the Dark Lord sends the player characters to an altered dimension resembling modernity, full of peace and cheap consumer goods - particularly, a clothing store at a mall - and the party must find their way through it and back to the medieval world of swords and sorcery to continue the fight
Every fantasy is urban fantasy if you try hard enough.
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follow me like the moon (chapter 2)
When Bodhi turns it over to her with a thoughtful, “And how’s everything with you?”—well, Jyn rightfully panics.
“Uh…there was a really hot guy at the diner the other day…well, night. The other morning. Whatever,” she offers, pathetically. After a year of working overnights, you’d think she'd know what to call it.
“Really?” Bodhi asks, obviously intrigued. Because he’s the best, and even if her life is objectively less interesting than his, he still cares about how she’s doing.
“Yep.”
“And?” he presses. “What happened?”
“Nothing happened,” Jyn says, trying not to scoff. “He was a customer. He came in, he ate, he left.”
“Like the proverbial panda.”
“What?”
“The panda. From that joke? ‘Eats, shoots, and leaves?’” Bodhi explains. “Never mind. It’s just a dumb joke.”
(read the rest on AO3)
(start from the beginning)
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I see your bealil with the workout post, I raise you teasing (and probably something more) when they’re working out. Adrenaline can cause many things to happen.
lil bit of Beatrice being down bad horrendously horny, lil bit of Lilith reflecting on her self worth, lil bit of me experimenting with 2nd pov because I don't do it that often. enjoy!
The thing is that you don't think you're not attractive. You get it. Some people on some level may find you aesthetically pleasing. Or they would've, before the whole scales and wings and eyes that shimmer with fire from within. Or they still do, because your partners seem to still like looking at you because they're kinda weird.
A good kind of weird, but weird nonetheless.
But the way Beatrice is looking at you right now.
It's something else entirely.
Beatrice has a lot of different ways of looking. Her smart eyes catalogue a million things a minute, things most people would miss. and right now that hungry, learning gaze is trained on you.
You're not doing anything especially special, just going through your normal workout routine. You've been building strength though, and you know your arms reflect a type of hard won muscle that you've never exactly had before, helped along by three square meals a day for the first time in recent memory. Your back is getting stronger too, it helps with the residual pain from the wings.
"You're staring." You say to break the silence. Beatrice starts, like she wasn't aware of you staring at her through the mirror that takes up one side of your makeshift home gym.
Beatrice clears her throat, sets aside the resistance band she was using (or ignoring in favor of staring at you), and steps slightly closer to you. "I was."
You don't bother to pause your curls, opting to track Beatrice's movement in the mirror behind you instead. "Why?"
"You're rather," Beatrice steps up directly behind her, with you sitting like this she towers over you in the mirror. Beatrice clears her throat and starts again. "You're getting quite strong, you strike a rather imposing figure."
"I'm not really trying to." You defend, somewhat uselessly, because Beatrice knows this best of all. You're alike in this way, the need to be able to protect your loved ones, a drive to feel useful in any way you can.
Beatrice puts a soft hand on your shoulder. Looking up into the mirror, you make a striking couple, a portrait that your mother would never hang in your ancestral home. Beatrice's unassuming softness, your manufactured intimidation.
The hand on your shoulder moves, sliding across to your cheek, pulling your head towards Beatrice. The weight in your hand is abandoned, clatters to the ground as you have better things to do. You reach out to haul Beatrice up into your lap.
Beatrice's hungry eyes glimmer with something sharp, like she's gotten exactly what she wanted, like she's won a game you weren't aware you were playing. "How much can you lift?" Beatrice asks, breathlessly.
"I could lift you, easily."
"For..." Beatrice pretends to calculate something, "30 minutes or so?" And oh you're so in love with her.
A wolfish grin. "Oh, I don't think it'll take that long."
Beatrice's hands run along the edge of your shoulders, feeling and scratching and driving you mad. "No, no I don't suppose it will."
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