#these two occupy so much of my brain space and will continue to do so forever more

[stil-lindigo]

prodigal son.

a sort of epilogue for God of War Ragnarok, since I miss these two so much.

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[gimme-a-man-after-midnight]

my royal roomie (part 2)

Fandom: Aquaman

Pairing: Orm Marius x Reader

part 1:

https://www.tumblr.com/gimme-a-man-after-midnight/693273500438429696/my-royal-roomie-pt-1?source=share

Summary: After a few days of living under your roof, Orm gets to know the little surface dweller he's been stuck with. With time, a stormy night, and a bottle of wine, the prince learns that he has more in common with you than he may think.

Word Count: 4,000+

Warnings: female reader, slow burn, light cursing, mentions of past emotional abuse, divorced parents!reader, dead parent, comic lore inaccuracies, floral inaccuracies??

Author's Note:

hi y'all! here's the full part 2 i've been working on for some time! thanks for the support on the last one and again, so sorry for the late continuation :/ i hope this story is to your liking! happy reading!

After the first one-on-one conversation you had in the living room, Orm didn't come out of the guest bedroom for days. You’d see flashes of platinum blonde out of the corner of your eye, just barely missing him by a few seconds whenever you’d be in the kitchen or outside of his door. You had made many offers through the red painted oak of his room to go grocery shopping together or take him on a tour of the town, but all of your efforts were met with a stern "No thank you." You had lost any hope you had of forming some kind of connection with the Atlantean for a while, cutting your losses by quietly resigning to a parallel existence. What you didn’t expect was the mutual understanding you two would come to on one fateful stormy Friday night, much like the one that brought him to your doorstep.

***

 Heavy traffic from the drive home, a full message inbox on your telephone, and the burnt attempt at roast chicken sitting on your oven rack had you nursing a glass bottle of wine by the living room window. Bad days were normal for anybody, but it didn’t make them easier to deal with on your own - the added stress of the stranger living in your space didn’t help either. You had been living a quiet life ever since you moved back to the sleepy town some years ago, taking up very little space and leaving minimal traces of yourself. Whether it was out of caution or cowardice, you weren’t sure yet. Either way, that silence had brought you comfort at a time where your thoughts were too loud, but now with another person occupying your space the quiet was becoming suffocating. 

Orm wasn’t by any means a bad roommate - he kept to himself, he didn’t make much noise, and he even managed to wash his dishes whenever he knew you weren’t in the kitchen - but he was a man.The last time you had lived with a man, the end of its course felt similar to how you two were living now, and maybe that’s why it was bothering you so much. Tip-toeing around the Atlantean made you feel uneasy in your own home, a situation you were all too familiar with. Typically at this time in the night you would be cooking up some plan to urge the man out of his guest room, but after the day you had, you didn’t have the heart to try. 

Once you took your final gulp of wine, wiping at the sides of your mouth with the back of your hand, you trudged away from the raging display outside of your window. The dishes could be a tomorrow problem, you thought to yourself as you were leaving your kitchen counter behind. You had only made it a few paces out of the living room before your body was overcome with chills, making you draw your blanket tighter around you. The draft through the house was unmistakable, confusing you thoroughly due to you always making sure the doors and windows were shut before bed. As you stepped deeper into the house, you realized the distinct breeze was coming from the direction of the guest bedroom. You had made it a point to allow Orm his space, but your brain was stirring with reasons for what he could possibly be doing in there  - most of them unsavory. 

With a deep breath and a tight fist holding your blanket, you gently rapped at the door. 

“Hey, Orm?”

No response. You knock again.

“I don’t mean to bother, but I’m feeling a bit of a breeze through the house and I can tell it’s coming from here, so I just want to see if everything is alri-”

The door suddenly opened a crack, revealing half of Orm’s face which was already more than you had seen in days. 

“If you don’t mean to bother, then don’t.”

The curt response, although expected, has you taken aback. Already seeing the Atlantean retreat from the spot again, you hold the door in its place in effort to keep his attention.

“Look, I know you wanna be alone, but I can’t help wondering why a cold ass breeze is coming from your room, so I just want to see what’s going on. Please, it’s freezing right now.” You do your best to keep control of your tone, not wanting to let on just how much the cold was getting to you - giving the prince another reason to look down on humans wasn’t on your agenda for the night.

 Almost as if he commanded the storm, the lightning cracked loudly outside as Orm swung his door open, revealing his full disheveled state to you. You jolted in place, practically leaping a step back in defense at the swift move.

“What’s going on is the stench of your burnt dinner was practically singeing my nostrils. I opened a window in hopes that I could find some relief, because clearly you surface dwellers have no trouble polluting not only the ocean, but your precious breathing air as well! I have little care for how cold your fragile body may get, so I suggest you retire to your room at once and leave me be.”  

There was a gap in the yelling match conversation, almost as if the blond was waiting for you to bite back at his harsh words, but the glazed look in your eyes and parted lips made it evident to the Atlantean that your mind was elsewhere. Orm followed your gaze, noticing that it was locked onto the maroon sweater he was adorning, looking at it with equal parts surprise and melancholy. His enhanced hearing picked up on a hitch in your breath and chattering of your teeth, confirming to him that you were clearly shaken.

After the long silence, you mousily spoke.

“I didn’t leave that sweater out for you.” 

 The arbitrary words silenced Orm, his expression turning to one of confusion as he looked down at the knit fabric on his chest.

“...where did you find it?” 

Your voice didn’t change in volume when you made your inquiry, but your tone was somber. The candid emotion made the Atlantean clear his throat awkwardly, unsure of how to handle such vulnerability from his host. You couldn’t even fully appreciate how much messier Orm looked in comparison to when he first arrived - looking like a 90s wet dream with his ungelled hair, clenched jaw, and broad shoulders peeking out of his loose fitting clothes. No, it was the clothes that were holding your attention hostage.

“It was deep in the wooden wardrobe of my room…the garb you set out for me wasn’t suitable for the storm,” Orm says, arms crossed in a defensive manner as he anticipates your response.

A part of you wanted to laugh at his retort, the corner of your lips quirking up for a millisecond before melting back into the numb expression you had prior. 

“Are you going to ask me to change? Because I don’t see why I should relent,” the blond goads, pulling a haughty expression that comes all too naturally.

Orm wasn’t sure himself why he wanted to urge a response from you - why he wanted to learn more about this sweater that was clearly jumbling up your thoughts enough to render you so silent. He tried to chalk it up to plain boredom, tried to reason with himself that all his time in self-isolation was making him yearn for more. Still, even with those excuses lined up to justify his actions, he couldn’t explain why seeing the down-turned expression on your lips felt so unnerving. This woman in front of him now was like a shell in comparison to the buoyant, eccentric character he had been previously introduced to - and for some bizarre reason he didn’t like it. 

Your thought process, on the other hand, was going in a completely different route. The glaringly red knit in your line of sight brought back too many memories that you had made efforts to bury. The cursed sweater in combination with the Atlantean prince’s snark makes your breath quicken and your mind wander to the whisper of a past life that still takes up space in your home. You couldn’t decipher if your shivering was coming from Orm’s open window or from your body trying to eject all of the feelings evoked from seeing that damn sweater.

“I-I…you…you shouldn’t-” you shakily exhale, your eyes surveying around your surroundings to try and focus on literally anything else. You backstep, hoping that physically running away from the situation will do you good, but your eyes lining up with the red-clad chest and the sound of the booming thunder makes you falter. Your hand clutches at your chest, the white knuckled grip on your blanket alerting your roommate.

The prince's body calls to action, making Orm take an instinctive step forward, reaching out as if to try and steady you. 

“What is happening with you? Why are you so high-strung? Do humans go into cardiac arrest so easily?” 

You couldn’t hear his stern questioning, your mind flitting to images of firm fists slammed against tables and nights spent alone, buried deep under your covers in the hopes of being swallowed by the sheets. It was like the space in your lungs was being taken up by a vice grip, and your ability to think - to form a simple thought that didn’t make your heart hurt - was completely ripped away from you. Even after four years, the memories of him still have so much power over you in a way that’s paralyzing.

“I-I just - I need - I need to breathe!”

With that final exclamation, you scurried away from the Atlantean, quickly making it back to your room before slamming the door shut behind you. Orm was left stunned outside of his door, his eyes trained in the direction of your room down the hall. 

What the hell just happened?

***

Arthur was done - so done.

The newly crowned Atlantean king had so much on his plate already, what with his upcoming engagement underway and him having an entire kingdom to look after. While he did appreciate his little brother feeling comfortable enough to call him at such an ungodly hour, the words the blond uttered made him want to pull his hair out. 

“I think I broke her - your human.”

“Bro, what?”

It was too fucking early for this. 

“Don’t call me - agh, nevermind - something’s wrong with your human and I’m not sure how to approach the situation. Is this really an environment you believe me to find enrichment from? My host is clearly on the brink of some sort of breakdown and I-”

“Wow, I never took you for someone that was so easily shaken, brother.”

Arthur’s poorly timed quip makes Orm stare back at the projection call with a blank face.

“First off, she’s not my human, she’s her own person. Second, what did you even do? She’s not one to just collapse on her own - although she is a serial overthinker and could definitely talk herself to an early grave...”

Orm, frustrated with his half-brother’s lack of support, rolls his eyes over the call.

“Okay, okay, but seriously. Something must’ve set her off or triggered her to react in a way. You sure you didn’t do anything?” 

“All I did was answer the door when she knocked. When she saw me at the entrance, she saw the sweater I was wearing and was overcome with emotion. That’s hardly my fault.”

Orm can see Arthur’s brows furrow in thought at the information, almost as if he’s assessing whether he’s been given the whole story or not.

“Well…where’d you get the sweater?”

“I hardly think that matters-”

“Just answer the question, bro-”

An exasperated grunt leaves Orm as he grips at the sheets beneath him in an attempt to contain himself. A part of him regretted bringing up the matter at all, communication with his half-brother being much too awkward to bear. 

“I got it from the wooden wardrobe inside of my chambers! It was much more practical to wear than the flimsy garb-”

“Shit,” Arthur cuts him off, the hologram shifting as the man rubs at his eyes. “The wooden wardrobe with vines on the sides?”

It was Orm’s turn to be taken aback, unsure of how he knew the detail from off the top of his head.

“Yes, that’s the one.”

A muffled sigh comes from Arthur’s end, the image changing again as the king shuffles out of bed quietly to not disturb a sleeping Mera.

“Listen, dude. It’s not my place to speak on her business like this, but all I can say is that the wardrobe - that room - holds a lot of memories that are painful for her. I know you didn’t mean to bring them up, but that wardrobe is off limits. Just try and apologize for now, but don’t pry.”

“But why should I-”

“Orm, seriously! I get it, you don’t like being there - that you’ve spent every day in your room ever since I dropped you off, but she’s been trying. She’s been doing everything she can to get you out of your shell and you’re not giving back anything. There has to be some give here, and that can start with you saying sorry.” 

Orm was surprised by the fact that Arthur knew of his daily whereabouts already, undoubtedly asking you for updates on him. However, what surprised him the most was that even though you have seemingly complained to his half brother, you never once suggested kicking him out - never demanded he leave your house and have Atlantis deal with him. You truly were a peculiar little thing. 

“...fine. But don’t expect me to continue such niceties with her.”

A belly laugh could be heard from over the call, surely out of amusement for the prince's unwavering coldness.

“Good. Now hang up, you disrupted my beauty sleep.”

With a scoff, Orm presses on the green gem of his wristlet and heads off to the direction of your room.

***

When Orm knocks on your door, he expects a big fuss - bouts of yelling, arguing, or cursing that’ll leave his highly sensitive ears ringing. What he doesn’t expect is everyone of his knocks being met with silence - deafening silence now that the storm has subsided. 

“Hello?”

The prince feels weirdly small waiting by your door for your answer, having no clue what he’ll be met with on the other side of him. (It also gives him some insight on how you must feel every time you knock on his door to chat, although he’d never admit to having similarities with you,)

“Are you ignoring me?” 

More silence. 

“Oh, enough of this childishness.”

With a deep breath in, Orm turns the knob of your door and lets himself into your room. He’s met with colorful tapestries embellishing the walls, big rugs covering the hardwood floor, and twinkling lights surrounding the bed frame. The scene that you set for yourself in your room makes Orm think about his home - the way that the colorful bioluminescence would sparkle throughout his kingdom. 

When the initial first impression of your room wears off, he notices there is no one in the bed. No squirming presence under the sheets or anyone sitting on top of the bed to give him a stern talking to. Where did you go?

The blond takes a tentative step inside, stepping over the fuzzy carpets to keep from disturbing their arrangement. When he walks past the bed frame and closer to the window, he sees a lump of a human wearing a large blanket over their shoulders and some type of bulky headgear that covers your ears and emits sound. You were completely enthralled by the scene outside of the window that you hardly notice Orm stepping up next to you. 

A sudden hand on your shoulder has you jolting upward with a yelp, your hand instinctively slapping away at the intruder before you turn to look at where they came from.

“Jesus fucking christ!”

Orm gets into his own defensive position as you scramble to press your back against the wall, looking at you as if you were a trembling animal.

“My god, woman!”

“What are you doing in here you scared me half to-”

“I knocked but there was no answer so I-”

“Oh, so you decided to just welcome yourself in?”

Orm purses his lips in frustration, not thrilled at being met with the uproar he had originally expected. You sigh to yourself in disbelief, willing yourself to be quiet since there would be no productive conversation if you two kept yelling at each other.

“Next time just take the hint that I’m busy if I don’t answer, okay? You can’t just barge in here when you want, it’s not cool…”

The Atlantean has some sense to feel a shred of shame when you speak, although your words are hardly convincing when your eyes don’t turn in his direction for even a second. You look so timid standing there in your corner with the blanket consuming you completely - not at all like the spitfire that called him an “asshole” and warned him not to “test her.” (He secretly felt some relief in your loud exchange mere moments ago, because it meant that version of you was still there.) 

“I…I apologize for intruding.” 

