always room for improvement~

See? So I don't need to talk to him as I can play out what he'd say and he has his own life and doesn't need me taking time away from all the things he has to keep him busy etc~

My mother scares me sometimes, like I thought I'd matured well enough especially the last few years with trying to care for her in a way any therapist would but at the same time, it's like do people always turn out to be their parents? Is it inventable because to be honest, I don't want to be some gloomy depressed always the victim etc that she is~

Of course she has good qualities too, but yeah~

It's not like I didn't have a childhood, I did for a little while then things changed, circumstances etc and I adapted I always thought I handled it pretty okay but it's ridiculous of me to want something back that just can't be~

If school wasn't so expensive and tediously long I'd consider a career as a librarian, sounds nice and cozy or art teacher at an elementary school because that's the most fun when it comes to crafts and art stuff~

Teachers however have so many hoops to jump through and most require you get a minimum of bachelor's with the understanding that you work towards getting your master's then all the state and board exams as well as continuing educational classes to keep up with any changes to education systems etc~

If you read this and leave a like it's appreciated but not expected~

[imanbenerrabeh]

how do u listen to music on your sony walkman? do you burn music from your laptop on it? download music from a website? or if it’s not music what do u listen to and how do you upload it?

hi, thank you for asking - my music ecosystem is very dear to me. here’s how it works!

i use two DAPs (digital audio players), a sony nw-a55 in the colorway “twilight red” and a 4th generation ipod classic. for headphones i love marshall, the ones i have are the marshall mid anc.

in the ipod I have mp3 files of music converted from youtube on my macbook, which you can simply drag and drop onto itunes while the ipod is connected to your laptop. no sd card needed. you can also get mp3s from software that “records” spotify music, or you can go old school and burn cds. reddit can be helpful to find those programs and some are free and some are not. the ipod is my walking audio library, a physical archive of my music taste. it does not have visuals or the best battery life, but i am still happy to have it.

in the sony I have flacs, very high resolution files of the music i love the most. i purchase the music in it from qobuz, which is a website that will send you the files by email. once i save them i simply connect the sony’s sd card to my laptop and drag and drop in it the music. then the sd card goes back into the sony. the sony has a responsive and vibrant touch screen and a truly amazing battery life. i use it with the wired extension that came with my marshall headphones.

music is beautiful and it brings me joy, so i don’t feel at ease getting it illegally. i want to support artists and appreciate music as an art, but that can be expensive. the way i compromise and sleep at night is that i dedicate the ipod to archiving with lower quality mp3s i get wherever, and the sony to curating a collection of hi res bought albums which i pick mindfully. hopefully one day when i can do so sustainably, i will fully switch to legal hi res music. for now, this will do.

i use my DAPs for music, and lately i tend to listen album by album and in their intended order rather than by artist or at random. i do want to try to use them for audiobooks of my favorite books or for ones in foreign languages. you can also transfer podcast episodes in them! the world of digital audio players is wide. you can enter it from many doors, you just have to choose the one fit for you.

that’s all! when i decided to use my phone as little as possible and i started to read and think about digital minimalism both as a philosophy and a practice, i realized that an audio player is a way for me to do what i love (listen to music) without the chance of getting distracted or tempted by other apps, messages and so on. they allow me to be fully present with music. digital minimalism is not about having less, because my bag is slightly heavier now and my pockets fuller when I leave the house with an audio player. digital minimalism is about being present and mindful, having less distractions on our minds and being more in touch with reality.

this was longer than i planned to, hopefully some of it was useful!

[jacquesthepigeon]

Chengs have deep ancient ties to the Order and their lineage has been searching for clues as to what happened.

Found out about Fu and took notice of Miraculi being used at various points since.

At first were tempted to brute force the retrieval but decided to remain patient and see if Fu would willingly redeem himself.

As time passed they noticed he was constantly running away from the problems, never really making an attempt to fix it unless absolutely neccessary.

At some point they (Sabine's Parents) decided something needed to change. The Miraculi have been static and progress needed to be made.

Once Fu moved to Paris and seemed content to stay, the Cheng Parents created a circumstance (negatively or positively for Sabine will determine the tone of familial relations and interactions) where Sabine would feel compelled to move to Paris.

