#so like i think i have the first half basically but if i can't fit the second half in a reasonable amount of pages i might have to reduce

[wereshrew-admirer]

scratching at the walls

[theflyingfeeling]

fictalkfictalkfictalk

[shishiga]

In the original he's got some clumsy feet, so yeah. I've redone his body composition in general, both here and on the first art. I made him thinner (because that's what he's all about, speed and lightness), but I tried to make the fucking robot have a lean physique. So that despite being light, it felt like a lump of ‘muscle’. So I gave him a voluminous chest but a skinny waist. At the same time, I emphasised his legs in general, just because of his jumping ability. I enlarged his thighs on one axis, increased the length of his legs. I put pistons in his calves and made them more ‘animal-like’ (?). So he can push himself forward. The legs fold in half, you can see that too (all for aerodynamics). The feet have been completely modified. They're longer too, just like an extension of the toe spring. Made two toes instead of ponte slippers, because it's trivially more comfortable that way. He can separate these toes at any time for more grip or combine them together (it's a mountain goat thing, which also fits V1). If you ask why he doesn't have an aerodynamic bib but has a flat nose like a creeper in minecraft, it's already for combat and convenience. A flat surface will withstand more impact or damage from a fall than a pointy nosed bow. I'd also wonder if it needs a bird keel if it flies rather than having wings for ponts :D Just about those things. Basically I turned the keel back on its back and made it a dorsal fin that the blades are just attached to. Done this on the basis that I like to think he's clinging to his arms extra, rather than changing the soo…. yeah. To have a place to cling to, I moved the wings closer to the spine. Generally it's a separate removable part, life doesn't depend on it like a cool jetpack 😎🤙. Bleed more tubes of blood to the outside, oh well. So formed weak spots in his armour to keep V1 from sticking. The strongest are the blue plates, obviously. Then come the black ones, that's the joints, abs, back and legs. There aren't many tubes on the legs. I figured with such a bouncy enemy, they'd be the ones to aim for, so I removed important components from there other than mechanics (Also the reason why the legs are the way they are, especially the thin calves). But the barrels are just softer, that's where the tubes are. According to my idea that's where it absorbs blood.

I'm using a translator, so I hope it came out okay. I can't keep quiet

[moldycheezeit]

Chapter 1

You were a good kid, great kid even. But no one ever really knew, well maybe your high school science teacher and Alfred, but they were the only ones.  

Someone out there is probably thinking ‘‘well what about your mom she would surely care?” Well to bad she wasn't there, well at first she was, during the pregnancy, but when it was time for you to come into the world all of a sudden she didn’t fit into said world. So death took her away from you minutes after you were born. 

For that and maybe because you look like her, they probably wouldn’t know because they barely look let alone talk to you, they neglected you and it hurt because these are the people who are supposed to love and care for you. But with the help of Alfred you learned to take care of yourself which leads you to this moment. Like right now where you are standing at this very moment. At the school's science fair because you, even if people don’t believe it because of how pretty you are, are really smart when it comes to science. You learned for your love of science by reading a book that your mom had written and left behind after she passed. She left behind many more things for you but this stood out among the rest. It was mostly filled with ideas on things to create and ways that could make it possible. So you tried the one that you found the most interesting and figured out a way to create it. Of course it took a bunch of trial and error but you made it work with what you had. Seeing as Bruce never gave you any money ,like an allowance, you had to find scraps to make your inventions work. Now let’s get back to that competition. 

You are currently standing next to the table with your invention ‘the gauntlet’ yea you didn’t know what to name it. What it can do is tell you any sickness or disease if you were to type in the symptoms of your patient. It takes the form of a bracelet but when activated it basically takes up the back of your hand and half of your forearm. It has two screens, one that you use to type and the other that gives off a hologram-like screen. Yea it’s clunky and doesn’t look right at the moment, but for your first model it’s great. 

While standing around waiting for the judges to come see your product you see a man. He looked to be in his 40’s and had short brown hair, a weird looking goatee, and was wearing… sunglasses? Indoors…welp at least he’s not wearing something stupid like a bat suit. He does look familiar but you can’t remember were from. You notice he’s looking around at the invitations and talking to the creators. And he seems to be heading in your direction like right now. He’s 5 tables away, 4, 3, 2– “Hey kid what’s this you got?” The man is smiling like he’s actually interested in what you have to say. That is not really normal. “This is a gauntlet I created to tell you of any sickness or disease if you were to type in the symptoms of your patient.” You had responded to the man’s question confidently. “Wow you really programmed it to do all that.” He questioned, interested in the gauntlet that sits in the display case. “Yes, it took me a while to do it though.” You had said, uttering the last part to yourself. “ I can imagine seeing as I've done a bunch of stuff just like it.” The uh.. Weirdo, yea lets go with that, had told you. Now that surprised you, But before you could ask any questions the weirdo ,as you've dubbed him, started walking away. “Alright see you later kid, hope you win with that invention you got.” you could hear his voice starting to fade a bit as he walked away. And all you could think was ‘ Man was a weirdo.’ 

It's been a while since the judges had come over to your table, because right now they were deciding on who the top 3 will be. You kinda hoped one of them would be the red haired kid who made that moving metal arm out of scraps. To you it was just really cool. You can't help but hope to get in the top 3 as well because the winners get cash. ‘ I need that money so I can create more inventions, yea using what I have on hand is good but there is a limit of how much I can do with it. Not like Bruce would give me any.’ you had rolled your eyes thinking about that last sentence. Hopefully with the creations your mom thought of they could help you get enough money to never rely on that man again.

Just as you ended that thought the speakers in the hall started projecting what the announcer was saying into the mic. “ Can all the contestants make their way to the stage, the judges have finally made their decisions.”  You and all the other contestants start making your way to the front where the judges are.  luckily it's not that far of a walk and when you get there you all stand in a crowd.  when you all get there the announcer starts speaking “ even though we had a lot of good intentions this year only about three of you can make the top.  so we'll start from 3rd to 1st place in order of who got which.” As the crowd stands there in anticipation  the announcer starts speaking again “ In third place is kidd with his metal arm that he has made to help people who are missing limbs, we hope to see more in the future for him.” as people clap you see the red-haired kid you saw earlier walking up to get onto the stage in the announcer hands him a third place medal and a check with money on it. “ Now for second place Elijah who has made a machine that can take packages of  food and can make them into full meals.” Just like before you had seen this kid Elijah start walking up to the stage and when he got on the stage he had received his second place medal in his check that he had won. “And finally for our first place we have a (y/n) Wayne who has shown us a gauntlet. That can help people in the medical field  identify diseases  if they have a hard time figuring out what they are or what the patient has.” You're surprised to hear that you knew you were smart but you didn't know you would win first place. As you walk up to the stage you have a rush of excitement in you. Finally, you can have money to help create your inventions, your mom's inventions. you can finally fulfill the dream she had that she wrote in her books from before you were born.But when you go on stage the announcer only handed you the first place medal you were surprised to not see a check that came with it then out of the corner of your eye you see the same weirdo man from earlier with a big check walking towards you. “ Hey kid you won just like expected, hopefully you can put this money to use and make more amazing creations like the one you made for today.” But you couldn't help but say “ you look familiar.”  and happily he answers your question saying “I'm Tony Stark kid.” Ah.so that's why he looked so familiar. 

If you watch one piece see what I did there. ٩(^ᗜ^ )و I thought it would be a funny thing to put in. Also sorry I keep posting at like 1am its really the only time I'm free

Taglist : @cxcilla @starslightzz @jackchanzzz @simpingpandas @galaxypurplerose @spqce-buns @peche4et3chocolat @ryuushou @moon0goddess @fanficloverlol

[raintemper]

Moon and Pebbles!! Yippee

oh the woes of being a flesh creature surrounded by supercomputer gods,, I got sad drawing him hhh

more about them under the line :>

Moon! She, like Suns, was one of the first successful projects and were both more of test models/therapeutic companions than anything else. They were both restructured to fit their new functions but Suns has obviously undergone more significant changes... Moon is kept inside to assist with research and computational stuff. She's a lab cat. She's generally looks more like a normal creature, and has a friendly appearance because her creators (i guess it would be the ancients) would be seeing her frequently and would rather a friendly face, something that is easily perceived as nonthreatening, as opposed to Suns weaponry and NSH's extra limbs and spikes. She doesn't have the screen face like NSH, so expressing emotions comes mostly from body language. Moon is not outside at all so there is no need for solar panel components like Suns or NSH. She has internal stored power that can last for quite a while but still needs to be recharged? I imagine the neuron fly drones would also assist in that department. The drones still function somewhat like her portable processing servers/braincells. She has also programed a defensive protocol into them, they can create small bits of electricity to use in dire moments. Initially programmed to keep track of NSH's samples that sometimes escapes him.

Pebbles is a purposed organism. He is a whole entire organic cat. He was born in the lab, in a chaotic time when resources were low. He has a mark of communication. He also has a brain chip where he can access (basically) the cloud where the others upload information. He is also a lab cat so this is crucial to his role. He did try and remove it once when he was younger and it backfired horribly and now he has a mechanical ear and eye. He still feels out of place for obvious reasons, being the only creature of organic origin amongst his peers.

He is closest to Moon who had a role in caring for and raising him. She did not know a thing about caring for a living being but did her best. Pebbles does not like being confined to the facility. The suggestion and influence the brain chip has on him sometimes clashes with his thoughts. He is very aware of the limitations it puts on him to not leave. He envies NSH and Suns a lot for being able to do what he can't. He often downloads the maps they create and read NSH's sample studies in his spare time. He also likes seeing the lizards NSH brings back, from a distance.

I think in the time that Pebbles exists, NSH is not very active. Due to the low resources and chaotic season, NSH is often in low power mode. Which means less expeditions outside and more time just, half asleep. And when the weather becomes more sustainable, NSH would be sent on long outings to gather as much as possible before being powered down again. So instead of hearing stories from NSH, he sought out Suns and UI instead. (Actually I think everyone is kind of low power mode here, Suns does not wander as far).

erhm i think he tries to leave the place and then gets sick or something,,,im still thinking..

[cece693]

I wanted to begin writing for twilight again, but didn't have any ideas for who. So this fic is mostly be just going with the flow.

Sparkling Awkwardness

pairing: jasper whitlock x male reader x edward cullen tags: you are a newborn, but even then you can't catch a break, tug of war between two vampires, comedic elements, pre-relationship, reader is not that old, newborn vampire

In Forks, Washington, the perpetual gray skies had always been your friend—before and after you became a vampire. But not even the cozy gloom of the Pacific Northwest could hide the shimmering tension stirring between Jasper and Edward over you, of all people.

You never asked to be so desirable; you certainly hadn’t been in your human life. But now, you were a shiny new vampire with a perfect complexion and a magnetic personality—at least, so you’d been told. You still felt like the same slightly clumsy, socially awkward guy, except you no longer tripped over your own feet unless you were actively trying to blend in. It was weird. Oh, and apparently, both Jasper and Edward thought you might be their “mate.” That word alone was enough to give you hives if your skin could still do that. It made everything feel predetermined—a cosmic real-estate deal on your afterlife.

No, thank you.

You plopped down on the gleaming white couch, adopting what you hoped was a casual position. Edward sat at the piano bench, absentmindedly letting his fingers hover over the keys, while Jasper paced near the staircase. They were doing that silent eye-contact thing—what you liked to call “vampire telepathy” (you knew it was actually Edward reading thoughts and Jasper sensing emotions, but still). Either way, you were definitely the topic, if the frequent side-eye glances were any indication.

You cleared your throat, forcing a grin. “So, are we going to continue the silent stare-off, or do I need to crack a few jokes to break this tension?”

Edward turned to you, lips curving into a tight, apologetic smile. “Sorry,” he murmured softly. “Old habits.”

“You guys have old habits? You’re basically the definition of ancient habits,” you teased. “I’m the new kid on the block. Cut me some slack. I’ve only been a vampire for—what—three months?”

Jasper stopped mid-pace, sending you a faint smirk. “If it helps, you’re doing a fine job adjusting. No unintentional biting incidents this week.”

“I appreciate the recognition. We can add it to my vampire résumé,” you said, only half-joking. “Next up: perfecting the sparkle. Do you think if I rub my cheek up against a disco ball, I’ll blind everyone within a two-mile radius?”

Edward’s eyes sparkled with suppressed amusement. “Might be a bit dramatic, even for us.”

Jasper shrugged. “No more dramatic than having two vampires fight over you, I reckon.”

You grimaced, nose scrunching. “Yeah, about that.” You cast them both a meaningful look. “Are you two really fighting over me? Because I’m not exactly used to…you know, this.”