Your head whips up to finally meet the man’s piercing blues, your mouth left slightly agape at an actual apology leaving the arrogant Atlantean’s lips.

“Uh…it’s okay...although, try not to do it again.”

Another moment of awkward silence passes.

“So…why’d you come in here?”

You ask this question as you take a seat back on the floor, resuming your position of staring out of the window only this time without your headphones. You pat the spot next to you on the floor, urging Orm to sit next to you. With a small eye roll, the blond begrudgingly joins you on your multi-colored carpet, opting to rest his arms against his knees as means to shield himself from you.

“I came here to apologize, not just for barging in, but for what happened earlier. I shouldn’t have gone through the wardrobe without your permission even if I needed different clothes. I should’ve asked you instead of rifling through your belongings on my own accord.”  

His apology, although rehearsed, seems genuine enough for your shoulders to relax. Your eyes follow the droplets of rain slowly trickling down the glass of your window, racking your brain for the right thing to say. 

“It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong, I just…I haven’t revisited the memories that room brings in a long time. You putting on that sweater unearthed them today, and it got me bad. See, I was having a shit day already what with keeping up with the shop, and then an accident causing traffic on the way home, and the wine that I usually like being out of stock-” 

Your rambling gets cut off by a soft chuckle coming from the man next to you, a sound that seems so uncharacteristically happy for his usual demeanor. The corners of your mouth perk up in disbelief, the expression making Orm quickly look away from you. 

“Huh. So that’s what your laugh sounds like. It’s nice…”

Orm didn’t understand why he reacted in such a way, you weren’t saying anything particularly funny…

…It’s just the way your eyes became so animated as you spoke more, your hands gesturing stronger as you explained further - it was amusing to him. So different from the usual company he keeps, always firmly placed brows and crossed arms from the high council members he consulted. Even the Atlantean women, although much more pleasant company, were more regal in comparison to his surface dweller host.  However, what you did have in common with those women was your tenacity. Even with his cold attitude towards you, your kindness was unwavering - a few times a day, without fail, you’d knock on his door with the promise of food and semi-entertaining company. He’s starting to regret only agreeing to the food.

God, he must be going stir crazy.

“What is it about the sweater that made you react in such a way?”

This was when you noticed that Orm was no longer wearing the offending material, choosing to wear the simping cotton T shirt you had given him. It may have been nothing - a simple delusion on your part - but the weight on your chest felt lighter at the idea that the Atlantean took it off to bring you comfort. 

“It - uh,” you stuttered, “it belonged to my ex-boyfriend. All of the stuff in that wardrobe did, actually. We painted the vines on the side of it together…” 

Orm’s arms flexed tighter around his knees at your words. He didn’t know how to respond, feeling significantly awkward due to adorning your ex lover’s clothing, so he decided to just shut up and let you continue.

“When I was 14 my parents got divorced. My mom wanted so badly to make it work, but my dad didn’t like his life here in Amnesty Bay - a part of me felt like he also didn’t like his life with us in general. I mean, he never had a problem making his grievances known, so…” 

Now, this was something the blond was familiar with - uncomfortable family dynamics. The realities of his parents’ marriage were never shielded from him growing up - he often witnessed the brutality of his father whenever his mother, Atlanna, would make her opposing opinions known. He often felt conflicted about which side to take - the one of least resistance that prioritized the well-being of his people or the one that looked out for the well-being of everyone, Atlanteans and surface dwellers alike. Hearing you now, speak your piece on your own upbringing, comforted him in a way he didn’t expect.

“The divorce was messy. Lots of nights spent being pulled in every direction, but with no real place to find peace. After everything settled, my dad ended up moving to New York while my mom remained here. They agreed that for the school year I’d stay with my mom, so she’d have some help at the flower shop, but I’d visit him on major holidays…”

The blanket around you suddenly feels too thin, a chill running over you as you recount your tale. You take a sneaky glance over your shoulder to check if the blond was still listening, and you were surprised (and delighted) to find that his steadfast gaze was at the side of your face. 

“...At some point during my years at university, my mom stopped asking me to visit - demanded that I only live with my dad when I was out of school. You can imagine Arthur had his qualms about that…”

You chuckled to yourself at the memory of a young Arthur blowing up your home phone upon hearing the news. 

“It would only be for the same visiting time as before, so there wasn’t much fuss on my dad’s end, but my relationship with him had become so different after the divorce that it wasn’t ideal. It…It hurt to hear my mom reject me like that.” 

Orm’s mind flashes back to the rain soaked figure of his mother, presenting herself to be siding with his half-brother after his defeat. The sting of her counteraction still lingers in his chest.

“When I had started dating my ex during my third year, I found out the reason my mom was keeping me from home - she got sick…cancer. All of the overworking to pay the bills, lack of support, and the hereditary traits…she got really sick. I guess she didn’t want me to see her in so much pain…” 

Orm watches as you turn away to stubbornly wipe at your face, a sniffle coming from your direction. He hadn’t expected you to willingly speak on your background when he asked about the sweater, but a part of him felt guilty for being the cause of your current distress.

“When she died, I moved back here to look after the house and take over the shop…but my ex had moved in with me. Darren.” 

More tears fell from your cheeks at the same speed as the rain running down your window.

“Darren offered to help me with the business, help me get on my feet. A part of me knew that he was going to hate the life we were starting together based on talks we had about the future, but I ignored it all when my grief became the only thing I felt for a long time. He always wanted more - more than our little town, more than the flower shop…so when an opportunity presented itself to have a life on his own, he took it. Just like my dad did…” 

 Orm’s heart drops at the end of your retelling, knowing the feeling of rejection and abandonment all too well. His father would be rolling in his grave if he knew what feelings this little surface dweller was stirring in him. The gap between the Atlanteans and the humans was closing in his mind, and Orm wasn’t sure if he cared to stop it. All he wanted at this moment was to stop you from crying. 

“I’m sorry for putting on the sweater…and for being an ungracious guest these past few days. I’ve been a real dick.” 

You can’t help but guffaw at his choice of words, using your fist to mask the unsightly sound as a cough. 

“That’s not a very princely thing to say…” 

Orm’s head tilts back as he snickers, feeling slightly proud of himself for inciting a better mood in you.

Ah, that laugh again, you think as you admire how ethereal the man looks in his relaxed state. 

“Perhaps my brother is to blame for my much more…colorful vernacular.” 

“Perhaps,” you hum in agreement, “or you’re just not as much of a dick as I previously thought…sorry for coming on so strong that first day.” 

Orm’s blue eyes shine at you with something unfamiliar - different to the cold, distant stare you were first met with. You find yourself wishing to always be at the receiving end of his kind eyes. 

Orm clears his throat before uttering, “No need to be…I was the one that misjudged you before ever seeing you.” 

A silence falls over you two, a comforting one built between new comrades. Your (e/c) gaze meets his as the storm calms outside of your window, signaling the start of a new chapter for you and your royal roommate. 

[ellethespaceunicorn]

The Howling of Claw Creek Forest, Chapter Five

Chapter Five: A Biting Truth

Rating: Mature, 18+, Minors – DNI

Pairing: Werewolf!Walter Marshall x Reader

Word Count: 2.8K

Series Summary: You live in a small town called Claw Creek, surrounded by a deep, dark forest. Since you were a kid, an urban legend of the creature in the woods has been told. If the distant howls at night and mutilated livestock are anything to go by, you fear the stories to be true.

Chapter Summary: You and Walter talk about some things, you listen to a voicemail, and then talk a little more.

Warnings: anxiety, fluffy moments, mentioned smut, a lot of shirtlessness in this chapter, spicy late-night texting (not sexting technically)

A/N: Thank you all for being hella patient with me as I worked on my mental health. It has only been a month but I feel tons better already. I hope you enjoy this one. A special thank you to @peyton-warren for being my lovely beta and soundboard for this. 

Dividers by me

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

Series Masterlist

My Masterlist 

The tension in your muscles wakes you up. You had quite a night but you weren’t exactly upset about it. Stretching out your arms, you reach over to find the space next to you is empty and cold.

The last time you checked, there was a sleeping werewolf in bed with you. Now, there is just a wrinkled set of bedding that only serves to get your brain working double-time.

Did he leave? Were you too much for him? Did he change his mind about needing to care for you?

You pull the covers off you and sit up only to feel light-headed. Your senses dull and return to you tenfold, the smell of coffee invading your nostrils and giving you hope. 

You tiptoe out of bed and head to the bathroom to freshen up. Splashing water on your face, brushing your teeth, and doing something quick with your hair has you feeling a bit better about the sight that first greeted you in the mirror. You tiptoe back into your bedroom and pull on some sleep shorts, an old t-shirt, and a pair of fuzzy socks.

This totally looks like I just ‘woke up like this’, you think to yourself.

Making your way downstairs, you are greeted at the bottom of the stairs by a shirtless Walter holding a fresh mug of coffee in one hand. He hands you the mug and kisses your forehead.

“Bacon and eggs are almost ready. I hope you don’t mind me raiding your fridge. I was starved and I figured you would be too. And there is more coffee where that came from,” he says, smiling down at your surprised face.

You suddenly smell the bacon and your stomach grumbles, as if on cue. Walter laughs and ushers you to sit down at your dining table. He soon brings out two plates of scrambled eggs with cheese alongside bacon. Setting your plate in front of you, he takes your mug and refreshes your coffee and you enjoy the view of his ample ass as he walks away.

Once seated again, Walter opens up to you. “I’d like you to know a couple of things about me. Maybe should have told you these before we… you know. But, better late than never, right?”

You nod silently while picking up a slice of bacon and taking a bite to keep your mouth occupied.

“Right, well. I have a daughter and an ex-wife. They’re with my old pack. Faye, that’s my daughter. I miss her so much. We talk on the phone every week but I know her first shift is coming soon. I can feel it. Angie, her mother, and my ex-wife takes great care of her. I know that. But I wish I could do more. I had to leave the pack, though, because I disagreed with the Alpha. Well, less of a disagreement and more of a fight where I almost killed him. I didn’t want to kill him so instead I left. My best friend Jace, another pack member, is keeping an eye on Faye and Ang,” he peeks up at your eyes for a moment before continuing, “I just didn’t want to keep that from you. You deserve to know what you’re getting involved with.” He sits back and looks into your eyes for some kind of acceptance.

You reach over the table, putting your hand in Walter’s before speaking up. “Thank you for telling me, Wolfie. I appreciate you bringing me in on what you’re dealing with. It can’t be easy missing your daughter like that,” you reassure him, knowing that it’s your turn to open up, “I told you a bit about my ex-fiance, James Syverson, but you should probably know that I was the one who broke off our engagement.”

Walter nods for you to continue.

“Our relationship was always pretty fast. We got together while he was home for a bit from active duty. And then, we were making plans to get married. I wasn’t upset about that because I thought he was ‘my Sy’, ya know? But then, everything came crashing down right before he was deployed again. He wanted to get me pregnant so badly. I wasn’t ready to be all alone with this little life inside of me that wouldn’t know their father until he came home.” 

Bad manners be damned, you pick up another slice of bacon and chew while you speak, “We just couldn’t see eye to eye on that and in the end, I gave him back his ring and told him that I didn’t want to be an Army wife and have our kids be without a father for the most part. I broke up with him just before he deployed and I still feel awful about it. But, I mean, he did expect me to fall in line and I’m just not a soldier. I had my own plans for how things were supposed to go and it was much slower than what he had in mind. That being said, it’s kind of funny that I met a werewolf less than a year later and after one night, he may have gotten me pregnant. Not exactly in my plans, but for some reason, I’m not afraid to see what happens. And that is new for me so all I ask for is a little patience.”

You sit back in your chair, looking down at your plate, half-eaten and surely cold by now. You feel overwhelmed after talking about Sy, you still feel like shit for not giving him what he wanted. For so long, you thought he was your everything. You wanted to make him happy, but you chose your own happiness in the end. And that had been the hardest decision that you had ever made.

You are still in your head when you register Walter kneeling at the side of your chair and turning you face him before he speaks to you. “Tell me what you need.”

You look down at him and smile, his bright eyes are focused on you and his hands are soothing at your waist. You reach your hands to his face, cradling his bearded jaw before leaning forward and kissing him sweetly. You lean your forehead against his and sigh.

“I just need you, Wolfie.”

“You’ve got me. I’m not going anywhere, Pup.” He pulls you from your chair and into his lap so you wrap your arms and legs around him. Holding you tight to his chest, he shifts to sit cross-legged. You enjoy caressing his back while he sighs and kisses your neck. You can’t stop the mewl that escapes your lips at his tender touch.

You pull back and look into each other’s eyes, smiling and wondering if the other is thinking the same thing. 

Walter looks at his watch, looking back up to you with hopeful eyes. “I have about an hour before I need to get home and changed for work. How long do you have?”

“I don’t have to be in til 1. We’ve got time,” you offer, tangling a hand in his unruly curls.

Walter stands, holding onto you like a koala bear as he walks to and up the stairs. Getting to your bedroom, he sits down and lays back so you straddle his hips. As you lean up, taking off your shirt, his hands settle on your hips. You can feel how aroused you are for him as he guides your hips to glide over his clothed, yet hardening length.

And that is when your phone decides to ring.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” “Are you serious?” You both speak at the same time and can’t help but laugh.

You reach over to your nightstand for your phone, picking it up to see Olivia’s smiling face greeting you. You answer it and sit back in Walter’s lap.

“Hey, Liv. What’s up?” You put a finger to your lips and Walter nods so you slowly grind your hips into his. Watching his brows furrow as you give him just enough friction to enjoy himself.

“Hey, girl. I was just checking up on you. You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just taking it day by day, you know?” You place a hand on Walter’s abs and glide your fingers through his chest hair. Apparently, he is ticklish and he chuckles despite trying to be quiet.

“Girl...is that your mystery man? Tell him I said hey.”

“Olivia says hey, Walter,” you announce, to which he replies: “Hi, Liv.”

