#he's just shoving it as far as possible under his little hat

[snek-eyes]

The fact that Aziraphale emerges from this flashback

Makes this face

and then with a ginormous gap on the right side of the screen, proceeds to be like "I must call Crowley right now immediately."

#I believe that Aziraphale in s2 is just as worried as Crowley is #he's just shoving it as far as possible under his little hat #good omens 2 #v watches good omens #Aziraphale #I Know Where I'm Going #The Resurrectionists #i am this close to analyzing the screen composition during their phonecall because it's. interesting. #started thinking about this scene when they mentioned changing the weather based on Aziraphale's mood #good omens meta #more in the notes

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

On request, I decided to continue the First Kiss headcanons.

But with a twist!

I'm starting an unnecessarily depraved series of oneshots based around kinks. It won't be necessary to read the previous entry, but if you want to, you can find it here.

And we're starting with Mihawk because no I'm not obsessed shut up.

🤤

ANYWAY.

I'm a bibliophile and I like doing alphabet-based things, so without further ado, I present you the first of the ABC's of Kinks. Be prepared for unapologetic smut featuring Mihawk, Shanks, Zoro, Sanji, Buggy, and possibly a few other characters.

D is for Dominance

ABC's of Kink

Part 2 of First Kiss: Mihawk

LA!Mihawk X Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 1590

NSFW

The second Mihawk pushes you against the door of the hotel room and pins your hands over your head, you completely forget how to breathe. You definitely should have expected this—every other aspect of your relationship with him over the past month has been a power play, and he has made it perfectly clear who the dominant party is.

You swallow as he tosses his hat aside onto a table and leans in, his forehead touching yours and his hand curling around your jaw.

"Tell me, little one..." His thumb brushes across your lips, and a small whimper escapes them. "Who do you belong to?"

You can barely breathe with his sharp yellow eyes burning into yours, but you manage to force out one shaky word. "Y-you."

He lifts an eyebrow and tilts his head, tightening his grip on your chin a little.

"'You'...what?"

"S—sir," you add quickly. For all intents and purposes, you do belong to him. You're under contract with him for a year, and only a month of that has passed so far.

"Good." He loosens his grip around your jaw a little...but his grip around your wrists tightens. "Just making sure we're clear."

He lowers his mouth to yours in a possessive kiss, his tongue pushing between your lips as he deftly unbuttons your shirt. Spreading it open, his lips break away from yours, and he gives an appreciative hum as his eyes drift over your body. His fingertips brush across the thin black lace cup of your bra, drawing your nipple to a stiff point.

"Every inch of you..."

Loosening the ties of your shorts, and pushing his hand into them, his eyes flicker back to yours as he rubs you through your panties. Your head falls back against the door amid a small moan, already throbbing at his soft, indirect touch.

"Belongs to me. Isn't that right, dear?"

"Y—yes, sir—"

He stops moving his hand, pulling a desperate whimper from you. "Say it."

"I belong—belong to you—sir—"

With this, Mihawk shoves your shorts down your hips so they pool around your ankles. He doesn't waste any time with your panties, grasping the thin lace and tearing them away from your body with one powerful tug, leaving you gasping...and then moaning again as he tugs you closer by your hip and pushes his fingers between your wet folds.

"Very good," he says over your soft moans. "I think we're going to have a lot of fun together, my little bird."

Your hips arch automatically toward his touch, your clit throbbing as his fingertips rub against the sensitive bud in firm, concentric circles, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body. He shoves you further back against the door, his lips pressing against your neck as he draws in a slow breath to breathe you in. You cry out when he bites down lightly on the tender skin, your eyes clenching shut.

"Open them." Your eyes shoot back open at his command, just as he lays his forehead against yours again, so all you can see are his sharp yellow irises. "I want your eyes on mine when you come undone. Understood?"

You nod quickly in agreement, your eyes glued to his. His lips brush against yours briefly, and his little smirk sends a shiver through your entire body.

His fingertips slide down from your clit, and without any warning he pushes two of them inside you, pressing his lips to yours and muffling your deep moan, his tongue slipping into your mouth in a harsh, dominating kiss.

You're completely at his mercy, your walls clenching around his fingers as he finds your g-spot with ease, rubbing them against it while his palm grinds against your clit, driving your pleasure higher and higher with every passing second. You moan into his mouth while your tongues swirl together. Your thighs tremble and your knees quake, his hands the only thing keeping you collapsing on the spot as you near the edge of physical abandon faster than you ever have in your life.

His lips part from yours the moment your orgasm crashes over you, letting your cries of pleasure fill the inn room, your hips bucking forward onto his hand in the force of your pleasure. His fingers hook against your g-spot in sync with the contractions of your pussy, drawing out your climax for as long as possible.

His hands leave you suddenly, leaving you to collapse to your knees in front of him, still gasping and whimpering, trembling. You lean back against the door and gaze up at him, your mind foggy from the lingering euphoria as you watch him shrug away his long coat and toss it aside. Your eyes take in every inch of his toned torso, his broad shoulders and powerful arms, the scars marring his fair skin as you watch him loosen the buckle of his belt.

One of his hands wraps around your arm just below your shoulder, and he tugs you back to your feet before pushing his pants down his hips and pressing you against the door again. He trails his fingers down your arm, across your wrist, lacing them through yours and pulling your hand up to brush his lips over your knuckles.

"I don't recall saying I was through with you," he says lightly, releasing your hand. You're frozen stiff as his eyes gaze down into yours, his hands trailing down your waist. You can feel his shaft pressed against your stomach, but you don't dare look away from his eyes for a second.

His hands reach your thighs, and he lifts you up with ease, your feet leaving the floor—and, without any hesitation, he lowers you down, thrusting his hips forward to fill your tight, wet channel completely with his hard cock. You cry out, flinging your arms around his neck as he presses you back against the door, drawing in a sharp breath through his teeth before crushing his lips against yours.

Mihawk carries you to the bed in the center of the room to lay you at the edge of the mattress, leaning over you and thrusting into you hard and deep, the inn suite filled with nothing but the wet sounds of your bodies meeting and your desperate moans. You cling to his neck with one arm, your other hand trailing across the hard plane of his chest, your thighs clenched around his powerful hips.

He is utterly unrelenting, clearly bent on completely breaking you—his lips trail down to your chest as he unhooks your bra and tosses it aside, his lips wrapping around one of your stiff nipples and teasing at the sensitive protrusion with his tongue, his eyes holding your gaze the entire time to watch you fall apart beneath him.

And fall apart you do—your head falling back into the plush bedsheets, unable to breathe for moaning, curling your fingers in his thick black hair as you roll your hips to meet his with every hard thrust. You hook your other arm beneath his, your nails digging into the back of his shoulder, clinging to him like your life depends on it, because right now, it legitimately feels like it does. Your heart racing, your breath coming in sharps gasps, you feel like you might just die in his arms at any moment.

You can feel his breathing quickening against your neck, his chest heaving, before he finally grips at your hip with enough force to bruise the tender skin and slams into you with a low, deep grunt, thobbing hard as his orgasm spills inside you, your thighs trembling around him as you topple over the edge with him. He grasps a handful of your hair and presses his lips to yours, drawing in a slow, deep breath through his nose.

Your hips roll against his in pace with the deep waves of pleasure coursing through you, moaning softly against his lips as your tongues swirl together. You simply lay there beneath him for some time, your eyes slipping shut as his lips trail lightly across your neck, his fingers combing through your hair and his other hand slowly rubbing up and down your waist.

He lifts his head and brushes his lips to yours. "Dial up room service and tell them to bring a bottle of wine. Cabernet. Their oldest vintage."

One more brief, slow kiss, and Mihawk pulls away from you. Your eyes are glued to him as he stands up, brushing a hand back through his jet black hair to get it out of his eyes.

"And stay there," he adds, his eyes passing slowly over your nude form on the king sized bed. "I'll be back for you in a moment."

You watch him cross the room, biting your lip and holding your breath. The moment he disappears into the bathroom, your head falls back as a slow, shaking sigh leaves your lips. He expects you to be coherent enough to call room service after that?

Fuck.

But you don't really have any choice, do you? You belong to him, after all. And you're not complaining.

You take a few seconds to finish catching your breath before shifting over on the bed, rolling onto your stomach and dialing at the transponder snail. You can hear water running in the bathroom as you're ordering the bottle of wine he asked for.

You hang up the call and wrap your arms around a pillow with a slow and contended sigh as you bury your face into it.

Definitely not complaining.

#mihawk x reader #mihawk #dracule mihawk #mihawk one piece #mihawk opla #opla #one piece live action #one piece fanfiction #smut #opla fanfiction #mihawk live action

[rollinouttahere-writes]

Lucky Break Chapter 5

Yandere Straw Hats x Fem!Reader

4.6k words

Beginning / Previous / Next (to be written)

A partial night of rest did little for you. Your head was still killing you, and the dreamless, fleeting sleep did nothing to aid in jogging your far away memories. 

Nami was kind enough to let you stay in her boat for the rest of night, and you were still on it this morning. You didn't feel confident in your ability to cross boats again now that the wind had picked up and the waters were slightly rougher. The last thing you wanted was to fall into the ocean again right after getting a change of clothes. 

You watched with mild amusement as Nami and Luffy bickered about the Grand Line. Well, Nami was bickering. Luffy was dismissing everything. 

“How do you expect to so much as make it into the Grand Line as you are? You have no supplies, no ship, and only two people. You're even more insane than I thought you were if you think that's a good idea.” Nami returned her attention to the map in her hands, muttering under her breath about pirates being a nuisance.

Luffy shoved the rest of the apple he was eating into his mouth, core and all. Cyanide poisoning be damned. He did appear to at least be taking her words into consideration, which was an improvement. “Yeah, we're going to have to get some meat before we go.” 

You snort at the exasperated look Nami shoots him. Of course that was what he was hung up on. Luffy cooked his head to the side, “And what do you mean I only have two people? There's four of us.”

“I am not a part of your crew, this is just a temporary alliance. I'm not about to sail into the Grand Line with anybody, much less someone as in over their head as you are.” Nami pointed at you, “And Lucky doesn't count. She doesn't even remember her name, what are you expecting her to do?”

“What's that got to do with anything? She doesn't need to remember her name to be my crewmate.”

“She's got a gaping head wound! She needs to see a doctor, not get dragged into the most dangerous place on the planet by a delusional captain!” Nami picked up and chucked an apple at his head. An extremely ineffective attack given that he just opened his mouth and ate it whole like some sort of snake-person.

“Maybe we'll find a doctor on the next island, and then she’ll be good to go.” Luffy perked up, “Are we getting close to one yet? I want to get some food.”

The navigator's eyes flitted back down to the map. She still looked annoyed but answered his question, “Yes, we should be at the Gecko Islands soon.”

Luffy cheered and whirled around on his perch to stare into the distance. You followed his gaze and saw a speck of an island in the distance. Being on solid ground again sounded lovely. The unsteadiness of being on a constantly rocking boat felt extremely unnatural to you. Based on that, you felt safe in assuming that you had never spent a prolonged period of time at sea before this. 

And of course, you were looking forward to the possibility of seeing a doctor and having your injury inspected and cared for by a professional. Zoro definitely needed to see a doctor, too, what with his stab wound. 

Though, as you glanced at him, he appeared to be entirely unbothered. The only thing that even hinted at what had happened was the hole and bloodstain in his shirt. Other than that, he seemed fine. Shit, maybe he can sleep off stab wounds. If only you could do the same for your injury.

Luffy kicked his legs in excitement as the island drew closer. “We can get supplies here, and maybe even a new ship! Oh! We might even get some new crewmates! We're going to need a cook before we get to the Grand Line. And a musician.”

Having a cook around made sense, though you were more than a little baffled at him prioritizing a musician over a doctor. Well, whatever. He’s the captain, not you. He can recruit whoever he wants, and you’re sure that he will. Especially considering how much he’s been brushing off Nami stating that she isn’t a part of the crew.

The two boats hit sand as you finally make it to the island. You’re at some empty beach far away from the docks. Nami insisted that this would be for the best considering that her ship has Buggy’s jolly roger plastered over the sail. You jump off the ship and help pull them further onto the beach to prevent them from drifting away.

Being on solid land feels just as good as you had expected. The sand has a give to it, of course, but it isn’t constantly rocking back and forth. You stretch as you scan your surroundings. The beach is boxed in by cliffs, with a manmade walkway leading into a lightly packed forest that helps to hide your ships further. Someone would have to go out of their way to find you guys here.

“The village isn’t far from here, right?” Luffy was looking around excitedly, no doubt eager for a chance to stretch his legs. You were, too. The island appears to be normal and peaceful. It’ll be nice to explore a town without a bunch of pirates in it… you guys notwithstanding, of course. 

“Yes, it shouldn’t take long to get there,” Nami answered passively while scrutinizing the map in her hands. “I wonder where we could find a ship.”

“We’ll worry about that later. Let’s find a place to eat first!” Luffy was actively drooling as he spoke. You’re not sure how anyone can be so hungry after eating what you’re pretty sure was in the ballpark of twenty apples, but you aren’t about to try and get between him and food.

Nami pushed him out of her face harshly, “Would you stop talking about food for five seconds?!”

Your attention was drawn away from them as you saw movement up on the cliffs. You squint and see several bushes rustling from what you’re assuming is some local wildlife. Zoro unsheaths a sword behind you and steps forward.

“Careful… I think we have company.”

That catches everyone’s attention. Nami tenses and steps back while scanning the forest herself, while Luffy is visibly excited about whoever could possibly be here. To you, Zoro seems to be over reacting. It’s more than likely just some animals running around, you’re not sure why he’s instantly jumping to this being an ambush or something.

Then someone starts shooting at Luffy’s feet. Perhaps Zoro was onto something. He scrambles to get out of the way while Zoro rushes forward to help. Before you even have a chance to react, Nami grabs you by the collar of your shirt and drags you back to the boat before shoving you into it and climbing in beside you to take cover. You cough and gasp as she releases your shirt.

The attack stops, so you and Nami peer over the side of the ship to see what’s going on. Luffy and Zoro appear to be fine, thankfully, but now a bunch of flags are popping out of the bushes. All of them have the same jolly roger on them. Ah. So much for you thinking that this island was pirate-free. You just hope none of them have any weird-ass super powers to contend with.

This display does nothing to intimidate Luffy, who by all accounts seems to be having a grand time watching this. A boy suddenly emerges from behind a tree, looking extremely pleased with himself. Some of the tension leaves your body as you are distracted by the fact that this kid has the longest damn nose you’ve ever seen. You didn’t think that was physically possible. You shake your head, reminding yourself that now is not the time to be getting distracted by appearances.

Long-nose crosses his arms and puffs out his chest proudly. “I am Captain Usopp! Leader of the pirates who reign over this village! I’ll have you know that everyone here fears me as much as they sing my praise! Which is a lot!” He gestures behind himself with a dramatic flare, “Go ahead and forget about attacking this village, it’s under my control! Me and my eighty million subordinates won’t let you get far!”

Eighty… Eighty million? You and Nami share a sideways glance at each other. That seems… a touch far fetched. The island doesn’t appear big enough to hold even one million people, much less eighty million plus the villagers. Now that you think about it, It’s odd that he didn’t name drop his crew. He just called them “the pirates”. You let out a sigh and slump against the boat, relieved that this appears to just be some display rather than a real threat. Nami pinches the bridge of her nose, looking annoyed more than anything, and Zoro puts his sword away with a huff.

Luffy, meanwhile, is star-struck. 

“If you’re going to lie, at least make it believable!” Nami calls out to him.

Usopp gasps, stumbling back in shock, “How did you know?!”

Nami rolls her eyes, “And now you’re admitting to it this easily? You’re terrible at this.” She climbs back out of the boat, and you’re quick to follow suit. You glance up the cliff to see Usopp beating himself up for failing miserably at his intimidation attempt. 

He whips back around to face all of you again, trying desperately to save face. “Well, maybe I was exaggerating a little bit, but I can assure you that I do have some very powerful men at my disposal!” He points at a cluster of bushes not far from him. Unlike the rest of the flags, the ones coming out of the bushes were moving, implying the presence of at least a few people. 

Still, those bushes weren’t particularly huge. You can’t imagine that there were that many people hiding in them. You squint, “What? Like three people?”

The literal second you say this, precisely three people spring out of the bushes looking aghast at your accurate prediction. These “powerful men” looked to be a bunch of kindergarteners, who screamed in terror and ran away immediately while Usopp yelled after them not to leave him here alone. Another impressive victory under your sword-belt, you suppose.

Luffy looks at you in awe, “How did you know?”

All you offer him is a simple shrug and say, “Lucky guess?”

Nami sifts through the sand and pulls out some tiny pellets. She examines them with absolutely no sense of urgency. “Huh. I’ve never seen a pirate captain use a slingshot before.”

Usopp gasps and clutches his chest in offense, “What’s that supposed to mean? Don’t insult me!” He pulls a slingshot from his bag and takes aim at her. Nami stares at him blankly. “I have a lot of pride in my weapon! So much so that people call me ‘Proud Usopp’!”

You’ll give him this much: he doesn’t abandon the bit easily. You call out to him, “By people, do you mean yourself?”

Now Nami’s comment didn’t seem all that bad to him. Usopp changed positions to aim at you instead, “Many people call me that! In fact, they call me ‘Proud Usopp’ more than ‘Captain Usopp’ because they’re that impressed by my pride!” He pulls the leather pad holding another pellet back further. “Behold! You’re about to see that my slingshot skills can put a pistol to shame!”

Given how many other things he’s lied about or exaggerated greatly, you aren’t scared. The pellets that he shot at Luffy had some oomph to them, sure, but comparing them to bullets fired from a gun seems excessive. Getting pelted by some pellets is hardly going to be the worst injury you’ve endured.

Before Usopp can decide if he really wants to fire at you or not, Luffy steps in front of you with the brim of his hat pulled down over his eyes. His voice drops to a surprisingly low tone as he addresses Usopp seriously for the first time, “Now that you’ve drawn your “pistol”, you’ve put your life on the line.”

Both you and Usopp gawk at Luffy. Usopp was clearly scared by the sudden mood shift, and even you felt a chill run down your spine. You’re so used to seeing Luffy be carefree and goofy that hearing him openly threaten someone in a genuinely intimidating fashion has completely thrown you for a loop. On top of that, you feel confused. Nothing about this scenario feels heavy enough to warrant this kind of a response.

“You don’t use those to threaten people.” Luffy makes a show of loudly cracking his knuckles while maintaining intense eye contact with Usopp, who is now looking like he’s really regretting his previous actions.

Zoro grinned and stepped forward, just barely unsheathing a sword, “You’re dealing with real pirates now… Are you prepared for that?”

This is escalating quickly. You lean over to Nami and whisper, “Should we stop them?” 

Nami did not share your concern. She examined her nails, barely even sparing you a glance, “No. He’ll lose his nerve before it gets to that.”

For a long, tense moment, there is silence as Usopp is stared down by Luffy and Zoro. Then, just as Nami predicted, he caved. The pellet slipped out of the slingshot and onto the ground. Usopp fell to his knees immediately after, looking thoroughly shaken up from the exchange. His hand clutched his chest as he muttered about how much scarier the words of real pirates are.

Mercifully, the tension dissipated instantly. Luffy dropped the disconcertingly serious look from his face and laughed loudly. “I stole that from Shanks! Your dad is Yassop, right?”

Usopp reels back at that question. “You know Shanks?! Wait- You know my dad?!” He clambers forward, but he isn’t paying attention and tumbles right over the side of the cliff. He rolls the whole way down, landing ass-first at the bottom. You wince, swearing that you felt some of that. The fall does little to deter Usopp, who quickly gets to his feet and stumbles closer to Luffy. “Yassop is my dad, but how did you know that?”

Luffy opens his mouth to answer, then stops abruptly. “I’ll tell you, but you have to take us to the nearest place to get food first.”

The deal was immediately accepted by Usopp, who nodded eagerly, “There’s a tavern not far from here, I’ll show you the way!”