Everything happens as expected with Sabine and Tom, but Sabine has an innate understanding that her family is not only abnormal but has some sort of connection with powerful and dangerous people. (This being part of why she leaves is optional)

So when the Miraculi (peacock and butterfly) activate not only do the Chengs and Fu sense it, but Sabine feels something is off as well.

[Sabine being knowledgeable about the Miraculi and their purpose but not taught anything else/Sabine not only being knowledgable but also being involved in the plan (therefore involving Marinette without her knowledge)/Sabine only having bare bones understanding that her family is involved in powers and "magic"/Sabine having some understanding of powers and the Miraculi but wanting nothing to do with it] are all options to take with Sabine and I suggest another poll.

When Marinette starts to act evasive about things, not only school but her personal activities, weird purchases and visits to an old man she never met before, she finally bites the bullet and informs her parents of what she suspects is happening. (This is going off the "Sabine has some understanding but wanted nothing to do with it" story path but can be changed to adapt to whatever storyline the Cheng family is going to have as long as the Chengs are informed by Sabine at some point)

Anything after this point must be dictated by 2 main things.

The grandparents relationship with Sabine and in turn Marinette as a family or as blood.

The grandparents attitudes on the Kwami/Miraculi, their purpose, how they should be treated, how involved they should be with the greater world, if they are members of the order or simply close allies/blood descendants of the founders/blood descendants of past holders, etc.

Apologies for this long as post, but Marinette's lack of connection to anything of her Asian roots has been infuriating since Kung Food and Shanghai. Do with this as you wish, I've needed an outlet for a bit.

Oh no don’t apologize these are all very fascinating prompts, the possibilities are endless!

I suppose Sabine’s (and her sister’s) involvement would depend on how old they were when the Cheng parents “died” and how much influence they had thereafter. Personally, I like to imagine Sabine and her sister were being trained to one day fulfill whatever role the Cheng parents had (finally, a watsonian reason for Sabine being Like That that isn’t just her ethnicity) but they weren’t told what that role would be before something happened and the parents had to fake their death and leave the sisters behind. It’s also fun for me to imagine the now adult Cheng sisters looking back on their childhood and going “well that was weird” and lamenting how the answers supposedly died with their parents.

[jedifarmerr]

Wasteland Series (Fallout AU)

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader/OFC (No y/n & no physical descriptions)

Rating: E (18+)

Word Count: 4k

Chapter Warnings: Language, angst?, pretty tame honestly but let me know if I missed anything.

Chapter 7

Series Masterlist

“You’re late…again.” 

Frankie smacked his lips, and checked his watch. 8:15. Almost twenty minutes, he’d been waiting, propped against the fence outside of Piper’s house. He knew he shouldn’t have let her stay the night here. 

She waved her hand, tossing away his annoyance like a bothersome gnat. “And good morning to you too.” 

Frankie’s jaw ticked at her petulance. 

This was their second day of training and already he was tempted to throw in the towel - say fuck it and crawl back into bed where the sheets were probably still warm and waiting for him. 

What would the guys say? We pulled sticks? Big deal. That wasn’t binding. 

Frankie heavily debated leaving, but he took a deep breath instead. He turned in the direction of Arturo’s then stormed off without another word. She chased after him, lagging in his dust until she caught up with him. 

In the middle of town, there was a crowd of pop-up vendors. It must’ve been Saturday. Of course, she had to peek inside every tent. Most of the stuff for sale was junk. Things people deemed unnecessary when picking around nearby apartment buildings. The only ones he found interesting and worthwhile were the ones with art - original pieces done in charcoal, watercolors, or clay. 

Frankie had to drag her away from the lady who carved figurines out of deadwood. He opened the door to Arturo’s and ushered her inside. 

“Such a gentleman,” she teased, and she certainly didn’t make it easy for him. 

The weaponry smelled of metal and gunpowder, and also cheap cologne. It was painfully masculine. Arturo had probably bought the wannabe alpha scent from Mama Murphy’s tent: the woman always claimed it was a smell that no woman could resist. 

Frankie figured Arturo wore it solely to impress her. After all, the man had flirted with her non-stop yesterday. It was nauseating. 

