#but prayers will often keep him up past then. or he’ll get up at 4 for similar reasons

[lazycranberrydoodles]

you’d think after 800 years he’d learn his lesson about taking afternoon naps. / prev comic / follow for more sleepy xie lian

#i think xie lian and hua cheng are sleep deprived for different reasons. xie lian does get sleepy at like 10pm #but prayers will often keep him up past then. or he’ll get up at 4 for similar reasons #hua cheng doesn’t need to sleep. he would never pass up an opportunity to cuddle but when xie lian isnt there #you can BET he’s working on a new sculpture for 8 hours straight #or reading. or managing his city. or painting. or taking care of black water’s fish. or any of the other 8 million things he excells at #i think they’d try to minimize the times they sleep apart though….. theyve both been alone for so long :( #i am a BIG believer in hualian naps. what a luxury yknow?? when youre touch starved and busy all the time?? i want these men COMFY #ALSO TUMBLR DESATURATED THIS TO HELL GRRRR IT HAD SUCH A NICE GOLDEN HOUR EFFECT #tgcf #art #comic #tian guan ci fu #hualian #xie lian #hua cheng #san lang #hob #heaven official's blessing #tgcf fanart #天官赐福 #mxtx #my art #lmao #tgcf meme

[chelseachilly]

do you want to build a snowman?

pairing: reader x ben chilwell request: "ok so you and ben have a daughter around 3 or 4 and its her first time seeing snow so they take her outside to build a snowman :)" - anonymous warnings: fluffff, dad!ben word count: 2k

author’s note: thanks for all the requests!! i'm really getting in the flow of writing rn (and inspired by the holidays) so i'm going to do my best to write as many of them as i can! ❄️

-

“Is Daddy gonna be home soon?”

It’s not the first - or the second, or the fifth - time your daughter has asked this question since she woke up this morning. 

Ben left for training shortly before 8, and neither you nor your daughter Sophie were awake yet. You could’ve happily slept a few more hours, but Sophie woke you up not long after to excitedly announce that it had snowed overnight.

In her four years of life, your daughter has never seen a significant amount of snow, at least that she can recall. It snowed quite a bit on her first Christmas, but she was far too little to remember that, and since then there’s been nothing but a few flurries here and there or a light dusting on the rooftops.

She’s quite fascinated by the concept from watching movies and TV shows featuring winter activities and is currently deep in a Frozen phase, which means she’s obsessed with the idea of building a snowman. 

Over the past month as the weather got colder, you and Ben had tried to keep her expectations low as you weren’t sure you would get enough snow to make this dream a reality. You could tell it was killing Ben to disappoint her - he hates denying his little girl anything - and a few nights ago you caught him looking into booking a holiday to Switzerland or Finland or anywhere she would be guaranteed some snow.

Thankfully, today her prayers were answered, and you were fully prepared to bundle up and go outside with her before you even had your coffee, but she insisted on waiting for Ben. It was their plan to build the snowman together, Sophie told you, and she stuck to her decision even when you reminded her he wouldn’t be home for hours.

It‘s been pretty adorable watching her anxiously await her dad’s return all morning, pacing around the house and checking for his car in the driveway often. You can tell how badly she wants to go out and play in the glistening white snow, and the remarkable restraint she’s showing is a testament to how much of a daddy’s girl she is. 

“Not too much longer, sweetheart,” you assure her as you beckon her to come cuddle with you on the couch where you’re doing a bit of work on your laptop. “He texted a while ago and said he’ll be here as soon as he can.”

“Alright,” Sophie sighs. “Can you put on Frozen?”

You’ve watched this movie more times than you can count lately, and once already today, but you remind yourself that you signed up for this when you chose to be a parent as you’re queuing up Disney Plus once again. 

Later, when you’re nearing the end of the film and you’ve given up on doing any more work as long as your daughter is screaming the lyrics to each song, you hear the sound of the front door opening and closing. 

“Daddy!”

The movie is quickly abandoned as Sophie darts toward the foyer to greet Ben. You’re not too far behind her, though by the time you reach them she’s already in her dad’s arms.

“Daddy, it snowed!” Sophie exclaims, her little arms wrapped around Ben’s neck. “We have to build a snowman!”

“I know, darling,” Ben laughs, giving Sophie another squeeze before gently setting her down. “Why don’t you go get your coat on while I say hello to Mummy?”

Sophie nods and eagerly runs toward the closet to fetch her winter coat. As Ben drops his bag and makes his way over to you, you can see how tired he is from training. When he cups your face to give you a kiss, you can tell he’s also freezing. 

“How was training, baby?” you murmur, placing your hands on his to warm them up. 

“Cold,” Ben sighs. “Forgot how brutal it is training in the snow. I’m glad the gaffer let us go home early, though.”

“You and me both,” you smile, leaning in to kiss him again. “Maybe you should warm up a bit before going out to play with Soph?”

“No, she’s been waiting for me all day,” Ben says. “I’ll be fine.”

You know there’s no changing his mind, especially when Sophie comes running back into the room in her adorable little puffer jacket that nearly swallows her whole. You help her zip it up and grab mittens, a scarf and a hat to keep her warm, as well as some for you and Ben. 

Once you’re all ready to face the cold, you head out to the garden together. You and Ben have matching grins on your faces as you watch Sophie excitedly run through the snow for the first time, a core childhood memory being created right before your eyes. 

She gets to work right away on her snowman, rolling the snowball she’s formed as long as she can before it gets too heavy for her and she has to accept Ben’s help. 

You join in on their efforts, occasionally taking a break to take some photos of your daughter and husband that you already know are going to be your new phone background.

After some hard work - certainly for a four year old - the snowman is completed with a carrot nose and hat that you had prepared just for this occasion. 

“He looks great, Sophie!” you exclaim. “What’s his name? Olaf?”

Despite it being a fairly safe guess, Sophie looks at you like you have two heads.

“No, Mummy, Olaf doesn’t have a hat,” she reminds you very matter-of-factly. “His name is Tom.”

“Like Uncle Tom?” Ben chuckles, referring to his best friend and her godfather.

Sophie seems to contemplate this for a moment before shaking her head.

“No, because I want him to be Tom.”

You and Ben look at each other for a moment before bursting out into laughter. You both blame your daughter’s stubbornness on each other, though deep down you know it’s from both of you, but at times like this it’s both hilarious and adorable. 

“Fair enough, sweetie,” you say, bending down to give her a kiss on the forehead. “Now, I think some hot chocolate is in order. Ready to go in?”

“No, we have to make snow angels!”

Of course, this was another activity she had seen in films that she was dying to try for herself. 

“Alright,” you chuckle. “Why don’t we make snow angels while Daddy goes and warms up? He’s been out in the snow all day.”

The pout on Sophie’s face quickly tells you that she is not happy with this plan, and Ben swoops in before you can say anything else.

“I think I have a few snow angels left in me,” he smiles, picking Sophie up and balancing her on his hip. “Babe, can you start the hot chocolate while we finish up here?”

You raise an eyebrow at your husband but accept his proposal nonetheless, placing a quick kiss on both his and Sophie’s cheeks before heading inside. 

As you’re warming up the milk on the stovetop, you look out the window where Ben and Sophie are still playing, her excited giggles loud enough that you can hear her through the windowpane. 

Your heart is threatening to burst from the sweet scene, overflowing with love for your daughter and admiration for your amazing husband. No matter how tired he is from training, if he’s upset about a loss or injured or anything else, he always steps up for Sophie. You’ve known since you met him that he would be a great dad, but ever since you became parents, he’s continued to exceed your expectations.

Just as you’re pouring three steaming mugs of hot chocolate, you hear your family come in through the back door and begin to strip off their winter gear. 

To your delight, Sophie runs straight into the kitchen and hugs you tightly.

“I made five snow angels!” she exclaims as you run your hand up and down her back in an effort to warm her up. “Daddy made some big ones, too.”

“That’s amazing, love,” you smile, kissing her head. “You want some hot chocolate?”

“Yes! Can I put the marshmallows in?”

“Of course,” you say, lifting her up onto the counter and passing her the bag of mini marshmallows.

As much as she’s a daddy’s girl at heart, you also get your fair share of moments when your daughter seems to only want her mother. You know how special her bond is with Ben, and you really can’t blame her for how much she loves spending time with him, but you still cherish the little things that just for the two of you - making hot chocolate with extra marshmallows being one of them. 

You carry the tray of drinks into the living room with Sophie trailing behind, and find Ben already there getting the fireplace going and arranging some pillows and blankets.

“This looks cozy,” you smile, setting the drinks down and sitting on the floor across from him, Sophie following your lead. “Thanks, honey.”

“Thanks for making the hot chocolate, my loves,” Ben responds, glancing over at the tray that holds two regular Christmas mugs and one with the Frozen characters on it. He picks that one up and pretends to take a sip. “I assume this one is mine?”

“No, Daddy, that’s mine!” Sophie squeals, making both you and Ben laugh as he carefully passes it back to her. 

You all sip your drinks in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the warmth of the sweet beverages and the burning fire. 

“So, did you enjoy your first snow, Soph?” Ben asks. “Was it everything you hoped?”

“It was amazing!” Sophie confirms. “Thank you for playing, Daddy.”

“You’re welcome, angel,” Ben says with a soft smile as Sophie climbs into his lap and he kisses her rosy cheeks. 

It’s not long before she drifts off to sleep, tuckered out from playing in the snow and comforted by her dad’s embrace and the sound of you and Ben quietly talking about your days. 

Once she’s fully passed out, Ben carefully shifts her tiny frame over in his arms to make room for you on his other side and beckons you over. With him laying back against the sofa and you now laying against his chest, both of you watching your daughter sleep peacefully, you’re not sure you’ve ever felt more content. 

“That little girl absolutely adores you,” you comment, nuzzling further into Ben’s warmth.

“She must get that from her mum, then,” Ben jokes, making you roll your eyes for a moment before kissing his jaw, then his cheek.

“Mhm,” you nod, smiling as you reach his lips and kiss him slowly. 

When you pull back, Ben gazes lovingly at you for a moment before his eyes return to Sophie, her little hand curling around the material of his hoodie in her sleep.

“Babe?” Ben murmurs, and you nod again. “How would you feel about trying for another one?”

It takes everything in you not to betray yourself with a grin as you think about the tiny Christmas onesie and pregnancy test you boxed up and placed under the tree yesterday while Ben was picking Sophie up from daycare. 

It’s less than a week until Christmas - you can make it that long. 

“Let’s talk about it after the holidays?” you say for now, pressing another kiss to Ben’s lips. 

He nods with a smile, though you can see his mind wandering with thoughts of another little one to play in the snow and curl up by the fire and watching the same movies over and over with. 

It’s been the greatest joy of your life raising Sophie side by side with him, and you absolutely can’t wait to do it all again. 

#ben chilwell x reader #ben chilwell x y/n #ben chilwell imagine #ben chilwell #first time writing dad!ben!! and also first time making a graphic dont laugh at how bad it lmaooo

[shinjukuspiritcommittee]

Hildisvini, a protege and warrior

So we’re finally here. The man himself makes his proper appearance

Artist work featured: https://twitter.com/_55mango

Character Name- Hildisvini

Affiliation- Unclear. However he has been seen conspiring with the Invaders according to certain sources, but it remains unclear if he's legitimately among their ranks.

Bio 3*- Humble Protege: A warrior of Yggdrassil and protege of his patron goddess back in his home world. The blade at his hip is proof of his lineage and the inheritance that comes with it. In his free time he has cultivated and sculpted his body to serve one purpose for his Lord. While rather stern and distant at first, he's surprisingly responsive to being praised or acknowledged for his efforts. This is likely because he wasn't acknowledged in a time before he was Hildisvini.

4*- Descended Battle Swine: Hildisvini has been bestowed two sacred artifacts within this Tokyo. The first being the proof of his lineage, and the second is a potion that he keeps on his chest that prevents him from forgetting past events. This artifact can be extended unto others and expose any latent memories within an enclosed space, and since it distorts space around the focus like a dream. While he devotes a lot of his time to training and faith, he used to be a very talented stone carver.

Detailed Likes and dislikes

Likes: HorkeuKamui- Horkeu takes a more loner approach that Hildisvini can relate to upon entering this world, but also maintains a loyalty to someone they hold in a high regard. For that he can respect the wolf.

Liked by: Mephistopholes- Though Hildisvini denies it, Meph points out that the two aren't that far removed from one another. Both have a deep rooted desire to essentially claim their master as their own. Furthermore Meph just enjoys getting a rise out of the larger Transient.

Dislikes: Yui- Since Yui is the inheritor of his master's powers in this Tokyo he resents her for simply not being anything like Freyja. This is an observation Yui doesn't disagree with.

Perun- For effectively trying to act like everyone's boss or master with none of the prestige that a title like that requires. The two often bump heads and make scathing quips at one another even if they are allied together.

Gullinbursti- The two have opposing views on how they should show their loyalty. Hildisvini also holds a similar regret in his heart and can't help but unfairly project his feelings on the other boar.

Attribute and Kit Much like the other two you can read the full kits Here: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1X5q9U3cz80G18MTngtIVoXiZWyA1RTL6nrLUNsi4p9Y/edit?usp=sharing

and Here: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1_7l-phLGmjCL_5WQ2ZwuvifurDim5YbPwEFbwNgNJB0/edit?usp=sharing

The general idea is that Hildisvini wants to take the frontlines while he has Prayer active, and he'll support allies that are behind him. If he gets unlucky and doesn't have Prayer at the start he's focused on getting to his charge so he can have Prayer up and active as early as possible.

Backstory- Hildisvini wasn't always Hildisvini. At one point he was a simple man going by another name entirely. This man was someone who was very pious to the gods and goddesses of his realm- namely to the goddess Freyja. He would spend his days constructing a stone shrine and made many offerings to show his devotions. The man wasn't doing this out of some obligation- but simply because he revered the goddess. Someone who brought life and virtility to the land while being the main sovereign of magic. If more could aspire to be like the gods, then maybe he would spare others more than a simple passing thought of disdain...

These offerings and prayers would not go unheeded as the goddess he's pledged to for so long- gaining the recognition of the gods by becoming their protege. Of course to be fully inducted he would need to receive his inheritance. It was an atypical inheritance that was a sign for effectively declaring warriors. All he would need to provide as proof of his inheritance is the list of great heroes that came before him, and Freyja was determined to grant him this inheritance. So she proposed that he obtain a potion to ensure he would not forget any of the names presented.

However, the man had quite the reputation for being rather crass so he simply couldn't just ask for this potion- so Freyja came up with the scheme to disguise the man. The man would from this point on be referred to as Hildisvini- the battle swine of Freyja and someone strong enough for her to ride upon. And from there, well... he would inevitably find his way across the rainbow bridge to Tokyo. But I believe that’s a story best told elsewhere.

Alternative Artworks

As a final note Hildisvini has a lot more alternative skins that I’ll make a separate post for. I don’t want to clutter this post too much since this is supposed to be a bio after all!

#tokyo afterschool summoners #housamo #hildisvini #OC #fan character #sfw #Headcanon #HC #Invaders? #yggdrasil

[wolint]

JUST SHAKE IT OFF

JUST SHAKE IT OFF

Acts 28:1-6

 

Paul and 275 others were sailing across the Mediterranean Sea to Rome, on their way for Paul to stand trial before Caesar. They encountered a horrendous storm that shipwrecked them in the bay of the unknown island. The crew members were saved as God promised Paul.

Paul makes himself useful by gathering wood for the fire which the natives had kindled for the shipwrecked victims to keep it going. Paul did not plead exhaustion and fatigue, nor did he complain about the rain, wind, and the cold. Neither did he fight for a place near the fire, instead he went about serving the others.

As Paul was throwing sticks into the fire, a venomous snake fastened on his hand. The snake was lying among the sticks as a resting place for the winter months. out of the heat—the snake was aroused from its inactive state and all Paul did was shake off the snake. A snake bite is very toxic and deadly, just like the devil’s darts.

When life and people make it a point to attack us, we don’t have to try to get back at them, we just shake them off!

Often, the enemy rises against us in ways that says, we’re doing something right for God’s kingdom, but we mustn’t allow his bite to stop us. Just shake him off!

Romans 12:17 teaches us not to recompense evil for evil.

The venom of a viper is very deadly, agreed, but so too are lots of the issues and people we face in life, one thing we must remember about people who have a snake mentality is that they hide behind things, and will only show up when we least expect them.

They camouflage themselves behind love and wait to strike. They may camouflage themselves behind the pulpit, behind choir robes, as elders, pastors and more but still strike when provoked.

There is so much turbulence, trials, tribulations, and troubles in the world, presently, for humanity to know that the devil doesn’t care about us because his objective is to steal, kill, and destroy according to John 10:10. This is the reason Satan attacks God’s people, even when they are in the centre of God’s will like Paul was. Consider for a minute if Paul hadn’t shaken the viper off? Bad things happen to everyone even when they’re in the will of God-the enemy doesn’t relent in his pursuit for world and soul domination, he’ll keep coming after us until we overcome him.

The viper bite was the ultimate of “things” that happened to Paul, that should have killed him and take him out of God’s plan, he would have gone to heaven, but left unfinished assignment.

We too must learn to overlook some things, ignore what people say, look past how people roll their eyes at us, or stab us in the back, in other words, we’ve got to learn to just shake it off. Through the power of God, we can also shake off the challenges that are thrown at us daily.

Nothing should find a landing strip in our lives to attach itself to our detriment. Just shake it off!

In verse 4, the people saw the snake bite as a confirmation of Paul’s guilt and believed he was being punished for a crime.

The enemy will make many believe that whatever we’re experiencing is because of guilt but don’t ever allow it to get to you. Just shake it off!

Whatever may trouble you from the past, shake it off! God has a great future planned for you. Your future has no room for snakebites and venom of the past! Shake it off!

PRAYER: Lord, thank you that with your help, I can always shake off the darts and venom of the enemy in my life in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Shalom

WOMEN OF LIGHT INT PRAYER MIN.

#spotify #devotional #christianpost #women's ministry #biblestudy #biblestudy christianpost women's ministry #biblestudy christianpost 'women's ministry #conference #family #prayer meeting

[rainsmediaradio]

Joyce Meyer Devotional For Today 22nd November 2023 – Be Thankful—Always.

TOPIC: Be Thankful—Always. SCRIPTURE:  — 1 Thessalonians 5:18 (AMPC) Thank in everything , for this is the will of God for you in Christ Jesus .

JOYCE MEYER MESSAGE FOR TODAY 22ND NOVEMBER 2023.