Luffy followed close behind, cheering at the promise of food. How he intended to pay for it, you weren’t entirely sure, but who were you to ruin his excitement? No one else seemed concerned about the financials of this meal, so you suppose you shouldn’t be either.

Zoro casually trails behind Usopp and Luffy, while you and Nami were at the back. You two walked in silence while you mulled over something. This wasn’t the first time you’d heard the name Shanks. You can recall hearing the name thrown around while Luffy was duking it out with the clown-guy… Bucky? Boogie? You shake your head. That doesn’t matter.

Was Shanks someone important? Or was he coming up a lot purely through a series of coincidences? The name wasn’t ringing any bells for you, but given that you couldn’t remember your own name, that really wasn’t saying much. There’s only one way to find out the truth about him.

“Hey, Nami?” You wait for her to glance your way, acknowledging your inquiring tone. “Who’s Shanks?”

Her eyes widened, “You don’t know who Shanks is?”

You raise a hand and tap near your head wound, only to flinch at the pang of pain that shot through your head from that action. Oh, that was stupid. 

Nami sighs, “You really don’t remember anything if you don’t even recognize his name.” Her face turns to a sneer, “He’s some bigshot pirate that’s worked his way up to being an emperor.”

The answer only served to confuse you more. “Emperor? What does piracy have to do with being one of those?”

“It’s just a title, he isn’t a literal emperor.” She waves her hand dismissively, “Don’t think about it too much. The less you know about pirates, the better.”

Aren’t you kind of a pirate now? At least by association. Not to mention that you’re traveling with two of them. Something tells you that Nami wouldn’t care for you pointing that out, so you continue to walk beside her in silence.

A large wooden sign with the words “Syrup Village” is sticking out of the ground once you’ve walked through the small forest. The village itself was small and quaint, possessing a sort of rustic charm that made it feel homey even if you've never been here before. Unlike Orange Town, this place was clearly populated. The local villagers milled about, going about their daily routines. It was a pleasant change of pace. 

Usopp beckoned all of you into a small tavern. There weren't any customers inside, just an elderly man sitting behind a counter, and what sounds like a small staff in the kitchen. 

“I have a lot of influence here. Go on and take a seat, I can handle the rest.” Usopp hurried over to the old man and started giving him some spiel about how you guys were a part of his crew, and thus, deserved only the best. The old man didn't even look up from his newspaper, but was nodding along anyway.

Nami picked out a booth for you all to sit at. Zoro slid in next to her, while you sat at the bench across from them. You glanced over to see Luffy sticking his head into the kitchen, apparently having not listened when Usopp insisted on handling everything. He was demanding an obscene amount of food, more than you thought all of you could reasonably eat in a week, much less one sitting.

As soon as he was done ordering enough food to make it feel like its own lunch rush, he bounded over to your booth and plopped onto the bench next to you, visibly elated. Usopp joined a moment later, dragging over a chair so he could sit at the head of the table. 

“So, how do you know my dad?” Usopp was staring at Luffy expectantly. 

Luffy perked up, “Oh, right. He was a part of Shanks’ crew, I saw him a lot growing up.”

Usopp's jaw dropped. “He's a part of Shanks’ crew?!” He kicked his legs under the table, a dreamy look on his face, “So that's where he's been.”

You quirked a brow at that statement. He didn't know where his own dad was? Did they never see each other? Or at least talk once in a while? You're surprised he doesn't look more bitter about it. You think that you would be if you were him. 

There's a pang in your head, and your eyes go fuzzy for a moment. It's a sharp pain right behind your eyes. You put your face in your hands and massage your temples, trying to will away the pain and cloudy vision. 

You're startled slightly when you feel someone lightly kick you under the table. You pull your face from your hands only to find Zoro staring at you questioningly from across the table. 

“Everything alright?” His face was casual, so much so that it could be mistaken for disinterested, but it felt like his eyes were staring into you.

“I'm fine, I'm just… hungry.” Complaining about a headache felt childish, so you kept it to yourself. These people are being needlessly kind to you, you don't want to start annoying them and risk making them change their mind. 

Zoro stares at you hard, and you get the impression that he doesn't believe you. He sighs and brings a pint of beer up to his mouth, “Well you better eat something quickly before Luffy gets it all.”

Hang on. You look at the table and finally take notice of the drinks and plates of food on it. When did these get here? You thought you only had your head in your hands for a few seconds… how did you not even hear the dishes being set down?

You really need to see a doctor. 

A plate of food and some water are slid to you by Zoro, who apparently thought you were taking too long to make a move. You mutter a quiet thanks and gulp down some water before digging into the food. Hopefully having something of substance in your stomach would make you feel better. 

Something was tickling at the back of your mind, but not clearly enough for you to make anything of it. The faintest whisper of a voice and a bizarre feeling of empty loneliness hung over you despite being surrounded by people. The responsible thing to do would be to focus on the essence of a memory that was trapped beneath the surface of your mind, begging to come forth. You should be trying to bring it to the front and realize it for what it was. But… apparently the person you're supposed to be isn't one for responsibility. You shove more food into your mouth and push the thought down. That memory didn't feel very pleasant. You try to focus on what’s going on around you instead of that.

The table is lively, unlike your foggy mind. Luffy is happily recounting childhood memories of Yassop while Usopp hangs onto every word of it, completely rapt in the stories. Luffy is also choking down an obscene amount of food at a cornering rate. You're not sure he's even chewing any of it given how fast he keeps going back for more. No wonder Zoro was insistent on you eating sooner rather than later. Another minute of hesitation and you would have been shit out of luck.

Nami finishes the rest of her drink and levels Usopp with a stare, “Say, you wouldn't happen to know where we could get a ship around these parts, would you?”

“A ship?” Usopp hums in thought for a moment, then stiffens up. “I wouldn't know anything about where to get one of those. This is a small village. We don't even have many ships passing through, much less up for grabs.”

“What about the people living in that mansion up on the hill?” Zoro nodded his head in the direction of it. The large home was in clear view from where all of you were seated. “Surely someone in a house like that has at least a few caravels at their disposal. Maybe more.”

Dishes clatter on the table as Usopp abruptly stands up and slams his hands down. “You can't go there!” His shout and sudden mood change startles everyone. Just as quickly as he became upset, his face dropped into a more bashful look. “Oh, would you look at the time! I have very important business to tend to, bye!” And with that, he sprinted out of the building, only reappearing briefly as he sped past the window. 

What was that all about?

Nami sighed sharply. “What's got him so worked up? He ran out of here so fast that I just barely managed to grab this,” she held up a small, leather wallet. 

“Nami!” You attempted to scold her, but the smug look on her face told you that your words meant nothing. 

“What? He said he'd take care of everything, and that includes paying the bill. I'm just ensuring that he keeps his word, that's all.” Nami barely even glances at you before opening it up and counting the money. Based on the way her face contorts, you're guessing that it isn't as much as she was hoping for. 

Luffy didn't appear to be even slightly concerned about that. He was happily licking the plates clean. Including yours, which was a little weird, but whatever. Not gonna ruin your day. 

When you hear the door to the tavern open again, you don't think much of it. It's not until some little kids storm up to your table wielding wooden toy swords that you decide to pay attention. It dawns on you that these are the same kids you scared away earlier at the beach.

“W-What did you do with our captain?!” The boy with green hair asks the question as if he is already assuming the worst. All of the kids are shaking like chihuahuas while trying to act tough. 

“Man, I'm full! That was some really good meat!” Luffy flopped against your shoulder heavily, having apparently finally satiated his massive appetite. The boys stared at him in abject horror.

“Your captain?” Zoro's once neutral face curled up into a surprisingly sinister grin. He leaned forward, making the children almost trip over each other to back away. “We ate him.”

The children grew deathly pale, screamed, then promptly fainted into a heap on the floor. 

“Zoro!” You kept switching between looking at the incapacitated children and the swordsman. “Why would you say that?!” 

All that he does is chuckle, looking awfully proud of himself for terrorizing some little kids. Luffy is laughing loudly at the whole spectacle, and Nami is staring at both of them incredulously but also not doing anything about it. You huff and climb over Luffy to check on the boys. While they do look horrified, even in their unconscious state, they appear to be fine physically speaking. You glare at Zoro, “That was mean.”

Your attempt at scolding is once again entirely ineffective. He waves his hand dismissively and downs the rest of his pint, “It was just a joke. If they want to be pirates then they should be able to handle it.”

“They’re little kids. They probably want to be something different every week.” There will definitely be a change next week after having a run in with what they believe to be cannibalistic pirates. You crouch down beside them, shaking one of them gently in hopes of waking him up. He starts to stir and cracks open his eyes behind his glasses. He blinks a couple of times, then focuses on you. For a moment, he stares at you dully. Then his eyes snap open wide and he yelps as he scrambles backwards.

“Calm down! I’m not going to hurt you,” you hold up your hands like you’re dealing with a scared animal.

This does nothing to quell his fears. He tries to get to his feet quickly, and you don’t have a chance to warn him before he cracks his head on the table he clearly didn’t realize he was under. Once again, he falls to the floor unconscious.

“Oh, shit!” You curse and scramble over to him, wanting to check and make sure he isn’t now suffering the same kind of brain damage you’ve got. You lift him up to get a better look at his head, when you hear dramatic gasps.

“She’s got Tamanegi! They’re going to eat him next!” The other boys have woken up and are back to hysterics.

“NO! No one is getting eaten!” You glare at your crew that is doing nothing to help and is instead laughing at the absurdity of the situation. “Would one of you help me here?!”

Zoro laughs loudly at your demand, “No, it looks like you’ve got it covered.”

You can’t believe these are the people you’re stuck with.

#lucky break #monkey d luffy #luffy #roronoa zoro #cat burglar nami #one piece nami #usopp #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #yandere one piece #platonic yandere

[jasmines-library]

‘Tis the Season

Summary: It’s Christmas time, and after a long time apart, you and your brothers are finally together to celebrate, even if it is inside a motel room.

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff.

Note: Merry Christmas!

⛤ SUPERNATURAL MASTERLIST ⛤

The Winchesters have never been big with celebrations. Especially since Mary passed away and hunting became the only thing on John’s agenda.This meant that you had never really experienced a proper Christmas before and neither had either of your brothers. Sure they remember snippets of Christmas from when they were younger and your mum was still around but it was never the same after that. John was never there and the three of you were often left to mill around in a shitty motel. The three of you would celebrate in your own little way. You would exchange gifts which, in Dean’s case, were often stolen or given to you by Bobby, and despite their efforts to make Christmas as normal as possible for you it was never quite how you had pictured it. Never how Sam and Dean remembered it. It didn’t help that John had told you when you were heartbreakingly young that there was no Santa Claus.

But this year, something was different. The Winchesters were celebrating.

You strolled down the road, your arm hooked around Sam’s as you admired the lights that had been strung up like bunting between the rows of buildings and hung from lampposts in the street. You wore your thickest jacket: an old blue hand-me-down from Dean, that you were pretty sure Sam might have even owned at one point before he grew taller than your older brother, and hand bundled yourself up with a scarf to shelter yourself from the frosty air.

The streets were quiet besides a few odd couples that greeted you and Sammy with a warm smile or a gentle nod. Most people were at home, celebrating the Christmas holiday.

The frost that blanketed the ground crunched under your feet and made your feet feel like small ice cubes despite the fact that you were wearing two pairs of socks. You and your brother walked quickly back to the motel where Dean was hovering over the stove tucked away in the corner of the motel. The moment you opened the door and were greeted with the warmth of the room and the smell of the food, you couldn’t help but smile up at Sam, as well as chuckle at the sight of your eldest brother. He had donned a red Santa hat and was singing along to the song he had turned up too loud on the radio between taking swigs from beer. He wrapped you up between his arms when the two of you returned with the last of the ingredients he needed before you made your way into the room.

On the nightstand between the two beds, replacing the lamp that had been shoved aside, sat a tree. It was measly and far from extravagant, sure, but you thought it was a nice touch. Dean had spotted it on the way back from a hunt and had insisted on buying it for the motel room. You spent the rest of the day hanging old car air fresheners from the branches as if they were baubles. It was makeshift; but somehow that made it seem even more special and you beamed brightly. You placed the brown paper bag you had been clutching beneath it, making sure to roll over the top to make sure that the contents were hidden.

“Alrighty.” Dean announced “Grubs up.”

The three of you squeezed around the table and began to tuck into the food that Dean placed in front of you on the table. Dean was far from the best chef that much was true but at a time like this you were grateful that he had made such an effort to cook. As the three of you ate between bouts of conversation and fits of laughter, it made you realise how much you missed spending time with your brothers. This was the first time you had truly sat down together in…well forever. Times had been kind of hectic with Sam returning from Stanford and everything with Dad and Dean, you were glad that for a few sweet moments, the three of you could just be a family. For once there was no worrying about monsters. No worrying about who was going to vanish next. It was just the three of you enjoying the little things in life.

Dinner, by far the best one you have had in a while, was followed up with gift giving and the three of you bundled on to the beds, sipping glasses of cold eggnog.

“Okay Sammy,” Dean said as he produced his first gift from his duffel. It seemed the three of you all had the same idea because it too was wrapped in a brown paper bag. “This one is for you.”

Sam unwrapped it eagerly, producing a dark glass bottle of his favourite beer.

“Thank you.” He laughed, producing a bag of his own. “It seems great minds think alike.”

Dean chuckled and he tore open the paper to reveal his favourite drink secured inside a porno magazine by an elastic band.

“Ok. This is for De.” You pulled out a small bag and handed it to him. Inside lay a small keychain in the shape of a pie that you had spotted on a rotating rack inside the gas station which you couldn’t resist buying, alongside a couple of packets of beef jerky that Dean always seemed to keep stashed away in his glovebox.

“Thanks kiddo” He laughed as he hooked the keychain onto his keys.

“And this is for you, Sammy.” You produced another bag and handed it to him, watching keenly as he unwrapped it, pulling out the clear plastic and producing a pair of wired headphones.

“It’s to stop you complaining about Dean’s music in the car.” You prompted.

“Hey!” Dean said with mock hurt. “I think you’ll find I have great taste in music.”

You raised your hands nonchalantly “tell that to him not me.”

“I’m just saying Dean, there are things out there besides mullet rock. You should try updating your cassettes some time. Seriously, dude.”

“You know the rules, Sammy.” Dean shook his head. “Driver picks the music-“

“Shotgun shuts his cakehole. Yeah. I know.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Anyway, enough. This is for you, Y/N.”

Sam rummaged around in his bag for a small white box before handing it to you. You took it gently. It was light in your hand.

“It's from both of us.” Dean added.

You peeled open the box slowly to reveal the insides which almost made you tear up. Inside the box sat a dainty necklace in the shape of a heart. It seemed familiar somehow, but you couldn’t place where you had seen it before. When you picked it up and turned it over in your palm to admire the delicacy of it, you noticed the small hinges on the side so decided to open it.

Inside was a small cut out of an image. The three of you were much younger here. Sammy was still smaller than Dean and you barely reached his hip. The three of you were grinning from ear to ear as you gripped onto each of your brothers hands as they swung you through the air at the moment the image was captured.

“It’s beautiful.” You sighed, looking up at your two brothers. “Where did you-“

“It was moms.” Dean said. It then hit you that you had seen her wearing it in pictures.

“Bobby found it while sorting through some of Dads old stuff that was left around his. We thought you should have it.”

“It’s perfect. Thank you.” You smiled. “Help me put it on?”

“Of course.”

Dean moved closer to you, moving your hair aside so he could clasp the end of the good chain together.

“It looks like it’s always belonged there.” Sam told you when Dean let go of it so it could hang around your neck, settling on the centre of your chest.

“It’s perfect.” Dean told you.

“Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

“Merry, Christmas, Boys.”

Although being hauled up in a motel may not have seemed like the ideal way to celebrate Christmas for the average person, just being able to spend time with your brothers was enough for you. You cared not for an extravagant meal and bucket loads of expensive gifts. You were happy to settle with what you had and the fact that the three of you had celebrated like this meant so much to you as it did to them. The three of you may not have much, but you have each other, and that’s worth far more than anything else.

#supernatural x reader #supernatural x little sister reader #supernatural x sister reader #supernatural #supernatural fluff #fluffy fic #supernatural fanfic #Dean Winchester #dean winchester x little sister reader #Dean Winchester x sister reader #Sam Winchester #sam winchester x little sister reader #sam winchester x sister reader #winchester!sister #win!sis

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

i know the easiest way to resolve my two wolves dilemma about the near miss notfic is for buggy to be the one in disguise, okay? i know. i just haven’t been able to figure out why he’s in disg—okay, no, i’ve got it now.

(another self-indulgent “shanks/buggy post-roguetown, pre-luffy” encounter below the cut)

buggy, lately called “the clown,” is not usually a pirate given to subtlety or discretion. he wants word of his wicked deeds to spread far and wide! if people are afraid of him, they’ll give in faster, so he won’t have to work as hard to get what he wants!

but usually, there aren’t rumors of monkey d. garp in the area.

buggy’ll thumb his nose at most any marine, but garp is an exception. that guy has a monstrous strength on his old captain’s level, plus he’s equally famous for his incorruptibility and his bullheadedness. all in all somebody buggy absolutely does not want to deal with.

and sure, his bounty as it is probably doesn’t warrant a vice-admiral’s involvement, but garp’s been around a long time. he might recognize buggy as “one of roger’s brats.” and while they never had bounties of their own back then, surely the marine still want their heads. they went after tom, for fuck’s sake, there’s no way buggy is safe.

so until he hears from a reliable source that garp has left this particular corner of east blue behind, buggy is not leaving the sanctuary of his ship without a thorough disguise.

he’s gone without his distinctive makeup, of course. his hair he’s tied up and tucked away under an old knit cap, which he’s sewn an ink-black wig to the lining of to better conceal his identity. he even rubbed a bit of ink into his eyebrows to be doubly sure. and, last but hardly least, he’s chop-chopped his nose off, sticking an ordinary-looking prosthetic in its place with spirit gum that will be very annoying to remove later—but better a little adhesive rash than prison.

looking in his mirror at a stranger, buggy sighs, clapping his hands together. “right!” his ship needs a resupply, and buggy sailed his favorite little skiff here to take care of it so he doesn’t have to explain this disguise to his crew. “rope, sailcloth, gunpowder, food,” he mutters as he heads out. just a few essentials for any sailing vessel, nothing obviously piratical about it. a perfectly safe supply run.

a squad of marines go thumping past, and buggy can’t hold back a flinch at the sight.

he breaths in deep. this will be fine. all he has to do is not draw attention to himself, and…

“hey, you!”

buggy freezes, and fights the urge to turn around. freezing is bad enough, that would make him look super guilty. and anyway, with a call like that how could anyone possibly know who the marines are after?

“you in the hat!”

ah, fuck. buggy can’t lose the hat, that’s half his disguise gone right there. he glances back, curses under his breath when it sure looks like that squad of marines is coming for him, and makes a break for it.

“this is navy business!”

“stop!”

“like hell,” buggy mutters, rounding a corner into an alleyway. he blinks when he hears his own words doubled, and realizes there’s been someone else running from the marines the whole time. ah, shit, was he even their target after all? has he been running for his life for no reason? he turns to give the guy what for and just about chokes on his tongue, because—

well, because it’s shanks.

same stupid, distinctive hair, same stupid, distinctive hat. a cape, which is more style than buggy would have expected shanks to develop, but which is also stupid and distinctive. a pretty nasty scar over one eye. buggy takes his first reaction to that—i wouldn’t have let that happen!—and violently shoves it down into the bottom of his soul, where stupid thoughts go to die. what-ifs don’t matter, what matters is this entire guy is stupid and distinctive.

shanks gives him one of those soft-hearted, empathetic looks buggy always hated. “ah, sorry, i think i got you tangled up in my business.”