“Well, I won’t keep you. You enjoy yourself, girl. Lord knows you needed it. If he has any cute friends, keep me posted. Talk to you later. Bye, Walter!” 

“Bye,” You hang up, tossing your phone back on the nightstand before leaning forward to kiss the grin off of Walter’s face, “Now, where were we?”

He grips your hips and turns you both so he is on top. “I think we were right about here,” he coos, sitting back on his heels and pulling your shorts off, your socks following after. Keeping his jeans on, he slides them just slightly down his thighs.

He takes his time with you, listening to your body telling him what you need. He licks and nips at your neck. Grabbing at your legs, he pushes them back so he can go deeper. He holds on tight to his own orgasm until you have had two of your own. The only sounds in the room are his groans, your moans, and your shared breathing.

Once finished, you lay in bed cuddling until Walter checks his watch again and grumbles to himself. You watch as he gets out of bed and pulls his jeans back up. Grabbing a robe, you follow him down to your living room as he gathers the rest of his clothing.

He puts on his coat and turns to you, unsurprised that you are still watching him. He makes you promise to call him tonight after work. Leaning down, he pecks your lips and retreats a bit before you pull him back in for a steamier kiss. He smiles into it and you smile back.

You see him out and giggle again as you see that he actually did park on your lawn last night. He grimaces and ducks his head but you just scratch behind his ear and he is all smiles again. You watch until he is out of eyesight and then close the door so you can get ready for work.

Work is grueling for the first few hours. Well, one might say grueling, another might say it makes time go by faster. All you know is that you could use a break. Even though you quit smoking, you did miss the built-in ‘breaks’ that habit came with.

Once you sit in your car, you feel the stress of the last four hours ease off your shoulders. Though it lurks outside your car window, ready to jump back in place when you exit.

You scroll through your phone, replying to various emails and checking in with Liv. A notification pops up as a reminder to check your voicemail. Right, Sy had called and left you a message a day ago but you hadn’t opened it yet.

You navigate to the Phone icon, then to voicemail to see Sy’s unread alert. Pressing on the voicemail, you raise the phone to your ear and the message starts.

“Hey, Bug, it’s Sy...but of course, you knew that already. Caller ID, amirite? Anyway, uh, just wanted...wanted to say it was good seeing you today. Yer looking...good. Healthy. Jesus, I swear you’d think I was leaving a damn voicemail for the Queen or something. You remember you used to call me smooth, right? Not anymore, damnit. I just wanted to check in with you, ‘cause I went and got into a scuffle with a wolf out there in the woods. I’m fine, don’t you worry none. He got a couple nips in. But I got him right in the gut. The big bastard should be feeling that for the next few days at least. Hopefully, soon, we can put this wolf business behind us all. That’s all I had to say, I’m getting tired and you’re probably already in bed as it is. This damn message is getting too long, I think. Talk soon, bye now.”

You pulled the phone away from your ear and pressed the button to repeat the voicemail. Yeah, you heard that correctly. Turns out Sy is the one who shot Walter.

And just to make this even a bit more complicated, Walter may have gone and given Sy a bite. A bite that may or may not turn him into a werewolf.

You sit in the driver’s seat and debate just driving home for the day, but you pull up your big girl panties and force yourself to finish your shift. You clocked out and changed before anyone knew what hit them, all but running back to your car to make it home. 

Your thoughts run from Sy to Walter and back again so many times, who do you call first? Your ex, who may be struggling through turning right now, OR your boyfriend who doesn’t yet know anything is wrong. Right.

Turning on your car, you let the heat warm up the vehicle while you turn back to your phone. Hitting Sy’s contact, your phone starts to dial him. Three rings and you were just about on the verge of driving out to his house when he picked up.

“Hmph...’lo?” Sy’s sleepy voice sounds downright melodious.

“Oh, my God. Sy, are you ok? I am so sorry I didn’t get your message until now and I had to make sure you were o–“

Sy cuts you off in his confusion. “Bug, it’s...after midnight. You just leaving work?”

“Yeeeeeah, shit. I am so sorry. I just had to make sure you were ok. Getting into fights with wolves and all that, ya know?” The heat permeating your face was enough to make you wish the Earth swallowed you up.

“Wouldn’t say I got into a fight with him. More like, he whooped my ass and I had to shoot him,” he snorts, clearing his throat before speaking again, “Go ‘head and drive home. We can talk while you drive. So you know I’m safe, and I know you’re safe.”

“Yeah, got it,” you pushed the Bluetooth button to take over the call so you could drive and talk at the same time.

The short drive from work to home was just long enough for Sy to reassure you that he was feeling just fine. You made him send you a picture of his bite after you got off the phone. You shouldn’t have been surprised that he would send a fully shirtless pic of him in bed, barely zooming in on the wound on his hip. He looks really good.

The wound looks really good, you shut down whatever your brain decided to get stuck on and ask him for another closer pic. 

At least this time, you can only see half of his six-pack and much less of his happy trail. Thank God for small favors. You can see bruising around the bite, but it looks like it barely broke the skin. What does this mean for a werewolf bite? Who knows. But at least, he—the bite looks good.

You text him to keep you posted if he starts to feel feverish or anything, you can remember from movies and television that werewolves tend to feel feverish when they are changing. Is that accurate? Again, who knows?

But, you know who would know?

You respond with a wink face when Sy thanks you for checking up on him. He responds with his signature kissing heart wink face and you refuse to put any more thought into that shirtless man tonight. You shake your head and exit the messaging app to make a call.

One ring and he picks up, “Hey, Pup. You make it home ok? Just thought you were gonna call a bit ago.”

“Hi, Wolfie. Yeah, I made it home ok, baby. I just had quite a night and had to check in on a friend. I…had to check in on James. Seems you two have met. Uh, there’s no easy way to say this, baby–”

“Slow down, just start from the beginning.” Walter’s calm voice cuts you off and you just blurt everything out.

“You may have turned my ex into a werewolf. You bit him, and he shot you. So, can we freak out now or did you have a better time in mind?” You close your eyes, not sure what you were expecting him to say.

“Now is good, I think.”

Ok, I guess you could have predicted that.

To be continued...

A/N: Very sorry that this took about a month to get out, but my mental health was declining and I had to work on a few things.

**Tag List**

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Let me know if you wanna be added (or removed) 😁 If you are crossed out, tumblr won't let me tag you.

[bradshawsbaby]

Lt. Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw As Your Husband (Pt. I)

Author’s Note: This is my first headcanon for Rooster/Top Gun: Maverick. This man is currently taking up all the space in my brain, so I’d love to continue writing for him!

Warnings: Super fluffy fluff.

- This man literally calls you anything except your given name. Seriously. “Baby,” “baby girl,” darling,” “sugar lips,” “my girl,” “honey.” He has a million and one pet names for you and he isn’t afraid to use them.

- Since your wedding, his favorite thing to call you is “Mrs. Bradshaw.”

- Every morning, before he leaves for work, he always makes sure to give you a kiss goodbye and say, “I love you, Mrs. Bradshaw.”

- “I love you, too, Lieutenant Bradshaw,” you always tell him with a wink, which makes him smile on his way out the door.

- He carries one of your wedding photos with him whenever he flies.

- At your wedding, Rooster definitely took over the piano at one point and serenaded you and your guests with “Great Balls of Fire” in memory of his dad.

- He pulled you down onto his lap while he played, just like Goose always used to do with Carole.

- Maverick made a speech at your wedding about how proud Goose and Carole would be of Bradley, and how much they would have loved you. You could tell it made Rooster emotional, so you squeezed his hand the whole time. He never let go.

- The two of you barely got to eat anything at your wedding because you were too busy spinning around on the dance floor all night.

- For your honeymoon, the two of you spent a week in Hawaii. You’d like to say you took in all the sights, but the truth was that you were pretty well occupied in your hotel suite for the majority of the week.

- Once you got home from your honeymoon, you began working on making your new apartment a real home for you and Rooster. He insisted on handling all the heavy lifting and wanted to ensure that you barely had to lift a finger.

- After a few weeks, once everything was painted and sorted, and all the new furniture was moved in, Rooster made a big show of carrying you over the threshold of the apartment.

- “You really are crazy, you know that?” you laughed, your arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

- “Crazy for you, Mrs. Bradshaw,” he told you with a playful smirk, stealing a kiss.

- “Dork,” you grinned, letting out a squeal of delight as he kissed you again and carried you towards your bedroom.

- As a final touch, you hung your favorite portrait of the two of you from your wedding day in the living room. Beside it, you hung a photograph of Goose and Carole from their wedding.

- “They look so happy,” you murmured softly as Rooster wrapped his arms around your waist from behind and pressed an affectionate kiss to your shoulder. You always wished you could have gotten a chance to meet his parents. You can tell how much he loves them from the stories he’s told you.

- “They were,” Rooster told you, pressing his cheek against yours. “God, they would have loved you.” He tells you that all the time, and you believe him.

- “I would have loved them, too.” Your response brings a smile to his face.

- Rooster is an extremely thoughtful husband. Every night when he comes home from work, he always has a present for you. Usually it’s flowers, but sometimes it’s your favorite candy or a pint of your favorite ice cream.

- “How’s my best girl?” he always asks, giving you a kiss as soon as he walks through the door. It doesn’t matter what you’re doing--cooking dinner, cleaning the bathroom, folding laundry--he always interrupts you with a kiss. It’s an interruption you gladly welcome.

- “I love you so much,” he tells you while you’re lying in his arms at night. “Marrying you is the greatest adventure I’ve ever had.”

[eoieopda]

PM already sent for smut authorization! The Bad Thing - Arctic Monkeys with Kim "NOT a Good Boy" Taehyung. <33

ayyyyyyyy! one of my favorite bands! this might be the smut fic of mine that i like most??? who am i……

listen here

cw: SMUT — 18+ so minors must avert their eyes! married!reader strays from her god-awful husband, public (restroom) sex, v fingering, p in v penetration, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, implied continuing affair, not fully proofread yet lol

(3/4/23) A follow-up, full-length one-shot is available here once you read this!

do the bad thing / take off your wedding ring / but it won’t make it that much easier / it might make it worse

Taehyung hates these firm dinners.

His boss is an asshole with bad taste in restaurants; and the majority of his team is full of retired frat stars who peaked in college. They drink too much, they get loud, and then they get rude to the waitstaff. The worst of them was sat two seats away, guffawing from his spot at the head of the table: Park Ji-won.

Taehyung doesn’t mean to stare, but he can’t help it. Fork clenched a little too tightly in his right hand, he can neither pretend the food in front of him is edible nor peel his narrowed eyes off Ji-won.

That sanctimonious fuck was on his fourth shot of whiskey, ogling any waitress that passed by, and spewing tasteless jokes. Taehyung used to push back in these moments, but he stopped trying because it seemed to hurt more than it helped.

The only person more mortified by Ji-won’s actions — who would be further humiliated by additional attention drawn to them — occupied the space between him and Taehyung: his wife.

Taehyung has spent the past two years wondering if you hate your husband as much as he does. Truth be told, likely more so.

You were supportive. You came with your shithead spouse to all his important work events and you looked perfect at every one of them. To top it all off, you were an incredible conversationalist — successful in your own right, sharp as a tack, and all smiles despite the mouth-breathing troglodyte at your side.

Until he’d start acting like this, that is.

Jaw-dropping as you were, the only one present not paying attention to you was the one who vowed to do so. Publicly, and in front of all your friends and family — in sickness and in health, as long as the two of you live.

And Taehyung can’t fucking stand to watch him ignore you.

You’re not eating, he notices, just sitting quietly with your eyes and head lowered. Maybe you finally look as neglected as you feel. Or maybe, like him, you get through your husband’s antics by imagining you’re elsewhere.

Somewhere exciting.

Taehyung, for example, imagines you staring at your reflection in the bathroom mirror while he fucks you from behind.

“— and then I told her, if you really wanted my business, you should’ve dressed like it. This stupid bitch showed up in a turtleneck like there’s a brain somewhere above those tits!”

You flinch at your husband’s words, then at his laugh, then at the high-five he exchanges with his boss. God, you poor fucking thing — cheeks burning with embarrassment, eyes flicking over to Taehyung to communicate an apology you shouldn’t have to make.

You don’t flinch, however, when Taehyung’s right hand bumps against the side of your left thigh as he pulls it off the table.

Your little black dress is tasteful when you’re standing, but it rode up when you sat down earlier. His knuckles brushed against your bare skin when he retracted his hand and he saw the way it made you hold your breath. He sees the way you keep glancing at him and the way you’re pretending not to.

So, Taehyung gambles.

With how closely everyone is packed at the table, no one’s the wiser when he slowly extends his arm in your direction. Millimeter by millimeter, his hand hovers closer until he’s able to run the knuckle of his index finger over that same bit of flesh.

Not an accident, but calculated. Subtle, too, and soft as a whisper. You clench your thigh reflexively, but you don’t move away. If anything, your leg shifts closer.

So, you did feel it — and you liked it.

Taehyung is emboldened; his rapidly beating heart has blood pumping through his veins, down down down instead of up. Certainly not to his brain, the one thing that could’ve stopped him from sliding his hand overtop of yours.

From pinching that gaudy wedding ring between his thumb and middle finger, and slipping it off to claim in the palm of his hand.

You don’t stop him when he pulls his hand back and stuffs it into the pocket of his slacks. You do follow him with your eyes as he stands up, pushes in his chair, and excuses himself.

One quick glance over his shoulder tells him you’re still watching as he walks towards the hallway ahead.

When he dips out of view, he keeps walking until he reaches the single, gender-neutral bathroom at the very end of the hall. Unlike the gendered bathrooms on either side, this one has no stalls — less risk of interruption.

Even better, the speaker spilling soft jazz into the restaurant is built into the ceiling, directly above its door — less risk of being overheard.

He ducks inside, shuts the door behind him, and crosses to the counter. Once he reaches it, he turns and leans against it with his gaze zeroed in on the door in front of him. He doesn’t know for certain that you’ll follow, but he hopes to god that you do.