Someone once told me there are more exhortations in the Bible to praise God than there are of any other kind. I don’t know if that’s true, but it ought to be. When our minds flow with thanksgiving and praise, we develop immunity to the devil’s infectious ways. If we complain or grumble, the opposite is true. The more we complain, the worse life gets, the more victorious the devil becomes, and the more defeated we feel. If we are going to live in victory, praise has to be one of our major weapons. A wise pastor once told me, “Praise fills the heaven and the earth with God’s presence and drives away the darkness. So if you want to live in the sunshine, praise the Lord.” When good things happen to us, most of us turn to praise. It’s easy to lift our hands and our voices when God answers our prayers and delivers us from problems. But it’s not always as easy when things go wrong. What do we do when we’re sick or lose our jobs or people talk against us? How do we fill our minds with joyful thanksgiving in those situations? If we read the verse above and add Philippians 4:4: Rejoice in the Lord always ; again I say, Rejoice! we have options. The negative option is to take the attitude of Job’s wife, who was so shaken up by the loss of her children and their possessions that she cried out, Do you still hold fast your blameless uprightness? Renounce God and die! (Job 2:9). Job answered with great wisdom: You speak as one of the impious and foolish women would speak. What? Shall we accept good at the hand of God and shall we not accept misfortune and what is of a bad nature? (v. 10). Job understood that a righteous life doesn’t mean that everything always runs smoothly and that only blessings will ever fall on top of blessings. We have two positive options open to us, and most of us can practice the first, but not all of us can accept the second. The first is to praise God in spite of what’s going on in our lives. Or another way to say that is in the midst of our troubles and hardships, we can rejoice over the things that are not wrong in our lives. It may take effort, but if we can turn our eyes away from the immediate problems, we can see that everything in life isn’t bad. We also can rejoice because God has faithfully taken us through the turmoil of the past, and we can rejoice and know that He’ll do the same thing again. The second option is to ask, “God, what can I learn from this? What do You want to teach me through this so that I may be closer to You and rejoice more fully in Your goodness?” That’s not an easy question, and the answers are often even harder. Sometimes we only grasp the important lessons in our lives when we fall flat on our faces. It’s as if we’re running as fast as we can and God trips us. The psalmist says: Before I was afflicted I went astray, but now Your word do I keep  (Psalm 119:67 AMPC). It’s not that God is out to hurt us, but God loves us enough to stop us, to give us the opportunity to change our ways, and to follow Him. Throughout my many years in ministry, I’ve heard stories from people who had wonderful jobs or great ministries or made a great deal of money—and then their lives fell apart. One man—someone who had once been a millionaire—came to our meetings after he had spent three years in prison. The first words that came out of his mouth were, “I’m glad I was convicted and sent to prison. I had run from God for a long time. The Lord finally got my attention when someone gave me a copy of Joyce Meyer’s book Healing the Brokenhearted.” Not everyone can rejoice and give thanks for their suffering, but we can all give thanks in the midst of it. Joyce Meyer’s Daily Devotion Prayer Starter 22/11/2023. God, I’m thankful for Your love and Your presence. Forgive me for grumbling when things go wrong and remind me of how many things go right in my life. Enable me to rejoice in You always, amen. Read the full article

#JoyceMeyer

[trvncyz]

Jujutsu Kaisen characters during Ramzan || random headcanons|| part 2

note: before i start, i would like to clear out that these are just some things which happen in my house and may differ from your culture. this is just how i would imagine the jjk characters to behave during ramzan. hope you enjoy! this is part 2 and is a continuation to this post. feel free to add more in the reblogs.

-5/10/2021

part 1- nobara, itadori, megumi, gojo

part 2- inumaki, panda, maki, yuta, nanami

Inumaki Toge

before i start writing about him , i want you to know that i've been obsessed with him recently. he's such a cute little baby!!!!!

toge, megumi, yuta, nanami and noritoshi are all similar during ramzan.

they're all really chill during ramzan, never willingly missing out on fasts.

now coming back to toge, he starts ramzan very excitedly and is really good for the month.

no pranks, no swearing even in onigiri ingredients.

he prays on time, 5 times a day.

he doesnt attend taraweeh though. just prays at home smh

onigiri for iftar. oh and, he helps his mom set out the table

now, i imagine toge as someone who would fast regularly for a few days but then fall sick from low blood pressure or something of that sort. (me)

he's forced to leave a few of his fasts so that his body can recover. i can imagine him being all pouty, arms crossed, not looking at anyone because he wasn't allowed to fast.

"no inumaki, i'm not going to wake you up for sehri. you won't be fasting tomorrow."

"OKAKA"

oh and sometimes if he uses his cursed speech too much his throat starts bleeding and that automatically causes his fast to b r e a k.

it takes him a while to register what's happening when awoken for sehri.

he and yuta bought a drone and they tried it for the first time on Eid. He vlogged the whole thing for his youtube channel.

2. Maki Zenin

very grumpy while fasting

the type to not talk to you while fasting because it will cause her mouth to dry up.

i dont know why but i imagine her someone who cooks the iftar for everyone. people who complain about the iftar being too less get boinked on the head itadori

she might come off as a cold heartless bitch but i think she can be quite caring and loving to people she cares for.

like in the evening when the iftar is done, she goes around making everyone drink enough water so that they dont get dehydrated. especially inumaki since he's a baby

if someone accidentally misses sehri, she doesn't let them fast the next day because they "might fall sick."

hates it when she herself falls sick or gets her period. her mood becomes tenfold worse.

she doesn't practice much while fasting because yeah... try fasting daily and then try to do anything, forget physical activities.

oh this isnt ramzan related but she takes off her glasses for wudhu, performs her namaz and forgets where she's kept them.

first to wake up on eid. she might not show it but she's excited alright?

she has the best eid outfit and i stand by that.

switches out her glasses for contacts for a day because nobara insisted.

nobara takes lots of her pictures on eid but maki doesnt let her post any

puts her differences aside and wishes mai "eid mubarak" but thats about it.

3. Yuta Okkotsu

the perfect boy squad

wakes everyone for sehri and is very patient with them. isnt he just awesome?

helps out in the kitchen though he might not be very good at it. its the thought that counts

recitation everyday!!

Often he finds himself humming songs (subconsciously) and then he's just "No, No, it's ramzan!!" and then shuts up.

"why do all artists release such good songs during ramzan. this is a hate activity."

has to try everything served for iftar. he'll eat a little of everything.

nanami tells him to eat more because he's more on the lean side and if he doesn't eat enough, he might fall sick like toge.

while fasting, he often gets tired but never shows it.

one day, he was a bit late for sehri. He got immensely nervous and drank too much water. that made him feel super uncomfortable and uneasy. bottomline, he threw up. homie missed a fast smh.

i can just imagine him taking out the seed of his dates before hand. its like a little game he plays with himself. how neatly can you take out the seed of the date without actually splitting it?

not ramzan related but he spends time with megumi just talking. i feel like he and megumi have a very cute brothers relationship and yuta is someone megumi trusts and respects a lot.

they dont want to backbitch but they sit together and complain about how annoying gojo is.

they go to taraweeh together.

he has a canon sister and like megumi, he cooks for her when she's not fasting

i can imagine him totally adorable on eid. his white kurta and a big wide smile SO ADORABLE

he had been saving money for a while to buy a drone. he finally had enough to buy it but toge decided to pitch in last minute and they bought one of a higher quality.

he sometimes makes halal jokes which are stupid but funny. (like these) (on a side note, YAQOOB IS SO CUTE!!!! HE GIVES OFF IMMACULATE YUTA VIBES)

yasha your favouritism is showing-

i need to shut up about him.

4. Nanami Kento

he's the dad abbu

he's very strict during ramzan. no music. no tv. nothing.

has a strict daily routine that he follows. it's not like he's going to sleep in to reduce the fasting pressure and all. if he normally started his day at 7, ramzan would be no different.

very diligently balances prayers and work. like he goes to work everyday but he still has enough to pray and stuff.

27 day taraweeh with megumi and yuta

always has a tasbeeh on him. (reminds me of my nani pls-)

eats the same thing for sehri everyday (this is basically canon so)

throws a mini tantrum when iftar is a bit different. like okay mr grumpy, you havent eaten or drank anything in the past like 16 hours. shut up and eat?

makes sure that gojo doesn't skip his fast. wakes him up drags him out of bed for sehri on time everyday.

one day gojo was chanting la haula wala quwwata and nanami just went "don't repeat it too many times, you'll disappear." [the way i said this to my father and he didnt even understand]

makes sure the kids eat enough during iftar. doesnt want anyone to get sick.

if one of the students fall sick, he makes sure they eat enough and takes their medicines on time. he's so caring i'm melting

he's the type pf person who eats a little bit, drinks some water, performs his maghrib namaz and then eats.

he has to keep gojo in check. confiscates his phone and blocks websites and stuff lol. he doesnt trust gojo and i dont either tbh

helps out in the kitchen!!!!!!

he wont you let you eat till you say grace. it's "ittedekimasu" in japanese right?

severe headaches and stiffness in ramzan but doesn't show it at all. let's nothing come in between him and his fasts.

takes pictures of his iftar everyday for a 30-day day challenge

doesn't get the hype for eid but buys himself an expensive gold sherwani anyways.

EIDI!!!!

gives everyone lots of eidi because he's well paid and wants the children to be happy.

5. Panda

he's a panda

he doesn't fast

he can cry tho

----

@krezin this is for you!

the way i belted this out with zero motivation. plus ramzan's almost over and i wanted to put this out before that. part 3 with the other adults/kyoto gang?

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu sorcerer #jujutsu stroll #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen hcs #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #nanami kento #maki zenin #inumaki toge #yuta okkotsu #panda #nanami kento hcs #headcanons #yuta okkotsu headcannons #yuta okkotsu x reader #ramzan #muslim #jujutsu kaisen crack

[writefightandflightclub]

You are my Sunshine (Finn x Poe x polyamorous! GN reader)

Summary: This is a quick lil bonus fic (in response to an ask from @bookbandobssessed​) for Indivisible, which is a super fluffy Finn x Poe x Reader polyamory story. The series is completed and has 4 parts, but this could probably be read as a stand-alone if you like! :o)

Finding time for two cute boyfriends in the midst of a war is hard, but you know one thing for sure. It’s worth it.

Author’s note: hi :) drink some water!

Warnings: This ends up pretty angsty but nothing bad actually happens. I promise. Mentions of making-out. Actual kissing. Posting this late, sorry if there are a ton of typos. I don’t have time to check!

GIF: by @pantherdolphin​

It’s very distracting.

And it’s very hard to achieve time management befitting your Commander station when you have not one, but two perfect boyfriends.

In the middle of a war, especially, it’s not easy. You make time for each other when you can, during breaks, or by bartering extra hours for aligned rotas to appease the General. You often help each other to get tasks finished earlier so you can enjoy the downtime as a trio or a pair, depending on who’s on base.

Sometimes it’s easier. Sometimes, you’re all off-rota at the same time, and you can spend all day in bed, or can arrange a simple date like a cute picnic or - if you’re really lucky, a jaunt off-planet.That time Poe flew you and Finn to see the ocean was a particular favourite.

Often though, it’s hard. It’s hard when you’re all flung to different corners of the galaxy for your respective missions. It’s hard when just two of you are left behind to fret about the other. It’s hardest, when one of you is left behind, to fret without any chance of comfort, and no-one to hold you in the night when the bad dreams come. 

However, despite the challenges -and sometimes the arguments, when the tensions of the war find some way to leak out- you wouldn’t change this for the world, because it’s worth it. It’s worth all the extra effort, because of the extra love you are able to give, and to receive in return.

This time though, you are finding it especially hard, because while Finn and Poe’s rotas are aligned this week, you happen to be picking up extra as you rigorously prepare your squadron for a high-stakes mission.

During times like this, you have to take what you can get. Squeeze your love into the cracks. Luckily, Poe is particularly good at squeezing things in. He’s a definite fan of quick make-out sessions, and although he’s not as surreptitious as he thinks -the whole base knows to avoid supply closet 7- he’s usually stealing either you or Finn (or you and Finn) for a sneaky fumble. You’re learning that while he typically likes to take his time, the pilot can be... ahem... surprisingly efficient in making it worth stepping away from your duties.

This week though, you have simply been too busy, and you are getting tired of seeing Poe steal Finn away. It’s your own fault. You had denied all their very persistent and earnest offers of help - they deserved their rest after a heavy month and you wanted to make sure they made the most of it. But, you can’t deny that while you refuse to participate in their closet dalliances, you have some serious FOMO.

Plus, you know exactly what Poe is doing. He’s been trying to entice you to join them for the past few days.

This time, he really goes for it. He tugs Finn into him for an open-mouthed kiss across the hangar, making sure you see his tongue slip into Finn’s mouth, pink and glistening. You feel it from both sides. You feel his tongue as though he is slipping into you. As though your tongue is writhing against Finn’s. You watch Finn’s hands skim down to Poe’s ass and grab, and again, it could be Finn’s hands on you, or the meat of Poe beneath your touch.

It’s not as though you’re happy about missing out. But you can’t. You can’t step away.

Poe looks at you hopefully as he breaks from the kiss, but you shake your head gently in apology. Finn throws you a helpless look too, his eyes soft with empathy, but you still have to watch them both walk away as the General grabs you for yet another dry-run of this mission. Still, you try to remember to be happy for them too, and for this rare time they get to spend with one another.

To everyone’s surprise, it’s not you who is called away first though. It is Finn. A new piece of intel pops up, and he and Rey are selected to head an urgent mission up. It happens so suddenly that he is swept away before even you or Poe have a chance to say goodbye.

Still, despite your concern for him, you have no choice but to press on with your duties. There’s too much at stake.

Of course though, you can’t help but worry about your boys. About Finn and whether he will be safe. About Poe, who now has an abundance of downtime to occupy on his lonesome.

What’s worst though, is the unsnatched chances. Now, when you glance across the hangar, you see an apparition of Poe and Finn beckoning you to them, and -oh boy- you wish you had joined them, while you still could. You wish you had held Finn as tightly as possible.

So, it’s fair to say that your distress and your worry and your regret -along with your nerves for your forthcoming mission- are weighing heavy on you, and what’s more, others around base are beginning to notice. You’re even snapping at your squad - a lot more than usual.

At one point in the day, when you’re not sure you can take anymore, Poe’s hand serendipitously appears on your shoulder just when you need it, giving you a gentle squeeze. 

“Hey, go easy, Sunshine,” he says gently, and you turn in the direction of his warm, sandy voice. “They’re terrified enough of you as it is,” he teases fondly.

He knows why you’re doing it. He knows you’re not okay, without even asking. Because he’s not okay either. You’re never okay when one of you is missing. Sometimes it’s too hard.

He smiles softly at you, his eyes lightly shining, though he still maintains some facade of professionalism in front of the others. While Finn might be okay with getting steamy wherever, he knows you’d kick his ass. “Can I borrow you for a meeting, Commander?”

You know exactly what he’s getting at though. Or you think you do. 

“In supply closet 7? I can’t even think about that, right now, Poe.”

Succumbing to you, leaning into your pain which feels so familiar to him, Poe’s fingers skim down the arm of your flight suit until he clasps your hand firmly in his warm grasp.

“No sex. Just wanna hold you, okay?” He asks, leaning in to give you a soft kiss at your hairline as tears threaten to brim over your eyes, your bottom lip trembling as all your anger gives way to the turmoil it is masking as soon as Poe applies his kindness.

Subtly, Poe turns you away from the prying eyes of the pilots and recruits milling throughout the hangar with a sturdy arm around your shoulder. For good measure he flashes a firm warning with his eyes and a flick of his chin, indicating that said prying eyes should look away and continue on with their own damn business. He is as respected as you are feared, and his warning is swiftly heeded, and so Poe is able to shuffle you away with little drama, easing you across the base; not into supply closet 7, but out onto the hill, in the open-air. 

You feel the sun, your namesake, on your face and you feel like you’d almost forgotten it was there. Forgotten that things could feel warm and bright. You are thankful for the reminder, as Poe leads you to a spot on the grass and lowers you with him, resting your head safely in his lap, brushing away the tears as they stream from your eyes, his fingers finding your hair. 

“I know,” he shushes. “I know you love Finn, and it’s hard to be apart. But he’ll be safe. He’ll come home.”

Poe knows you love Finn. He was there, the first time you each exchanged those words, in a moment more precious to you than you could have imagined possible.

You try to remember that lightness instead of feeling heavy. And yet, it’s hard.

It’s hard whenever one of you is gone.

Even so, you offer Poe a soft smile and fist your arms in his orange flight suit, burying your face in his stomach. Holding him a little closer, while you can.

Finn was whisked away so quickly that...

Realising something suddenly - something that you already knew- you sit up, compelled by urgency. Compelled by this feeling balling in your chest. You kneel opposite Poe, looking deeply into his eyes and you clasp his face between your palms like a prayer, his fresh stubble harsh under your skin. And you kiss him. You kiss him as tenderly as if it is the first time and the last time, because you never know. You kiss him as if you kiss could make apparent all of these feeling bursting out of you, and his lips and tongue move easily against yours, speaking the same language.

You try to tell him, because he doesn’t know yet. Poe doesn’t know how you feel.

You have known for some time, but something always got in the way of telling him. You had wanted him to have his own moment. One not weighed down by worry, or overshadowed by concerns for Finn; however, here you are with him, on this hill. Sometimes the simple moments are the most special. Especially when you don’t know how many moments you may have. Especially when far too many moments are snatched away by the war.

When you pull away to speak, Poe’s lips chase you, his brow knitted together and tears balling in the corner of his eyes from the intensity and force of your kiss, his plumped lips still puckered in search of more. However, when he sees the intention in you, he lets you slip back from him, even as he keeps a hand wrapped at the nape of your neck, wanting to keep touching you somewhere - feeling your skin under his fingers.

Readying to speak you tug in a breath, to reveal to him this truth, but when Poe searches your eyes he sees your words there already - sees your love already shining for him as brightly as the sun. He’s seen it before, but this time its rays are so warm on him it is unmistakeble.

“Ah ah,” he interupts, gently, with a finger against your lips before you can tell him.

You look at him curiously, a soft smile turning up your lips, mirroring his, and yet you know what he’s about to say too. Couldn’t be more sure. You see it in his dark eyes; his love shining soft and steadfast and glowing like the light of the moon, perfeclty relfecting yours. 

“I love you too, Sunshine.”

Your face splits into a blissful smile at the same time that tears wet your cheeks. With a forceful embrace, you throw your arms around his neck, fisting a hand into his curls and holding him as tightly as you possibly can, squeezing your eyes shut even tighter. 

You hold him as closely as you can, not ever wanting to let go; not even when you hear the General calling your name from the base of the hill.

It’s time. You have to ship out.

You don’t want to leave Poe. You don’t want to leave Poe alone.

You pull back from him again, and you see a smattering of bittersweet tears on his cheeks too, but you also see a familiar resolve as he nods softly and cups your face in his broad palm.

He knows. You have to go.

It’s always hardest on base alone, but there is a war to fight. A war you must fight, simply so that one day, it can be over. So that you will never have to part from each other like this again.

You say a tearful goodbye to him, his lips meeting yours in a crush, laced with the taste of salt. You turn to leave, more reluctantly than you can express, and yet Poe is the one who grabs hold of your sleeve to stop you.

“Wait!” he pleads, and you do, of course you do. You wait as, to your utter disbelief, he reaches for the chain around his neck, which holds his mother’s ring. You watch, a fresh batch of tears clouding your vision as he moves over to you, and fastens it around your neck, with hope and love and resolve in his face. 

Immediately, your hand comes to clasp the chain and the ring at the end of it, happiness exploding in you like a balling sun, crowding out words.

“Come back to me, will you?” he asks, with a lopsided smile, even as his voice cracks, brittle with emotion.

You return his plea with a watery smile of your own, throwing yourself into his arms once more with such force that it almost bowls him over, your tears wetting the shoulder of his flight suit. “I love you, Poe. I love you. I’ll always come back to you. How the kriff could I not?”

Poe kisses you on the lips one more time, and it is like the first time and the last time all at once, but then you really have to leave.

It seems impossibly hard to tear yourself away from him, and yet, you must, and so you jog down to the ship at pace, the chain and a million emotions jangling against and within your chest and reminding you that you’re not really leaving him behind at all. Reminding you that you’re indivisible.