…he doesn’t recognize buggy.

good! this is good, this is—salvageable, anyway! buggy clears his throat, tries to throw his voice a little higher, speak a little more politely. anything to avoid that soft look becoming one of recognition, or that awful heartbroken look from all those years ago. “that’s okay! anything to inconvenience the marines.”

as the rhythmic sound of boots thumping gets closer, an idea occurs to buggy. “speaking of…” he grabs hold of shanks’ cape, pausing only when shanks puts a hand on his wrist and gives him a wary look. right, shanks doesn’t know him from adam like this. “sometimes it’s better to fight smarter, not harder.”

shanks considers him for a moment. he lets go of buggy’s wrist.

permission granted, buggy moves quickly. goodbye, stupid hat! flip the cape around, the lining’s a different color so that will do nicely. adjust the closure so the fabric that’s supposed to be the top hem instead functions as a hood, all the better to hide that hair and scar… sure, it probably won’t hold up to a close inspection, but who needs it to? low-level marines are idiots.

buggy leans back against the alley wall and spreads his legs wide to make himself shorter and easier to hide. when shanks doesn’t seem to get the memo, buggy rolls his eyes and tugs him closer, until shanks is standing almost too close for propriety, his cape hiding both of them from view.

hands pressed to the wall above buggy’s shoulders, shanks stares at him intently, an eyebrow going up as they hear the marines run past without giving their hiding spot so much as a first glance, let alone a second. “impressive,” he says.

buggy snorts. “naturally.”

something about this response amuses shanks, who smiles, drops one hand on buggy’s shoulder, and squeezes. “thanks for the save, gorgeous.”

buggy’s mind goes blank.

well, mostly. “gorgeous?!”

shanks frowns, though his eyes are still smiling. “don’t tell me nobody’s ever called you ‘gorgeous’ before.” buggy doesn’t react—has no idea what shanks is doing—as that hand slides up his shoulder, his neck, to cup his cheek. shanks leans just that little bit closer, taking the lack of space between them from the appearance of improper to actually improper. buggy still has no idea what shanks is doing until his thumb starts to rub small circles near the corner of buggy’s eye. “that’s just not possible. i mean, your eyes alone are stunning…”

he knows that move. shanks told him about that move, about the barmaid who’d used it on him the first time, using a compliment about shanks’ eyes as an excuse to touch his face, right before she—

it’s a very sweet kiss. probably the kind of kiss buggy would have expected of shanks, if he’d ever let himself think of things like “shanks” and “kissing” at the same time before. (face hot, it occurs to him that maybe the way he’d always violently shut down such thoughts might mean something. he violently shuts down this line of thinking.) shanks pulls back after a brief moment, a curious look in his eye that buggy takes to mean ‘more?’

whatever look happens to be on buggy’s face must say ‘no’ for him—though probably not in as insistent a tone as he’d like, his mind is still pretty fuzzy—because shanks steps back, casually giving buggy space. like of course after… that… all he wants is to fix his cape and retrieve his hat.

“wh…?” is all buggy can manage.

an eyebrow goes up, and shanks smiles a little smugly as he slides that stupid hat back into place. “like i said. thanks for the save.” and with that, he’s gone.

buggy’s knees give out.

he spends ten minutes sitting in that alleyway, definitely not remembering anything that just happened in particular detail, or wishing he’d answered an unspoken question in a different way. eventually he remembers that he has duties to attend to, and he’d better attend to them soon if he want to get off this island today.

which he does.

he certainly doesn’t have any reason to want to stick around here.

no sir.

“rope, sailcloth… limes?” suddenly buggy can’t remember the last thing on his list. well, it can’t be that important if it was the last one, right? right. surely they can go without… whatever… until after garp’s gotten tired of this part of east blue.

because buggy is never going out in disguise ever again.

#notfic #one piece #shuggy #shanks #buggy #*buries my head in the sand* #this ship’s got me writing so much about kissing… i hardly recognize myself anymore… #the near miss fics

[pianokantzart]

As Long as We’re Together

I was thinking about Mario and Luigi swapping hats if they had to separate due to extraneous circumstances, and it the idea expanded into a (slightly rushed) one-shot angst fic. Content warning for injury, because of course one of them has to get hurt.

Takes place some time after the events of the Super Mario Bros Movie, after Bowser escapes captivity and begins to regain some of his old power.

______________________________________

The sabotage mission, though technically a success, had been sloppy. Mario and Luigi destroyed the primary airship, taking down half of Bowser’s aerial artillery with it, but attempting to slip away landed them squarely between the gathering troops and The King of The Koopas himself. Mario had no battle plan, and what little stratagem he attempted fell apart as the overwhelming numbers separated him from his brother, and Bowser went after Luigi amidst the fight.

Mario wondered if the move was calculated… if Luigi was simply the nearest target, or Bowser knew exactly what would hurt the most. The way he glanced over whenever he landed a blow on his little brother, sadistic glee in his eyes whenever they spotted each other from across the battlefield, scared Mario in a way he could never admit out loud.

Luckily the spreading damage of the exploded airship provided the distraction needed to slip away, even when Mario was forced to carry his wounded, half-conscious sibling from the spreading madness. Escaping into the barren wilderness of The Badlands he searched for what felt like hours before he found what may have been the safest place in all of the Koopa Kingdom– a dilapidated castle upon an ashen plane, far from the lava pits, cold and abandoned. Uncovering a dark, isolated corner of a great hall he gently set his brother upon the ground, leaning him up against a far wall. Luigi let out a hiss of pain as his leg made contact with the floor. Battered and bruised as he was, his left leg had taken the worst damage – stomped on with full force by Bowser in their frenzied battle.

Even now, Mario and Luigi could hear the light rumble of his remaining fleet as it took to the air. They had slowed the invasion of The Mushroom Kingdom… leveled the playing field to an extent… but their mission wasn’t over. Bowser’s army would soon arrive at their destination to reattempt the takeover. Mario did his best to push this thought to the back of his head as he carefully rolled up his brother’s pant leg to better examine the wound.

“Is it bad?” Luigi asked, eyes shut tightly, teeth grit. “It’s… fine,” Mario assured, failing to mask the anxiety in his voice. In the human world such an injury would need a year to heal under the best circumstances– but they were not in the human world, and the mushrooms available across the land outmatched the greatest doctors in Brooklyn. But digging through his pockets, Mario came up short. Every mushroom they had gathered had been used up in their recent battle, save for a pathetic few dried healing mushrooms which Mario immediately– and a little too eagerly– shoved in his brother’s mouth. After a gag and a cough Luigi felt his body mend, the blinding agony of his shattered leg dulling into a sharp pain. The wound was no longer debilitating, though he was still in no shape to walk anywhere unassisted.

“What you need is a power up,” Mario said, “there’s got to be a question block somewhere around here.”

He started to his feet, but Luigi took him by the sleeve and held him in place. “I don’t think there is.”

“You don’t know that. We just arrived!” Mario said, reassuring in tone as patted his brother’s shoulder, “don’t worry, I’ll fix you up in no time.”

Again he stood up. He walked around, but dared not wander so far that he and Luigi couldn’t see each other. Mario glanced around at the dark hallways and vaulted ceilings, cloaked in shadow and dust. No sign of life, and nothing at all that even hinted at the possibility of a hidden power up.

“What about The Mushroom Kingdom?” Luigi asked. He paused for a moment, hesitating before he continued, “It needs defending, and I don’t think you’ll get there in time to help unless you–”

“I said I’ll fix you up in no time,” Mario interrupted, knowing what his brother was about to suggest and wanting to hear none of it. He returned to Luigi’s side, kneeling down beside him. “No problem.”

“But Peach needs you.”

“You need me. I am not leaving you here!” he exclaimed, and took Luigi’s face in his hands. He leaned in and looked sternly into his eyes. “Remember? ‘Everything’s going to be okay…’” He trailed off to allow his little brother to finish the sentence, oft repeated between them since they first fell into that warp pipe. ...As long as we’re together.

Luigi didn’t finish the sentence. His eyes darted back and forth between Mario's face and the ground as he struggled with the temptation to give in and let him stay. It was what they both wanted, after all. Luigi was terrified of being alone in a place like this, and more than that he was terrified of letting Mario fight a monster like Bowser without someone to watch his back. Gathering his strength, Luigi tried to get back up on his feet, hoping the little bit of healing he received would be enough for him to finish his journey the way he started… the way he intended… at his brother’s side. His leg immediately gave way beneath him in a flash of pain. Mario was quick to catch him. “Ah! Careful Lou!” Mario guided him back down to the ground while Luigi let out a deep sigh, rubbed the back of his neck, and reached over to pluck Mario’s hat from atop his head. Mario looked puzzled as Luigi removed his own hat as well, swapping their caps so that the bright green “L” sat upon Mario’s head, and the shiny red “M” sat upon his own.

“There. A little bit of me with you, a little bit of you with me.” Luigi said, playfully tugging the brim of his green hat over Mario’s eyes.

Mario readjusted the hat, maintaining his confused expression up until Luigi pulled him into a hug, and held him tight.

“Oh, I can’t tell you what to do.” He said, voice slightly muffled as he pressed his face into his brother’s shoulder, “Nobody in the world can tell you what to do, and that’s the best part. You’re always doing the right thing, no matter how hard it is!”

“Is this supposed to help convince me to leave?” Mario chuckled, pressing his head against his brother’s shoulder in turn, “because you’re doing a terrible job.”

“No way. If you decide staying with me is the right thing, I am not going to argue with that.”

The two pulled back from the hug, looked at each other, and smiled; an awkward, uncomfortable, knowing smile. They both knew what was the right thing to do, though it went against their every instinct. There was an entire kingdom at stake. A world that needed saving. Mario brushed off his overalls as he rose to standing. He once more glanced around for any sign of danger, gave the bright green cap on his head a tug for good luck, and started toward the exit.

“You won’t have to wait long! I’ll tell The Toad Brigade where you are.” He called over his shoulder, “If I get too busy ripping Bowser to pieces, they’ll make sure you’re back home before breakfast!”

“Don’t have too much fun without me!” Luigi called back, giving a small salute.

“Stay hidden!” Mario added, walking backwards to keep his brother in his line of sight for as long as possible.

“What kind of advice is that?” Luigi laughed, gesturing at his surroundings, “where do you think I’m going to go!?”

“Just… be safe!”

And with that he was gone, his footsteps echoing down the hallway and bounding down the castle steps, the slowness of the goodbye suddenly turning into a manic sprint the moment they lost sight of each other.

Lost in a newfound silence, Luigi’s smile immediately dimmed into a look of fear. He took the hat off his head, taking some solace in its bright red color as he clutched it tightly to his chest. He shifted his injured body a further into the corner where he was hidden away, trembling a little as he counted his breaths, and waited patiently for help to arrive.

#mario movie #mario #luigi #one shot #writing #fic #fanfic #super mario brothers #mario brothers #And of course after all this Mario defeats Bowser #Luigi is brought home safe #the day is saved and peach makes them cake #yada yada etcetera

[ghosttotheparty]

holy things 6 also on ao3 // prev. // next

He’s alone when he wakes up.

It’s warm in Eddie’s bed, the blankets pulled up to his chin, and Steve doesn’t feel like an actual person, so tired and sleepy his body feels almost distant. He opens his eyes slowly, squinting across the room in the bright sunlight that’s sneaking in through the window. It takes a moment for him to hear Eddie in the kitchen, and lets his eyes close for a moment, exhaling.

He shivers in the cold morning air when he pushes the blankets back, pausing as he sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face and twisting his back until it cracks loudly. He aches in the best way, his limbs heavy and far away as he slowly makes his way to the kitchen. He’s rubbing his face again when Eddie sees him, standing at the stove.

“Morning,” Eddie says lightly, setting down the spatula and turning to Steve, who just hums in response. “C’mere.”

Steve goes to him, eyes barely open, and Eddie takes him into his arms, hugging him as Steve leans against him, face tucked into his neck.

“‘M so tired,” he mumbles.

“It’s early,” Eddie says quietly, running a hand over his back. “I didn’t think you would wake up so soon.”

Steve groans weakly, lifting his arms to hug Eddie’s waist. Eddie leans against the counter, his head resting on Steve’s.

“Why’re you up so early?” he asks slowly, his voice almost slurred, but Eddie understands him.

“I have band practice this morning,” he says. “I was gonna tell you before I left.”

“Oh.”

Steve pulls away, blinking his eyes open, lifting a hand to rub his cheek.

“Stevie,” Eddie says softly. His hands find Steve’s upper arms, holding him gently. “You don’t have to go if you wanna stay.”

Steve blinks.

“Really?” he asks, hushed. He sounds like a child, but he doesn’t think Eddie minds.

“Yeah,” Eddie says lightly, touching his chin. “You can go back to bed if you want. Watch a movie or something.”

“How long will you be gone?” Steve asks pathetically. Eddie’s lips quirk into a smile.

“All day,” he says. “Got work after practice, and I’m taking up someone else’s shift tonight after that.”

“Oh.”

“You wanna stay here?”

Steve nods, hands finding Eddie’s sides and fingers knotting in the fabric of his sweater. He wants him to stay, but he can’t ask him to.

“I’ll be back,” Eddie says like he can hear his thoughts. He’s still holding his chin, thumb brushing over his skin gently.

“Okay.”

Steve goes back to bed when Eddie leaves. It’s a little colder when he’s gone, but Steve is still warmer than he was when he was staying at his parents’ house. Especially when he hugs one of Eddie’s pillows to himself, arms tight around it as he buries his face in it, curled up as small as possible. It isn’t as quiet as it is at his parents’; the world is waking up outside, and he can hear cars driving by, sirens in the distance, voices speaking over each other and laughing. But it’s all muffled, under water, as his body melts into the bed, as his breathing slows.

He still feels transparent when he wakes up again, but the feeling isn’t as heavy as the first time.

There’s coffee in the kitchen, and he serves himself some after brushing his teeth. He sips it as he sits on the windowsill in the living room, legs crossed, hood over his head. From where he’s sitting he can see a crosswalk down the road. The ground is dusted with snow, bare tire tracks running down the center of the road, and all the cars parked along the sidewalk are covered in snow. As Steve watches, two people come out of the building across the street, bundled in heavy coats and scarves and hats, and by the way the taller one sticks a foot out to trip the other, Steve can tell they’re siblings. They head to a car, but before the taller can unlock the doors, the younger sibling is grabbing a handful of snow and reaching up to shove it in the other’s face. Steve can vaguely hear their shouting from where he is, and he smiles into the mug, watching them throw snow at each other, trip each other, tackle each other into the ground.

They finally leave after the younger one wins their fight, holding the other on the ground and squealing loudly, and Steve wonders if the older let them win. They’re both laughing as they get in the car and drive off.

The steam from Steve’s coffee is fogging the window up a little, and he wipes it clear with the end of his sleeve.

Snow starts to fall again, light and soft, and Steve stays on the window sill, watching. He holds the mug close to his face to let the steam wash over his face. He loves it here. Above the city, across from a dead plant in a terracotta pot. (There’s a post-it note on its side that reads water me, but the handwriting doesn’t look like Eddie’s.) Fingers curled around the warm ceramic of the mug in his hands, hiding the delicate blue floral design on it.

He washes the mug when he finishes his coffee, finding a towel hanging on the handle of the oven door to dry it and put it back in the cabinet. There are lots of mugs in this cabinet, in practically every shape, size, and color, and Steve pauses to look at them for a few moments. One of them has a broken handle, and he wonders why Eddie hasn’t thrown it out.

The ground creaks under his feet as he walks around slowly. One floor board is louder than the others, and Steve pauses over it, looking down to nudge it with his toes, watching the edge of the board shift against the others.

He goes back to Eddie’s room. Sits on the edge of the bed and looks around, holding the ends of his sleeves in his hands. It’s dimmer than the living room, but the light outside is bright from the cloudless sky and fresh snow. He admires it, the juxtaposition of the bright, cold light outside against the warm tones of the floor and posters and tapestries. Steve thinks Eddie’s favorite color must be red. The tapestry pinned across the ceiling is red, as are the rug on the floor by the bed and the guitar propped up on his dresser.

Steve gets up to look at the guitar better.

It isn’t shaped like any guitar he’s ever seen, irregular and sharp, and when he moves closer, he realizes it isn’t just red, but a sort of marbled red and black that shines and shimmers in the sunlight that hits it when Steve steps out of the way. He lifts a hand and tentatively runs his fingers over the strings, strumming them gently, and the sound it makes is empty, just metal strings shifting, but he still smiles a little bit at it. He keeps looking around, his chin lifting to look at the photographs that are taped to the mirror the guitar is leaning against. There’s one of Eddie with a balding man in a denim jacket, and Steve can’t suppress another smile as he looks at them. Eddie is grinning broadly, arms wrapped around the man like he’s trying to climb up him, and the man, Wayne, Steve assumes, is staring at whoever is taking the photo blankly. One of his hands is holding Eddie’s forearm (which is bare of tattoos), and Steve can see his eyes shining with amusement.

Steve looks at the other photos: one of Wayne sitting on the sofa holding a mug, watching a baseball game, one of a Black man holding out a rock on sign with his tongue out, one of a dog behind a chain link fence. There are small sketches and drawings among the photos, and Steve pauses to look at them. He recognizes the art style from a few of Eddie’s tattoos, the reaper on his bicep and the thorny rose on his forearm, the barbed wire on his collarbones, the moth across one of his calves. The style looks sort of old fashioned.

Steve’s eyes linger on one of the drawings of a wolf wearing a sheep’s face on its head. The wolf’s tongue is hanging out of its mouth, and the sheep’s nose is almost heart-shaped. Steve tilts his head at it, gazing, and he doesn’t know what to do with himself for a few moments. And then he moves on.

The snow turns to rain as Steve explores Eddie’s room, tapping quietly on the windows as he steps across the floor, feels the edge of the rug press to the bottoms of his feet, soft even through his socks. Eddie’s desk is cluttered like the rest of his room, miscellaneous objects scattered across the surface. Pencils and pens, tape and paint brushes, tiny figurines of people wielding swords. The wood of the desk is stained with paint in some places, tiny marks of blue and red and varying shades of grey. Some of them are smudged like Eddie tried to wipe them away and then gave up.

Steve’s eyes wander to the posters on the other walls, catching all the shades of red on them, and he wonders if red is just a metal color as Eddie would say. The biggest poster is a Slayer one, and Steve looks at it for a few moments, eyes scanning the complicated design constructed of swords and skulls and some kind of dragons. The one next to it reads The Sisters of Mercy, and then AC/DC, and Morbid Angel, KISS, Anthrax, Megadeth, Vixen… Steve wonders how Eddie knows who’s who when he’s listening to music, how he keeps track of all the bands he likes, all the songs, all the songs’ names, all the lyrics.

His eyes find the painted SATAN’S FAVORITE SODOMITE, and he steps closer to it curiously. Up close, he can see the individual brush strokes, like whoever painted it used a particularly stiff brush. He traces the S in sodomite lightly, feels the tiny ridges of the paint under his fingertip.

A car drives by outside. It’s playing music through open windows, but it’s gone too quickly for Steve to really hear the song.

He looks up at the tapestry on the ceiling and he realizes it isn’t actually a tapestry; it looks like it’s just a bedsheet, but the red is uneven, lighter and darker in different areas like it was haphazardly dyed red. It doesn’t cover the whole ceiling. In one corner, Steve’s eyes catch on some cracks in the off-white paint. His bedroom at his parents’ has never had any cracks in it. Not literally, anyway.

It also never felt as warm as this does. As welcoming.

At his parents’, he’s always felt like his back needs to be stiff, his chin raised, poised perfectly like he’s balancing a book on his head. He’s always been over-aware of footsteps in the hallway, of how hard a door was closed across the house. Even when his parents were away, the television set was quiet when it wasn’t shut off, and his steps were as gentle as possible, like he was sneaking down the hallways of his childhood home.

He turns in a circle to look around, almost twirling, his smile widening when his foot catches on the curling corner of the rug. He could sit on the floor here and feel fine about it, even if Eddie were to walk in and find him here. He reads the spines of the books that are stacked on Eddie’s desk and dresser, runs his fingertips along the case of the record player, and he kind of feels like dancing in this silence, in the music that is the old floorboards creaking under his step and the tapping of rain on the window.

