#that this was going to be her fate ( although i believe it would be far more subtle / spreading the plaga to those in power who

[plagasitize]

[firegirl888101]

Insatiable Madness Intermission!

(Intermissions contain percentages for a certain point in the story! This Intermission is only accurate after View 10 and before View 11.)

Please keep in mind that these will change for better, or worse, as the story develops.

And remember, someone with a percentage of 50% could have the same feelings as someone with a percentage of 100%! Each character expresses, feels and thinks differently from eachother due to their different personalities.

It is important for you, the viewer, to decide whether a harbinger has turned yandere or not. I will not reveal much, for I mustn't disturb your own thoughts.

However, I can reveal that there are currently 2 Yanderes detected, and more will soon follow... In fact, I feel it might be sooner than you realise.

~ PIERRO AND PULCINELLA ARE PLATONIC ~

Pierro - 19%

He truly does see Y/N's value as a pawn to the Tsaritsa's plans back in Teyvat, but finds their behaviour appalling. Sometimes, The Jester questions whether the Tsaritsa would appreciate them dead rather than alive in her palace once they return home.

They're an eyesore. Not only that, but they constantly complain of his presence in their house. It's not his fault, the incompetent doctor didn't think of his machine only working one way. It's because of these very reasons he decided to take refuge in your father's office. Of course, you complained the following afternoon when you realised that's where he's settling. Unfortunately for you, he's indifferent to your complaining and just pushes you out the room if you distract him from his work. Don't you have better things to do? Go bother someone else, he's sure some of the other Harbinger's have been dying to ask you more questions.

'Always yapping in my ear. When are they going to repent their useless actions, be quiet, and stop resisting the fact I've taken the calmest room in the house? It's not my fault I brought my work with me unlike some of the others.'

Pierro doesn't care for this world. Although, the technology and freedom the people seem to have reminds him of Khaenri'ah, that thought alone helps him relax when he's alone in the evening. Perhaps when Dottore sorts out his defective machine, he'll return alone to reminisce of what could have been?

Capitano - 12%

He believes Y/N is weak, and unexpectedly powerless considering their intelligence within the fate of Teyvat. Before walking through Dottore's portal, The Captain was prepared for a noble battle. However, finding you shivering in fear was not what he was expecting.

They're pathetic. They make him feel useless in this world. He's a trained soldier, an army general, a legendary and respected tale among not only the Fatui but elsewhere in Teyvat. Without a battle or a conflict, there is physically nothing he can do here. Sure, he could always fight with Childe and give him the satisfaction he's been waiting for, but Capitano doesn't feel Tartaglia is worthy of such a spar yet. Not to mention the fact you've already professed your dislike of violence, Capitano believes people in this world are wimps.

'Once again I have been refused and turned away from the front door, how else should I spend my time today...? I'll ask Lohefalter for some advice.'

Capitano feels as if this world is stationary. It seems too safe for his liking, no monsters, no powers, nothing. But is it as it actually seems? Or is this world far more dangerous than he could ever imagine due to the disguise it covers itself in?

Dottore - 39%

He believes The Decider has untouched potential. Yet, The Doctor can’t help but feel as if experimenting on them would be fruitless. He feels conflicted, and often chooses to observe their behaviour from afar with a notepad he stole from their office and a pen he brought with him.

They’re quite interesting. Dottore can’t remember the last time he was forced to observe the behaviour of someone before cutting them open. This whole experience has been a massive realisation for him, and perhaps a sadistic awakening. From now on, he’s decided that when he gets a new lab rat he’ll torment them first to get inspiration for his experiments. After all, his younger clones aren’t the most… imaginative logic wise in terms of ideas. But, you refuse to answer his questions! How is he supposed to get results if you avoid him all the time? He doesn't understand, you don't seem to be avoiding anyone else, why are you excluding him solely? ...It seems as if he'll have to rely on the 'television' for now.

‘Their lips seem to be shaking at a faster pace. They must be feeling a rapidly increasing fear in our presence. How… strange. This is common behaviour among regular people, why would The Decider of all biological beings display the same patterns?’

Dottore is keen to discover more secrets about this world, and has no doubt in his mind that there is an important link between it and Teyvat. All he needs is more evidence to make his argument... that, and with the portal working in the first place of course. How is he supposed to record his results when his portal can't take him home?

Columbina - ???

She believes The Decider is special. Very, very, special. The Damselette doesn't recognise and cannot pinpoint why she feels the way she does, but what she does know is it feels exhilarating.

They're amusing, the way they struggle and how it's clear they want to protest the Harbinger's actions. Watching their realisation that fighting back is hopeless brings her great satisfaction, it feeds her sadism in a delightful way and is a good temporary source to get that kind of pleasure considering the fact that she can't tease any of her soldiers at the moment. Often, she'll find herself stood outside of your bedroom, unable to prevent her curiosity from leading her there. She hasn't decided to go in yet, respecting your privacy for the time being. But, if you keep leading her on she'll have no choice but to disrespect that privacy and do some investigating.

'Hmm, this room is awfully stuffy but it'll have to do. Does the Decider really spend their time in here? Oooh, what's that smaller television doing there? The Jester seems to have placed his papers all over this desk, how insulting for them. Pfuhuhu...~'

Columbina doesn't mind this world. In fact, she prefers it. Here, unlike in Teyvat, she has the freedom to do whatever she wants and has an interesting mortal to keep her company. What? She's not that stupid, unlike the other Harbingers she's fully aware just how powerless Y/N actually is. She wonders how long it will take for the others to notice, and looks forward to the chaos that will follow soon after.

Arlecchino - 25%

She knows her true feelings. The Knave simply doesn't care for The Decider, she's too busy fretting over the House of Hearth functioning appropriately whilst she's away in another world.

They annoy her a lot, however unlike some Harbingers, she covers it with disinterest as her annoyance could instill more fear into them. She's used to the look of fear, and has no intention of making them feel it due to her unable to control her temper. She's controlled her behaviour in front of others before, you shouldn't be any different. So why is it, whenever you look into her eyes, is it harder for her to remain uninterested with you? Before, it was noticeable and minor, therefore she could push it away. But now? It's getting harder to manage, she tries to stay away from you any time she can. She often warns you not to look into her eyes, just as she does for anyone else. And yet, you have made no effort to correct your mistakes. Arlecchino often wonders if you're just a very forgetful person, that, or you're just an idiot.

'I mustn't let the children stay in my mind for too long. For now, I have to focus on The Decider and returning them to The Tsaritsa for the mission.'

Arlecchino pays no attention to this world. She has seen The Jester feel emotional towards its progression but can not see it in the same light. All she wants is to finish the mission so she can return to the House of Hearth and focus on the Hydro Archon's Gnosis.

Pulcinella - 40%

He finds their behaviour appalling. Y/N in The Rooster's mind is incredibly childish, he finds their 'coping methods' blatantly rude and unforgiving.

They're impossible to deal with at times. Maybe, if they had a clear idea of their own predicament and the Harbingers predicament, they would understand that none of the harbingers want to be there in the first place! The very idea of you being in the same area as him riles him up... However, he has grown to appreciate your behaviour considering it reminds him of home. Yes, you can often act worse than a 7 year old, but he does understand that you're not in a good place right now. And you shouldn't be faulted for that. Would he ever explain that to you? No, definitely not. These feelings he harbours causes him to feel protective over you at times. Pulcinella can't explain it, there's something about you that makes him so angry yet so forgiving. If you ever make it out alive under the Tsaritsa's guise, he might consider making you a high ranking attendant under him. Perhaps you'll even rise to his right-hand? No, he mustn't get his hopes up. You're bound to die the second you enter Snezhnaya.

'Did they just prohibit us from entering in the garden? I have to interject, prohibiting us from entering their bedroom is completely expected, but the garden? Absolutely not.'

Pulcinella doesn't care about this world. As a mayor, he's more focused on the heap of work he'll have to do when he returns. The very thought sends uncomfortable shivers down his spine, considering the fact that he always completes his work on time in his schedule.

Scaramouche - 47%

He sees The Decider's existence as worthless. The Balladeer can't tell whether you're dim in the head or playing your cards weakly. You have clearly shown him you're powerless and unwilling to even try and escape your situation. Must he do everything for you?

They're too nice to the Harbingers in his opinion. Why, despite them murdering your family, do you show them kindness? Show him kindness? Not even a day later of being kidnapped and held hostage in your own home, you share your food with them. They didn't command you to do that - the majority of them don't even need to eat! You chose to give them your homecooked meal, and for that, you've somehow earned Scaramouche's respect. For the first time in almost 500 years, you caused him to hold his tongue and not point out the blatant truth, your cooking was disgusting. After following you to make sure you wouldn't run out of the house crying, he promised himself that you would never have to eat that food again. Why? Because he'll cook for you. It would be wise on The Decider's part not to question him about this though, he himself has no clue why he suddenly feels care for you despite only knowing you for a couple days. The thought disgusts him, has he not learnt his lesson?

'All of their struggling so far has done nothing for them, are they waiting for the right moment? Hm, maybe I should do something to... push them in the right direction.'

At first, Scaramouche despised this world. The people are useless here, the air he breathes in feels blotched, and the surplus of technology used is downright uncomfortable for him. Everywhere he goes, there's some kind of light staring back at him. Is there even a way to turn them off? How can you sleep when there's still light outside? He doesn't understand you. Now though, Scaramouche secretly can't bear the fact that he'll eventually have to leave you. Maybe this world isn't so bad after all...

Sandrone - 40%

She thinks that The Decider is lacking something important. The Marionette can't decide whether she likes them or not. On one hand, they're knowledgeable about this world and its beautiful technology, but on the other... they look so... plain.

They're too impractical, and display irrational behaviour. It seems to her you don't think before you speak, she despises that kind of person. Sandrone believes that the truest enemy of perfection is emotion, you support her beliefs by simply being yourself. Although, you have shown resilience, which did take her off guard at first. Despite throwing a tantrum and causing an emotional escapade, you seemed to shape up after. Perhaps you got everything out of your system? To her, this is marvellous progress. Now she can continue to ask you her own questions about this world and its discoveries.

'Ugh, that's not right either. I knew I should have drawn a diagram of the machine before taking each part away to inspect. What to do, The Decider seems too busy with the others to help me out here. Perhaps I should... deal with their problems so they can deal with mine.'

In the beginning, Sandrone despised this world. It felt weird, not to mention the possible danger of unexpected attacks. After awhile, she came to regret her outbursts at Dottore, and now enjoys every single day she gets to be here. Everyday, she has a new gadget to tinker with. The list never ends, it feels like being in her workshop! Despite wishing she could return to Teyvat as soon as possible, she definitely won't become bored anytime soon. From this unique experience, she's learnt to assess the situation more before giving a vocal opinion.

Signora - 20%

She knows something is wrong with The Decider, but she just can't put her finger on it. The Fair Lady doesn't really care either way, allowing her arrogance to control her interest.

Their immaturity got them in this mess; Signora really doesn't care what happens to them in the end. Sure, you gave them a roof to stay under during their stay in this world. But, she knows that if it were completely your choice, you'd kick all the Harbingers out the second you could. Other than that, she doesn't really have anything to say to you, and has no intention of choosing to talk to you. If she was ever forced to make conversation with you, she supposes she could give you some pointers for clothes.

'What are they wearing this time!? I can't do this anymore. If it weren't for me being stuck here, I could care less. But every single hour I have to see The Decider is pure torture! Seriously, what are they wearing?'

Signora doesn't really like this world, although, she's not that bothered either. All she wants is to get The Decider to the Tsaritsa and continue her mission in collecting the Gnoses. In fact, if Dottore fixed the machine, she would be in Inazuma right now with the Raiden Shogun's Gnosis in her very hands! ...Or so she estimates anyway.

Pantalone - 20%

He has nothing to say to The Decider. The Regrator honestly cannot be bothered to talk to them, considering the fact that he would have nothing to say. It could just be him, but he doesn't see anything special in you at all. Is Dottore sure he as the right person?

They truly are boring. If you were interested in banking, or had problems with money he could advise in some way. He's so bored just fiddling with his coins in the house. Give him something to do, anything. He would beg, but he feels that's beneath him. Do you seriously have nothing to do in your house? It's not too small, so he doesn't think you're poor, but the only thing he can do is watch the 'television'. Even then, he can't do that because Dottore's hogging it all day with a pen in hand! For the love of the Tsaritsa, get him out of this world before he dies of old age. That, or give him some work. He's itching to get back into his paperwork for the Northland Bank he put off before coming here.

'And that is the 20th time I've struck heads. Has Dottore left to bother The Decider yet? Ah, it seems he has not.'

Because of you, Pantalone is shivering in anticipation to leave this world and get back to Teyvat. However, from his conversations with the mad doctor, it seems like that won't be happening any time soon. He is this close to snapping, if Dottore won't find a solution to get them out of this world, Pantalone will have to turn to you instead. If you don't have the answers he wants, you'll have hell to pay.

Tartaglia - 42%

He enjoys Y/N's company. The Young Lord* likes spending time with you whenever he can, even if he can tell it annoys you sometimes... That doesn't matter though, because what's important is you haven't pushed him away yet!

They're funny, their behaviour to him is very amusing. He's spent hours by your side and somehow doesn't get bored! In the beginning, he only spent his time around you because he wanted to know about his future, to this day he curses his selfish behaviour. Now, he spends time with you because he wants to. Besides Capitano and Pulcinella, he hates all the Harbingers and physically can't be in the same room as them for more than an hour before feeling his Foul Legacy grow within him. But you? You nullify that feeling completely. In fact, Childe hasn't felt the abyss within him grow the entire time he's been in this world which is a miracle! Occasionally, he does feel bloodthirsty and asks you for a fight. But, after seeing you shrivel away in the mention of violence, he stops himself and goes to The Captain again. He'd rather be denied by the legendary captain compared to you. Childe can still feel electro jolt through his body when he sits down for a much needed rest, The Balladeer is too harsh on him sometimes.

'Where on earth are they? They're not in their bedroom, not in the garden, not in the kitchen, and not in their office! Did they... no, they can't have escaped. Perhaps they-- Oh, there they are! That's unusual, they never go to the bathroom at this time.'

Despite enjoying his time here with you, Childe knows that after awhile he'll begin to feel homesick and wish to see his family again. He also knows that when the time comes to return to Teyvat, he'll have to let you go and give you to the Tsaritsa. This is what is stopping him from getting to know you on a personal level, the thought makes his heart feel tight in worry for you.

*Note, I am using the meaning of 'Childe' as his official title because I cannot take 'Childe' seriously I'm sorry- I see it as a nickname since that is what Tartaglia seems to use himself.

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[violetasteracademic]

I saw someone say they don't like Elriel simply because Azriel and Elain don't do it for them as a couple. They just aren't into the emo boy/flower girl dynamic. And truth be told? That's the most respectable anti take I've ever heard. Because there is no right or wrong, there's no points to argue. It's just like, hey, I see it, and I don't like it. Which is kind of how I feel about G*wynriel and E*lucien as well. So it's genuinely just a really fair and uncomplicated take.

I simply *don't like* forced proximity with the person that has already been assigned to you and eventually falling in love with them, then realizing it's for the best anyways because it will solve a bunch of conflicts as much as I *like* fuck fate and fuck politics and fuck the Gods, you are the person I want and I will burn the whole world down to be with you. If it goes against every rule, if it puts us in the front line of every danger, and tears at the very fabric of society, it still will be you for me and I'll do whatever it takes.

And that's just vibes, there's really not much more to say!

I *don't like* I was completely obsessed with two different women, but after being rejected by both of them I finally realized, thank goodness! I've had a mate this whole time! And I saved her from being r*ped by a bunch more men than just one years ago and then trained with her every day and now that I'm finally free of being in love with other women, I finally have noticed what is right in front of me as much as I *like* your mate is sleeping upstairs and if he catches us he will have every right to demand I fight to the death over you but I literally can't stop wanting you and needing you and questioning fate because I don't understand how we aren't meant to be together.

I know for a fact I won't like a G*wynriel or E*lucien book *as much* as Elriel because I have read those sorts of similar vibes or comparable plot points before, and it's just like, meh. Not for me. My least favorite trope is the guy who suddenly realizes his best gal pal is the one he should have been into all along after only going for beautiful women he thought were way out of his league. That's not romantic to me at all. But I respect that it is to others. I think it's perfectly okay to simply vibe with different things.