Leia is waiting at the foot of the hill to scold you for your tardiness, but her words evaporate as she spots tear tracks on your cheeks and the new item of jewelry swinging at your neck, and she allows you to glide by with nothing more than a wink and a smile to clamber into your X-Wing.

You slot yourself into the cockpit, and allow yourself a few more thoughts of Poe and Finn before you let yourself slip into mission mode. You hope Poe will be okay, with you both having left him. You know he will worry.

You only hope he hangs on to one thing.

You’re coming back.

You both are. The three of you will be together again. You have to hope.

You clasp the chain around your neck with resolve, and tuck the ring safely under your flight suit, slipping your helmet over your head. 

It’s hard. So hard, when you are apart, but it’s worth it. Oh so worth it, for the moments when you’re not.

You smile with determination, even before Poe’s voice crackles through your comms, with all the warmth of a blazing fire.

“Go kick ass, Sunshine. And then come back to me.”

You intend to do just that.

#indivisible #poe dameron x reader #finn x reader #finnpoe #finnpoe x reader #star wars

[veryvincible]

Hey! 👋🏼 I was looking at Tonys panel with Carol and his AA panels. It got me thinking how can a person like Tony .. who is an atheist, a believer of science and a confident engineer rely on AA which has a religious foundation (the 12 steps) and place so power on God. I know secular AA have different takes on it and encourage a personal definition of God as any higher power the person may choose. But doesn’t that defeat Tonys belief? Because I don’t think he believes in a higher power regardless if it’s a deity or not.

This is a wonderful question. There’s a lot of nuance to the answer, in my opinion, because I think there are some things called into question here that Tony (very realistically) treats with a lot of complexity.

Firstly, Tony’s atheism is kind of... I don’t want to say it’s up in the air, because at this point, I think it’s kind of made its place in canon and fanon both. But, most likely as a result of the times in which he was created, he has been shown in canon (at least in the early stages of his life) to follow some sort of organized religion. This is from Iron Man Vol. 1 #164, and it’s... not strong evidence for him being a spiritual man, as most people who call themselves “not that religious” tend to be religious by way of traditions, but. You know. It is what it is.

Of course, we could dismiss this as yet another thing that early canon imposed on a character who wouldn’t be like that at this point in time, but I think it brings up interesting beats in the way Tony’s character has progressed over the years.

Considering him as someone who may have been raised as traditionally religious makes sense in the context of defining events, as well, given that we watch him pray the Lord’s prayer in #14 of Iron Man Vol. 4, one of his Civil War tie-ins.

Given the proximity to the alcohol (and the point he’s at in the timeline, here), one could also easily assume that even if he had no religious background, the very presence of the Lord’s prayer in AA meetings could have formed a connection in his head between this “worship” and sobriety-- at the very least, enough of one that the prayer strengthens the effectiveness of his willpower. It seems the little push he needs to pour a drink down the drain is borderline Pavlovian.

There’s actually a lot of religious imagery in Tony comics in general. He’s a man with a suit facing conundrums of cosmic proportions. It’s difficult for him to keep rationale exclusively within the range of earthly probabilities.

Point is, his atheism doesn’t come from his disbelief in a higher power. It’s quite the contrary, actually. His atheism comes from a belief that there’s no single entity that could claim the title of God, that any being willing to try has, just by being, already forfeited the title.

Which is a fair assessment to make, given that he’s fought many people claiming to be Gods, and they’ve all bled. He’s also watched people worship Gods that turned out to not... really be Gods, whether they were otherworldly beings, his buddy Thor, or, uh, himself. The idea of him, at least. In space.

Because of course that happened.

But Tony actually does have a higher power to give himself up to in these meetings. In Civil War II #1, he very explicitly states it:

“I respect the future. I believe in the future. I worship at its feet.”

“The Future” to him is something he can affect, certainly, but he’s aware of just how massive it is, just how massive all of time is compared to the few decades he’ll spend on earth. This is his higher power, his cosmic deity of choice.

It can’t bleed. It can’t falter. It’s inevitable.

And this mindset is... pretty in line with everything else he’s done. He’s referred to himself as a “necessary monster.” He’s implied many times over that he thinks he’s rotten and potentially dangerous, but he’s also intelligent and capable and he wants to do the right thing, even if he doesn’t always know what that is. 

If you’ve ever been in a religious environment, you’ll probably recognize his mindset going into any problem: there’s always a solution, always information he’s missing, always a “right choice” he’s looking for with a domino effect that’ll be as favorable as possible for future generations. He trusts in the future the way people trust in God, with an awareness that he’ll never have all the pieces to make sense of everything, but he can have enough information to act. And he must act, or else his worth, his right to be alive, even, is at stake.

So, needless to say, he’s not praying to a mainstream God. But religious imagery isn’t and has never been off-putting to him, and though he certainly could seek out unreligious (is that a word?) alternatives to AA, I find it hard to believe that he would, given just how influential his higher power of choice is as it guides him through life. He puts everything at stake for it, going so far as to make choices that will destroy not only himself, but also his relationships with his loved ones if it means he’s doing what he perceives to be the right thing.

Secondly, even if he were a man who had no belief in any form of higher power, not even a stand-in for it, AA still might not be something he’d discard in favor of an alternative.

Religion serves as a guide. Most often, it has “do”s and “do not”s, certain beliefs it supports, and a kind of... basic explanation of what human life is and how it should be treated. One of the more common threads among most religions that I’m aware of (I am not an expert in religious studies; please don’t @ me) is the idea that human life is generally sacred, and as such, people should treat each other with respect. Yes, some texts can contradict this, but the general rule is “be nice to each other!” when you really look at the basics of what people are trying to teach. At its core, religion is linked to what we as humans already tend to for the sake of survival: compassion.

As such, though we might not always identify with religion as a concept, it’s not difficult to identify with some religious morals and teachings. Some people take to certain teachings better than others-- it’s super case-by-case-- but if you’re stuck in a religious environment listening to some preaching or anything, there’s probably going to be something you can relate to, and some way you can morph and adopt the message. This isn’t, like, all-encompassing, by the way. Of course there are some things that atheists and religious folk will never be able to relate to within each other, but.

You get what I mean.

I’m an atheist myself. I spent a chunk of my schooling at a religious institution. At best, there were messages that affected me deeply (as they were hard-hitting even when I stripped them of the God-worshipping aspects). At worst, I had to grit my teeth through some assignments, though I felt mostly indifferent (if slightly resentful at times, more out of frustration with the closed-mindedness of the administration than with the concept of religion itself). My experience isn’t universal, of course-- some people in my shoes were more frustrated and angry than I was, and I can see why. But my point is, being an atheist in and of itself (even one as strict as Tony) doesn’t render religious imagery useless.

For example, if you happen to pass by a pastor preaching about struggles with guilt, you might not identify with the sentiment of “Give your worries to God and know He’ll take care of you.” However, you could identify with the sentiment of, “Those little things, those side effects of decisions you’ve made? They’re here. Those decisions have been made. You’re allowed to swallow past the reality of what it is that’s passed and move on. You’re allowed to let go of it, so long as you’re better today than you were yesterday.”

It’s especially easy to do this if you’re listening to or being exposed to content from a religion you’re already familiar with; in Tony’s case, if we assume he was a Christian at one point or was raised with Christian ideals (not unbelievable in the slightest, given his circumstances and upbringing), then he wouldn’t have to do a lot of heavy lifting in order to get to “core messages” of certain Christian teachings that he could still identify with. Couple that with the higher power mentioned before, and... it’s not hard to see what might be appealing to him about AA, and it’s not hard to see why it was so effective at sticking in his mind all the way through his darkest periods in life.

Now comes the less healthy part.

There’s also an aspect of self-flagellation to it that I feel Tony might identify with on a deeper level. We’ve seen him hate himself openly, and we know how he regards himself. Even if he managed to find himself in a courthouse-like environment where the religious undertones were more about judgment than recovery, I don’t know that that would necessarily... push him away? He’s already told himself there’s something rotting and evil at his core many times over. He’s already committed himself to a lifestyle of atonement and progress, punishing himself when he fails to accomplish things no human reasonably could and barely praising himself when he doesn’t fail. Do I think these kinds of meetings would be totally sustainable for him, given that he clearly needs to feel pride or relief on some level for conquering his demons? No, not really, but. I don’t think he’d abandon them straight away.

Besides, every healing environment he’s been shown in has been more on the welcoming, open side, even if we only get to see a bare bones interpretation of AA (with deeper exploration happening more with Tony’s response to it, or his and Carol’s responses to each other) in canon. He’s in a good place with it, and it’s very nice to see.

Tl;dr: Again, great question. At the end of the day, I think the combination of self-loathing, his desire for progress, and his conceptualization of “the future” as his higher power makes AA a good fit for him despite his lack of a belief in "God” as an entity.

#cassks #religion #alcohol tw #the day has come where my quasi-religious background has become useful #if there are parts of this that are illegible... that is my bad #i have. a killer headache right now #and i hurt all over #but thank you for the ask it was very nice

[fanfic-corner]

15x18 Fics - !SPOILERS AHEAD!

I think we can all agree that everyone - fans or not - were pretty shocked by the reveal of last week, and everywhere (Tumblr most of all) seemed to explode. AO3 was not exempt from this massive outpouring of creations, so here are some fics based on That Scene. I will warn you that not all of them are fix-it fics, and most of them are quite short for obvious reasons.

Like Real People Do by prosopopeya on AO3. (4,490 words).

Tags: Coda, Episode Fix-it, Fluff and Angst, Spoilers, Post Episode: s15e18 Despair, Angst with a Happy Ending.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Castiel experienced a moment of pure happiness, expecting it to be his last. It wasn't. 

Notes: This was so poetic and absolutely gorgeous.

The same old tears (wish you were here) by DestielIsFuckinReal on AO3. (1,992 words).

Tags: Temporary Character Death, Post Episode: s15e18 Despair, Coda, Love Confessions, Angst with a Happy Ending.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Notes: The speech marks were slightly annoying, but other than that, this was beautiful.

Never Enough by make_your_user_a_name on AO3. (1,556 words).

Tags: Post Episode: s15e18 Despair, Angst, Suicidal Thoughts, Love Confessions, Supportive Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester Knows, Domestic Fluff.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: It took him hours to notice it. He hadn’t felt it in the moment. Hadn’t felt the Cas’ hand stick slightly to his shoulder as it pushed him away, leaving him to face the Empty alone. But now that he’d noticed it, it was all he could look at. That bright red handprint standing out starkly against his jacket. It was perfect, really. Not a drop out of place. Just a handprint and nothing else. That was all he had left. The handprint where Castiel had “gripped him tight and raised him from perdition.” And now he’d saved him one more time. Same shoulder, same placement, same sting when Dean looked at it. It was poetic in the cruelest of ways. And if it weren’t for everything, he would have thought this was Chuck’s writing. But, no. Castiel was the only part of Chuck’s story that he couldn’t control. Because Cas had fallen.

Notes: Now this fic brought out the ugly tears.

this is a good thing, dean. (prayer is a sign of faith) by cascountsdeansfreckles on AO3. (529 words).

Tags: Prayer, Dean Winchester Prays to Castiel, post 15x18, 15x18 coda.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Dean’s legs still don’t want to move. He sits propped up against the wall and stares unseeing at the chair in the middle of the room. Everything that Cas said plays over and over in his head. The image of Cas looking devastatingly relieved, content, as he was taken from Dean won’t leave his mind. He doesn’t know what else to do. So he prays.

Notes: Okay, and I’m crying. Again. The one time Cas can’t hear Dean’s prayers is the one time it is the most important.

all the things i’ve never said by Saffir on AO3. (849 words).

Tags: 15x18 Fix-it, Angst, Heavy Angst, First Kiss, Confessions, Sad Ending, Nonbinary Castiel.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Castiel knows that their time has come. The past decade has been spent protecting Dean, living for Dean, dying for Dean. It finally comes time to sacrifice themself one last time. He wasn’t expecting it to hurt this much.

Notes: Confirmation of their relationship would have been nice! I mean, I firmly believe Dean reciprocated, but it would be nice to know for sure. And oh boy, I had not stopped to think about the scene from Cas’ point of view.

gay love pierced through the veil of death and saved the day by firefliesandstarlight on AO3. (444 words).

Tags: Fix-it, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: Cas doesn’t die. That’s literally it.

Notes: Is it bad I found out that Charlie died through the end notes of this fic? Like, imagine writing a scene so moving that it overpowers the fact that several other fan favourites died in that same episode.

15x18 coda: it’s in the being by contemplativepancakes on AO3. (1,167 words). 

Tags: Post Episode: s15e18 Despair, Coda, Dean Winchester Can’t Cope, Hurt Dean Winchester.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: Blood splatters from a severed neck, the body twitching before it collapses to the floor. It sprays across Dean’s face, dotting red droplets over his cheeks and in his hair. Dean keeps his mouth shut so he doesn’t get the taste of copper stuck in it; he already can’t get Cas’s face out of his mind. Dean knows this is the last place he should be, that with the world ending, it doesn’t really matter if there’s one less nest of vamps in the world, but if he stops moving, then he’ll… have to think. “I wondered what my true happiness could even look like, because the one thing I want, it’s something I know I can’t have.” 

Fuck, they wasted so much time.

Notes: I don’t even know what to say anymore. My heart is simultaneously full and utterly broken.

1 Missed Call by glenien on AO3. (597 words).

Tags: Post Episode: s15e18 Despair, Referenced Character Death, Angst, Dean Winchester is a Dumbass, Angst with a Happy Ending, Death!Castiel, Coda, Fluff and Angst.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: The buzzing never stops.

Notes: I love the implications of Dean literally flirting with Death here, and even though this isn’t the ending I think we’ll get, I can still hope!

Only know you love him when you let him go by Azura_lights_18 on AO3. (1,365 words).

Tags: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Post Episode: s15e18 Despair, Hurt/Comfort, Dean Deserves to be Happy, Angst with a Happy Ending.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: Destiel is finally canon... for ten seconds. My hopes for the upcoming episodes (just let Destiel live, please.)

Notes: I am loving the inventive ways people are bringing Cas back! I have hope, but that might just be me putting my clown wig on.

maybe just this once (let me keep this one) by psyiocke on AO3. (1,678 words).

Tags: Episode: s15e18 Despair, Canonical Character Death, Angst with a Happy Ending.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: Dean Winchester listens in silence, and he mourns in it too.

or the aftermath of hearing your best friend say he loves you and then watching him die.

Notes: Oh boy here I go again. That tag, by the way, is much too soon. But if this is what happened at the end, I would be happy.

Instinct by CKLizzy on AO3. (510 words).

Tags: Fix-it of Sorts, Episode s15e18 Despair, Episode Fix-it.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: Dean reacted on pure instinct. Instinct he didn't know he even had.

Notes: Oh, if only. I would have passed out.

A World Redeemed by Lif61 on AO3. (732 words).

Tags: Season 15 Spoilers, Post Episode: s15e18 Despair, POV Dean Winchester, Romance, Love, Happy Ending.

My Rating: 3 stars.

Description: Cas is gone, and the world is saved. But not for Dean.

Notes: I do really hope Cas comes back. Otherwise, I’m gonna have to go and have some words with someone.

Happiness is What Makes You Cry by AnotherWorld3111 on AO3. (358 words).

Tags: Angst, Referenced Character Death, Canonical Character Death, Post Episode: s15e18 Despair, Hurt No Comfort, Love Confessions.

My Rating: 3 stars.

Description: Just... read the goddamn tags

Notes: Oh man, if Dean actually breaks down in front of Sam, I will die on the spot.

All Out of Love by asofthesea on AO3. (681 words).

Tags: Not Actually Unrequited Love, Angst and Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Post Episode: s15e18 Despair, Homophobic John Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Jack Kline, One Shot, Brotherly Love, Feelings.

My Rating: 3 stars.

Description: After the events of 15x18, Despair, Sam and Jack rush back to the bunker to find Dean alone, and falling apart at the seams.

Notes: John Winchester would have been homophobic and no one can change my mind.

Tag to “Despair” (15x18) by Alvinola on AO3. (793 words).

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort.

My Rating: 3 stars.

Description: Sam has to pick up the pieces when Cas is gone.

Notes: Seriously, these fics are making me cry all over again. I mean, what can Sam possibly say to make any of this better? That’s heartbreaking in itself.

And a shameless self-promotion:

‘I love you’ by LinaRai on AO3. (420 words).

Tags: Angst, Episode: s15e18 Despair, Spoilers, Canonical Character Death, I’m Sorry.

Description: "I love you." Dean just stares at him.

Notes: I wrote this in a Criminology lesson while eating a bag of crisps which basically equated to my lunch because I was a mess and I had to. And yes, I am fully aware that I write things with major character death too often. So sue me.

So, how is everyone feeling? I’ve started re-reading Angel’s Wild in a wild (get it) attempt to cope. Also, this led to me having a full conversation with one of my teachers about Sherlock. ‘Maybe next time don’t use a current show as an example of queerbaiting,’ she said, as if any of us expected Destiel to go canon. Seriously, how do you explain to a 40 year old woman who only just realised that BBC Sherlock might possibly be queerbaiting how much no one expected that to happen? 