He’s never felt so…

Fine.

It’s a nice feeling, and he lets himself have it. Lets himself pretend he deserves it.

And for some reason, he finds himself on the floor by Eddie’s bed, kneeling on the ground. He pauses, hesitating, listening to the rain outside, to the cars and buses passing, and he lets his head fall forward, his face pressing to the blanket that’s hanging over the side of the bed, draping over the tops of his legs. It smells like Eddie.

Steve lifts a hand, touches his fingers to his forehead, chest, shoulders, murmurs under his breath, and then he closes his eyes, lets his fingers lace, and presses his face into the blanket. He whispers into it, his words muffled and inaudible, slow and careful like he’s scared of messing up.

Our Father, who art in heaven Hallowed be thy name Thy kingdom come, they will be done On earth as it is in heaven

He pauses for a breath, his lower lip quivering for a moment. He catches it between his teeth, his fingers tightening, his eyes squeezing shut.

Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our tresspasses As we forgive those who have trespassed against us.

Lead us not into temptation

And Steve falls silent.

He lifts his head and lets his hands fall to his lap, where they fall apart, his fingers unlacing. His eyes open, and he looks up across Eddie’s bed to the wall, covered in posters and faded photographs and artwork.

He doesn’t finish the prayer. It remains incomplete, dangling in the air and taunting him. But he ignores it. He lets his head rest on the bed, his cheek pressing to the blanket.

It finally leaves him alone after a while, as he’s breathing slowly, carefully, fingers playing with the end of the blanket. And he melts against the side of the bed, his eyes fluttering shut as the peace from earlier envelopes him, surrounding him and cradling him until he feels safe and sleepy and fucking fine.

There’s a blanket on the sofa that he wraps around himself when he curls up against the arm rest. And then he keeps it there, holding the corners bunched up in his hand over his heart like a child pretending to be a superhero as he wanders into the kitchen, sleepily browsing the cabinets. It feels weird to be looking through Eddie’s food, looking for something to take, but he knows Eddie would want him to eat, would be disappointed if he came home tonight as Steve hadn’t eaten. So Steve finds some chips in a cabinet and serves them in a bowl, then finds some grapes in the fridge.

He sets them on the stand next to the sofa before he goes to the movie collection under the television set, and he looks through them, trying to see if he recognizes any, but he doesn’t. He looks at all of them curiously, wishing there was enough time in a day to watch them all (preferably with Eddie here), but his eyes linger on one that reads EDWARD SCISSORHANDS, and he almost smiles at the odd title, reaching for it. He stops when he sees the front of the case, blinking, gazing at the characters. His parents would do the Sign of the Cross.

Steve’s thumb brushes over the character’s hand like he’s trying to feel how sharp the blades are. There’s a girl leaning against him, hugging him, her blonde hair and white shirt contrasting his black, teased hair and shiny black shirt, and Steve suppresses a smile. They make him think of him and Eddie.

He does his best to copy what Eddie did when he set up Labyrinth for them to watch, and when he’s successful, he smiles giddily, shaking his hands out in the air before he goes back to the sofa, tightening the blanket around him.

He feels kind of like he did when his parents started leaving him home alone. Purposeless, a little lonely. But unlike when his parents would leave town without him, he knows that Eddie is coming home tonight.

The sun sets early, and it’s almost pitch dark outside when Steve hears Eddie come inside and kick his shoes off by the door. There’s a rustle of a plastic bag, and he calls Steve’s name tentatively, quietly, like he isn’t sure if he’s there or not.

“Here,” Steve calls back quietly, looking toward the doorway, where Eddie appears, holding a plastic bag and wearing a black beanie. The ends of his hair are wet, and his jacket is spotted with rain, but he’s smiling warmly. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Eddie says. “You okay?”

“I watched Edward Scissorhands,” Steve says, grinning. There’s another movie on now, but he isn’t really paying attention to it.

“Did you like it?” Eddie asks, his smile brightening.

“Yeah, it was good.”

“I’ve thought about being him for Halloween.”

“Please do,” Steve says, eyes widening.

Eddie laughs a little bit, and he steps into the room to pass the plastic bag to Steve.

“Dinner,” he says lightly. “Got takeaway on my way home. Did you eat today?” he asks like it just occurred to him, looking at Steve as he tugs the beanie off his head. His hair is messed up, frizzy and sticking out a little bit.

“I had coffee and chips and grapes,” Steve says.

“Coffee isn’t food, sunshine.”

Steve sticks his tongue out at him as he pulls his jacket off, and Eddie scoffs.

“‘S got calories,” Steve says.

“Not enough.”

Steve sticks his tongue out again. Eddie does it back.

“I’m gonna take a shower, and then I will join you,” Eddie says, holding his jacket away from himself and shaking the rain off of it. “I smell like beer and cigarettes.”

Steve looks into the bag as Eddie goes back to the entryway to hang his jacket.

“Did you smoke on your way home?” he asks, raising his voice for Eddie to hear him.

“...Only one,” Eddie calls back childishly, like he’s proclaiming that he’s six and a half. Steve laughs to himself.

Eddie’s hair is wet when he comes back, and he purposely sits close enough to Steve that he can turn his head quickly and smack Steve’s face with the ends of it. It’s cold, and Steve gasps, letting out a laugh when Eddie says, “What’s wrong?” so innocently it seems out of character. He pushes at him.

“Asshole.”

“Wo-o-o-ow…” Eddie says slowly, snatching the plastic bag from Steve’s lap. “I invite you into my home, and this is how you treat me…”

“You need to learn how to treat your guests,” Steve says, still grinning, leaning against the armrest of the sofa to face Eddie, who lets out an offended scoff.

“Here’s your pizza, you little shit.”

“Aw, so sweet.”

The movie is still on, but neither of them pays attention to it, facing each other as Eddie peels the pepperonis off his slice and pops them into his mouth.

“What’d you do today?” he asks lightly, his lips shining from the grease.

“Fell asleep after you left,” Steve says. “Looked around.”

“Find anything interesting?”

“Oh, yeah, lots.”

Eddie suppresses a smile because his mouth is full, and Steve looks at him. He’s wearing a Metallica sweatshirt, and the fabric at the tops of his shoulders are wet from his hair. He’s got on the same shorts that he was wearing a while ago, and Steve can see his tattoos, including some letters that read TOO FAR GONE on the inside of his thigh, next to the burning church. He smells clean, like citrus and earth.

“I tried to pray today,” he says before taking another bite of his pizza. He doesn’t know why he said it. Eddie doesn’t need to know. But he kind of does. “Tried to say the Lord’s Prayer.”

“How was it?” Eddie asks smoothly. He doesn’t sound like he’s judging him, like it’s weird that Steve tried to pray at Eddie’s apartment.

“...I don’t know. Fine, I guess.” He pauses, and Eddie is quiet, waiting. “I didn’t finish.”

“Did you want to?” Eddie asks after glancing away. His cheeks look pink.

“...I don’t know,” Steve says again. “I guess not.”

And they’re quiet.

“Why didn’t you take your guitar to practice?” Steve asks curiously after a while, and Eddie blinks at him, confused.

“My guitar,” he repeats, mouth full.

“The red one?”

“Mm,” Eddie exclaims, nodding, pausing to swallow. “She doesn’t go with me to practice, she’s only for shows.”

“She?”

“Yes,” Eddie says, like it’s obvious. “She’s my sweetheart.”

Steve stares at him blankly for a moment, holding his gaze.

“I thought you were gay.”

Eddie rolls his eyes.

“I’m not fucking my guitar, Steve.”

“...Coulda fooled me.”

Eddie lets out an offended Ugh! And Steve giggles again, ducking his head to hide his face.

He leans back again when he stops laughing, his cheeks sore from smiling so much even though Eddie’s only been home for a few minutes, and Eddie is already looking at him, eyes shining like Steve is a cute puppy or something. Steve’s cheeks flush.

Eddie’s eyes flicker down to the hoodie Steve is wearing, and he blinks, pausing, and then he’s reaching out, touching the cross hanging from Steve’s neck. Steve looks down, looks at Eddie’s fingers holding it up to see it clearly. And he reminds Steve of Edward and Kim on the cover of Edward Scissorhands, dark and light cradling each other. Eddie’s nails are painted black, starting to chip around the edges, and his fingers are rough with calluses, but his touch is almost careful as he turns the shining cross between his fingertips.

“It’s, uhm,” Steve says, somehow nervous, like Eddie is going to scold him. “It’s a family heirloom. My parents gave it to me for Christmas.”

Eddie smiles a little bit.

“It’s pretty.”

“I’m… I’m kinda scared that I’m gonna lose it or something if I take it off,” Steve confesses. “Feels like something I’d do.”

Eddie shrugs, glancing at it again before he lets go and leans back, looking into Steve’s eyes.

“Doesn’t have to be a big thing,” he says lightly. “‘S just a necklace.”

He pauses for a moment, looking at it, and then, “How were Sharon and Benjamin?”

Steve blinks, pausing, and he shrugs.

“They were okay.”

“Sharon wasn’t weird?”

Steve tilts his head, shrugging lightly.

“Not really. She was kinda easy to talk to, actually. I think, like…” He pauses, poking at his food for a moment. “I don’t know. I get along with her better?”

“She didn’t say anything…” Eddie makes a face, wincing.

“Not really,” Steve says again, softer, looking at his food. “I think she’s just… I don’t know. When she… said that to me, when I was a kid, I think it just… Made me self-conscious, I guess. And I’ve never really been, like… a tactile person, I guess, so I didn’t like hugging her especially because she squeezes so tightly,” he says, his brows furrowing as he thinks. “But I actually didn’t mind spending time with her as much as I thought I would. She was kind of easier to hang out with than my mom.”

“Huh,” Eddie says thoughtfully. “Well, your mom does sound difficult to be around.”

“Yeah,” Steve scoffs, taking a bite and looking up at Eddie, who’s looking back at him already, smiling a little bit.

“I’m glad it was fine,” Eddie says softly. “Mostly, at least.”

Steve smiles.

The movie ends as they’re eating, and neither of them notices until the credits start to roll. Eddie gets up and goes to the movie collection wordlessly, scanning the spines, and then he looks over his shoulder at Steve.

“You seen the Lost Boys?”

“You wanna take a guess?”

Eddie sticks his tongue out at him, and he turns back to the movies. Steve waits, watching him, finishing the crust of his pizza, tugging the blanket around himself more tightly. Eddie sits next to him when the movie starts, smiling excitedly, and Steve is leaning closer to him without even realizing he’s doing so, but Eddie doesn’t seem to mind. He lifts an arm for Steve to move closer, to lean against him, and when he does, Eddie takes a piece of his own hair and drags it across the back of Steve’s neck, snickering when Steve startles and punches his stomach gently.

“So mean,” Steve complains, but he doesn’t move away, tucking himself into Eddie’s side. Eddie laughs lightly again, slouching into the sofa and dragging his fingers through Steve’s hair carefully. Steve hums softly.

They’re quiet as they watch the movie, except the few lines that Eddie says out loud, speaking along with the characters and prompting Steve to giggle and wonder how many times he’s seen this movie. He turns his face into Eddie’s chest, taking a breath just to inhale the scent of his hoodie, and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt so… fine.

His stomach is full, and Eddie’s hand is running up and down his forearm slowly, so lightly it almost tickles, and his parents would have conniptions if they knew he was watching this movie, but he’s enjoying it anyway. He melts against Eddie even more, which he didn’t think was possible, sighing, and Eddie’s hand slides up to his, his fingertips brushing over his knuckles. Steve turns his hand a little bit, reaching for Eddie’s, taking two of his fingers in his fist and holding them as he presses his cheek to Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie’s thumb brushes over his fingers, and his other hand pushes into Steve’s hair, scratching his scalp lightly, and Steve’s eyes flutter shut as he hums again.

Eddie keeps touching him gently like this for the rest of the movie, combing through his hair, brushing over his knuckles, absently, like it’s instinct to be so soft with Steve. Steve likes it.

Neither of them move when the credits start.

Until Steve starts to fidget with his fingers, fluttering them together for a few moments, before,

“Eddie?”

“Mhmm?” Eddie hums softly, like he thinks Steve is asleep.

“Can I… Can I do something weird?”

“I love weird,” Eddie says lightly.

Steve hesitates, biting his lip nervously, and then he carefully detaches them, pulling away from where Eddie’s arm is wrapped around him. Eddie lets him, watching curiously as Steve slides off the sofa to the ground, kneeling. Steve glances up at him, cheeks warm as he situates himself between Eddie's legs.

His heart feels like it slows down. He melts against one of Eddie’s legs, letting his head fall. His eyes flutter shut. His hands find the fabric of Eddie’s sweatpants, holding it loosely like he’s trying to ground himself even though he really doesn’t mind the way he feels a little lightheaded.

He hums when he feels Eddie’s hand on his head, nuzzling against his leg. Eddie’s fingers are gentle as he combs through Steve’s hair, playing with it. Steve exhales slowly, swallowing as he suppresses a soft noise.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie whispers after a while, leaning across the sofa. Steve hums again, warmth flushing through his body. “Put this under your knees.”

Steve blinks his eyes open, looking up at him blearily. He’s holding a pillow, and Steve reaches for it slowly. He feels like he’s just woken up, his limbs heavy.

The pillow is soft under Steve’s knees, and he hadn’t even realized how hard the floor was.

“Thank you,” Steve mumbles, his eyes falling shut before his head even rests on Eddie's leg again.

“You comfortable?” Eddie asks softly, his hand running through Steve’s hair again.

“Mm. Feel good.”

“Okay,” Eddie breathes. His fingers curl into Steve’s hair, his nails scratching at his scalp, and Steve shivers, shifting to wrap his arms around Eddie's leg, hugging it to himself. And Eddie lets him stay there, touching him tenderly.

And Steve lets himself be touched tenderly.

“Does your guitar have a name?” Steve asks as they’re going to bed, eyes sleepy and tongues tasting like mint. He looks at it again, across the room. He can’t see how beautiful it is in the dim light of the street lamps outside.

“No,” Eddie says, rummaging through a drawer. “Should I name her?”

“Just figured she’d have one, being your sweetheart and all.”

“What do you suggest? Something biblical?”

Steve suppresses a smile, crawling onto the bed and sitting with his back against the wall to watch as Eddie finally finds a hair tie and tosses his hair up messily.

“Abigail? Esther?”

“Oh,” Eddie says, grimacing as his fingers knot in his hair. “I was thinking Jesus.” He lets his hair fall and starts over as Steve snorts.

“I thought it was a she?”

“Jesus could rock some heels.”

Steve snorts again, shaking his head.

“Blasphemous.”

“Is that blasphemy?” Eddie questions, finally succeeding in tying his hair up. There are curls escaping around his neck and framing his face, but he doesn’t mind them. He climbs into the bed, laying on his back and looking up at Steve.

“My parents would say it is.”

“Your parents say a lot of things.”

“‘S true.”

“You got any plans for the new year?” Eddie asks abruptly as Steve is laying down, like it’s just occurred to him. Steve moves close, resting his head on Eddie’s chest and smiling when Eddie’s arm wraps around him.

“Like resolutions or New Year’s Day?”

“New Year’s Day.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m going to, like, four parties that night. I didn’t tell you?”

“Yeah, because you have so many friends,” Eddie says, and his hand pushes into Steve’s hair to tug it teasingly. Steve grins. “No plans?”

“Nope.”

“We’re playing at the Hideout that night, you wanna come?”

“The bar?”

“Mhmm.”

“Am I allowed?”

“I’ll sneak you in.”

Steve scoffs.

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm. Wanna see you in your element.”

Eddie just hums in response, and Steve can feel it through his chest, this slow, gentle rumble like thunder in his throat. And then Steve listens to him breathe. He kind of wants to laugh, thinking about how he swore to his parents there wouldn’t be any temptation, that he would be asleep or studying during the new year, and now he’s planning on going to a bar to see a metal band play.

They don’t say anything else. Steve slides his arm around Eddie's middle, hugging him tightly, squeezing for a moment, and Eddie rolls onto his side to let him closer. Their legs tangle under the blankets. The cross shifts on Steve’s chest and slips under the collar of his hoodie, and it’s cold against his skin for a moment, but he finds that he doesn’t mind it anymore. It’s just a necklace.

♡ permanent taglist: @estrellami-1 @theplantscientist @spectrum-spectre @carlprocastinator1000 @starman-jpg @romantiklen ♡ holy things taglist: @stevesbipanic @pearynice @ao3whore @slowandsteddie @swordsandflowercrowns @dragonmama76 @mikeys-thoughts @sofadofax @cyranyx (comment to be added/removed to/from either list!!)

♡ art of steve and eddie ♡ pinboard // playlist ♡ buy me a coffee

#im aware that i end almost all of these with them going to sleep #just ignore that #steddie #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #a mess of holy things

[barry-j-blupjeans]

The good thing about having his own house, away from the other crew members, is that Magnus could sing as loud as he wanted, burn as much food as he possibly could, or even walk around naked, and no one would scold or laugh at him. The bad part about living in his own house is that it was really damn lonely. Suffocatingly lonely, to the point that Magnus sometimes forgot he was actually a person and not just a ghost living in this house. The dogs helped a lot, but the feeling persisted.

This is why he crossed the street at seven this morning and knocked on the door to Barry and Lup's house, inviting himself inside when neither of them answered. They had an incomplete puzzle on their coffee table that Magnus started to work out. When Lup came downstairs around an hour later, she stopped to stare at Magnus, blinking a few times as if he was a trick of the light, and then kept on her way to the kitchen. A few minutes later, she brought him a cup of coffee and then, presumably, went back to the kitchen to start on breakfast.

Barry stumbled down the stairs a while later, hair still wet from a shower. Magnus snorted when he stopped in the exact spot that Lup had, taking off his glasses to clean them, and then squinting at him as if Magnus had just been a smudge on the lens.

"Uhm," Barry said. "What'cha doing here, bud?"

"Bored," Magnus said, shrugging. "This puzzle is fucked."

"I think you're just bad at puzzles, Mags," Barry said. He came over to the couch, sitting himself down next to Magnus and bending over to look at what was done so far. Maybe Magnus being bad at puzzles was a fair assessment, because he had only got some of the edge pieces put together, and the wizard hat of whoever was in the middle.

They sat there, mulling over the puzzle for a while. Barry started connecting pieces that Magnus didn't even know were in front of him. By the time Lup came out with food and more coffee, Magnus had resigned himself to watching Barry do the puzzle, instead.

"Eggs," Lup said enticingly, shoving a plate into Magnus's arms. She set two mugs down on the coffee table and Barry picked one up without looking away from the puzzle. He took a sip and then grimaced and put it back down, picking up the other one.

"Sorry," Barry said. "Thought that one was mine."

"It's in my mug, babe."

The mug was a deep red with the words "don't talk to me until I've killed you with this mug". Very Lup-esque.

"I'm doing a puzzle," Barry said. "I didn't look!"

"We're doing a puzzle," Magnus said.

"No, I think Barry's doing it," Lup said. "Take a break to eat, babe."

Barry glanced up- Magnus was already eating part of his plate. Ham and eggs and toast, all very good. Lup slid his plate towards him and Barry sighed, sitting back and reaching for the forks she had brought out too. There was silence for a while as they ate. It was a much nicer silence than sitting in his house, alone, eating mediocre eggs and ham. Lup was the first to finish, setting the plate aside on the coffee table and leaning down to look at the puzzle. Magnus was finished too, but he didn't know where to put his plate so he just sort of held onto it.

"Where did we get a puzzle that was literally just a picture of Taako?" Lup asked after a few more minutes of Magnus watching them put it together. Sure enough, under the wizard hat Magnus had put together by himself was Taako.

"I think he gave it to me for my birthday," Barry said, snapping another piece in place.

"Sounds about right," Lup said.

Another silence. Barry and Lup were putting together the puzzle much faster now. Magnus took a sip of his coffee. As they put Taako's apron into place, Magnus cleared his throat and said,

"How's it feel being like, a lich?"

Barry's hand stilled over one of the pieces. Lup hummed.