Do I think the books are quite clearly headed towards Elriel? Absolutely. But I think even if they weren't, I'd be crack shipping them anyways because I absolutely love what they have to offer plot, story, tone, aesthetic, style, and romance wise. They are the full package for me. Feysand was a full package for me. Nessian isn't my usual style or favorite trope or vibe, but I still enjoyed the hell out of it.

I think Sarah has given the sisters really distinct personalities and completely individual storylines. I personally still love every book. I adored ACOSF. Buuuuut I don't really need it rewritten a second time in a different font, which is what I think G*wynriel would be. Minus all of the "it's been you since the moment I laid eyes on you" swoon worthiness that I loved for Nesta and Cassian and introducing the "I can't believe I didn't notice my own mate standing right next to me and being harmed and put in mortal danger repeatedly for three years because I was in love with other women" element.

But ACOSF is polarizing. I've seen people say it is either objectively the best book Sarah has ever written, or objectively the worst.

Elain is a unique sister, with a personality and powers that could not be more different from Feyre and Nesta. Everything about her book is not going to match what we have seen in the series so far. And I think that's a GOOD thing. ACOSF was a tone shift, and I think Elain's book will be a tone shift. But I think her book is probably going to be polarizing as well. And it will likely be my favorite.

Although the fandom has gotten a bit aggressive, I think it's really cool that people found their favorite in Nesta and ACOSF in a way that is really kind of deep and specific. I think Elain and Elriel will be that for me. That's what books are supposed to do. Humanity is not one size fits all. It makes perfect sense that people locked into Nessian (or just Nesta) in a way they didn't with Feyre/Feysand. And although there's a crop of anti ic people out there now, Feysand will always be a crowd pleaser. So I'm just hoping the girlies who get it will have their chance to connect that deeply with Elriel too!

I love each Archeron sister, and I for one love how different they are. I appreciate their stories for different reasons. But I am ACHING for Elain and Azriel to lean into their vibes and continue on their journey of questioning the system and deconstructing religion and battling the obstacles in their way. That will always be more interesting and way sexier and peak romance to me and will undoubtedly take spot number 1 in my heart.

[mini-ism]

#— BIRTHDAY SUIT.

pairings: welt yang x afab!gn!reader

words: about 2.5k

synopsis: your neighbor, mr. yang, has a chat with you that quickly turns intimate.

warnings: MDNI, p in v, unprotected sex, afab (gender neutral) reader, neighbor!welt yang, praise kink, birthday sex, not beta read.

notes: i wrote this with hi3 welt in mind (hes in his 50s in this fic), but it can also be read as hsr welt :p

“happy birthday, you!”

what a surprise, really, your next-door neighbor was pinching your cheek. mr. yang has always been a friendly man, and although your interactions have been limited and cordial, he had always been quite kind and polite.

mr. yang was beaming, the tray of fudgy brownies he baked sitting on the table, lukewarm, but inviting. he let go of your cheek, his pinch not too painful, more or less playful.

“it’s nice to see you, mr. yang. thank you for coming!” you smiled back at him haphazardly. it seems your family decided to invite him over. that wasn’t much of a problem, the more the merrier, one could assume.

“not a problem. how is your special day going so far?” he asked with genuine curiosity, placing a hand on your upper back as you two stepped over to the dining table. it was strewn with presents, balloons, and other birthday-like decorations. mr. yang’s fresh brownies awaited their inevitable fate amongst the festivities.

your friends and family greeted you warmly as you took your seat. mr. yang’s hand left your back as he took his own seat, smiling every so often as something humorous was said. your mother sighed contently as she entered the room, recounting everything else she had done before loudly gasping, “shoot, i forgot the damn cake!”

she raced out of the dining room, then out the door, followed by a few other members of your family and some friends. you assumed they had left with her. now it was just awkward. you grabbed the pitcher of sugary lemonade and a paper cup, pouring yourself a drink and sipping it.

mr. yang was the first to break the silence.

“hey, how about we talk for a moment, is that okay?” he stood next to you, slipping out of his seat and quietly asking. you nodded and finished your lemonade, leaving the cup somewhere where you would remember. he, again, guided you with his hand on your back, to your room. you could hear your friends chatting amongst themselves in the living room, playing games and watching TV. you shut the door behind you.

“what did you want to talk about mr. yang?” you turned to him. he sat on your bed and patted the spot next to him, urging you to sit with him.

“you could just call me welt, dear,” he gave you a gentle look, “i wanted to talk about life with you. maybe i could be a listening ear or give you some advice. i felt that you’d be more comfortable in your own space.”

you took your place next to him, appreciating his thoughtfulness and consideration. “what’s life like for you, dear? is everything okay in your own world?”

“yeah, life is okay. it's… hard sometimes, but when it’s good, it seems more worthwhile than usual.” you looked at the ground below you, fidgeting with your hands.

“you’ll find it’s purpose eventually, angel,” he started after a moment, “it doesn’t always come to you, especially not when you’re in your younger years. believe it or not, i’m still trying to figure it all out even at my age.” welt patted you reassuringly on the shoulder.

“i hope i figure it out soon.” you looked back at him, who was still looking at you oh-so gently.

“you will.” his hand moved to pat you on the thigh. welt had such a tender demeanor, maybe that is something that comes with age or experience.

it was silent again, you didn’t really know what to say.

“i’m proud of you,” he whispered, his hand moving slightly upwards, “you’re already doing incredibly well.”

“thank you, welt.” you whispered back in the same hushed tone, his hand creeping further upwards, giving your thigh a squeeze.

you drew in a breath and held it, and the air grew tensely stagnant. you could tell mr. welt was trying not to scare you or seem creepy.

you scooted closer to him, feeling the same wound tension in your body. you were receptive to his touch, from what he could tell. he gave your upper thigh a tighter squeeze.

you tried to hold in that breath, making a squeaky, choked noise. he was terribly quiet, “…am i hurting you, dear?”

“no, mr. yang…” you said with a murmur, staring at his hand. it was slightly vascular, his knuckles were rosy compared to his lighter tone, and, weirdly enough, it looked like he took care of his cuticles.

“that’s good to know,” he glanced at his hand, then at you, “tell me if i hurt you at all, please.”

“…okay.” you replied.

you met welt’s gaze, which was intense, yet tender and loving. you could tell a fire was burning beneath his cool exterior. his eyes were warm, like pools of dark honey. his breath hitched, and his face inched closer to yours.

his other hand cupped your cheek as he went in for the kiss. his lips were soft, and you kissed him back without a second thought (or a first). his thigh hand anchored him with a tight grip, causing you to whine into his lips. he pulled back, eyes wide, huffing for air, “did that hurt you?”

you shook your head no, furrowing your brows. you pushed his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose, turning him on more than he’d like to admit, “that’s good…”

he gingerly maneuvered you to lay down onto your bed, getting on top of you with that damn look. his eyes were lidded, his lips parted, and his gaze passionate, yet caring. he nestled between your legs, spreading them apart slowly with his hands and hovering above you. he bent down to kiss you again, his tongue parting your own lips with caution. he gripped the undersides of your thighs tightly, savoring your taste as your tongues intertwined. he gave you another kiss on the lips as his tongue left your mouth.

your eyes flicked from his face, which was flushed and needy, to his chest, which was modest and clean, “do you want me to unbutton this, angel?”

with your nod, he straightened his back and unbuttoned his dress shirt with experience, he didn’t mess up even once, “i won’t take it off, but i hope you like what you see for now.”

you ran your hands over his slightly toned body, he was in great shape, and he smiled when you felt his chest. it felt right, the way he looked. he was undeniably handsome for a man in his late fifties — or so — he didn’t look a day over thirty. his chest and abs were very slightly chiseled, but you could still see a light outline of his ribs poking through. there was a little birthmark on his collarbone, and another on his neck.

his glasses were sliding off the bridge of his nose, and he elected to take them off and set them elsewhere. he brushed his brown hair out of his eyes, framing his face perfectly. his eyes had a mischievous twinkle in them.

wordlessly, you lifted your own shirt off your head, revealing the curve of your breasts to welt. a low noise escaped him. he kissed your cheek, then your neck, your collarbones, and the slope of your chest. you looked so pretty for him right now, and he couldn’t wait to see more of you.

welt gently fondled your chest, delicately rubbing your nipples and caressing your skin. his thumbs flicked back and forth on the sensitive bud, watching your nipples harden with curiosity. he smiled charmingly, his eyes warm and magnetic. welt held eye contact with you as his hands caressed their way lower to your hips. you gave him a nod, insinuating the motions of what’s to come next.

“are you sure, dear? you can tell me no, and we can put our clothes back on. don’t be scared to tell me anything.” his voice was comforting, his words were sincere and reassuring.

“yeah, i’m sure about it. i wanna do this with you, welt.”

welt kissed you again, responding with a soft sigh. he got up again, still on his knees and atop you. you removed everything from the waist down, leaving yourself bare for him. welt was glad you were enthusiastic, and he unbuckled his own belt. he kept your gaze as he unzipped his pants, letting you palm the bulge in his underwear, “are you ready?”

you let out a quiet “mhm,” letting him pin your knees to your chest and spread you open more, “keep your legs there please.”

welt slipped the waistband of his boxers down, revealing his happy trail. he drew his bottom lip between his teeth as his cock sprung out. he started to stroke himself gently, brows knitted together from the pleasure. “…do you want to take it?” he asked, quite shyly.

“mmm, yeah, i want to,” you purred, your body desperate for any sort of contact. welt grabbed the inside of your thigh with his other hand, stroking with his dominant hand as he teased your clit with his tip. his bottom lip remained tucked tightly between his teeth and cheeks flushed. the tip of welt’s cock slipped in for a brief moment before he pulled out, releasing his lip and drawing in a sharp breath.

a wanton mewl escaped your lips as he pulled out. welt groaned lowly in response, pushing the sensitive tip back inside of you with minimal resistance. he could stay like this forever, indulging himself in your tight pussy, watching you drool and whine as he pushes a little further before abruptly pulling out, stroking your swollen clit with his thumb. he could keep shushing you with his kisses and tease your entrance more, but his patience was slowly waning.

seeing you sprawled out on your bed, clothes scattered across your floor, your cunt needy and leaking like a faucet, he won’t be able to help himself much longer. it was a lot to take in at the same time, it was beautiful yet surreal. “don’t finish in your hand welt!” you slurred, crying out a bit louder than you should’ve. he was jerking himself subconsciously, dazed at the sight before him.

“i won’t, i promise.” welt smiled as the words left him, reassuring and effectively calming your worry. he slicked back the hair in his face, some of it falling right back into place. welt grabbed your thigh again, drawing in a deep breath, mostly to calm his nerves, and pushing into your wet, swollen pussy again. he released the breath quickly, sighing as he delved deeper into you, relishing the bliss of sliding into you. you kept babbling and whining, the stretch of your pussy left your tight hole burning. he kept shushing you gently, rocking his hips back and forth gently, only about halfway inside of you.

“it’s okay, it’s not gonna hurt like this soon. i’ll take care of you.” welt said as he rolled his hips slowly, smiling with sincerity as he hushed you again. with every tender and soft thrust, his cock sunk deeper into you, he could feel his tip brush up against your cervix with due time. “you're so wet,” he cooed, “i want to be inside you forever. you feel amazing.”

he felt you wrap your arms around his neck, letting you pull him down closer to you. you burrowed your face in his neck, your soft moans ringing in his ears as he gripped your sheets. it took everything in him not to fuck you senseless then, but he swore he’d be gentle with you.

“it’s alright,” he whispered to you, “i know, darling, i know.” he could feel you clamp down on him, your muscles tightening feverishly as he praised you. you couldn’t help but love the way he talked to you, he was so gentle and validating, welt was so sweet and understanding. your pussy gushed more as he muttered sweet nothings in your skin, his grip on your sheets as tight as your pussy’s grip on his cock. the pain subsided with each thrust, pleasure flooding your senses, your juices leaking from your hole and onto your sheets. “you’re doing so good for me, so, so good.”

it’s seriously taking every bit of willpower and control not to fuck into you. it’s disgusting, really, how badly he wants to fuck you with brutal thrusts, how badly he wants everyone to hear you scream out in pleasure, how badly he wants to make you squirm and cum everywhere. he wants to do that ten times over, at the least. he knows you can’t handle that, not now, but every shred of his being wants to fuck you until you swear your pussy is all his.

“so fucking good, baby,” he groans, his hips stuttering as he stuffs you full of his cock, milking out every drop of pleasure he can get before he inevitably cums, “such an angel for me.”

you continue to babble and mewl, feeling his cockhead thrust itself as deep as it can into you. you can feel himself slowly losing any sort of restraint he has, moaning with you as he slams his hips into yours. you kiss his neck as he huffs in your ear with every movement of his hips, groaning lowly when he slides back into you with vigor.

the world around you seemed to dull as your body grew hotter and needier. your blankets were damp with your slick, your skin burning and your core tightening. nothing really made sense but him, him and the way he was fucking you. you held onto his back, sliding your hands underneath his loose dress shirt, clawing and digging your nails into his skin. welt’s pace quickened, sweat dripping from his forehead, his back getting sticky from the perspiration.

every single muscle of yours was wound tense with pleasure, as were his, his control was slipping from his grasp. “just like that, hold me just like that.” he breathed into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. your senses were heightened as the world buzzed around you, nothing else mattered in this moment other than him and your quickly approaching orgasm. your nails dug harder into his bare skin as your heart beat harder in your ears. the sound of your pussy, as well as his moans and his skin against yours was all too lewd.

you murmured in his ear that you were close, welt responding in gentle praises and reciprocation. the coil in your gut loosened with intense euphoria, ecstasy washing over you and your tight muscles. welt chased after his high with a few erratic and intense thrusts into you, a guttural sound leaving his lips. his head lolled onto your shoulder lazily, welt catching his breath as his grip on your sheets loosened.

“are you okay?” welt whispered, breathing heavily.

“yeah, i’m okay. are you?” you replied.

“…i’m okay. i’m great, honestly,” he said with humor in his voice.

“we should probably head back, your friends might be worried about you.”

[f1bordeaux]

The String That Binds Us. (Chapter 1) | ln4, cl16

You fell in love with this sport all because of him. It would be selfish not to thank that boy for his help in getting you here today, even if you both ended on rocky terms. However, after finding yourself in the same paddock as your childhood bestfriend, your mentor, your first true love, and the boy who left you for the bigger picture, you realize that he wants nothing to do with you. So, as fate has it, perhaps you'll end up in the arms of someone else. Or maybe, just maybe, that string that has been tied to the two of you since birth will pull you back into eachothers lives. Warnings : none Pairings : Lando Norris x reader, Charles Leclerc x reader Word Count : 1923 Poetry style | Story style A/n: here, my lovelies, is chapter one. Not proofread srry lolsies. Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

one; y/n. 

There was something about it, something in the early morning rays reflecting off the cherry-red paint that just wiped away all exhaustion previously held in your bones. You were wide awake as you stared at the cars being rolled off the truck and into the garage. It was only five am but the sun had already crept over the horizon well enough to illuminate the sight in front of you. Golds and reds, blacks and yellows all mixed into a work of art nobody else could recreate. This is what you were here for. This is what you were living for.

“Gorgeous, innit’?”

You turned to your left, face to face with two others donning the same uniform as you. The woman who had spoken seemed a bit older than you, but now way had she yet reached her thirties. A man was accompanying her, although his eyes rested not on you, but on the tyres now being rolled out of the truck. He seemed close to her age, his deep-tanned skin a high contrast to hers.

You smiled at her before looking down at your lanyard. It was still so hard to process being here, on a Thursday morning in Bahrain, waiting for the weekend that was about to ensue. You were one of them now. You were an insider, a person that got to see everything on a deeper level. People dreamed of getting here, people worked their whole lives in hopes of getting here and yet here you were, 23 years old and face-to-face with Carlos Sainz’s car. It looked so much better in-person.

“It really is.” You sighed, looking back up. The truck was empty now, they were beginning to close the back door. “I still can't believe I’m here.”

The blonde lady leaned forward, trying to catch a glimpse of your badge. “Y/n y/ln? You're new, huh?”

You turned to meet her eyes, a large smile on your face. “Yes, I just graduated University.”

“What an amazing first job to have then.” She smiled back. The man beside her now looked at you as he adjusted the ballcap on his head. “I'm Bridgette, but everyone in the garage just calls me Bridge.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” You extended out a hand which she gratefully accepted.