“Yes,” Edward said at the exact same time Jasper said, “Of course.” Then they flicked irritated glances at each other, as if each wished the other had said anything else.

When Carlisle brought you home after that near-fatal accident, you had been delirious and bleeding out. Edward, in typical heroic fashion, had insisted on saving you. Next thing you knew, there you were: newly turned, hungry for blood, and fitted with a brand-new wardrobe courtesy of Alice.

You’d spent the early days stumbling through the house, flinching whenever someone shut a door too loudly. But from the get-go, you noticed two sets of molten gold eyes on you more than the others: Jasper’s and Edward’s.

You didn’t think much of it at first—maybe they were just protective. But it quickly escalated from polite overprotectiveness to…whatever this was. Tense stands in the living room. Soft arguments at midnight. That time Jasper accidentally crushed a chair arm because Edward “invaded your personal space.” Or the time Edward snarled under his breath for no apparent reason when you innocently asked Jasper for some sparring tips.

Needless to say, that’s when you began to suspect something was afoot. And apparently, that something was the so-called mate bond. You still didn’t buy it.

A creak on the polished floor made you realize you’d been tapping your foot anxiously—only to discover it was Jasper edging closer to you. He had that concerned older-brother-turned-smitten-face again. Meanwhile, Edward looked up from the piano, watching you like you were the only thing in the room worth paying attention to (besides maybe the antique piano itself).

You sighed, addressing them both. “So, as fun as it is being the center of your undead soap opera, can we talk about the whole ‘mate’ thing? I still don’t buy into it.”

Edward studied you, a hint of a frown creasing his perfect forehead. “I’ve heard your thoughts,” he began, “and I understand why you’re—”

“You heard my thoughts?” you cut in, eyes narrowing. “Hey, man, that’s private property up there. At least charge admission.”

A sheepish smile briefly pulled at his lips. “I try to respect your privacy, but strong emotions tend to overflow.”

Your cheeks heated (which was impossible, physically, but you felt it). You cleared your throat. “Well, guess I should keep my strong emotions dialed down—like that’s even possible. I’m brand-new at this vamp thing. I can’t walk across the room without rearranging furniture accidentally.”

Jasper let out a low laugh. It instantly relaxed some of the tension in the room—he couldn’t help broadcasting some of that relaxation to you, as was his empathetic gift. “I’ve got no intention of forcing you into anything,” he said gently. “It’s just…I feel how your emotions waver between us. It’s intense.”

You threw up your hands. “I can’t help it! You two are like walking advertisement campaigns for impossibly cool vampires. I mean, Edward, you’ve got that brooding poet vibe, and sometimes your hair looks like you walked off a shampoo commercial—”

He seemed surprised. “I—thank you?”

You went on. “Jasper, you’re the calm center in a raging storm, and plus, that Southern drawl is kinda hot. Sorry, is that weird to say out loud?”

Jasper blinked. “It’s— it’s not unwelcome.”

Edward’s lips twitched in a smile. “So, you do admit you feel…something?”

“Well, yeah!” you exclaimed. “But does that mean I have to pick and stamp a romantic label on it right now? Because that’s a lot of pressure.” You flopped back against the couch dramatically. “Especially when I’m trying to figure out why my sparkles look more like glitter glue than fancy vampire confetti in the sunlight.”

You heard a snicker and glanced to the side. Emmett was leaning in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, thoroughly entertained. Alice stood behind him, grinning like this was the funniest show on earth.

“You’re both about one push away from a territorial meltdown,” Emmett teased his brothers. “And I, for one, can’t wait to see who’s gonna punch whom first.”

Jasper shot him a warning look. “Not helpful, Emmett.”

Edward winced. “I’d prefer if we avoided violence.”

You rubbed your temples. “Yes, please, let’s not have that. It’s already complicated enough without fistfights.”

“Aw, come on,” Emmett drawled, “vampire fights are the best. It’ll be over in about two seconds and destroy half the house. Great entertainment, if you ask me.”

Alice laughed behind her hand. “I saw a vision of that once. Rosalie was not happy about the furniture repairs.”

In an effort to shift the mood, you sat up straight, cleared your throat, and pointed at Edward and Jasper in turn. “First, you.” You locked eyes with Edward. “Stop reading my cringe-worthy daydreams—I can’t handle that level of exposure.”

He pressed his lips together in a teasing way, then nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

“Second,” you said, turning to Jasper, “no more flooding me with calm vibes to manipulate me into hugging you for, like, five minutes at a time.”

Jasper put a hand to his chest, feigning offense. “I don’t do that on purpose. Usually,” he added under his breath.

“And third,” you said, scanning between them, “I don’t want either of you jumping to assumptions about being my ‘mate.’ I don’t even know what that truly means aside from it being the vampire version of destiny. Maybe I’m too new to see the big picture, but…” You shrugged, folding your arms. “I’m not ready to commit. I like you both. Deal with it.”

Edward’s eyes flickered with relief and a shade of disappointment simultaneously, as though he’d half-expected you to declare an immediate eternal bond. Jasper gave you a solemn nod, managing a small, humble smile.

“So you want to, what, keep this casual?” Edward asked.

“I want to keep living—uh, un-living—my new existence,” you corrected, “without strapping myself into an epic love saga just yet. Let me be a baby vampire who can’t even do a normal grocery run without wanting to pass out from the smell of raw hamburger.” Your voice dropped into a mock superhero tone: “Time to buy more steak sauce, but oh wait, I can’t eat human food anymore.”

A strained silence passed, then Edward sighed, letting the corners of his mouth lift. “Fair enough.”

Jasper stepped closer, just enough that he could have touched your arm, but he hesitated. “And if we…I don’t know, slip up? If one of us tries to edge the other one out?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You both have about a century of experience on me. I promise, if you slip up, I will find some comedic way to remind you. Maybe I’ll laminate a scoreboard.”

At that, Jasper chuckled quietly. Edward dipped his head, biting back a grin. It seemed the cold war between them was cooling off—somewhat.

Emmett broke into a broad smile. “Aw, man, a scoreboard. Please put me in charge of that. I’ll keep track of who gets the most time with you. Strictly for comedic purposes, of course.”

From across the house, Rosalie’s voice rang out, “Don’t encourage them!”

As the sun sank below Forks’ ever-present clouds, you rose from the couch, nearly tripping over the rug on your way to the door—reflexively, Jasper grabbed your elbow, steadying you. Edward hovered just behind you, poised to catch you if you stumbled further.

“Thanks,” you murmured to both of them, awkwardly aware of their closeness. Being flanked by two protective vampires had once seemed terrifying, but now it felt…comforting. Still weird, though.

“We’re not going to solve everything tonight,” you said, taking a purposeful step back so you could see them both—and so you didn’t spontaneously lean into someone’s chest. “Let’s just agree not to tear each other apart, yeah?”

Edward extended a hand toward Jasper, as if to form a truce. Jasper eyed it warily for a moment before accepting the gesture in a calm, if reluctant, handshake. “Alright,” Edward said. “No tearing each other apart.”

Jasper nodded. “Can do.”

Feeling a spark of mischief, you clapped your hands. “Great. That’s one less lawsuit for Dr. Cullen to worry about. In the meantime, Emmett—please start designing that scoreboard.”

“On it!” Emmett crowed from the doorway.

“Have a good night, you two,” you said to Jasper and Edward. Then, with a flash of a grin, you headed for the stairs, half-dreading, half-anticipating the comedic fiascos tomorrow was sure to bring. Behind you, you heard their faint conversation:

(Edward) “He’s definitely going to drive us insane, isn’t he?”

(Jasper) “Yep.”

(Edward) “… And you’re okay with that?”

(Jasper) “I think I am.”

Your lips quirked into a smile. Even if you didn’t believe in mates, you had to admit—it felt pretty good having not just one, but two admirers who thought you were worth fighting for. Sure, you still sparkled like a glitter bomb gone awry, and your vampiric existence remained confusing at best. But if that’s the price of comedic immortality… well, you could live—er, un-live—with that.

[hiraethwrote]

❝ AND I SIMPLY BLEND IN WITH THE WALLPAPER ❞ PART 2

✧ summary: you're finally over the breakup and back in a new relationship with someone you now can't picture living without. how do you handle bumping into your ex after not seeing him since that party? ✧ cw: f!reader, college au, mild profanity, some angst for my boy satoru, also satoru being a bad bf, pining, heavy regret, comfort, mention of previous issues/trauma, no use of y/n ✧ word count: 3.3k

part 1 - part 2

Satoru: happy birthday! hope you have a nice day

You were surprised to say the least, staring blankly at your phone screen. It had been months since you’d seen him, let alone heard anything from him. The last text message that had been sent between the two of you had been a week after your breakup, when he told you there was still a box of your stuff left in his dorm.

And now you were staring at the first time he’d even acknowledged you’re existence since then — and pure relief filled you as it dawned on you there wasn’t an ounce of hurt in you.

After that dreaded party, you’d made up your mind to finally move on. Not let the idea of him plague you anymore — and seeing those words across your screen made you realise you had finally reached that point. Now you were only thankful for the experience that had been Satoru Gojo, but it was nothing but a pleasant memory. Not painful, not bitter, not torturous. Just nice.

“Ready to go?” A voice snapped you back to reality, looking up at your boyfriend. Your new saving grace, who he had come into your life when you needed it the most, like the universe had finally decided you had suffered enough and now it was your turn to be happy again.

For a while, you’d suspected men like him didn’t really exist, because he had been so incredibly patient, lenient when needed. Just all around a good person, which was exactly what you deserved.

Lifting from your seat, you typed a quick ‘thank you :)’, feeling content that you could now answer him without anxiety filling every fibre of your being. “Yeah, let’s go,” you smiled before hooking your arm with his.

You simply sunk into his body, letting your head rest on his shoulder as his arm was safely secured around your waist in a tender grip, standing in the very front of the line while you waited to be seated.

Lifting your head, your eyes traveled your boyfriend’s face with a loving gaze, a look that had basically become a default setting whenever you had the chance to admire him. “Thank you again,” you whispered.

His arm tightened a little around you. “Of course. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t take you out for dinner on your birthday,” he spoke so proudly before placing a kiss on your forehead.

“Still, I think a thank you is in order,” you giggled. Carefully wiggling in his grip, you turned around to grab your lipgloss from your purse when you accidentally nudged your elbow straight into the back of the person standing behind you. “Oh, I’m so sorry- Satoru?”

Eyes falling on a familiar figure, you’d recognise that white hair and blue orbs anywhere. It was none other than your ex-boyfriend staring right back at you. Softly, your name dropped from his lips in a way you hadn’t heard from him say in a very long time.

Restraint was sorely forgotten at the sight of you glowing with a sense of peace, letting his eyes take in how you were styled in a beautiful form fitting dress of green satin, half your hair tied back with a cute bow

“Hi,” you said cheerfully, causing him to close his gaping jaw and swallow the lump in his throat.

“Hey,” he answered in a low voice, before he let his attention shift to the vaguely familiar man at your side, one arm on your waist, the other tucked into the pockets of his beige pants.

“Oh, sorry. This is my boyfriend,” your voice was dripping with devotion as you placed one hand on his chest, “you know Kento, right?”

To say Satoru knew Kento was a stretch, but he wasn’t completely unacquainted with him — he’d seen him around campus and at a few parties. Satoru had always thought him to be too serious, never smiling, always walking with strict determination of getting somewhere. But right now he was flashing him a friendly smile as he pulled his hand from the pocket and had it hover in the air between them.

Shaking out of his thoughts, he politely accepted the gesture — not surprised by the firm and respectable handshake. “Kento Nanami, it’s a pleasure.”

“Satoru Gojo,” he answered simply, lips drawing into a thin line. Kento then turned to the individual at his side, causing an embarrassed flush to paint his cheeks, because the sight of you had him forget his girlfriend for a hot second.

“Pleasure,” he smiled at her after they had introduced themselves to each other.

So the rumours were true. No one had told him directly, because the topic of you was quickly dropped any time he entered a room, but the whispers of your new boyfriend had reached him eventually.

Once when he was sat in the library, his ears had perked up when two girls sitting behind him had mentioned your name, talking about the new guy you were seeing. They’d talked of a handsome and chivalrous man, who seemed to have all the women on campus charmed because he appeared to be the perfect gentleman. And you’d been the lucky girl to finally be able to secure him.

But when he’d heard the descriptions of your new beau — stoic, always alone and grumpy, oh-so-serious business major Kento Nanami, was not the person he pictured.