#supernatural #destiel #15x18 #15x18 spoilers #ficrecs #fanfic

[sapphia]

alright so i don’t write fanfiction anymore and i haven’t even really been in this fandom for years, but if i was writing supernatural, here’s how the destiel thing would have played out: 

they gay plotline would happen about season 9-11, pacing wise. cas and dean are close and have a shared bond, and know each other pretty well at this point, but things haven’t started getting repetitive yet plot wise. the season big bad is irrelevant because lets be honest they’re all pretty much the same. 

dean and cas have spent their time in purgatory together, and i’d move the purgatory reveal flashbacks from season 15 into season 8 alongside the normal flashbacks. 

you have your usual series opener in episode one with the massive conflict semi-resolving but also setting up the season’s big bad. at this point in episode one, cas sacrifices himself for dean specifically, but also helping advance the “mission” - however, while one of them had to die to keep the other alive so the job could be finished, it could have been either of them, not necessarily cas.

this of course spawns a bit of emotional angst, with dean being hit pretty hard by cas’s death. there’s a hint that his reaction is more emotion extreme than say, bobby or jo’s death, but still a bit less than if sam had died - and also notably takes it harder than sam. this sets up the fact that cas is more than just a tag along to dean. 

cas will be brought back about episode 4 (method irrelevant), and there’ll be an emotional reveal, but nothing too out of the ordinary. everyone’s just happy to see him alive again. there’ll be dialogue specific to dean and cas, of course, but just your generic “glad you’re back/what happened while i was away” catch up

episode 5 will have no destiel content, but there will be a minor male character who sort of flirts with dean. dean doesn’t reciprocate, and is flustered, but also doesn’t reject him (perhaps because he’s flustered), setting the stage for dean-is-not-straight-and-has-repressed-bi-feelings, but this is pretty minor and easily overlooked. sam witnesses this moment.

in episode 7, you’ll have a cas/dean centric ep, where they go off and investigate either by themselves or in a way that has sam occupied and away from them for a lot of the episode. they have a mini confrontation early/mid episode where dean says cas shouldn’t have sacrificed himself, that they could have found another way, that cas should have been the one to complete the mission and dean to die. 

cas’s response here will hint at his thoughts in 15x18 regarding what dean’s done for him, but much briefer. he implies that he’d rather dean had lived; dean is a good man, and cas sort of “owes” him this because dean has helped him find his humanity. he doesn’t confess his love or anything, but the implication that cas feels love (of some sort) because of knowing dean is definitely there. 

dean should be a little uncomfortable at the raw emotions of this scene, and pulls back, though castiel will remain earnest and completely unbothered by dean’s difficulty dealing with what he’s saying

the episode continues, and the hunt goes as normal, but towards the end, dean gets injured (head or face wound). cas heals him easily, but there is a moment that lingers a little too long, with cas’s hand on dean’s face. dean is a part of it - he feels it too - but it freaks him out and he ends the moment, pretending it didn’t happen. they carry on packing up/continuing the hunt/whatever they were doing before, but the final shot of the scene is dean looking at cas and wondering - what the hell was that? 

this is going to be played out pretty slow over the series, so in between the core relationship developing episodes there’ll be normal monster of the week episodes with just your normal amount of destiel subtext. the episode following cas and dean’s moment, for example, (episode 8 and 9) will be your average sam/dean/cas hunt with nothing more than a couple of small moments between cas and dean where cas is perhaps a little too intense and dean pulls away, or there’s an awkwardness between them, especially from dean’s side. episode 10 doesn’t have cas in it at all,  because dean has made an excuse to separate himself from cas - i.e. dean jumps at the opportunity to give cas a task that means he’ll be hunting separately to him and sam

episode 11 will be a sam/dean hunt, but in the middle of the episode they find a clue/information that they need cas’s help trying to decode. sam suggests praying for cas to show up, and dean says well go ahead then. sam doesn’t make a fuss about dean not doing it himself (though he may be a bit surprised) and he prays to cas - but nothing happens. dean sighs and rolls his eyes, and says “cas, you there? we need some help” and cas appears. 

sam is (sort of) mock offended that cas comes when dean calls and not him, and cas says that he was busy and would have heard sam eventually if he’d tried praying again later, but dean has an easier time breaking through via prayer than sam (ala the “dean and i share a more profound bond” moment in season 5(?i think). like then, sam is mock offended, but isn’t really surprised. dean is keen to move the conversation past this and get cas’s help with the hunt, which cas provides, and cas decides to stick around to help fight the episode’s monster. 

the episode facilitates a scene where cas and sam are left alone on the hunt with some downtime to talk (perhaps because dean is avoiding cas) and sam brings it up, a bit curious - does cas hear dean better because cas pulled him from hell? cas admits he isn’t sure exactly what the reason is - perhaps it also has something to do with the way dean has affected him as a person. he finds that despite himself, he cares for dean more deeply than anyone else - and his feelings remain unchanged by the fact that dean seems to be avoiding him right now. but he finishes by saying he can’t help that his thoughts are more attuned to dean at all times, and that he finds himself thinking of him far too often, which probably leads to dean’s prayers finding him easier than other people’s. 

sam is pretty shocked/surprised at this - it sounds like cas is saying he’s in love with his brother. cas doesn’t confirm this explicitly, but sort of agrees, saying something along the lines of “that is a possibility”, as though he’s not quite sure. 

sam’s still processing this - can angels even fall in love? cas assures him that they can (maybe gives an example of another angel this has happened to) though it doesn’t happen often and has never really ended well. 

the scene ends either a bit awkwardly, with sam still being “oh my god what is going on” and castiel being earnest and sort of oblivious to sam’s shock, or with an attempt at lightheartedness from sam. the episode continues as normal, though sam now gets to hunt with dean and castiel with the new secret knowledge that one of them is in love with the other one and the other one probably doesn’t know. but he doesn’t really know what to do with that information, so he does nothing, just observes. 

episode 13 has no cas in it again, and it’s a sam/dean hunt. but here’s where it gets interesting - the monster is preying on men at a gay bar. 

the hunt they’re on has people going missing who have recently frequented the bar. one of the bartenders there is obviously gay, and flirts with dean a little bit during their initial questioning, even giving him his number at the end, which throws dean. sam sees the end of this interaction and notes it with amusement. 

they continue investigating - clues (or another disappearance) lead back to the gay bar, so they decide they have to check it out again. when there, they spot the same bar-tender again, and sam makes a joking comment that dean will probably get more out of him than sam will, so dean better go talk to him. dean does, and manages to be a bit more casual now he’s not as taken off-guard. dean gets the information out of him that he needs, but the conversation also hits more casual/personal territory - come comments are about what it’s like doing the job dean does, etc. dean might make a cryptic comment that hints about the supernatural nature of their work, not that the bartender would pick up on it, and answers in a way that’s both true to dean’s actual life but could be mistaken as being a thing an fbi agent would say. the bartender is less flirty during this conversation, but when he does make flirty comments, dean takes it much better and continues the conversation easily, and despite himself dean finds himself warming up to this guy. 

the hunt continues. in the early scenes, when sam and dean roll into town, dean will see two guys heavily making out outside the club, and looks away (in a prudish/not wanting to watch someone’s PDA sort of way). later in the episode, either right before the climax or right after, there will be a moment where dean sees another moment of PDA between two guys (possibly more of a sweeter scene, like holding hands, or canoodling), and dean watches for a moment, somewhat longingly. the episode won’t address it, but this is his moment where internally he starts wondering if maybe he wants that. 

the episode heads towards the conclusion when the monster takes another victim - and lo and behold, it’s our bartender. but dean and sam are getting close to finding it, and they hunt it to it’s lair. sam deals with the monster while dean rescues the bartender. it’s a generic rescue scene, and dean is very compassionate and reassuring, and the bartender is quite freaked out, as to be expected. the wrap up scene, where they take him home/back to his car/wherever, has him asking dean about what else is out there, and dean is honest - there are lots of creatures that lurk in the dark. but hopefully the bartender won’t see any more of them. if he does, here’s dean’s card - call him and dean will come. the bartender makes a joke about using it for a booty-call/to get a date with dean, and dean jokes back in a way that rebuffs that, but in a light and friendly manner. 

the series continues. there is one more dean/sam hunt and then a dean/sam/cas hunt. dean seems a little but more at ease with cas during this.

in episode 16, dean gets a call from the bartender. he picks up the phone and makes a joke about how this wasn’t supposed to be used for booty calls - before turning serious at the bartender’s answer. something is going down in that town again, and he wants dean to come check it out. dean promises he’s on his way and hangs up. 

sam is ready to go with dean, but dean tells him he’s going to go on his own. sam is surprised, but lets him. 

dean goes to the bartender’s town and investigates. something is going down, and this time the bar tender helps him along the way. there is an easy chemistry between the two of them, the sort of familiarity characters have when meeting dean and sam for the second or third time rather than the first. the bartender assists in the investigation, so is around dean a lot, and flirts with him on occasion. in contrast the previous episode, dean is much more at ease with it, he even flirts back a little at one point. but it could still all be in good fun - it doesn’t have to imply anything. 

3/4 of the way through the episode, before they go after and kill the monster, there is a slow/waiting/resting scene where dean and the bartender have the opportunity to just chat. they talk about the monster/hunting/the lifestyle a wee bit - and dean shows him something about the monster on the laptop, or in a book, or gives him a weapon and shows him how to use it - whatever it is, they get physically close for some reason. the bartender makes another flirtatious comment, and dean isn’t too sure how to respond this time. the bartender shrugs it off - it’s just some fun, he knows dean’s straight, it’s fine. 

dean’s mind is racing a hundred miles a minute, and he’s feeling an absolute cascade of emotions. maybe, he croaks out, maybe he isn’t as straight as you might think.

it’s pretty clear where this is going lol. they have a moment, they kiss, idk maybe they have sex, maybe it’s implied or left ambiguous. camera cuts away. 

when we come back to them, the plot has accelerated and it’s time to go after the monster (immediately, right now, before anyone can talk about what just happened). they hunt the monster, dean does the bulk of the work but there’s a crucial moment where bartender saves dean, mirroring the way dean saved him in his first appearance and allowing dean to finish the monster off. 

the wrap up/goodbye scene is a bit awkward, both not too sure where they stand, but there is a moment where dean admits that he liked what happened between them. but it’s pretty obvious it can’t continue - dean has to keep hunting, and the bartender is not here for that life - he likes all his limbs attached. they keep the door open though about seeing each other in future - maybe a comment about where dean’s based, and the bartender says he’s heading through that way in a month or so, maybe he can pop in and say hi, and dean agrees. 

dean goes back to the bunker, reconnects with sam who’s wrapped up his b-plot. dean is deliberately vague about the case details, and sam gets the feeling something’s off. then dean gets a call, and he takes it - but he’s squirrelly about it. 

sam’s suspicious and is worried something is really wrong. he follows dean and listens to his call - he hears dean say “hey [bartender]”, and the conversation that follows, which basically boils down to - the bartender is actually going to be in dean’s area next week instead, it turns out, maybe they could catch up, and dean says sure, but his brother is around, and dean hasn’t exactly told him about what happened or come out to him, so they have to be a bit on the downlow. he doesn’t want to seem sleazy, but maybe they could get a hotel room? cut to sam, looking pretty surprised lmao and sort of creeping away quietly, feeling bad for eavesdropping on such a personal conversation and now processing the fact that his brother is (he thinks) gay. 

ep 17 is a week later and  dean and sam are called to a case miles away - right when the bartender is supposed to visit. dean takes a private call where he regretfully tells the bartender he’s not going to be around - they won’t be able to catch up this time. this secretive behaviour reminds sam (and the audience) of dean’s secret. 

sam sort of spends the whole episode waiting for dean to come out to him, which doesn’t happen because this is still really new to dean and he’s not sure he’s ready for it. it’d be kinda fun/funny if they were fucking around with some sort of truth goddess or something, but regardless there’ll be opportunities for sam to poke dean about general things he might not be saying. sam also drops a couple of massive hints that he thinks gay people are awesome which dean obliviously ignores (or maybe starts cluing into towards the end of the episode). 

but by the time they’ve defeated whatever it is they’re hunting, dean still hasn’t said anything about being gay so while they’re in the impala diving home, sam’s like “you know, if you were gay, i’d be okay with it” and dean’s like “yeah i’m not gay” and sams like “I heard you on the phone with bartender, sounded pretty gay” and dean’s like “okay yeah we banged. but i’m not gay, i’m bi” and sams like “woah. and you never said anything?” and dean talks about how it’s sort of been coming on for a while now but he’s been trying to ignore it because he didn’t think he was that person, or maybe how there was something with a guy a long time ago but he repressed it, etc etc. and sams like “well that’s cool and you’re still my big brother, i still love you, that’s never going to change” yada yada and there’s an awesome emotional scene and they drive off into the sunset. 

BUT we still have the cas/dean plotline to wrap up in the last few episodes. sam know knows cas loves dean and dean’s bi but doesn’t know if dean loves cas and also doesn’t want to say anything in case he shouldn’t. but also wonders whether he should because it seems like dean might have feelings for cas, so as we head towards the final episodes sam keeps trying to push cas and dean into situations alone together but it’s not working very well, although they’re obviously really fucking close and sam can see just how much dean loves cas and cas loves dean but neither of them can actually see it, and eventually (like, one episode from the finale) cas says something implying quite obviously that he has feelings for dean and then leaves and dean’s totally oblivious and sam is practically banging his head against a brick wall out of frustration and just caves and is like “you know cas is in love with you, right?” and deans like “no” and sam is like “well he is. he told me” and dean’s like “whaaaaat” 

but there’s no time for dean to like, talk to cas about this, only a small amount of time where he processes his feelings for him (maybe like one scene together a but a third character is there the whole time, so dean can think about what sam told him, but can’t say anything to cas) and then the finale is really kicking off, and they’re fighting whatever the big bad is, and again there’s comes this point where someone has to sacrifice themselves and this time dean’s like “no cas i told you earlier, i don’t want you sacrificing yourself, this time it’s my turn” and cas is says “no let me, i want to do this” and dean’s like “yeah but i don’t want you to because i love you” and does the thing that should kill him

except at the last minute something else happens which stops that (sam like kills the big bad by taking it by surprise or something) and so dean doesn’t die (maybe he’s a bit injured though and cas has to heal him) and cas goes to him and there’s a very emotional scene where they elaborate on the love confession and kiss each other and sam’s like “i can’t believe a month ago i thought these men were straight”. 

and because this is supernatural something immediately goes wrong and by killing this big bad they’ve actually triggered the rising of the next big bad so there’s your plot for the next season you’re welcome, but hey now they’re gay together you’re welcome SPN writers please pay me to reboot your series in the way dean deserved. 

#supernatural #destiel #cw supernatural #fanfiction

[leapyearkisses]

For the director’s cut: Orbs Are Bad News, please? Part 2 (or both, if you’re willing!) It’s one of my favorites 💗

One of my favorites, too! Thanks for the ask! :D I'll do both parts, with Part 2 to follow this a bit later.

Director's cut comments in bold below the cut! MESS, m/m, holding a handkerchief, etc.

This story came from a prompt on a writing meme about a character losing the use of their hands while having to deal with snz. I can't remember at the moment if the prompt was D&D-flavored or if I just picked that setting myself because I was really into playing the game at the time (still am!). Also I'm incredibly sleep-deprived, so I hope these comments don't ramble overmuch.

"Okay, we don't know what we're dealing with here, so let's be careful." Gerrit pushed open the heavy wooden door and lifted his torch to illuminate the room inside. The firelight played over several tables covered in intriguing objects and glinted teasingly off of more than one hint of gold. Gerrit himself spotted a stolid wooden chest in the corner and his heart rate quickened.

When I was a kid, my mom gave me the Dragonlance books and I fell in love with them, although it was a long time before I was able to play D&D myself. I attribute my love of the very traditional fantasy realm to these books and my enduring love of sickly mages to Raistlin (Soulforge was like an EXPERIENCE for me). Gerrit has his origins in Tanis Half-Elven - he's a good guy, kind of a normal/default fighter build. "Jackpot," breathed Remembrance, the party's resident ne'er-do-well. She rubbed her hands together, sharp nails clicking. Gerrit was sure she was assigning price tags to the lot of it, except for whatever she hid in her bags for herself, of course. "I know a guy in the capitol who'll pay through the nose for that pervy little statue there." "That is a religious object," chastised Cordes with a haughty tsk. "It's used in rituals of worship for the goddess Fortuna." "Oh, I'm sure he'll be worshipping," cackled Remembrance, and she slipped past Gerrit into the vault. "Few hundred gold and he'll be rubbing out a grand ol' prayer." Her pointed tail waved with greedy delight. "Hey! The proper course of action would be to bring it back to a temple!" Cordes went after her, pushing Gerrit aside.

Remembrance and Cordes are here to be the beta couple and provide background color. Their development was based on a few factors: A) a D&D party should have ~4 people with different abilities (fighter, sorcerer, cleric, rogue), B) a priest and a devil is never not a fun/ny dynamic, C) I'm not into F snz but I feel bad that most of my OCs are not women, and D) given that Gerrit is a "default" archetype, there needed to be differing characters to contrast his personality with (or he would seem to have none). Also I like dirty jokes, so Remembrance can be my humorous id for this purpose lol The half-elf grumbled but wasn't surprised. "At least TRY not to touch anything cursed," he called. He'd been the one to organize this little band, but although he was the one who reported to their patron, he had precious little influence over what they did. They were happy to point to him when some upstart had a problem with the party, though. Ingrates. He turned to the last member of the group. "What about you, Llewellyn? I thought I saw some books on the far table." "Lead the way," replied the sorcerer, and his usually mellifluous voice sounded strained. Purple shadowed the hollows under his faintly luminous silver eyes, and he had his nose tucked into his handkerchief again. Gerrit hadn't spent much time around full elves, but he'd always believed they couldn't get sick, at least not like a human or dwarf. Llewellyn had been dragging since Saints' Day, though, and seemed to have come down with a flu. His skin, where visible under his fitted robes, was wan.

Fuck up that slender, haughty elf man is an endlessly running subroutine in my head. "Sure," said Gerrit, and he stepped into the room, holding the door out so that Llewellyn could join him. "You, uh, you don't look like you're feeling any better." "Oh," said the sorcerer, "I'm not. I ran out of tonics." He entered the vault and walked over to one of the tables, investigating a strangely shaped glass bowl. "But as we were already down here, I'm not sure what you want me to say. There's no inn at which I might rest my weary bones." "Cordes could make you an herbal remedy," Gerrit grumped. He went over to the chest he'd seen earlier and smashed the lock off with the pommel of his dagger. He didn't need any fancy lockpicking tools like Remembrance's. And hitting something felt good when his companions were all intent to be annoying, acerbic, or both. "I suppose," Llewellyn replied, sounding uncertain as his voice wavered. Gerrit tried to ignore the way his ears heated at that. That was the tone that overtook the elf when he was preparing to sneeze. It wasn't any of Gerrit's concern. His occasional roll in the hay (literal and figurative) with Llewellyn did not make it easier or more appropriate to acknowledge his odd attractions, especially since they were currently ransacking a dungeon with a priest and a psychopath. He focused his attention on searching the chest, and he was rewarded with a heavy coin purse, a stack of calfskin-bound journals, and a ruby the size of a robin's egg. He whistled.

Gerrit and Llewellyn are the dynamic opposite of Eliseo and Padgett. Gerrit is the less-privileged, more personable, "low class" character and Llewellyn is the high-born, fussier, sarcastic noble; however, in this story Gerrit is the voyeur character with the fetish and the POV window while Llewellyn is tortured for everyone's amusement. Narratively it's more fun and easier for me to describe the non-fetish-having character because I also like the power of the narrator to be that voyeuristic eye. Llewellyn gasped. "Hah- hahttsch-ow!"

I made myself laugh while writing this hahah "'Ow'?" Cordes appeared from behind a bookshelf, one arm wrapped tightly around a thick rug, the other reaching for his pack of salves. "What is it? Cut? Burn?" When Gerrit looked, their sorcerer was rubbing his nose with his left hand. "Bruise," Llewellyn said. He lifted his right hand, in which he held a blue crystal orb that was knotted inside a thin lattice of gold chain. "I got my hand caught." He'd apparently run the thing into his nose when trying to cover his sneeze. Llewellyn's thin face was already dusted pink from the embarrassment. Gerrit couldn't help but laugh. "Very graceful," he chuckled. "I will thank you for keeping it to yourself," Llewellyn replied, and that was elvish dialect for "fuck you." Gerrit laughed again.

Embarrassment is a huge part of my enjoyment of this kink because of the ensuing power dynamics. The victim is thrown into disequilibrium by something (snz) that is inherently seen as socially inappropriate, disgusting, or at least uncomfortable. Almost always their reaction is outsized to what it would probably be outside of a fet context (most people can sneeze in public without feeling shame - which is the typical mode, lol. It's a normal bodily function). However, then the other character, motivated by their BF's anxiety and potential humiliation is prompted to caretake and comfort them, "approve" of the "shameful" act, and deepen the intimacy of the couple. They can also enjoy the embarrassment and the act voyeuristically while feeling their own discomfort about watching, then deal with either having to divulge the kink or be found out by their partner later (because consent is the sexiest thing, really). But I love my characters and I'm not into hardcore stuff so much, so there are almost never any consequences of the "humiliation" - the characters do not get caught out, they do not get shamed by society, they do not actually lose face or have to explain their sexual preferences to anyone who should not know them.

Now you know way too much about my psychology but also the basic formula for any kink story I have written or will write in my entire life. Yay! Cordes had leaned over to see the orb better in the firelight. He was the only one among them whose vision was hindered by the dim light. "What kind of artifact is this?" he asked. "It doesn't resemble anything I've studied."

