#on my display its a little more red than orange but you will have to imagine

[sensationseekng]

devastating break up? why not drink too much and fuck your ex?

(part 1/2)

#edizzy #edward teach #blackhands #on my display its a little more red than orange but you will have to imagine #I AM SO PROUD !!! #our flag means fanart #izzy hands #cw alcohol #cw substance abuse #blackbeard #our flag means death #where is the messy fanfiction ????? #redid the mouth no less than 8 times #go big or go home #handsenjoyer

[some-bunniii]

My Charming Red Savior [5]

・❥ You make a deal with Alastor, uh oh?

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |

x: i actually enjoy alastor’s room a lot, esp that little pocket dimension he’s got going on. thought we’d take a chapter and play around with it!

~ 6.1k words

When you stepped into Alastor’s room, the last thing you expected to see was the opposite wall divulging into some swampy void of tall, dark trees as fog rolled across the grass. You swore you could even hear the faint sounds of bullfrogs calling across the flooded expanse.

A bayou in the middle of the hotel? Alastor must have done this, no doubt. Stopping just past the threshold to the large room, you pointed a questioning finger towards the swamp. 

“What is that…?” 

“Just a place to test my powers,” Alastor brushed past you, and the soft, orange lights nearby flickered to life as he entered beside you, “Somewhere the consequences of my actions won’t affect the outside world.”

“Consequences?”

“Correct,” Alastor seemed to be enjoying educating you on magic and what he was capable of, as he continued to undo his coat near the doorway as you explored, “The limits of my powers continue to expand, and anyone with a good head on their shoulders would do well to understand the potential risks involved when playing around with demonic forces. This is a sanctuary I can do that without causing chaos inside the hotel… and a quaint little view as well.”

“Is it real?” Your gaze skimmed across old black-and-white photos of demons you didn’t recognize.

“An illusion carefully crafted with years of work. I’ve fine-tuned it to display scenes closest to my memories from before.”

“It must remind you of home,” you said softly, eyes tracing an alligator skeleton nailed to the wall, a string of small, flickering lights snaking around its ribs and up its tail. 

Even if Alastor never mentioned it without a little prodding, it seemed as if his old home on Earth was something he continued to keep close to him. He still had a passion for music, for southern food, and his drive to keep everything the way it was only further displayed his fondness towards his life on earth. What wasn’t there to miss when you’d end up in a place like this for eternity?

“Indeed,” Alastor nodded slowly, and you watched his signature red suit slip slowly down his back. Underneath, a crimson dress shirt shimmered softly in the ambient light. Thin, leather straps hugged tightly across his chest and back, before wrapping around his shoulders for one and down his sides to latch tightly on his dress pants. 

The chest suspenders accentuated his slenderness, shaping the pointish frame of his suit to lovely lines like the noticeable curve of his hips. His thin, feminine waist was as prominent as ever with the straps keeping his shirt nestled tightly against his skin, revealing a more sophisticated figure than what his tuxedo suit had to offer.

Wowie.

You prayed Alastor would turn around to face you, only so you could see how yummy he looked from the front while he placed his signature red coat onto the hanger next to the door. You struggled to keep your eyes up as they traveled farther and farther down his firm back until—

Wait, a second. Was that small, dark red tuft of fur that was nestled against the small of his back, actually what you think it is? 

It jutted out from the top of Alastor’s pants, relaxed against the tight fabric. As the demon walked towards the bookshelf, arm raising towards a vintage radio, it swished cutely behind him. You zoned in on the ball of fluff, mouth slightly agape.

TAIL!

Heat instantly crept onto your cheeks, your fingers twitching, itching to reach forward and wrap your fingers around the plush fur. Alastor’s tail looked as soft as his ears, and that made your face only boil hotter as you imagined how his hair must feel similar. The thought of burying your face in him like a pillow made you smile dopely, before the realization of what you were thinking made you clamp your lips into a thin line.

Smacking a hand over your face, you tried to hide your embarrassment as Alastor moved a few feet further away, completely oblivious to your flustered figure ogling him.

What was wrong with you?! Here you were supposed to be helping him with his wounds but instead you were too busy drooling at how pretty he was!