After a few minutes, there’s a soft knock at the door.

He doesn’t say a word in response, opting to wait with his arms crossed over his chest. He tilts his head to the side as the door opens slowly. Warm all over, he smiles to himself when he sees the pointed toe of your black stiletto through the widening crack.

Then you appear, looking good enough to eat. There’s conflict in your expression, but your body language doesn’t convey the same sense of doubt. The steps you continue to take toward him are purposeful. When you finally close the distance, he can see it clear as day:

You want this and you feel awful for that, but you can’t stop yourself. Taehyung won’t be the one to try.

“I’ve never received a proposition in the form of grand theft,” you words tease, but your tone is the shyest he’s ever heard it. Oh, you angel. “Are you always this forward?”

He scoffs and tells you the truth, “Absolutely not.”

Never in his life had Taehyung pictured himself being so reckless as to make a pass at someone’s wife while they’re seated right next to her. But, then again, he’s never seen someone sit next to their wife and fail to give a shit that she’s there. Time after time after time.

You shift your weight from one foot to the other. So fucking cute when you’re shy. You decide to be reckless too and quirk an eyebrow, “Then, what? You’ve decided that I’m special?”

Taehyung feels the heat radiating off your body with how closely you stand to him. He leans forward, lowering his head as he towers over you and whispers, “No, I didn’t.”

Your eyes are locked on his when they narrow. Your red-tinted lips form a pout that he wants to kiss right off your face; and you part them to speak.

“You did,” he answers before you can ask. It surprises you, judging by the way you blink in response, but it shouldn’t.

So, Taehyung puts his hands on your waist and silently instructs you to switch places. As soon as he’s got you in front of the mirror, he spins you around so that your back is pressed against his chest. You gasp, but he’s not sure if it’s the movement that shocks you, or the pressure of his hardening cock against your ass.

Through the mirror, your puzzled eyes regard him carefully. He looks down, only for a moment, to watch the way your chest heaves with the weight of your breathing. When his eyes drift back up to yours, he drops one hand to pinch the hem of your dress between his fingers.

“You’re not special because someone looked at you and decided you were.” His voice is low as his lips hover near the satin skin of your neck. You’re vibrating in his arms when he begins to tug the bottom of your dress upwards. “He never looks at you and you’re still this fucking perfect.”

With the fabric pulled up high enough, his hand falls slowly down towards your core. He can nearly feel your heartbeat with his mouth so close to your pulse point; but he doesn’t kiss you there.

Not yet.

If he had, he would have missed the desire washing over your face when his fingers nimbly pull the lace of your thong to the side. All he can do is behold that whimpering mouth as he slides his finger through your slicked folds; and makes contact with your touch-starved clit.

“What I don’t understand,” Taehyung starts with a murmur. You gasp as his fingertip swirls against you, but you still look straight ahead at his reflection through fluttering lids. “Is how anyone could stand to look anywhere else.”

God, you’re so fucking wet.

You moan so softly, it sounds like a sigh. It’s all he can think about, and he has to ask:

“When was the last time you were touched like this?”

His finger glides from your clit slowly, relishing your arousal as he approaches your entrance. Whether consciously or not, your hips swivel slightly against his pelvis.

A girl like you should never have to beg.

His middle finger penetrates you and your breath catches in your throat. When it finally slips through your parted lips, that mewl is the prettiest fucking sound he’s ever heard.

“Like you deserve to be touched.”

His palm is drenched in your wet heat as you grind against his hand. Your reservations leave you when the pad of his finger finds that neglected spot behind your pubic bone. You bite down on your plush bottom lip and swirl your hips in tandem with his ministrations.

He leaves a chaste kiss on your neck without taking his eyes off of you. You unravel in his arms, fluttering around his finger as your orgasm overtakes you. Biting harder on your lip to muffle your moans, your manicured fingernails dig into his arm as it holds you tight against him.

“You shouldn’t have to silence yourself for other people,” he mutters against your skin before he kisses you again. Then, his tongue leaves a wet stripe over the same area. “Or shrink yourself to make anyone else feel taller.”

Your voice is raspy when you finally speak, but despite the hushed tone, there’s no ignoring your demand:

“Fuck me, Taehyung.”

Taehyung removes his hands from you just long enough to wrestle with his belt. He jerks down his slacks and boxer briefs, all in one urgent move. You lean forward against the counter; your perfect cunt glistening, begging him to sheath himself inside of you.

The sound you make as he fills you is just as heavenly as it is obscene.

He clenches his jaw as he bottoms out, but he manages to grunt, “Shit — what kind man wastes pussy like this? You’re squeezing me so fucking tight.”

It’s an unconscious decision — something primal, instinctive — to hold your arms behind your back, pinning them with his own against his chest. You whimper at the change in angle. Now, his cock drags over your g-spot with every thrust as he fucks himself into you.

“How could anyone leave a bed that they get to share with you?” He purrs with his mouth at your ear, and you keen, “I’d never leave the house again. Fuck!”

You whimper until he rolls his hips at a more feverish pace. Notably, you don’t silence yourself when you orgasm a second time. It’s music to his ears, hearing that uninhibited moaning as he fucks you through your high.

And that face!

Your eyelids shut so delicately despite how completely your orgasm consumes you — still so beautiful, even with the mess he’s making of you.

How can a person fall asleep next to you, wake up next to you, and not see you? He can’t fathom it — how someone could ignore the soft angles of your features and the ethereal glow of your skin. This is the face that could launch a thousand ships; and he’d volunteer to go down on any one of them just to see you like this.

“Holy s-shit,” you hiccup as he continues to drive himself into you, “Don’t ever stop fucking me. Fuck — Taehyung, you’re going to make me come again —“

The third time hits you the hardest.

Your back arches away from him and your head falls against his shoulder; you’re shaking. But he doesn’t stop, not when he follows you off the cliff, not while he releases inside of you — not until your cunt milks every last drop from his twitching cock.

The two of you are silent for the few minutes it takes both of your souls to return to your bodies. It’s just panted breaths, the rustling of clothes. You shimmy your dress back down to hide the evidence; he locks himself away behind a zipper.

When you’re both presentable again, you turn around to find him reaching in his pocket. Taehyung swears there’s disappointment stowed away in your eyes, but he doesn’t know what to do with it. His fingers finally find that gaudy, broken promise — but your hand on his forearm stops him before he can fish it out.

“Hold onto it for now.”

Your eyes are wide as if you also can’t believe what you just said. There’s a spark in them as they flit from your grasp to his face. The tiniest upward twitch at the corner of your mouth when you follow up with:

“It’ll be my reason to swing by yours later tonight. Ji-won won’t notice its absence — or mine.”

(3/4/23) What happens next...

[parad-ice-lostandfound]

omg we're mutuals??? i'm flattered honestly since my only other moot (do people say that?) is my rp partner/bestie so i feel like that doesn't really count. so like, i've never done a request before, and i never get requests (defo not sulking abt that lol) but can i maybe get some ace content? i have no idea why i like him so much honestly since he's a lil shit (affectionate), but i do and i have to live with it now. i'm terrible at coming up with shorter prompt ideas, which is probably why i've never requested from anyone before, so sorry that this is so vague. i give you creative license to write whatever you want, just no angst plz. is it weird for a self-proclaimed angst writer to specifically not want angst for their requests? i dunno. feel free to delete this if it's not what you're feeling at the time or i've somehow violated your rules, which i did read. sorry, i talk way too much.

AN: Hi! Don't worry about talking too much, I enjoyed reading it! And I agree, Ace is a little shit, but he's also very cute and occupies space in my brain without paying rent :(

Jokes aside, I hope you like this just as much as I liked writing it! May we never be cured of the loving Ace disease <3

Prompt: can i maybe get some ace content? i have no idea why i like him so much honestly since he's a lil shit (affectionate), but i do and i have to live with it now.

Pairing: Ace Trappola x GN!Reader/Prefect/Yuu

Genre: Fluff

TW: NA

Ace was a menace.

A menace of the highest degree, whose sole purpose in life sometimes seemed to be making you burst a vein with irritation.

A menace who was holding out a bouquet of roses for you, trying to act nonchalant even as his cheeks were tinted a soft red. His eyes were hidden by his sunglasses, but you had no doubt that they were focused on you and your reaction.

"What's this?" You hummed, taking the bouquet and cradling it in your arms. For something that looked so elegant and dainty it sure was heavy, and you were wondering how long Ace had stood outside Ramshackle with them before finally ringing the bell.

Ace cleared his throat, breaking you out of your reverie. He looked effortlessly stylish in everything he wore, but it seemed like he had taken special care with his appearance for today. If he'd given you a warning, maybe you'd have changed into something nicer than your pajamas...

"I, um, I came here to ask you something," he said, voice somber as if he was going to give you bad news. 'But who gives bad news with a bouquet of roses?' You thought to yourself, pushing down the part of you that was ready to overthink the smallest of incidents. You nodded to him to continue.

"Will... uh, will you be m-my Valentine this year?" He trailed off at the end of his sentence, voice breaking slightly. You blinked.

"Your Valentine?"

Ace made a face of indignation at your question. "Oh no, I was actually speaking on behalf of Deuce. Look, there he is, right where you left your last braincell," he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Are you trying to make me say no?" You asked, narrowing your eyes at him. Shifting the bouquet to one hand, you acted as if you were going to close the door with him still outside. Not that you actually would, but it was still fun to see his eyes widen comically at your action, hand shooting out to stall for time.

"Wait, no that– don't take everything so seriously," he whined, holding the door to stop you from shutting it in his face. You rolled your eyes at his dramatics, letting go of the door but turning and making your way inside. With your back turned to him, you smiled.

"Come in and help me find a vase for these roses," you said, and Ace followed you obediently, refraining from making any other sarcastic remarks that would have him stand outside the house as though he were in timeout for misbehaving.

Once you found a vase big enough to hold all the roses, you filled it with water. As you placed the flowers in it, you felt two strong arms circling your waist and a weight settling on your shoulder.

"So... be my valentine?" He asked again, voice slightly muffled against your shoulder.

"Give me one good reason to be your valentine," you hummed, not relenting even as Ace whined about you being unfair to him, he got you roses, how could you be so cruel—

Every indignant rise and fall of his voice had the smile on your lips growing and the urge to burst out laughing increasing. You bit your lip to stifle your amusement, but he caught it anyways.

"You little– you were trying to make me beg for it, huh?" He accused you, voice playful as he poked your sides. A peal of laughter left you as you tried to dodge his pokes, your hands swatting at his.

"Stop it!"

"Not until you say yes!"

Breaking free from his hold, you ran to the living room, your giggles filling the air as Ace followed, hot on your trail. You were fast, but Ace was faster, and you blamed hisbeing a member of the basketball club for him managing to foil all your attempts at getting away.

Pinned under him on the couch, you squirmed as he continued tickling you. Laughter left you both breathless and red in the face, and you wheezed when Ace decided to flop on top of you, his weight pressing your body down against the couch.

You hit him lightly at his shoulder. "Get off, you're heavy!"

"Nope. That's what you get for being a brat and trying to make me beg for you to be my valentine when you and I both know your answer'd be yes."

You stuck your tongue out at him, and he mirrored your actions, before he made himself comfortable against you and settled against your chest.

[neochan]

MISCHIEF (M)

PARING | loki!jeno x reader ft. thor!haechan

SYNOPSIS | the god of mischief wants you

WC | 1k

WARNINGS | kidnapping, implied sexual references, slight cnc / dubcon

A.N | okay i've been super into marvel lately, so here is a little drabble inspired by that. please pay attention to the pairings! btw this will be continued in full over on my marvel blog, though it will be with actual loki and thor

“i didn’t expect to be seeing you on your knees so soon darling.”

the god slouches leisurely against his high-back throne. dark green and golden metal that went beyond that of earth complemented his fair complexion, the jagged spikes at the top reminiscent of the hungry gleam in his eye. one of his legs is dragged towards his chest, a toned arm slung across the knee. it was uncommon to see a god in such a state. unbothered, unproper, inappropriate for someone of his status.

you suppose he could do what he wished. that much was evident in the situation at hand, literally. fingers uncomfortably dig into the skin of your upper arms, half pulling, half dragging, you along the cool marble floor until you were situated on your scraped knees before the god. the binding holding your wrists together behind your back pinches the skin, but you don’t cry out. in fact, you give them nothing.

his guards don’t let go until he flicks a hand in their direction, dismissing them from their duty. he looks unbothered when he does it, as if you hadn’t been the very thing he scoured the multiverse for. years on end, tracking, searching, yearning for you. the very thing needed to satiate that hunger in his eyes; the reprieve for an insatiable creature. it was only by your incompetence that he captured you. falling for his mind tricks – something so simple yet so incredibly careless. you’d beat yourself up every single second you spent in the tiny cell you were in – tucked away in the corner of his ship where no one could hear you yelling obscenities at yourself, the guards, the god.

without thinking, you spit in his direction. you hated him. despised him. the guards go to grab you again but jeno simply waves them off, “no need gentlemen. seem’s like our visitor here needs to learn manners. please occupy yourselves with something else so i can teach her.”

the two men bow low to the ground before retreating to tend to other matters on the ship. not like there was much to do, you were drifting through deep space. some place no one would find you. not even haechan.

“haechan will come looking for me.” you seethe, gritting your teeth when jeno hops up off the stool and tauntingly saunters towards you.

his footsteps echo through the room. the noise makes your stomach churn, and you fear him for a second. he was a god. someone so powerful he could rip your existence from time and space. he should be feared. you knew he could sense it too, a smug smirk lifting the corner of his upper lip.

“my brother isn’t even aware of your disappearance.” the annoyance on his tongue at their familial tie is evident.

that couldn’t be. he knew you were gone. he was probably assembling the avengers as you spoke, he was probably already on his way, maybe even close-

“oh my darling y/n, he’s not on his way. and he’s definitely not close.”

mind reading. you sneer, “fuck off.”