Lol humans don't have darkvision. "I'm not sure." Llewellyn held it up to the torch. The orb lit up like a lamp, but otherwise nothing happened. "Whatever this chain is, though, it's very prone to tangling." He tried to shake it off his wrist and failed. This was a task for both hands, and he set to freeing himself. And kept trying. And trying. Gerrit frowned. "What are you doing? Cordes, would you get that off of him?" "Sure." The priest reached out to help, but Llewellyn suddenly backed away out of reach. "Uh... I'm not trying to steal it, elf." "Oh, I would let you take it," Llewellyn said, scowling. "But I have a feeling we would be in for some trouble if you touch it now." He held up both hands. His palms were wrapped around the crystal and bound with the ball in that thin gold chain. "I am... I'm stuck."

---

"STUCK," hooted Remembrance again. She was crouched at the entrance to the dungeon - a root-cellar-like set of doors they'd found in a small bandit settlement - and hauling out a heavy pack stuffed with loot. In the daylight, she looked menacing and out of place, her horns, dusky maroon skin tone, and black eyes setting her apart from this land's primarily human residents. "And you even said not to touch any curses!"

Jump cuts are funny! I love this kind of thing, honestly. It's some of my favorite humor - that and dramatic irony, which is also often depicted in visual media with a funny jump cut. "I recall you said so as well," said Cordes, who looked exactly like a run-of-the-mill human resident except for the star-like scar on his left temple. He reached down and grabbed Gerrit's hand, steadying the half-elf as he climbed out of the hole. Llewellyn was hanging uncomfortably on Gerrit's back, arms looped around the other man's neck. They'd tried to find a more dignified way to get him out of the dungeon, but he couldn't manage the ladder well enough without the use of his hands. "The artifact didn't react to my detection spell," sniffed Llewellyn disdainfully, and Gerrit was quick to set him down before that sniffing could become another sneeze. He didn't want to blush in front of the others.

Blushing is very appealing to me, so everyone blushes all of the time. "There must be someone in Veigh who can help you," Gerrit said. "We'll just swing by on our way to the capitol." The city was three days out of their way, but they couldn't have Llewellyn stuck this way for the two week trip back to their patron. With his hands bound, he couldn't cast any spells that required him to gesture, and that was almost all of them. He'd effectively rendered himself completely useless in combat. Veigh had a chapter of the Mages Guild in residence, though, and if no one there could help, they might at least be able to send Llewellyn on ahead via a transportation spell.

Let's go on a short tangent about names. Usually I name my characters using Babynames.com or similar sites and I pick based on the look, sound, and meaning of the names. For this little group, things were slightly more haphazard. Llewellyn is a Welsh name meaning "leader." I just happen to like this name already, but it also has a visual beauty and difficulty to pronounce on sight that lent it well to an elf character without me having to look up specifically elven names. When I make elf characters in D&D, I tend to give them a nickname or alias that is easy to remember and pronounce so that the name isn't a hindrance while playing the game.

Gerrit's name was picked based on sound. It is similar to the Welsh name Gareth ("spear ruler"), which is on purpose, but it was altered to make it a bit more fantastical/removed. It's appropriate for a fighter in meaning but also suits his more familiar/pedestrian half-elven experience vs. that of a noble elf.

Cordes was given a short name because he is a no-nonsense human, but I chose it to resemble that of conquistador Hernan Cortes because of the "holy invasion" and "treasure hunter" associations. Remembrance is named using the PHB's suggestion that tieflings often pick "ideal" names for themselves, and she has a complicated past (like most tieflings). "I will hope there is." Llewellyn looked pale and worn, though his fine features still exuded the otherworldly beauty of the high elves. His hair was a silky black, although mostly covered by his hood, and the contrast made his silver eyes look even more curious. He fumbled for a minute at his waist before scowling heavily. "I can't get into any of my bags, of course..." "What do you need?" asked Gerrit. Remembrance had started off through the trees, humming, her bulging pack swaying with her sinuous movements. Gerrit really didn't want to let her get too far ahead, not least because she was scary good at concealing herself in the foliage and might slip the party completely. However, Cordes was with her, and Llewellyn couldn't exactly fend for himself right now. "My handkerchief..." The elf's voice had gone wavery again, and Gerrit watched as his nostrils flared. Fuck.

Oho! Here is the plot and the kink conceit. Gerrit hurriedly patted his pockets until he produced his own handkerchief, or what he bothered with when necessary. It was a large square of flannel, rough around the edges. It wasn't embroidered or monogrammed like Llewellyn's, but he figured by now the flannel was a hell of a lot cleaner, and it was soft for an irritated nose. "Here, take mine."

Characters' belongings are also a good way to contrast their situations and personalities. I don't consider handkerchiefs particularly vital to my enjoyment of this kink, but they are a useful visual and I like to describe things. Small details like this are how you can worldbuild without having to do too much extra research. Llewellyn held out his hands plus the orb for it, breath hitching, but no matter how Gerrit tried to drape the cloth, it kept slipping off of the artifact. He supposed he could try to tie it around the-

This is just so funny to me XD Llewellyn made a desperate sound and tipped his head back, exposing the long line of his throat. His breath was coming in soft pants now. And he was raising the orb reflexively. Gerrit couldn't let him whack himself in the face again, so he did the only other thing he could think of. With one hand he reached out and took Llewellyn by the shoulder. With the other, he lifted the handkerchief and pressed it over the elf's nose. His fingers settled firmly on either side of Llewellyn's nostrils, and none too soon. After another half-hitch, Llewellyn ducked forward again with a quiet but insistent sneeze. "Happtsch!

One of the most pleasing sneeze sounds, tbh. Gerrit was sure he was beet red. “Bless you,” he mumbled. Through the cloth, Llewelyn’s nose felt hot, and any gentle pressure resulted in a bit of a squish. “Let me just…” "Whh- wait-" Llewellyn leaned into the handkerchief. "I'm nh- I'm not done hhH-" His eyes slipped shut and he gasped again. Gerrit swallowed and tried to ignore the tenting of his breeches. "R-roger that." He could feel Llewellyn's nostrils twitching against his fingers. "Hh...Haah- Hapttschuh! Snrk... Aptschiu!" His body rocked, and he took a half-step forward. Gerrit could hear the thick sound of congestion in the elf's nose as he tried to stave off another sneeze.

The desperation, talking through the sneezing, and congestion are all vital parts of this scenario. Unavoidable embarrassment + disgust factor + need for caretaking/mitigation. "Blow your nose," he said. "It will help." Llewellyn hesitated, but in the end, he had to comply. There was nowhere for the mucus to go except out. He started to blow with a gurgle.

I used to be really against mess, but the taboo/disgust part of the brain turns off psychologically a LOT during arousal and now I really do not find snz interesting without it. Snz without mess isn't embarrassing enough or visually exciting. Gerrit moved the hand from his shoulder to start rubbing Llewellyn's back. The handkerchief and his fingers were rapidly growing damp, but he really didn't mind. "There you go." He held the handkerchief to Llewellyn's nose until the elf moved back on his own. His nose was red and tender looking, and his cheeks were flushed rosy. He didn't seem to want to meet Gerrit's eyes. Gerrit didn't mention it. He didn't really want to look at Llewellyn either right now. It had been a while since the elf had looked so very fuckable.

Potentially due to my propensity to write fanfic about established ships, all of my OCs apparently have a history or mutual attraction out of the gate. On one hand, it's difficult just mechanically to write a scenario about a romantic or sexual encounter without there being chemistry and an excuse for them to already want to rub bits (obviously), especially in short stories, but I also cannot stand the thin veneer of situational causality that underlies porn (to borrow from Cards Against Humanity). If I can't care about my characters' lives outside of the one random fetish scenario, I can't care enough to write about them at all. He put the handkerchief in an easily-accessible outside pocket of his vest. "Ready to go?" Llewellyn coughed lightly. "Yes." "Excellent." Gerrit gestured for Llewellyn to precede him, and the two of them headed out through the trees, following the sounds of Cordes negotiating the underbrush and swearing about it. --- Travel proved easy enough once they made it to the road. They were fortunate not to meet anyone else along the way. The party could handle a group of bandits without their sorcerer, but they had their treasure to worry about, and Remembrance always drew stares, and sometimes aggression, even from normal travelers. Gerrit thought her skills more than made up for the extra negative attention they drew. And anyway, Remembrance was crazy but she wasn't evil. She did better out on the road than in town, but that was probably true of all of them. Llewellyn kept up with her pace, but it was clearly a struggle. He was usually fairly quiet, but he didn't speak at all as they walked, focusing on breathing and not devolving into coughing or more sneezing. There were a few times when Gerrit hastily reached into his pocket, at the ready, but Llewellyn fought back the itch with admirable determination. He kept his nose from running by sniffling heavily, which sounded somewhere between awful and revolting. Cordes commented on it multiple times with disgust, but nothing could be done. Llewellyn held his tongue, and Gerrit was reluctant in this case to offer the handkerchief without being asked.

Cordes is here providing the societal reaction and voice of reason lol, but there still aren't any consequences or shaming from them. I just imagine how fricking uncomfortable it would be if people acknowledged this porn scenario happening in-world and so that is never part of the story development. They found a place to camp about half an hour outside the small village of Tewks. Remembrance cleared out some brush to make a flat area for the bedrolls and then promptly decided she'd rather sleep in a tree with everything she owned. She found a good, solid oak a few yards from the camp and ensconced herself in the crux of its branches. She had a good view of the road in either direction and volunteered to take the second watch in the middle of the night, which was her favorite time. Gerrit agreed to take the first watch as Cordes started to set up his tent. The priest refused to sleep on the ground and always took an extra fifteen minutes to erect a curious one-person canvas canopy. It wasn't even large enough to sit up inside, but whatever. The priest never asked anyone else to haul it along, so Gerrit wouldn't complain.

Remembrance and Cordes are thus handwaved away from the sexual center of the plot and they will neither see nor hear anything they aren't invited to. These arrangements left him and Llewellyn alone together on one side of the fire, and he supposed that was preferable during the orb situation anyway. Llewellyn couldn't handle his own bedroll, help with the fire, or unpack any of their supplies. Gerrit realized he would probably have to help the elf eat, too. And... Well, when he noticed Llewellyn fidgeting uncomfortably, Gerrit took him out into a thicker copse to see to his other needs. They didn't talk about it... Llewellyn could hardly undo his own buttons, though, and it wasn't the first time Gerrit had taken over.

I am very into watersports, so it creeps in, although I don't think there's a friendly community out there for that like there is for snz, so I haven't developed any kind of presence for it. It appeals to me for pretty much all of the same reasons as described above. Maybe someday I will start writing those kinds of stories on this account as well, but I don't know if they would find an audience, so maybe not. By the time the fire was hot enough to cook over, Llewellyn had tucked himself up to sit on a tree stump, exuding an aura of furious self-reproach. Cordes took some jerky into his tiny tent with him - for some reason. Gerrit made up two bowls of pottage and sat himself on the ground at the roots of the stump. He put one bowl on the ground for himself and then held up the other. "Hungry?" "Not particularly," Llewellyn replied, voice blunted with congestion. He coughed. "But you're going to make me eat something, aren't you." "I'd prefer you do it willingly." Gerrit tapped the spoon on the side of the bowl. "Come on. It's hot. You'll feel better." Llewellyn growled in a manner more suited to orcs than elves. "I feel like an invalid." Gerrit sighed. "Well, if it makes you feel better, we can pretend you lost your arms in an owlbear attack very tragically." He could feel Llewellyn's fiery glare on him and smiled a little. "Look, we've all done stupid things while adventuring. I'm sure you remember when I tripped and knocked myself out on that knight's shield during the tournament." "I remember," replied the elf, begrudgingly. "Besides, you're sick on top of the whole orb thing. Maybe your detection spell wasn't sensitive enough. Maybe the thing's not even cursed! Maybe it's supposed to do this, and we just don't know why." "I have a hard time believing that. What possible purpose could this serve?"

Porn! Gerrit shrugged. "Don't ask me. Dad says my mother was a druid, but I haven't got a magical bone in my body." He tilted his head. "We could always try smashing it?" Llewellyn's rejection was forceful. "Do you want to explode?!" Gerrit chuckled. "Not really." Llewellyn sighed. Gerrit held out a spoonful of pottage. Feeding both Llewellyn and himself was a bit difficult, but Gerrit did well enough when he could alternate. It would be better if he could use both hands equally like Cordes, but he couldn't, and so he didn't. He just thought about it wistfully as he worked. Llewellyn ended up eating most of his bowl, then went back to sitting quietly and sniffling. Gerrit finished the rest and put the utensils aside to deal with later. And... Even though Llewellyn hadn't asked, he drew out his handkerchief again.

More caretaking, more intimacy. Gerrit is a kind and loving person even though he's a fighter by trade. "Hey," he began, trying not to sound awkward. "You wanna blow your nose?" No one else was paying attention and Llewellyn didn't need to inhale any more of that crap. The elf gave him a shitty side-eye. "Come on," said Gerrit. "Don't be like this." He patted the ground in front of him encouragingly as if Llewellyn was a recalcitrant cat. "I'm fine," said Llewellyn, and then betrayed himself with a quick breath. "Hah--" "Come on," Gerrit repeated, "before you make a mess."

He is also pretty comfortable talking about a lot of things that people with the fetish have generally admitted difficulty acknowledging. This is because even though he's the one with the fetish in this, he is also the "Padgett" character and practical and not caught up in the anxiety prison. Llewellyn came down off the stump to sit in front of him, legs tucked underneath, and rested the orb on Gerrit's thigh to balance himself. His eyes were pinched with reluctance, but Gerrit could see that the elf's nostrils were already damp. "Hah- hh- hurry," Llewellyn gasped.

People should sit in each other's laps. It's good. Again, Gerrit reached out with the handkerchief, enfolding his companion's nose. He could feel Llewellyn's breath fluttering against his hand through the fabric and hear quite clearly how it kept catching on congestion. "Hah-hngk- Hahgkttscht!" Llewellyn ducked forward with the force of it and Gerrit steadied him with a hand on his hip. "Ngkttsch! Hnggktxch!!"

The sneezes now involve nasal consonants because of congestion. Sometimes people tend to have a certain way their sneezes always sound, and I try to maintain that, but these details are important to show a change in the severity of the cold (and evidence of sniffling for hours). Gerrit bit his lip sharply to keep from saying anything, but his body was singing with arousal. Llewellyn hiccupped a short gasp and Gerrit pulled the handkerchief away to present a clean corner. The current spot had become soaked and silvery. "Bless," he managed after a moment, and he carefully readjusted the cloth. "Are you going to sneeze again?"

Hiccupping is also sexy and cute. Also I spelled that wrong in the original, gdi... Llewellyn nodded, eyes teary with the effort of the first bunch. Gerrit wasn't surprised; the elf had been holding back since they left the dungeon. He couldn't imagine it had been comfortable, but Llewellyn had his pride. He never would let Gerrit give him love bites either. Annnd Gerrit was going to have to stop thinking about that. "Haptsch!" Easier said than done. Really. But Llewellyn's comfort came first.

Voyeur with a heart of gold. "Hahkptsch!" The sorcerer groaned softly. "Hah- hh- Hgnaptscxhx!" Gerrit did his best to assist Llewellyn through the fit. He kept the handkerchief secure, moving it when necessary to keep it dry enough. He steadied the elf when the sneezes bent his body or when he felt faint from lack of breath. He even massaged Llewellyn's nose for him when he was trying to blow it and the congestion was stubbornly refusing to move. By the time he felt finished enough to lean back, Llewellyn was flushed and light-headed, swaying where he sat. Gerrit was sweating and needed a towel. "........Thanks," murmured Llewellyn, eventually.

Sometimes kink authors tend to just write out like twenty sneezes in a row and I hate that, honestly. (No shade - I don't even have an example in mind because I don't read a lot of stories anymore and everyone has their preferences.) I just think that the kink should support the storyline and not the other way around. The story should be enjoyable and sexy but have a narrative structure and coherent rising and falling action. Even if a fit is a sexy scenario (it is), trying to make your eyeballs power through a repetitive series of nonsense syllables is counterproductive and takes the reader out of the story and into the realm of annoyance, which disrupts arousal as well. "Yeah," said Gerrit. "Sure." He swallowed. "Let's wash up." He helped Llewellyn to his feet and they went a little way to a creek (generously; it was little more than a ditch through the woods). Gerrit gently washed Llewellyn's face, careful of his tender eyes and nose, and sent him back to camp to lay down for the night. He lingered at the water's edge to wash the handkerchief and, well, to take other matters in hand.

If ya know what I mean. Llewellyn was completely out when he returned, and Gerrit was grateful. He smoothed the elf's bangs back and then settled beside the fire to take watch. The woods in the dark were full of the sounds of insects and small animals moving in the undergrowth. And Llewellyn snoring and sniffling in his sleep. Safe sounds. Gerrit rested his chin on his hand and looked toward the road. Damn orb. It was going to be a long way to Veigh.

And this was getting long, so this is where I cut it to make part 2, which I will also commentate in a bit (hopefully after a nap =___=). Thanks!

#lyk writes #snz #llewellyn mistwalker #gerrit truestride #gerwellyn #director's cut commentary exercise

[moral-turpitudes]

Deal with the Devil: Ch. 7

Trigger Warnings: Swearing, Fighting, Blood, Descriptions of Death, Fluff, and Explicit/18+ Content at the end (Indicated by **).

Characters: Thomas Shelby x Isla Maxwell (OC)

Word Count: 3,953

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | *7* | 8 | 9 | 10

When it came to matters of the head and the heart, his aunt Polly always told him his heart was weakest. Knowing that one pretty face could render him useless in an instant. He’d also been plagued with having his fathers temper and his mother’s wit, often causing an internal war as he fought against the two.

Heeding Polly’s comments, he ultimately chose his weakness. Therefore, deciding to write the letter as soon as he and the children got home the next morning, telling her where to meet him and when. Keeping her name all to himself no matter how many times his family pestered him about it.

As the date neared, Thomas decided on dark suit, along with wearing his peaky cap and dusty black coat as usual. The one thing that was different though was the finger that once held his gold wedding band. It felt lighter as the rings imprint caused a red band to form around his finger, the last remaining mark of what he once had.

Meanwhile, Isla decided on a black dress and tweed coat, nothing to garner too much attention, or so she’d hoped.

After stepping out of her quaint apartment, she drove to the address in the letter. It was a few miles out, in Small Heath. The dark area giving off a haunting feeling that seemed almost calming to her cold heart. Once parked, the Garrison’s doors beckoned her as she neared the place, her stomach doing flips as she entered.

It was a bit packed for the evening as she adjusted to the rowdiness of the crowd. The yelling and the sharp sound of glasses breaking reminding her of why she didn’t go out much in the first place. But she figured it was better this way despite her uneasiness, considering she did her best work at night.

“Hello miss! Can I get you a drink? The bartender asked loudly as she stood at the end of the bar surrounded by drunken men.

“I’ll have a gin and tonic please.” She said, feeling slightly over dressed for the local pub.

“Here you are. On the house.” He said, disappearing further down the bar before she could ask him why.

“I.” A deep voice called from near her.

Her stomach dropped as she downed her drink and nervously turned around, her eyes scanning the crowd to see a man she didn’t recognize, only confirming her fears.

“Who are you?” She asked, her eyes glaring at him as she felt for her gun.