Alastor’s tail was much more reactive than his ears, and as his fingers fussed with the radio dial, the increasingly audible jazz tune that began to waft through its speakers had that tuft of fur beginning to rise. White peaked from his underfur, as it slowly lifted in a silent expression of pleasure from the demon, as the music began to pour from the radio crystal clear.

You could understand why he was so intent on keeping it hidden underneath his suit. It didn’t seem like Alastor had complete control of his tail, and there was no doubt he saw it as a ‘weakness’ that other powerful demons could use against him somehow.

You thought it was adorable, and somehow, you’d convince Alastor of that too. 

A gentle jazz beat with words you didn’t recognize wafted through the air, as Alastor turned to face you with a satisfied grin. Your eyes instantly shot up to meet his own, but not in time for the demon to notice your strange, heated demeanor and the way you cracked a quick, innocent grin. 

He definitely caught you staring at his ass, and now you had other things to stare at with how snug that leather strap was across his upper body, and the way it seemed to only make his chest puff out even more. You definitely weren’t having a hard time controlling your gaze as Alastor sidled to the desk, a playful glint from his monocle as his eyelids lowered slightly. 

“Find something of interest?” He hummed, cracking a charming smile as he slid his claws gently across the oak desk’s surface, tracing lines downward until he landed at the top drawer. Pulling it open as you averted your gaze, eyes searching for anything of interest.

“Why, yes,” you nodded, putting a hand to your chin in dramatic thought as your attention landed on the bookshelf Alastor had just moved away from, the rows of books on full display, the titles unreadable in the dim light.

“You love to read, unsurprisingly.” You smiled as Alastor pulled a small medical kit from the drawer, turning to face you slowly, “Do you have a preferred genre?” 

“Murder mysteries are a favorite of mine,” He nodded, striding over to the twin vintage cushioned chairs that sat next to the fireplace, “The fear and the adrenaline that spikes through the protagonist as they try to find the killer before the killer finds them, a thrilling hunt from both sides.”

Alastor giggled at that, placing a hand to his mouth as if recalling a fond memory as you slowly joined him next to the fireplace. It flickered with bright green light, licking at the metal railings keeping its size in check as Alastor stood beside the chair, gesturing you to sit.

“You’re the one injured,” you frowned, plopping down into the chair as you took the medical kit from his free hand, “It should be me doing these things for you.” 

“Manners don’t go out the door just because there is blood present, I am still a gentleman,” Alastor replied with a waggle of his finger, before he took a seat near you, his claws tapping against the chair’s arm rhythmically with the jazz music. 

The warmth from the fire had your eyes drooping slightly, exhaustion tickling the back of your scalp. Even though it was technically still early afternoon, almost getting blown up multiple times, meeting the king of Hell who also saved your life, and being in the center of the two power demon’s bickering had drained you. 

Alastor’s room was very serene, the soft jazz lulling you into a tranquility that had you sinking further into the chair. The deep brown, neutral tones of the antique furniture that framed the room, along with the orange lights that flickered softly along the walls were easy on your eyes, and you smiled softly as you unclipped the medical case’s lid and opened it slowly.

With invisible hands, Alastor’s chair moved forward without effort, scraping softly against the dark red carpet beneath before stilling right as his legs were about to brush against your own. Skimming through the contents of bandaids, your attention landed on packaged tiny alcohol wipes and thin white gauze. Placing the two items on your lap, you leaned over and placed the medical kit on a side table nearby. 

Lifting a hand towards Alastor, you beckoned him forward and he slid his fingers into your palm. He leaned forward as you pulled his hand into your lap, one elbow against the arm of the chair, a hand cupping his chin as he watched you tenderly dab his cuts with the alcohol wipe. The smeared blood against his skin was cleaned off as you worked, and Alastor only silently judged you on the strange, affectionate behavior.

Why would you care so much about a few scratches on his hand, when it meant nothing in the long run. It's not like the rose was made out of angelic steel, yet you fretted simply because he could still feel the sting of the thorns on his tender skin.

For any other demon, Alastor would have slapped them across the face with a tentacle for suggesting to look after him in this way. Why would he reveal any kind of weakness to someone who could use it against him, or view him as what, fragile, delicate? That was not something The Radio Demon could have for his image.

Except, your intention was nothing but pure since the first time Alastor had met you. Even Charlie, the sweet and naive woman he’d come to grow fond of, still had her reasons for treating Alastor with great kindness. He was beneficial to her hotel’s success, and as long as he felt welcomed, he’d help her turn her dreams into reality. Since he began climbing the political ladder of Pentagram City, anytime someone wanted his presence was to use him. 