Arturo’s face lit up when he saw her, his grin framed with a fuzzy, black goatee. “Blue,” he purred at her. 

When Frankie had introduced her by the nickname, she shockingly didn’t correct him. She seemed to understand it was for her protection. Maybe he was being too cautious, but he’d rather be safe than sorry. 

“Hope you two aren’t back with any complaints. Remember: No Refunds. Only Store Credit.” He jabbed his thumb towards the sloppy, handmade sign on the wall.

“Trust me, I know.” Frankie sighed. Arturo appeared to still be gloating about cleaning out his pockets. 

Frankie had made the mistake of allowing her to pick out her gun. He really should’ve known better. She was pre-war, after all. People then would pay a premium for aesthetic. 

He’d realized he was fucked when Arturo brought out a gold-plated piece. Everything else in the lineup disappeared. 

“One-of-a-kind, a hidden gem for the gem of the Commonwealth.” 

Frankie wouldn’t go that far, but the gun did suit her. He’d just never say that out loud.

“No complaints here,” she beamed at Frankie. He purchased another box of ammo before heading downstairs. 

In the basement, there was a shooting range. Hardly anyone used it, aside from on Thursday’s when anyone 16 and younger could practice for free. 

Her dad had taught her the basics: stance, grip, and weight distribution. So, the main focus was on her speed and accuracy. 

Frankie leaned against the wall as she loaded her gun. From here, he had a perfect view of both her and the course. 

They started with a warm up. He turned the dial to level two and hit the start button. A dulled school bell rang out, and the roof sounded as if it would cave in when  the web of gears grinded above him as targets unfolded from the ceiling. Arturo had this thing rigged up like an old carnival skill game. The targets even mimicked the movement and patterns of different wasteland creatures. Even she had been impressed. 

By the fifth round, the room reeked of overheated metal and stale summer heat. 

She wiped the sweat off her forehead. There was a bead dripping down the center of her chest, his eyes followed. 

“Is that really all you got, Francisco?” She drew out his full name. Piper would pay for that. 

If she wanted a challenge, fine. “Not even close.” He cranked the dial to the far right and punched it.

This time, the targets zipped around the arena like a pack of pissy stingwings. She frantically shot at each one. She didn’t even hit one. Instead, her bullets pelted the back wall before rolling into a heap around the rusty drain.

She whirled around. “What the hell was that?” 

“You wanted to see what I got?” He shrugged - innocent. “Well, there ya go.” 

“That’s not fair! I wasn’t ready!” 

“Well, there’s your lesson for the day. Be ready for the unexpected.” He smirked and she wrinkled her nose. She didn’t even try to hide the annoyance on her face. “Now, you gonna keep whining or can we get back to it?” 

That seemed to irk her. She spun around in a huff, then popped her neck and rolled her shoulders back as if preparing to fight. 

“Are we gonna get to it or what?” She snapped, staring down the barrel of her gun. 

He had to hand it to her – she had tenacity. 

—

The training sessions continued. Everyday, two hours a day, just the two of them. He could tell it was paying off, her shot had vastly improved along with her speed. 

Frankie found she didn’t take directions very well. At least, not from him, which wasn’t really surprising. 

Anytime he critiqued her, she’d act like she already knew that. Or she was already doing that. Or that’s not how she was taught. Sometimes, he swore she fought back just to get a rise out of him. Once in a while, he’d catch her smirking after learning a new button of his to push. She’d slowly figured him out, and now, had him down to a science like some conditioned pigeon. 

She’d peck and peck and peck at him until he would snap and call her a brat. It didn’t faze her. She was exhausting. She could be so goddamn annoying, but he kinda liked it. He weirdly enjoyed it, this game - the push and pull. 

He was completely aware that it didn’t make any sense. And was pretty sure something was wrong with him. 

Maybe he was spending too much time with her. 

It had been over a week since they arrived in Diamond City. 

—-

One night, Piper’s curiosity finally won. She’d been burning with questions and honestly, Frankie was impressed she held out this long. Ten days. 

It was late. There were three empty growlers on the kitchen counter. Piper had one too many cups of strawberry wheat. Alcohol had always made her lips a little loose.