He probably thought he was being slick, but you saw through it. Despite everything that had gone down between you, there was no denying you still knew Satoru, and the look in his eyes when he observed Kento could definitely have been kinder. And with the heavy glare from Satoru, the encounter had turned strangely uncomfortable. Because you weren’t the only one who’s picked up in his tense behaviour. His girlfriend saw it too.

You knew you couldn’t let the silence hang over you any longer. “So is there a special occasion?” You asked sweetly, looking between them.

“Just- ahem, just a much needed date night,” his girlfriend answered, trying her best to hide how her voice came out strained once she opened her mouth.

“That’s nice! It’s good you take the time to do those sorts of things.”

You were so genuine when you talked, and that was all thanks to Kento. Because of his unwavering and supportive presence, you were able to talk to the both of them without a single drop of resentment.

The moment he had heard the name of your ex-boyfriend slip out of your lips, he’d acted on pure instinct, his grip on you tightening — not in a possessive way. No, he just wanted to make sure you were okay, knowing your entire history.

However, the road to knowing your history had been a long one, because the insecurities and trust issues had run a lot deeper than you had anticipated. So Kento had to put in a lot of work in order to get you to creak open that door of trust.

You didn’t know why you waited so long to expose your vulnerability to him. Maybe you just waited for him to bail on you if you proved to be too closed off — too difficult. That eventually he’d grow tired of the work it took to prove himself to you and you’d spare yourself the heartbreak by pushing him away. Yet, he stayed.

If there was an individual to be patience personified, it would be Kento Nanami. He responded to every request of “I’m not ready yet” and “it’s just too much” with a warm smile and a nod before he continued to keep you company.

And he had never once complained. Not a single grunt of frustration, not a twitch in his eye as you once again shut down his attempt of getting close, never rolling his eyes at you. He simply stayed by your side, which eventually was enough for you to let your walls down — and with the walls, everything else came tumbling out as well.

One late evening, after he’d cooked you a nice dinner just because, you’d decided it was finally time to tell him about Satoru and how that ended. And once you twisted open the jar to your life, everything came spewing out.

Every detail about your relationship with Satoru, the breakup and the party. That quickly snowballed into your troubles with family, friends, work, studies, life — you name it. Standing in front of him, you revealed things about yourself you’d only ever told one person before, Satoru. And everything came out in the form of loud and uncontrollable sobs.

You’d been so scared, that he’d deem it all too much and turn his back on you. But he hadn’t even hesitated to pull you into his strong arms and simply hold you. For as long as you needed it, he stroked your hair and whispered small affirmations into your ear the entire night until you fell asleep in his embrace.

When you’d woken up the next morning, his arms were still around you — shielding you from all potential pain to come your way. For the first time in a long time, you felt safe.

And that’s when you knew.

All of the weariness that had held you back for so long had evaporated into thin air, everything suddenly making sense again as it all fell into place. It was strange, knowing that the two of you had crossed paths on so many occasions but never even acknowledged each other. It felt like wasted time, because you found yourself thinking it should have been him all along.

Kento seemed to be everything Satoru wasn’t, matching your energy in a way Satoru never did. At least now, all the pain you’d been through felt worth it because it had led you straight into the life of your current boyfriend.

So when you were suddenly faced with your ex again, the very one that shattered your heart, Kento instinctively had to know you were doing alright. And if not, he was going to just smoothly shift the conversation away so you’d be able to retreat from the situation to make sure you were anything but uneasy.

You’d looked at Kento when his arm had tensed around your middle, your eyes telling him everything he needed to know. Nothing about the encounter caused any discomfort, all due to him.

“And you? What brings you here?” She asked.

“It’s your birthday,” it slipped out of Satoru before you had the chance to answer, soft eyes locked on you.

“Yeah,” you only smiled. “Kento wanted to take me out,” turning to gaze at him again, “I just couldn’t turn down his offer.”

Again, Satoru’s traitorous eyes drifted where the shouldn’t, flicking towards Kento’s hand that was still on your waist. It resulted in a new feeling arising in him; jealousy. It had him act a bit rashly, a sharp movement to intertwine his hand with his girlfriend’s. Had he done it to draw out a reaction from you? He wasn’t sure, but if that were the case, he failed miserably. It didn’t even seem like you noticed it at all.

“Only the best for you,” Kento had said, mostly for your ears exclusively. But Satoru had heard his little comment and felt a sting go through his body, amplified by the display of how he seemed to be in pure awe of you.

There was no denying it. The way Kento looked at you was out of pure love, unbothered by your surroundings. Not just in his eyes though, but he wore his dedication to you on his sleeve. There was no doubt that he was perfectly happy, that he found himself where he was meant to be.

“Mr. Nanami, your table is ready,” the waiter came over.

“It was great seeing you again,” you smiled, first looking at his girlfriend before turning to look at Satoru. He knew it wasn’t your intention, because your eyes were only looking at him with kindness — but he felt as if your gaze was burning into his soul. “Enjoy your evening.”

“Nice meeting you both,” Kento begged farewell, before guiding you in front of him with his hand resting on the small of your back.

They say you don’t realise what you have until it’s gone. Well, Satoru had only an idea of what he had lost once it was gone. It wasn’t until he now saw someone else enjoying your love he actually realised what he had foolishly given up. He also knew that was completely and utterly selfish of him.

It wasn’t until a few weeks ago, images of you had started to reappear in his head. At first it was only in small flashes, to which he didn’t think twice about. But it quickly got worse, when he found himself sharing a moment with his girlfriend and a suffocating thought clogged his mind, telling him this was all wrong. It should have been you.

Time moved in slow motion, eyes following your every step towards your table. He was only brought back to reality when he felt his girlfriend pull her hand out of his before crossing them over her chest.

“You could at least try and pretend not to be obsessed,” she muttered.

“What do you mean?” Satoru said shyly, trying to pretend like he didn’t know what she was hinting at. But he knew he wasn’t fooling her. He wasn’t exactly subtle.

“I’m not an idiot.” When he finally turned his attention from you, he felt terrible because a pair of glossy eyes was staring up at him. “And you’ve always been a terrible liar.”

When he was about to come with another dumb excuse, they were approached by their waiter. “Mr. Gojo? Let me lead you to your table.” She blinked away her tears and put on a forced smile.

Walking to their table, Satoru couldn’t help but look over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of you one more time — he instantly wished he hadn’t. He was hoping to find you looking back at him with the same longing stare he gave you but you didn’t.

You were solemnly focused on Kento who was sitting across from you. As far as you were concerned, there wasn’t another person in the room. And he was returning your loving stare with just as much devotion. If not more.

“You sure you’re alright?” Kento asked, reaching across the table to grab your hand.

You nodded. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I could imagine it was hard seeing him again.”

You took a deep breath, the scene of Kento staring back at you with so much concern having a relaxing affect on you. True serenity filled your body leading you to simply shake your head no at him. “No. No, it wasn’t.” He squinted his eyes at you. “He can’t hurt me anymore. Having you in my life has made sure of that.”

Contentment had the corner of his lips tug upwards in a satisfied smile. “You give me too much credit, darling.”

“No, don’t think so,” you said playfully. “If anything, I don’t give you enough credit.” A lighthearted scoff escaped him.

“Is that so?”

“Oh, most certainly. They write books about men like you, y’know? Dashing, charming, handsome.”

“You flatter me,” he sighed as he leaned back in his chair again, the ghost of a smile still painting his face as a slightest blush bloomed on his cheeks. His eyes met yours again. “I love you.”

“And I love you.”

From across the restaurant, Satoru kept waiting for stolen glances to come his way but they never arrived. He was hoping that the unspoken connection you used to have would come in clutch one last time, even if it was just to have your eyes on him for a second.

But you never gave him what he wanted.

He spent the dinner indulged in dry small talk with his girlfriend. The conversation that once flowed so smoothly, had grown stale with boredom and neither of them knew how to fix it. She especially struggled when she constantly caught him looking past her to spot you deep in chatter with Kento.

For them, the evening passed by so slowly, unable to meet each other’s eyes for more than a few seconds at a time. Satoru’s demeanour quickly changed when it appeared your evening was over, his posture straightening when you and Kento got up from your seats. He paid close attention when Kento pulled your jacket over your shoulders, before leaning in to whisper something in your that had you giggle while your cheeks turned red.

Just as you were about to exit, and just before Satoru was about to lose the single splinter of hope he had left, you did in fact look in their direction. You said a few words to Kento before turning away from him and coming over to their table.

Curiosity filled Satoru’s body, eager eyes glued on you. For every step you came closer, his heart started to beat faster. It was like the light of the end of the tunnel came closer and closer but it was quickly put out when you put a hand on his girlfriend’s shoulder, not really acknowledging him in particular.

“I’m sorry to disturb,” you breathed nervously as you looked down at her. “I just feel like I owe you an apology.”

She instantly pinched her eyebrows together. “An apology?”

Truthfully, she was beyond confused by the fact that you approached her. Satoru’s not-so-subtle glances in your direction had been torturing her all evening, and she was a little scared you’d returned them when she couldn’t see.

Judging how she saw you and your new boyfriend alone, she would never have thought you had any bad intentions — but based on the last time she’d seen you, when you were bawling your eyes out alone at a party and all the stories she’d been told about how broken you were, it wasn’t without reason she was worried.

But your focus was on her.

“Yes,” you chuckled softly. “The last time we met I was unnecessarily cold. I had a bad evening, and I was a little harsh in the way I talked to you. I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” she answered, blinking away the befuddlement she felt. “That’s alright. There’s no need to apologise,” she returned your genuine smile.

“Either way. I could have been a little more mellow.” With sincerity, she made sure you had nothing to worry about with short and sweet confirmations. “Well, enjoy the rest of your evening.” You gave her shoulder one last squeeze and a small wave to Satoru.

His voice had failed him, no sound coming out when he wanted to wish you goodbye. He wasn’t in control when he again let his eyes linger as you cutely made your way back to your boyfriend, who held his hand out for you to grab. Once your hands connected, he smoothly pulled you close to him and placed a small peck on your temple. It almost seemed like the two of you were physically attached to each other when you left the restaurant, never even thinking of looking back.

What happened?

He knew he had screwed up majorly — he didn’t understand how he had ever thought this was how it supposed to be? What the hell had come over him when he’d broken up with you? And how had he been so wrapped up in his new girlfriend, when he had to know somewhere inside him it wasn’t real — not like it was with you?

Of course he felt bad. His girlfriend was a good person through and through. And at one point he had been under the impression that they were happy, but she had one flaw that crept up on him after a while — she wasn’t you.

Satoru would probably hate himself forever for letting you go.

tags @sad-darksoul, @luvsymai, @snwvie, @call-memissbrightside

a/n for anyone expecting and hoping suguru, i am sorry :( i decided to go the comfort route instead of the scandal route, because if we’re honest, it’s what reader deserves… not to mention that i’m doing satoru extremely dirty in this one and it would be cruel to have reader get with suguru on top of that also, it's nanami's birthday so it's fitting <3

reblogs, likes and comments are appreciated plagiarism not authorized

[redflagshipwriter]

Mamabat 10 part 2/2

masterpost

Sam craned to listen to secondhand sounds of combat. It was all filtered through Val’s headset, so it was vaguely electronic.

“Up!” Said a female voice. Was that Robin? Sam tried to piece it together. The little one had been Robin, she'd thought. Could have been a boy or a girl. Robin looked around Dani's size. 

Ah, hell. She pushed down the recurring dread that thoughts of Dani brought up. 

Dani was probably fine. She just wasn't answering them because she was fabulously busy in Malaysia or Guam or somewhere else gorgeous and fascinating. She wasn't in one of those labs. They hadn't left her in a lab for a month. Sam’s hands were shaking. She squeezed them hard, angry with herself. Good thing she wasn’t in that fight, she’d be useless like this. Useless!

The percussive sounds of fast, expert violence came through Val's sound system. “Damn,” Val said. “Nice swing.” 

The answer was a feminine laugh. Man, who was that? “Not half bad yourself,” said the unknown girl.

Sam untensed, a little. They didn’t sound stressed. It was probably going fine.

There was a groan. “Spoiler, please,” said Red Robin, in a tone he probably thought was too soft to be overheard. Ha. Val was using Vlad's creepertech, and Vlad was one of the best creeps out there. Sam felt weirdly proud of him for a moment. It bordered patriotism. Their freak was the best freak in the business. Eat your heart out, Batjerk.

“Like you're the only one who can pick up girls on the job?” The girl who had to be Spoiler said. 

Sam snorted. Good luck with that one! Val was spectacularly unavailable. She should know, she had tried. 

“Spoiler, Red Robin, and Robin.” Sam listed aloud for Tucker. “What do we know?” 