"Lich-y," she said. Magnus huffed out a little laugh. "I don't know how to describe it, Mags. Wanna share why you wanna know? 'Cause I'm ninety percent sure my ass will get fired literally and metaphorically if I help you become a lich."

"I don't wanna be a lich," Magnus said. "I've had enough of living forever, thanks. I just kinda like... I don't know. Like when you got your body back after so long, did it feel weird? Like too fleshy?"

"Yeah," Lup said. Barry nodded in agreement.

"Lonely?" Magnus asked.

"I... wouldn't use the word lonely," Barry said. "Not exactly, anyhow. But it is sorta weird going from like... not being contained within anything directly into a breathing body again. Kinda like-" he snapped his fingers, screwing his face up for a second as he thought. "Like, uh, Wonderland? When you were dead, and then you were only kinda dead inside the mannequin? It's like... so much, all at once. But also not enough, y'know?"

"No, I get it," Magnus said. "It was very- very disorienting. I didn't like it very much. I just? I don't know. Usually, when I die, I just die. But then I was dead but not dead? More than when we were on the Starblaster. But I wasn't alive, I just wasn't dead. That doesn't make sense, does it?"

"I got'cha. Sounds rough, Mags," Lup said. Magnus nodded, not sure what else to say to make himself make sense. "D'you wanna talk about it or d'you just wanna watch us do this puzzle. Or both, I guess."

"Kinda wanna talk about it," Magnus said. "Never really had to chance to, I think."

"Go for it," Barry said, taking a sip of his coffee. He snapped another piece of the puzzle in. "We're here to listen, bud."

#magnus burnsides #lup #barry bluejeans #blupjeans #taz #i just have strong feelings about them and their experiences w death-but-not-really #mine #ise cube writing #we'll post this now ig??

[morganofthewildfire]

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

A Secret Bloom - chapter 4

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

~3k words

masterlist

I'm very excited for this one 😁

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

Orynth, 1919

The storm raged all through the day and through the night, finally petering off in the early hours of the morning, a faint bit of the sunrise piercing through the dark sky. Rowan had been restless all night, turning back and forth in his sheets, his sleep shirt stuck to his sweaty skin.

He’d never done well with storms at night, when the sky was so dark he couldn’t tell where the noises were coming from. The thunder sounded suspiciously close to gunfire, and the sharp flashes of lightning sent him back too far into the dredges of war. It’d been a horrible few years, right in the middle of battle, never sleeping soundly, never knowing when he’d next have to look someone in the eye as he ended their life. 

He did well most of the time at putting those memories out of his mind, but sometimes it all came back in a rush, leaving him irritable for at least the next twenty four hours.

It was looking to be one of those days, especially as he got dressed in the morning, shoving open the cabin door and seeing the destruction the storm had caused overnight. 

“Shit,” he cursed under his breath, as he got closer to the garden, seeing fallen tree branches on the ground, crushed flower beds, dirtied fountains, and generally just everything in utter chaos. It looked terrible. 

He had a long day of work ahead of him if he was going to even make a dent in cleaning this up today. 

He didn’t even bother properly tying up his apron, or throwing his hat on, soon running dirt-covered hands through his hair, darkening the light strands. Soon enough, the rest of him was covered in dirt too, as he started cleaning the garden in a nightmare ridden rush, hiding his shaking hands by throwing himself into work.

“Whitethorn!” Lorcan’s voice called out, and Rowan stood up, uselessly trying to wipe his hands on his apron as he tossed the loose branches he’d been collecting into the canvas sack he was currently using as a trash bag. 

“What?” He asked a little impatiently, though he couldn’t be too mad at the other man. He’d been out since dawn just like he’d been today, attempting to clear up the garden as efficiently as possible.

“Apparently the Galathynius’ are expecting a very important guest,” Lorcan said, irritation clear. “And had Darrow, in no uncertain terms, threaten to fire us both if we don’t get this cleared up by tomorrow evening when he arrives.” 

“Arrives here?” Rowan asked, wiping sweat away from his forehead. “Are the Galathynius’ coming back?” He wondered what Aelin would think, if she was excited to see her parents or not. He always thought it sad how they seemed to enjoy forgetting they had a daughter, though he’d never understood why they did. Just like he never understood why she wasn’t in town with them, fetching a nice suitor.

Nausea struck him as he realized that this important guest could very well be a suitor. Rowan had no right to claim her, but the thought of her being with someone else made him sick.

“It doesn’t sound like it,” Lorcan answered, “Darrow gave the impression that Miss Galathynius is to receive the guest alone.” 

That all but sealed the deal. 

“I see,” Rowan huffed, trying to hide the real reason he was bothered with the one Lorcan was expecting him to have. “That’ll be a pain, but I suppose we don’t have much of a choice.” 

“Not if we want to keep our jobs,” the brunette man said, and Rowan sighed, nodding.

“Better get to work then.”

------

Aelin’s eyes were glued to the letter, reading her mother’s beautifully practiced calligraphy over and over again, until the sight of it was seared in her mind.

We’re expecting you to be civil, Aelin. This is a big opportunity, for all of us.

The rest of the letter had been shallow pleasantries, until those last two lines at the bottom of the page. And Aelin had no idea what her mother was referring to. Expecting her to be civil when? What opportunity?

She didn’t understand, and it made her wonder if she’d missed something somewhere. Realization poured through her finally when she remembered the last letter that she’d tossed to the side. Was there pertinent information in there that she’d ignored?

Whatever it was, it had her stomach sinking as her current maid did her hair, twisting the blonde strands up into intricate braids. It hadn’t been a pleasant morning already, but that cryptic note made it worse. 

Maybe Darrow would know something, though she hadn’t talked to the man in days. He lived on the opposite side of the house, and was occupied all during the day with his various duties, while she did nothing but sit around. He likely even spoke more to her parents than he did to her, and certainly more than she did to them. 

Isolation had crept in like a fog long ago, and she hadn’t properly seen the sun since.

Aelin was sure Rowan was having as poor of a day as she was, if a glance out the window said anything at all. The storm had caused more damage than anyone had anticipated, and she was sure he would be pressured to get it back into shape quicker than likely possible. Maybe she should bring him a gift, just like he’d gotten the journal for her to make her feel better.

What did she have to offer him though? Nothing worthwhile. Nothing that would be interesting to him. And she couldn’t go out into the village to get him something; even if Philippa would take, she wouldn’t be allowed to, simply for the spectacle of it.

“You’re all set to go, Miss Galathynius,” the maid said, stepping back, and Aelin looked forward at herself in the mirror. She had no idea why she bothered to have her hair so done every day, to dress in her best dresses. 

Maybe it was a way to pretend like everything was still the same, like it had been before the incident, when she would prance around town with her friends, giggling about suitors and enjoying all the sights and the stares. 

She hadn’t seen those friends in years.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, shooting the young woman a small smile. “It looks beautiful.” 

The maid soon departed, and Aelin grabbed her journal from the vanity table, tucking the letter inside for further examination before setting it on her lap as she wheeled herself toward the door. Her vanity stool had been replaced with her wheelchair, just to make things easier for her. 

But Philippa was waiting outside to take her down to the garden, where she would help her onto the bench and then take away the wheelchair and leave her in peace, like she requested. Maybe it wasn’t smart to be alone when she couldn’t properly move herself, but Aelin liked to have some pretend normalcy. For at least a few hours a day.

On their journey down to the garden, which always consisted of being awkwardly rolled down the hallways, and helped down the makeshift ramp servants had had to construct for her to be able to get up and down between the floors. 

Stairs were no longer sufficient.

The air was still damp outside, hitting her face in a humid wave as they left the safety of the estate. The garden was as wrecked as it’d looked from inside, and she could practically hear Rowan cursing under his breath at the sight.

A small smile curled on her lips. 

He pretended to be annoyed at the job she knew he wouldn’t have ever pictured himself in, but she also knew that he secretly loved it. Though she would try to have a talk with her father, or at least Darrow, about his wages. Even if it prompted a conversation about why she cared so much.

But she pushed that aside as Philippa wheeled her to her little grotto, helping her move to the bench. Luckily, she never encountered Rowan on her journey out here, though she did try to time it for when she knew he was working in the back side of the garden.

“Do you want me to come back in a couple of hours?” Philippa asked, once Aelin was adjusted.

“Yes, please,” Aelin confirmed, smiling genuinely at the woman. “Thank you for humoring me.” 

“I want you to live as normal a life as possible,” Philippa answered, taking the little joke seriously. “Whatever I can do to assist you, let me know.” 

Tears pricked Aelin’s eyes, and all she could do was nod, emotion piercing her chest as the older woman left. 

But to her detriment, neither of them noticed what was right above her head.

------

Rowan was completely exhausted by the time he finally made it over to where Aelin was perched, her journal in her lap. But instead of scrawling in it like she had yesterday, she was instead holding what looked to be a letter, her golden brows furrowed as she read the words on the page.

“What are you reading?” He asked casually, acting like he hadn’t been sitting on that bench next to her the day before, their lips almost touching. His cheeks, already red from exertion, seemed to flush more at the memory. 

But Aelin’s mind seemed to be elsewhere as she looked up at him, her face pinched. “Do you happen to know anything about this?” She asked him, gesturing for him to come see the letter, and he carefully stepped closer, taking it from her when she offered it. “We’re expecting you to be civil, Aelin. This is a big opportunity, for all of us,” she read, and he raised a brow, not sure what to make of it. 

“This is from your mother?” He asked, and she nodded, picking at a loose strand of her dress. 

“I’m not sure what she’s referring to,” she scowled, “you’re more knowledgeable of what goes on at the house than I am, do you know of anything going on?” 

He blinked in shock at the words, wondering the truth of them. Did he really know more? How was that possible?

“Well,” he said, handing the letter back to her. Aelin took it and folded it aggressively, shoving it back into her journal. “I do know there’s a guest coming tomorrow evening, according to Darrow. Could this have anything to do with that?” 

In fact, as much as he wanted to stay and talk, he probably needed to get going. 

He told her as much, and she nodded absently, though her face had darkened at the word guest. Like she had the same suspicion he did. 

It was certainly a bucket of ice water over the tension that had sparked yesterday. He didn’t know if that was good or not.

------

Guest. A guest. 

It didn’t take long for Aelin to know what that meant. 

Her parents had finally found someone willing to take a cripple as their wife. The only question was if her new husband would be fine with the world knowing, or if she’d be expected to hide just like she had for the last three years?

If so, could she live like this much longer?

It was such a predicament, she barely heard the cracking over the noise in her head. But it became loud enough that it pierced the swirling thoughts, and she looked up, seeing the source of the sound. 

It was a thinner branch from one of the large oak trees nearby, a weaker one no doubt damaged by the storm. And clearly, it was finally giving out, if the cracking was any indication. 

Shit. 

It was right over her head. If it fell, she’d be directly in its path, with no way to move. Sure she could scoot over a little bit, but short of throwing herself onto the ground and attempting to crawl out of its way, she had no real way to move. 

And Philippa wouldn’t be back for at least another hour.

Her heart started racing, and she kept her eyes on the branch, watching as it started to dangle more and more. 

“Okay,” she whispered to herself, “okay, Aelin. You’ve got this. What can you do?” 

Was there anything nearby she could use to help herself move? Not really, at least nothing within reach. Was there anyone nearby that could help?

Technically yes, Rowan. He was likely within calling distance. Though she didn’t know where.

But that would require him finding out why exactly she couldn’t just stand up and move out of the way. Aelin had thought about the moment he’d find out long and hard, and she was pretty sure he wouldn’t treat her any differently, but she was still scared. 

Instinctively, how could she not be? Based on the reactions of everyone else.

But it didn’t seem like she had any other choice. 

So she sucked in a shaky breath, and called out his name.

-----

Rowan was shoveling out a flower bed too far destroyed to be saved when he heard someone faintly call his name. 

His brows furrowed, and he stopped shoveling, pausing and waiting to hear it again. 

“Rowan?” 

There it was, a bit louder this time, and Rowan shoved the shovel into the packed dirt, leaving it behind as he went to go find the source.

“Rowan?!” 

The voice was more frantic this time, and when he recognized it as Aelin’s, he hurried his steps, nearly running as she called it again. What was wrong?

“Aelin?” He called back, panting as he neared her spot, seeing her still sitting on her bench, with her head turned up. “What’s wrong?”

Crack. 

He looked up too, his face draining as he saw the source of her worry. There was a tree branch, about two inches from breaking off and falling right onto where she was sitting. 

Why hadn’t she moved? Was she too scared to?

“Okay,” he said carefully, “you need to move. It’s going to fall any second.” He gestured his way, trying to appear calm and reassuring. But her face was pale and clammy, and he took a step toward her, jolting forward as a strong gust of wind rushed through, breaking it a little bit more. 

“Aelin,” he said, barely registering it was the first time he’d ever said her name out loud to her. She realized though, apparently, as she looked at him, an unrecognizable emotion on her face. 

She still wasn’t moving.

“You’re scaring me, Aelin,” he said, too worried to check the concern in his voice. “It’s going to fall, you need to move.” 

But she, for no apparent reason, just shook her head, her voice shaky as she said, “Rowan, I ca-”

Crack. 

Rowan lurched forward, roughly pulling Aelin to the ground with him just as the tree branch fell, dropping heavily and crushing the stone bench she’d been on moments before. 

“Gods!” He cursed, panting heavily, adrenaline racing through his veins. Aelin was in his arms, laying on the dirt with him, feet away from the tree branch that had nearly just killed her. She was shaking immensely, and he unconsciously tightened his arms around her, trying to comfort her. 

But at the same time -

“Why didn’t you move?” He asked, too aggressively. But he couldn’t help it. She’d nearly died. His eyes were wide with fear as he looked at her, letting go and sitting up. 

She was just shaking her head back and forth, tears in her gorgeous eyes. 

It was only then he noticed the slightly awkward angle at which her legs were laying, the way they didn’t move as she pushed herself up to a sitting position, the way she was looking at him, her face pale and frightened, like she was scared of him finding something out. 

Rowan looked back and forth between her face and her legs, trying to piece together what he was missing.

“Aelin!” A feminine voice called out, and he turned to see an older woman rushing toward them, a wheelchair in tow. A wheelchair. “Are you okay?!”

Aelin wiped at her face quickly, before nodding as she turned to face the woman too. “Yes,” she said, “just a scare with a rogue tree.” She tried to laugh it off, but the lingering fear in her voice was unmistakable. 

“Aelin…” Rowan said, trailing off, but she didn’t look at him as the other woman helped Aelin up and into the chair. All he could was watch with wide eyes, he couldn’t even move. 

But the other woman eyed him carefully, a question in her eyes.

“He saved me,” Aelin answered, still not looking at him. 

“Well, then,” the woman said, “thank you for your help.” All Rowan could do was grimace, watching as the pair left, undoubtedly heading back to the house, leaving him lying there in the dirt.

----

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#rowaelin #rowaelin au #rowaelin fanfiction #throne of glass au #throne of glass fanfiction #a secret bloom

[innerslumber]

I went to the Marvel: Universe of Super Heroes exhibit and wanted to share for anyone who has not seen it. I am under the impression that the installation changes from location to location so I wanted to show this snapshot in time. I fully admit to being biased in what I will post so if you want to see a particular character, please let me know! Apologies ahead of time for my crappy photo taking skills.

🔴⚫️🔴⚫️🔴

Wade Wilson (Deadpool)

Okay, see that picture above? Yeah. That's it. I looked through the whole exhibit and only saw that ONE wall display of Deadpool. Is it possible that I could have missed something? Yes. But do I think I did? Not really.

Which makes me basically think, what the hell man?!?! Where's Deadpool?! If you got space on the wall for freaking Morbius then where is my Merc with a Mouth??? Also his reading material of choice? 👇👇👇

Did @vancityreynolds commission this particular art installation? Because this is exactly the kind of shit he would pull to troll Chris Evans.

The ONLY saving grace from my disappointment was that as I was approaching the wall art of Deadpool, the sweetest and most adorable child voice says: "Look! It's Deadpool!" with happiness and glee. Then his (who I assume is his mother), said: "Oh. My. GOD." with the disgust and disdain reserved for a forgotten box of takeout that got shoved so far to the back of the fridge that it became its own ecosystem and is now declaring independence.

The sheer willpower I had to apply not to burst out laughing was monumental. Knowing that Deadpool is out there corrupting our youth to the horror of their probably sensible parents brought me so much joy. It was just enough to overcome my sadness that this exhibit had no section for Deadpool.

But you know what wasn't going to let me down? That's right, The Gift Shop. Because Deadpool ain't gonna be showcased in the legitimate exhibit space but oh no, capitalism don't care about optics! There's shirts! There's magnets! There's hats! THERE'S COOKBOOKS!

And of course it was going to be a chimichanga recipe! Did we ever have a doubt? I will say this looked better than Captain America's Beef Tongue Terrine recipe that was also in the book. (Sorry Steve...)

Oh and speaking of more Deadpool and Captain America synergy, remember I mentioned hats? Yeah. Just a whole ass display of beanies that only came in two designs. Like...this was a CHOICE, okay? It can't be a fucking coincidence that they only had these two options.

Honestly by the time I was done my 5th lap of the gift shop, I wondered if this is how Cameo Chris Evans felt watching Free Guy and seeing Ryan Reynolds just do whatever the fuck he wants with the shield.

I mean, I know I sound like a whiny punk ass but not even a single comic cover of Deadpool? 😭😭😭 Omg the fangirl tears I would have wept at seeing a Spider-Man/Deadpool cover! Did Ryan and Andrew kissing at the Golden Globes mean nothing to you, Marvel?!?!

Fuck No! I love that museum, okay? They do awesome work. This was obviously an oversight done by the person I blame any time Marvel shits its pants: Kevin Feige. Maybe also the Russo brothers.

Uhh...well I got these.

Look how adorable little Cap is!! 😍😍😍

Shut up, Ted Lasso! It was worth it! I already have a bunch of stuff with your mug on it so I wasn't going to buy more! Now this is me, walking away into the sunset with my precious cargo. Sayonara motherfucker!

(And sending vibes to the next location for the Marvel exhibit to show some damn Deadpool. Don't let me down!)

#deadpool #wade wilson #ryan reynolds #captain america #chris evans #steve rogers #Marvel: Universe of Super Heroes #mcu #marvel #breaking the fourth wall #crack post #how come all the other exhibit posts i made were mostly sane and this one just went off the fucking rails? #oh right cause Deadpool #yup

[booburry]

I wanted to share, for those who may not go over to Ao3 or who prefer to read fics here, a scene from my latest chapter. Aesop/Female OC (Maeve Thistlespring)

Definitely NSFW towards to end of the post below.

Setup: Maeve is on her way to the 5 year reunion of her Hogwarts graduation class. She RSVP's with her on & off guy Simon Diggory, dreading to be alone in a carriage with him, however she is pleased when another joins for the ride.

The carriage door opened and a tall man entered, his top hat obscuring his face but Maeve could see he was exquisitely dressed—no way it was Simon. His suit was perfectly tailored, alluding to a lean and muscular frame. There was fine silver embroidery along the cuffs and lapels of his dark green suit. The man finally looked up to greet her when he immediately stopped.

It only took a moment for Maeve to go from feeling like a temptress to the shocked little eleven-year-old girl when she saw Aesop, now a man, walking into her carriage. His eyes flicked below her eyes before instantly returning to hers, a blush rising to his cheeks. His bashful hesitance reminded Maeve of her intent for the night.

“It’s okay, men are allowed in the same carriage as women—in case you weren’t aware, Mr. Sharp.” She gave a short smile before licking it away and biting her lower lip. All he had to do was smile in return as he took off his hat, releasing his luscious, thick, wavy hair, to make her body hot.

“Lady Thistlespring.” He greeted, matching her jest of the first time they met.

“Aesop, hurry up!” Simon called out from behind before Aesop was shoved into the carriage. He composed himself before sitting in the furthest corner of the carriage from Maeve, his intelligent eyes watching her intently. Simon rushed in after to glance at Maeve and instantly scowled. “Oh this is going to be great…” He muttered as he slowly went to take the only spot left, which was next to the window but directly across from Maeve.