You, on the other hand, had no ulterior motive. Even when you learned from your friend the terrible things they claim Alastor committed, your curiosity and kindness towards him never faltered. 

You had never asked for his help, even going so far as to deny his assistance when it came to putting that snobby boss of yours back in line. Every time the two of you had crossed paths, it had been him initiating the meeting, him making the first moves for you to notice his presence, him seeking you out. 

And now, even seeing Alastor in any kind of vulnerable state, your soft and gentle demeanor didn’t waver, didn’t dull knowing he wasn’t a second-to-none overlord that could take on any threat as he’s so valiantly demonstrated before.

You didn’t value him any less for his injuries, and in truth, your image of him only improved knowing he was just a man in demon form. Someone with insecurities, human emotions like pain and jealousy, and a good eye for flora.

Except, Alastor wished you’d be paying less attention to his grievous wounds, and instead of focusing on the question you were rudely interrupted trying to answer this morning. 

“Come to a decision on your stay at the hotel?” 

Your hands halted in mid-air, the gauze between your fingers while you had been finishing up wrapping his fingers with the white tape. You had been thinking this whole time about different haircuts to subtly introduce Alastor to improve the only slightly lacking feature on his figure.

“Well–I, um, about that…” you started, grimacing at the way the words fell out of your mouth were scrambled under his intense gaze, “I have been thinking, but I mean, there’s a lot to think about. First off, while I believe Charlie really has something going on here with the hotel… I don’t think I fit the criteria.”

“Of course you do!” Alastor chuckled, as if you had just said the silliest thing to have graced his ears, “If a harlot and that slithering simpleton have a chance at leading a virtuous existence, then I'd say the cards are in your hands for that too!” 

You were about to open your mouth, before he leaned back into his chair, slipping his bandaged hand out of your grip and back to his side to inspect it carefully. 

“And, I’m quite confident you could find a more fulfilling job here at the hotel, instead of under that spineless wretch of a man,” Alastor continued, reclining back into the chair as he tilted his head in thought.

“Probably…”

“Not to mention, complimentary room and board? My, you’ve got a very tantalizing offer right in front of you, any sorry bloke off the street would be jumping at the opportunity you’ve been given.”

Was that true? Alastor was really selling this to you, and you reached up a hand to soothingly scratch your neck as you thought. Would it be so bad to stay here? 

Your thoughts from earlier this morning replayed in your head. There wasn’t anything specifically keeping you from denying the offer. You worked a dead-end job around people you were uncomfortable with, the place you were renting was small and falling apart, and you had nobody holding you back. Your friends were there, but weren’t close in your circle. Which kind of meant you didn’t have a circle… except these new demons at the hotel. You were warming up to them, and they weren’t too bad.

Did you really have a shot at redemption? Were you worthy of eternal happiness?

What if having such made you a laughingstock, what if joining these people made you a target of Heaven? That wouldn’t be good, and you were a nobody with no power that 

“Al…” You sighed with a groan, placing your head into your hands. Why did you have to be so indecisive?!

“Why don’t we make a deal?” Alastor's smile cracked wider, the curves of his lips becoming sharper as an unreadable expression crossed his eyes.

“A deal?”

“Just a simple thing,” He smiled innocently, leaning  “No contract or handshake necessary, I believe you are trustworthy to hold up your end with just words.”

God, he was super close to you now, practically nose to nose as he looked at you expectantly. A playful glint shimmered in his red monocle, and your breath hitched at his proximity. 

“What kind of deal?” You finally whispered, heat creeping onto your cheeks.

“You want to learn my interests, want a peek into my life above, hm?” He inched closer to you, smile widening as you leaned backward, “If I take you directly to the source, show you life as I lived it, then you must move to the hotel and stay for one month.”

‘Source’? What did he mean by that? And, if you agreed, you had to stay for a month? But, he was going to open himself up and share his past life with you, which meant a lot to you. 

His eyelids lowered again, something you had noticed earlier when he caught your ogling. Were they lowered in amusement? Some amateurs attempt at bedroom eyes? You could hardly think straight with how close he was to you, a hundred routes of where things could go next skimming through your mind.