“All known associates of Batman, Gotham operatives, estimated active dates are at least a couple years each. Robin is clearly an inherited role, but this current one… been in for two years, I think.” Tucker listed off. “I think Spoiler and Red Robin were both former Robins, that's not too subtle.” 

Sam snorted. Her breath fanned out as visible moisture in the cold night air. 

“Likely older teens or early twenties, both of them. Robin is obviously pre puberty. 13 at the oldest.” 

Val made a subvocal grunt that meant she agreed with Tucker's assessment 

That fit. And she really didn't like it. Sam felt her hackles rise up. What was wrong with Gotham? Her group was all child vigilantes, sure, but they'd had no adult help. They'd also all been 14 or older when they got involved. Except for Dani. God, Dani, please don't be in that building. Sam had to relax her grip on the bazooka handle because she squeezed it so hard that the metal creaked. 

Danny was older now. But she didn't like that this was who he'd ended up with. Sam gritted her jaw hard and tried to keep her temper on a low simmer. She didn't have enough facts to think Batman would put Danny in danger. 

“Clear.” 

“Clear.”

The operation inside seemed to continue smoothly. 

“That should be all the staff members on the premises,” Red Robin said. “First lab, coming up.”

“Behind me.” Batman practically growled the order.

A door opened. Sam held her breath. 

“...Are those samples?” 

Val grunted slightly. Why? What was going on? “Cores,” Val said. “Basically, people who have been injured into a coma. Left like that, they're gonna die slowly. Starvation.” 

“What do we do?” Spoiler cut in. “I mean- what can we do?” 

“Is there a way to transport them?” Val dodged the question. “I don't- yeah, that's good.” 

“Can you provide treatment?” Batman pushed. “Where will you take them?”

Val let out a long, annoyed sigh. “I don't trust you enough to go into the details.”

“Why should we trust you, vixen?” Spat a very young voice.

“Vixen?” Spoiler repeated quietly, incredulously. 

“Robin, you can't say things like that!” Red Robin hissed. “Ow- little asshole.” 

“Enough. Thank you.” Batman cut off the chatter. “Let's clear the facility.” 

They found more cores in the labs. Sam felt her stomach condense tighter and tighter into a knot as they came across research areas time and time again. 

They hadn't taken the GIW seriously enough. They'd thought they were incompetent and funny. How long had scientists been experimenting on captured ghosts here? How many of them had totally withered away? 

“Fuck,” Sam said quietly, and wiped her eyes off with her arm. 

They were clearly finished. No Dani, not unless she was one of the cores rolling around on GIW shelves like she wasn't a person.

Batman and crew came out. She could hear Batman clearly making some kind of call to…. To a Green Lantern, she thought, to pick up the GIW agents. 

Oh. That…

“Probably legit,” Tucker said on the line. He let out a big sigh and his chair clicked when he leaned back, no doubt crossing his arms behind his head. “I guess we should talk to ‘em. Should I come out there?” 

“Yeah, do it,” Sam said. “You want a pick up?” She moved the bazooka from a ready position to rest across her back instead.

Tucker hummed. “That would probably be a little cooler than using my bike.” 

Val snorted, but didn't chime in. Sam dipped back to town and let Tucker climb on behind her. He crouched to hold onto the board with both hands, because he was a sweaty nerd with no balance. 

“The bike might have been cooler,” Sam teased, and then she accelerated hard. She met them back in the field where Batman had landed his plane. As soon as she veered into sight, all of the bats looked at her, clearly ready for a fight.

“Calm down,” Val ordered. “You're all so jumpy.” 

Sam snorted and came to a sharp stop. She braced against Tucker's weight (she knew he'd be jostled.) She aimed her hardest glare at Batman. Fuck everyone else. “Danny said you wanna talk.” 

Behind them, unseen, Val double-checked the straps of a new black bag. Sam had no doubt it was full of helpless cores. 

Batman frowned at her slightly. “...Samantha Manson.” He looked behind her. “And Tucker Foley.” He didn't seem surprised, exactly,  but he didn't seem happy to see them either.

“Old man,” she shot back. “You've got half an hour. But first off, what the hell kinda game are you playing with Danny? Because this-” she waved a hand at his child soldier platoon. “is some bullshit, okay. What's going on?” 

Val shot vertically up with a whoosh of air that blew Spoiler’s hair out. All four bats whirled in time to see her blast off into the distance. 

“Focus!” Sam snapped her fingers. “Why are you here?” 

A muscle twitched in Batman's jaw. “My only intention with Danny is to ensure his safety. I have some concerns about the GIW and about his home situation that I want to look into.” 

Sam scoffed. “Bit late.” She wound some hair around her finger. “They're gone. All of them. You saw what's left of the GIW. The Fentons disappeared the day after the GIW did.” 

She heard the first hint of urgency and upset in his voice when he pressed, “Jasmine Fenton?” 

“Gone.” 

[dollfacefantasy]

I saw you made a bimbo x toji and I started to wonder how DI or ID Leon would work out so if you have the time and want to do it would you make a short story or a headcannon?

hii so just to clarify i didn't write that bimbo reader x toji fic, that was just something i reblogged from another writer cause i liked it.

and i only really like bimbo reader in like a smut context (so basically an extension of dumbification lol) so that's what i'm gonna do <3

leon kennedy x fem!reader cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, daddy kink

when you wanna turn your brain off, leon has no problem pulling you into his lap. his lips land on your neck first, kissing down your throat to the spot that makes your breath hitch without fail. his hands slide over your curves, teasing your body beneath those tight, pretty pink clothes you always wear.

when you wanna turn your brain off, leon is quick to rip said clothes from your body. he savors your whines and weak protests telling him that this top was your favorite or that they don't sell that skirt anymore so be gentle. but he drops them to the floor all the same. he's even more obsessed with the delicate baby pink panties you wear and the lacy bra that matches.

when you wanna turn your brain off, leon can't stop himself from teasing you. as soon as he gets your bra off, he's all over your tits. he's squeezing them, kissing them, sucking little marks onto them. "think these things are bigger than your brain, babydoll," he murmurs. he can't stifle the laugh that comes out of him when you kick your heel into his calve and huff "that's mean."

when you wanna turn your brain off, leon always over apologizes, his insincerity clear in his tone. "you're right, my smart girl," he coos as he lays you down on the surface of whatever you two are making out on. "but you know, you don't have to think when daddy's around to do it for you," he says as his hand slides between your legs and rubs your clit through the sticky fabric guarding it.

when you wanna turn your brain off, leon's other hand rises to your face. his thumb brushes over your bottom lip before pushing inside your mouth. he feels his dick wake up as you suck on the digit like it's instinct, letting it pacify any of your prior protests. your soft tongue presses against the pad, and he can already hear a little moan in the back of your mouth. "that's right. that's what that little mouth is best at," he murmurs.

when you wanna turn your brain off, leon plays with your pussy till you're a squirmy, needy mess under him. only when your brain is already all mushy will he slide those panties down your legs, planting a kiss on your ankle before discarding them with the other clothes. he slides his thumb out from your mouth too, rubbing some saliva down over your chin. the cute little strands of drool make you all the more endearing to him.

when you wanna turn your brain off, leon watches your eyes when he pulls his cock out, that glassy-eyed stare you get when he's got you like this. he speaks to you like every word is a challenge to understand. "is that what you want, baby?" he croons, slapping his hard shaft down on your tummy, a preview of how it will fit. you give a weak little nod and he continues, "yeah? you want a treat, princess? want daddy nice and deep in that cute cunt?"

when you wanna turn your brain off, leon doesn't make you wait too long before he buries himself nice and deep in your tight pussy. he grips your hips, not that you ever try to run when you're like this. he listens for all your nonsensical little babbles, humming along with "mhm" and "is that right?" he angles his hips to make you squeal and lifts his hands to the back of your kneecaps to get you folded in half so he can rail you even deeper. "my dumb little girl. so good for me even when i've fucked your brain out," he coos while pounding into you.

when you wanna turn your brain off, leon thinks his favorite part of the whole thing is the big, dopey smile that takes over your features. the way you giggle out moans. your limbs bounce around with his movement as you've gone limp. he knows for certain that there's not a thing going on in that head right now. in this moment, he's your whole world. "you havin' fun, pretty girl?" he grunts, and the answer is always "yeah, daddy" followed by laughter.

when you wanna turn your brain off, leon ALWAYS gives you a creampie. he shoots his load as deep as he can, making sure you get that warm, gooey feeling in your belly. he rocks his hips a few more times to get a good look at the messy sight of your connection, the mixture of the two of you that coats the base of his cock. you always whine and kick your legs from the light overstimulation. he hushes you with a kiss on the forehead and promises to clean you up. he just wants to enjoy this a little more. having a fresh supply of cum fucked into you always keeps that pretty little head nice and empty for a few hours.

[burb-ie]

So in tfa, Warframes and Civilframes (civilian) are separate frametype categories essentially. Most Warframes went to the Decepticons (hence why they are all automatically considered "dangerous" whether they are actually Decepticon or not) while the Autobots are made up mostly by civilframes. It seems to be implied that any and all warframe mechs on cybertron after the war and the autobots seized control were reformatted into civilframes (for example, Drift was reformatted and a mech called "powerglide" who doesn't have a flight based altmode despite what his name suggests are referenced in the Allspark Almanac). Basically; (and this isn't exactly completely canon, just what seems to be generally accepted by the fandom)

Warframe: any mech with a weapon or artillery based alt-mode (tank, fighter jet, gun, etc.), or a mech with built in heavy weapons. These mechs are typically larger, stronger, and built with heavier armor than their civilian counterparts.

Civilframe: mechs with commercial vehicle or utility alt-modes (car, truck, microscope, etc.) and do not possess built in weapons. These mechs are the most common and are smaller, faster, and lighter than their warframe counterparts.

There does seem to be an exception though; flightframes are a bit different. Most commercial flightframes are shuttles or large aircrafts which would fit closer with warframe traits despite lacking built in weapons, while military grade flightframes, like Jets and helicopters, are usually smaller and lightweight to make up for speed and agility in flight. But that isn't to say there aren't small, lightweight, commercial flyers or big, heavy weapons, flyers. Due to these discrepancies, the Autobots have deemed that there are to be No Flightframes among their ranks. (With the exception of the Jettwins, but you'll probably get to them later if you haven't already)

That being said, yes, TFP Optimus would absolutely be a warframe by these standards. And while it may not be strictly implicit, there is absolutely a version of functionalism and caste system in post war Autobot society in TFA, albeit, far more subtle and not explicitly referenced as such. Likely even unbeknownst to TFA Team Prime, but TFP Optimus will notice. I think the longer he stays in TFA, the more he'll dislike Autobot (or rather High Council/Senate) controlled Cybertron.

Oh my god thank you so much for explaining this to me, you're awesome!

Yeah TFP Optimus would most DEFINITELY be considered a war frame, and I feel like distrust would be worse given how he keeps his jetpack in this crossover

A flying artillery of weapons, exactly the perfect description of a Decepticon

And while OP wont be aware of the caste system of tfa for all of season one and half of season two because he wouldn't exactly be himself

Once he actually gets a closer look at this world's Cybertron's system of running things around he's gonna take a VERY deep breath

Then start punching the wall

Because WHY can't they leave racism behind in any universe, what is wrong with you people, if youre still gonna implement a caste system even post war then why even have a war in the first place, they're just gonna make history repeat itself and he can see it coming with his own eyes with the events going on around him with Megatron returning and stuff

Bro can't retire in peace

Can't have shit in detroit

(btw if anyone wants to share more tfa facts that im unaware of my inbox is open wide for all of you, ENLIGHTEN ME, i love learning more plus it helps me not to make mistakes in the future)

[ourstoatmeansdeath]

I've seen a few posts from people who think Henry was being shitty to Gorgug or setting Gorgug up to fail by allowing him to do 3 years of the artificer track at once. But I have a lot of experience in STEM, and I think Henry was being incredibly kind in a very engineering-coded way.

I did an undergrad degree in engineering and have been in STEM spaces for more than 10 years. And the STEM way of being an asshole is much more like what Porter did. So many people who don't look like they fit the stereotype of who belongs in STEM have been explicitly told to leave. Like, I was at a conference last year where a presenter asked all the people in the room who had been told to change their major to raise their hands. And there were lots of us with raised hands. (This was in a diversity equity and inclusion session, so a lot of non-traditional looking people for engineering.) If Henry wanted to be an asshole he would tell Gorgug to leave, or that the curriculum was "rigorous" and half-orcs can't usually hack it, etc. But he didn't!