“Easy now. You didn’t think I’d just let you go to town without me...especially after what happened with those men.” The man said, walking towards her with a menacing smile.

Instead of screaming and causing a scene, she decided to play a little game, knowing this wasn’t the first time someone tried to take her down at her leisure.

“Right. How about we go outside, love. It’ll make this a little more fun.” She said, taking his hand roughly and leading him out the door. Not many people were outside but too many were near for her liking.

“Let’s go over here it’s more quiet.” She said, leading him to an alley.

The man kissed her suddenly, shoving her against the cold brick walls as she struggled to grab his wrists.

“Now...I’m just taking what my friends didn’t get to have. You see “I”......we know who you are. Soon enough Mosley will too, so it’s either you face me or him.” He said. She giggled in his ear as he said that, earning a hard slap to her face. After a moment, she spit out blood, speaking softly as her busted lip stung furiously.

“You’re all the same, one more stupid than the other no matter how many of you I kill. Tell me sweetheart...When I kill him, will the rest of you die too? You seem to all share the same brain.” She said as the blood dripped down her mouth.

As she smirked at his offended expression, she decided to distract him with a frantic kiss. Causing him to loosen his grip enough to where she could break free. In a swift motion she came up behind him to twist his arm almost enough to fracture it. His yells filling the air as people around them turned their heads. He begged for her to let go, but she continued as she worked her way to gradually putting him in a chokehold.

“He’ll have to do better. Because this was a sorry excuse, love.” She said, hearing him gasp in pain as she loosened her grip slightly, placing her arm around his head and cradling his chin with her other hand.

In the distance, Thomas saw the scuffle but got there only in time to see her swiftly breaking the mans neck, the few patrons nearby scattering away.

“Isla...” He said quietly, watching as her face turned blank. Barely registering the blood on her face as she dragged the man up to where he was leaning against the wall.

“Don’t talk to me Thomas.” She said, a cold look in her eyes as she spat the words at him. Reaching to retrieve the guys wallet and anything else he had on him, including a valuable looking pocket watch.

“Who was that?” He asked, noticing the bleeding cut on her lip and the red handprint on her cheek. His jaw clenching as he stared at the man who hit her.

“Just another one of Mosley’s men. But you knew that didn’t you?” She asked, angrily.

“No...” He said shortly, grabbing her arm lightly.

She shoved his hand off her arm and forcefully twisted it, shoving her gun to his head in the process. Her fiery gaze boring into him.

“Tell me how one of his fucking followers knew I was here you god damn bastard or I’ll shoot you without batting an eye.” She said, her eyes blazing as she clicked the gun.

“I haven’t told anyone the plan except my family because they deserve to know. I know Mosley’s been here in the past but we’ve never taken out all his men. He must’ve followed you.” He said calmly, not even flinching at the sound of the gun, nor his hand being twisted.

“Do you swear?” She asked.

“On my mum’s grave I do. This is too big of a deal for me to fuck this up. You of all people should know that.” He said quietly. Grabbing the gun quickly before she could think to fire it.

“Can’t have you shooting everyone.” He said, ushering her towards the pub.

“Oh fuck off!” She said going towards the washroom as Thomas stood near the bar.

Arthur came up, confusion evident on his face.

“S’that the writer Tommy boy?” He asked, already tipsy.

“Yes Arthur. Yes it is.” He said, staring at the door waiting for her to come out. Arthur laughed and patted him on the back, leaving the second oldest Shelby to his “date.”

As minutes passed, he decided to go in to check on her but the lock on the door stopped him in his tracks. With a loud knock, he spoke. The drunken patrons making it harder to hear.

“Can I come in?”

“I said fuck off.” She yelled, the faucet running as she cleaned off her mouth, the water turning a familiar shade of red as she did so.

But not a moment later she heard the lock being messed with.

“Being your partner sucks Tommy.” She said as he managed to unlock it, waltzing right in.

“How the hell did you get a key?” She asked, not looking in his direction and wincing slightly as she stitched the small wound on her lip closed, a bottle of whiskey near her that she snagged from one of the tables.

He leant against the counter as she finished up, taking a sip of the whiskey before speaking.

“The Shelby’s own this bar love, I have keys to almost every place in Birmingham it seems.” He said fiddling with it in his hand.

“Have you come to kill me or to apologize?” She asked, wincing again as she took the bottle from him, taking a swig of the brown liquid.

“If I was going to kill you I would’ve shot you as you walked away from me.” He said, sweeping a stray hair from her forehead as she finished up her stitches. The sudden contact leaving goosebumps on her skin that she tried to hide by adjusting her coat.

“In all honesty, I truly don’t know who that man was or why Mosley would be putting people after you, but if you need help next time please don’t handle it yourself.” He said.

“I’ve pretty much handled all this myself, so I think I’m doing just fine.” She said, looking at him as he smirked.

“And I don’t know how you don’t know this yet, but I’ve had people after me for quite a while now so it doesn’t surprise me that he’s finally catching on. Maybe Mosley and his sheep want to play our little game after all.” She said, taking the bottle from him and putting her gun back in her holster.

“So this is it then?” He asked.

“Yes. I’ll see you at the next meeting, Tommy.” She said, patting him on the shoulder before walking out the door.

As she stormed through the Garrison, she didn’t bother to notice his brother Arthur, who practically had to pick his jaw up off the floor.

“My god Tom. If you haven’t found your person yet I think you just did.” He said taking a shot.

“Christ Arthur.... I need you to stop fucking drinking and get Johnny and them out here. She killed a man in the alley and we need him taken care of. Now.” He said quickly, trying to keep up with her as she walked out to her car.

“Wait...” He yelled as he got closer.

She stopped in her tracks and sighed, the cigarette smoke escaping her lips as she turned around.

“What? Come to see me off?” She asked as he walked closer.

“Just making sure you’re alright.” He said.

“You worry too much Thomas Shelby. I’m going home, either leave me be or get in.” She said, getting into the drivers side and starting the car.

“You’re not safe. If we’re going to be working together I’m going to need you safe.”

“You don’t understand....You’re just as safe as I am.” She said, adjusting her mirror.

“What do you mean by that?” He asked, putting his hand lazily on the roof of the car.

“Jesus Christ Tommy... Get in before I run you over.” She said, rolling her eyes and patting the seat next to her.

Thomas sighed and stomped out his cigarette, mumbling to himself as he got in.

“You talking to yourself?” She asked.

“I was just saying a prayer in case you planned to kill me, love.” He answered sarcastically, shutting the door as she drove off. The streets growing empty as the night drug on.

“If I wanted to kill you I would’ve done it already Tommy....What I was saying though, was that this is all very simple.” She said, her eyes straining to see in the dark.

“Mhmm.” He mumbled, lighting another cigarette.

“You kill bad people, and I kill bad people. We both have the same motive...and we both have something others want. The people after me want revenge. What do the people after you want, Tommy?” She asked.

He thought for a moment, rubbing a hand over his tired face. Knowing he was a wanted man for many reasons.

“To kill me I suppose...to finally take my crown.” He said quietly. Isla smirked as she glanced at him before returning her eyes to the road.

“Exactly. Both of those are a deadly combination. If I’m not safe even getting a drink at my leisure then how are you guaranteed to be safe? You’re working with me, so you took this risk. Therefore, you’re in just as much danger...tell me Tommy...” She said, mentally counting down the street signs until they got near her apartment.

“What?” He asked.

“Do you and your blinders have enough security?” She asked.

“Yes.”

“What about your children? Are they protected?” She asked.

She could feel the tension in the air as she waited for an answer. A sigh escaping his lips before speaking.

“How’d you fucking know about them aye?” He asked, his eyes darting to hers.

“I do my research Thomas. When I’m not killing, that’s what I do.” She said.

“Also, I just had a sneaky suspicion because your ring finger still has an impression of a wedding band on it. Trouble in paradise?” She asked with a coy smile as she parked the car.

Thomas scoffed and got out, walking quickly over to her.

“Not so fast. Can’t have you seen out here.” She said, placing a firm hand against his chest and ushering him back towards her apartment. He followed her up the stairs as the anger rose in his chest. As soon as she opened the door, he closed it behind them, locking it.

“How’d you find out about that? Was it your little mail man? He’s been a regular at the shop recently. Bet you didn’t think he’d let things slip about you now aye?” He said, inching closer to her.

She grabbed her knife from her coat, stalking towards him as she spun it between her fingers.

“Oh so you’re just going to throw theories around? I knew about your children because my men are good at what they do. They’ve watched in shifts just to make sure you weren’t some scheming bastard because this town is full of them! You probably didn’t see them watching when you said goodbye to your little Ruby and Charlie at your aunts huh Tommy?” She asked, her eyes piercing his again.

“Leave them out of this. I’ll call this off and expose you.” He said, clenching his fists.

“Did you think you could just send your mail man and not expect my men to check him? What’s the fuckers name? Jay? He’s a rat and you know it.” He said harshly.

“No he’s not. I made him promise. I made him swear himself to secrecy and anyone who crosses me knows they’ll be dead for breaking that promise.” She said, her breathing speeding up as she dropped the knife, turning away from him. Her eyes brimming with tears and widening at the sudden realization.

“What?” He asked, seeing her emotions leaving her features as she became lost in thought. She paced away from him, wiping the tears from her eyes before she spoke. Avoiding his angry gaze in the process.

“He told them where I was...He told that bastard where my fathers friend lived...He told that man at the pub where I’d be...” She said, thinking about how he gladly accepted his paycheck and then hadn’t returned. She knew they didn’t check in often, but he was always so keen on being more friendly than the others. But she couldn’t believe how careless she’d been, how she couldn’t see the rat when he was right in front of her.

“He may be the dumbest man on this planet.” She said, still averting her eyes from his and wiping a stray tear from her cheek. With a sigh, she quickly grabbed her gun from her holster and unlocked the door.

Thomas followed her down the hall and to an unsuspecting apartment, listening to her pound on it in a weird sequence and jiggling the lock.

“Open up!” She yelled. The hall was silent as the tension grew between the two complexes.

“Move.” Thomas said quickly, taking a few steps back and heading towards the door. With a loud slam it flew open, nearly sending him falling to the floor.

“Thanks.” She said, walking past him as he watched.

“What the fu-“ Jay started to say from his living room as Isla shot him, her bullet going straight through his skull. She stood there for a moment after lowering it, the apartment eerily silent as she looked at the mess. Thomas following quickly behind as she inspected the other rooms.

“Alright...well the other two aren’t here. Did your men manage to get any dirt on them?” She asked, wiping the blood off her face and smearing it on her dress as she walked back to her room.

“I haven’t, no. He was the only one who seemed off.” He said, closing the door over before following her.

“I guess it’s the people who know you the best who end up betraying you.” She said looking down at the blood on her hands, not caring about the body next door or the man before her.

“I don’t care where you sit, just don’t get blood on anything alright?” She asked, walking into her restroom to rid herself of the blood. After washing up, she quickly pulled on a nightgown and satin robe that covered her arms, still self conscious of the scar.

Thomas had taken his coat off and undid his tie and arm cuffs, sitting them next to him on the sofa.

“So, Isla...Why did you want me here in the first place? To argue and watch you kill people?” He asked, taking a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it.

She smirked as she sat next to him, leaning towards him so he could light hers as well.

“I just wanted to see if you would, and considering you weren’t going to leave me alone until I explained things to you. I figured I’d invite you over. Didn’t think you’d accept though.” She said, staring at the ceiling as she blew out the clouds of smoke.

“Mhmm.” He mumbled.

“So...are we good? No more secrets?” She asked, after a moment of awkward silence.

“No more secrets.” He said.

“You don’t have to worry about your family either. The other two men are very reliable. I am down a man though...” She said, a nervous tension hitting her as she realized this was the closest she’d been with a man in some time without killing him.

“If you want, we could assign some of the blinders to look out here while your two look out over in Small Heath.” He said.

“Deal.” She said, turning towards him. He had relaxed into the sofa, his eyes on her as she looked down at her cigarette. He couldn’t help but notice his eyes wandering over her body, shrouded in black silk that must’ve cost a small fortune.

“It would be nice to have at least one person I can trust here ya know...Just one night of sleeping peacefully.” She said.

“I could stay...” He said softly, his voice more gentle than it had been a while ago during their argument.

“Well fuck I guess you have to, considering I drove you here.” She said chuckling.

“That is true.” He said with a small grin. It had been a while since he’d smiled. Which felt foreign to him ever since meeting Grace.

“So is this like a second date then?” She asked, getting up to pour them both a glass of whiskey.

“I’d say so. No business now. Just drinking.” He said.

“Right, and no fucking.” She said smirking, handing him his glass.

“No fucking? I don’t remember that being one of your conditions.” He said as they clinked glasses.

“I was just joking on that part, love.” She said, looking at him with honest eyes.

He sat his glass down and met her gaze, glancing at all the intricate details of her thin robe and silk nightgown.

“And you called me bold aye?” He asked, moving towards her as she sat down.

Isla’s heart was beating out of her chest at what she’d said, feeling Tommy pulling her closer to him as she kissed him carefully to avoid hurting her lip.

A/N: **Explicit Content Warning: If you are under 18, please skip the italicized portion and continue to Ch. 8. Thank you.**

With a swift movement Thomas had pulled her on top to where she straddled him. The heat growing between them as she ground into him, only mere pieces of fabric keeping them apart.

A soft moan escaped her lips as she continued, as Tommy’s hands gripped her hips and then ran a hand over her breasts.

“Let’s take this somewhere else...Maybe to a place where I haven’t killed people, love.” She said, breaking apart from his lips for a moment, earning a chuckle from him.

“Alright.” He said, picking her up to where she clung to him. Sucking soft purple spots onto his neck as he laid her on the bed.

With eager fingers they grasped at each other’s clothes, Tommy’s rough hands gently caressing her as he sucked on her neck, soft moans escaping her lips as she felt him move down towards her chest.

Her nipples hardened as he caressed her breasts, leaving soft kisses to them as he moved further to her core, her back arching off the mattress at the sensation. His tongue lapping over the bundle of nerves in circular motions as he trailed down to her opening. Her hips thrusting upwards to meet him as his tongue devoured her. Her moans became louder as she bucked against him, his fingers replacing his tongue as he moved it over her clit. The motion of his fingers increasing as she clenched around him, clutching his tousled hair in the process.

“D-dont stop, Tommy. Please.” She said, her breathing ragged as she came closer. His movements consistent as he watched her come undone before him, her legs trembling at the sudden release.

As she came down, she smiled at him as he kissed her once more, tasting herself on his lips as she pulled him closer. His cerulean eyes gazed into hers as she nodded, giving him permission to continue what she so desperately wanted.

She winced slightly as she took a moment to adjust, soon feeling the pain being replaced with pleasure as she felt him inside her. His thrusts were gentle as he studied her body. Her eyes closed and hands wandering over his chest as he moved in and out, him only growing more aroused as she grew wet around him. He grabbed her hips firmly as he picked up the pace, causing her to claw her way down his chest only to grasp his back as he leaned in closer to her. He peppered her neck with kisses as he sucked eventual bruises onto the skin, her moans growing louder in his ear like a sweet symphony.

As she came closer, he felt her walls clench around him as his thrusts became slower and his breathing became heavier. And with a quick maneuver, he moved her, making her gasp at the sudden loss of contact as he urged her to ride him. He sat up as she straddled him, her hand guiding him into her as she moaned at the familiar feeling. His hands gripping her hips as he guided her down, resting his head against her headboard as he watched her riding his cock. Her breasts bouncing and moans growing louder as she came undone around him, leaning onto his chest as he pulled her close, nearing his own release. With a quick motion, he thrust a couple times before pulling out, just in time for her to pump him until a low moan escaped his lips as he came. Making his breathing ragged until he gained composure. The two of them lying in her bed in a tangled embrace.

#peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x oc #thomas shelby x female!reader

[dwaynepride]

the unfortunate case of nonchalance

PART IV - ACT OF MAKIN’ NOISE

summary: what goes up must come down.

words: 2,129

warnings: female reader, a gun fight

tags: @fairytale07 @jrenn10 @f4nboi @purplestarsr5 @ladyzombiielove @littlemiss3ma​ @minikate--24-05​ @consultingdoctorwholock​ @dressed-up-just-like-z1ggy​ @ms-allenbrown​ @ikbenplant​ @dylpickles1267​ @diaryofafan17​ @specialagentlokitty​ @pageofultron​ @stanathanxoox​ @kittenlittle24​

author’s note: part 4 of the cowboy!au series. this is a part of meg’s 11k challenge. the prompts are cowboy au and secret relationship trope.

part III | part V

March 2nd, 1889

Woke up to a strangely silent camp. Turns out, Anthony took Tim, Jimmy, and Eleanor out to town for the day.

What the four of them could do in a stifling town like this is beyond me. And I won’t lie, I have my worries about their conduct. Especially with how cross Anthony seems to have been this past week.

But there’s nothing I can do about it now. I have an appointment to keep at the bank, then perhaps another shooting lesson.

If those four are still somehow out of trouble by then, I’ll search for them. Though, I have my doubts.

-

The sun is hotter than normal today. It beats down on him like a pair of heavy fists, even if Jethro has his hat tilted in a way to keep his eyes covered. The town around him resumes their usual bustle - walking right past him without a second glance. Giving no indication that they even knew he was there.

Slowly, Jethro’s head cocks back to the doors of the bank. He keeps expecting you to walk out, smiling brightly, saying his name in that beautiful way that you do.

It doesn’t come, however. And Jethro is forced to stand and wait and think.

Mostly just think about how foolish he feels, right now. His eyes flicker down to his clothing, scowling at himself for trying to dress up a little. A pressed white shirt with pitch black slacks - about as finely-dressed as someone like him could be. It made sense this morning, when he rummaged through his chest. Though now, he thinks he regrets trying so hard.

It’s difficult not to when the memory of the kiss is still so fresh in his mind. Jethro was nearly convinced it was some kind of dream. So real, he almost asked Doctor Mallard if he had the fever.

But when he found his revolver missing from its sheathe, he knew it was no dream.

Even his lips were a fading memory of the kiss. Still seeming to tingle with the impression that your kiss bestowed on him. It’s aggravating, how easy you’re able to twist him up - but also exhilarating.

His thoughts are interrupted when he hears the doors open. Jethro’s head swivels around, and finally, it’s your face that he sees. And judging from the expression you wear, his efforts in looking like a decent man has paid off. He knows the look you wear when you’re flustered. Right now, it’s in abundance.

But the blissful moment of seeing your face is spoiled when you’re followed by an older man. He wears a stiff three-piece suit, a golden watch tucked into the pocket of his coat, and Jethro doesn’t like the way he looks at you.

You turn back to the older man, still smiling wide. “Father, this is Mr. Jethro Gibbs. Jethro Gibbs, this is my father.”

Your father? Great.

The older man approaches, so Jethro tries to straighten himself up. Tries to show that he wasn’t surprised by the sudden meeting, even if he was. Your father had always seemed like this far-off prospect that he didn’t need to worry about. A stuffy, rich businessman whom Jethro might have taken an interest in before all the trouble out west.

Perhaps this is simply a side effect of becoming so close to you.

Jethro deftly sticks out his hand with a single nod. “Sir,” he greets promptly.

He shakes it back; such a strong grip for a banking man. “You’re the man my daughter keeps talking about, huh?” Your father asks. And when Jethro glances over the man’s shoulder, your eyes avert. “Hmmm. Walk with me, Mr. Gibbs.”