She didn’t even pay attention to him, her eyes fixed on Aesop. His hair rested on his shoulders, longer than the ear length he kept it at during school. He also seemed to have grown into his features more; his large nose, protruded brow and defined jaw. He was far more handsome than she remembered or could imagine him becoming.

He also seemed to have a confident smolder to him, a daring gaze and charm that definitely hadn’t been there when they were students. She felt drunk just staring at him.

The carriage door slammed shut and took off from the ground once more, bringing Maeve and Aesop from their heated and silent stares. Simon cleared his throat intentionally.

“Are there thestrals pulling the cart?” She asked Aesop slowly as she tried to focus on appearing to breath naturally.

“Yes.” He confirmed, squinting curiously at her. “You can’t see them?” He hopefully asked.

“No.” She told him, a relieved laugh coming from his chest as he leaned back into his seat. “Don’t worry, I am still a delicate, innocent, flower.” She playfully said, slightly repositioning herself to accentuate her alluring features.

“You can’t be living that innocently.” He teased in return, leaning forward, a light press of his brow as his eyes darkened with hunger. Maeve gave out a short laugh, shocked by his reaction and how it made her feel. She forcing herself to look elsewhere to better steady herself.

“It’s nothing like the life of sin I would have lived with you, I’m sure.” She smiled as she blushed so deeply she saw her chest go bright red. Maeve had frequently found herself thinking of the possible intimate moments she could have with Aesop. She would never admit it to anyone, but even in times when she had been with Simon, in the dark or with her eyes closed, she would image it was him.

Feeling guilty for her actions, both past and present, Maeve glanced at Simon to see him looking absolutely miserably out of the window. Maeve cleared her throat and brought her body back into a stiff position, her leg tucked under the other, her hands laying lightly in her lap—as if they were floating.

“Sorry Simon.” Aesop muttered, seemingly finding himself doing as Maeve did, and taking the third person stuck in this carriage with them into account.

“At least just tell me I was right!” Simon grumbled in response.

Although Maeve wasn’t looking at him, she knew he was talking to her. She quickly glanced at Aesop, who was watching Simon studiously before catching her gaze; the motion sucking the breath from her lungs.

“You were right.” She managed to say, her heart beating against her chest as she had to, once again, look away from him. Merlin, she needed to get out of this carriage.

Tension filled the space quickly. Simon’s tension with the both of them was nothing but hostile, however the tension Maeve felt when looking at Aesop was nothing but longing and lust. They sat in silence for a long time, Maeve refraining from speaking in fear she would speak what was on her mind; which would be cruel and unfair to Simon. But her longing glances with Aesop were frequent as the time past.

She watched as his body tensed with each look, his eyes moving as if he tried to speak his intentions. Many times they traced over her body, lingering on certain places. Maeve smiled as she saw Aesop shift his posture, notably adjusting his pant fabric, so he could remain comfortable despite growing desires. He cleared his throat while he tried, horribly, to cover a knowing smile. Maeve turned her glance and brought her hand to her face to hide from Simon the scarlet she turned.

“Could you pass me a drink?” Aesop grumbled, his voice strained with every word. Maeve nodded, rolling her lips inward to stop another smile from growing. She reached for a glass but Simon immediately swatted it away.

“I’ll get it.” He told her in a displeased tone, but his hand was snatched immediately by Aesop, who then threw Simon against the back of the carriage, causing it to go off balance for a moment.

“Everything okay back there?” The valet called out from outside.

“Fine! How long until we arrive?” Simon yelled back, glaring at Aesop.

“Quarter of an hour.” He called back, the news of the trip almost ending seemingly calming Simon until Aesop was in his face.

“You do not treat a lady in such manner, so you understand Diggory?” His voice was a deep, threatening, rumble. Watching him felt very much like a predator over it’s prey, Simon cowering against the soft suede fabric of the carriage couches. Satisfied that Simon took his threat seriously, Aesop turned to kneel in front of Maeve, his moves controlled enough to not offset their mode of transportation. Gently he gripped her hand, as a gentleman would to a lady, and brought it closer to his face.

“Are you okay?” He asked her, quickly glancing at her before softly gracing her hand with his lips.

“Yes, thank you.” She smiled before withdrawing her hand to get him his requested beverage.

“Can you at least not do that in front of me?” Simon groaned but didn’t bother moving.

“Think of it as punishment for your poor choices, Diggory. Someone had to make sure she was unharmed, and it wasn’t going to be you.” He growled again, sitting back in his seat before accepting the poured drink from Maeve. He gave her a soft nod and insatiable smile that sent a warm shiver down her spine, heat growing between her legs.

The moment they landed, Simon bolted from the carriage and headed for the castle, not saying a word to either Aesop or Maeve; although neither of them cared if he did. Aesop motioned for Maeve to get out of the carriage first. She playfully smiled at him.

“I thought a gentleman would help a woman out of the carriage.” Aesop leaned forward, smirking at her.

“Truly, I just wanted to watch you from behind.” He gracefully put on his top hat and exited the carriage, only to then stick his hand through the door to offer assistance to Maeve. She hesitated a moment, excited and dreading the buzz she was going to feel when their hands touched once more. Quickly, before she could hesitate forward, she reached out to grab it with a small, giddy, laugh.

Carefully she got out of the carriage to stand next to Aesop. He stood, without the height of the hat, a good head above her. It was outside of the carriage she could really marvel at his broad stature and feel his presence. Still holding her hand, he guided them away from the carriage so that it could leave and allow another to land in it’s place. Together they walked part way up to the castle where the party was meant to be held for the night.

“You are stunning.” Aesop weakly spoke, as if he had been holding in his words and breath the entire time they were walking. Maeve stopped to look at him, his eyes fluttering open at the motion.

“You aren’t so bad yourself.” She traced a finger down one of his lapels, her nail delicately pulling at the fine embroidery, watching as he tried to hide taking a shaky breath. “Why didn’t you ever write me? I heard you met up with others.” Aesop let out an awkward and strained sigh, quickly glancing at her as if he was anticipating and dreading this question. He squeezed her hand gently before letting it go.

“I was never here for long periods of time. Nothing for anything…serious, at least.” He let out another awkward huff of air, shifting his stance. “I had things I needed to finish back in New York, and I knew if I saw you I would have never been able to bring myself to leave again.” He reached back out to her and grabbed her waist, pulling her towards him so they could stand off the path and in the shadows. “I want to kiss you.”

His face was inches from hers, his breath beating down as he drew closer in hunger. Maeve felt her body naturally press against his, her breathing becoming short and shallow.

“I’m not stopping—” A moan prevented the end of her sentence as Aesop didn’t let her finish. His lips crashed into hers, a clumsy and desperate hunger guiding his frantic movements. One hand moved to cradle the back of her neck, gently pressing to deepen their kiss. His free arm greedily held onto her waist, clasping her body against his.

His tongue parted her lips, Maeve using the moment to take a quick gasp of air before knocking off his hat, gripping onto his hair. She desperately pulled him closer to her. Their surroundings melted away as the two of them passionately devoured each other, giving in to a decade of slowly built sexual tension.

A few gasps and whispers could be heard from the pathway, acting as a reminder for both Aesop and Maeve to not lose themselves in such a public setting. Although, if she had been wearing a shorter or more malleable dress, they may have just disappeared deeper into the woods just then.

Aesop regretfully pulled away from her, the hand that cradled her neck sliding to lovingly hold her cheek. His face hovering over hers as he lightly panted.

“Be with me.” He asked of her so suddenly. “I’m here to stay, I took a post with the Ministry. I promise I will protect you,” he pulled her chin upwards so her bashful gaze could meet his serious one, “I will love you tenderly and ravish you fiercely.” He whispered as he leaned down to softly kiss her neck, a light gasp escaping her at the pleasurable sensation it brought.

It was everything she had wanted, to be with him. Maeve knew she would say yes, but a part of her also wanted to toy with him a bit—see him squirm. She smiled as he continued to kiss her, his grip becoming desperate once again. They had survived this far with this sense of longing for the other, what was another evening? She pulled away from him, still smiling.

“If you have not realized, Mr. Sharp, I have many suitors to speak with this evening. Being as beautiful and desirable as I am, it would be unfair for me to not give them a chance.” She raised her hand delicately, inviting him to kiss it. Aesop licked his lips, before leaning down to grab his hat and delicately place his lips on her offered limb. “I will keep your offer in the back of my mind—”

“I’m sure.” Aesop interrupted with a smirk, Maeve breaking with a short, girlish, laugh.

“If no other man interests me tonight, then come find me when the evening is done.”

“As you wish, Lady Thistlespring.” Aesop bowed, a playful smirk firmly planted on his lips. “If I may ask of one thing?” He quietly requested as Maeve brought herself to turn. She glanced over her shoulder at him, Aesop letting out an astonish and excited breath. He reached into his pocked and pulled out a jewelry box, opening it up to show a delicately thin silver bracelet with many tiny topaz’s socketed between the clasps.

Maeve gasped as the notion, immediately turning to face Aesop.

“I believe if was your birthday nine days ago?” He asked, taking a step towards her. “May I?” He requested, gesturing towards her. She reached out with her left hand but Aesop shook his head. “The other, if you would?” He asked and she immediately obeyed. He took the bracelet from it’s box and placed it around her wrist. “This way, every time another man may kiss your hand, you will think of me.” He flashed a mischievous grin before giving her hand another delicate kiss.

“You knew I would deny you, didn’t you?” His grin only grew in width.

“I figured you wouldn’t let my absence go unpunished. Trust me, I will enjoy watching you flirt with the others tonight.” Maeve gave a quick, unbelievable laugh.

“And now you even get your wish of watching me walk away.” She muttered as she realized this had all gone as planned for him. He just nodded, trying very hard to supress his smile but failing miserably.

“And now I get to watch you walk away.” He agreed, a glittering satisfaction behind his eyes. She just scrunched her face, both annoyed, amused and aroused by his self-assurance.

“I look forward to holding your attention tonight, Mr. Sharp.” Maeve said as she turned to return to the path.

“And I look forward to seeing you at the end of the evening.”

The night continued as they both expected. Maeve went on to talk with almost every available man that was in attendance—even some of the Slytherin men who had teased her relentlessly for being a ‘muggle’ couldn’t help but forget they acted in such ways.

“How could I have taken jest at such an alluring woman?” One had said to her.

“A beauty such as yourself belongs among the magnificent wonders of the magical world, wouldn’t you think?” Another had tried to seduce her.

Yet, as Aesop had told Maeve, with every proper kiss to her hand, all she looked at was the delicate bracelet wrapped around her wrist; remembering the heated kiss she had shared with him. In every conversation she would look for him within the room, always finding his eyes on her despite whoever he was seemingly engaged with. His gaze growing in desire as the night continued.

She knew it was getting to him seeing her with so many others.

To prove her point, only halfway through the evening did Aesop swoop in between her and Fredrick Johnson, who had been a Gryffindor Prefect, to demand she dance with him.

“I must admit, I am more vexed than I imagined seeing you entertain so many.” He told her as he gracefully guided her on the dance floor.

“Jealous are we?” Aesop let out a deep laugh as his hands gripped her tighter.

“You couldn’t imagine the rage I felt when I heard you were dating Simon Diggory.”

“He showed interest.” Maeve rebutted. “Unlike others.” He looked at her curiously.

“I always wanted you Maeve, I do apologize if that was never clear. I felt jealousy from halfway around the world, I don’t know what else shows that it was always you.” Maeve tried to hide her bashful smile, both at his confession and hearing him finally say her name. It felt silly, to be amused by such a simple thing yet how he said it felt so intimate. “I know you said for me to wait until the end of the night, but I must say I can’t help but grow impatient.”

“We are barely halfway through the night and the song is almost done.” She warned him, enjoying hearing how much he wanted her, enjoying how that made her burn with all the right sensations. It would make feeling his touch in those places all the sweeter.

“Then let us make this quick. Leave with me.” He asked as he twirled her around before bringing her back against his body.

“Meet me out front. I will need to say goodbye to a few people.” She managed to say as the music ended, each dancing partner bowing to the other and vacating the dance floor to allow for others to join in. Maeve made a quick round of goodbye’s, saying that she had unfortunately eaten some bad fish and best be getting home. Maeve noticed that Aesop didn’t detour at all before leaving out the front.

She rushed to meet him, almost immediately missing him once he left the main hall of the party. He stood, leaning, against the wall of the castle; immediately walking towards her.

“I know a place.” He immediately told her, taking her into his arms.

“I’m sure you had this all planned out.” Maeve playfully pretended to be annoyed yet she was buzzing on the inside.

“A few ideas.” He whispered as he quickly brought his lips to hers for a short kiss. “Hold on tight.” He warned, Maeve immediately gripping onto him as he apparated them elsewhere. One moment she was in front of a castle in Scotland, then next she was in the middle of a giant meadow of wild flowers under the light of the full moon, in some random place within the world.

“A man says he knows a place…” Maeve muttered as she marvelled at the scenery around her. It was gorgeous, as if out of a book.

“I came here on a mission during my training. I knew I needed to bring you here.” He told her with a soft and sweet tone.

“So we are in America?” She asked in wonder, leaning down to smell one of the many flowers surrounding them; purposefully bending so that her rear faced Aesop.

“Indeed, this tantalizing wilderness is that of Western America.” Maeve stood up, giving a knowing glance at Aesop who regarded her with nothing but desire.

“It’s the most beautiful thing I have seen.” She told him, her eyes delicately watching his. He squinted at her before walking forward.

“Almost.” He corrected as he reached out a hand to grab one side of her face, feverishly kissing her once more. They both moaned against the other, no longer having to hold back their burning passion and need for the other. Maeve shoved his jacked off of his body, clumsily pulling at his vest to pull the fabric over his buttons.

Aesop just clung to her, constantly pulling her body closer to him and she removed his clothes. His tie was next, an item quickly removed. His lips began to travel down to her jaw as Maeve started to untuck his dress shirt from his pants. She ensured to tug a bit rougher when in the front, bringing a soft grunt from Aesop as his lips hungrily returned to hers, his tongue masterfully slipping into her.

Maeve desperately wanted to reach lower, and she was moments from doing so, when Aesop began to tug at her dress.

“Ah.” She warned, pulling away from him. Maeve placed a finger delicately over his lips to prevent any protest. “Respect the dress, and take it off properly.” She ordered, turning around to expose the ribboning that keep it tight to her body. Slowly she parted her hair, pulling it in front of her so her entire back was exposed to Aesop. She craned her neck to the side so she could gaze at him with one eye. “You are moments from seeing me naked Aesop, as you hesitate now?”

That got him moving.

He let out a heated, seductive, growl as he dropped to his knees behind her. He wrapped his arms around her, one on her torso and the other around her upper thighs. Delicately, Aesop moved his mouth to where the ribbon was tied and started to pull it undone. His hands rubbed against her body, lightly gripping at her flesh as he slowly unlaced her dress using the finesse of his tongue and teeth.

Maeve heard him groan against her, every time his hands gripping harder. Her lacing was almost undone as she felt him rock his body against her, feeling his erection pressing against her body. Before her dress was completely undone, Aesop pulled back and stood up, only to immediately return to standing behind her.

“I want to make love to you.” He whispered in her ear, his arms wrapping around her, cradling her lovingly. “I want to make you feel like the most beloved thing in this world.” He kissed her neck delicately. “Because you are, to me.” His fingers pulled the ribbon from the last set of loops, letting the fabric fall and pool at her feet.

Maeve slowly turned to look at Aesop, feeling oddly self conscious and nervous under his watchful gaze. The moonlight kissed her skin, her perky breasts bare, but Maeve placed a hand to cover the small tuff of hair between her things. Aesop lightly shook his head, not in protest of her actions but because of what drove them.

“You are even more beautiful in the moonlight.” He told her softly, his expression more so. He immediately removed his shirt, exposing a strong chest that had hair peppered on it, a strip running from his belly button to below his belt. “Let’s even things, hmn?” He asked her, reaching down for his buckle but Maeve struck out of hand, grasping his wrist firmly.

“Not yet.” She begged, feeling too hot in her face at the idea of what was about to happen. Aesop suddenly garnered her with a look of concern, turning his gaze from her.

“If this is too much for you Maeve…I wouldn’t want to—”

“Merlin, no.” Maeve reached out to grab his face, pulling his gaze back to hers. “I have thought constantly about what this night might be like…I’m just…nervous.” She finally admitted with honestly, a sweet and endearing smile spreading across his lips as he slowly cupped her face.

“You are quite innocent then?” He teased her with a bright smile, his eyes never leaving her face despite her whole body being exposed. “May I help you relax, then?” Aesop slowly asked her, waiting for Maeve to give a small nod before bringing his lips to hers once more.

It was obvious with the way he moved against her that he was the more experienced lover of the two. So it was easy for her to let him take control of the situation, ignoring the fact that she wanted him in control. Slowly, while his lips remained tied on hers, he lowered them onto the bed of flowers. The tall flora engulfing them and sheltering them from any, nonexistent, onlookers.

Aesop pulled away for a short moment, towering over her naked and alluring body.

“I can’t get over your beauty.” He whispered in awe, his eyes devouring everything they gazed at. Maeve covered her face in embarrassment, never being showered with such compliments before, let alone when she was in such a vulnerable position. He leaned down to kiss her jaw delicately. “Your skin’s so soft.” Another kiss to her neck. “You smell like honey.”

“That could just be the flowers.” Maeve muttered as she writhed beneath him, her body beginning to burn with desire. He dragged his mouth along the length of her neck, breathing heavily as he went.

“I’m sure it’s you.” He growled as he lightly bit into her shoulder. “Delicious.” He said playfully with a small laugh.

Maeve started to laugh, however her sound quickly turned into a small gasp as his lips found her breasts. Eagerly his tongue glided over her nipples before savoring her within his mouth. Maeve, wanting to avoid gripping the stems of the beautiful flowers around her, her hands instead reached out and gripped his thick hair once more. It brought a deep rumble from his throat, Maeve feeling it emanate through his chest and onto her body.

His hands continued the path down her body that his lips had began. Carefully his fingers traced a long path across her skin, looping needlessly as to tease her. She felt her hips lightly rock as he moved closer to giving her a satisfaction she craved, a touch she desperately wanted. His fingers hovered above her clit, pressing against her skin, as he released his mouth from her.

“Do you want it now?” He slowly asked her, his fingers teasing her as he slowly moved his fingers against her skin, the pressure filling her with an unbearable lust.

“I want to feel you.” Maeve begged, desperate for a release and Aesop seeming more than happy to provide. His fingers moved over her clit into the wet heat between her thighs, his eyes twinkling in satisfaction as he could feel how aroused she was. “Please.” She begged again, pulling his face against hers, releasing a deep, back arching, moan as she felt Aesop slip his fingers into her.

They rhythmically moved within her, her body already rocking with the motion as waves of pleasure rushed through her. Maeve desperately grabbing at his body as he slipped another finger within her, bringing her a pleasurable sensation of pain as he stretched her. His lips began to trail down her body again, however this time they did not get distracted by her seductive breasts as he intended to bring his lips elsewhere.

Maeve bucked helplessly as she felt Aesop’s cool tongue against the heat she felt between her legs, savoring her taste with every deliberate and broad stroke of his tongue.

“Aesop—” She moaned, her breath hitched in her throat as he pinned her legs between his shoulders, rolling her knees towards her chest. His body pressed down on her, pinning her to the ground as he hungrily glided his tongue over her clit. His fingers suddenly increased to a rapid pace, ensuring to thrust into her with surprising force.

Ripples of bliss shot through Maeve as she let out a strained, pleasured, yelp. She felt herself tighten around his fingers, her hips bucking against his mouth, as her arousal amounted to the much desired release of her built up tension in her body.