Henry did the classic STEM thing of laying out all of the options, even the ones that aren't desirable. Since Porter won't sign the MCAT, the reasonable options are all gone. Henry mentioned that Gorgug doesn't need to be in school for artificing to be an artificer ("If artificing is something that brings you joy and brings happiness to your life, you don't need school. You can do that on your own.") Which is NOT something that STEM people do. I've never heard an engineering professor say that someone who does STEM stuff as a hobby can call themselves engineers. Henry is being absurdly kind by saying this.

When Gorgug says that he wants to do artificing in school, Henry gives the option to do all three years of school at once. [Note that Henry did not suggest this at first. Henry didn't offer it until Gorgug basically asked for a loophole.] This reminds me so much of all the STEM people who know a system really well and give you advice on how to navigate it. They note that their path isn't what the system was designed to do, but if you really want to do it you could do it this way. Which is exactly what Henry does. This also gives Gorgug the agency to decide for himself.

Henry also goes out of his way to say that the people who work hard are the ones he would bet on. This is also so nice as a STEM person! I can't tell you the number of professors I had who said that a specific problem shouldn't take long, or "if you're efficient you should be fine." I also had a professor who said some people can code and some people can't, and he didn't know how to help the people who don't have a natural aptitude for coding. Henry saying he thinks Gorgug can achieve this through hard work is super enlightened for a STEM instructor.

tl;dr Henry is incredibly enlightened for a STEM instructor. He tells Gorgug that Gorgug can still be an artificer without formal schooling, and then when Gorgug expresses a desire for the formal education he tells Gorgug the path. If Henry does a heel turn I will be emotionally devastated lol

[more-mara]

NO WAIT please talk more about WAG!Carlos because I actually REALLY LOVE WAG!Carlos and it's been on my mind for a long time and I felt like I'm alone in this. I really like the established relationship idea of Oscar looking mighty walking alone in the paddock, but once Carlos is there, walking alongside Oscar and holding his hand, everyone can see who's the dom and who's the babygirl 😂 not that dom dom but like who tops and bottoms.

In my mind Carlos is a man in finance or consulting. Because, damn, everytime I picture him in fitted shirts and dark coloured slacks my mind goes brrr. They share an apartment in London and Oscar always goes back home after races to him. Carlos visits Oscar for races everytime he can (but he always makes time for Silverstone), and everytime he visits, the journalists and social media literally go very crazy about "Piastri's very hot, sculpted by the God himself, Spanish boyfriend". Oh and Oscar claiming the Spain GP as his home race because "my partner is Spanish and he lives and breathes Real Madrid and I'm very sure I'll marry him so".

I can't picture of the announcement of Oscar coming out, but I think I like the idea of soft launching first through his instagram or maybe Estrella Galicia makes Oscar and Lando talk Spanish slangs and Oscar aces all the questions and be like "My boyfriend is Spanish and he likes to teach me Spanish terms" something like that. Then boom Carlos coming to a race with him.

Eventhough Carlos is the one who tops and is very good in bed, but him also being soft and fluffy and calls Oscar with pet names in Spanish (tesoro, cariño, mi amor, etc) and cooks for him everytime Oscar's back home.

I can picture Oscar on break, dumping holiday pictures on his instagram and everyone goes crazy of Carlos shirtless and flaunting his abs and his super fit body in one (or many) of the pictures. Carlos having his instagram private and everyone will be asking Oscar to let his boyfriend open his instagram for public lol.

I'm going to stop because if I continue, I'll literally dump my thoughts (including the NSFW ones) and this ask will be very long lol thank you for reading my rants!

Oh, you’ve been THINKING about this lol. Anon I love this please continue. Side note, I had written an entire response to this once already but tumblr deleted it 🤡 I can’t remember half the shit I originally said but here we go lmao

I 100% see the man in finance vibes I just wanted to go against the grain and say something else lol but I absolutely imagine him in some white collar job. He constantly wears tailored suits, even in hot weather which Oscar will complain to no end about but ultimately it won’t change Carlos’ mind because it’s his brand.

Oscar gets a little irked by it because he’s supposed to be the celebrity, yet he give off so much just a guy energy when he’s walking hand in hand with Carlos. Oscar highkey loves the attention which is why it bothers him so much when Carlos steals it from him.

In comes the Spanish gp and Carlos is in yet another equivalent price of a mortgage suit. Osc saying it’s “basically my home gp now, I guess,” with a giggle as he eyes the screen where Carlos is clapping and smirking when he notices the attention on him- sending a little wink towards the camera that has Oscar stumbling over his words.

The media always goads Oscar for being “the girlfriend” in the relationship (let’s be real, media love to heteroify queer relationships and would 100% do it to them) but it’s always water off Oscar’s back as he redirects the conversation to how sexy and successful his boyfie is, “He’s just bought a new property in New York 🙂,”

Regarding coming out, Oscar is absolutely of the “I don’t need to come out, I’m just gonna live my life,” stance. He probably drops a “my partner is opening a new business back in London, he’d definitely know better than me if that’s a good idea,” when an interviewer asks about whether he’d buy a house in Monaco. Twitter goes crazy “DID OSCAR JUST SAY HE???!!” and that’s that, now Carlos shows up everywhere he can to show off who Oscar managed to pull.

Oscar loves the pet names but can’t stand it when Carlos uses them in public- goes beet red when Carlos calls him ‘mi amor’ when speaking with a journalist.

NSFW because I can’t help myself- Carlos always refuses to fuck Oscar on a race weekend because “I cannot affect your performance,” and Oscar fucking hates it. Oscar is lowkey needy in bed and can be a little insatiable at times, especially during a stressful week (e.g. a race week) so he goes out of his way to tease Carlos every chance he gets- even in public to see how long it will take for Carlos to snap. Except Carlos never does and remains firm in his stance which Oscar whines and complains about constantly until Sunday night when Carlos finally touches him and fucks the weeks brattiness out of him

Side note, Carlos is good in bed, like- really good, to the point where Oscar can’t even think about anything except for Carlos’ insane dick game. Carlos is experienced in so many ways that Oscar gets insanely jealous every time he thinks about it- getting angry at the thought of Carlos fucking anyone besides him. It’s a funny contrast because Oscar was basically celibate when he and Carlos first met and their first time in bed had Oscar experiencing pleasures he never though possible.

And yeah, Oscar just fully posting thirst traps of Carlos to make everyone jealous that only he gets to see it on a daily basis.

[itsabouttimex2]

So, for the Eclipse Kings,

I feel that it is going to be very interesting when the kings go from seeing you(the reader) as a hanger on to their son, to their other child. I don't know how you plan to go about it, but this is an idea I had:

So, you're stuck here, for now at least. MK doesn't want to let you go, and the kings feel indebted to you enough to make sure you don't, like, starve. It could be worse, but you don't really want to stay.

And good news! You probably won't have to. You're not their kid. They don't care about you, beyond a sense of obligation, really. And while MK is basically your brother, siblings don't always live right next to each other. You can leave and promise to come back or something. Macaque, at least, will probably be glad to get your pathetic, scarred, human self out of his pristine home.

It'll be fine. You can work with this.

You can work with the mat on the floor, still more comfortable than your old hut, and the clothes not quite made for you, but still better than anything you had, and the room that isn't yours, but it isn't cold, either. You'll probably leave in the spring, after this winter.

And then, something changes. Because things are starting to properly fit you, the only human in this palace, now.

You have a bed, now, and a room to go with it(although you and MK still tend to sleep closer together than not).

And you don't tend to hallucinate, but you must have, just now. Or else Macaque just introduced you and MK as his "kids".

And you can't be their kid, and be free. They just got MK back, after assuming he was dead. You've seen how closely they watch him. He'll probably never leave, or at least not anytime soon, and never for long.

Maybe you're misunderstanding things, you think. After all, they're not heartless. Wukong has always been prone to getting in other's personal space, surely him picking you up to show you something he thought you would like is a normal extension of that.

And even if they did care, you're human. That's got to be an issue, right? No one would accept a human as part of Flower Fruit Mountain's royal family. Also, you won't live half as long as them. Why would they get attached?

However, when someone is even half as powerful as these kings, it turns out that these are solvable problems, really.

And they have never been good about losing what's theirs. Especially not now that they decided they have more to lose.

(Sorry if this doesn't fit with what you're planning. I just had lots of thoughts.)

Eclipse Kings

Growing Accustomed

(Anon, this is exactly it. It’s little things. And I love how you write BTW?? It’s so good!)

The starting disparity is undeniable, even though it’s not malicious and sometimes necessary, and honestly even understandable.

MK gets steak with broth and rice. You get porridge and diced fruit. Fair- he’s got a stronger stomach than you, because you always made sure that he ate better, ate cleaner, ate more. Your stomach isn’t adjusted to anything above the literal bare minimum. He can process meat without losing his guts, you can’t.

So it’s actually the furthest thing from unfair, given that it’s custom catered to your needs. Hell, they even mix in honey to make it more palatable.

But only because they owe you.

So it’s nothing more than repaying a debt when they ensure that the maidservants have a full list of food appropriate to serve you, each meal shared on MK’s insistence- it’s nothing.

Not yet.

Your mat is nothing special to them, and at first they doubt that you’ll sleep well- then the kings see how deeply you rest, how hard it is to rouse you. It’s perfectly cozy, not to them, but to you. MK tells them you slept on the ground before, left the little bedding available to him. You slept cold and hungry, but he was warm and fed, draped in whatever you could scrounge up.

So they plan to make things a little cozier, maybe only to see how you’ll react, maybe only because MK refuses to use his own bed and instead sleeps on your chest, maybe only because every minute spent with or around you is another reminder that they owe you their son’s life a hundred times and several years over.

Which has Macaque wonder if you can’t be a little cozier, because maybe he owes you some comfort after the hell you endured to provide for his son.

He calls you to the washroom one day and gives you a few of his nicer supplies, a soothing cream for wounds in one jar, a lovely citrus perfume in another. Things he has because Wukong convinced him to love himself enough to indulge in luxuries, now shared with some little mortal that didn’t know such things existed before now.

You have scars, the same as him. Macaque pointlessly “punished” himself for the death of a son still-living, hungry and cold and dirty. You earned yours the hard way, by living as best you could to take care of MK.

You have the scars for the same reason, but yours are a thousand times more earned, less piteous, and far, far worse.

So he teaches you how to take care of them, stretches to work through when they start to ache, what to eat to loosen tension in the body, so on and so forth.

But only because he owes you. Nothing more.

Not yet.

(But you use that perfume each day, and the monkey certainly doesn’t miss how you brighten at the little taste of luxury.)

And MK- “Qi Xiaotian”, they say, trying hard to drill that lovely (it really is lovely, but you don’t think it fits him) name into your mouth, but it tastes bitter and wrong. He’s only ever been your little “Monkie Kid”, even before his years-long illusion (glamour, some call it) wore off.

MK, with all his love for you, anchors you in place.

Fine. That’s fine.

You can justify it. Reason your way through staying, never realizing that you’re adjusting.

You can’t leave because it’s too cold. Because you’re too hurt. Because there’s no easy way to find food. Because, a dozen times over, and the truth is that the only thing keeping you here is the prince.

“Qi Xiaotian”, alight with gleeful laughter, who refuses to sleep unless you’re within arm’s reach, who insists you share every new toy or treat the kings bring him. “You’re my big sibling,” he says, voice bright with conviction. “Why wouldn’t I share?”

It’s easy to let that logic soothe you. After all, MK’s the real reason you’re here. Without him, the kings wouldn’t even know you existed.

So you settle in a little more.

It’s not like you get used to all this, after all.

And then Sun Wukong grows a little more doting. Now your food is somewhat like theirs, tender cuts of meat served beside your porridge to help the adjustment back to solid and hearty food. Fruit juice in place of water. Bread with jam. Only a little bit of each, but your plate is more appealing, and you enjoy those meals a little more each day with all the new things you get to try.

He even grows playful once or twice, clinking his gilded goblet against your glass, pretending to toast with you.

You smile. It’s not the sort of fun orphans like you often get to have.

(He’s starting to cherish your smile. How cute! How sweet! No wonder you cheer his little Xiaotian up!)

You get tucked in sometimes, when you fall asleep and sprawl over MK, who cuddles into your chest like he always has- this means subjecting yourself to nightly check-ups from the kings, but they come with glasses of water and fluffy blankets, so who cares?

They tuck you both in, mostly because any form of separation would be impossible.

And maybe because it’s just cute to see their kids sleeping happily and; more importantly, safely.

Then Macaque wants to change your wardrobe. He calls you in one day, right back to the washroom from before.

Has it been months already?

Weren’t you supposed to leave when spring came blooming through?

He drapes a new hanfu over your shoulders- the last one was shabbier, duller. It was a non-distinct blue and dull white, but this one is black with gold embroidery. He ties a silk sash around your waist and then pulls a fur-lined cape over your shoulders.