“what filthy words for a pretty girl like you. do i need to wash your mouth out with soap like a child?” his eyebrows raise, features mimicking faux concern.

spit works itself up in your mouth, but right before you’re about to project it in his direction, his hand reaches out and squeezes your jaw, “you are a child. didn’t your mommy and daddy teach you not to spit on people. gods, i expected more from you.” his calloused fingers squeeze harder, “swallow.”

you have no choice but to comply.

“now, why don’t i teach you how to properly use that mouth of yours, hm?”

the heat that was threatening to pool between your legs betrays your brain, which was screaming at you to say no. to break free of the binds and get the fuck out of there.

“darling, i can feel it. you want – need it as much as i do.” he lets go of your jaw and takes a step back, “it’s distracting…overwhelming.” his eyes close and he breathes deep, “your body… it’s tense. waiting for...”he smirks, and you feel the familiar probe of his mind searching your own, “my fingers?” his eyes snap open, “gods, you have a thing for my hands? oh darling it’s too late to deny it now.”

you hated how intrusive he was. how he could take any of the thoughts from your brain and devour them. a personal diary for the picking.

“stop reading my mind! i d-don’t have a thing for your hands. LET ME GO!” your scream rings out through the foyer. this was humiliating. defeating. you just wanted to go home.

“my sweet, i can make this your home. your empire.” he kneels down in front of you, a hand reaching out to caress the same jaw he had nearly crushed earlier, “i didn’t almost crush your jaw. i was stopping you from ruining my suit.”

doe eyes peak up at him with anger, “get your hands off of me.”

“would you rather them be here?” light as a feather, his fingers trail down the side of your throat, favoring the front of the tattered shirt you were in. they slip underneath the hem and slide over the expanse of your stomach.

the gasp that leaves your lips is a betrayal of your own mind.

“i know you want this darling. give in to me.” the god of mischief, chaos, and trickery stares at you through his heavy lashes. you knew he could manipulate someone’s mind, make them bend to his will with one look, but as you nod your head slowly, the words refusing to come out, you realize that there was no manipulation.

he was right all along.

[bamdelune]

in crimson, there is clarity﹒░ scara x reader

summary ➜ a continuation to the two-part mini series i made, contemplation in crimson. estranged lovers attempt to tighten up some loose ends.

genres/tags/warnings ➜ angst, hurt/comfort and hurt/no comfort themes, cyno tries to help, arguing, both of them suck at feelings, totally different writing style from the last two !!

— and i hope to never see you again.

Your nonchalance was something to be feared. Prolonged periods of silence, a million thoughts behind a tug of your lips upwards, albeit it felt too tight and you were certain anyone who knew better would've saw right through you.

You actively avoided anything that had to do anything with him. Puspa Café became a restricted area within your heart, the gazebo near the Akademiya where fruitful conversations and trivial thoughts passed you by became a deserted arch under the moon, and you had kept all his belongings in a secure box hidden at Kaveh and Alhaitham's house. They understood you, pitied you even.

Akademiya scholars and higher-ups blew their whispered assumptions into the air that you walked in, straying away from you the moment they feel your silent aura filled the room. For someone who was reserved enough as commander, the higher degree of quiet unnerved everyone and anyone. No one ever saw an inch of you anywhere else but your office and home, with only the occasional grocery runs to help satisfy their curiosity.

— get out. my dreams aren't your home.

Despite your diligence to avoid any sort of memory with that man, he somehow worked his way back into your dreams so easily, as if your thoughts was where he belonged. As much as any rational thought tried to push him out, some part of you would always let him in. After all, how could one night of immense hurt compete with the countless days of the warmth you shared.

But nevermind that, everything between the two of you was cold as the gaze you pierced into him, the one filled with the sounds of the broken shards of your heart. The pieces of your love that you tried so hard to pick up right after.

But at night, you can't help but wonder. Wonder if things went differently, the empty and unwrinkled space beside you on the mattress would still be occupied today. Nights were cold, midnights were lonelier, daybreak seemed to be the heaviest.

— when you think of me, i hope you are filled with distate and pure hatred.

"You look like dogshit." Cyno remarks, having opened the big doors to your office. You shoot him a tired glare, eyes raising from the stack of never-ending paperwork that seemed to love landing on the lowest of your days.

You let go of the pen in your hand, freely letting it fall to the wood of your clearly occupied desk. "I'll have you know you're still at work. I don't think you should be talking to a title like that, General Mahamatra," your lips thin into a straight line at his off-hand comment.

Cyno chuckles, though it was quick. "When were you one to care about what I said?"

If there was one thing more pestering than the hefty papers on your workspace, it was Cyno. You cherish him to no end, as a general and as a friend, but he would do good with some kicks to his head at certain times.

"State your business, Cyno. As you can clearly see, I don't have time for this," you gesture to the unorganized mess on your desk, a sarcastic look nursing on your face.

Cyno heaves a sigh, as if he was far too reluctant to delegate this news to you.

"He wants to see y—"

You're quick to interrupt him, with the usual response you started giving a month ago.

"No."

He gives you a knowing look, crossing his arms. At that moment, you knew you won't get anything past him at this point.

"Don't give me that look, General. I have my reasons." Your eyes train back to the words on the paper below your nose, but they don't seem to register into your brain.

He seemed to never waver when it came to asking for your audience during the last thirty days. The first few days absolutely wrecked you behind closed doors, the moment Cyno would leave you alone, with fat salty tears streaming down the corners of your face in pure frustration and hurt. Resolve was what you needed to build and that week, it began to crack with the lines of longing for his voice, his touch, his gaze, and his own presence. You were tempted, using the route that would brush past the location of his confinement the moment you clocked off but resolve began to build up, to your happiness.

The longing didn't come at work. No, it came at home during the wee hours, when the hands of the clock greeted the late numbers on top.

"You say you have your reasons. I'll give you that, yes. But your reason should've ended the moment you filed his arrest report. It's past about you as a commander now, (name), but you as his l—"

"Don't," You give him a hard look, "I'm not his anymore nor is he mine. He's just another one of our criminals, nothing more nor less."

Cyno pokes the inner wall of his cheek, before taking off his headpiece. Your eyes stay on him, with slight curiosity.

"This is a symbolic gesture, (name). I'm taking this off to let you know I'm talking to you as a friend, not as your superior," he says before continuing. "Talk to him. It would do you some good. If you still love him, fine by us but know your limits. If you don't, then that counts as a step to closure. You're a mess, you can barely work in that state. The new recruits might as well piss themselves in training by the dirty glare you give them."

Damn Cyno for being headstrong, never helped with shit.

"Go away." You retort, althought your response came out less impactful than you intended.

"You know I'm right." Cyno puts his headpiece back on before leaving through your office doors, stopping just below the doorframe.

"Room 0101, have Kuia accompany you up until the reception." Just like that, Cyno left.

When you hear the door shut, you bury your face in the palms of your hands as you groan. Today could have gone like any other. Coming into work with at a punctual time, going through mounds of paperworks; project proposals, research permits, and alike, and finally clocking out no later than eight-thirty p.m., but Cyno pressed otherwise. Dread begins to wrap itself tightly around your body, like a monster whispering the worst for your brain to register with a sinister smile.

The day only got longer from there.

— stop looking at me like that, as if i hung the stars up in the sky.

Cyno's subordinate from the Matra patiently waited for you by the time the dawn of night hit the Akademiya, standing on-guard by the elevator going down to the hall of confinement where prisoners were held.

"Kuia," you greet with a polite smile etched on your face, "good evening." She greets you back in the same manner, giving you a small salute on her chest before letting you enter the elevator first.

"I assume Cyno reminded you of a few things about this visit?"

Kuia presses the button going down and stands within a few inches to your right, the captain responds with a nod.

"The General Mahamatra specifically told me that you shall be left alone until the timer went out." You cock your head to the side. That's all? Thank the archons above that he didn't remember to tell Kuia that—

"He also instructed me to standby by the entrance only and avoid accompanying you during your alotted time frame."

Cyno is a headstrong individual, and you thank him greatly for that trait. However, when it comes to petty interests like these that concerned you, he seemed to be more determined to become more stubborn that he usually was.

"Damn guy can't even forget a thing. That's Cyno for you, Captain," you sigh with a soft chuckle at the back of your voice before the elevator opens with a ding.

Kuia stays back as ordered by Cyno prior by the entrance as she grants you clearance to enter a hall. Who knew the Akademiya treated even prisoners like celebrities with the amount of marble material displayed in the flooring. In response, you click a small tch in amusement before striding forward to his cell.

The moment you started getting closer, your heart began to leap out of your chest. Why was this far too nerve-wracking for your liking? You've done this before.

You've known him before.

So why would you have any reason to be nervous, to be afraid of something unsaid and undone? Why do you fear the look of his face when he finally sees you again?

You stride to his room, Block 0101 and lightly knock on the long glass window that had a telephone on its right. Your eyes catch a glimpse of indigo streaked hair as his legs kicked off the bed and stood up to face you.

Your breath catches in your throat, your fists clench and unclench from the fidgeting you were doing. His head is down before he takes the telephone on his end.

His face is finally shown. Despite the slightly prominent bags under his tired eyes, he still looked as charming as ever however, admitting that only proves to be ammunition should anyone hear it.

"Commander," your spine chills at his use of your title, his tone was received with uncertainty on your part. Your mind raced with different questions: Does he hate you? Did the both of you have something, even? Did he still mean anything to you at all?

"Kunukuzushi."

Your tongue tosses his name in your mouth, the pronunciation coming to you almost like muscle memory. He once told you that you pronounced his name slightly better than others, he loved hearing his name ghost your lips.

"How are you?" He asks with a slight smile, you're uncertain whether or not it was an authentic one or not.

How are you?

You've been asked that questions so many times in the span of a month and a half. You always had an answer, automatic to reply.

You've always said you were well.

But now that it was Kunikuzushi's turn to ask that question, you suddenly ponder on it.

How have you been?

Each night you spent alone, skin cold without the familiar warmth of touch. Each morning you woke up to silence instead of the soft greetings of good morning. Each day you dragged yourself to work, riddled with guilt and hurt and everything in between. All because of the man who stands in front of you.

"I'm doing good." Truthfully, what was he going to do if you said otherwise? Comfort you? All the right and the opportunities flew out the window the moment you planned his arrest.

You two contradict each other in the worst way possible, like a paradox that oppose each other in most ways but still find a way to create a crooked harmony of a relationship.

"That's great," was all he replied with.

"Look, let's skip the formalities." You start, crossing your arms and looking at him dead straight in the eyes. "Why do you call me here non-stop? It's a hindrance to work. You're becoming a distraction."

You internally wince at how sharp-edged your words were, you were lying. You would never ever even think of uttering those words to him, knowing Kunikuzushi better. He was better than that.

Kunikuzushi was your favorite distraction.

"You wound me, Commander."

He breaks into a small smile, but his voice is lined with a minor crack caused by the slight shock from your reply.

"I missed you," his tone became serious, punctuating it with a huff of an exhale. It made your heart stop, did he really? Was it... possible?

You don't say anything for a while, eyes anywhere but on his. You would crack under his gaze should you look at him, your resolve would always waver in his presence. He made you feel safe in vulnerability, but did he use that against you at any point behind your back?

"Was any of it real?" Cut to the chase, the quicker you leave, the better.

"What was?"

You roll your lips into your mouth, wondering the best way to word this.

"How much of it was real? Us."

It was his turn to be quiet, you couldn't see it but he fiddled with his fingers in pondering.

"All of it."

"Bullshit," you scoff with a laugh.

"I mean it, you won't believe me but that's the least of my worries."

You search his expression carefully, you couldn't find hints of a joke, that he was playing a sick prank on you. Would it really be fine to believe him?

"Why don't you hate me?"

Kunikuzushi laughs, a genuine one like the answer to your question was humorously obvious.

"Do I really have to spell it out for you?"

Yoy started to get a little frustrated, why can't he just simply tell it like it is? Why couldn't he look you right in the eye and be as blunt like he usually w—

"Because I love you, (name). If it wasn't obvious enough, I'll say it again. I love you, I love you, I love you."

All counts of irritation seep out onto the floor as he spoke, your body tenses less and you find it easier to breathe.

After all that, Kunikuzushi finds it in himself to tie his heart to yours for you to take, for you to own, for yours to love.

You'd sacrifice him to save the world, but he'd burn everything else if it meant he could keep you. He was yours, always and forevermore. Kunikuzushi does not plan on changing that fact, set in stone for eternity.

"Run away with me." He blurts out, almost a whisper with how gentle his tone was, like it was almost pleading for you.

Your automatic answer would've been no like the virtuous leader you are, but irrationality and longing take the forefront of your decision-making. Must he always be this convincing? This choice and everything you door say right after jeopardizes everything you stand for and everyone you lead. Should you say yes, you are estranged from the Akademiya and from the Matra.

But as you look back into the indigo pools of his eyes, all thoughts seem to quiet down. This could work, this could give you the life that was ripped away from you by your own actions in the past.

Your hand seemed to come alive on its own and reaches for the set of keys that unlock the cells of the hall of confinement, fiddling through each one with the familiar pattern of Kunikuzushi's cell before twisting it in place into the keyhole.

You shouldn't be doing this. Hell, you should have never come down here in the first place.

The lock clicks free and Kunikuzushi feels the air of the door swinging into his face, brushing his weaves of hair softly before he truly comes face-to-face with you. Your heart thumps violently in your chest, the course of actions you've just done—treason, to be exact, twisted your system into adrenaline rush.

"Don't make me regret this." You shoot him a look.

"You won't regret anything, lover."

© bamdelune 2023 — do not copy/plagiarize my works. reposting/translating without permission is not allowed.

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

🦇 Late Bloomer Book Review 🦇

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐

❓ #QOTD What's your favorite type of flower? ❓ 🦇 After winning the lottery, Opal Devlin puts all her money in a failing flower farm, only to find an angry (albeit gorgeous) Pepper Boden already living there. Though she's unable to find her grandmother's will, Pepper claims she's the rightful owner of Thistle and Bloom Farms. While they agree to cohabitate, Opal and Pepper clash at every turn. Can something softer blossom between these polar opposites, allowing a new dream to take root and grow?