“This is Lorenzo.” Bridgette nodded to the man who offered a toothless smile and his hand. “Enough standing around, we’ve got work to do. Walk with us.”

So you did. The garage wasn’t too far away, just around the corner, but Bridgette loved to talk; that you quickly found out. “Where are you from?” Was her first question.

“Bristol.”

“I hear it’s nice. They’ve got that beautiful river running through it, no?” She asked, looking straight ahead. You just nodded, unsure if she saw your response, but when she kept going you assumed she had. “I’m from Perth. Nothin’ quite like Australia, I must say.” “Isn’t Lando from Bristol?” Lorenzo added. His accent was thick as he spoke.

You nodded again, this time opting to expand on the question. “He is, yeah. We actually grew up together.”

Bridgette turned her head to look at you. “No way! Why didn’t your mate get you a job over at Mclaren?”

A blush coated your cheeks. You didn’t know where it came from, maybe embarrassment, maybe fear, hell, maybe even sadness. Lando wouldn’t have put in a good word for you, not today. Perhaps seven years ago when the two of you were teenagers and on a completely different page, but not now.

“We don't talk like we used to. He was gone a lot but he moved away for good when he was seventeen. He never really looked back, either.” You sighed. An odd sense of pity hung over the three of you. In an attempt to lighten the mood you clapped your hands together and smiled at the two engineers next to you. “But he got me into cars and engineering! So, I owe him a thanks for that.”

Bridgette nodded and pressed her lips into a thin line. “There ya’ go.”

The next few moments were rushed. The three of you entered the garage where people worked on putting everything into place. You were introduced to management and owners, mechanics and bosses. Tyres were being placed on racks, tarps were being placed over backup cars, tool boxes were being passed around. It was thrilling, even if you were just standing on the sidelines watching as it all happened. Soon, however, someone called your name. You were sure it was Bridgette or Lorenzo, but it was someone else. Alessandro, Charles' chief mechanic, was heading straight for you, clipboard in hand.

“Have you been assigned a team yet?”

“No, sir.”

He smiled. “Call me Alessandro. No need for formalities. But anyways,” He looked down at the clipboard then back up at you. “Our front jack guy broke his wrist and I need someone to replace him. Care to run some drills?”

You couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your lips. “I would be honored.”

“Awesome.” He nodded over his shoulder. “Let's go get you a suit and helmet, then.”

x

“I’d be surprised if you didn’t get the spot.” Bridgette sipped her coffee. “You absolutely crushed it.”

You blushed, rolling your finger around the rim of your cup. The Ferrari motorhome was gorgeous with its meeting rooms and rooftop balcony, with its relaxation spots and cafe. It really put into perspective where you were and who you were working for.

“Thank you,” You said quietly.

The day had gone by rather quickly. The sun was already setting over the desert and exhaustion clung to your body just as tightly as the uniform you wore. You’d spent hours running drills, practicing the most simple yet vital job-jacking the car up. You did it over and over again, improving with every run. After that you were tasked with doing inventory. Sure, it was a small task, one that didn’t require you to get hands on with the car, but it was still important. You wandered the garage counting tyres, drills, wrenches, going through tool bags and drawers. It helped you get situated in the space, to learn the layout and whereabouts of everything. Once you had finished that, you were offered to help wash Charles’ back up car. You gladly obliged, happy to be finally touching the car at least. You washed the tyres, the halo, the rear wing and a bit of the body before standing back to revel in the beauty of the car. It seemed to shine, even in the dim garage lighting. You felt so fulfilled, so privileged, so at home.

“Alessandro likes to give everyone a shot, he doesn’t discriminate.” Bridgette continued. “Today might have been your lucky break.”

“I’d be happy even being a back-up jack, honestly. Just wearing the fire suit and helmet makes me feel all,” you paused looking for the right word to describe it. “Giddy.”

“Well,” Lorenzo began, setting his phone face down on the table. “He needs to pick tonight so we can have that person participate in tomorrow's practice. You should know if you got it first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Guess I’ll be tossing and turning all night, then.” You joked.

A small laugh cluttered the table. It was getting late, the track becoming more and more empty with each passing moment. The motorhome was silent, save for the three of you lingering around. “We should go grab the last shuttle to the hotel,” Bridgette stood, taking one last swig from her cup before tossing it into a bin. “Are the two of you coming?”

Lorenzo stood up, as did you. “I left my bag in the lockers. I can wait for the next one if you both would like to go.”

“It’s ok,” he said. “We can wait for you at the front gate.”

“Alright, then. I’ll be quick.”

You jogged through the paddock, grateful that the heat had subsided. Lights poured out of each garage, illuminating pit lane in a way the sun hadn't. The sun, harsh and bright, brought a form of intimidation onto the pavement. The lights however, soft and orange, seemed to bring peace. It was a gentle reminder that at the end of the day, everything would be alright.

You dodged into the Ferrari garage, running to the back lockers to retrieve your backpack. Although your head was almost completely submerged in the metal box, you could hear faint-chatter? You leaned back, wondering if Bridgette and Lorenzo had come to find you. No, it didn’t sound like them. The voice sounded much more familiar. It was like listening to one of your favorite songs after a long while.

Lando paused at the entrance of the garage. His phone was pressed into his ear. He stared at you, eyes squinted and eyebrows furrowed. Did he know it was you? Could he see you? Did he even remember what you looked like?

You swung your bag over your shoulders and closed the locker. As you approached, Lando lifted his brows, erasing the confused look on his face. He surely could see you now.

“Hey, I gotta call you back.” He sighed. “Yeah, everything is good. See you tomorrow.”

A few feet separated you and him. You debated on starting conversation, on asking how he’s been. But you decide just to nod and walk past him. That is your plan until he stops you.

“Y/n?”

You pressed your lips together in a flat smile. “Hey, Lando.”

He looked you up and down. You were uncertain if he found your Ferrari uniform insulting or fitting. What if you were wearing papaya? What if you were sporting  orange instead of red? Would he be looking at you in the same way?

“So you really did make it, huh?” Lando crossed his arms over his chest, smirking as you avoided eye contact.

“I suppose so.”

“Have they assigned you a driver?”

You looked up for the first time since your conversation began. A bit of pride swelled in your chest as you said, matter-of-factly, “Yeah, Charles Leclerc.”

He blinked hard, shocked that you landed not only a job with the most infamous F1 team, but on their star drivers car. Maybe you were better than you let on. Maybe it was more luck. But deep down Lando knew how good you were. He was able to experience it first hand as a kid.

“Wow. Most people remain without a designated driver for their first year. They kinda’ just float around doing all the dirty work. At least, that's how it is at Mclaren.”

“Right.” You gripped your backpack straps like a kid. “Good thing I'm not over there, then.”

“Yeah.”

The two of you fell quiet, only the sound of nearby passing cars and people walking by filled the air. To any bypasser this surely looked sketchy. Lando Norris, Mclarens golden boy, and a new engineer for an opposing team, just staring at one another. How odd.

You broke the silence first saying, “Well I’ve gotta’ go. I have some friends waiting for me to catch the shuttle.”

Lando just nodded, staring at the ground as you walked by. As you passed Carlos’ garage, he called out, “I’ll see you tomorrow, y/n.”

You could barely hear it with the way he spoke so quietly. But you stopped, turning your head and offering a real, genuine smile. “Yeah,” You breathed out.

He smiled back. “Good luck.”

[correlance]

Say what you will about the Charlie/Alastor (Charlastor) ship, but my God, the fanfiction "Similing Man" by MuseValentine, which was completed on 3 January 2022, so thoroughly called the following:

Alastor feeling insecure and threatened by Lucifer's power.

Alastor and Lucifer having a Texas stand-off over Charlie.

Alastor being a cocky little shit about it towards Lucifer.

The "oh shit" moment of panic where Alastor realizes that Charlie is the daughter of Lucifer Morningstar, and then Lucifer going "have a seat" in order to intimidate Alastor, is also so hilariously well-written.

Art by SpicyUnicornPowder on Twitter.

Excerpt from Chapters 24-25:

The party was really turning up and he was trying his best to be mindful of the drinks so that not even a drop spilled. Thankfully, Charlie wasn’t too far away, and it looked like her mother had found her once again. Keeping a careful eye on the refreshments in hand, Alastor beelined his way back to her, where she smiled at him once more when he returned to her side.

“Oh, you’re back!” he heard her say, and finally safe and still, he looked up to once more greet Charlie’s lovely mother and engage in a polite conversation with the two ladies.

And that’s when Alastor realised then that there was somebody else with them.

And he froze.

“Alastor, I’d like to introduce you to my father….”

This was impossible.

A cruel twist of fate.

There was no way this could be so.

Alastor wasn’t sure what was going on now, but what he did know was that in the short amount of time since he looked at him, his heart started racing and his tongue went dry, as did a familiar but unsavouring tinge of anxiety hit his guts, causing his nerves to start going off the edge, making him feel like the smile he had on was starting to crack.

Oh, how he must have looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

No. He probably looked more like the night they’d first met when all bloodied and crazed from the high of two kills on that corner in Lafayette.

“…Lucifer Magne.”

Standing before him, short and blonde and dressed from head-to-toe in white in a showman-like fashion, was the Big Apple.

“Have we met before?”

Unfortunately for Alastor, it had to be thrown right at his face.

“No, I don’t believe we have.”

But life was funny like that, wasn’t it?

“Strange,” the man – Lucifer – remarked with a tilt of his head, eyes studying him curiously. “You’re an awful lot familiar. Swear I would have remembered you anywhere.”

The mocking glint in the man’s eyes, watching the way he was bluffing, it all made Alastor’s nerves go on a frenzy while he remained still and stone-faced. The man was bluffing – Alastor was made and he knew it. He knew the stakes that were at hand here for him, considering the circumstances.

“You might have heard of him, Daddy,” Charlie quipped with a smile. “Alastor’s a radio host. A very good one too!”

But under all sorts of circumstances, did it have to be the one where he turned out to be the father of his goddamn neighbour?!

“Oh! I thought you sounded familiar!” Lilith suddenly exclaimed with a clap of her hands. “You’re the one who interviewed our darling for her hotel! Thank you for helping her out with that, by the way!”

While Lilith was somewhat gushing, her husband only quirked an eyebrow in curiosity, although the look in his eyes gave away the indication that it was something he already knew.

“A radio host? My, how interesting,” he said in a tone that seemed marvelled although it was clearly not, turning more questioning as he inquired, “Is there anything else that you do, Mr. Carlon?”

Hearing the question that, without a doubt, held a double meaning behind it, Alastor finally broke out of his stupor and cleared his throat, not realising until then how dry his mouth was.

“Nope, nothing else at all,” he answered the lie as calmly as he could, ignoring the scratchy feeling of the dryness of his mouth. “I’m quite a boring egg outside of work, I’ll say.”

The Big Apple only hummed, which might seem out of being unimpressed if not for the fact that Alastor knew better to realise that’s the bunk and he was truly unconvinced. And why wouldn’t he be? The man had seen for himself what he did outside of work. There was no point lying to him, and it was disconcerting to be standing in front of him feeling so bare despite being decked out in his best suit.

Looking away from the eyes of the Big Apple, he turned to Charlie and handed her drink, taking a sip of his gin-and-tonic to quench the cottony feeling of his tongue, although the burn from the alcohol made him wince slightly.

Over her drink, Charlie eyed him in concern. “Alastor? Are you alright?”

Hearing her concern made his grin widened instantly as if it was reflex. “Oh, yes!” he lied through his teeth, “Just that this here’s some real strong hooch.”

A laugh was forced out of him to cover up that close slip-up of his demeanour, but one quick look at her and suddenly he found it difficult to look at Charlie in the eyes, throwing him off immensely. How the tables have turned considering usually he was the one making her look away. Unnerved once more, Alastor moved his gaze away from her, and this definitely did not escape her notice.

But then Lilith leaned in to look at him with worry. “Oh, goodness. Are you feeling alright? You seem a little flushed.”

Alastor was about to give a quick response of assurance if it wasn’t for the look on Lucifer’s face that cut him short. The blond man was eyeing him carefully, watching his expressions and his movements, the corner of lips tilted up in a smirk as if he was waiting for a slip-up from him.

“Why yes, you do seem quite flushed, my friend. I wouldn’t think a simple gin-and-tonic would have such a bite on you.”

If Alastor hadn’t known any better, he would have thought that he was just poking fun at what seemed like his incapability to hold down his liquor. But he did know better, enough to quickly catch on to the last bit of the sentence that sent his nerves on end for the umpteenth time.  

Against the sinking feeling of his gut, he forced himself to stretch his grin further as he waved a hand in dimissory. “No, I’m fine,” he exclaimed a tad bit louder than he would like. “And this sure is a hooker! Been a while since I’ve had a good drink!”

The liquor did taste good, probably the most top-notch quality that bootlegged could offer. But the taste was soured by this moment, how it was all a farce on Alastor’s part, as much as it may have been for Lucifer, the both of them eyeing each other intently.

And this definitely was noticed by Charlie, who watched them quietly, sensing the building of tension in the air that came from the both of them.

But that tension was broken immediately by Lilith, who seemed to not have noticed the exchange as she was busy looking elsewhere. “Darling, I see that Stolas has just arrived. Goodness, he seemed to have brought that little toy of his instead of his wife! How scandalous.”

For that moment, Lucifer moved his attention away from Alastor, smiling kindly to his frau. “Now, my love, we shouldn’t stick our noses into his business. Let him have his fun. Shall we say our ‘hello’?”

Seeing that this was the end of their little meeting, he moved to his daughter, giving her a kiss on the cheek as he patted her head affectionately, and Charlie preened at this loving fatherly affection. A sight that would have made Alastor glad to see her so happy if it wasn’t for the fact that it was almost unbearable to look at the both of them together now.

And then a hand came to his shoulder in a friendly pat, immediately irking him from being touched but unable to do anything about it. From the corner of his eye, the Big Apple was looking at him with his lips pulled back into that familiar chilling grin, hidden from his wife’s and daughter’s view and given specially to him.

“Relax, my friend,” Lucifer said cheerily, an undertone clearly noted, “Enjoy the party, yes?”

Alastor could only watch as he linked his arm to Lilith’s and walked away. Despite the noise and activity that was going on around him, he felt like he had hit a standstill in time, his mind racing down a trail of spiralling thoughts, unsure of what to think or feel at this moment, amazed yet disturbed that he didn’t know.

”Alastor?”

Charlie’s voice calling his name in concern broke him out of the almost train wreck of his mind as he turned to look at her with unreadable eyes that did not give way to the turmoil inside him.

“I hope you don’t mind Daddy…” she said reassuringly, looking quite fretful.  “He’s a little intimidating, is all.”

A ‘little’ was clearly such an extreme understatement.

[...]

“Have a seat, Mr. Carlon,” Lucifer gestured to the seat opposite his and his desk, and Alastor accepted the invitation willingly.

An intricate silver cigarette casing was taken out from his jacket’s inner pocket, popped open and held out to Alastor, who took one with a nod of thanks. A stick to his own lips and Lucifer took a lighter to graciously alight both their cigarettes.

Alastor took a second to himself to enjoy a much-needed puff as Lucifer circled around the desk back to his armchair. “Are you feeling better?” he asked politely, making himself comfy in his seat.

Exhaling another puff that seemed like a relief to his lungs, Alastor replied, “What gave you the implication that I wasn’t?”

“The look on your mug when you saw mine.”

And just like that, it seemed the smoke did no use to ease him any longer, watching as Lucifer’s face split into a wide grin, laughing softly with a shake of his head. And yet, this was not all that shocking to him, taking a silent breath to himself as he willed his tense body to move, leaning forward to flick the ashes of his cigarette on a nearby ashtray.

“So, we’re dropping the pretence now, I assume?” Alastor questioned blankly, putting the cigarette back to his lips.

 “You’re not really someone easy to forget, Mr. Carlon,” Lucifer noted casually with the flicker of his own cigarette ash onto the ashtray. “Or should I just call you ‘Alastor’, now that we’re very familiar with each other?”

“Call me anything you want. Either one’s my name anyway.”

Lucifer only hummed in agreement, and quickly after, a silence ensued. Both men did not talk, just sitting across each other, focus on only their own gaspers within the silence of the study. But while Lucifer was reclining on his chair looking elsewhere, Alastor’s eyes were fixed on him – watching, waiting, anticipating, even though he had no clue what to expect at all.