Maybe that was just a delusion of yours, wanting Alastor to show more interest than just pretty flowers and a ring that he seemed to sport on you just for show. You barely knew the man, but his kindness and, oh, and that voice… you were just so impatient.

Alastor wasn’t a big physical romantic, you could tell. Which meant you needed to take things slow, respect his space and his pace. He flustered so easily when you complimented him, obviously new to the whole romantic thing in general, and that only made you want to do it again.

Which meant, it would be you that would have to make some moves this time. Even if they were small, it seemed any act of affection would send the deer demon into a tizzy. A kiss on the cheek? Too brazen. A flower crown for his antlers? A little too cottage-girly for him, perhaps.

“I enjoy your excitement at my proposition,” Alastor broke you from your thoughts, as he smiled widely at your dopey expression again, “But I’ll need you to agree with words, darling.”

You really needed to learn to keep your facial expressions in check, it was embarrassing how easily Alastor had been able to catch you mid-daydream so easily. 

“...Okay.” You finally whisper, and energy crackles inside the room right as the words leave your lips.

“Wonderful!” Alastor beamed, rising from the chair in one smooth motion, his good hand wrapping around your forearm suddenly before pulling you up beside him.

Blinking, you felt him slip an arm around yours before tugging you across the room. The jazz from the radio seemed to increase in volume the closer the two of you stepped closer to the pocket dimension a few feet away.

You halted right at the edge, the croaking from the frogs, and distant calls of the owl grew louder as you lifted your head towards the looming trees. The sky was starless, a large, dark blue shadow masking the scene at night as the fireflies danced. What was Alastor planning?

“Just a moment, I need to grab my cane,” he left your side, walking back to the fireplace as your gaze stayed frozen on the swampy atmosphere ahead. 

You leaned forward, trying to get a better look around the weird little pocket-dimension. Even the air inside changed, you could practically taste the humidity in the air as it began to stick to your forehead.

Did the grass still feel like grass, even in a powerful illusion like this? You had no idea Alastor was capable of this kind of magic, especially such vivid scenery. Slowly, you lifted a foot over where brown wood melted into greenery, still hesitant to touch the strange grass.

You held a breath as you crossed the threshold, the sounds of grass crunching beneath as you walked into the wetland. You could feel the water in the soil squelching as you walked slowly, towards nowhere in particular as you twisted your head at the unfamiliar area. 

Thick, swampy vines curled around large trunks and snaked into deep, mucky waters. The way was illuminated by the flickering bodies of fireflies as they danced almost rhythmically to the soft jazz in the background. Sometimes, the surface of the water nearby would ripple, and you swore the shadow of a long body of something stalking underneath the surface passed right next to you.

When you turned to face the line of trees in the distance, two pairs of glowing, yellow eyes met yours. A silhouette of a four-legged creature, tall with branching antlers that tickled at the leaves above its head. The two of you locked eyes for a few moments, and you opened your mouth slightly in awe as it stood elegantly before you.

“My, you are quite a wanderer!” A chipper voice exclaimed behind you, and you pivoted with a yelp to face the static-laced voice smiling softly toward you.

“This place is really amazing,” you laughed, twisting your head to find the buck had disappeared, “It actually feels like we’re back on Earth, almost.”

“It gets better,” Alastor hummed beside you, extending a hand that you accepted with gentle fingers as he grasped you softly.

“Well, how do I look?” He leaned closer to you, puffing his chest slightly as you skimmed across his pretty figure.

Your hands tentatively lifted to adjust the slightly angled black bowtie near his collar, and Alastor only watched you carefully as you fixed it back into place. 

“Perfect,” you sang with a smile, and he mimicked your expression with glee.

“Always a charm, my doe.” Alastor winked, before he slid his arm through yours once more and stood shoulder-to-shoulder beside you. 

His smile was playful, as he glanced at you standing tense beside him. You had a sneaking suspicion he was going to teleport you again, or do something magically stomach-twisting that had you wishing for a paper bag on the side.

“Now, close your eyes…” 

You followed his instruction, squeezing them shut with a deep breath.

You barely had time to exhale before the wind around you turned to a deathly chill, and the humidity was zapped from the air as that familiar feeling of weightlessness had you tightening your hold on Alastor.