Aesop smiled against her, lightly and playfully licking her as she twitched at every touch. She could feel she was already swollen and sensitive in that area. He removed his fingers from her, delicately, yet the movement still made her shudder as more pleasure coursed through her body. Aesop ensured to make a few more broad, deep, strokes of his tongue to savor her taste once more. Finally, he released her from the position he held her in, a satisfied smile still firmly planted on his lips.

“Like honey.” His deep voice rumbled, Maeve propped herself up on one elbow and reached out for the fingers that had been in her.

“Let me taste.” She asked as she pulled his fingers towards herself, slowly inserting one after the other. She smiled at him as he watched with yearning. “It is sweet.” She agreed, having found she didn’t mind the taste yet greatly enjoyed Aesop’s expression as she did it. It also made her think about other things. “Makes me wonder what you taste like.” She purred, immediately reaching for his pants.

Aesop sat back on his knees, allowing space for Maeve to crawl out from underneath him, as he slowly undid the top of his pants. Maeve hungrily watched, slowly crawling towards him as he released his bulging erection.

It was much larger than Maeve had anticipated, and larger than she had ever handled. She wrapped a hand around his firm shaft, only covering half; which led Maeve to suspect it was the length of her chin to forehead.

Despite the slight daunting feeling she had about his size, it filled her with more anticipation at how it would feel inside of her.

Slowly she parted her lips over his cock, bringing an audible gasp from Aesop as she watched his stomach muscles clench at the sensation. The sight immediately made her throb, as her hand stroked up to meet her lips, and then back down. This time she tried to take more of him, with each stroke of her hand she went deeper until she felt her throat clench.

She immediately gasped for air, feeling her throat and mouth coated in his thick precum. It didn’t taste as sweet at hers, but she didn’t care as the satisfaction and heat it brought her as she felt his cock slide in and out of her mouth is all she needed.

Maeve pressed on his chest, pushing Aesop onto the grassy floor and, basically, ripping his pants off of his body.

Immediately Meave dove between his legs, taking his shaft within her hand while she delicately wrapped her lips around his balls. She glanced up to see him watching her, his head rocking back immediately as he let out a soft, pleasured, gasp.

“Fuck.” He moaned as he reached out a hand but stopped himself. Maeve freed her mouth so she could seductively smile at Aesop.

“Do what you wish.” She invited before licking the entire length of him and taking him into her mouth again. He didn’t stop himself this time, as his hand pressed against the back of her head and his hips pressed upwards. The way he forced his entry in such a controlled and delicate way brought an easy moan from her, the sensation bringing a fevered rhythm to Aesop’s movements.

He swore again before removing himself from her mouth, exhaling a heavy breath as Maeve gasped for air once more. She looked at him concerned for a moment, before realizing he still watched her hungrily.

“I didn’t want it to end there.” He told her, positioning himself to be on his knees one more, his body in front of Maeve’s. His arms wrapped around her figure as he pulled her in for another deep kiss.

For a short moment, when he pulled away from her, he looked at her with a sincere tenderness that was far from the burning passion they had been regarding each other with.

“I love you, Maeve Thistlespring. Hopelessly and helplessly.” He kissed her again, his hands gripping the sides of her neck and face, forcing them together desperately. He pressed his knees between hers, their bodies moving together, once again, as Maeve lowered onto the ground. However, this time, Aesop didn’t stop to marvel at her beauty.

He spread his legs, lowering his hips and forcing Maeve’s thighs to rest on his. He licked his lips as he looked down at what was before him, seemingly still craving her taste—but they both wanted different things now.

Slowly Aesop positions himself onto of her, his tip pressed delicately against her opening. He smiled as he gazed down at her, watching her face scrunch in pleasure as he entered her, pausing a moment once he was fully inserted. Maeve watched him with a shocked expression, her legs dangling in the air, unable to think of anything other than the pleasure and sensations rushing through her.

Passionately, he started to rock his hips, slowly moving in and out of her, the base of their stomachs gracing with each thrust. Aesop reached out a hand to grab hers, bringing it to where they connected, leaving her finger to grace her own clit. He glanced to her, his expression expectant as his brows furrowed with every slow thrust.

Maeve started to make small circles around her clit as their gaze stayed locked on each other. Aesop’s rolling hips turns into vigorous thrusts and grinds against her as they chased their climax. He brought his lips to hers once more, his breath becoming strained as his hair fell against her face. His thrusts became ragged and clumsy before she felt his whole body tense as he released within her.

She moaned against his lips as Aesop continued to kiss her desperately, as if each one would be their last. Slowly he brought himself to stop, rolling onto the grass beside her, holding her shaking hand.

For a few minutes they just laid there amongst the wild flowers, the only sounds being the whistling winds, lively wildlife and their heavy panting.

“I love you too, you know.” Maeve whispered softly, squeezing Aesop’s hand. His head softly fell to the side so he could look at her, Maeve naturally mirroring him. He just smiled stupidly at her, in a love drunk way, before rolling onto of her to continue showering her in kisses.

#aesop sharp #professor sharp #professor aesop sharp #harry potter fanfiction #fanfic writing

[medicus-mortem]

@chatcambrioleur answered [+]

Despite what many people seemed to think of her, there was very little that Nami didn't handle on her own, before joining the Straw Hats. She was forced to; after all, she didn't travel with any members of Arlong's crew. She preferred to be around them as little as possible, and she didn't 'do' sidekicks. That is, until a certain rubber boy showed up, and she became the sidekick.

Arlong had given her a dagger to handle unwanted attention; if anyone got too grabby with her, he said to use it without hesitation. He didn't give a damn if she killed; the captain likely would have preferred for his navigator to become as ruthless, as bloodthirsty, as he. Nami didn't use the dagger to draw blood, until she used it on herself one, fateful day in Arlong Park.

She had used it to threaten men, surely. Usually, the sight of a woman fighting back was more than enough to scare them away --- she could flail and kick, she could bite, and as a last resort, she would use that knife, to send them running. Seeing her as an unhinged liability, too much of a struggle to make it worth it, they would usually back off.

She didn't have that dagger now, but sometimes, she wished she did. Even with the protection of Luffy, Sanji, and Zoro, it would have been nice, to have something of agency, for herself. A way to defend herself, in case they weren't around. She had Zeus --- but sometimes, her weather powers weren't particularly convenient. Moments could be spent waiting for her clouds and lightning to conjure, while a man, ready to take what he pleased, would act within seconds.

With the Straw Hats nearby, and with Law, as well, Nami didn't feel much of a need to worry. She could sidle up to unsuspecting souls, desperate for a smile or a wink, and snatch a wallet without care. She would have to be hopping to another establishment before long, lest they all realize what they were missing --- but for now, she was having her fun, and getting a few drinks, on top of the beli she was snatching. That is, until one man got a little too pushy. There was always one, wasn't there? One who mistook her flighty flirting as something legitimate; hoping to catch the fly with honey. Honey she had no desire to taste.

She had been polite, at first. Almost ready to pull a 'my boyfriend is waiting' card. The man was already pulling her close, with his hands, wandering below her waist --- and Nami had been ready to call out for Sanji or Luffy. Before her mouth was open, Law was there. Stepping in, and defending her, and she hadn't even asked for him to do so.

The redhead's jaw slacked as she watched, the crack of the man's bone causing her to jolt. The sound of his head hitting the bar made her cringe, her shoulders tensing. Though she wouldn't deny, seeing such a fire from his actions made something flutter, deep within her stomach.

"Oh --- no. No, you don't ... need to ..."

She blinked away some of her awe, a hand landing on the surgeon's bicep.

"I think he's had enough. Uh --- thank you."

   Nami’s hand lands on his bicep, her words beseeching him to lay off. His jaw tightens for a moment, eyes staring at the navigator. Muscles flex under his shirt with his vicious urge to start stamping this dude’s face into indistinguishable slush but Law lets out a breath and shoves the desire away. Might just be going overboard a bit there with the protectiveness. This is enough. The guy certainly won’t be touching anyone for a while.

   “Don’t mention it,” he replies, turning his gaze back to the fool.

   The handsy scumbag is on the ground, whimpering and cradling his broken arm. Law takes a step closer and he scrambles back, the fear in his eyes meeting Law’s cold glare. He doesn’t get far before Law stoops down and grabs him by the collar. He hauls him to his feet with one hand and then nudges him back.

   “Get the fuck out of here,” he growls, waving the pathetic bastard off, and the guy does just that. Scampering off through the crowd of people, some of which have stopped to stare. Law turns his glare to them, gaze challenging before the club goers turn away to get back to their fun and their drinks. Law then relaxes his posture, shoulders once again hunched and hands getting shoved into his pockets.

   “Remind me to give you a couple lessons in martial combat later,” he says, turning back to Nami.

   He knows she’s good with a bo staff, the way she holds her clima-tact shows him that, but he has also noticed Nami isn’t the most combat focused. Maybe she doesn’t need to be because of her crew but Law is of the opinion that everyone on a ship needs to know how to fight. You never know what might happen. There might be a moment when she’s alone, when Straw Hat or any other fighter on her ship isn’t available. In those moments she’ll need to know how to break the hand of someone she doesn’t want touching her.

   “But for now,” he continues, already thinking ahead. If one person decided to take liberties with Nami others will too. Humanity is full of trash like that. “If you want an assist just make a hand gesture. I’ll see it.”

#chatcambrioleur #Captain's Log // Threads #Captain of Hearts // Canon Verse #protective possessive

[yeenybeanies]

Enter the Serpent

repost from my patreon! it's been a looong time since i wrote something with devin. here's a glance into some of their history before arthur :> red dead redemption | devin clarke & the snakeskin man (ocs) 1,526 words warnings of inhuman treatment & forced captivity reblogs > likes!! thanks for reading!! patreon ✨ ko-fi

He was nice. At first, he was nice.

He wore a flashy hat made of rattlesnake hide. No matter his outfit, he always had that snakeskin hat.

The circumstances of their meeting were rather embarrassing. The Snakeskin Man actually saved Devin. They’d been captured and locked up by another human—a fur trader that liked to study exotic creatures in his spare time. He’d taken quite the interest in Devin when he’d found them in one of his traps, as most any human would.

Devin swore that that trader would have vivisected them if they’d been stuck with him much longer.

The Snakeskin Man walked into Devin’s life about two weeks after their capture. The hunter was prone to spells of drunkenness, and the Snakeskin Man happened to enter the hunter’s store during one of them. He was a charismatic man with a voice like liquid silver, and a tongue to match. He spoke almost musically, with an accent from somewhere far away. After only a few words, he had the hunter under his spell.

He was looking for a new coat, he said. Something warm for the upcoming winter. Compliments and praise aplenty for the fine furs the hunter had on display.

Devin was in their usual spot, locked in a bird cage under the hunter’s desk. Whenever someone entered the store, he would nudge the cage further out of view with the toe of his boot.

Today, however, in his drunken stupor, the hunter nudged too hard, and knocked Devin’s cage over. They squeaked in alarm as it toppled and rolled until it was just peeking out from the shelter of the desk. Before the hunter could scramble to scoop it back up, Devin saw the Snakeskin Man, and he saw them. For the briefest moment, they locked eyes, his lighting up in surprise. And then the hunter’s rough hands snatched the cage and shoved it back under the desk, sending them tumbling within its bars. He sounded nervous when he spoke next, but the Snakeskin Man maintained his composure, and carried on as if nothing had happened at all.

The Snakeskin Man ended up buying a coat. He spoke to great length his appreciation of the craftsmanship, the quality, and the unusual fur coloration. So smitten was he with this coat that, according to him, money could not possibly be enough compensation! So he bestowed upon the hunter a little something extra.

What that was, Devin later found out, was a bottle of booze. It was bourbon, according to the label, but its label wasn’t like the other bourbons the hunter often drank. Whatever this was, it must have been good, and it must have been strong. Not even an hour after the Snakeskin Man had made his exit, the bottle was empty, and the hunter was passed out on his couch in the back.

A part of Devin was annoyed, as this meant that he wouldn’t be up to give them food; but another part was relieved that they didn’t have to endure his presence for at least the rest of the night.

Night fell, casting the store in darkness. Devin sat in their usual position, knees hugged to their chest and head bowed, when an unusual clicking noise snapped them out of their thoughts. They couldn’t see from their vantage, but they could hear it just fine. It sounded like someone, or something, was tampering with the door. It unlocked with a solid thunk, and swung open on groaning hinges. Devin’s hands flew up to their mouth, desperate to keep any frightened sounds contained.

Boots thumped on the wooden floors, slowly drawing nearer to the desk. Devin’s body began to shake. There was nothing they could do, nowhere they could hide. They could only sit with their back pressed to the upturned floor of their cage and watch in silent horror as the massive, silhouetted figure of a human stepped around to the desk, head tilted down.

For a second time, Devin locked eyes with the Snakeskin Man.

He lowered himself into a crouch, his gaze never leaving them, and theirs never leaving his.

“I just knew that drunken old fool had something special,” he said. A hand reached for Devin’s cage, finally breaking them from their paralysis. Though there was nowhere they could go, they still tried to run, still tried to squeeze through the cage bars.

“Woah woah woah hey…” the Snakeskin Man cooed. His voice sent a chill down Devin’s spine. They dared not look back at him, though they could hear him fiddling with the lock on their cage. Much like with the lock on the front door, he picked it in seconds. The door fell open, wire bars cracking sharply against the floors. The Snakeskin Man grimaced and spared a glance over his shoulder to the dark room behind him.

Nothing. No movement from the hunter.

“Right then,” he whispered, attention returning to Devin, “I’m getting you out of here.”

Devin hadn’t made a sound thus far, panicking in silence under this strange human, but, as soon as his fingers brushed their skin, they screamed. It was a shrill noise, almost bird-like, and grating to the ears. Those fingers clamped down around them and yanked them from the cage, surrounding them in the complete, suffocating darkness between his hands. Still, they screamed. Around them, they could feel the world shifting. The Snakeskin Man was moving, walking briskly, presumably leaving the store and the hunter behind.

Devin didn’t know for how long he walked. It felt like ages. But they continued to scream and kick and pound and claw against the tough skin trapping them.

Eventually, the fingers moved again. They curled in, squeezing down on Devin’s middle, one of their arms trapped against their side. The Snakeskin man pulled his other hand away, exposing Devin to the night air, and once more to his sharp gaze. Their throat went dry and silent.

“Quite a set of lungs on you, little one,” he said. “You’re shaking like a leaf, too. You’re not scared of me, are you? Surely—hmm.”

Without really thinking, Devin ducked their head and sank their teeth into the flesh between his thumb and forefinger. His muscles tensed around them, but he did not release his hold.

“Now now…” The snakeskin Man lifted them higher, closer to his eye level, “is that any way to treat the man that just rescued you?”

Rescued?

Devin’s jaw relaxed. They lifted their head to meet his eyes, brows furrowed.

“Ah ha. So you do understand. Do you speak as well?”

They didn’t answer. The Snakeskin Man hummed.

“You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you? Just what are you, I wonder? I’ve never heard of tiny people before—not outside of children’s stories and fairytales.” He paused, eyes lighting up. “Are you a fairy?”

What? No. Devin shook their head.

The Snakeskin Man started to walk again, much to Devin’s discomfort. The streets were empty, save for one or two drunkards passed out on the porches. He made for one of the buildings—a hotel, Devin thought it was called. Before he entered, he dropped the hand holding them and stashed it into his jacket pocket. It was stuffy and dusty, and wholly unpleasant, as was this whole situation. Devin chomped down on his fingers again, but still to no avail.

What did he mean by “rescued”?

Beyond the pocket, they heard a door open and close. Then they were pulled out, a little disoriented from  all the jostling.

They were in one of the hotel rooms. It had a single bed, and a desk and chair next to the window. Atop the desk, there was a box that had some cloth scraps and a shallow dish of water. There was also a small dish with some bread and a few pieces of fruit. Devin stared down into the box, feeling their heart drop.

“Now then,” the Snakeskin Man started, “It’s a little shoddy, since I didn’t have much time to prepare it, but it’ll do for tonight.” He lowered his hand and uncurled his fingers, letting Devin scramble free of his grip. They immediately rushed to the farthest point of the box, back to the wall, eyes wide and staring up at him.

“Still not talking, hm? That’s fine. Why don’t you eat up and rest some, and we’ll talk in the morning, yeah?”

Devin glanced down at the offered food. Their stomach growled at the sight.

The walls of this box were tall—too tall for them to jump out of, and too sheer to climb. They were still stuck. This was another cage.

To the Snakeskin Man’s credit, though, he was giving them space and food and blankets. He hadn’t been excessively grabby, either. He certainly hadn’t manhandled and tossed them about to try and inspect every inch of them like the hunter had.

Devin, of course, didn’t trust him. But this was an undeniable improvement from their previous captivity. At least for now.

Once the Snakeskin Man was out of view, Devin tentatively tore off a piece of bread, sequestered themself under the provided blankets, and started to eat.

#g/t #g/t writing #g/t fiction #rdr #g/t rdr #devin clarke #the snakeskin man #this is like a month old i kept forgetting to post it here smh

[f4rlands]

Jimmy is getting a little desperate when it happens.

He’s in the middle of a bustling town, stocking up on preservatives and other supplies for the road, and it’s sweltering. The July sun beats down relentlessly, making everything sweaty and humid in a way that even the wide brim of his hat can’t save him from, and there are bodies all around, shoving their way through the market.

He needs a drink — or to dunk himself in the nearest water source, either works — but the crowds are unyielding, and he can’t seem to find an opportunity to break away to somewhere quieter. The market is alive with chatter, discussion and bargaining from each stall being carried by the faint breeze as Jimmy finds himself following crowds, trapped in their current.

The golden clasp of his cloak is pulled atop the bridge of his nose, covering his gills and scaled with the fabric it holds in place. The star-spattered fabric of said cloak falls around him gracelessly, and he bats at it as it gets caught on his belt once again, the glinting bangles on his wrist chiming as he does so. He’s panting, the makeshift mask worsening the oppressive weather, but there are limited options in such a crowded place.

Tightening the grip on his coin-purse, Jimmy attempts, once again, to part from the sea of bodies and get to a stall, a seat, a water fountain- anything!

He can feel as the staff strapped underneath his pack hums, imploring him to pull it and try just a little spell; something to force everything around him to slow down so he can finally get away. His… history with magic isn’t particularly promising, but he’s been practising! Surely, something as simple as a little messing with the fabric of time wouldn’t be too hard.

The stifling heat has been bugging him for hours now, and Jimmy is certain that he’s beginning to move into dangerous territory. The curse bound to him — the one responsible for his scales, fins and aversion to arid environments like this one; a curse that he definitely didn’t accidentally put on himself — has moved him past the point of simple discomfort. While he’s definitely still parched, uncomfortable and chafing, he’s starting to get lightheaded too, a little too dizzy and moving with a stumbled gait, met with glares and infuriated grumbles.

Okay, he needs to make a decision now: passing out, or magic time. Weighing it up as best he can with heat-muddled logic, the unfortunate risk that comes with passing out — the possibility of being revealed as a curse-bearer and chased out of town like some sort of dark omen —  makes casting something more attractive. And besides, temporal magic is an area he doesn’t dabble in too often — usually preferring to stick with his specialty, transmutation — so it’s a good bit of practice!

Grabbing his staff is easy, it’s second nature, and as he slides it from the loop which has secured it to his back, it begins to glow a faint purple hue. 

Logically, which isn’t an approach Jimmy takes very often, this spell could probably be approached from a transmutative root. After all, transmutation considers changing a subject’s state of being- changing time’s state of being doesn’t stray too far, right?

He lets out a quiet hum, running his carefully covered hands along the staff’s uneven wood. He could build on a fairly simple spell- maybe an altered version of Feather Fall would do the trick? Feather Fall is a basic spell that could curb a person’s rate of descent, or something like that, so he might be able to apply it to time, too? Probably. If he tries really hard.

Jimmy closes his eyes, stopping in the middle of the street to the audible dismay of those behind him, reaching for the magic that has begun to gather under his feet. He draws it up as best he can, trying to ignore the pounding of his head, and channels it, albeit shakily, into the staff. It gathers as he asks it to, with less resistance than usual, and he feels optimistic for a split second.