It’s warm. It has to be warm, because there’s a cold chill coming in and you’ll “need” to be comfortable through it. There’s no explanation given as to why it matters to him, so you just assume that the king is being a good host.

After all, it’s not like he cares about you.

…right?

It can’t be.

But he goes a step further and tends to your hair with a vast array of implements and products, trimming the uneven edges and setting it with many different creams for restoration. And then applies a few balms for your lips, your nose…

So eventually you’ve whiled the whole day away being doted on and in some manner “soothed”, feeling genuinely and honestly good, and even-

Pretty.

You’ve never felt pretty before.

His hand, harsh as it was days prior, gently swipes the tears gathering in your eyes, then pats your head.

(And he starts wondering if maybe having an older child wouldn’t be so bad.)

And maybe when Wukong is talking to Azure and Yellowtusk about some new invention they’re brainstorming to improve the lives of mortals, some form of metal that always twists to point north, keeping them from losing their way in untamed wildernesses and winding paths. The science of it goes over his head, but he nods along anyways- anything for his Brotherhood.

And you come along to tell him something maybe that trends to “unimportant”, given that you just tug his sleeve with a mild expression, content to wait- and Wukong, really without thinking, scoops you up and sits you on his hip, motioning out a little bounce here and there.

It should be embarrassing (and it is, a little), but… he’s warm, you’re waiting for his attention anyways, and it’s not like either of the demons he’s speaking to mind, so… you just don’t argue.

But even when they leave he doesn’t put you down, and instead cradles you again, like he did the first night you both met, like a father holds his newborn baby, one arm supporting your back and legs, the other your neck. He asks what you need, and smiles when you tell him.

And even when he goes off to do whatever it is that you needed, well… Sun Wukong still does not put you down.

But maybe he just wasn’t thinking on it.

(If you were a frog, the water would be nearing a boil.)

And then there are parental threats, little idle “warnings” that they don’t seem intent on following through with.

Threats that your mouth with be scrubbed with soap, or that you’ll be sent to the corner, or taken over a knee, or some other generic punishment that a parent wouldn’t think twice about administering… but surely they aren’t being serious.

Surely.

After all, those are things parents do to their children, and you are not their child.

So you accept it as “teasing”.

The suggestions that the kings might see fit to correct your behavior slowly become reality- mostly in the form of lectures or lightly tugged ears. They do not remove privileges, given that you take and do so little- would they take your food or bedding, and make you fear a return to your squalid lifestyle?

Instead they just… talk. Talk about how you’ve disappointed them, how they’re sad, upset. How you’ve “let them down”, but there’s still second chances because they know you can “do better”.

You’re teasing MK, something harmless but just sharp enough to make him pout and snap back at you. The kings are in the room, half-paying attention, but you can feel their presence like a storm cloud hanging over your head.

Wukong’s tail lashes once, twice, and then he’s there, tugging lightly at your ear.

“Hey,” he says, his voice mock-stern but with an edge that makes you freeze. “Be nice. That’s your brother.”

Before you can be scared, Wukong lets go, ruffling your hair like he’s brushing away the moment itself, and you’re left standing there, your heart racing for reasons you don’t fully understand.

And you finally can’t find a way to justify it- because they have finally dropped the act and stopped pretending that you aren’t family.

You can’t leave, because they’ve decided you belong here.

Not because they owe you. Not because of MK.

Because you’re theirs.

[chilschuck]

So... How about Laios x a dragonkin reader? (Specifically an ice dragon, they just look so fluffy!!)

I can imagine having sections of her body covered in soft feathers! Something like Falin at the end of the manga. I also think her body runs on the colder side of things, you know? For one reason she's partially covered in feathers. So I imagine her being quite affectionate, the warmth that others radiate is just something she can't deny!

I can picture Laios basically vibrating with excitement as he asks questions about her and her body, and, can you llame him? Come on! She is half dragon! How could he pass up this opportunity!?

And before any of the party (Marcille) can stop him or say something, she accepts perhaps too calmly (I can hear the "HUH?" from Marcille rn)

Laios' enthusiasm is like that of a child at Christmas as he asks questions and lets his hands explore his feather-covered wings. He compares and looks for the less noticeable differences between her and a real dragon, measuring her saw-sharp teeth and making comments without any shame, while reader just sits, answering the questions that she can answer, looking happier than she should.

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ WAHHH THIS IS SUCH A CUTE REQUEST and i hope i did it justice!!! i did some headcanons but writing a piece for this one day would be sooo fun!! i hope this is close to what you were thinking!!!!

— LAIOS x ice dragonkin!reader.

꒰ rating: ꒱ sfw fluff! gn!reader.

꒰ wc: ꒱ 365

✦ i’m fighting off allergies and brainfog so i apologize if this is incoherent at all, lol. if you’d like a drabble, feel free to submit something again and i’d love to do another dragonkin!reader piece for you!! hope you enjoy! <3

✦ Laios is instantly drawn to you. This isn’t surprising considering his fascination with monsters, but it doesn’t help that you’re cute, too. Don’t even get him started on how sweet you look with all those feathers. And if you let him run his fingers through them, you’d see his face light up so brightly with delight!

✦ You aren’t naturally very warm, so you’ve found yourself sneaking into Laios’ bedroll and nuzzling into his side. Laios doesn’t mind this at all, and even encourages you to take all the warmth from him you need. (As long as you answer some of his ramblings!)

✦ Laios is extremely excited when you first meet, eyes filled with wonder and chest giddy with curiosity. Expect him to start babbling out questions and watching you closely. “Wow… Look at those feathers!” or “Is it okay if I touch your wings?” will definitely be said a bit too loudly as he’s basically vibrating on the spot. Before Marcille can reel him back in, to her bewilderment you give a sweet nod and a calming smile. (I think she just about falls over from that.)

✦ When he finally does get to feel your wings under his palms, he’s so enchanted he could implode. This was an opportunity he may never get again, so best believe he’s going to take full advantage of it!

✦ “So this is different from others I’ve seen. Interesting…” he mumbles to himself. “Can I see how sharp your teeth are?” You hum, opening your mouth to bare your fangs and he’s taking and comparing notes in that head of his.

✦ You’re probably a bit too happy to be dealing with something like this. The others wonder if and when your patience for his questions will run out, but they watch as you beam right back at him. (And there he goes, enamored by your fangs again.)

✦ Laios is very determined to make sure your needs are met. Is what you’re eating fitting to your natural diet? Are your wings in need of stretching? Are you able to get enough warmth? It honestly makes you giggle a bit. You’ve never had someone so interested in your wellbeing. It feels nice.

[forsaken-headcanons]

I have a ridiculous amount of headcanons for Chance specifically, so here's my list :3 some of these are inspired by canon-ish info, some are completely from my brain cell (who is working very hard)

- can play piano and violin because of his parents, doesn't really care for either. He plays his violin like a fiddle sometimes just to confuse people.

- actually has a surprisingly low alcohol tolerance, gets tipsy quick

- trained himself to handle the taste of whiskey and fireball, but he doesn't actually like them. Prefers sweeter drinks or cocktails.

- makes fantastic mocktails and unhinged drinks (think the guy who makes feral cocktails on TikTok and stirs them with a Philip's head screwdriver)

- has VERY fast reaction time due to playing fast-paced games (spoons)

- SHOCKINGLY good at math, for having half a brain cell to his name. Especially when it comes to probability! He always knows if the odds are in his favor

- lowkey counts and functions in base 13. 13x4=52 and that's just kind of how his brain is wired now. Confuses the HELL out of other survivors by counting using 13 so much.

- VERY superstitious. not in a "666 scary :(" way, but he defo has his superstitions he follows

-> four leaf clover, rabbit's foot, or 777 = luck

-> other triple numbers have meaning to him too, but 777 is HIS special number

-> has never broken a mirror in his life, would have a panic attack if he did

-> doesn't believe in black cats being unlucky, but DOES believe that mistreating them would bring misfortune

-> washes all of his clothes and showers if he had a bad night (wash off the bad luck)

-> lowkey participating in witchy cleansing rituals without being aware of it

- typa guy to call his (romantic) partner his "lucky charm" and either bring them with him or something belonging to them (clothes, trinket, photo, maybe even lipstick marks lmao)

- gets slightly insulted when anyone sees the black fur on his clothes and jokes about black cats being unlucky (it's rabbit fur, not cat fur, but he's still insulted for those innocent kitties)

- is at least sort of aware that his luck is better than normal, so he sometimes gives lucky things he finds (like clovers) to someone he cares about instead of keeping it for himself. He doesn't really need the boost, and he knows it!

- can't cook for shit. His parents had people hired to do all that stuff for them, so when he moved out on his own, he ended up eating basically exclusively takeout, anything he could microwave, or at restaurants.

- favorite foods are snow crab, escargot (im projecting), and the baked cinnamon honey apples his maid used to make when he was a kid. LOVES garlic. Garlic butter, garlic sauce, garlic bread, he loves it.

- a little chubby! Sure, he's a twink, but with a diet like his? He's got a little meat on his bones. He's got a little bit of muscle to his arms too, from handling the recoil of his flintlock.

- got his flintlock from his dad, as his first gun. Refused to switch to a better one once he learned it.

- has very pale eyes, and is extremely light sensitive! Got his sunglasses for this reason, as a gift from his mom.

(Can I claim 🍀 🍋 (Lucky lemon) anon?)

I love these! They fit Chance so well. You made me think Chance was a spoiled rotten when he was a kid, bravo to you!

And of course! It's nice to have uou, 🍀🍋 anon!

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

Ok. Ok right SO. This is inspired by this piece of art by @scrunggly-art. I had not intended for it to be this long. Or this... heartfelt?? I don't know what happened 😭 It's not even as smutty as I had intended it to be!!

In which Hans awaits Henry's return from a mission, planning how to give him the Best (Fucking) Evening of his life. 5.6k words. Rated a very firm (lol) E. Basically PWP with a side of "Hans has feelings and gets angsty about it".

-> Also on AO3! <-

⚔ ⚔ ⚔

The problem, Hans thinks, is that Henry is simply too skilled a lover.

It's an absurd thing to complain about. Anyone else would be thrilled to have such competent, gentle hands taking them to pieces every night. And he is: no mistaking that, Hans is very content with he and Henry's blossoming relationship. Yet still - in the morning, once the glow has faded - there's that mean little voice in his head.

Henry's just too good.

It isn't about the sex, not really. Hans isn't stupid enough to assume this is about the prowess of Henry's hands and mouth and cock. It's because he's Henry, because he's fucking fantastic at everything he does. He's a skilled swordsman, hunter, speaker, archer, blacksmith… he even rides better than Hans. He's trained his damn dog to do things Hans had assumed impossible. Everything he touches turns to gold, and Hans can't help but suspect that everything his noble hands touch eventually turns to shit.

No: that's not quite right. Hans is an accomplished fighter: he's survived more battles than most men have even seen. He’s an excellent bowman. He's charming, most of the time. He's a good hunter, even if his skinning leaves a lot to be desired. And he is a good lover. He's never had any complaints, in any case, and certainly not from Henry.

Yet still, he fears, he could be better. Henry leaves him a boneless mess: more sweat and lust than man. Hans is needy - he always has been, always grasping and grabbing for things he wants.

He begs. And, sure, Henry asks, Henry wants. Henry gives him that look across the yard while they're sparring which means the only sword he's thinking about is the one in his braies. But it doesn't feel like enough.

No matter what they're doing, no matter who is where, whose mouth is on whose cock or who is buried balls-deep inside the other, Hans is left ruined, and he thinks - no, he fears - that Henry doesn't feel the same.

Besides, more than anything - more important than Hans’s ego and his foolish anxieties - he wants Henry to feel good. He wants him to feel better than good, after all he’s done for Hans and what feels like half the population of Bohemia. Henry is always giving. 

But no more. He's Sir Hans Capon. He's the last one to back down from a challenge.

He's going to make it fucking perfect.

He plans it to the letter. They’ve been apart for a few days: Henry is off helping Zizka and a handful of others with something, always eager to get stuck in. He won’t be back until midafternoon at the earliest, and even then there’ll be drinking and carousing and the typical celebration that inevitably follows a job well done. They won’t be alone for hours, and for once, that’s just what Hans wants.

He prepares their room first. Technically it’s Hans’s room, but Henry has all but moved in over these past few weeks. Their clothes tangle together in the chest at the foot of the bed, their shoes warm by the fireplace. The various trinkets they’ve picked up - books, charms, ornaments - sit side-by-side on the single shelf. Hans suspects that the others have noticed how intimately intertwined their lives have become, but no one has yet seen fit to point it out.