💜 Oh. My. (Sappho.) Goddess. You may think you know Mazey Eddings' writing style, but I assure you, you do not. Many of us read The Plus One and/or Tily in Technicolor last year, but truly, Eddings has far exceeded herself with this one. As a neurodiverse author, Eddings' stories often have some element of neurodiversity / mental health, shining a light on the different ways people's brains work while embracing those differences through beautiful, realistic characters. Opal and Pepper are no different, both on the spectrum yet unique in their behaviors and view of the world. These women are not predictable, pre-programmed components of a story; they are ever-blooming, learning how to plant roots alongside one another, share sunlight, and rise despite being different species. Both plants, growing and adapting to different elements, yet very much the same. While Opal and Pepper have always struggled to fit in with the world around them, they manage to cultivate a safe, healthy garden for one another.

💜 This is one of those overwhelming, layered, awe-inspiring sapphic stories that will tug at your heartstrings long after you read it. Eddings' language leaps off the page, making it a little reminiscent of One Last Stop (be still, my little sapphic heart). I've beyond annotated Late Bloomer, when I'm usually selective about choosing quotes. You don't just see love blossom between these two women; you feel it. It made me smile, laugh, get all messy and misty-eyed. As I said, neither woman is predictable. Opal feels directionless at the story's start, allowing her (fake) best friend and (on/off) ex to step all over her. I expected her to be the wallflower, especially with the BITE we see from Pepper (pun unintended) in her first chapter, but the two balance each other out. When Pepper feels uncertain or anxious, Opal steps forward, bold and unwavering. When Opal begins to crumble, Pepper holds her up. They support each other, never allowing the other to wilt.

💙 Unfortunately, this book relies heavily on miscommunication. Both women are eager to hide their real feelings at the risk of scaring the other. That lack of communication continues until almost the last chapter.

🦇 Recommended for fans of One Last Stop and Imogen, Obviously. Side note: please, please read the author's note. Good goddess.

✨ The Vibes ✨ 🌼 Neurodivergency/Autism Spectrum 🌸 Sapphic Romance 🌷 Grief/Healing 🌹 Forced Proximity ⚡ Spicy/First Time 🪻 Cottage Core Vibes 🪻 One Bed ⚡ Touch Her and You Die 🌹 Dual POV 🌷 Miscommunication 🌸 Flower Competition 🌻 Grumpy/Sunshine

🦇 Major thanks to the author @mazeyeddings and publisher for providing an ARC of this book via Netgalley. 🥰 This does not affect my opinion regarding the book. #LateBloomer

💬 Quotes ❝ I’m constantly trying to define myself, to fit nicely and neatly into the boxes and spaces I attempt to occupy. All I’ve ever really wanted to do was belong. Somewhere. Anywhere. ❞ ❝ Slowly, she leans toward me, and my heart pounds so violently in my chest that my head swims. Is she . . . It almost seems like she’s going to press that smile to my mouth. Teach me how it tastes. ❞ ❝ I gave up perfection in any other aspect of my life long ago. It’s simply not possible with a brain like mine. But my art is different; it’s the better version of me, the one I wish people could know me by. ❞ ❝ Ah. There’s the you I missed. ❞ ❝ I used to stress over finding a label that fit me. Lesbian. Bisexual. Pan. Demi . . . I’ve filtered through them all many times over, none ever feeling quite right. Just say queer and move on with your life, Diksha finally told me late one night after what was probably my sixth sexual identity crisis of my early twenties. But what does that mean? I’d wailed, draining more boxed wine into my plastic cup. My brain loves order and labels and concise frameworks to understand things, and not knowing where I fit feels unbearable. It means you’re you, and only you get to decide who you like and when you like them, Tal had said from their chair in the corner. The name of your feelings isn’t anyone’s business but yours. ❞ ❝ But instead, she reaches out to me— opening her hand like a flower unfurling its petals to the sun. I stare at it. The ink stains and calluses and chipped nails and bitten cuticles. For a moment, that hand looks like a second chance. ❞ ❝ Fuck anything and anyone that made you have to survive instead of live. You deserve a life so peaceful it feels deliciously boring. A life filled with flowers and sunny days and people that show you all the time that you’re valued and worthy. You deserve it all.” ❞ ❝ “Her poems spoke softly— as intimately as confessions between lovers—about the terrible, wonderful ache of being in love.” ❞ ❝ Messy and radiant and ours. ❞

[depressedhatakekakashi]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!!

Thank you!!! (I swear i wasn’t ignoring your ask i just wanted to come up with a ficlet idea and it was mo easy my brain decided to call it quits on me for a bit today XD)

Kakashi wasn’t used to being approached by people randomly in the streets with work. Outside of the office people generally understood that he didn’t want to deal with paperwork, meetings or general Hokage’s work.

Not everyone knew that, of course. Or even if they did they weren’t guaranteed to care too much about how he felt about being presented with a task while he was trying to relax.

Case in point: Kabuto.

Kakashi had been enjoying a relaxing sip of tea after an exhausting day of meetings with Konoha’s resident annoyances, otherwise known as the elders, when Kabuto walked right up to him and slapped a paper down on the table in front of him.

“Hello to you too,”He sighed, barely paying the paper any attention as he focused on Kabuto. “Did you need something?”

“Your signature,” the man answered as he jabbed a finger into the paper right where Kakashi needed to sign. “For an extension to the orphanage.”

“An extension?” This was the first he was hearing of such a request. “Why does the orphanage need an extension? It was just built three years ago.”

A fact that he knew well. He’d signed the papers and agreed to Sasuke’s suggestion of having Kabuto take care of the the kids that would be placed into the orphanage.

“There’s more kids than the original building design accounted for,” Kabuto explained with the same calculated approach he’d always used when speaking with Kakashi. “I currently have fifty kids who are sharing rooms because we ran out of space.

Fifty kids. That seemed like a lot for a building that had been created to accommodate one hundred. Clearly they had underestimated just how many orphan’s would be in need of a new home after the war ended.

The problem was, if Kakashi signed the paperwork and sent it through the regular channels it would take months, if not years, for the extension to be built.

That was too long for those kids to be crammed into small rooms together with little or no privacy.

“Alright,” he sat up and claimed the pen that Kabuto had set down on top of the file. With three quick strokes it was officially signed. Work could move ahead without issue. “Ah,” he used the pen to smack Kabuto’s hand when he reached out to reclaim it. “I still need that.”

“For what, exactly?”

“Well, I have a plan that might shorten the time you’ll have to wait for the extension to be finished. Of course,” a realization struck. His plan wouldn’t work if Kabuto was in the building when he brought along the shinobi he was thinking of using to complete the job quickly.

Narrowing his eyes, Kabuto searched Kakashi’s face for an explanation. “Don’t tell me… will he help?”

“For you? No,” there was no doubt about it in Kakashi’s mind. If Tenzo knew that Kabuto was anywhere near the area he’d refuse to come, and that was fair. Kakashi would never force him to occupy the same space as the man who’d tortured him. “For me? Well, it’s possible.”

It would take a lot of sweet talk and a little bit of bribery, but he was sure he could convince Tenzo to do it. If anything it would get him away from his mission of watching over Orochimaru for a short period.

A break that he was certain Tenzo desperately needed.

Setting the pen down, he grabbed the cup of tea he’d been nursing before Kabuto had so rudely interrupted him and held it under his nose. The gentle aroma of green tea filled his nostrils as a wave of calm washed over him. “Just give me a few days,” he continued, already working on a plan to convince Yamato to do the job. “And make sure you’re out of the orphanage when I tell you.”

“Alright, if that’s what it takes then fine,” turning his back to him, Kabuto took two short steps forward before stopping and glancing back at Kakashi over his shoulder. “And… thank you. The kids will appreciate it.”

Settling back into his seat Kakashi raised his cup of tea into the air. A small gesture that Kabuto returned with a simple nod before continuing down the road back towards the orphanage.

Once he was far enough away that Kakashi was certain he would no longer be able to hear him, he slumped back into his chair and stared down at the paper he had just signed. “Now, time for the hard part.”

He wondered if there was anything in the world he could offer to Tenzo in return for his help with the extension. After all, Tenzo hated Kabuto with every fiver of his being, and for a very good reason.

He’d have every right to laugh in Kakashi’s face and tell him to take a hike.

[the-kaedageist]

I'm inconsistent in terms of reflecting on my writing habits, but after such a difficult year, I felt as though it was time. I've been surprised at how much exhaustion, burnout, and war has sapped my creativity and my ability to write, even though it makes total sense. I've been trying to be patient with myself anyway. In accounting for these last couple days of 2023, I've also been trying to appreciate the writing that I did accomplish in the last year.

Regrets

I really had hoped to finish posting the Tusk Love sequel this year, and alas that has not borne fruit, although I am still chugging along on revisions! Hurrah! It's somewhat disheartening, though, when the majority of it was written in February 2022, literally right up until the day the full-scale invasion began. I'm still stuck in the middle of edits for the next chapter - I last opened it in the Dublin airport three weeks ago, and I've been occupied since - but I am hoping to get that out soon. I do have faith I will finish this story…but I don't know how long it will take me.

I still have hopes to eventually finish and post the consecution fic that I also worked so hard on last year. A lot of the story has been jossed by campaign 3 canon (Ludinus is a main character) and I haven't really had the energy to retool it to fit current canon OR make the decision to just release it as-is. The truth of the matter is that I have had much more brain space for writing this year than for editing and making critical decisions about structure/plot/etc. In many ways, those are the things that I need to be able to post things to AO3, and it has meant a serious backlog.

I also struggled to stick to a steady writing routine this year, in part because my life itself was not routine. I traveled frequently and had an unpredictable work schedule. There were also just the very, very bad days that happen sometimes when your beloved former home is going through a calamity. It was so hard to work through that, and to WRITE through that, that many days I just didn't try.

Victories

Despite all these obstacles, I somehow still wrote nearly 85,000 words this year! I'm trying to celebrate those as a victory rather than seeing that number as a defeat. It's a significant decrease from the last two years (2021 I wrote 280,000 and 2022 I wrote 336,000) but it's still 85,000 more words than I used to write before I started my steady writing habit in 2021. That's the equivalent of a whole novel! And I kept up my writing from January to December, even if there were months I fell off completely!

The real thing to celebrate here is the perseverance - when writing got immensely hard, I didn't stop writing. I'm so, so proud of myself for that.

Looking Forward

So what will 2024 bring? If today is any indication, probably more of the same burnout and low word count production. I will continue to update 2 Tusk 2 Love, but likely updates will be just as slow as they were this year. I'm hoping to be able to publish my consecution fic, but I don't know if I will get the energy to do that, and it's still stuck at 50% complete (as opposed to Tusk Love, which is at 90% and just mostly needs rewrites). But these things are hard to predict. If an idea catches me, if suddenly I hyperfocus on writing again, if I get captured by a story once more - that could change.

May 2024 bring us all many things. May it bring us a not-terrible election in the United States. May it bring us victory and peace in Ukraine. May it bring us an end to war and genocide all over the world, especially in Gaza. May it bring us health and prosperity and freedom from the scourge that is covid. And may it bring us all inspiration and creativity for a brilliant future.

[the-haunted-office]

The Dampening

It’s infodump time about my deadly little blorbo - The Dampening! Previously (and still referred to in rp’s as) the Entity, or the Mist. Henceforth I shall be referring to it by the nickname I have given it - Dampy.

Dampy is a semi-sentient extraterrestrial creature that appears as a silvery cloud of mist. Its size can vary greatly, depending on where it’s contained - or not contained - and how much it has consumed. Think of it like a combination of a goldfish and a snake from the Snake Game. In theory, it could grow indefinitely, so long as it has infinite space and an infinite food source. As long as it has a food source, it can technically live forever.

It is also what is known as a Malignant Reaper. Legend has it that it was born when two Nightcrawler siblings grew to hate each other and one murdered the other. When the surviving twin eventually died, from their body sprung the Dampening mist, where it spread across the entire planet, consuming everything in its wake, including the soul of the planet itself.

It made its way to Earth on accident, when two Nightcrawlers left their planet in search of a way to destroy it. Dampy hitchhiked on their ship, unbeknownst to them at the time, and was released onto the new planet where it found the perfect food source - human souls.

Normally Dampy can consume the soul of any being that has one, which is most of anything that’s living. However it has found that it very much likes the taste of human souls, and they are very useful to it - they provide it with more energy than it has ever had before, given it more strengths, more powers, more interests.

When it attacks, it can either kill the prey or infect it and act symbiotically with it, although it only does this so it can hunt more prey. Killing prey usually means that it consumes its soul. Infecting it means entering the prey’s bloodstream, entangling itself with their organs, and stopping most of their functions. Usually it will leave the heart alone so it can continue to circulate the victim’s blood throughout their body. It also seeks out the victim’s soul, which is usually stored in their consciousness, which in humans is stored in their brain. Once it finds the soul, it attaches itself to it where it can access all of the memories and knowledge that are stored there. A side effect of this is usually the victim loses all of their memories from before the incident - technically the memories are still there, but they are blocked, although victims often find that they can still experience emotions and feelings attached to the memories that are no longer there, creating inexplicable conflicts in their current lives.

The process of possession by Dampy is extremely frightening, not to mention painful. For one, it is cold to the touch, to the point of burning. For another, it enters the victim’s respiratory system and eventually their bloodstream, which nearly suffocates them in the process. In fact, it’s not usual at all for the victim to die because this is very similar to how it kills its victims in the first place.

Dampy digests the souls it consumes and the byproduct of this process is the energy it needs to live. It can use this energy to grow and also to create things. A lot of times it will create things it needs to lure in more elusive prey, and as it does this is can learn of new ways of creating new things to lure in new prey.

Now, the human soul is a tremendously powerful thing, and it can create infinite possibilities for Dampy to utilize.