“You don’t have to answer me,” she prefaced before going in for the kill. “But what was it like on that day, when the bombs fell?” 

“Piper.” Frankie chastised her, jolting upright on the couch. 

He knew he was maybe being too protective of her, or more so of that. Especially since Piper knew about her nightmares. She’d brought it up with him just the other night, while alone in the kitchen. 

“Do they know about them?” Piper had asked. 

Frankie shrugged because he wasn’t sure. If they did, they never said anything. 

“Who’s Nora? She kept mumbling her name last night. I wondered-”

“I don’t know.” The name had lingered in the very back of his mind since that night. Where did she fit into all of this?

Surprisingly, Blue softly smiled at him and said, “It’s alright. Maybe it’s time I talk about it.” 

Frankie felt uneasy, but backed off anyway. She was a big girl, she could make her own choices. 

She seemed unable to look at them as she spoke. Instead, she stared at a stain on the rug and told them about the normalcy, about how it happened so fast. He could remember the few details she spared on that first day in her living room. He didn’t know about how she almost didn’t make it. 

He could not bear to think about what it was like to witness that. The trauma. 

“I knew them, and I could hear them.” Her hands trembled in her lap. Her voice sounded wet with swallowed tears. “Then - there was nothing. Nothing at all. All of it was gone. Just like that.” 

None of them knew what to say. In the long pause, Piper’s expression morphed into regret. “I’m sorry Blue. I shouldn’t have-”

“It’s okay.” She squeezed Piper’s hand. “Like I said, it was probably time anyway.” 

—-

It was your fifteenth and final, full day in Diamond City. Or at least, that was the plan. At 3:30, you would visit Doctor Sun one last time to get up to date on vaccinations. As long as there were no side effects, you’d be heading to Sanctuary first thing tomorrow morning. 

You were going to miss it here. You were going to miss Piper and Power Noodles Pad Thai , and the halfway normalcy in your everyday life. While this might’ve been a city inside a baseball stadium after an apocalypse, it was still the closest you’d felt to normal in weeks. 

Initially, you’d been dreading training with Frankie. But in the hours spent together in the basement, you’d formed an incipient friendship. Or at least, something akin to it. A part of you was going to miss your sessions with him. Even though today was not going well. 

The targets whirled around the arena. Ping. Ping. Ping. Every shot missed their mark. Ping. Ping. Ping. The bullets pelted the back wall and it was really starting to piss you off.

Once the bell rang out and the targets retreated back into the ceiling, you slammed your gun onto the counter and your palms curled into the cold, steel edges. Your chest heaved with frustration. The sweat dripping down your back felt like hot coals digging into your skin.

Frankie had kept pushing and pushing - go quicker. Faster. 

God - you wanted to sock him in the face: Quick enough for you?

You needed to get a hold of yourself. But the deep breath you took to calm down felt like barbed wire in your chest. 

Frankie started to walk towards you, the sound of his feet against the concrete pounded against the walls. Your finger shot up, and wiggled back and forth. Don’t. 

Immediately, he came to a stop. He must’ve sensed one wrong move and you’d go berserk. 

Closing your eyes, you tried to regain some mental control. It didn’t work. You felt so stupid and small and like a big fucking failure. These stupid targets couldn’t even shoot back. It shouldn’t be this hard. You were so frustrated that you might cry. 

You thought about Alice, if she saw you on the verge of tears at a shooting range - what would she say? 

Pathetic. 

She’d call you a pathetic cry baby, just like she did when your pet fish died. Bubbles. She didn’t shed a tear for the five-year-old beta. 

In fact, you never saw her cry, at all. 

She was always tougher than you - always smarter and stronger and better at everything that actually mattered in this world. 

Alice was made - trained for hard and dangerous situations. Growing up, she’d decided to learn how to defend herself with taekwondo while you took dance lessons instead. Pointe shoes and pirouettes hardly seemed like an accomplishment compared to a roundhouse or a scissor kick or her 8th degree black belt. 

She had actually killed before - animals, but it was bigger than a beetle. She’d gone hunting with your dad. Now, you really wished that you would’ve too. 