Despite being a lord, and thus it is very much not his job, he strips the bed and replaces the sheets with clean ones: the softest he can find. He even sweeps the floor, clears out the spent ashes from the fireplace, and hauls up a couple of armfuls of fresh logs, ready for the evening. He rides out towards the nearest town, where - dressed as plainly as he dares - he speaks to a merchant and buys a vial of oil. He pauses with the coins warming in his hand.

Two vials.

He also purchases a few handfuls of dried marigold, which he adds to the vials as he stops to rest at the side of the road. They say it’s good for lovers, but frankly, he knows Henry likes the smell.

Henry and Zizka haven’t returned by the time he gets back to Devil’s Den, so he has a little time to place the bottles somewhere close to the bed and ensure everything else is in order. He fills a jug with fresh water, sluices out the basin, and finds a couple of clean rags - well, clean enough - for the inevitable mess that will follow that night.

He changes, too, stripping out of the somewhat ragged gambeson he’s been wearing and back into his favourite golden yellow pourpoint. This is one of Henry’s favourites too: a week or so after the end of the siege and their return to Devil’s Den, Henry had pushed him against the back wall of the stables, his warm hands gripping Hans’s waist, his lips whispering over Hans’s ear.

“This fucking thing—” he’d said, hands tightening. “I’ve always thought— I’ve wanted—”

The rest had been a blur of murmurs and sighs. Hans feels like he’ll carry that memory with him forever, and certainly every time he wears the yellow pourpoint. It’s like a secret signal now: when Henry sees it, his eyebrows raise and his expression turns devilish.

With nothing much else to do, Hans feels a little lost. He’s prepared the room as best he can, and he knows for a fact the innkeeper has already made sure there's enough barrels of beer in the basement to sustain them. All he can do is wait.

It’s absurd to feel so nervous. He and Henry have been friends - friends, and something else besides - for what feels like an age now. It’s not as if they’ve never fucked before. But he’s been twisting this little idea around in his head for so long that it’s all he can think of, all he can focus on.

He heads down into the tavern. He refuses a drink - if he starts now, by the time the sun sets he’ll be utterly useless for anything besides falling asleep - and instead challenges the innkeeper to a game of dice. It feels like a fucking age has passed, although it can’t be more than a couple of hours, before he hears the tell-tale sound of horses and chatter and Mutt’s low bark.

He’s back. Hans is on his feet in an instant, getting up with such haste that he nearly sends the table flying. He attempts to correct himself to not appear overkeen, decides it’s not worth it, then rushes outside.

Zizka is leading their little rabble, as always, Henry and Kubyenka close behind. Henry spots Hans immediately, giving him a small wave. He’s covered in blood but, Hans thinks, what’s new there? It’s more important to ensure that it’s all someone else’s blood. Zizka dismounts swiftly and Katherine rushes over, their heads bent in clandestine discussion as they lead his horse to the stables. 

“You survived, then?” Hans asks, sauntering over as Henry leaps down from Pebbles’s back.

“Aye,” he grins. “Just about.”

“Good.” Hans claps a hand to his shoulder, the most he dares get away with when the others are watching. “You fucking stink.”

Henry pulls off his helmet. His hair is slick and stuck to his forehead: he’s clearly worked up a sweat to go with his coating of blood.

“I need a bath,” he says, wiping his face with the back of his hand. The effort does very little, save smear a streak of blood across his forehead.

Hans rolls his eyes at him. His grand plans can wait: he doesn’t want Henry in his bed like this.

“You really do,” he agrees. “Come on, before the others use up all the clean water.”

He drags him towards the baths, shoos away the lingering bathwench and closes the flaps of the tent. He starts to help Henry out of his armour, doing his very best not to get viscera on his pourpoint. This is not, exactly, how he had anticipated this afternoon going. That’s his own fault, he supposes: he should know by now that any expedition involving Henry is more likely to end in bloodshed than not. He places the armour, and Henry’s clothes, aside to be cleaned.

It’s not all terrible. Helping Henry bathe counts amongst the more pleasant things he could be doing, after all, even if that’s all he’s permitted to do right now, exposed as they are. And there’s no better place to begin the noble art of seduction, either.

He unbuttons his sleeves and rolls them up as best he can so he can dunk his hands beneath the water. He smooths his hands down Henry’s back, pressing into the taught muscle, wiping away blood and grime and sweat. He moves lower, as low as he can without falling into the bath himself. Henry makes a broken-off little sound as he does; clearly his mind is drifting the same way as Hans’s. He turns to his arms, next, enjoying the feeling of the taut muscle beneath his palms, then down his sides. He can’t reach much deeper without getting himself sodden, and placates himself with the soft brush of Henry’s chest.

“Hans—” Henry makes a low noise, shuffling out of Hans’s reach.

“What?” Hans says, all innocence. “Can’t I help my friend bathe after several days’ hard work?”

Henry does that fond little head shake that makes Hans’s stomach flip.

“You can,” he mutters, leaning against the rim of the tub, “but if you continue like that I’ll pull you in here with me.”

“Would that be such a bad thing?”

“And ruin this?” Henry reaches out, stroking a single finger across the silk of Hans’s pourpoint. 

Hans hums. He knows Henry’s right - they certainly can’t get up to anything here, anyway, when anyone could walk in - and he really doesn’t fancy a dunk in the tepid water right now.

“Fine. But I am helping you bathe. You’re covered in shit.”

“It’s blood, actually.”

“Wonderful.”

Next comes Henry’s legs - his knees, really, which Henry lets fall open obscenely as Hans moves around to kneel at the other side of the bath, giving Hans a truly marvellous view of his cock and balls between his thighs, his prick already hard beneath the water. Hans sucks air in through his teeth. Maybe it’s worth ruining his pourpoint afterall.

He’s rudely disturbed from those thoughts by Henry shoving at him with his wet foot, making him stumble back on his arse.

“You fucking prick—”

From the tub, Henry laughs, as Hans gets back to his feet and stares down at him, arms folded across his chest.

“What?” Henry asks, grinning.

“You’re a boor,” Hans huffs. 

“Says the man staring at my cock.” 

“Hurry up, then, if I’m not allowed to help. I’m famished.”

Henry rolls his eyes at him and gets to quickly scrubbing away the rest of the blood and sweat.

“Didn’t you eat while you were waiting for us to get back?” he says, while Hans tries not to think about how attractive his fucking armpits are.

“I—” Hans blinks. He had, in fact, been too distracted that morning to eat more than a couple of figs which he’d poached from Godwin’s plate.

Henry shakes his head as he gets out of the tub. Water cascades from his body, rushing down his chest and legs. Hans momentarily forgets what they’re talking about, before grabbing a sheet and for Henry to dry off with and tossing it towards him.

Hans stands back as he exits the tub, dripping. Henry’s skin is pink from the heat and scrubbing. Hans takes a quick look around, ensuring they’re alone, then ducks forwards and presses a quick, sudden kiss to Henry’s back. Henry spins around and Hans dances away, already out of his reach.

“Now, now,” he teases, grinning at him. “Behave, peasant boy.”

Henry dries himself off quickly, Hans looking away as he does, well aware that his self control has never been that good, then dresses from the pile of clean clothes that Hans dug out for him. They’re simple, comfortable things: Henry always complains after wearing heavy armour and thick, suffocating gambesons, and Hans can see the relief in the slump of his shoulders to be dressed in something easy again.

“How do I look?” Henry asks cheekily, extending his arms.

He looks - normal. He’d ridden back into Devil’s Den looking like a knight, like a bloodied man returning from war. In the simple dark blue tunic and green hose he looks like any other man, like a blacksmith, like one of the gang. Like Henry.

“Perfect,” Hans says, truthfully. “You look perfect.”

Henry blushes. Hans doesn’t pretend he hasn’t seen it, looping an arm around his shoulders and leading him back towards the tavern. As he pushes him inside, he moves his hand to the very small of Henry’s back, letting his fingers linger for just a moment. He swears he can feel the muscles there tense.

The tavern is already noisy, the fire roaring and the ale flowing freely. Hans is assaulted by the cloying scent of fresh-cooked meat, and makes a beeline for the table, pulling Henry behind him.

The afternoon drags into evening. Henry sits at his side, a mug in his hands and laughter on his lips. Hans presses against him, their knees knocking together. Hans steals his cup when his own is empty; Henry snatches the last chicken leg from Hans’s plate before he can eat it. It’s a little dance, like two bodies moving as one.

Beneath the table, where no one can see, he places his hand on Henry’s thigh. Henry doesn’t even react - save a brief glance at him from the corner of his eye. Hans slides his hand higher. Henry’s leg is warm, the muscle firm.

Neither of them speak - at least, not to each other. Henry carries on his conversation with Katherine like Hans isn’t inches away from his prick.

Hans grins to himself.

The night whirls on. Someone starts singing, the others joining in. It’s so loud in the tavern with the cacophony of voices and stamping and mugs banged on tables that no one else can hear when Hans leans into Henry’s space and whispers in his ear.

He intends to say something salacious, something to heat Henry’s blood, ready for the sensual feast Hans intends to gift him later. But what slips out, unbidden, is anything but.

“I missed you,” he says, the words out before he’s even realised he’s saying them.

Henry, too, seems surprised. He’s used to Hans whispering filth into his ear, not soft confessions. He turns, eyes wide and gentle.

“Oh.” He laughs. “I missed you too.”

Hans’s chest squeezes, his heart missing a beat. He swallows.

“Of course you did,” he says, trying to batter through the sincerity with a joke. “I don’t know what you do without me.”

Henry laughs again, shakes his head in that soft, terrible way once more, and Hans suddenly wants nothing more than to kiss him, to grab him by his wide shoulders and press their lips together, right here, in front of everyone. Fuck his plans, fuck fucking: he just wants Henry.

He doesn’t do that. Of course he doesn’t. He pushes that thought down, and does what he does best: he pushes. With no one looking their way and their backs facing the wall, Hans reaches around and gives Henry’s arse a swift, tight squeeze. Before Henry can react, he takes his mug from his hand.

“I’ll top us up, shall I?”

Hans takes the moment alone to calm himself, to refocus his mind. He isn’t the only one after more beer, and he’s considering simply shoving Kubyenka out of his way when Katherine appears at his side with a sigh.

“By the time he’s done it’ll all be gone,” she says.

“Do you think he’ll notice if we push him over?”

“Like that? I doubt it.” She turns to him. “Are you alright?”

Hans blinks. “Of course,” he says. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

She purses her lips, then turns to look across the room. By the fireplace across the way, Henry is staring at them. When he spots her, he quickly looks down.

“No reason.”

Katherine saunters past him and goes to fill her own mug from the barrel. Hans hadn’t even noticed Kubyenka stagger away. When he looks across the room again, Henry’s gaze has returned to him - so sure it’s like he can feel it drifting across his skin. Something in his chest goes numb.

He puts the mugs down beside the barrel and is hurrying outside into the cool night air before he even realises what he’s doing. There’s a handful of people out here, drunkenly slumped over benches or chatting, and he quickly darts around the corner of the building. 

He leans against the wall in the dark, staring ahead at the treetops slowly moving in the breeze. What’s wrong with him? He’s Hans fucking Capon, not some blushing virgin village girl having her first fumble. He shouldn’t be acting like this, not over a fuck with a man he’s done the deed with several times before.

An owl hoots in the darkness, as if chastising him. He takes several deep breaths. His mind is warring with him, playing tricks on him. It’s like that fucking canon, how for weeks every ceiling felt lower and every wall felt closer. It’s not real, whatever this is he’s feeling.

But it is real. His heart is pounding and his skin is tingling with sweat and every time he thinks of Henry he loses a part of himself - and every time Henry is by his side that part returns, better and brighter. Every time Henry goes off on some new adventure Hans has to bury down the hot, tight anxiety that tells him this time, Henry won’t come back. He doesn’t allow himself time to examine it closer when Henry returns: it’s easier to be happy, and lusty - simple needs, simply fulfilled.

The night before Henry left during the siege on Suchdol feels like it was months ago, years. The man who sat on that bed terrified that Henry would die and the man leaning against the wall, terrified of losing him, are a thousand leagues apart. Hans stands by what he said that night: he doesn’t know what he’d do without Henry. He cannot imagine going on without him.

Things have changed since then, of course they have. Their friendship, strong as ever, is now supporting something more. But the soft vulnerable heart that Hans exposed to Henry that long night has been shut away again. 

He peers up into the sky, the twinkling stars, the slender dash of the moon like a knife hung in the heavens. 