Jethro falls into step with him, with you on his other side. He hadn’t noticed until now, but your father had some papers tucked into the crook of his arm. He pulled them out, reading over them for a few moments. Jethro couldn’t hide the perplexed look on his face, and as he glances at you behind the older man, you’re laughing silently.

Good to know you seem to be enjoying this.

“My daughter says you were there at the saloon when some miserable drunkard was bothering her. That you came to her aid.”

Jethro’s eyes instantly comes back down to your father - he still hadn’t looked up from his papers, but he was obviously expecting a response. “Yes, sir.”

He nods solemnly. “Well, then you have my deepest gratitude, sir. My daughter has a habit of,” the older man trails off to look sideways at you, “getting herself into certain situations. My prayers are that her future husband may be able to keep her home, where she belongs.”

Crotchety old bastard, Jethro thinks.

“Yes, sir,” he repeats.

Tucking the papers back into his arm, the older man suddenly stops and turns to Jethro. And when he holds out his hand, Jethro takes it again and shakes. “It was very nice meeting you, Mr. Gibbens. I’m a very busy man, but do help yourself to some items in the general store, on my tab. It’s the least I can do for how you’ve helped my daughter,” he says. And his tone is flat and professional and Jethro can’t even be surprised anymore when he simply nods to you and walks off.

Jethro watches him leave. When he’s out of earshot, Jethro turns to you with a raised eyebrow. “Mr. Gibbens?” He asks.

You burst out with laughter, stepping closer and laying a hand on his arm. A small, simple gesture that nearly makes his shiver. “He’s not so bad, once you get to know him. He’ll remember your name, soon enough.”

“That so?” Jethro questions. He leans in just a little, a half-smirk on his lips, and rejoicing in the fact that your eyes flicker down. “Maybe I don’t intend on speaking to him often enough for him to learn.”

“Well, it would be awful hard to marry me if you never speak to him.”

For the life of him, Jethro can find no snarky response to that. Your words are serious, he can tell. The hand you have settled on his arm tightens, and Jethro moves to cover it with one of his own. And suddenly, right there on the street, Jethro wants to kiss you again. Just as deep and breathtakingly beautiful as the first one was.

And he might have, had the shrill scream of a woman down the street not caught his attention.

Jethro’s head snaps up just in time he see the bright muzzle flash of a gunshot. The sharp, explosive sound snaps through the air, and instinctively, Jethro grips your hand with his. He quickly pulls you out of the street, toward the closest alley and behind the cover of a brick building. It all went so quickly, you scarcely know what’s going on.

And yet, you’re afraid. Jethro can feel you gripping the lapels of his coat.

“It’s alright. Just stay low,” he mumbles out while poking his head out to see.

People are running about in a panic. Some ducking into shops, others just scattering and hoping they aren’t hit by a bullet. But even in all the chaos, Jethro thinks he knows what’s going on.

“Was that a gunshot?” You breathe out.

“Yeah,” he answers. “Looks like it came from the bank.”

“But we were just in there!”

He knows that. Painfully so. Jethro’s about to grab your hand to pull you away. To find someplace safe to bunker down and wait until the law can get this all under control. But before Jethro turns away, he watches a man burst out of the front door of the bank. A mask covers his face, but his stature is shockingly familiar; it makes Jethro go cold. Another man follows him out, shouting words that he can’t make out, but the man’s voice is so painfully recognizable.

It can’t be his young Tim McGee, can it? Tim is not so foolish to rob a big city bank.

There’s a tug on his coat. “Jethro, we need to leave this place!”

He hears your frightened voice. And yet, his feet are rooted to the ground.

Because he sees the fair and blonde-haired Eleanor Bishop stumble out of the bank. Blood stains her nice white dress - the dress she saves for the most special occasions. And Jethro knows instantly that the blood is not hers, because the man leaning against Eleanor can barely walk. His broad stature and mess of dark Italian hair is unmistakable behind the mask - it’s Anthony. He’s been shot.

These were Jethro’s people robbing the bank.

He’s almost numb when he turns to look at you. And it doesn’t help that your eyes are wide in terror, knuckles white in their grip on his coat. But Jethro sighs, takes your hands in his, and gently tries to detach them. “Listen, I need to go. But I want you to run. Run as far as you can away from here, and don’t came back looking for me,” he says, quick and firm.

“Jethro, what-”

“I know those people. I’m with them. But right now, they need me.” Finally, he’s able to pull your hands off his coat, but he keeps holding them tight. Keeps his eyes locked on yours. “I’ll find you in a couple days, when everything dies down. But right now, you need to run away.”

Jethro brings your hands up, kisses them quickly, and then moves away. He knows you’re scared out of your mind - all the shooting lessons in the world hasn’t prepared you for something as real and chaotic as a bank heist. Maybe in a way, that’s his fault.

But as he leaves the alleyway, he sees you running the other direction out the corner of his eye.

Good. At least you’ll be safe.

Finally, Jethro pulls his pistol out of his coat pocket. He’s moving through the ever-thinning crowd of frantic people, trying to make his way over to his struggling gang. Again, he spots Eleanor struggling to drag Anthony to their hitched horses. So he breaks into a sprint - he knows the law will be here any second. And with Anthony hurt, it’ll be like shooting fish in a barrel.

“Eleanor!” He calls out. Her head whips around, and he catches a brief look at the shock on her face. But he ducks around to Anthony’s other side to help support his weight. And from here, Jethro can really see the blood. It’s all over the front of his clothes. Jethro can’t tell where the wound is, but he knows it’s gotta be bad.

Anthony lets out a low groan - no doubt feeling all the jostling around from being half-carried. But his eyes dart over to Jethro under his mask. “Boss? I didn’t think you’d show up to the party,” Anthony murmured, and then winced when Eleanor nearly tripped over his feet.

“Shut up, you dumbass,” Jethro grumbles. He arches his head up to look around - no sign of lawmen yet. “I told you not to hit the bank.”

Anthony’s labored breathing is harsh in his ear. “We needed a big score, boss.”

Jethro’s about to retort, but there’s more gunshots. When he raises his head again, Jethro’s spots nearly a dozen men on horseback coming right for them. Tim fires his rifle at them, and the first man who burst out of the bank turns back to the three of them. “Get Anthony back to camp! We’ll cover you!”

With a sinking pit in his belly, Jethro recognizes Jimmy Palmer’s voice. Anthony even roped him into this shitshow.

He’s scowling as he reaches Anthony’s horse. Him and Eleanor quickly push the Italian up on the back of it. And Anthony seems barely able to keep himself upright as Jethro pulls himself into the saddle. Bullets whizz past his head, but even still, he glances down to Eleanor. “You better be right behind me!” He shouts to her.

She’s firing off at the lawmen, but waves Jethro off quickly. “Go. Get him back to camp!”

He’s reluctant to leave them, but Jethro snaps the reins and rides out of town. Anthony leans against his back, no doubt soaking Jethro’s coat in his blood. But judging how limp he feels against him, Jethro’s figures he’s probably unconscious from blood loss. Or maybe the rough ride of the horse was too much for him. Either way, Doctor Mallard better be at camp.

But as he rides, try as he might to keep his focus on Anthony and his gang, Jethro can’t help but glance back to the retreating buildings of the town.

And he desperately hopes you got to safety.

#ncis x reader #ncis reader insert #leroy jethro gibbs x reader #leroy jethro gibbs imagine

[balmacedapascal-archive]

kissed by fire | osferth & astrid | 4/?

summary: osferth had looked forward to join uhtred and his men at coccham. what he hadn’t anticipated was to be so taken by lady gisela’s right hand woman.  a/n: okay so this is the first part from astrid’s perspective and the first not to feature osferth. hope you guys still like it, i’m honestly not 100% convinced this is actually good enough to post but we’re gonna put it up for now at least. let me know what you guys think. 

It isn’t the first time that Astrid and Gisela have sat in front of a hearth, laughing into cups of honeyed mead and enjoying each other's company. It has been this way since they were little girls, whispering stories to each other while they were supposed to be sleeping. It hasn’t been quite as often since Gisela became the lady of Coccham with a husband and children to look after but their bond has not faded in the slightest. And with the village quiet with several of the men traveling to Beamfleot on behalf of the king, it seems as good a night as any for them to sit together like they used to as young girls, giggling and gossiping as they did when their lives had been simpler. 

“Now tell me, what is it you have done to that young priest that makes him look at you like you are a goddess walking amongst the men?”

The question that Gisela asks so plainly leaves Astrid choking on her drink, coughing violently as she tries to catch her breath after being caught off guard. Her reaction only leaves the lady giggling into her own cup, a sound that she would be more happy to hear if it wasn’t at her own expense. Her own cup is set aside before it’s spilled all over the floor and she glares. Glares daggers at the woman she’s known all of her life and has followed across the country. “That was cruel and you know it. So much for the sweet and gentle lady of Coccham.” 

“Cruel or not, you know I’m right.” There’s a smug look on the brunette’s face to go along with the confidence in her voice. “Ever since that boy first came to Coccham with Uhtred, his eyes have followed you everywhere. From that first night he ate with everyone in the hall. A blind man could see the way that he looks at you.”

“So he looks at me? Many men have looked at me where it be here or in your brother’s court in Cumbraland. What is so fascinating to you about this priest looking at me?” 

“Because he looks at you the way I catch Uhtred looking at me sometimes.” 

The softness in her voice pulls the humor back from their conversation, words hanging in the air as Astrid sits back and plays them over in her mind. She can’t claim to agree with what Gisela’s saying but she also knows she spends more time avoiding his gaze than meeting it to know how he truly looks at her. The priest - Osferth, she reminds herself - has been a shadow to her for the past few weeks, finding her when he’s not busy being beaten into the mud by that crazed Irishman and calling it practice. She still wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it. She would be with the animals or down at the river or fussing over young Uhtred and baby Stiorra and then he would be there. Always appearing with a smile and an offer of help with whatever task was at hand and then slowly pulling her into a conversation about everything and nothing. She had asked Sihtric about him after the first few days, pulling her friend aside and asking to be told plainly if she should be concerned about the attention she was receiving. Sihtric had all but laughed in her face at that before informing her if there was one priest in all of Wessex she needn’t worry about it was Osferth. But that didn’t mean she understood him any better. 

“I think motherhood has made you a touch soft,” Astrid replies after the long pause, reaching for her mead once more and taking a long drink. “I’m sure the priest is merely curious about the temperamental pagan you husband allows to live with his family more than anything else.”

“Oh, Astrid, you and I both know this is not true.” She looks like she’s about to continue her thought, to inform her friend of just how she views the situation, but then Stiorra’s cries are echoing from the other room Gisela is returning to her motherly duties without hesitation. 

Astrid is happy to be left alone for the moment, draining one cup only to fill it back up with more of the mead. It’s not the first time that Gisela has wondered if some man may be catching the eye of her friend. There had been boys back in Cumbraland when they were first developing, both Saxon and Dane that had called on the girls with flighty interest that comes with youth and lust. Boys who would bring flowers in hopes of a kiss, offer silver trinkets in hopes of more. Some had been hoping simply to bed a woman, some had come with hopes of marrying and having a wife to care for their home. None had offered anything she’d considered worth accepting. Not if it had meant leaving Gisela and the only family she had known. And now in Wessex, there had been more Saxon men than she could count who had admired her body but condemned her for her pagan ways. She’d take the Northern boys looking to bed her with flowers and silver over the Southern men looking down at her in a heartbeat. She’d grown accustomed to knowing exactly what to expect from Saxon men. 

And then the priest - Osferth - came along. 

She’s still lost in her thoughts when Gisela returns, rocking the little girl in her arms and humming softly one of their favorite lullabies. That and the soft crackling from the fire are the only sounds in the room as the two women sit. After a few minutes, Stiorra has drifted back to sleep in her mother’s arms and Gisela is looking back at her with that knowing look she’s seen for years. “When they return from Beamfleot, maybe you can ask him what his intentions truly are.”

“He might not return from Beamfleot,” she deflects, sipping slowly and turning to look at the fire instead of into her friend’s gaze. “You remember what those brothers were like years ago. The one no longer has a swordhand which means he’ll only be worse.”

Her comments don’t bother Gisela, who simply replies, “I think you underestimate your priest, Astrid. I’m sure he’ll be back soon enough with Uhtred and the others, eager to see you once more.”

“He’s not my priest,” is all she manages to grumble out at her friend, face flushing a bit as she keeps focused on the fire and the drink in her hand. She has no intention of thinking of Osferth, a Saxon priest in the midst of a Danish army, and how the last she’d seen Finan was still getting three hits in for every one he managed to land. She’s not going to think of the prayer she’s already said that he makes it back safely, that they all make it back safely. She just sips her mead and listens to the crackle of the fire.

#the last kingdom #tlk fanfiction #the last kingdom fanfic #osferth #idk if this is any good #i'm on the fence #i hope you guys like it #*mine #kissedbyfire

[emotionalgirl101]

Question | Chapter 7

Words: 3650

Genre: college au, angst, fluff

Pairing: SKZ x reader

Summary: Your best friend, Minho, had been refusing to introduce you to his other group of best friends for months now, with no explanation as to why. One night after getting drunk after work together, he gave in to your pleas. Oops.

Warning: Contains mature content (such as coarse language, violent themes, etc).

A/N: I’m back! 2019 was pretty shitty except for seeing Stray Kids and going to Korea. Thoughts and prayers go out to my fellow Aussies suffering from the fires. I hope you guys like this chapter (it’s the longest so far) and I hope to write and be more active this year!~

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

-------------------------------

You were just sitting there, staring at your phone. You had been all morning. You were just staring at his contact, looking at the ten numbers below his name. Your eyes scanning over and over again, as if at some point something would change or jump out at you to tell you what to do.

This had been what you’d spent all Thursday afternoon in your apartment doing. Once Minho had left, you quickly saved Jaemin’s contact. You hadn’t told Minho, but you had a feeling he must’ve had some idea because he didn’t give you a weird look when you hadn’t thrown out your bubble tea cup. You’d made some excuse about needing to keep it to remember your order. Instead of getting a sarcastic ‘sure..’ you received a nonchalant, simple ‘okay’. Mans had been acting weird all day.

You still stared at Jaemin’s name and number displayed in your phone. What the hell were you going to do? Do you call? Text? What if he’d forgotten all about you? What if he gave his number out to heaps of girls that came to the shop he worked at? What if you weren’t just some girl, though? What if he was genuinely interested? What if you’d left it too late? What if—

Suddenly, the phone buzzed. The screen faded out of the open contact and back to an incoming call screen, Eunwoo’s name spelled out for you. Thank g*d! It’s like she knew you were overthinking and came to the rescue. She was amazing like that. It happened often. You both just got a gut feeling that something was up and knew when the other needed you. The strange sense of intuition was rarely off, but on the odd occasion it was, a quick catch up was still the end result.

“Hello.” A smile took purchase upon your face before she spoke a word. You could bet it’d be about Jaemin. As soon as Minho had left your place, you texted her to see if she could call. She picked up the phone almost immediately and followed along with your recount of events, squealing occasionally on the other end of the line. You said that you’d contact him the next day because you didn’t want to seem too eager, and as your best friend, she didn’t call you out for lying through your teeth. She understood your nerves but made you promise to text him the following day.

“HAVE YOU DONE IT YET?!” You held the phone away from your ear. You’d expected this, and that it would happen again when you timidly replied with ‘not yet’. She didn’t hesitate to scold you. “WHY THE HELL NOT?” You opened your mouth to reply but shut it. Eunwoo wasn’t finished yet. You knew how dramatic she could be. Her reactions were the best. One of the many things you loved about her.

“He gave you his number! He’s interested! There’s no need to doubt that. All you have to do is send him a text so he has your number. He’ll do the rest.” The line went silent for a few beats. A sigh sounded through the phone. “Want to wait until tomorrow night then?” She was referring to your girls’ night that was scheduled for the next evening. You couldn’t believe how quickly Saturday was approaching. That would be a good time, you agreed mentally, softly responding with an ‘okay’ into the receiver. A few more words were exchanged in an effort to plan before you hung up.

You were tasked with grabbing snacks, an errand you’d have to run today as you wouldn’t have time to tomorrow. You had an unavoidable shift scheduled for work tomorrow, which left you barely any time to get home, changed and to Eunwoo’s by 6pm. She’d planned to start the night early as possible so you would have plenty of time to do whatever the hell you wanted. That meant your day of lounging around in comfy clothes and having some time to yourself wasn’t going to go exactly as planned. At least you wouldn’t have to stray too far from home.

You changed your pants into something more suitable to be seen by the outside world and threw on a hoodie, slipping on some shoes while heading out the door. You placed your keys in your purse and set up your headphones. You didn’t mind the walk to the shops. It was only a few blocks away, allowing you to get lost in your music and be there before you knew it.

The weather wasn’t too cold, probably assisted by the walk, but you couldn’t see the sky. There was a grey blanket of clouds hiding the sun that was inching closer to the horizon. It somehow didn’t feel too dreary. The streets were lined with trees that still held their leaves, looking deceivingly as lush and green as ever. The buildings in the area weren’t all slate grey, having occasional pops of pink, blue and yellow to break up the dull metallics. The neighbourhood was modern and still had a bit of life to it. It cheered up the atmosphere of a rainy day with ease.

Like always, you had arrived at the small grocery store sooner than you’d expected to. The shop was on the corner, well-lit and was decorated with cute signage that invited customers to come inside. You walked in the door and into a random aisle so you could fish out your phone without getting in anyone else’s way. Eunwoo had sent you a shopping list of snacks she thought were ‘essential’ to any girls’ night. You were allowed to add to that list, too, of course. You knew most of the list would be on the sweet side, so it was a safe bet to make your way to the confectionary aisle.

You realised rather quickly you’d need a basket once you saw how long the itinerary-filled text was. As expected, baskets were located in convenient places all over the store, so you pick one up on your way through. You didn’t have many complaints as to what she picked. There was a snack for every craving category you could think of.

After grabbing everything, within reason, you went to grab some drinks. You made it to the end of the aisle and were still staring at your phone when you turned. That’s why you collided with someone. Before you looked up, you began apologising profusely. To be honest, you were too embarrassed to look up, hesitating to meet the person’s eyes. What if you met them again randomly. No one exactly wants to be known as ‘the girl that walked straight into me at the grocery store that one time’.

Once you realised it was inevitable, you finally looked up to find the beaming smile of none other than Kim Seungmin. You recognised him straight away but took a minute to register why. In your defence, you were still half asleep. Yes, at 4 in the afternoon. While you were buffering, Seungmin stabilised you, acknowledging the fact that it was you with a cheerful ‘fancy meeting you here’.

You explained to him that you lived a few blocks away. You were both surprised you hadn’t seen each other in that particular shop before, especially as you both frequented the place often. Seungmin mentioned how you should make your chimek nights a regular thing. The boys had really enjoyed your company, so he said. As he spoke, it was clear that he, and supposedly the other boys, were genuinely excited at the prospect of you spending more time hanging out with them. It was a nice feeling. His eyes lit up a moment later. He then put an idea to you. “We haven’t really planned out dinner, but would you like to come over again tonight? Everyone should be home.”

On any other day you’d accept the offer without a second thought, but with a full work day ahead and the little sleep you were bound to get at Eunwoo’s the next night weighing on your mind, you knew it’d be better to stay home like you planned.