And that bothered him to no end.

“Come now, no need to be so tense,” Lucifer suddenly broke the silence in a reassured tone. “Did you enjoy the cake, Alastor?”

A strange turn of a conversation, but one Alastor kept up with as she politely shook his head. “Didn’t take a slice, sorry. I’m not a fan of sweets.”

Lucifer looked almost disappointed to hear that. “Oh? What a shame. It’s a lovely cake. Pineapple upside-down. Very fashionable. My wife picked it out.”

Taking a drag before exhaling smoke in a puff, he continued almost mellow-like. “Ah, my Lilith. Such a catch, isn’t she? How I do love her so dearly.”

Alastor only nodded along, keeping a polite smile on his face. Any egg would know better than to show much enthusiasm when a man was talking about his wife, so he kept the niceties to a minimum in this strange atmosphere, still simply watching and waiting.

“Do you know who else I love dearly, Alastor?”

And just like that, Alastor immediately felt his smile dropping just the slightest.

“My daughter.”

Lucifer took a last drag, smoothly blowing smoke out in a smooth stream before butting it out on the ashtray, and that’s when his eyes turned to look at him, narrowed into dangerous slits that seemed reminiscent of a snake ready to pounce.

“Which is why I want to know how exactly did she manage to wind up with you.”

If looks could kill, then Lucifer was intent to do so, withdrawing from under his desk a revolver.

The silence in the room could have been quiet enough to hear the way Alastor’s heart dropped right to the floor as he stared at the bean-shooter aimed right at his head.

Even after he felt the last bits of his cigarette turning to ash and falling to the floor, he was too frozen to even move to discard it on the ashtray. In his standstill, his eyes remained on Lucifer, whose glare only seemed more menacing against his grin.

“Well?”

“We’re neighbours.”

It was the truth, so what else could he have said other than that? But judging from the way his eyes widened in slight surprise, the answer clearly wasn’t what Lucifer was expecting. Then again, maybe it’s how he answered so blankly that threw him off. Alastor couldn’t be too sure at which.

“Apologies if it isn’t as exciting as you might think I had more dire intentions,” he apologised for no reason in particular, “but it is as simple as that.”

The revolver unwavering, Lucifer rested his head on his free hand, looking thoughtful. “That’s not really much of an answer.”

“She’s the one who invited me.”

“And there she was, looking so shy and bashful when she wanted me to meet you,” Lucifer said with a hard edge to his voice, as if the words that left his mouth left a disgusting taste on his tongue at the thought of it. “So, is this some sort of sick plan of yours, then?”

Without a doubt, Alastor was taken aback by the blatant accusation that was directed at him.

“To be completely fair, I had no idea that she was your daughter,” he explained. “I think you yourself could understand that from our very inopportune meeting earlier on.”

Lucifer laughed as if the memory of that meeting was humorous to him, and Alastor couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit peeved that he seemed to be laughing at him. He didn’t appreciate really being taken for a joke, even with a revolver pointed at right between his eyes.

“Well, now you do, so what then?”

“What makes you think I’d want to do anything to Charlie?” he countered back, almost challengingly as though to make a point for himself.

Lucifer may have definitely seen the agitation on his face, looking more bemused as he leaned forward, the revolver inching closer to Alastor’s head, but the radio host he remained calm, not even flinching in the slightest as he continued to observe.

“No need to play coy with me, friend. I’ve seen the stunt you’re able to pull. The way your eyes dilate with the thrill of the kill. Almost seems like you think of it as some fun game!”

Alastor couldn’t help but huff in amusement, his face not denying the truth in the man’s presumptions, which only prompted him to continue with, “So, is that what you’re intending to play with Charlie?”

The room fell into a hushed silence again, as Lucifer waited for his answer and Alastor staring blankly at him.

One would not have felt the spark of irritation that was growing within the man in the red suit. The way Lucifer prompted curiously, pressing him to spill, it admittedly agitated Alastor. He didn’t like having to be given the third this way, especially with the revolver pointed right at his face, as though mocking him into submission.

An inkling in him saw this as a sort of cowardice, that he’d have to whip out a heat just to have some show of power to intimidate him in the slightest. How absolutely obnoxious, he’ll say!

And so, vain and cocky in true fashion, Alastor couldn’t help but bite back even in the slightest, confident and without resistance, doing so with a sharp grin.

“If I wanted her dead, she would’ve been long gone before you even met me.”

Now, that definitely seemed like the wrong thing to say.

Alastor watched as the look on Lucifer’s face shifted, turning darker as his eyes narrowed, his grin starting to become a tad bit more tighter, clearly having a chord struck in him, the murderous intent burning more as the seconds passed by quickly.

Well, quite understandable really, considering he just up and dared indirectly said he wanted to have the curse on Charlie.

Yet, the words that followed the expression had no match at all.

 “You know, Alastor, you remind me of a deer.”

His darkening aura started to lighten up as he regained his composure, and the sudden change in the conversation only confused Alastor once more. He was probably getting whiplash from the constant turn of events that he had endured for the just the past hour or so, too stupefied to say anything now. No response came, only silence in waiting for the continuation.

“You don’t seem like so, but such a bravado that exists within you. So poised and elegant, like a buck with impressive antlers – an assertion of power and dominance. How you bring yourself so confidently that it seemed like you rule above all, that nothing could bring you down.”

A loud click suddenly resonated in the room, coming from the hammer of the revolver that’s been pushed down and ready for ignition.

And just like that, Alastor was startled, eyes widening as it darted to the tip of the barrel that was still aimed steadfastly in the middle of his forehead, focus only on that instead of the crazed grin on the Big Apple. It probably wasn’t loud, but he could hear the hammering of his heart resonate loudly in his hearing, almost blocking out the next seething words that followed.

“But put a gun right on them and it’s just an act, revealing nothing more than prey.”

[gather-ye-fucking-rosebuds]

”You killed your father?” Although Todd knew he had said it, the words sounded like they came from down a long, empty hallway.

Neil flinched. “I don’t…I don’t know what came over me—I just had the gun, then I—”

“You shot him?” Todd hissed.

“Well, what else?” Neil snapped, tears filling his eyes again. “Does it even matter? I killed him. My father is dead because of me. I don’t know what I’m gonna do.” He swallowed and stood up, beginning to pace the floor.

Todd’s mouth was dry, his face pale. “Wh-where’s your mom throughout all this?”

Neil stopped walking. “Mom,” he breathed. “She…she said…” He started swaying.

“Woah, Neil,” Todd said, standing up and helping him sit on the edge of the bed. “What did she say?”

Neil looked at Todd. His face was ghostly white. “I have to go back,” he breathed. “She can’t take the heat for this.”

“She’s gonna take the blame?” Todd clarified. It was more of a statement than a question.

Neil nodded, then shook his head. His voice sounded weak. “No, no, no, I-I can’t let her. It’ll ruin her life. I can’t do that to her.” He started to get up.

“Neil, sit down,” Todd said gently, putting his hands on Neil’s shoulders. Todd didn’t know what to do. Neil obviously didn’t either. “So… so you killed your father.”

Neil flinched, but Todd didn’t notice.

“You shot him. But your mom is going to say that it was her.”

“Yeah,” Neil choked, staring at his red covered hands. He looked so hopeless, like he genuinely regretted what he did, and Todd’s mind flashed back to earlier that night, when he had stated in front of all the other poets that if he ever saw Mr Perry again he’d kill him. What if that had been the exact moment Neil had shot him? What a crazy twist of fate that would be.

A tear streaked down Neil’s cheek. He was terrified. Terrified of his father, of his future, but, most of all, of himself. Todd never would have believed his saintly roommate could ever kill someone, but Neil himself probably believed that too. That he could never actively take the life of another human being, especially his own father. Neil was terrified. So Todd needed to be brave.

“Hang tight,” Todd whispered, bustling over to his desk. He opened the bottom drawer and rummaged around until he found what he was looking for: a small jar full of cash. He dumped it out on his desk and started counting it out. $59.80. Todd chuckled at the irony.

“What are you doing?” Neil asked as Todd got his coat out of the closet and shoved the money in the inner pocket.

Todd grabbed his sweater and tucked it under his arm. “We’re leaving.”

“Leaving,” Neil repeated, still confused.

“Yeah. Leaving. Running away. Getting the hell out of here before the cops realize that your mom didn’t actually kill your dad. Because they will eventually.”

“But…but where…”

“My grandparents have a lake house not too far from here that they never use. We can camp out there until we think of a better plan.” Neil swallowed hard again, looking back at his hands. Todd grabbed them, getting blood on his hands, too. “Come on,” he whispered.

Neil looked into Todd’s eyes, and a slight smile pulled at Neil’s lips. “Alright,” he said, standing up. “Let’s go.”

[mrs-barnes-rogers-writes]

The Feral Princess - Part 2

Marvel AU

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Theme: Soulmate AU / Medieval / Fantasy / Soulmate Marks

Summary: Bucky and Steve have known they were soulmates since they were children. Fate bringing a then sickly Steve and the future King together. War takes them apart and throws them back together over and over, in and out of each other lives, arms and beds. But something is missing and throughout, they know they are missing their third and final piece. The kingdom is now Bucky's and Steve's, the latter now a leader and no longer a sickly child. Both are war heroes, with the respect of their country and those that surround it. They are a force to be reconned with, admired and respected within the other royal houses. They could have any maiden or princess they wanted, but they don't want just anyone. They want their soulmate. They want their princess. Even if she is known as The Feral Princess.

Chapter Summary: We meet the reader and a visitor witnesses her unruly behaviour.

Chapter Warning: Mentions of violence against children, physical violence against the person threatening the child, implied feeding of people to humans.

You’re already stirring when you hear the patter of little feet along the wooden floor. The voice of one of the Royal Guards comes soon after.

“Your Royal Highness where are you going? And where is your Governess?”

There was a sound of raspberries being blown.

“Princess I don’t believe your cousin has awoken yet?”

“Outta way.” Came a little voice and there was the sounds of a chair being pushed across the hall.

“Princess please be careful.”

There was a gasp and then the sounds of one of your ladies.

“What on earth are you doing child?”

“See her.”

“You can’t just let her climb up there like that.”

“My apologies Lady Dawn but to stop her would mean to place hands on her and we are under orders to avoid that after what happened.”

“Oh for goodness sake. One little bite, a nip if that, and you’re scared of a three year old. You got off lightly, Tulip was much worse, she tried to stab a guard when she was the Princess’ age.”

There was knock and the door pushed open.

“Come on little one do not loiter you will scare the guards.”

You heard the familiar sounds of your breakfast tray and Lady Dawn’s footsteps along with little ones. You shuffled down in the blankets and pretended to be sleeping. You felt them be pulled as the little princess tried to climb onto your bed.

“Do you require help your Royal Highness?”

“Nopes, I can do, seeeeee.”

“Well done, now wake Tulip for me but nicely.”

“Shhhhhhhh”

“Yes, quietly. We know how grumpy she can be when she's first woken.”

Sadly your cousin took far too much after you and although she took quiet steps to begin with she soon launched herself on top of you.

“Wakes, wakes up.”

“You Princess Lottie are a nuisance.” You exclaimed as you tickled her, her laughter bouncing around the room.

“Hmmmm, can’t think where she learned such behaviour.” Quipped Lady Dawn.

“Her father.” You quipped back.

“Daddy speak you.”

“What is that Governess teaching her?! It’s Daddy needs to speak to you.” Lady Dawn exclaimed. “She’s worse than the governess you had!”

“I may have terrorised her a little.”

“A little, every single one left either crying or running, or both. Lady Marion and I had to teach you ourselves.”

“I’m aware Lady Dawn, I was there, and what a fine lady you made me.”

Lady Dawn scowled at you.

“Sit up and eat your damn breakfast.”

"And she says I'm the grumpy one."

You made small talk with the Princess, as she stole food from your plate. You smiled softly at her, she was definitely more like you than anyone wanted to admit. She started to tell you about her lessons that morning and revealed that the Governess had raised her voice and shouted at her. You scowled and glanced at Lady Dawn, when you turned back and looked at Lottie a realisation washed over you. Her feet and legs were bare and though they often were, today the little princess was to have lessons and she should be dressed as such.

“Lottie where are your tights?”

“She took.”

“Why?”

Her eyes turned down in sadness and her bottom lip began to quiver. You pushed the tray away and pulled her into your lap.

“Stickkkk.” She said as she cried into your chest. Lady Dawn didn’t even hesitate and she pulled open the doors to your dressing room and began to ready your clothes.

You would be having words with the Governess. You pulled open the doors to your room moments later startling the guards.

They both nodded their heads to you and Lottie.

“Your Royal Highnesses.”

“Has she been here? The Governess? For Lottie?”

“No.”

“Send word she is not to leave the castle until I have dealt with her.”

You marched down through the hallways, Lottie on your hip and Lady Dawn hurrying along behind you. The strength in your silent stride, the look on your face and the fact you were striding along in your riding clothes, sword on your waist and knife on your thigh spoke volumes, and although you wished the staff good morning they moved quickly out of your way.

You made your way towards the Great Hall, hearing raised voices as you approached. Lottie’s mother, the king’s longest serving mistress yelling at the Governess was the first thing you heard, followed by the Governess’ excuses.

“I’m sorry my lady I have looked everywhere.”

“WILL YOU DO SOMETHING RICHARD!!!” The mistress again, but yelling this time.

“She can’t have gotten far Annie, have you really looked everywhere?”

“Of course your Majesty.”

The doors to the hall opened and one of Royal Guards announced you.

“Their Royal Highnesses, Princess Charlotte and Princess Y/N, accompanied by Lady Dawn your Majesty.”

There were gasps as you entered and Annie rushed to you pulling Lottie from your arms.

“Mama, mama!!!”

“Thank you Princess.”

You smiled softly. Many had issue with Anne’s presence in court, even more so at Richard’s side and especially now her child was legitimatised and in line for the throne. But you did not. She made Richard happy after he had lost his Queen and soulmate and that was enough for you.

“Of course.” You said placing a kiss on Lottie’s head. You turned to place a kiss on Lady Anne’s cheeky but whispered to her instead. “Take her from the room you won’t want her to see what comes.”

She nodded and left, Lottie still in her arms and her two ladies following behind. Once the doors had closed you marched towards the Governess and struck her hard with the back of your hand across her face, striking with such force she fell to the floor. There were gasps from some of the newer ladies of court, with the older and regular attendees not surprised by your outburst.

You pulled the knife from your thigh holster and straddled the Governess.

“Did you just lie to the King?”

“No Tulip of course….”

“No,” you stopped her, twirling the knife in your hand as you spoke “only my friends call me that and we are not and never will be friends. Now I’ll ask you again, did you just lie to your King?”

You pressed the knife against her throat.

“No Princess. I swear it.”

“Odd, I thought I heard you tell the King twice that you’d looked everywhere for the little Princess and yet you have made no enquiries near to or within my chambers. Otherwise you would know the imp had been stealing my breakfast whilst chatting away like a court gossip upon my bed. Now, tell the King why she ran from you.”

“She doesn’t like her lessons, the ones at the desk, that she must sit for.”

“And?”

“And she was being a mischief and ran from me.”

“Why would she run?”

“The lessons. The lessons.” The Governess squealed as you pressed the blade further into her neck.

“And?”

“That is all!! That is all!!”

“You must find better Governesses your Majesty, for this one is a liar.”

“I am not!!!”

“Why are the Princess’s legs bare?”

At that the Governess’ eyes went wide.

You leaned down and whispered into her ear.

“Think yourself lucky there is an audience Governess, I would kill you where you lay if there wasn’t. Now tell the truth, otherwise I will tell all of court of your nightly visits to see the Priest and we both know it’s not for prayers.”

“I sort to, I was going to…..”

You rolled your eyes and let the blade nick at her neck, causing a small cut.

“I was going to strike her, to discipline her!!! She is feral.”

“Oh Governess. All the best Princesses are.”

There was light laughter around the hall but it was stopped by the King raising his hand.

“I believe there are some dragons that require feeding Tulip.”

“Of course your Majesty.”

You rose from your straddling position and left the hall. Two of your own personal guards, hand picked from your Uncle Robin’s men, emerged silently from the crowd and roughly picked up the Governess and followed you from the hall.