You often wondered why it couldn’t be Alice that got out instead. Why, out of everyone in the vault, why did it have to be you? 

If it was Alice, she would’ve probably known what the fuck was going on. If not, she would’ve figured it out. She sure as hell wouldn’t be in Fenway Park with four men who she barely knew. About to fuck off to their settlement in less than 24 hours. 

The back of your eyes started to burn and sting like epsom salt. You hated to think about how ashamed your family would be of you. 

You’d always felt like a disappointment, the lead balloon in their bed of roses. Not so much your dad, you supposed. At least, he loved you. He’d probably blame himself for not being there to protect you from this big bad world. 

I told you, peanut. This world would crush you.

But your mom - oh, you could only imagine her face. Her indignation, her distaste, though not surprised. Never surprised. That same sour expression she gave when you denied the job at Vault-Tec. 

I knew you weren’t built for it. 

“Blue.” 

Frankie’s voice was low and almost soft and startled you from that bleak line of thinking. You tensed and could not bear to glance at him, or anywhere near his vicinity. You didn’t want him to see you like this - a weak, weepy mess. 

“Hey,” he whispered, walking towards you. His pace was slow, careful and he didn’t stop until he was right behind you. “Hey.” 

“Look, I already know, okay,” you spat - defensive. “I’m not fast enough. My GTL is a quarter inch off. You really don’t have to tell me, alright?” 

“That’s-” Frankie paused, exhaled. “That’s not what I was gonna say.” 

Your grip uncurled from the counter. “No?”

Slowly, you turned around, lifting your head to peer up at him. He didn’t appear annoyed or pissed or even judgmental. 

Instead, his umber eyes were soft as velvet.

He sighed. “You’re thinking too much.” 

Bastard. “No shit! I think that’s pretty obvious.” 

His tongue peeked out from his pink lips, telling you he wasn’t finished, yet. Reluctantly, you shut up.

He scratched at the bald patch in his beard before crossing his arms, his t-shirt stretched across the broad expanse of his chest. “Remember when you shot that bloatfly.” 

You clicked your tongue, then responded, “Yes.”

“How many shots did it take?” 

Hands on hips, you asked, “What’re you trying to get at here?” His brow hitched up, and you huffed. Fine. “Two.” 

He hummed, his head dipping into a single, firm nod. 

“I know people who’ve trained for years and take double - hell triple that. But it took two - on your first try. And you know why?” 

You shook your head. 

“Cause you didn’t have time to think.” He reached behind you to grab the gun, his knuckles brushing the denim on your hip. You watched him unclip the empty magazine and it looked so small in his palm. His fingers were thick – his hands so strong and rough and large. You licked your lips as he said, “You’re not a bad shot. You just don’t trust yourself.” 

It took a moment for his words to register. Frankie never complimented you, at least not outright. And he never said anything he didn’t actually mean. You’re not a bad shot. It sat fuzzy and warm and sweet in the pit of your belly. 

You met his gaze – realization. “Did you just-” 

“Don’t push it,” he warned you with a teensy, little smirk. 

You decided to listen and leave it.

“Try again.” He reloaded the gun before handing it to you. “And this time, don’t think so much.” 

“Whatever.” You rolled your eyes. “Just go back to your corner.” 

He didn’t go back to his corner, though. After hitting the start button, he came just a few feet behind you. You assumed he wanted to watch from a different angle. 

The targets moved around the arena. You started off strong, like always, but started to slip once it kicked up speed. Your shoulders inched closer to your ears with each missed shot. 

Suddenly, you could hear Frankie moving closer – you could smell his soap. Fresh cut pine. Sage. Something masculine and very much him. 

“Relax.” His warm breath tickled the back of your neck. It was hard to straight think with him so close. 

His large hands engulfed your shoulders. He pressed down to release the tension and you sucked in a breath. 

Oh God – you hoped he didn’t hear that. 

Two targets zipped by that you didn’t even try to shoot. You tried to shake out of this weird daze, and aimed at the third. 

Miss. 

“Don’t think.” His voice was low and thick and rumbling over the shell of your ear. It was overwhelming. It was embarrassing. Get a grip. Your body was reacting like some touch starved virgin. 