You felt him shifting beside you, although you couldn’t imagine into what as your eyes stayed shut tight, cold gripping at your shoulders. It felt like the ground was alive, transforming right beneath you with barely a tremble as you held your breath tightly. 

Then, your ears popped and you felt the grass beneath your feet shift to firm, rocky pavement. There was music, jazz again, but this time the words were audible as women's voices sang with the bumping rhythm. 

‘I’m just a little Jackie Horner,’

‘Since I met my sugar cane,’ 

“Are you going to keep your eyes shut the entire time?” Alastor prodded beside you, his tone laced with amusement as you relaxed slightly at the sound of his voice. 

Taking a deep breath, you crack an eyelid, the darkened atmosphere easy on your vision as you slowly open your eyes to reveal a scene straight out of a history book. 

You were standing in the middle of a cracked, paved road, illuminated by a stretch of tall lamps that cast warm orange tones across the street. Buildings with tall shutters for windows beckoned an invisible finger for you to follow, as spicy, southern food hit your nostrils and the sounds of riled entertainment reached your ears.

‘I left a light lamp on that old corner,’

‘For the moon in lover’s lane,’ 

They all held porches that spanned the entire front of the house-sized buildings. Darkened, silhouetted figures laughed above your head, as you stood there in awe. 

There were a few cars parked on the sides of the street, with thin, flimsy wheels reminding you of distant times when vehicles were just starting to reach the public eye. 

It really felt like you had stepped into the past, everything reminisced to a world before TVs, social media, and WiFi. When newspapers and radios ruled supreme, people came together and danced on the streets instead of dancing behind the camera on silly apps. 

‘When I take my sugar to tea,’ 

‘All the boys are jealous of me,’ 

“Welcome to New Orleans in Roarin’ Twenties!” Alastor beamed beside you, gesturing to the long row of storefronts, the air humming with lively energy and pulsing with vibrant rhythms of tunes long forgotten. 

You jumped at the sound of a baritone horn blaring from beside you. A steamboat filled with flickering lights and singing, boisterous voices chugged past you, its large wheel churning as water cascaded from the paddles. 

A figure turned to you, masked in shadows before they raised an arm and waved across the water towards you. Your lips curved wider with a smile, before lifting a cautious hand and returning the gesture.

‘When I take my sugar to tea,’ 

‘All the boys are jealous of me,’ 

You felt someone bump into your shoulder, another one of those mysterious figures that filled the street. 

“‘Scuse me, miss,” the stranger tipped his hat apologetically to you, bowing slightly as he brushed by.

‘So I never take her where the gang goes,’ 

‘When I take my sugar to tea,’

You twisted your head to finally get a good look at the strangers around you, before your eyes widened at the sight of a doll-like man, his mouth sewn into a wide smile. Black buttons glinted at you from where his eyes should have been, as the man placed his hat back on and turned away. 

You didn’t have time to process the sight before Alastor was pulling you down the street, a live band played outside one bar, the paint mashing keys to a much faster rhythm as two women swung each other across the sidewalk with laughter and the clicking of heels. 

Alastor pulled you along until the two of you stopped at a bakery storefront. Shadowed puppets flowed around you, as your eyes landed on a steaming plate of deep-fried goodness sitting patiently on a table right outside the doorway. 

“Beignets,” He hummed, handing you a pastry, “A cultural classic in these parts.”

‘I’m a rowdy dowdy, that’s me,’

It reminded you of a tiny pillow, sugar coating its surface as you squished the crunchy delicacy before lifting it to your lips.

Taking a bite, the warmth of the bread bloomed across your body as the food traveled down your throat. Your tongue reached out to swipe at the leftover sugar hanging on your lips, as you smiled with pleasure. 

‘She’s a high hat baby, that’s she,’

Alastor only watched you with a soft expression, a hint of amusement in his eyes as he watched you fill your mouth.

“You seem to be enjoying that,” he remarked, a hint of satisfaction in his voice.

You nodded enthusiastically, your mouth still partially occupied by the delicious treat. “It’s amazing! I’ve never tasted anything like it before,” you exclaimed, your words muffled by the pastry.

“Well, there’s a lot of things you have yet to experience, my doe!” He sang, before tugging you along with a static-laced chuckle.

As the two of you strolled down the bustling street, your eyes caught a small crowd surrounding a man in a tall, black hat as he smiled charmingly at the audience.