You didn’t see the visiting Lord turn to one of the Knights.

“You have dragons here?”

This would be harder than they thought. Because not only were you definitely feral, and in Sam's eyes a lunatic, there was also dragons here. DRAGONS!!! Which you apparently fed with human snacks!!!

It was at that moment Sam decided it was probably best if Bucky fetched you himself.

Fancy a cuppa? My Ko-Fi.

TAGLIST

@animegirlgeeky @sebastians-love @mrsevans90 @salvatoreitmeanssaviour @forgetmenotsexy

[bradshawsbaby]

Letters to My Love // Part X

Rosie the Riveter

Series Masterlist

JOIN THE TAGLIST!

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female Reader

Summary: When you signed up to volunteer with the USO, you never anticipated that you would meet a man like Ensign Robert Floyd. Fate brings you together one balmy spring evening in Charleston—the night before Bob is set to ship off across the Atlantic. Pen and paper become your only means of sharing your heart with the naval aviator who’s captivated it, igniting a correspondence that spans the distance between you. Can love blossom even as war rages and thousands of miles keep you apart?

Word Count: 2.9k

Author’s Note: I'm so sorry for how long it's taken me to update this story! One of my goals for 2024 is to get this series completed. Although it's taken me so long to update, Bobby and Peach are never far from my mind and are always in my heart. I hope you enjoy this latest installment of their story!

Set the Mood: If you’re looking for some 1940s vibes, check out the playlist I made to pair with the story.

The title of this chapter is obviously a tribute to the iconic figure of Rosie the Riveter. But it was also inspired by the song of the same name by The Four Vagabonds, which you can listen to here!

Dedication: As always, this story is dedicated to my dear friend, Clara (@luminousnotmatter). She was the first person to listen to all my endless ramblings about this universe, and she has never stopped supporting me or believing that I can get it finished. Thank you, Clara!

Warnings: Alternating POV, references to casualties of war and grief, slight angst, lots and lots of fluff.

July 8, 1943

My Dearest Peach,

I want to start by saying that I’m terribly sorry it’s taken me so long to respond to your last letter. I think I’ve worn down the paper to nearly nothing with how many times I’ve read it, but it’s been hard to get a free moment to sit and write you the response you deserve. Things are really heating up over here, and we have to be ready to move at a moment’s notice. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sat down to start a new letter, only for us to be called up just as I set my pen to the paper.

To set your mind at ease, I want you to know that I’m alright. I’m not sure how much information they’re sharing with you all back home, but I know one of the fellas got a letter from his wife recently and she told him that three different families on their street got notified that their boys had been killed in action in just one week. It made her real scared that she was going to be the next one getting a knock on the door. I won’t lie to you, Peach, because I don’t think that’s fair—we’re losing a lot of men over here. It’s scary to think that any day now, it could be me they’re sending a flag home for.

I hate to start this letter off so morbidly, but there’s been something weighing on my mind lately, especially since my buddy got that letter from his wife. If anything happens to me over here, you won’t know. They’ll tell my family, sure, but not you. And I can’t stand the thought of you waiting for another letter that isn’t going to come. So I’ve spoken to Paul, Tommy Boy, and Benny about it. If anything happens to me over here, Peach, they’re going to write to you and let you know. It gives me some comfort to think that their words will be a little softer and kinder than the formality of Uncle Sam.

I hope this doesn’t make you sad, Peach, although I admit it makes me a bit sad to write. The truth is, I’m quite alright right now, like I said, and I don’t plan on letting anything happen to me over here. We have to take that drive to Folly Beach and get ice cream on the pier, after all. I tell you, that thought alone is enough to get me through even the hardest days over here.

Alright, enough of all this. Time to get back to your lovely letter. They’re calling us for dinner right now, but as soon as I’m finished, I’m coming right back to continue this letter. Nothing’s going to stop me from getting it to you.

I’m back, Peach. All the fellas were teasing me in the galley because of how quickly I scarfed down my dinner, but I didn’t care because I knew I was getting back to you and your sweet words, and that means a whole lot more than the crummy food they’re serving over here. Boy, I tell you, I sure do miss home-cooked meals. They even had—I’m not lying, I promise—they even had peach cobbler for dessert tonight. It made me think of you, but I’m sure it’s nowhere near as good as the cobbler your family makes, so I didn’t even bother giving it a taste.

Now I do have to say that you’re right, of course. I hate hearing you call yourself shy and mousey. If that’s the way you feel when I call myself boring, then I certainly promise I won’t ever do it again. It’s a deal—neither of us will talk about ourselves like that anymore.

Nothing you say could ever sound silly to me, Peach. Even though we only got to spend a few hours in each other’s company, your letters have made me feel like we’ve known each other for years and years. I’m honored that I’ve been able to make you feel seen. I do see you, Peach. You’re the most beautiful, interesting, intelligent girl I’ve ever known, and I hope you can see that in yourself. For what it’s worth, you’ve helped me to come out of my shell, too. Paul was just saying the other day that I look like a new man—that I’m standing taller and seem more confident than he’s ever seen in all the years he’s known me. I had just finished reading one of your letters when he said that. I don’t think that’s a coincidence. You’re turning me into a new man, Peach, and I like it. I like it a lot.

I’m glad that you passed along my well wishes to Emily. Even though part of me still thinks her fiancé is a dunce, I do wish them all the best. Has she heard from Eddie? I don’t know where he’s stationed, but if you’d like to find out and send the information to me, I can try to keep an ear out. How has the wedding planning been going? I’m still confident you’re going to make the prettiest bridesmaid.

I did pass along your invitation in my last letter home to my family, and my mother said she would certainly inquire after the Sheridan residence should she ever happen to find herself in Charleston. I think she’s happy that you and I are still writing to each other. She’s even happier about the thought of swapping recipes with you. Watch out—if the two of you ever do meet, I think she’ll hold you hostage in the kitchen all day.

Now I am very proud to hear about all the fine work you and Dottie have been doing with your Victory Garden. I’m sure there must have been a lot of progress since you last wrote to me! I eagerly await news about the beans, carrots, cucumbers, and tomatoes. I’m sure you’ve been able to make lots of hearty soups and healthy salads. My mouth is watering at the notion. Like I said, the food in the galley has been pretty crummy lately.

I’m sorry to hear there’s been some trouble back home. I’m sure it can’t be easy for anyone, with all the rationing and the fear and the worry. I promise that we’re doing our best over here to bring this war to an end quickly so that life can return to normal for all of you over there. For us, too. We really can’t wait to be home again.

Peach, I want you to know that it is our duty, our honor, and, quite frankly, our privilege to be fighting for you over here. I know the other fellas would agree with me saying so. So I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything at home to “earn” us fighting for you. That said, I think it’s incredible that you want to contribute to the war effort in that way. I’m sure you haven’t been waiting for my response or my approval—which you shouldn’t, by the way—but I give a wholehearted yes to you applying for that position at the air station. We just recently saw Mr. Norman Rockwell’s illustration of Rosie the Riveter on the cover of the Post, and I have to say that I think you’d wear those coveralls a hundred times better.

I’m so proud of you, Peach. I want you to know that.

Speaking of the war effort, we have a couple big campaigns coming up very soon. I can’t say much more than that, but your well wishes and prayers for success would be very much appreciated. I’m always thankful for them.

Until next time, Peach! I’m already counting down the days until your next letter arrives.

Most Truly Yours,

Bobby

P.S. I almost forgot! I told Paul how much you loved the fact that he sends drawings home to Clara and Paul, Jr.—by the way, that reminds me, how is little Frankie doing?—and he was more than happy to create a few illustrations for you. He did a couple portraits—one of me and one of you, based off your beautiful photograph. He said to apologize that he’s too much of an amateur to capture all of your beauty. He did say that he thought he did a fine enough job capturing my likeness—I’m telling you, Peach, I think my friends officially like you better than they like me. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

July 31, 1943

My Dearest Bobby,

Please don’t ever feel like you need to apologize for how long it takes you to write back to me. I can only imagine how difficult it is to find the time to write with everything that must be happening over there, and yet you always find the time to pen the most thoughtful and wonderful letters. I cherish each and every one of them, and I promise that I’m more than content to read your old letters as I await the new ones.

I’m so sorry to hear about how many of our boys we’re losing. Just last week, our neighbors, the Pattersons—you remember I mentioned Mrs. Patterson had helped me and Dottie with our Victory Garden?—received news that their son, Clarence was killed in action in France. It was devastating. Dottie and I had just been coming home from the grocery store when we saw the officer standing on their front steps with a telegram in hand. We knew what that meant. Mrs. Patterson has been inconsolable since. Mr. Patterson is equally devastated, but I think he’s trying to be strong for her. Dottie and I have been taking turns cooking meals for them and spending some time over at their house. We just want them to know that they’re not alone.

I admit, Bobby, that every time I hear news of someone else being lost in this war, I immediately think of you. It feels selfish, but I’m always so relieved when the news is about someone else and not you. I don’t know how I would bear it. I pray every day that I never have to receive that letter from Paul or Tommy Boy or Benny, but I am touched that you’ve thought about how I could be notified. Oh, Bobby, I hope more than anything that your parents never have to experience what the Pattersons are going through.

But you’re right—you’re going to come home safely. We have too many plans for you to do otherwise!

I’m sorry to hear that the food aboard your carrier has been so crummy lately. I wish that I could whip up a home-cooked feast and send it in the mail with my letters. Every time I sit down to dinner now, I think of all of you, and I count my blessings. Things aren’t perfect on the homefront, but I know that we certainly have no room to complain with all you boys are going through. I promise to have a peach cobbler waiting for you when you come home—and a pumpkin pie, for good measure.

If I’m turning you into a new man, Bobby, then you simply must know that you’re turning me into a new woman as well. I hardly remember the girl that I was before I met you. Can you believe that it’s been over a year now since our paths first crossed? I feel like my life is totally different now. The way that I see myself, the way I interact with others, the way that I’m not so terrified to step out of my comfort zone anymore—so much of that is thanks to you, Bobby. I’m still me, of course. But I feel like I’m a stronger, braver version of myself now. I like it, too.

It’s so kind of you to offer to keep an ear out for Eddie’s infantry! Emily received a letter from him around the same time that I received my letter from you, and he seems to be doing well, same as you, thank goodness. Eddie is part of the 1st Infantry Division. Emily said that last she knew, he was stationed somewhere near the Rhineland. The wedding planning has been going very well. Pretty much everything is set now—all we need is the groom. Emily can’t wait for Eddie to come home for good. Once he does, they’ll be able to officially set the date. Us bridesmaids are going to be wearing lilac-colored dresses. Dottie says she already knows how she’s going to style my hair. I hope that you’re home, too, when the wedding finally happens. Emily said that I could invite you to be my date. Only if you’d like that, of course.

I would be very happy to be kept hostage in the kitchen with your mother! I’m sure there’s so much I could learn from her, and it sounds like a splendid way to spend the day. I look forward to meeting her one of these days!

Oh, the Victory Garden, Bobby! You wouldn’t believe how it’s grown! Trust me, no one is more shocked than me and Dottie. Well, maybe Paddy. He knows firsthand what brown thumbs my sister and I normally have. At first, we weren’t so sure what was going to happen—the cucumbers seemed a bit small and some of the tomatoes didn’t really take. But by the end of June, everything was thriving! It’s been such a joy to watch, and I have to admit, both Dottie and I are feeling extremely accomplished. Frankie loves to spend time in the garden with us, although he spends a bit more time digging in the dirt than helping us pick vegetables, I’m afraid. Now that we’re in the middle of summer, we’re experimenting with zucchini and eggplant. We might also try radishes and turnips. We’re turning into quite the farmers! If your mother has any recipes to share, we’d be more than grateful and happy to try them out!

Now I admit that I’ve saved the most exciting news for last. At the beginning of June, I decided to go for it and I applied for the position at the air station in Goose Creek, the one Paddy told me about. I’m sure being his sister-in-law gave me a bit of an advantage, but it only took a couple days for me to hear back from them. I got the job! I’ve officially been working on the assembly line since the middle of June. It’s hard work, and I’ve never been so tired in all my life, but I have to say that I’m really proud of the work we’re doing. It’s funny that you mention Rosie the Riveter—my job these past few weeks has actually been to fasten pieces of the planes we’re assembling with rivets! So I guess you could call me Peach the Riveter. Doesn’t have quite the same ring though, does it?

I know that the chances are small that anything I’m helping to build is going to reach you specifically, Bobby, but I can’t help but smile every time we finish a new part, or get a new plane put together. I imagine you and Paul, or Tommy Boy or Benny hopping inside and it brings me more pleasure and pride than I could possibly explain. I feel like I’m doing something important, something meaningful and special. If spending hours riveting until my fingers turn numb brings you home even a day faster, then it will all have been worth it. And it gives me a real sense of purpose, driving to work each day with Paddy. I feel proud of myself.

I’ve made some new friends at work, too! Florence and Virginia—we call them Florie and Ginny—are the loveliest, kindest girls. They had already been working on the assembly line for a few months before I got the job, so they’ve been showing me the ropes and teaching me everything they know. They’ve made me feel so welcome, so a part of things. I have to admit that I was terrified my first week or so, terrified that I was going to mess something up or make a fool of myself. But I’ve settled in quite well, thankfully.

It means a lot to me to know that I have your support, Bobby. Truly, it does. Thinking of you and all that you’re doing to protect us is what really motivated me to take this job, so thank you.

Of course I’m sending all my best wishes for the campaigns you have coming up! Wherever you are right now, I pray that you’re safe and that your missions are successful.

You’re so brave, Bobby. Have I told you that lately? Even if I have, you deserve to hear it again. I’m so, so proud of you. You’re my hero.

I hope this letter gets to you soon. I wish it could grow wings and fly to you. I know time is going to pass so slowly until I’m holding a new letter from you in my hands. But until then, Bobby, I’m thinking of you and holding you in my heart.

Most Truly and Affectionately Yours,

Peach

P.S. Paul is quite the artist!!! I now have his portraits hanging right beside the photographs you sent me. Please tell him how talented I think he is, and how much I love the drawings he made for me! I was especially touched by the little note he wrote me on the back of your portrait. I hope he’s doing well. Send my best to him and Tommy Boy and Benny!

TAGLIST: @teacupsandtopgun @saturnsbabe69 @gigisimsonmars @marchingicenotes7 @high-speed-r @cadencebeat2662 @up-thereinthesky @lostinthefandoms11 @strangerparks @sweetwhispersofchaos @callsign-magnolia @the-wayward-daughter @becks-things @jostyriggslover96 @solo-pitstop-vibes @wretchedmo @muddwheelz123 @ryebecca @lewmagoo @withahappyrefrain @rhettabbotts

[dyns33]

Only wastelands 4

Annnnnd here's part 4 !! I will be honest, I will need some time to finish this series. I know where I'm going, but I can't find the time or energy to write it.

Tag : @one-of-thewalkingdead @coolrobloxkid28 @thebumbqueen @rachmari @ilyvia @justme12200 @honeybunhottie @savanahc @gobbodoggo @bisasterbisexual @killingboredom @bonafideyapper @i-simp-for-mha-men @pixelatedprofilepic @ultimatreality @chattersstuff @harmfulb1tch @hellolettuce444 @miketastic25 @darkangel4121 @avidreadee123 @kaitttttttt @nullx1ety

It would have been a lie to say that Y/N hadn't prayed that Janey would be a better traveling companion to Lucy. The vaultie was not bad, but far too naive, talkative, not listening to advices.

Maybe she had been heard, or Cooper had been a great father, but the little girl was a true angel.

Obviously very clever for her age, she didn't need long explanations to see that the world had changed, that it was dangerous, and that it was a good idea to follow Y/N without asking too many questions.

Of course Janey still had some questions. This was perfectly normal. But she waited until they were safe, often before sleeping, to look at Y/N with her big, innocent eyes.

“Are we going to see dad soon ?”

"… Yes. He's not far away." the woman said as she checked her pitboy.

If the information was correct, Lucy was only a few days' walk away, and if Coop was still with her, then he would be reunited with his daughter soon. 219 years without seeing her, without any news, no clue on her location, and the almost evaporated hope of finding her still alive.

Of the things Y/N hadn't yet explained to Janey, the time that had passed since her forced separation from her father was one of the most complicated. The child probably thought she would find the man in the picture, smiling and with pink skin.