The space that Dampy currently occupies is the so-called Haunted Office, once known as ABC Corporation. What did ABC Corporation do? Doesn’t matter, as it is doing none of that anymore. After being chased all over the planet by the Nightcrawlers, it was finally trapped by them at this office.

The Nightcrawlers devised a plan. They would trap Dampy at the next building it infested. One of them would become the Narrator of the office, tasked with keeping Dampy entertained and less likely to fight back, also forcing it to burn through its energy source faster so as to starve it to death faster; the other to become the Curator, tasked with both shielding it from the outside world and from escaping. Together they created the Parable - the Narrator having written the story, while the Curator facilitated the various Endings.

Unfortunately for the employees of ABC Corporation, Dampy being trapped within their building was a death sentence. Upon entering the office, on a Thursday at precisely 4:27 PM, it killed and consumed the souls of all but two employees - Employee #427, known as Stanley, and Employee #217, then known as Charlotte. One of them became the Protagonist, the other became a second Narrator.

Burning the souls it consumed to power the office, Dampy is now contained. But it must be prevented, at all costs, from escaping. If that were to happen, it could very well doom the rest of the human species.

Can Dampy be defeated? To date, the Nightcrawlers have not found a way of killing it. It is impervious to physical attacks, and no kind of spiritual exorcisms or anything of the like have worked on it either because it is not a demon but a creature.

It does, however, have one weakness. And it is terribly stupid. But can anyone figure out what it is?

Update: The Dampening has been defeated! Turns out it is severely allergic to aspartame. It was essentially poisoned and starved to death by the Narrators.

Also, yes, I do have some music for it! https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6r7w2CAJ3bqr5fLH0wLV6M?si=144bd7fea2a54900

[god-whispers]

jan 12

used or useless

"whom shall I send, and who will go for Us?”  then i said, 'here am i!  send me.'" isa 6:8

when i used to go to church, i always sat on the right side, in the last pew, looking towards the preacher.  i think we all get used to where we sit and look upon it as our reserved parking space.  i know some will look on that as being farther away from the anointing.  when i began attending, i felt so useless i didn't think i could contribute in any way.

i remember one sunday service, i was sitting in my usual spot - not too many occupiers that far back.  i had prayed that morning, "God, please use me in some way."  well, that's all God wants - a willing vessel.  it so happens we had several visitors that day.  for some reason she had chosen to sit on my designated pew (but not in my seat, thank goodness.)

anyway, after the sermon and people were hanging out and getting prayed for and everything - i don't remember if she approached me or i discerned something troubled her - it turned out she needed prayer and agreement about something in her life.

she was a visitor and i probably would never see her again, so my timid spirit suddenly became bold as i grab her hand and began praying.  she seemed to be blessed and thankful, but not as much as me.  God had answered my prayer that very day; that very service.  that's all God asks of any of us; a willing heart.

that was many years and many tears ago.  needless to say, my prayers to "use me" have continued unabated.  in fact, my prayer has become "use me up."  if i am no longer useful to further His glory, His goodness, His mercy, His faithfulness... well i could go on indefinitely.  essential, if i am no longer useful to Him, i just want to be with Him.

okay, here comes the punch line.  after all that praying to be used, the other day the Lord kept prompting me to do this thing and it was something i really didn't want to do.  i kept "reasoning" all the reasons i shouldn't do it.  it would take so much time - it would require a lot of relearning (doing things i had forgotten how they were done) - i couldn't do it as well as someone else could - again, i could go on and on.

i guess with age, a little wisdom has come.  it just took less than a day, a few hours, for me to say "yes Lord."  so the next day i began my long, tedious, grueling task that God wanted me to do.  (i do not know if these people will either like it or want it.)  But God told me, just do it.

do you know what?  surprise, surprise!  God made it enjoyable.  my mind started running with ideas and i couldn't wait to get up and get started again on the project.  sure, i got tired and also got a few new wrinkles in my brain but i had the joy of the Lord leading me on.  and do you know what?  it doesn't matter if it's wanted or appreciated or anything.  i am being used again by God.  my prompting to do this project may well be for some other purpose He has in mind.  it may just be because He was testing me as to whether i would be obedient or not.  either way, it matters not to me.  i remained where i always want to be - in the center of His will.  "when He has tested me, i shall come forth as gold." job 23:10

just as God's people of long ago were flawed and still moved in His will, i too am knowingly flawed but evidently not beyond His use.  none of us are.  it only takes a willing heart and two words - yes Lord.  who can ever grasp the depth of His mercy, beauty and goodness?  certainly not me.  now is the time God wants a lot of yes people.  those saying, "here am i.  send me."  here am i, "use me."  use the chalk down to the stub.  use the pencil down to the eraser.  use me up Lord.

[1310miles]

Thirty nine

My recovery from Boston was difficult. I came home from the trip injured, depressed and concerned about my running future. My leg continued to hurt for several weeks and I tried to be optimistic but even resting and not running was not making it better. Of course, for me not running added to my sadness and I struggled mentally through most of April and May.

Once the weather started getting pleasant though, I decided it was time to emerge and try to build up miles. I bought a whole new shoe wardrobe to inspire myself. I have found that often times, when I’m “injured,” it turns out that my shoes were just old and completely depleted. I also find that when I invest money into running, I feel obligated to get my money’s worth.

I was already registered for a marathon in October (Mount Desert Island, Maine), which was a commitment based on deferring from 2021. I wanted to find another race that I could tack onto that one and get a training two-for-one. I found the Clarence DeMar Marathon in Keene, New Hampshire. It was three weeks before Maine, which is my ideal spacing, so I signed up and got to training.

While planning my trip to Keene, I couldn’t find very much to do in the area. I arranged a short three night stay. I flew into Hartford, Connecticut, and then drove through Massachusetts to New Hampshire and my destination. Keene is a working-class town in the south of the state. It’s not the typical “New England” style place one imagines. My hotel was surrounded by a Home Depot and McDonalds. The downtown had character though. I shopped and picked up my race materials at the local college. Incredibly, this was race number 39 for me, and my bib number was also number 39! It was a great omen.

I couldn’t recognize that omen right away however, because I was dealing with a running emergency. I’ve always worried about arriving for a marathon and having one of two irreplaceable things missing or damaged: my shoes and my watch. Shoes are irreplaceable because they are worn in and I wear special inserts. My watch is irreplaceable because I don’t want to drop hundreds of dollars to buy a new one. And I really need my watch when I’m running. I consider it a training partner, and it keeps my brain occupied.

I was experiencing a watch failure though. I tried to charge it and discovered that the charger was broken. I thought of so many solutions: buy a new charger (Amazon could deliver by Tuesday), buy a cheap watch, run with my phone, or not care about time at all. I slept on the problem and awoke with the answer!

I went to Facebook and searched for the race page. The public couldn’t make comments, so I had to think of something else. I searched for the page for Keene, New Hampshire. I posted “I’m a runner from out of town and I need access to a Garmin Forerunner charger. I will pay you if I can borrow it for three hours.” Within five minutes, I had an offer from a local woman, and within two hours my watch was fully charged! What a nice solution and a good use of social media.

With my fully charged watch, dressed head to toe in lululemon with matching fingernails, I headed to the buses on race morning. It was an A to B course so we were to be driven to the top of the mountain to start. The race profile almost mirrored Boston. A general descent the entire way with a few big hills in the latter half. I really had no idea how well I would perform, based on my Boston results. I wanted to finish, and I didn’t want to get injured. Those were the goals.

At the starting area we gathered in a elementary school gymnasium until sunrise, and then headed to the line. The entire race had approximately 300 people in it, one of the smallest I’ve ever done. Despite this, they still didn’t provide enough porto-potties.

The race began with significant downhills. I was flying. I kept telling myself not to make the mistake I did in Boston, where my gait was off from the downhill and I went out too fast. The issue is, sometimes going slow downhills hurts more! I just kept a comfortable pace and told myself that I could slow down at any time.

The route was taking us down a road along a creek with a forest on the other side. It was very pretty and also very cold. I had a sweatshirt that I intended to leave at the start but I kept it on for four miles. When I finally decided to ditch it, I put it near a road sign so it would perhaps be easier to find for the garbage.

I had been sticking behind two women my age, and they invited me into their conversation. They were friends through their club of people who are running marathons in all 50 states under 4 hours each. I just shook my head. This club concept is very stressful to me. Imagine planning a whole trip to Hawaii and paying for the whole damn thing, and running the race in 4 hours and one minute. Then you have to do it all over again another year?!?! Imagine needed to return to Arkansas after you dragged your family there! I just wouldn’t be able to handle that as a goal.

It was really interesting to talk to these women. The one, who I stuck with the longest, runs two or three marathons a month! She’s single and just travels every weekend to run. Sometimes she hits the goal, sometimes she doesn’t. She was the 30th woman ever to complete the 50 under 4 hours.

Her and I ran together until mile 10. We had dropped her friend who was dealing with an injury. We had caught up to her other friends who were a couple doing this goal together! They had just done a race where they failed to hit four hours, so they were working hard not to have that happen again.

I was feeling really good with my pace and the lively conversation was definitely helping. My newly found friend cautioned me a couple times when she could hear me gasping to try to talk. I usually ignore those cautions, but I did take the advice, and it really helped even me out.

Around mile 11, we ran across a dam and it was very beautiful in the river valley. The dam was really long and we had heard there could be bald eagles in the area, but we didn’t see any. After we were back on course, my friends took a potty stop and I kept going. I was feeling like I could be on pace for a Boston qualifying time!

As I continued one thing that was fun was how much people loved my outfit! I liked being in such a bright color and being so coordinated. Several women shouted to me that they loved my shorts! That put a huge smile on my face. I pledged going forward that I will always wear something fun that I can be proud of on race day!

Another note, had I not had my watch, I would have been a wreck. Through the entire course, there was not one clock. There were lots of aid stations and the signage and volunteers were great, but there was no way to see your time or pace. With the watch I was seeing that I was definitely going to qualify for Boston! By turning 45, I gained ten minutes on my qualifying time! All I needed was a 3:45, and I was surely going to hit that. I began to think about the finish line!

I pulled back onto the college campus and I was still feeling fresh and running strong. I finished in 3:41:20, which is my second best time ever! I came in 61st overall, and the 11th woman. They had a “Boston Qualifier” sign set up, so I asked someone to take my picture and text it to me. Bib number 39 for my 39thrace was really lucky.

About the bibs: there was also a half marathon race and those runners were wearing orange bibs while ours were green. At the finish line, the volunteer hands me a medal with an orange ribbon rather than the green one he had in his other hand. If you know what happened in Pittsburgh, you know I’m paranoid about getting the wrong medal, so I quickly corrected him. He said, it’s been a problem all day, but despite the colors of the bibs, the colors of the medal ribbons are opposite! I bet that was such a pain to tell every single finisher.

As I walked back to my car with a huge smile, I noticed a pile of clothes. This race was so small that a volunteer had driven his car along the route and stopped to pick up all of the discarded clothing. It took me just a moment to find my sweatshirt and grab it right back up. It lived to die in another race!

[twilight-orchid]

How the Undatebales React After A Fight

Thank you to my friendo @wholelottatiffy ​ who helped me brainstorm this one. I’m only on chapter 19 at the moment, so I haven’t interacted with anyone but Diavolo much. And thank you to everyone who wanted a follow up to my previous post, I did not expect that. Y’all are super sweet!

tw: Fighting (a bit more in depth than my first post), description of panic attack, minor name calling, insecurity, depression, angst with resolution.

Diavolo:

Diavolo doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

To start, we need to talk about how the argument unfolds.

He’s not used to arguing. 

He’s Lord Diavolo, Prince of The Devildom, head of the RAD student council. No one defys him on anything.

So you raising your voice at him, trying to get him to see your way,

It was very overwhelming.

He tried to reason calmly with you at first, but he felt cornered. 

When fight or flight kicked in, his body chose fight.

His wings burst open in all their glory as he screamed back, his towering frame far more intimidating than yours.

The blind rage is slapped out of him when he sees your terrified face.

If you’re at the castle, he’ll order you to leave if you haven’t already. Anywhere else, he’ll turn and leave without a word. 

He wants to put distance between you both for fear of making things worse.

He absolutely cannot believe he just blew up at you. He would have never thought he'd raise his voice at his partner regardless of the situation.

He can’t shake the image of you flinching from him from his mind.

Now, being the prince of hell certainty has it’s perks; He has power, influence, and everything he could want.

But the one thing he wants the most seems to evade him no matter what: a friend.

A real friend. 

He has Barbatos and Lucifer, but it’s Barbatos’ job to accompany the prince, and Lucifer is bound to Diavolo whether he likes the future king or not.

MC was the first person who chooses to be with and around him for no other reason than the fact that they love him.

And now he’s terrified them. Gotten in their face and screamed at them.

He assumes he’s permanently driven you away.

As soon as you leave or he gets home, he rushes to find Barbatos. To explain what happened and hope his butler would know what to do.

He’ll text Lucifer and ask him to check on you as well.

He just feels lost. 

He wanders the palace aimlessly and he can’t focus on his work without his thoughts drifting to you.

He doesn’t feel like going to school or even getting out of bed. He doesn’t want to speak to anyone - to put on a happy face and pretend his world isn’t shaking.

Yet, a prince has his responsibilities. He will go about his normal public appearances as usual, smile and laugh and carry on, but it’s a mask.

Those close to him clearly notice the prince isn’t himself.

After school he visits the spots that you two visit together frequently.  

Anything to make him feel as if you are still at his side.

If you don’t sleep in his bed that night, he’ll take it as proof that he was right and that you don’t want to be with him anymore.

He doesn’t sleep that night. He clutches your pillow that still smells of you and just bawls. 

He will tell Barbatos he feels unwell the next morning and to postpone his obligations for the day.

This prompts Barbatos to seek you out and see if he can help resolve the issue.

Barbatos tries to stay out of your relationship as he doesn't feel it's his business, but his job is to assist Diabolo in any way necessary. And right now, he needs you more than anything.