He knows the truth of the thing. He’s not stupid: not entirely stupid, no matter what others think. When he’d heard the story of the two knights, his heart had ached. He knows what it means, what this feeling is, even if he keeps it locked in his ribs where it belongs.

“Hans?”

“Shit—” 

His treacherous heart nearly jumps out of his mouth. He spins around, pulse thundering, to see Henry standing there, looking worried.

“You scared the shit out of me, Henry! Jesus Christ!”

Henry looks abashed. “Sorry,” he says, coming to lean beside Hans on the wall. “You alright? You just ran off.”

“Fine, fine,” Hans lies. “I just— needed some fresh air.”

“Right.”

Henry clearly doesn’t believe him. He edges closer, pressing their arms together. Hans resits for just a second before leaning his head on Henry’s shoulder with a sigh. This was supposed to be perfect, he was supposed to prove himself. And now - as he does all things - he’s fucked it up.

“Hans…”

He turns with a huff. “Wha—”

Henry kisses him, cupping his jaw, keeping him close. Hans’s whole body goes soft beneath his gentle touch - all parts bar one - his bones loosening, his muscles relaxing. He leans into the kiss unthinkingly, giving himself over. Henry takes his bottom lip into his mouth, catching it between his teeth, and—

Hans breaks the kiss. He should tell Henry to stop, warn him about the others…

He grabs the front of Henry’s shirt. “My room?”

Henry grins. “With pleasure, my Lord.”

They stumble past the others. Hans cannot tell and doesn’t care if they notice them skittering past, laughing and shoving at each other. They make it to his room in a hot rush, falling over each other. Henry shuts the door, sliding the bolt to ensure they’re not disturbed. As soon as he’s done, Hans grabs his shoulders, twists him around and pushes him against the locked door with a thud.

Henry barely has a moment to take a breath before Hans is on him. He forces him against the wood and kisses him like he’ll die if he doesn’t, one hand pressed to his shoulder, the other to his hip. Henry makes a noise of shock, smothered beneath Hans’s mouth, then grabs him back, his hands going - as Hans knew they would - to his waist.

It’s only been a matter of weeks, but Hans has spent those weeks as a devoted scholar to Henry’s body, to his desires, to all the things he likes most. He kisses him roughly, fiercely, sliding his tongue past Henry’s lips. Henry allows the intrusion willingly, grabbing him even tighter. 

Hans wants to draw this out, wants to make Henry desperate before he grants him release, but it’s hard to do so dressed as they both are in these damned high-necked, form fitting clothes. He tugs at Henry’s collar, attempting to undo the ties one-handed, then gives up and sets to them with his teeth. Henry makes a hollow noise when he realises what Hans is doing, sliding his hands up Hans’s back.

Finally, the ties come loose. Hans tugs the fabric down so he can press his lips to Henry’s skin, nuzzling into his neck, coating him in hungry kisses. Henry hisses. Hans opens his mouth wider, scraping his teeth softly against Henry’s skin. This is one benefit to such high collars: it’ll be easier to hide the bruises he intends to leave there.

He holds Henry against the door, kissing all the places he’s able. He can feel Henry’s cock hardening between his legs, rubbing against Hans’s thigh. He presses closer, grinding down upon it. Henry curses under his breath.

At this rate, Hans fears, he’ll inflame them both so much that there won’t be any damn time to please Henry in the way he wants to. He grabs Henry’s arms and tugs him away from the door and towards the bed. Henry grins at him, letting him lead. Hans can almost hear the words Henry isn’t saying out loud: anything you say, my lord.

They fall onto the thin mattress, panting and eager. Hans sits astride Henry’s lap to finish the important task of removing his gambeson so he can run his hands across the warm, soft flesh beneath. Henry grins up at him, his expression open and adoring. Hans feels like he might perish being the subject of that gaze: he’s not sure he deserves it.

Henry pushes himself up, grabbing Hans around the middle so he doesn't fall, and kisses him deeply. Hans melts into it, humming into Henry’s mouth, holding onto his shoulders. Henry gets to work at the buttons of Hans’s pourpoint with well-practised hands. The first time they’d pulled him out of the garment it had taken an age - all those fucking buttons, which they’d cursed the whole time - but since they’ve learned exactly how few it takes to get it off and on the floor in as short a time as possible.

It’s not long before it's off, followed by Hans’s undershirt. He leans down to kiss Henry, pressing their bodies together. His prick grinds against Henry’s through the thin fabric of their braies. He leans back so he can appreciate him more fully: there is no sight he likes quite as much as the view of Henry’s cock tenting the fabric of his underclothes, framed indecently between his hose. It makes him want to touch, want to kiss and fondle and suck. It would be a shame to strip him entirely, if he weren’t so majestic underneath as well.

“Hans?”

Henry is watching him, Hans realises. He’s lingered too long, gazing down at him. 

“What?” he says, lowering himself down to kiss him. “Am I not allowed to appreciate my—” 

He hesitates. What is Henry, to him? His page? His bodyguard? His lover? It’s too big a question, especially with the spectre of his own future looming behind his shoulder. He’s Henry. He’s everything.

He doesn’t finish the sentence; it’s too hard. Instead, he kisses Henry into silence and gets to work on the ties of his hose. Henry seems happy to be distracted, wriggling out of them as Hans tugs them down and tosses them aside. Next goes his braies, the thin fabric threatening to tear beneath Hans’s eager grip. 

Henry smooths his hands down Hans’s chest, sliding his fingers beneath the edge of his underclothes. He brushes across the sensitive skin, teasing, soft and gentle: a question. Hans kisses him - his answer - and soon Hans is bare too. Henry makes a soft little hum as he looks up at him, and Hans can’t help but feel a smug beat of pride in his chest at how eagerly Henry takes him in.

“Hans…” his eyes are wide and staring, his lashes absurdly long even in the flickering dark. His lips hang open. “Hans, I—”

Hans panics. He doesn’t know what Henry is going to say next - he cannot let himself think that way - but his expression is so vulnerable and true that it makes Hans’s chest hurt. No, no: you can’t, don’t—

He silences him with a kiss, simultaneously wrapping his fingers around his prick. Henry moans into his mouth. Hans doesn’t know if he’s swallowed down whatever he’d been about to say or has forgotten it, but what comes next is further sighs and stuttered sounds as Hans works him.

God, but he’s beautiful. Hans can’t stand it. Typically he’d be jealous, but when Henry falls apart in his arms all he can feel is honor that he’s his.

…in a way. For now he can claim that Henry belongs to him, at least in the safety of his own head.

Henry groans again, and Hans wants. Wants more than he ever has done before. He rolls Henry over, getting behind him, placing his legs to either side of Henry’s hips. Henry makes a startled sound as he settles between Hans’s thighs, his arse pressing against Hans’s prick. Hans shuffles back, maneuvering them both so he’s leaning against the wooden headboard, sandwiched between the cool wood and Henry’s flushed skin.

He slides his hand down Henry’s chest, dragging his fingernails through his dark hair, feeling the chiselled-out depression of his muscles, the twitch of his hips and hitch of his breath as Hans sneaks ever-lower. He brushes his fingers through the thatch of hair between Henry’s legs.

Henry arches his back, stretching his arms. He reaches backwards, one of his hands coming to grab at the poster of the bed behind Hans, the other grasping desperately for Hans himself. Hans leans into his touch as Henry’s fingers slide through his hair, cupping the side of his head, clinging to him. Hans takes Henry’s face in his free hand, turning his jaw gently. He can feel the hot huff of Henry’s breath against his mouth, the shared air between them.

Hans clings tighter. Slowly, he brushes a gentle finger down Henry’s cock. He’s velvet soft and desperately hard, and for a brief moment Hans regrets putting himself here where he cannot properly appreciate it: with his tongue, for example. Henry makes a low noise in the back of this throat, his legs opening, knees parting as Hans rubs his thumb over his head.

Finally, he gives Henry what he needs, wrapping his fingers around his prick. Henry pushes back against Hans’s own cock, nestled in the cleft of Henry’s arse, and Hans whimpers right into his ear. He begins to move his hand, stroking him, squeezing him, the shape of Henry’s length against his palm almost as familiar as his own. Hans digs his fingers into Henry’s jaw, keeping him in place: he wants to look at him, wants to see, when he tumbles over the edge.

Henry’s cheeks are flushed, his mouth hanging open and lips glistening with kisses. 

“Hans—” it’s barely a whisper. “Please—”

How could he deny that? How could he deny Henry anything? Hans knows that Henry would do anything for him - does Henry know he’d do the same for him? 

He does as Henry asks, moving surer, more quickly. He wishes he’d thought this through more - the oil is just on the table, just out of reach - but his intentions to use it are ephemeral and smoky, now. Henry is in his lap, between his legs, begging him. Hans wouldn’t let him go for the world. The building could collapse around them and he wouldn't untangle their limbs.

Henry moves against him, his breath coming in sharp bursts like they’ve been punched from him. Hans moves faster, surer, his dextrous archer’s hands finally put to good use. Henry makes a bitten-off noise and tenses, and Hans can tell he’s close. There’s a single suspended moment, then Henry groans, and releases across his stomach. Hans guides him through it, not letting go until he’s entirely spent.

The air is hot and sweet. Henry slumps back against Hans chest, finally releasing the bedpost. Hans is surprised there aren’t indentations carved into it from where he was gripping it so tightly. He drags a lazy hand up and down Henry’s chest, making him shudder.

Something hot and urgent builds in his chest. It’s not the familiar urgency in his belly, the one making his cock twitch against Henry’s arse, but something else: something sweeter, and more dangerous. Henry sighs, twisting himself around between Hans’s legs so he can better hold him, better see him.

He looks at him with those huge, blue eyes, lidded with sleep and satiated lust. A laugh bubbles from Hans’s chest, borne through shock: shock that he’s even here, that he’s even allowed this. Henry looks at him as if he’s gone utterly mad.

“Are you—”

“Fuck it.” Hans kisses him, nuzzling their noses together. “I love you, you filthy bloody blacksmith’s boy.”

Henry goes still in his arms, his fingers hesitating where they’re playing against Hans’s skin. He swallows. His lips twitch. Shit. That was the wrong thing to say. It was true, and beautiful, and wrong. Perhaps he can play it off as a joke, or a declaration of companionship, not love. He tries to sit up, but finds himself trapped beneath Henry’s bulk.

“I—”

He doesn’t get the chance to say anything else. Henry kisses him with such fierceness that Hans thinks he might just die, there and then. They’ll have to bury him out the back in the woods, and poor Henry will have to explain why. 

When Henry pulls back, Hans is seeing stars.

“I love you too,” Henry says, his face split into a wide grin. “Jesus Christ, though, Hans, why say it now?”

Hans shrugs. “It felt right,” he says. “It’s all I’ve been able to think about since you left.”

He realises it’s true as he says it. The eagerness for Henry to return, the panic about making it perfect, the bone-deep fear that he isn’t enough. Getting the feeling out of his chest and into the air is a relief unlike any other.

Henry laughs at him, shaking his head, before pressing another kiss to his lips, his cheek, his jaw.

“I—” he frowns, brow furrowing. “I’ve thought about it too,” he says. “All the time. I keep thinking— I keep worrying it’s not allowed. That I’m not enough.”

If it wasn’t so damn sad - and so damn untrue - Hans would laugh. They’ve both been mired in their own fears - their own fears of the same thing.

“You are everything,” he says instead. “Frankly… I’ve worried the same. That you’re so perfect that I’ll never match up.”

Henry’s mouth opens a little. “So that’s what all this is about,” he says, slowly. “Have you spent three days worrying you’re not good enough for me?”

Hans hates how easily Henry sees through him. “No,” he pouts.

Henry knows it’s a lie. He kisses him again, then rolls them both over so they’re face to face on the bed. 

“I love you,” he whispers, the words tumbling to the sheets between them. “I love you. All of you.”

Hans’s chest is tight. However much he plays at being good with words, true ones, like this, always leave him breathless. Henry notices, gifting him a teasing smile.

“So,” he says, as if the matter of them being apparently in love with each other can be moved on from so quickly. “I saw there’s a new bottle of oil on the table. Any reason?”

“Two bottles,” Hans corrects him.

“Someone’s been spending all their money.”

“Someone else,” Hans says, shuffling closer, “is an insatiable harlot.”

“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”

“Henry!”

“What?”

Hans kisses him again, kisses him into silence, kisses him into submission. Henry rolls onto his back, taking Hans with him, holding him tight.

“Now what?” Henry says, watching him carefully.

Hans considers the question for a moment. Now comes the future, navigating the world with this love in his chest. Now comes marriage and duty. Now comes making a choice, a real choice. Now comes war.

He kisses him.

“I don’t know,” he says truthfully. “But I think we should start with the oil.”