“Thanks, Seungminnie, but I’ve got a big day tomorrow. Can’t risk lack of sleep or a hangover. If the next couple of days weren't so hectic, I'd definitely be saying yes right now, though. Rain check?” Knowing you meant what you'd said, he still made you pinky promise to it. Seungmin helped you with the rest of your shopping list and waited until you had both gone through the checkout before you parted ways.

The walk home seemed longer this time around. Maybe it was because part of you really wanted to turn on your heel and sprint after Seungmin, to take him up on his offer, but you knew you shouldn’t. You’d made the right call.

-

You made it to work on time for a 9am start, thanks to the good night’s sleep you somehow managed to get. The shift had been steady, with a few customers coming in every couple of hours and contributing to the day's targets. You were alone for the majority, with another girl coming in as lunch cover. You weren’t really close with her, only making small talk for the brief overlap of your shifts because you felt you had to.

2:15pm. You had been checking the clock every 3 minutes for the past half hour. You had only been alone for that long. There wasn’t much to do on a Saturday. All the stock had been unpacked the day before with no new shipments due until later in the next week.

You managed to occupy your time by going through your music library. Your work place was more relaxed when it came to atmospherics. As long as the music was family friendly, language-wise, and fit the vibe, you could play almost anything your heart desired. You weren’t usually in charge. You were either happy listening to what was already playing or just not the first person in that day, thus no control. That being said, it meant that all the work-safe songs were scattered in your library. You decided the best course of action was to make a playlist, and if you questioned whether or not you should add a song, you could play it out loud to see if it passed the test. You were enjoying yourself.

It was now 2:54pm, which you only knew from the incoming text you received from your manager. She had forgotten to mention she didn’t finish up “revamping” the faulty rack. That was her way of saying that there were new items to be added from out the back and to reorganise the rack accordingly. You’d usually complain, but you were pretty bored and creating the playlist was getting tedious. You didn’t realise how much of your music was NSFW.

You were returning from the store room and making your way towards the aforementioned rack behind the counter. That’s when your ears peaked upon hearing the distinct voice. The speaker was obstructed by the left side wall of the hallway you were walking up. No matter. You already knew it was Felix.

The boy was dressed casually in a colour block jumper with a pair of black trousers and some white shoes that resembled a pair you saw in target. He was unaccompanied, phone to his ear and running his hand through his blonde hair as he listened attentively to what was being said on the other side of the line.

A light-hearted sigh tumbled from his lips, spare hand pushing through the close on the rack. You weren’t sure if they were really his taste. His face scrunched up as he flipped through the hangers, but you couldn’t be certain if it was because he didn’t fancy any of the clothes in front of him.

He picked out a shirt, forcing it off the rack and straightening it out to examine it. He tilted his head, a while later humming in acknowledgement of the person he was conversing with. He tucked the shirt under his arm after he had finished his careful consideration, moving on to dig through more clothes. You watched, amused.

He had grabbed a second shirt, two jumpers and a pair of shorts as well as ended his phone call before he realised there were a set of eyes on him. There was a subtle hint of hesitation when he turned around. His gaze was adorably blank and sheepish when he turned, but it was like a light bulb switched on when he recognised your face. "Y/n! What are you doing here?"

The amount of genuine wonder that laced his tone was so sincere. He obviously hadn't noticed the lanyard around your neck and the unusually nice clothes you were wearing - okay, you sometimes wore nice clothes, but this didn't exactly scream your usual style. You thought there would be no harm in teasing him for his lack of observation, as well as his forgetfulness. You mentioned where you worked the night you all met. Then again, the mental image of a passed out Felix followed by his hungover state the next morning flashed through your mind. Oh well, it was Felix. From what you knew, he wouldn't mind too much.

"Oh, you know, just watching you being a fashionista and leaving a trail of destruction for me to clean up later." His face changed from confusion, to processing - once he noticed the lanyard - to realisation before settling on embarrassment. His cheeks were tinged pink as he uttered the next string of words, "Sorry, I wasn't really thinking," he rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at you, "I was on the phone to Channie hyung and was so lost in thought and trying to multitask. I swear I'm not usually this careless- I mean, I have a lot of respect and understanding for retail workers-"

"Felix" He hadn't taken a breath and part of you swore his face was soon to turn blue. "I'm just teasing. I wasn't serious." You chuckled lightly as his nervous laughter, followed by a relieved sigh from the blonde. "I'm glad."

You made your way over, gesturing for him to give you his items of choice. You offered to set up a change room for him while he continued to browse the mens section. You pointed out he may have missed a few things since he was so wrapped up in his phone call. You left him to his own devices and started to begin work on  the usual closing duties. There wasn't much you could do, since it was so early, but at least it gave you a head start on the end-of-day.

Some time later, he made his way to the change rooms. You let him be until he called out to you for assistance. "Okay, thoughts on this outfit...?" proceeding to emerged from the change room with the shorts and one of the jumpers from earlier, a different, collared top peeking through around the neckline and past the over-layer's hem. The idea was there, but the execution wasn't. The colours of the shirt and jumper not only didn't match but were different hues. Anyone with a basic knowledge of colour theory would be feeling sympathetic towards his attempt at styling.

"Usually I have Hyunjin or Seungmin to give me advice, but they're both working today and this is the only free time I had." You nodded slowly, mainly trying to think of the best way to let him down gently enough for him not to lose hope in his ability to do this by himself. The comment about the other boys was a clear indicator that he usually doubted himself. Any other colour scheme and it would've looked great.

"Honestly, you have a good sense of style," You proceeded, worried his face would light up before you got to your constructive criticism, "but the colouring of the top half doesn't work. It also doesn't really compliment your skin tone." You looked up, gaging his response. He nodded thoughtfully. He spoke again.

"Do you think any of these would suit me?" He moved aside so you could peer into the change room. You scanned the options and managed to put together an outfit, however, you had something else in mind. "Okay. Before I do anything, what is this outfit for?" You looked to him. It went unspoken that the occasion influenced the styling choice you both had to make. You almost thought he hesitated before he spoke, ”It's for a party, but it's slightly on the nicer side." I thoughtful hum slipped past your lips. “So, are you thinking of something that looked kind of effortless but still looks really good?" He smiled at how well you understood him, "Precisely."

You gestured to the initial outfit you came up with from his chosen items, "try that on as a 'fit while i work on something. I have an idea and I think it'll really suit you." Without a moment wasted, you turned on your heel and went back out onto the floor to dig up a few things you had noted earlier. To your delight, no one else had come in. You could fully focus on your 'help Felix with styling' mission.

You returned with two similar concepts in mind, but completely different colour palettes. As you rounded the corner to the change rooms, Felix emerged in a timely fashion, decked out in the first possible outfit. It was very Felix but still had a clear theme in terms of colour. He stood in a blue turtleneck with the black pants he walked in with and his white shoes. He accessorised with the his beanie he must’ve bought elsewhere, it conveniently being a similar shade of blue.

"What do you think?" His arms spread wide to showing off the look inspired by his own taste. It was a good start, but you thought he could do better. So, you told him just that. With a quick nod and a grin, the boy took the next set from your hands and disappeared behind the curtin. You could tell he was already regaining his confidence. All he needed was a push in the right direction.

Felix returned a short while later. He looked into the mirror at the outfit while you spoke, "Okay, so this one isn't your usual style but I thought it suited your skin tone a lot better than your first outfit." He nodded again. He stared awhile longer. When he looked back to you, it was obvious you agreed. "It's really cool, but-"

"-it's way too put together to look effortless." You finished his sentence, receiving a hum from the boy, which most likely was along the lines of couldn't agree more. "Honestly, I'm kind of happy because this one already had my vote to begin with." The genuine excitement in your voice made him laugh lightly. He traded the other garments for those strung over your arm. You fixed up the pieces on their hangers while you waited.

Felix practically sauntered out of the change room, confidence radiating off of his body now. He looked good, you had to admit. Felix wore the plain white tee he already had on prior to the fashion escapade. It was fitted beautifully to his chest and peaked out teasingly from beneath the blue and black sports jacket. The positioning on his shoulders along with its length was just right. The denim jeans were a new addition, rounding out the outfit. His hair still slightly messy from the beanie, yet smoothed out moments earlier with the palms of his hands. Every element worked in harmoniously, and the way he pulled off the colour story, effortless. You did good, Y/n. The whole look was perfect, fitting the brief, and you had to admit, he looked pretty hot. "I know I don't need to say it, but this wins hands down." He smirked. This bitch knew he looked good.

Once he was back in his original attire, Felix rejoined you at the checkout. The total cost was slightly more than what what he had in his budget, but you didn't mind bending the rules for a friend. You applied your discount, to which he thanked you profusely, and sat back while the system processed what he had paid. You bagged his newly acquired sports jacket and jeans, tossing in the receipt, "if you want, you can even try it with a pair of black shoes. I reckon it'd look even better." You smiled.

He returned it, "Thanks for all your help, Y/n. Sorry for taking up so much of your time." You hadn't even glanced at the time since Felix had come in. You almost squealed when you noticed it was already 4:16pm. 14 minutes until closing. "No, thank YOU, Felix. I swear I was dying at how slow the shift was going. Besides, I had a lot of fun." His grin widened but faulted, startled when his phone began to ring. "I better go but I'll see you soon, hopefully. Thanks again!" He gave you a half-hearted wave while he answered the call. He walked out the doors, turning the corner and was instantly out of view.

Apart from the two Asian aunties perusing the sale jewellery, the floor was dead. It was now 4:19pm. You could start the end-of-day routine. You figured out that if you timed it right, you could have the floors vacuumed, tills counted and the place all locked up by 4:37pm. You sprung into action, happily reminiscing on what was obviously the highlight of you shift and enjoyed the lull of music that was still playing.

>>

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[lowkeyaesthvtic]

Evil Karma - Chapter 6

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Word Count: 2,147

Summary: After explaining her plan, Sofi gets a taste of true heaven...or is it true hell?

Pairings: Harry x Uma x OC

Rating: M

Warnings: swear words, descriptive foreplay, LOTS of dirty talk, a bit of orgasm denial, switch!OC, switch!Harry, dom!Uma, like a little bit of thigh riding?, FFM threesome, I’ll add more if I need to

Taglist: @hookedradge @descendantofthesparrow @newtshairdryer and again ANYBODY ELSE who wants to!!!

Author’s Note: This is my first time writing smut so I’m really sorry if it seems a bit rushed!!

Harry, Uma and I sat around the giant black cauldron in front of us. Uma had known very little about the room where her mother would fantasize about using her magic, but she knew enough to know where it was. “Wait, so how are we going to use Neverland magic if evil magic doesn’t work here?” Harry sat up straight and leaned forward to peak inside the cauldron, seeing nothing but a dark and seemingly bottomless abyss.

“That’s the point of the plan, Hooky. When Uma and I drink this potion, we’ll be able to use our magic again. We just need to wait until Mal comes back to the Isle. When she does, her beastly beau will follow suit, hoping to bring her back to the pretty pink clutches of Auradon. Mal’s little friends will probably somehow find out and go to the Isle with him to protect their King. At a moment where Ben isn’t the priority, we shackle him up and keep him tied in the Chip Shoppe. While he’s tied up, I’ll find a way to make him angry so he’ll show his primal instincts. Once that happens, just a few hairs from his head and we’ll be all set for revenge.” It was something I had theorized to Uma when I first came to the Isle. The magic that allows Ben to change from man to beast comes from his father. Ben’s father was the creator of the Isle and likely the reason that it’s an island with no magic, considering Belle has never had any magic capability. So, if we were to fight the fire with the match that sparked it, maybe the flame would dim down long enough for Uma and I to work our magic.

“How are you so sure that Mal will come back to the Isle to start all of this?” Uma kept a somewhat indifferent expression. I laid my hand down on her thigh and let my thumb roam around it rhythmically.

“You and I both know that Mal isn’t loving the princess act, my Captain. She’s bound to come back and try to reclaim her old territory eventually.”

“You haven’t even met her, duckling, how can you be so sure?” Harry leaned closer to me, resting his hook on the back of my neck. The sudden cold feeling from the metal raised goosebumps on my skin. I looked over to Uma, raising an eyebrow to ask permission. She gave a small nod, a teasing smirk spreading across her face.

I turned towards Harry and swiftly positioned myself on top of his right thigh. “You see, Hooky. I’ve got a good read on people. When you’re able to see into other people’s minds for as long as I was able to, it’s a lot easier to know things about people, even when they don’t tell you.”

Uma smiled and stood up before walking over to Harry and I. She sat herself on Harry’s other thigh and looked to me in amusement. “Really? Prove it, then, island girl.” My eyes shifted over to him, noticing his tongue subtly lingering across his bottom lip.

“Only if he wants me to,” A teasing chuckle came out in response. He leaned up from where he was sitting, moving his hands toward my top. I rolled my eyes and used a hand to push him back so he was leaning against the chair, practically laying down. “Nice to know you’re excited, but I can’t understand you if you don’t use your words.” He smirked and perked his chin up in a nod.

“Why don’t you make me, huh, duckling?” I shrugged and ran my fingers through his hair before finding a small lock and giving a quick tug. Harry quietly yelped in pleasure and looked over to Uma, looking her up and down. When I took a quick glance at my Captain, her expression seemed indifferent, but I knew she couldn’t look away.

“Okay..please, Sofi, prove it to us. Prove it to me.” I nodded my head and leaned down onto him, beginning to leave small kisses on his neck. Since I still had part of his hair in my hand, I had more access to his neck and collarbone. I put my hand under his shirt and began trailing my hand across his chest.

“Well, to start, you’re not as dominant as people think you are. I mean, maybe you have your days where you’d rather thrust into one of us until we’re a quivering mess but more often than not, you secretly love it when we take our time. It’s interesting not being the tease for a change, isn’t it?” Uma quietly giggled behind me. She knew I was right. “Second, you realized you had feelings for Uma when you were jacking off in the shower one night and realized that what finished you off was the thought of her riding you. It’d start off with her gently moving naked across your thigh, pulling you close and leaving marks that would stay for weeks, then, eventually, she’d practically rip off your clothes and take all of you in her mouth…” I slowly took Harry’s jacket off of him and slipped my overshirt off afterward. Thinking he would let me take him further, he pulled me closer to him and wrapped his fingers around a lock of my hair.

“God..please continue…”

“Why should I? I’ve proven myself, haven’t I?” I leaned my head closer to his, our foreheads touching and our lips inches away.

“You’re not ready for what will happen if you don’t.” He lowered his voice to a husky whisper. “I’ll ravage you right here on this chair. Tear you until you’re spent and yet you’ll still be begging for more.” I smirked and swiftly pulled his lips to mine. His lips were soft but his movements were rough and primal. I’d felt some needy men in the past, but none had been so shameless, raging like a heavenly sunshower. In the heat and excitement, I can hear a quick and deep “do it,” slip from Harry’s lips. Before I could question anything, I felt the cold metallic sensation of Harry’s hook slip across the back of my neck. After a quick gasp, I look behind me to see Uma with her hat, jacket, and belt discarded. “Do you really think I’d let you unravel him without a little help? Tell me, when was the last time you experienced two people at once?” As quick as a light switch, I was rendered nearly speechless. I never knew how she did it to me, but there was always something about her that put me in some sort of spell. Now I understood why Harry always said Uma’s name like a prayer. In the right mood, Uma carried herself like a god. I turned back to look at her. With her jacket gone, the dress she was wearing under had become much more form fitting. “Well look who’s not using their words, now?” Harry chuckled from behind and leaned up, starting to kiss my neck just as I had done to him before.

“Settle down, Harry. Don’t think because we’ve found a weakness in our girl that it means you can go Alpha. We all know who’s in charge here, don’t we?” I nodded my head. She walked over to me and gently lifted my chin. Between Harry’s nails leaving scratches down my back and Uma’s lips gently dancing with me, I felt like I had an angel in front of me and a devil behind me. Uma’s kiss was of a warm fire after a day in the snow. Her hands roamed toward the strap of my shirt and moved it downward. “Get off of him for a moment. I’ve got a better idea.” I quickly obeyed, shifting off of Harry’s thigh and returning to where I sat before this escapade had begun. I could feel small hitches in my breath and warmth forming around me. Harry prowled over to my side, beginning to leave deep and rough kisses on my neck and shoulders. I already knew that this would bruise, but I couldn’t care less. Uma stood tall in front of me and let her dress fall to the floor. Her breasts were perky and seemed as soft as the rest of her supple skin.

“Maybe you have done your homework on us, duckling. But guess what? So have we.” Feeling Harry’s voice on my skin sent shivers down my spine. Uma sat on top of my lap and flittered her fingers around the strap to my top. I raised my arms over my head and threw my top to the floor as I took it off. She slowly began kissing down my chest and towards one breast as Harry licked and nibbled at the other. I could feel myself starting to rub my thighs together, trying to gain some friction. Uma quietly chuckles and slowly moves her hand down towards my pants, then slowly pressing two fingers against my clothed heat. I let out a soft huff of breath, eager for more. Uma momentarily stopped and looked to Harry.

“Let’s speed this up, who knows when ma might come through here.” He growled excitedly in response. In the blink of an eye, all of us were completely undressed. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, what I was feeling, what I had the privilege to be a part of. I had seen Harry shirtless a few times. We’d be training together and, in the heat of the moment, he’d practically rip it off and attempt to use his muscles and wile to throw me off. Mentally, it’d definitely make my thoughts wander, but not as much as it did now. To go with his tense and chiseled arms and chest, Harry had a distinct “v line” that lead down to his cock. It was relatively average in length and surprisingly well groomed. What would end up blowing my mind was his girth and a curve towards the head. Uma, however, was practically a whole new world. Despite the muscle in her attitude, Uma was more on the slender and petite side. There was a small curve cascading down her body that wasn’t much of an hourglass, but still seemed to hit all of the right places. Her hips swayed like the waves of the ocean, and I was the sand she’d weaken with her tide.

I wish I could recount all of the little details of what had happened, and usually I would be able to. The main thing I remembered was the contrast in style from the two of them. Harry was a tease, pacing himself achingly while staying attentive to the both of us. Even when I wasn’t the priority, he still found some way to lift me higher. His fingers and tongue were godlike, nearly omniscient of how to keep the Captain and I begging for more. He was quite the devil indeed. If Harry were a devil, Uma was his succubus. She’d lure you in, thinking of being gentle, making you believe that there was a chance of getting her to beg. But that was quite the contrary. While Harry had times were he would be fast and brutal, Uma was torturously slow with the both of us. She’d throw in tiny praises, letting the both of us know how well we were doing, but soon after she’d make these tiny little threats and hints of denial. “If you even try to come before I’m done with you, I’ll make you pay,” “Tell me who you belong to, or I’ll stop right now.” She was the last of the three of us to reach her peak, Harry locking his lips with hers while I tasted her for the first time.

By the time all three of us were done and cleaned up, Harry had passed out with his head on Uma’s lap. I laid gently onto her shoulder and ran my hands gently through Harry’s dark locks. There was something mesmerizing about seeing someone who was usually so chaotic look so at peace. “Does he always fall asleep so quickly?” I joked to Uma, keeping my eyes locked on the sleeping beauty below me.

“Always...what about you? You aren’t tired from all of that?”

“No, I am, trust me. I just don’t sleep very much. In Neverland, you never knew when a Lost Boy was going to break into your tent to cause a ruckus or when some animal would try to ravage your camp like a fat kid at a buffet.” Uma smiled and laid a soft kiss on the top of my head. Maybe I didn’t know whether or not this plan would work, but as long as I had these two by my side, I’ll cherish every second of it.

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