She nervously repeated that Cooper had been ill, but couldn't elaborate. Each time, Janey responded that her daddy was strong, and that he would get better soon, especially if they helped him.

Impossible to contradict this adorable child.

If she wanted to lie again, Y/N would have said that she wasn't walking as fast as she could because she wasn't sure what would happen when Janey saw her father. That would probably be a shock. Was she going to scream ? Cry ? Be afraid of him ?

It would break Cooper's heart. And she could repeat that she hated him, that she didn't care at all about his fate, Y/N didn't want to hurt him like that. Anyhow, but not like that.

There was also the possibility that he would react badly to seeing her. Vault Tech was so monstrous, they would have been able to clone Janey, or create a robot that looked like her, or even brainwash her at her mother's request.

He could also think that he had become too monstrous to approach such a pure being without harming her.

Maybe he had abandoned Y/N, thinking only of himself, but he would never do that to his own daughter. She couldn't believe it. The problem was that he would want the best for her, and he might think that was keeping his distance.

Y/N had imagined all these possibilities, but in reality, she knew perfectly well that they would just be happy to have each other again. If she was afraid, it was mainly for herself. For them.

She had been running from him for three years. Not that he seemed to be looking for her, but she had promised herself that their paths would never cross again or it would end badly.

She was not thinking of killing him. First because she had no chance against this cowboy, but above all because Y/N may have hated him for what he had done, she still loved him too much to really want his misfortune.

That was probably why everything was still very painful.

When the Pitboy beeped to indicate that they had arrived at their destination, Y/N observed the ruined building, Janey's hand still holding hers, awaiting orders.

Although fear kept one alive in the wastelands, one should never hesitate. Never.

Cautiously, motioning to the little girl not to make any noise, they approached what was obviously Lucy and the Ghoul's hiding place for the night.

With another gesture, Y/N indicated to Janey to stay at the end of the corridor, while she checked the place, until she found what they were looking for. And if necessary, she should flee.

As none of her reactions were normal, the vaultie seemed happy to see her, greeting her with a huge smile.

Sitting in a corner, hand on his rifle, Cooper didn't look so happy. Surprised, yes, nervous too. With a mixture of sadness and anger. Not really open to a reunion.

But he had celebrated their separation, he had no reason to want to see her again.

Y/N stared at his gun, wondering if he was going to shoot. No movement showed he intended to harm her, but he kept his hand on the trigger. Maybe he thought she was going to try something.

Slowly, so as not to rush him, and ignoring Lucy's long tirades about everything that had happened to them in New Vegas where they had not found her father, Y/N made Janey understand that she could come.

The weapon fell to the floor as she walked through the door. The hatred completely disappeared from Cooper Howard's eyes.

He just sat there, petrified by this vision of his past.

The poor kid shook a little, clinging to Y/N, not understanding what they were doing with these people. So Y/N got down on her level.

"This is Lucy, she was in a shelter like you and me. And… Janey. Janey, here's your father." she whispered with an uncertain voice.

The child looked at her, searching for a lie or joke on her face, before turning back to the Ghoul, who still hadn't moved.

It may have been instinct, the call of blood, or the great intelligence of this kid, but then she found her smile again, finally recognizing the man who was standing there.

"Daddy !"

While he had been stuck since their arrival, Cooper didn't hesitate for a second when Janey ran towards him. He opened his arms to welcome her, lifting her to embrace her tenderly, breathing a sigh of relief that he had been hoping for for two centuries.

Lucy didn't understand everything that was happening, but she placed a hand on her heart in front of this scene, knowing that she had to keep quiet for once. Nothing should spoil this moment.

"Janey… My lil cowgirl…" sobbed Cooper. "You're okay. You're here."

"I missed you, dad. Why didn't you come with me in the car ?"

"He… I told you, there was no more room. I was supposed to join you later, but there were problems. I'm sorry, my angel. I wanted to come."

“Mom said you left me.”

"Your mother… Your mother will have had bad information. I would never have left you. I would always come for you."

The sentence echoed in Y/N’s mind. A broken promise. Without really thinking about it, she touched the picture she always kept in her bag. If it had been of value to Cooper, it hadn't been enough for him to come get her.

Now that he had found Janey, that photo was forgotten. It was long forgotten, like Y/N, who no longer had any value.

At least this story would have a nice ending. Their paths had crossed so that she could bring back his little daughter. He had saved her, she had saved them. They were even now.

Still silent, she left the room, then the building, without attracting attention. Lucy was too busy crying, while Coop obviously only had eyes for his child.

By the time they realized she was gone, Y/N would already be far away.

Maybe the vaultie would want to follow her, thinking about using her pitboy, but there was no reason the cowboy would want the same thing. If his daughter wasn't enough, he would continue to search for the old MacLean, for Barbara, all those responsible for the end of the world.

But not Y/N. Even to thank her. He hadn't looked for her in 3 years, he had no reason to start now.

So it was a surprise when something passed around her at lightning speed, stopping her in her tracks as she was about to advance towards the desert.

It had been a long time, but she remembered that damn lasso and the habit of its owner perfectly.

“Leaving so soon, sweetheart ?”

Why wasn't he with Janey ? Why stop her ? Why not be happy to see her go, like last time ? He already had Lucy to annoy him, and even if he loved her, it wouldn't be easy to survive in this world with a child. Why make her suffer like this ? Why make her believe that she was important ?

She could ask him all these questions and finally get real answers, but Y/N was scared.

No sound came out of her mouth as she turned to face Cooper, who had regained his cold gaze. This blur between despair and hatred. As if he had a reason to be angry with her.

“Think we need to talk.” he said in a slow voice. “A real conversation, sugar.”

And from the man who hated idle chatter, long explanations, and really all human interaction, that was something.

[thesparklingwriter]

taking fate into one's own hands

06—understanding

Word count: 1.6k

navi | taglist | masterlist

“The harbour.” you say quickly. “I’d like to see the harbour.” 

Morax smiles tentatively and nods. “Alright. That can be arranged. I shall return in an hour.”

You nod and close the door behind you, breathing a sigh of relief. Your relief quickly dissipates as you look at the clothes in your hands. Surely, all these items can't just be for one outfit, right? You turn to Alanna, but she’s gone—she must have slipped out while you were talking to the king.

You lay each piece out on your bed and try to figure it out. It seems you have three pieces per outfit here, which is a relief, but even with that, you have no idea what goes where. Where on Teyvat did Alanna go?

You sigh at the colours on your bed, and instead of fretting over how to wear them, you decide to take a soak in your tub to ease your mounting nerves. Perhaps you are being a little stubborn. It’s frustrating, not knwoing exactly where you stand. Morax’s words must be true, for you do not have proof otherwise, but even so. This arrangement is confusing. But Alanna’s words ring out in your head, and if your being here is for your own good somehow, it would not hurt to make a friend out of the king.

You leave your bath, resolved to be cordial to the Morax, as he has been to you. Perhaps if you do not question him too much, he will naturally reveal the information you wish to know. Alanna has returned from her excursion, having discovered the secrets of traditional Liyuean dress on her travels. She explains each layer to you, even though she knows you will use it as an excuse to give her a break whenever you get dressed for an outing. With each word, she notices the way you visibly relax, and when you say you want to wear the brown set, a colour associated with not only Liyue, but the ruler himself, she does not flinch, nor question you. With a simple nod and barely leashed smile, she puts herself to work.

Morax, on the other hand, finds himself somewhat unsettled. During negotiations, he had been promised a placid and pleasant princess, and so far you had only proved one of those things to be true. Despite your stubbornness, you are pleasant to be around. Much more pleasant than most of the dignitaries he has found himself in company with recently. But he had not been informed of your intelligence, and he now realises that it may cause him some strife. Although he has finished all the tasks he planned for today, he finds himself at his desk once again, reading through requests from his people and noting down the things he finds most important in order to forget his future arrangements with you. 

“I am glad the two of you are getting along. It may do you well to have a friend.” Xiao says as he enters the room. 

Morax makes a sound that bears an uncanny resemblance to a snort. “I would suggest you wait before firing off the celebratory lights.”

“Always the pessimist.”

“I assume you mean realist. Be frank with me, Xiao. there’s no way that you truly believe she will not find fault in her parent’s reasoning.” Your parents had essentially resigned themselves to death in sending you here, and despite everything, morax can't bear to tell you the truth. 

“I believe she will appreciate your honesty.”

“Why do I continue to discuss this topic with you?”

“Why does the sun rise in the east and set in the west?”