If you sleep at his side still, it will be a glimmer a hope. That all may not be lost. 

He’ll give you you space that night. He’ll walk around you on eggshells but always watch you from the corner of his eye to gauge the temperature.

He avoids your gaze, stays on the other side of the room as you prepare for bed, and as much as it kills him, doesn’t hug you or kiss you goodnight.

He spends the night staring at your sleeping face and making silent promises that, if you forgive him, he will never let this happen again.

He thinks of how to apologize. What he could say, what he could do. 

Ultimately though, it feels like everything he could think of is too little of an apology. 

He pretends to be asleep when he sees you stir and decides to let you choose if you want to forgive him on your own.

You will have to approach him first. 

He thinks losing his temper with you was unacceptable and feels like he has no right to ask for your forgiveness.

Worse, he’s terrified of not being given forgiveness.

Thus, I feel a fight with Diavolo will take as long as you let it. He’s willing to suffer as long as you need him to.

Barbatos:

Barbatos doesn’t argue. He sits quietly and watches you, his responses calm but absolute.

He’s no pushover, he will defend his side, but he’s not going to enter a screaming match. It’s just not him.

You know you’ve really gotten under his skin when he offers a tight, forcefully pleasant smile.

He finally shuts down the conflict with "It's your right to feel that way just as it's mine to disagree." And leave it at that.

Post argument, he will avoid you and lock his feelings about the fight inside.

He tells himself he doesn’t have time to deal with the terrible feeling clawing at his heart and takes to his duties as an escape.

If you sleep in another room, he realizes that this isn’t a minor disagreement and he’s suddenly very distressed.

His instinct is to use his future vision. 

To scour the timelines and see how the different versions of himself handle it and to replicate the one with the most desirable outcome.

However, he stops himself. He feels it isn’t fair to you. 

You have a right to be upset about things and he doesn’t want to manipulate the situation, and by extension, you.

Thus, he must find another way to cope.

He’s always a devoted butler, but it’s not his whole life. 

He takes time for himself throughout the day and in the evenings. Unless Diavolo needs him, nights are usually his to do with as he wants.

Now, however, his identity becomes Diavolo’s butler. 

He’s constantly asking for extra work and hovering more than usual around the young lord in hopes of being given a task. 

Diavolo finds it odd and asks about it, but he brushes it off. This isn’t anyone else’s business, least of all his employer’s.

Even though Barbatos won’t tell him, Diavolo can clearly tell his friend is off.

In hopes of giving him something to distract himself with, Diavolo requests hellfire mushroom rolled cigar cookies and Barbatos jumps on the opportunity. 

Baking has always been his escape as well as his happy place. Diavolo’s favorite isn’t easy to make, so he looked forward to the task.

And it worked. Keeping track of the ingredients, the steps, and the technique required was enough to occupy his mind.

But then it was time to wait for it to bake. 

He suddenly feels trapped in the suffocating silence of the kitchen.

His mind replays the argument on repeat as he falls down a rabbit hole of what ifs.

He loves you more than anything and the last thing he could ever want is for you to be mad at him.

No, the worst thing would to no longer be able to call you his.

Suddenly, he becomes aware of the sharp scent of burnt food.

He jumps up and runs to the oven. He’d been so lost in thought he hadn’t noticed the timer go off.

He pulls the blackened desert out, puts the cookie sheet on the stove top, and just stares at the burnt cookies.

His sight blurs and a soft sob escapes from the prison he’s created in his heart.

He wasn’t crying because he burnt the cookies, but because they were a visual representation of everything he’s been trying to suppress.

Once he collects himself, he knows he can’t continue like this. 

He doesn’t want to invade your space in case you’re still mad, but he needs a resolution.

He’ll send a quick text and silently begs you to respond. 

“MC, I understand if you are still upset with me, but would you be willing to talk though it? I look forward to hearing from you.”

If you still sleep with him that night, it is a great weight off of his shoulders. 

He hopes it means that it will be easier to make up with you and that you aren’t too mad.

When you wake up, he will be watching you like he has all night with a small, tired smile. 

He’ll put on your favorite tea as you get ready for the day then asks if you’d be willing to talk things over.

Because of how it affects both his job and himself, a fight with Barbados will not last long. He’ll seek a resolution by one, maybe two days tops.

Solomon: 

Lucifer may be the avatar of pride, but Solomon can certainly give the demon a run for his money.

In the moment of a particularly heated argument, he absolutely will not admit he’s wrong. 

In fact, he really doesn’t consider it a possibility.

There’s no point in trying to get him to see your side until things have calmed down. It’s like talking to a brick wall.

He won’t yell, but he gets a pissy, condescending tone and almost talks down to you.

If you really push his buttons, his patience with this “useless” argument runs out.

“Oh please, listen to yourself! You’re acting like a dull child!”

Freezes as soon as it leaves his mouth.

He didn’t mean to say that.

He opens his mouth to apologize immediately, but upon seeing your hurt reaction he becomes flustered and can’t get the words out.

He’ll simply turn and leave. 

He’s absolutely furious with himself. 

Solomon is old and wise. He’s seen many things, been many places, and he knows many things.

Sometimes though, he needs a reminder that he doesn’t know everything.

Even if he still feels he was right, he knows name-calling is unacceptable.

In fact, he doesn’t miss the irony that he was the one being childish. 

His self-fury is replaced by overwhelming worry if you sleep in another room that night.

Of all the treasures he’s come across, none were as precious as you. 

He can’t stand the thought of losing you because of his thoughtlessness.

For once, he feels like an idiot.

He locks himself in his study that night and brainstorms on how to make it up to you.

He decides to approach you in the morning at RAD. He’s terrified that you think he actually meant the insult and wants to clear the air as soon as possible.

He’s afraid of you taking anything less than his highest praise to heart or for you to think that he views you as below himself. 

The thought of how he must have made you feel makes him sick to his stomach.

The more he thinks about it, the more his body demands that he act. 

While he has many virtues, patience is not high on his list. 

Assuming you returned to The House of Lamentation that night, he’ll text Asmo to explain what happened and asks if he’d let him in first thing in the morning.

Thus, when you leave to head for breakfast, be careful not to trip over your sorcerer who’s seated against the wall outside of your room.

He scrambles to his feet, his hair and clothes a mess and bags heavy under his eyes.

“MC! Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I just- *sighs* I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that. Would you be willing to discuss the matter again? The right way this time.”

If you do sleep with him, he’s at least relieved that you don’t seem like you plan to leave him.

Once again, however, he wants to clear the air as soon as he can.

You’ll both be sitting in silence as you get ready for bed. He’s clearly lost in thought, his eyes focused unblinking on his feet and any movements slow and disjointed.

He's not sure how to apologize, if it's too soon, and is afraid to make things worse if it's not an appropriate time.

However, seeing you move about the room he decides to risk it so he doesn't risk losing you.

Suddenly, he stands up straight and locks eyes with you.

“MC, we don’t have to talk about the fight tonight, but I need you to know that I didn’t mean what I said. I’m sorry.”

It’s up to you if you want to forgive him immediately, but he will at least apologize for the insult as soon as he gathers his thoughts.

Simeon:

If you yell at him, Simeon is just gonna sit there stunned

Your relationship is usually as laid back as he is, so he doesn't know what to do with you blowing up at him.

All he knows it that this is bad and he needs to find a way to make you happy again. 

The thought of losing you takes precedence over everything and, though he will not sway to your side just because you’re upset, the argument loses any worth it had to him.

He’ll go to Solomon almost immediately in hopes your fellow human might know better about how arguments are resolved between human couples.

He becomes very distressed when Solomon says everyone handles it differently. He then asks what he should to make up with you specifically.

He doesn't have a defined emotion right now, he's just on edge. He wants to gather information first and foremost so he can figure out what to do from there.

He’s just a walking ball of anxiety and those close to the angel even become concerned. No one has seen him like this before.

If you decide to sleep in another room, the anxiety just takes over. 

His chest feels like fiery chains are crushing his ribs, he can hear his heart is hammering in his head, and his body begins to shake as if he were buried in an avalanche.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying as he struggles to breathe.

Solomon had expected something like this may happen so he made sure to be nearby to help coach him though it.

Once he’s calmed down, Solomon urges him to talk to you as soon as possible.

Simeon isn't sure though. True, he wasn't in a good place, but he didn't want to push you if you weren't ready to talk.

He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t feel like he can think let alone coherently tell you how he feels.

He begins to feel overwhelmed again and decides to try writing down his thoughts in hopes of it helping him sort through the tsunami of emotions consuming him.

While it doesn't completely calm him down, it does help.

He stares down at the messy, tear blotted papee and has an idea.

The next morning you should expect to find a hand-written letter slipped under you door.

The letter is long and and rambling. His usually pristine handwriting is as shaky as his hands were when writing it.

It's not as dense and heartbroken as his original one, but the further it goes the more desperate his words become.

He writes about how much you mean to him and apologizes for allowing things to get that intense. He writes that he loves you and doesn’t want to lose you. 

He reminisces about his favorite memories of you two together more than once.

Finally, that no disagreement you two could ever have is more importantly to him than being with you.

It's really just a collection of everything sitting on his heart at the moment.

That day at RAD he’ll watch you from the sidelines and pray you approach him about the letter so you two can work things out.

If you still sleep in his bed, he’ll be very conflicted about if he should approach you yet. 

He’s afraid of making it worse if you’re still mad.

However, Simeon is an open book when it comes to his emotions so you will absolutely be able to tell that he’s freaking out.

So please, save the man a terrible night and talk it though with him.

He wants you to not be angry anymore, but even if you’re still upset just having concrete information to cling to will help him immensely. 

He’s thinking of all the worst case scenarios and needs reassurance that the relationship isn’t over.

Simeon will try to make up within a day, so however long it lasts after that is up to you.

Luke (MC is his best friend):

Luke will be very, very distressed. 

You’re his best friend aside from Simeon. Friends don’t fight like this, right?

Wait, so if you’re fighting with him, does that mean you’re not his friend anymore???

As soon as the thought enters his mind, he decides that must be the case. 

Real friends don’t fight with each other like this.

Externally he takes a “I don’t need a lousy human like you for a friend anyway” attitude. 

He’s not just testy with you though, anyone who interacts with him that day learns that chihuahuas bite.

Simeon immediately realizes something isn’t right and is very concerned.

As soon as he asks him what’s wrong, Luke's mask of anger is discarded and he tosses himself in the older angel’s arms crying hysterically.

He doesn’t want to lose you for a friend.

I doubt Luke has ever truly argued with someone so this uncharted territory is earth shattering to him.

Simeon, as he tries to calm Luke, he will text you and ask you to come to wherever they are immediately.

Because of Simeon’s intervention, the fight will only go undiscussed for a few hours max.

Again, sorry if I don’t know these characters as well as I’d like yet. Thank you for reading! 

[becca-e-barnes]

Thots-

This has truly occupied so much of my brain space since you sent it, I can’t fucking COPE

Like a really sexy college professor Steve? He’s so eloquent and well spoken, polite but so considered in everything he says. The type that seems like he’s never made a flippant comment in his life.

But as the year goes on, he really strives to develop your class’ understanding of his topic and God, he gets argumentative. It’s all just devil’s advocate, making you expand your point and consider other lines of thought to strengthen your own argument but the way he goes about it is so fucking frustrating. He’d sit perched on the edge of his ornate, polished wooden desk, waiting for you to bite. Waiting for an argument.

His questions are always loaded. They always have an edge to them that he expects you to pick up and more often than not, he’s beyond thrilled to continue arguing with you after class. You have such a sharp, explosive chemistry together that just makes you bite every damn time.

Up until one day he’s sitting after everyone else filters out, his glasses perched on his nose, a smug smirk on his face and he’s insufferable. “You’re so fucking annoying, you know that?” You tease gently, scooping up your laptop and notebook, tucking your pen into your bag but you still look up in time to catch the way his slick tongue runs over his bottom lip.

“Come on sweetheart, you know better than to forget your manners. Address me properly.” He can see the confusion evident on your face and he lets out a soft chuckle as he pushes himself off the table, taking purposefully heavy steps towards you.

“You’re so fucking annoying… What?” He hints, stopping as he reaches you, pressing you back against the first row of desks and it’s everything your arguments with him have prepared you for. It’s all a game of give and take and right now, you know you’ll receive the most reward if you let him take a little.

“You’re so fucking annoying, sir.” You whisper, watching the corner of his mouth twitch. He’s needed this as badly as you have. He’s needed a release. Each heated argument he’s had with you has left him with a raised pulse and heightened blood pressure but also an insane excitement at the thought of you walk into his classroom every week.

“Oh, so that little mouth of yours does know how to do something other than argue with me. That’s nice. Thought we could find out through other means but it looks like I won’t need to. You’re maybe not as bratty as I thought you were.” He’s so damn smug at having broken you so quickly, it makes your head spin.

“I always learned good girls get what they want far faster, sir.” You smile, playing his little game and he almost struggles to hold back a moan.

“Depends on what you want, angel. Good girls get bent over the desk and they get their pretty little pussy eaten. Bad girls get bent over the desk and spanked until they’re dripping down their legs. Either way honey, it’d be in your best interest to bend over before I do it for you.”

It doesn’t really matter what choice you make because he’s too fucking into this to offer you either option this time. Instead, he bends you over the hardwood desk, your panties around your ankles and his thick cock splitting you in two with sharp, well timed thrusts.

“Oh fuck, I don’t even care if you wanna be a brat. You’ve got a perfect fucking cunt to back it up. This is the kind of pussy that leaves a man speechless, you know that?” He groans, so blissed out but staying as dominant as he can.

“Such a shame it hasn’t worked on you yet, sir. When do you think you’ll end up speechless?” You tease through gritted teeth, desperately trying to hold back your orgasm for the sake of your own pride.

“Mhm, still so mouthy. Love that about you, honey.” He grunts, his fingers slipping between your legs to strum your clit and it’s just a game of seeing who can hold off their high the longest