When you took another shot, somehow it hit the target. Dumb luck. 

“That’s it.” His fingertips ghosted across the straps of your tank top, lightly brushing your shoulder blade. 

He ripped away his hand and practically scrambled backwards. He quickly wiped his hands on his jeans as if you were made entirely from mud. Asshole. So maybe you were a little sweaty. Big deal. 

You swallowed a scoff and shoved the memory of his soft touch into the back of your mind. You blamed the lapse on the stuffy room, the asbestos and dust motes in the air. 

The two of you barely spoke more than a few words during the last two rounds. After leaving Arturo’s, you found Benny outside – waiting. 

“The mayor asked to see us.” Benny didn’t explain further, but Frankie seemed to understand what that meant. Will and Santi were out today with a patrol unit, helping to make sure that sinkhole you encountered on the way into the city was clear. 

“We’ll drop you off at Piper’s on the way,” Frankie said – dismissively. His gaze remained firmly glued above your head. 

“No, I think I’ll join you, but thanks.”  

He unclipped the aviators from his t-shirt and slid them on before looking at you. The muscle in his jaw tightened, flexing at your obstinance. Benny uncomfortably glanced between you. There were too many people around for him to put his foot down completely. 

This time, you weren’t being difficult for the sake of irking him. Genuinely, you wanted to see the old Vault-Tec luxury box with so many happy memories from your childhood. You didn’t want to be pissy, so you reasoned with him. 

“Listen, I just wanna see the view from up there. I promise, I’ll stay out of the way.” 

He scowled, but didn’t say no. Instead, he notched his head in the direction of the mayor’s office and you followed. 

—-

Benny watched Blue lean over the upper deck balcony as she scanned the landscape. This box easily had the best view. Benny could see all of Diamond City, the skyline was just far enough away to blur some of the destruction. Before joining her by the railing, Benny checked that the glass door was soundly shut. 

Inside, Frankie was talking with the mayor, who likely wanted an update on the vaults. He glanced behind his shoulder and caught Frankie staring at her. His shoulders were stiff, his jaw tense. He appeared conflicted. 

Benny wondered what the fuck was going on inside Frankie’s head. It had become abundantly clear to all of them that Frankie gave a shit about her. He’d gone all ape-shit, burn this place to the ground when she almost died. He had snapped at Piper for butting into her business. Even though they fought and bickered and still jabbed at each other like an old married couple, Benny wanted to call them friends. He could tell they enjoyed it – they liked it – they seemed to find it stimulating to push each other’s buttons. 

There was always this tension between them. It used to be tar-black, heavy and thick with animosity as it pulsed in the air, but recently it had morphed – it had shifted into something lighter, soft as sun-warm bronze. 

Benny looked over at her. She’d been quiet since coming out here, but not the kind of silence that worried him. She seemed almost serene, peaceful, strands of her hair swept across her face in the soft breeze. 

She caught him staring, a mischievous grin lit up her lips. “Wanna know something crazy?” 

Eagerly, he nodded. She crooked her finger – he slid closer. 

“This is where I used to sit when I came to games.” 

Benny’s stomach sank to his feet. This was Vault-Tec’s box. Despite Vault-Tec’s efforts to erase their existence, they could only do so much. During remodeling, the crew had found underneath the rubble of broken stadium seats – a small hatch. Down a ladder, through a dark, narrow hallway was a single, impermeable door, which bore an insignia: VT. 

Benny forced a smile on his face – a facade. “No shit. Really. This exact one?” 

“Well, this wasn’t like my assigned seat,” she said. “My parents worked for the same company, and this was their box.” 

The last flicker of his hope died. He could practically feel the air leave his lungs. Parents? 

She was a fucking Vault-Tec prodigy. 

A month ago, he would’ve rejoiced at the news. Now, he just felt stupid. He’d actually let himself think that she could be just some nobody. Just some rich kid with parents in tech or security or some other shit. It might’ve been wishful thinking, but goddamnit – it would’ve made things easier. 

For everybody. 

He was dreading telling her. But first, he’d have to tell the guys. Thinking about the look on Frankie's face when he found out the truth made him feel sick.

It was not gonna be good.