Morax stares at the prince blankly. The prince stares back. 

~~~

“Did you find the chance to read that letter from your parents?” Alanna asks you as she finishes tying a bow out of the ribbons on your clothes. You sigh as you glance over at your desk, the worn paper and the blue-green seal utterly out of place in the luxurious room. 

“I haven’t found the time to.” a lie so preposterous that you cannot even bring yourself to conceal it. You have all the time in the world, but looking at that letter would make it seem like it’s slipping from your fingers. It’s too much for you to face. “And I am afraid of what is inside.”

You look up from your nails as Alanna silently pushes the letter towards you, and you sigh. “Alright.”

Reading the letter fills you with questions, and you resolve to ask Morax about them. What is this hidden threat that your parents cannot talk about, but seem to be so afraid of? He will tell you whatever he knows, no matter what it takes. You will make sure of it.

“Your Highness,”

“I am fine, Alanna. I simply wish to go to the harbour already. This room is suddenly feeling cramped.”

“Understood.” Alanna says quietly. Even though she knows your wors weren’t a subtle hint of her to move—as many would interpret it as—she excuses herself anyway. To where? You do not know.

You read over your letter, once, twice, thrice, and no new discoveries come to light. You parents had become more secretive as time went on, but you never imagined they could reach these heights.

A knock on your door drags you out of these thoughts, and you pull yourself together as you approach the door. You expect to see a member of the palace help, but no, it is Morax, with his hair untied once again, thick silky ribbons of it falling over his shoulders. You can’t quite tell if you’re staring or not. On the other hand. Morax is acutely aware of the fact he’s staring at you. Maybe it's the determination in your eyes or the fact that you're wearing his colours… He never would have expected it to cause such a response in him.

He would never deny your beauty, but amidst the turbulence of your first few days here, he might have found himself too preoccupied with thoughts of frustration to really look at you properly. And now he has the chance to; he seems to be enjoying it more than he should reasonably allow himself to.

He clears his throat, and you jump ever so slightly, covering it up with a stubborn cough.

“I thought you might like a brief tour of the palace before we head toward the harbour. I am told you forewent the tour originally. I’m sure it is stifling, always being in your room.”

You want to scold him for making assumptions, but he is correct, and Alanna’s words ring through your head again. ‘It wouldn’t hurt to make a friend.’

So, you steel your face, and you smile. “Alright.”

Morax finds himself somewhat shocked at how easily you agreed. No contest, no look of exasperation… he’s about to question whether you’re feeling well before you speak up.

“I fear I might have been impolite,” You say as you walk down a particularly boring flight of stairs. Despite the fact it was his idea, the king has been relative vague in his descriptions of each room. He seems to only be showing you the things you might find interesting—the library, the gardens, the steam rooms and the pools. He walks at a steady pace, slow enough for you to take the time to take in each room, even though you can tell he normally walks faster. It's this steady pace that allows you to notice the slight stutter in his steps at your apology.

“That is alright. I understand the situation is tense for you. I do not begrudge you for it at all.”

This time, it's you who pauses.  “I don’t understand you.”

“You have made that point very clear. I appreciate your transparency.” You’re sure you're making it up, but there’s a slight tone of mirth in his voice. “I’m afraid there is nothing else of interest here. Shall we head to the harbour? Around this time of year, the clothing stalls get new fabrics, and jewellers receive the best stones. If you crave any foods from home, i’m sure we might find one or two.”

You exit the palace through the doors you came through when you first arrived. A soldier at the gates nods his head to the king, but otherwise, there isn’t much fanfare. How can a king roam his own nation without any guards? You fight the urge to question his newfound friendliness, as he hasn't questioned you on yours and strangely enough, you are enjoying this. Even if it is only a little bit. 

“You have sunsettias here?”

“Not that I know of. However, our harvest was bountiful this year and we often trade our surplus with other nations. I’m sure there will be vendors with sunsettias to spare.”

“I'm sure that when faced with their king, many vendors would find themselves stocking regional specialities from other nations.”

“I think you’ll find that a decent number of my people do not recognise the king when he is taking a casual stroll.”

“If I were to walk the street at home, I doubt my people would recognise me either,” you reply. It is only a passing comment, one that flies out of your mouth before you can stop it, but Morax seems to catch the melancholy undertones. The letter from your parents flashes in your mind, and instead of feeling frustrated, you just feel a little sad. Your parents clearly feel hopeless about something they cannot share with you, and it hurts.

“I am sorry you had to leave.” Morax replies quietly. “I do not know how I would fare away from home. You have my condolences.”

You nod in response. Silence falls between you as you continue your leisurely stroll to the harbour.

notes: reader losing her mind every time Zhongli has his hair down is my fave part of this series and DEFINITELY has nothing to do with me hahahahhaahahaha

anyway it's so nice to be back I missed it here

Taglist: @tartigglez @ainescribe @blue-sapphire-ink

[starrypawz]

AO3 What can I say I had an idea

On the shore of The Dreaming he senses something that ebbs and flows with the tide.

Whatever that something is very…

Small

Tired

With a broken heart… 

But the heart still beats strong. 

Curious. 

Gently he reaches out and

A crow? Most curious.

The crow, more than a little bedraggled, tilts their head as they stand.

“Caw?” (weakly) 

“Easy now,” 

Caw…. Caw?... Caw!  (Slightly panicked)

“No you are not, much longer though and you likely would have met my sister,”

Caw!! (Profanity) 

Caw (Apologetic) 

“That’s an… understandable reaction… although I will say she is actually… very nice.” 

Caw? 

“I am known by many names but… Often I am known as Dream,” 

“Caw!” (Introductory) Dream gives a faint smile, “I am aware,it is a  pleasure to meet you Monty the Crow” 

He regards the Crow who has just informed him that he is known as Monty (although he knew that already)  some more and then asks.

“What was your aim?” 

“Caw,” “London?” 

“Caw,” and then “Caw?”

“Unfortunately you didn’t get very far,” 

“Caw,” (Dejected) 

“Agreed, that was a rather foolish idea,” Dream tilts his head, “I must ask why did you undertake this fool’s errand?” 

“Caw?”

“I… can only sense fragments, you are rather weak right now,” 

“Caw,” (Panicked)

“Do not worry, you are safe here,” “Caw,” (Grateful) 

Dream pauses.

“So Monty the Crow what was the goal of your fool’s errand?”

“Caw?” 

“I only sensed fragments, you are… rather weak right now,”

“Caw,”

“You are safe here,”

“Caw,” (Grateful) 

Monty pauses and the way his feathers ruffle translates as a sigh before he takes a couple of hops that translate somehow as ‘pacing around whilst trying to get your thoughts together’

“Caw…” Another hop, “Caw… Caw…. Caw,”  Another hop, “Caw” (Dejected) 

“That… that is a rather noble cause,” Dream reaches out and then pauses, “May I?”

Monty nods. 

Dream lightly scratches him on the head, feather soft under his fingers and Dream feels a soft rush of affection run through him as Monty leans into his touch and ruffles his feathers and gives the faintest hint of a smile. 

“I… I sense you have not been treated kindly,” He offers his hand and Monty struggles to hop up. 

“Let me,” He soothes as he carefully guides him into his hand and lifts Monty closer to his face.

“I am sorry that has happened to you,” Dream stiffens, “Who… Who did this?” 

“Caw,” “A witch?” He pauses and… feels, “One named Esther Finch, I know of her and… I can sense she has met her long overdue fate,”

“Caw,”

“Maybe that offers you some comfort?” Monty moves his wings in a way that somehow reads as a shrug.

“I… I know what it is like, to be trapped,” Dream sighs, “Taken by someone who seeks power they do not deserve.. Let alone understand.” 

Monty tilts his head again.

“Tell me Monty, Tell me your story,”

“Caw-” 

“I am fond of long tales…” Dream smiles, “And we have all the time in the world whilst you are here,”

Monty ruffles his feathers and then 

“Caw-” 

And then after some time. 

“That is… quite the tale.” 

“Caw?” 

“Yes… now what,” Dream sighs, “I think I can aid you?”

“Caw?”

“Do not worry, I would not pull you into such a bargain, I would also not expect you to serve a new master so soon after gaining your freedom,” 

“Caw?”

“So…The Witch Esther Finch turned you into a human, tell me Monty do you wish to be back in that form?”

“Caw… Caw…” He pauses, “Caw?”

“I see… Understandable you do not want to be bound to one form… even if you found thumbs incredibly useful,” He gives an amused snort and gently scratches Monty on the head, “I believe… I believe I know someone who can aid you,” 

“Caw?”

“No he is not a witch… although I guess he is bewitching in his own way,” “Caw!” (Teasing) Dream swallows, “I am… incredibly fond of him.” Dream pauses, “You… you remind me of him, he is… an incredibly kind soul, eternally joyful,” He smiles, “Even if he is a little foolish at times, His name is Robert Gadling although he prefers to go by Hob, ” Dream pauses, “So Monty The Crow if you agree, once you awake you will find yourself in London,” 

“Very well them,” Dream pulls him against his chest, “Now rest,” 

Monty rests.

Hob awakes to early morning light through the window and realises he forgot to shut the curtains again as he winces  whilst in the background he can hear the ever present drone of the traffic of 21st century London. He finds his laptop in the bed and connects dots he was planning to grade just a couple of more papers last night, but judging from the Turnitin page that greets him when he wakes up the laptop that he’d fallen asleep about a quarter into grading the first one.

Later… later. Deal with that later.  At least two cups of coffee later. 

He’s just about to pass through to the kitchen when he notices something at the living room window.

Matthew? 

No that’s not Matthew.

Wait… that’s not a raven anyway, the beak’s the wrong shape and they’re too small that’s a… 

Crow. 

Oh. 

There hadn’t been A Visit last night (It’s actually been a while but not quite long enough that Hob is worried) but Hob had in that point where reality is a little… loose between waking and sleeping had heard a whisper. It’d been somewhat cryptic (He didn’t expect anything less) but the pieces start to slot together. 

Hob shakes his head with an affectionate snort as he lifts the sash window. It’s thankfully a warm morning. 

The crow tilts their head at him. 

“Well… come on in?” 

Hob takes a step back and watches as the crow hops through the opened window, carefully he shuts it behind them. 

There’s a pause for a moment before they hop from the windowsill and then

Falll  to the ground. 

Hob is caught off guard for a second before there’s a ruffle of feathers and then. 

Ah

So that’s why there’d been something about ‘spare clothes’ that’d sounded rather out of place coming from Dream. 

Hob now looks at the dark haired teenager who had been a crow moments ago who sits on the sofa. The borrowed t-shirt and shorts hang loose on him in a way that looks more ‘Handmedowns from an older sibling’ than ‘fashionably baggy’ 

The teenager looks up at him through curtain bangs with dark eyes that are bright and… oddly captivating.

Just like someone else I know. 

“So… Monty, right?”

Monty nods. 

“Dream?” They say, voice still croaky, “Sent me to you… somehow? Said you could help me?” 

“Hopefully?” Hob clears his throat, “So… are you hungry?”

“I’m starving,” 

Breakfast. Right. That’s at least a problem he can fix. 

“Ok,” Hob smiles, and hopes it looks less nervous than he feels. “I’ll go make us something and you can tell me all about… whatever’s going on,”

“Sounds great!,” Monty’s voice is bright, almost a little too bright for this time in the morning and gives him probably the softest smile he’s ever seen before Hob turns into the kitchen. 

What the hell have you gotten me into this time?

[dinogoofymutated]

I've seem nothing on Gladiator and I NEED CONTENT PLZ!! I'd love seeing him go to Earth with his preaching "humans are crazy, useless, etc" and then just falls head over heels for a Mutant. Like he acts stoic and all but he's just smitten and what that would look like

SFW! Gladiator/Fem! reader! I want you to know that this ask has had me in a CHOKEHOLD!!! Parings where couples are opposites like this have my heart. I know I usually try to make my fics and headcannons Gender neutral, But i was listening to the waitress soundtrack when an idea for this hit me and I couldn't help myself. This might actually be a contender for my Favorite fic of the week! -Ps- for anyone wondering about my finals, I've done good so far? I don't wanna jinx it tho. eesh. TWS: Kallark be kinda judgy at first. Mutant discrimination, Building fire. Violence, head injury.

Kallark does not like earth. He can't say that he had ever enjoyed his brief visits there, but if the empress commanded his presence on the planet, who was he to refuse?

He respects Professor Xavier, although he doesn't necessarily agree with him. The X-men, although his allies, he does not care for very much. He thought them a little foolish, and was not interested in many of the things they invited him to experience.

As fate would have it, the one thing he had eventually agreed on was going to a Terran diner. He thought it was a little greasy in some spots, and didn't understand why anyone would want to be able to order breakfast food 24/7, but he assumed that there had to be a reason the team enjoyed going here so much.

Turns out, it wasn't just any Diner. This was one of the very few places that catered to mutants, although it wasn't advertised as such. Rouge had excitedly told him that he would "Just love" the waitress that would be serving them, a mutant in her own right.

He obviously hadn't believed forming deep emotions as such was possible in a short time span, but then again, he hadn't met you yet, had he?

Kallark was absolutely taken by you the moment you met. It didn't make any sense to him. How was he so infuriatingly, naively taken by simple Terran? A mutant nonetheless? He had met a handful of Terrans, all of which had been either crazy and idealistic, or scumbags and bastards. But you? He just didn't understand it. He thought for sure that you had to have some sort of power over him. Some bewitchment or spell that certainly had to be related to your genuine smile, or lighthearted laugh.

He was in trouble, and he had to find out why.

"Back again I see!" You chirp, smiling brightly at Kallark as you lead him to a booth, the only seat where he really fit due to his stature and build. He nods in a greeting, following you to his seat quietly. He visited the diner often after that initial time here with the X-men, always seeming like he had a lot on his mind every time.

To be honest, you enjoyed seeing him. He had become a regular of yours, and commonly came into the diner during the graveyard shift. He always sat in your section, being polite and patient with every order. You were sure he'd be tired of the greasy food by now, having tried just about every item on the menu, but here he was. Part of you wants to believe he comes in to see you specifically, blushing at the thought. Of course, you were just about always here, preferring to take late-night shifts as that was usually the time Mutants would come and visit. You made the diner a safe space for a lot of people, and that was a fact you took pride in.

Kallark is quiet every time he comes in, simply telling you what he would like to eat, and thanking you when prompted to do so. Sometimes he would speak more, asking questions here and there, but conversation was usually barren, consisting mostly of a comfortable silence between the two of you. Today was similar. It wasn't until you gave him the check that he asked you a question you didn't quite expect.

"What do your mutant powers consist of, exactly?" He asks. It's a simple question, but you cant help but blush at the sound of his voice- finding it unfortunately attractive. You try to shake it off, smiling at him politely.

"What, is this an interrogation? Hope you're not here to arrest me, Officer." You joke. He doesn't laugh, and you cringe at yourself a little bit. "...Maybe it's best if I show you." You settle on instead, walking over to the glass desert cabinets. Kallark watches you closely as you carefully cut out a slice of a creamy lemon pie, and plate it. He cocks an eyebrow at you as you bring it to the table, and hand him a fork. He does not understand where you are going with this exactly, but he takes a bite anyway.

A feeling of elation takes hold of him, happiness to an extent he's not sure he's ever felt before. You watch as his face shifts, giggling at his pure confusion.

"It's not drugged, I promise. My powers aren't exactly the most useful in a fight, but I can say that they pack a tasty punch." You wink. "It's all about the energy I put into something while I bake. If I want breakfast muffins to make people more energetic, it does. If I want a slice of lemon pie to make people happy, well," You motion at the pie, smiling brightly.

"So you do this with the other food as well?" Kallark asks. You shake your head.

"Ha! No. I'm not very good at cooking. everything else on the menu is made by Terry, our nightshift cook." You nod towards the kitchen, where Kallark can see a green-skinned mutant mutant pass by the open door briefly. He furrows his brow. He really though he had it for a minute, thinking that he had fully figured out where these emotions for you had come from, and yet he had still fallen short.

"You know, you've never had one of my deserts before, have you?" You think out loud, humming. Kallark has the same conclusion. He did agree that the pie was certainly very good, but it did little to explain the fast-paced beating of his heart. He finishes the pie before he leaves for the night, and to your surprise, he waves you goodbye when he does so. He's never done that before, and you find yourself blushing again.

"Are you blind?" You startle at the voice, turning around to see Terry leaning against the serving window. You put your hands on your hips, shaking off the surprise.

"What is that supposed to mean?" You scoff. He lets out a laugh, and walks back into the kitchen. You lean after him. "Seriously Terry, what do you mean by that?!"

The longer Kallark stayed on this planet, the more he started to feel like a lovestruck fool.

He was coming to see you just about every night at the diner, picking up conversation with you more often than naught. He wasn't used to Terran courting customs, and he certainly wasn't used to the way you captivated his mind so often. That wasn't to say he wasn't trying, he just didn't really know how to show you this strange affection of his.

That was until he returned to the diner one day to find it trashed, glass windows shattered, kitchen actively burning. And worst of all, you, injured and in need for a rescue.

The night had started off so well that you feel like a fool for not knowing the other shoe was going to drop.

The diner had been a safe zone for so many for so long, it was only a matter of time before someone caught on to the many mutants who called it haven. A group of rather conservative folks had come in around midnight, Not giving anyone a minute of warning as they shattered the windows and stormed into the back to find Terry, presumably. You had dove for the emergency button, but was tackled and forced to the ground before you could. The few mutants that had been eating had scrambled, fighting tooth and nail to escape. You hoped that a few did, but your head had been slammed into the ground so hard you couldn't see straight. You're having a hard time thinking over the pain you are in, the screams from the customers, the smell of smoke that had started to travel through the air. You feel a few tears slip down your cheeks as the diner lay in ruins.

The weight on top of you lifts abruptly as a great gust of wind sends the man above you flying into the counter violently. You feel like you can't lift your head to see what's going on, but there's a commotion of yelling and the sounds of bodies being slammed and incapacitated. When you manage to open your eyes, you flinch as another one of the men goes flying past you, smacking sqaurely into the wall and falling limp to the ground.

A pair of familiar boots step into your view, and you find yourself being helped up by Kallark. You have to hold onto him to steady yourself, head aching with every movement as he helps you stand. It only takes a glance around you to see that he had rescued you right on time- the diner, not so much. You sway a little, and Kallark is quick to catch you.

"You're certainly the gentleman, aren't you?" You laugh. Kallark furrows his eyebrows as one of his hands gently probes the back of your neck and skull. You wince at the feeling, and he draws his hand away.

"You have a concussion. We should get you some medical assistance." Kallark says. If you weren't mistaken, You'd say that he almost looks concerned. You shake your head at him regardless.

"Hospitals don't take care of mutants around here." You say, frowning. "Most of the time I just suck it up- but I don't think that that's the best idea right now."

"You'd be correct." Kallark hums. "I'll get you to Xaiver, but it would be wise for you to try and stay awake in the meantime." You smile at him, leaning up to give him a kiss on the cheek as he picks you up into a bridal hold. He looks at you, wide-eyed for a moment, before he's off. He sincerely hopes that it's not possible for your kind to hear just how fast his heart is beating inside his chest.

"Thanks, Handsome. I owe you one."

[1989butcher]

Boots

daryl dixon x reader

he gave you a pair of oversized boots a long time ago, and you’ve kept them ever since.

set: alexandria, you got separated when the prison fell.

2.7k words

FLUFF!!!!!!!! i <3 fluff. this is my first fic pls be nice to me 🥹

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Y/N’s POV

I’ve been walking for months with nothing but a near empty backpack and boots that are far too big for my feet. The last time I slept with four walls was a long time ago at the prison. I haven’t even fully began to process what happened, I simply haven’t had the time.

When this whole thing started, I was visiting my brother in Atlanta. I didn’t know when my parents dropped me off at the airport in Michigan would be the last time I saw them. I lost my family, well everyone but Glenn, but after enough time I gained a new one.

The people I met in Atlanta, the ones that made in to the Greene farm, were some of the best people I had come across in my life. I never thought I would enjoy chilly nights eating rabbits, oddly enough I had one as a pet when growing up. Glenn never failed to remind me when I would be eating one, which led Daryl to tease me about it every time he brought one home. “This one look like yours?” He would always bring it to me first. I turned away quickly. “Stop!” I covered my eyes. I think a smile would curl from his lips. I would almost laugh out of anger. I knew every time he did this, he would come right to me to rub it in my face. “I wish I never told you about Thumper.” I said, basically talking into my shoulder. I turned to him on the log I was sitting on, still covering my eyes but peeking in between my fingers. “I ain’t ever gonna let you live this down.” I sighed, while he turned on his heel and walked away.