Something happens, something definitely casts, bursting outwards with a flash of light, and there is suddenly dread pooling in the pit of his stomach. The confidence — the moment of it’ll be okay — fades away in an instant, leaving him cold. Someone shouts, and Jimmy doesn’t want to open his eyes anymore. His mind is still swimming, though, and he needs to get to the water- so he cracks open a single eye, peering past long lashes at the surrounding street.

The terrain around him, stretching roughly five-foot in every direction, has roughened, turning brittle and cracking in the heat. That is… not what he was going for.

The previously swimming crowds of people have paused, vendors going silent and trying to observe the cause of the commotion. Although a largely harmless and common spell, it is certainly not going to help him get away, and the unexpectedness of its sudden casting has drawn eyes. So definitely not helpful for the whole laying low thing, either.

A haphazard circle has formed around Jimmy, glancing at him questioningly, when an unnaturally violent — for the current weather, anyway — gust of wind blows through the area. It feels as though he’s watching in slow motion as the cloak falls from his nose and his hat is creased backwards, flapping in the wind.

Preoccupied by grabbing his hat to stop it from flying away completely, Jimmy finds his aquamarine scales and pointed teeth exposed to the surrounding crowds, fins and gills being put on display by his sudden movement.

There’s a beat, and then a man with dark hair and thick leather gloves grabs his wrist and they’re running through the stuttering crowds of people and into an unoccupied side street.

They weren’t running for long- only ten minutes or so- but Jimmy genuinely feels like he’s going to keel over, so he can only slump to the ground with a frame-racking gag as the man turns to face him.

Through heaving breaths, Jimmy notes the odd streak of green in his hair and the glimmering emeralds swinging from his ears. He’s observing Jimmy rather impartially, tugging at the root-like scarf wound around his neck.

“Sorry about that, must have made the wind a bit too strong.” The man shrugs, and pulls his scarf again to be a little tighter, “I wasn’t expecting your entire disguise to fall through right away, or for you to go straight after that ugly hat- that thing is hideously impractical…”

Jimmy takes another heedy gasp of air, furrowing his eyebrows and glaring at the man. Mercifully, he ignores the comment about his gorgeous hat, which is currently sitting in the dirt of the street, and asks, “you- that was… you?”

“Your little quake was kind of pitiful- I couldn’t not show you up. And besides, it was definitely worth it- you should’ve seen your face.”

Jimmy wants to punch this guy, just a little. Apparently he’s in quite the benevolent mood today however, and it has him deciding that getting water is more important than chewing the other out.

“Do you-” a wheeze, “have a drink?”

Somehow, the man looks put out by the question, as though exposing Jimmy to a huge crowd of people, insulting his hat and mocking his magic isn’t enough reason to share some water. Jimmy is desperately trying to think of some snarky remark about being a fish out of water, when the man reaches to unhook a water canteen from his hip and passes it to him.

He takes four massive gulps, and then pours the rest of the water over his head, maintaining eye contact and rejoicing in the slight glimmer of disbelief that he sees. Despite (or maybe thanks to) the man’s displeasure, the water is incredibly refreshing, instantly allowing Jimmy to perk up, and he hasn’t been this thankful for water in a long while.

“You- hey! That was mine!”

“It belongs to the floor now, lad. Sorry.” He’s not sorry- in the slightest.

The man lets out a few whines of irritation, flailing his hands around before grabbing the canteen and clipping it back in place with a huff.

Finned ear flicking, Jimmy realises there’s no screaming or clamouring coming from the surrounding streets, so it’s more than likely that the people of this town aren’t too concerned by his presence. That’s definitely a positive, and the lack of concern over curse-bearers is true of more places than not nowadays — after all, it’s pretty common knowledge that a curse isn't transferable or contagious — though some areas still fear them as omens. 

It’s to be expected in particularly religious climates, with many ancient scripts detailing people born as warnings, and magical experimentation in general can be dangerous, but that doesn’t make the need for caution any less irritating.

While Jimmy isn’t some sort of predestined harbinger, his own magical experimentation has earned a reputation in his hometown of… wariness — not that his trials often go wrong, of course. His magical prowess is boundless and impressive, the alertness of his spells are just an over-caution. 

Back home, he’s heard folks joking about him being a canary in a coal mine — followed by bad luck and indicative of spectacular disasters. He can vaguely recall a quiet winter day, which saw him slowly meandering his way back from the fields and past the town hall. He’d heard the elders discussing the mishaps that he always seemed to be at the scene of. They’d always say something about how it won’t be surprising when he eventually grows his wings; magic will make an omen of that one, yet. 

If they could see him now, he’s certain it would be almost comical — the traits he definitely didn’t curse himself to manifest are those of a fish, after all, and you can’t find a creature much further from a bird.

Jimmy grins at the thought, flaring his gills and dragging his claws through the packed mud beneath him. Slumped on the floor of the street with water dripping from his hair, he can finally think again, and tilts his head slightly at the man towering above him, “right- now that we’ve outran a possibly angry horde, are we going to exchange pleasantries? I’m Jimmy, what’s your name?” 

The man stares, hair falling in his eyes. “Joel,” he replies with a crooked grin. “There’s a worm on your hat.”

Jimmy rips his gaze to where his hat continues to lie on the ground, letting out a noise of protest at the aforementioned worm crawling on the brim. He grabs it and shakes it quickly, a cloud of dust falling from the hat as the worm flies across the street, then pulls the hat close, cradling it in his arms with a frown tugging at his lips.

“So, what were you actually trying to do? With that spell?” Joel inquires, pointed ear flicking slightly, “for someone seemingly concerned about drawing attention, that was a bad choice.”

Sputtering, Jimmy tries to think of how best to phrase this without sounding like the most incapable wizard in the world- he’s good at magic! Sometimes! “I was- I was trying to like, get the crowd to stop?” The pitch of his voice is steadily rising, and he winces, “I need water - y’know, hah, fish and all - so I was trying to go and look for some.”

Joel blinks, with a look of complete disbelief that sends Jimmy into a stammering ramble.

“I tried to modify a different spell and bam! Before you know it, there’s big old crack in the ground, but the crowd has stopped- so that was a success, obviously- uhm-”

Joel has raised his hands in a stop motion, eyes squeezed shut with an exasperated sigh, “you- you’re telling me that you were trying to mess with time, and all you could muster was a bloody cantrip?” Well, when you put it like that… “That’s- pretty pathetic, I’m not gonna lie to you.”

“Wha- I don’t see you doing any better!” Jimmy defends, “all you did was summon a little breeze- that’s not any more impressive!”

“I could literally murder you and bring you back from the dead right now. With like a sixty-percent success rate on the whole bringing-back part, or something like that.”

Narrowing his eyes, Jimmy stares at Joel a little suspiciously, placing his dirtied hat back atop his head and standing, “but you wouldn’t, of course.”

“Not unless you want an example.”

“No, thank you.”

They stand awkwardly for a few moments, the echo of Joel tapping his boot on the ground being the only noise to permeate the air, until Jimmy clears his throat.

“Hypothetically though, could you necromance me?” The tapping stops, suddenly. “Like, please don’t actually kill me, but it’d be cool, y’know?”

And— silence again. Joel looks slightly jaded and a little disgruntled, and Jimmy can’t help but lament over the fact that this is his fault to begin with — he initiated the conversation!

As Jimmy grumbles about rude strangers, Joel spins on his heel, pushes the hair out of his eyes and flashes a sharp-toothed grin, “are we going then?”

“Huh?” he double-takes for a moment.

Joel is already walking though, calling “come on, Jimmy! I’m not waiting for you,” and Jimmy doesn’t really know what else to do.

What’s the worst that could happen by following him, really? His magic might not be able to affect temporal spheres as well as he’d like quite yet, but he’s still a very skilled, not-at-all cursed wizard, who can, without a doubt, hold his own in a fight.

He nods to himself and calls after Joel, chasing his shredded coattails as they disappear around the corner, “you can’t just respond to a vague inquiry about being murdered by taking said murder-ee to some unknown place!”

It’s all going to be fine.

#cursed wizards au #solidaritygaming #jimmy solidaritygaming #smallishbeans #joel smallishbeans #long post #writes

[cranberryvishnu]

Cranberry - With Bloody Tom and the Coffin Riders... VII

PART VII

The sprint to the building I had selected for myself was not far - but the deep snow made it feel like a bad dream. 

It was the feeling of running with desperate urgency, yet not moving in accordance with my efforts.

I slogged past the locals who had agreed to help in the resistance - but they were woefully unprepared for what was happening. Some of them had pitchforks!

Really?! Pitchforks?! 

We are not pursuing Frankenstein’s monster here! This is a battle for our lives and we have villagers from a Mary Shelly novel assisting us?!

Rubble from ruined buildings littered the dirty snow filled streets mingling with the bright, arterial blood spray and bodies of the unfortunate.

Finally, I reached the structure - it had a low overhanging roof above the front door. Without breaking stride, I leapt up onto a nearby wagon and used it to spring up to the roof.

It creaked ominously under my weight but didn’t break as I lightly ran up the large, pointed roof. From here I was able to get a better view of what we were up against.

I raised my binoculars up to get a better look -  it was not good. We were hemmed in on three sides with the snowy tree-covered mountains at our backs.

Out by the creek, I could see Eli. He was holding something half submerged in the water… it was something - large… it was… hard to see. Then I watched as he pulled a dead enemy up out of the frozen creek by the collar of his coat. 

I could even see the expression of horror frozen on the dead bandit’s face. 

Then - faster than I would have thought possible - Eli whisked the body around like a rag doll and used it as a shield to block a hail of arrows fired from the hillside. The shafts seemed to sprout from the dead man’s body as they struck his chest. 

Casting the dead man aside, Eli drew his Lancaster and fired a series of thunderous shots with deadly accuracy. I could see the antagonists on the hill flail and scramble as they were cut down. 

Behind him about twenty five yards away I saw two bandits break from the cover of the treeline to rush him. They had large, razor sharp machetes drawn and I was not sure that Eli was aware of them.

I snapped my Carcano to my shoulder, sighted briefly and fired - the CRACK, CRACK  tore across the valley - and that act - it woke something up in me.

Like a bubble of ancient vapor from the bottom of a swamp, the memory floated to the surface of my mind.

As I watched the two villains drop loosely to the ground, I was reminded of the way my little ragdolls would flop onto the floor when play time was over and I was called away by my mother and father to tea. 

Just squeeze the trigger once… plop. Twice…plop.

Time for tea.

In the distance I could see Eli was aware of my assistance. He looked my way and tipped his hat, then ran towards another attacking group further to the east.

Maybe he did not need my help. Maybe he would have seen them in time... Maybe not.

I did not have time to think about that - out of the corner of my eye I could see three horsemen approaching. Again, I sighted briefly and fired directly into the chest of the first horse in the trio.

CRACK-A-BOOM!

The poor beast went down in a flailing heap, causing the other two riders behind to crash and tumble into a screaming, thrashing chaotic pile.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

Three more headshots - three more puffs of pink mist spattering the snow - three more rag dolls lifeless - I felt the heady rush of focus - I knew… I knew I could not miss!

Three more targets by the tree line! Without a thought - I was firing.

CRACK - CRACK - CRACK -

Three more headless puppets staggering in mindless circles as they spiraled to the bloody ground with their strings cut.

If I see you, then you are dead!

I heard a shot ring out right behind me - 

BANG!

As I turned to face my attacker - a brigand with a machete who fell across me knocking me to the ground!

I moved swiftly to shove him aside before he… he was already dead!?

There was a smoking hole in the center of his back. Thick, bright oxygenated blood was pumping out of the fatal wound.

I looked left - right… then I looked to the street below and saw…

“Bloody TOM! Thank you - you saved m-”

Bloody Tom didn’t seem in a chatty mood as he responded.

“If you’ve GOTTA be on that fuckin’ roof Cranny - then - watch your damn back!”

As if to emphasize his point he cycled another round into his Lancaster and… and I don’t know how he did this - but without seeming to look, he swung his gun at a 90 degree angle and [BANG!] blew a large hole clean through the skull of an invader who had been taking aim at him from behind a supply crate. 

I saw two more bandits panic and dash away from that position - I felt that excited rush as I brought them into scope - they were so close, and I could feel their fear - it tasted delicious! 

They didn’t have a chance. It was like hitting the side of a barn with the side of a barn… 

CRACKABOOM! CRACKABOOM! Two more floppy little dolls in the snow.

I moved to the highest point on the roof and took refuge behind the chimney as I scanned the open ground beyond the creek looking for Mr. Grimfrost.

#rdr #rdo #reddead #reddeadredemption #reddeadredemption2 #reddeadonline #western #cowgirl #outlaw #guns #rockstar #rockstargames #taketwointeractive #videogame #gaming #virtualphotography #playstation #ps5 #ps4 #cranberryvishnu #cranberry #originalcharacter #reddeadfashion #reddeadcreations #CoffinRiders #BloodyTom #EliWilliams #MrGrimfrost

[jenngerbread13]

Villain Valentine Day 7 - Do Bad Things To Me

Making their way to their room in the Pendants, Kerina’s head spun and thoughts raced as they had just done something absolutely insane. To even continue it. To urge him onwards. Letting him so far into their head with such a palpable pull between them that even they couldn’t deny its existence. Heart pounding in their chest, they closed the door to their room, white-knuckles and shaking fingers gripping the doorframe like a lifeline to help them calm down. They swore, knowing that they’d never forget that moment and yet it felt like a memory being brought up over again and again from their past. His hunger felt so familiar, the thinly-veiled want within him. Something they instinctively knew could only be awakened by very few, of him giving in to his base wants and desires. Their own body and very soul reciprocated that same hunger, wanting him with an intensity they weren’t used to.

I’m going crazy. This is all just mental manipulation and I’m being driven mad by the light, the curse, and by him. He’s nothing more than an enemy I want to know the motives of. Nothing more. They tried to rationalize the sudden intense feelings and why now, they found themselves drawn towards the enemy. Towards him. 

You say that and yet you know you joked around with the BBTC that if you had known Gaius looked and sounded like that under the armor, you might have been persuaded to join their side back in the Praetorium. Their second voice chimed in.

Oh, fuck off. Kerina thought back to themselves and flung their hat, coat, aetherotransformer, and pistol onto the bench before flopping  themselves down onto their bed. Clawing at a pillow, they shoved it under their face and screamed into it as loud as possible in frustration of all the overwhelming feelings.

“Tsk. if I knew that’s all it took to get you screaming into a pillow, I would have kissed you sooner.” 

“Oh, fuck off.” Kerina spat out into the pillow not bothering to lift their head or turn to face him.

Rolling his eyes, he sat down on the bed next to them, crossing his arms over his chest, staring down at their back “You know I’m not going anywhere.”

Turning their head to face away from him so they could at least breathe, they muttered out “What happened to you just observing?”

They could feel him shrug and shift his posture a bit to face them a bit more “Oh, make no mistake, I would have been content to observe your little group flail and flounder until finally we could continue with the rejoining. However, when it was clear you not only remembered your past but remembered me, I couldn’t help myself in being greedy. Surely you understand how finding a kindred soul in a sea of those who don’t understand you feels, Hero.”

Absently fixing their hair, not used to the length it had started to grow to, they continued to speak in a hushed tone “I’m not the type of lover you’re probably used to.” 

Rolling over to sit up and stand, they walked away from the bed, grasping their arms close to their chest, clearly nervous. He could see that but stayed where he sat, watching, knowing they were thinking about how to say what they wanted to say. She’d always had issues confessing her feelings and emotions. As much as things changed, she always stayed the same, even in this broken form. She would always be herself and no one else.

“Not to say I don’t have any experience,” Kerina continued, still standing, shifting from foot to foot in the middle of their room, “I’m so used to everyone thinking that because of this curse and what I’ve done, I’m good at everything I do. So many weird stares and proposals. I’ve not even had time to entertain casual romance for the most part let alone develop any skill in that area. I will admit it’s one area that I don’t have much of a clue of what I’m doing. Hells, I don’t even have anything that could even be remotely considered appealing insofar as clothing both outer or underwear.”

“You’re telling me with clearly how much care and pride you put into your appearance you have absolutely nothing in that dresser of yours that you’d look attractive in?” he scoffed, getting off the bed and wandering over to the dresser, starting to rummage through the drawers which opened up to reveal prisms showcasing tiny images of what lay inside “I’ll be the judge of that.”

Shaking their head they stood, watching him stand there at the dresser, pulling various prisms out, turning them this way and that before leaving five placed atop the dresser. “I understand that you are not of the typical pedestrian crowd when it comes to wanting to look attractive, by way of ‘the more you show, the more attractive you feel’. However, you are still quite attractive, My Dear Hero, and I think this would showcase that quite nicely still fitting within your stylistic tendencies.”

Hesitatingly, they walked over to the dresser, feeling him place a hand on their lower back as they looked over the prisms “Only if you want to, however. I shan’t ever force you into a decision on my account.”

Turning around they stared up at him, a smirk on his face and a look in his eyes that they could only attribute to affection. That slightest upturn in his cheeks, and the relaxation at the corner of his eyes and brows that gave it away. They placed a finger on his chest a few ilms below the large charm on his collar. “In that case, would you perhaps do me one teensy favor?”

“Oh?” His eyebrow arched, eyes still locked onto theirs, curiosity mixed with mischief as the muscles on the upper sides of his face tightened instinctively, betraying his thoughts.

“Since you know far more about it than I do, I’ll trust your judgment as well on perhaps securing me some… nicer undergarments?” They couldn’t stop the blush spreading across their face, turning their head downwards to hide their embarrassment at admitting something so intimate.

They felt him tugging at something behind them, and felt the warm soft flesh of his hand tilt their chin up to look at him, his face now mere ilms from theirs, his breath ghosting across their face as that same mischievous look still held. “As you wish, My Dear Hero. Do know that no matter what you wear, you will always be attractive.”

Eyes widening at the feel of his skin on theirs, his long, slender fingers spreading out to gently graze down their throat, teasing the chain of their necklace with his thumb. They knew he could feel them swallow their breath as they stood nearly motionless, gazing back up at him, paralyzed by the intensity of what they felt.

Barely breathing, their voice came out no louder than a whisper “Why do I have a feeling you want to do bad things to me?”

An absolutely ravenous feral grin crossed his face as he lowered his head, placing his lips so close to their neck they could feel with every slight movement how they grazed their skin. “Oh, My Dear Hero, you read me so well. I want to do absolutely, terrible, wicked, filthy things to you. I want to render from you every last mote of breath in your lungs as I make you cry out in ecstasy.” Grabbing them tightly around the waist, pulling them flush against him he heard them squeal in surprise as he continued “Leave every single bit of your fragile existence etched with me seared into its memory.”

Just as quickly as he had descended on them, he released them, raised his right hand and snapped, as lacy fabric descended from the air onto their bed. “A precaution, My Dear Hero, only wear that should you want to signal to me that you accept my offer. I of course will give you time to think it over. Take care.” 

Quickly putting his leather glove back on, he opened up a portal, leaving with his signature wave, while Kerina stood there, grasping at the dresser to steady themselves and breathing heavily. How dare he. How could he just get past their defenses so easily and leave them weak and breathless. Leave them stuttering for words as if they weren’t strong. Defiant. In control. They placed their own hand on their neck, remembering the ghost of his own. Finally someone willing to meet them on their level. Above their level. Willing to challenge them and show them how to break past their self-imposed limits.

Taking large, steady breaths of air, holding, releasing, and holding again in a pattern of eight, eventually they straightened up and released their hold on the glamour dresser. Smiling, they placed the five prisms into a plate and had the mechanism inside the dresser save it. Looking over to the bed, they blushed, still embarrassed that they had asked him for such things. Still, the lace was gorgeous and well made as they brushed their fingers over it, picking it up. They appreciated that he gave them space to get into the right headspace, to make sure that this decision was theirs and theirs alone. Carefully folding it up and placing it in the back of a drawer, they smiled. He truly did see and understand them. He really did care.

#villainvalentine #villainvalentine2024 #emetwol #wolship