Glenn was sitting opposite of me, with Maggie of course. “Whatever happened to the little guy?” Glenn asked, his fingers intertwined with Maggie. Couldn’t even begin to believe my big brother found love at a time like this. I went back to building the fire, slower than before in hopes the archer would make a joke about it. “I dunno, after like five years I’m pretty sure he died, but mom said he ran away. Either way, he got a better fate than he would now.” I replied, staring into the dimming fire. I’m sure Maggie said something about rabbits on the farm, but that’s where the memory stops.

The farm being overrun was something inevitable, especially after we found out walkers were living in the barn. I’ll never forget standing there with Daryl, as he ran to Carol to stop her from going after Sophia. I don’t think he will ever forget that either. I know he blames himself, no matter how many times I said it wasn’t his fault. He would hold his head in his hands and I would rub his back, telling him ‘it’s ok’. He would shake his head and always reply no, or more like “Nah.” I just wanted to be there for him and take away his pain.

Speaking of pain, my feet were throbbing. I have been walking on this road for what feels like years. I don’t even know how much time has passed since the prison fell. I think living there was the happiest I had ever been. Our small family from the farm turned into a full on community. We farmed, had animals, kids went to a sort of school (if that’s what Carol wants to call it), and so much more. Runs were sort of fun, although Daryl never wanted me to go. One time, Glenn, Maggie, and I went on a run and promised to be home by sundown, as usual. I was hardcore third wheeling, but that was my brother and Maggie had become my sister. We were singing in the car, celebrating the canned foods we had found in an abandoned mini-van. Laughing, it almost felt normal. It was night when we returned, since we went a bit farther than we predicted. Rick, Tyreese, and of course, Daryl were waiting at the gate as we pulled up. They looked worried sick but I think the three of us were grinning ear to ear. When I stepped out of the car, unscathed, I saw the archer sigh in relief. “Don’t tell me you were worried Daryl, how sweet!” I teased him, handing him a crate of food. He huffed a quick “whatever” and I turned away and smiled. I think he saw me smile, I hoped he did. I never did tell him about the warm way he made me feel, quite literally warm. I was constantly cold, and he would always be bringing me back blankets or jackets. He even replaced my beaten converse with boots. Boots that were too big, but boots none the less. I also never told him they didn’t really fit, but I loved them too much to find a new pair.

The sun was glaring in my eyes. I laughed at the fact that pre-end of the world, I would have wanted sunglasses to avoid wrinkles from squinting. Even though nowadays, all everyone does is squint. I say everyone as if I have seen a single person since all those weeks ago. Feels like a lifetime has passed.

I decided to take a turn down a road with lots of tire tracks. Maybe I could actually find some sort of shed for the night in a few hours. Cook my very own rabbit. Daryl would be proud. At this very thought, I heard a rustle in the woods. I quickly grabbed my knife strapped to my hip. It indeed was a walker. It growled as it slowly made its way from the forest floor towards me. I walked up to it, shoved my knife into its grey skull, and kicked it back into the forest floor.

I brushed the hair out of my face after putting the knife back in a belt loop. “Where am I supposed to put it?” I asked, as Glenn handed me the knife I carry now. He walked away, passing other weapons out from a run he came back from. Those strong, warm arms came from behind me, with a soft grunt he took the knife from my hands and spun me around, wrapping his fingers through the loops on back of my jeans. His dark hair covering his eyes, he looked through the hair at me. Lifting the knife up for me to see, he slid it through a belt loop. “Got it?” He asked. I nodded in reply, my cheeks red with the fact his hands were still on my waist.

I couldn’t take these memories anymore. For all I knew, they were all dead. Or if some weren’t, they assumed I was. I’m sure of it. My family was gone, again. And I couldn’t help but blame myself.

I don’t want to replay that day in my head with what I could have done differently. That heartbreak would kill me. So I kept moving.

As I kept walking, I could swear I heard children laughing. A noise hard to come by these days, and even harder now after being alone. I surely wouldn’t recognize myself with the knotted hair, covered in dirt and blood, some of it was mine.

I picked up the pace, almost as if I was expecting children to come run and laugh by me. I looked around and saw down the road lots of cars lined up. People had to have done that. Survivors had to have done that. I think I was running at this point, I couldn’t tell. My feet have been numb since the last time I slept.

Around the corner from these cars, I saw a wall with a sign that read “ALEXANDRIA”. Holy shit. A town. With walls. I knew walking up to the gates was a bad idea, but at this point if they shot me, they shot me.

My brother was gone, with his wife who became my best friend. Our leader was gone. Same with his son and baby that I had grown extremely close to. The archer, too. And I wouldn’t admit it, but I love that archer.

I walked up the gates, my feet were stunned I had stopped moving. I quietly knocked, with a coarse “Hello?” I hadn’t talked in days, the last drink was from a river probably a day ago.

A man with a dark mullet and khaki shorts opened the gates ever so slightly. “Who are you?” He asked.

“My name is Y/N, is this your community?” I was basically begging. I was fighting tears from welling up in my eyes. A real person.

“I’m not at the liberty to discuss that with you.” He replied sternly. He looked around, as if someone was going to give him an answer. He held a large gun, clearly he didn’t know how to use it. I was frustrated, and I could take him down if need be, but I was going to be civil about this.

“What is it, Eugene?” someone asked him from behind the gate. I swear I’ve heard the voice before, but I thought it was pure exhaustion fueling my delusion/

“One moment, please hand over your weapons.” The man, assumingely named Eugene said. I handed him my knife and my pistol, that maybe had one bullet left in it. Just as quickly as he opened them, he closed the gates. I still had my pocket knife in my backpack. One of those tourists ones with your name on it. Daryl brought it back for me on a run once, and I’ve never used it. Just kept it, like a token.

“I know this knife.” The faceless voice gasped. Now, instead of just the solid wall, both parts of the gates opened and there she was.

Maggie. Maggie Rhee. Tears in her eyes as she held the knife at her waist, her wedding ring my brother gave her shining in the sun. “Y/N?” she said at an almost whisper. I went to reply, but no words came out. Those tears I had been fighting came out in full force as she crossed over to hug me. Her hand at the back of my head as we knelt to the ground to hold each other. Maggie was here, Glenn had to be. And if they were, who knows who else had made it.

I cried into her shoulder for a moment, until she grabbed my face to brush the hair out of my eyes. “I can’t believe it’s really you.” I smiled back at her, bringing her in for another hug. After a few more minutes of tears, we pulled away, stood up, and shut the gates behind us. “Wait here.” she said, running into a house.

I stood there, wiping tears with my shirt. “I’m Eugene.” the mullet man said. Staring awkwardly at me. “Hi.” I said back, taking a deep breath. He went to say something else before someone came out of the house with Maggie, her hands covering his eyes.

I slowly walked towards them. My heart dropped to my stomach and I swear the world stopped. Maggie used her other hand to say ‘Shhh’ to me. I could barely keep it together when she finally removed her hand from his eyes. It was Glenn.

Before he realized it was me I had already gone to hug him. Crying into his thin shirt and sinking to the street. “Oh my God.” he said in reply, coming back down with me, doing the exact same thing Maggie had done. He kissed my forehead and I felt his tears drop onto my head.

“I’m so sorry.” I cried to him. “I’m so sorry, I should’ve listened, I should’ve stayed with you.” He shook his head, sniffled and pulled away. “It doesn’t matter anymore, Y/N. I’m here. Your family is here.” He picked me up from the ground and Maggie came in to hug us again, going to kiss Glenn and wipe his tears. We all sort of exchanged ‘how on earth did you survive’ and ‘you look like shit’ before they took me walking up the street, careful not to tell me about anyone who had died, but who was here. Rick, the kids, Michonne, Carol, Sasha, some people named Tara, Rosita, Abraham, who had come with Eugene. I was in complete disbelief of an entire neighborhood that was safe.

None of them were outside, so seeing me was going to be a surprise, but they had skipped over a certain archer I was missing. While we came up to the porch that Glenn said was Rick’s, I found myself asking if Daryl was here. The couple exchanged looks. Fear took over as I assumed the worst, until Maggie took my hand and nodded. “He’s here, too. Been looking for you for weeks, actually.” My stomach was full of butterflies, even though it had been empty for weeks.

“He was looking for me?” I asked in disarray, the tears that had finally stopped were going to start all over again. My stomach dropped. He searched for Sophia everyday, all day. He never stopped and the heartbreak he has was unbearable. He was sure it was his fault she was gone, and he hadn’t looked hard enough. Glenn nodded. “Ever since,” he looked at Maggie, who looked away onto the street, his voice now lowered “ever since Beth died, he hasn’t been the same.” My heart had broken into a million little pieces. I squeezed Maggie’s hand, quickly saying I was sorry before she assured me she was going to be okay.

Another death that Daryl would blame himself for. I’m certain of that. Probably blamed himself for me running off too.

I followed the pair inside to where Rick was holding Judith on the couch. My first thought honestly was, holy shit a COUCH.

He stood up and smiled, quick to hug me with Judith propped on his hip. He kissed my cheek and brought me in close. I buried my face in his shirt, kissing Judith after. His shirt smelled of fresh laundry, a smell I hadn’t known for a long time. Rick was the most fearless man I had ever met, and I’d be dead without him. All of us would be.

“You’re here.” he broke the silence. I nodded, wiping my tears away. “Don’t know how, but I’m here.” I replied. He smiled again, looking up the stairs to Carl. He raced down them and tackled me into a hug.

“Y/N, I thought you were gone!” He exclaimed. I wanted to reply I thought I was gone too, but instead just laughed. “You couldn’t get rid of me that easy, kid.” playfully knocking his hat off his head. He laughed and flicked me back. “Daryl is not going to believe this.”

My eyes grew to the size of saucers. I was bursting at the seams. I wanted to see him more than I needed a shower at this point. I was looking out the window Rick was seated in front of when I said “Speaking of Daryl, where is he? Where’s everyone, I need to-“ The question didn’t matter anymore. There he was on the street, looking directly through the window. Almost through me. He took a few steps back, as if he was going to take off running. Like I was a ghost.

If anyone said anything to me, I couldn’t be sure. My legs carried me out the door and down the stairs, and into his strong arms. Arms I hadn’t felt in a long, long time. The ones that held me late at night when I was cold, the ones who taught me how to shoot, even shot his crossbow once, the ones I cried into when we lost the farm, the ones I took naps on during long car rides. Home. I was home.

We didn’t say anything to each other. He had dropped his crossbow in the road where he was now holding me, face snuggled into my neck. He was crying. I reached up to rub the back of his head with my hand. “Been awhile, huh?” I whispered, sarcastically, desperately trying to break the silence. He pulled away, tears hidden under his overgrown hair. “Thought I lost ya” He put his forehead against mine. I closed my eyes and smiled. “Never.” I said, placing my hands on his face. His response was the same, putting his hands on mine and giving me the gentlest kiss to ever touch my lips.

Didn’t think the entire community had to watch this go down, especially since that was our first kiss, but it makes for a fun story now. We both sniffled and looked into each others eyes, his blue ones glistening with tears. “Didn’t know I had to go missing for you to kiss me like that, Daryl.” Hearing myself say his name made my heart skip a beat.

He broke eye contact and looked towards the ground. “See ya kept those boots.” he remarked. I pulled his gaze back up to meet mine.

“I thought after long enough they could bring me home.”

[weepinwriter]

ZHENYA ‘PSIKH’ BOGDANOV

(pardon the terrible lighting 😔)

Codename : Nyx, named after the primordial greek goddess of the night (yeah it's a feminine name, but does Zhenya give a damn? Hell no)

Nickname : His friends and family members know him simply as Zhen, otherwise in the underworld he is better known as Psikh Bogdanov, or the madman as some prefer to call him for simplicity

[ 20 || 6'1" || cis-male || demisexual || in a relationship with Ash and Rin ]

Appearance : Short midnight black hair, and emerald green eyes

His stats

(dudes here ready to go full on doomslayer on his enemies)

Some facts about him:

~ He likes smoking, and that too the best quality cigars

~ As a child Zhenya wanted to be a writer, maybe even a journalist. He liked journaling his days as a kid, writing small stories and frequently narrating details of his day with his father, uncle and Ash before the incident with his dad, following which he discontinued writing indefinitely. He never touched his little journal after that.

~ Once had a bucket list containing all the things he wanted to do as a kid. These included bungee jumping, going to the seven wonders of the world and hell, even riding an ostrich (overall he just wanted to do every crazy thing one can possibly do). One of the wishes in this list included going to Disneyland with his dad. Unfortunately it never happened and he refused to ever go there

~ is very fond of daffodils. Ash regularly buys daffodils to be put in a vase in the middle of the room where he can see them

~ he is very fond of Donna tartt's books, especially the secret history

~ during his (cringe) puberty phase, when emotions and hormones run high and teenagers become the biggest menaces alive, Zhenya had the misfortune of stumbling upon Twilight. Following that fateful encounter he became a hardcore Twilight fan, especially as a firm member Team Jacob. He even went as far as to get a wolf tattoo and got his ears pierced as a form of his teenage rebellion. Thankfully he got over his cringe phase quickly, and now everytime he thinks about it he can't help but feel embarrassed to the core. (I can say this with a guarantee that Rin tries to pull his leg every once in a while by mentioning his horrific past, just for the sake of seeing Zhenya blush furiously.)

~ also likes reading books and historical research papers on medieval punishments and torture methods, for science ofcourse he says

~ is a pretty decent cook

~ although he can only cook dishes related to chicken, Zhenya is experienced enough to debone a raw chicken blindfolded holding some of the sharpest knives ever. The countless scars on his hands and arms are a testament of his perseverance. Apparently he's ‘practising’...

~ “a balanced diet is very important.” also him, proceeds to carefully remove all the peas from his food

~ has never lost a single match of rock-paper-scissors, even against Rin. However, one cannot say the same for his terrible luck and history with UNO. My guy here can get almost all the power cards at the beginning of the game, yet somehow always manages to lose them all and be defeated brutally. It has come to the point some believe he's intentionally losing, he's not.

~ likes watching and listening to true crime podcasts

~ Zhenya has a very bad habit of smiling whenever he's lying, making it impossible for anyone to figure out when he's lying or not (except those close to him who can see the discrepancies between his real and fake smiles)

~ can hold his liquor very well. The most he can go with, is 23 shots, which is his highest record so far, until he eventually passes and wakes up to the absolute worst hangover of his life

~ will call you a moron if you were to ask him the classic “would you still love me if I was a worm?” but still answer with a yes

~ sorry no Pixie cameo this time 😔, on another note, Zhenya actually adopted Pixie from the streets when he accidentally stepped on her on his way home. Feeling guilty he brought her home and the kitten that was barely a month old became a part of his small family. Now refuses to let anyone even touch her without his permission, talk about being overprotective

MIKHAIL 'MICKI' VICTOROVICH LANG

(this is @headdaze's MC, btw all comments are made by them-)

Codename : Tisiphone (he’d probably get a kick out of the nicknames he could make– like he picks up the phone and goes “hello? This is tisiphone answeirng the phone at avengers speed-” OR EVEN BETTER “hello? Tis me, tisiphone–”)

Nickname : His close ones simply call him, Angel, meanwhile the rest just go along with Micki

[ 20 || 5'5" || agender, he/they || demisexual || working on getting Ash, will work on Rin (when they meet each other as adults which they haven’t yet LOLOLOL)]

Appearance : Slightly long brown hair, with grayish, green blue eyes

Some facts about them

~ after destroying a microwave, ruining a meal, burning a few items, and other travesties, micki resigned himself to simple dishes… no five star courses (later on Zhenya takes it upon himself to cook for Mikhail, after keeping him 6feet away from the kitchen ofcourse)

~ loves nothing more than a good book and as such gets heavily irritated when something good disappoints them

~ very pro-healthy food but still eats unhealthy

~ vision is ABSOLUTE SHIT, wears either ridiculously thick glasses or contacts

~ usually sweet but can have a scary side too (people like to call him the wolf in sheep’s clothing)

~ his dream is to go around the world, eat the things he wants, and buy the things he wants without feeling guilty about spending money

~ a MASSIVE penny pincher

~ “ZHEN CAN YOU PLEASE STOP RUINIG YOUR LUNGS WITH THOSE FUCKING BEAUTIFUL CIGARS” “No.”

~ comfy > fashion, the man is not going to strut outside on a winter day in an outfit even if he looks good in it because if it gets him a cold it is GAME OVER

~ literally cannot stay up for the life of them, alwAYS gets irritable when sleepy so prefers to get their hours of sleep in

(why is a majority of this basically just me)

IF : VENDETTA BY @vendetta-if

[momojedi]

Bad Batch: Season 3

My Predictions

The final countdown has started and I'm not ready at ALL! Here are some of my predictions for Season 3 and what I could imagine happening!

1. Tech will be back.

Yes, the trope of dead characters returning is incredibly overused. But as many others I have a good reason to believe that Tech might still be alive. Think about it. It’s pretty likely Hemlock managed to locate Tech’s body considering he left us a huge breadcrumb: his goggles.

Why would Hemlock get rid of a genetically enhanced super soldier, especially considering he likely knows how to properly brainwash someone?

I too like to think that Tech might be the black armoured soldier in the front. It’s the same, if not similar armour as Clone X. Maybe these are part of a special type of clone assassins or troopers? Could they be the prototype for the Dark or Death Trooper?

It’s pretty plain to say that Tech will likely come back, though probably not as the Tech we know.

2. Crosshair & Omega Dynamic

We've seen Omega genuinely bond with all of the Bad Batch - except for Crosshair. Despite her trying her best to get to him every time they had the chance to interact, he denied her any kind of response. Whether that would be because he's just too withdrawn or because he refuses to let anyone see his vulnerable side, we don't know so far.

What we do know however, both based on pure logic alone and the fact that we've heard them both involved in a heated debate in the leaked trailer from the Star Wars Celebration last year, is that they likely will spending a lot of time together on-screen now that they're both captives of the Empire.

Hopefully Omega will be able to lift Cross' spirits, he doesn't seem to be doing very well from what we've seen!

3. Ventress will be an enemy!

Asajj Ventress! We all know and love her, so naturally it's incredibly nice to find out that she'll be returning to the screens for the final season of the Bad Batch! Despite they're naturally being some raised eyebrows considering her fate in the Dark Disciple book, I'm curious to see in what way they'll connect the stories!

However, seeing as Ventress could rather be classified as an anti-hero rather than a full on hero, I believe that she won't be helping the Batch but rather fighting them in order to get to what she wants - as she likes to do.

Perhaps she'll end up cooperating when she realises there might be no other solution, but I strongly doubt she'll be any help to them when it comes to following their personal goals.

4. The Fall of the Clone Rebellion

It's sadly no secret that given the events of Rebels and the three remaining clones Rex, Gregor & Wolffe, it's very likely the rebellions aka rescue of the clones didn't go as initially planned.

I could imagine this being explained a bit clearer in the finale, perhaps even leading up to a great fight against the Empire in the end. We can't forget that the series mainly revolves around a rogue batch of clones, so the thought that it might also go out with a clone-centric subject, especially such a big one, isn't necessarily far-fetched.

5. The End of the Mission

And finally, my most tragic prediction: The end of the Bad Batch.

The writers have been making it very clear that season 3 will likely be the darkest season of the show which unfortunately leads me to think that, as much as I'd want it not to be the case, the finale will lead to the ultimate end of Clone Force 99.

I suspect the series to end with the batch ending up together in some way, as the original five, and landing in a tricky life-or-death situation. Perhaps they'll be stuck in a crashing ship with a one-person escape pod or maybe they'll be facing a threatening figure such as Sidious, leading to the decision to sacrifice themselves in order to protect Omega.

Either way, despite season 3 likely becoming a tragic rollercoaster of emotions, I'm glad we had the chance to experience the epic story of the Bad Batch. It's sad to see them go and although these characters have become like a family not only to me, but to many other fans, let's enjoy our last moments with them and let them go out with a bang!