The magician, dressed in a dapper suit adorned with intricate patterns, stood before a small crowd, his hands moving with precision and finesse as he dazzled onlookers with his feats of magic.

Curiosity piqued, you and Alastor paused to watch the spectacle unfold. The magician’s fingers danced across a deck of cards with effortless grace, manipulating them in ways that seemed impossible. Cards vanished into thin air only to reappear in unexpected places, leaving the crowd gasping in amazement.

Alastor only glanced at you unamusingly, and you laughed softly at his facial expression. Magic card tricks were nothing in comparison to what he was capable of, and you were sure he could wow this illusionary crowd in a heartbeat.

The two of you turned, halfway down the street now, as Alastor pointed at a few different sights. He even introduced you to instruments you’d never heard of before as the two of you continued on. 

“Have you ever performed?” You turned to him, another southern treat in your hand as you kept pace underneath the gas-lit lamps above. 

“On the streets? No, not like this,” Alastor shook his head, his nails clicking against his cane rhythmically with the music wafting from a bar nearby as the two of you stood near the edge of the river. 

You had gotten your hands on a small cup of Duchess Potatoes, a light, creamier version of the classic spud. Placing a small spoonful in your mouth, you swirled the flavors across your taste buds as you watched Alastor stare out at the open expanse of water.

“Once in a while, I’d stop at an old friend of mine’s jazz club, and on the nights I had a few extra drinks in my system, I'd lend my voice to the flappers as they danced.” 

“That sounds like fun!”

“It was,” He nodded, recounting the memories with amusement, “Mimzy would always tease me that I'd make better use as a flapper than a radio host. Sometimes, I think about life if I would have 

You laughed softly, imagining such a scene of Alastor dancing in a high skirt and fishnets. 

It wasn’t until the doors to a bar at the end of the street burst open, and large instruments were dragged through the threshold and out into the streets. Men gathered, readying their musical weapons for another nightly show as onlookers turned their attention to them. 

“Do you hear that?” He asked with a large, devilish smile as he turned to face the small crowd gathering. Couples glided in, teasing each other as they paired around the pianist and his band of stringed instruments. You watched his ears twitch slightly, twisting towards the rising noises.

“It looks like they are all going to dance!” You replied next to him, and Alastor turned to see interest gleaming in your gaze. He watched you for a few moments, before his crimson eyes landed on a trolly that was moving its way down the large street and towards the band.

You felt fingers lace around your wrist, and the gentle tugging from beside you as you met Alastor’s mischievous gaze.

“Let’s make sure we don’t miss it, then!” He winked, before he pulled you towards the lumbering vehicle. 

With wide eyes, you watched Alastor take a running start and gracefully leap onto the back of the trolley, hanging tightly to the railing as he beckoned for you to join.

You watched for a moment, before taking a deep breath and running to catch up with the trolly. Laughing, you reached out a hand to grasp Alastor’s as you closed in on the back of the vehicle.

You felt a sizzle of magic drag you an inch forward, and your fingers laced with Alastor’s as he pulled you beside him. He snaked one hand securely around your waist as you leaned out from the side of the vehicle, the wind whipping against your face as you watched the street lights flicker past. 

“I used to time myself on how fast I could make it on,” Alastor’s voice broke you from your awe, and you turned your head to meet his gaze, “I’m not sure if I've improved since my younger days.” 

You only smiled softly, the proximity of his touch hot on your mind, but you didn’t speak a word as the trolley continued on its path, the bar’s lights flashing with life as you beelined towards it. 

The trolley was fast, as it sped by the large steamboat, which honked as if in greeting to the passing vehicle. The trolley replied with a jingle of its own, before the boat disappeared farther down the river.

The trolley began to slow a few feet from the band, which you were thankful for, unsure if you had the physical form to tuck and roll successfully had you needed to make a quick exit.

Alastor landed on the pavement with a thump, twisting his grip so he could help you down with both hands firmly placed at your sides. 

“Let’s hurry before we miss it!” He sang, before pulling you along towards the crowd. The pianist thrummed the keys, inciting the dancers to twirl faster and they were lost in a hypnotic bustle of bodies fluidly maneuvering against each other. The sounds of shoes hitting pavement echoed along with the drumming beat, twisting in a tune of its own creation as you and Alastor moved closer.

But, why did it look like he was going to pull you in the center? Weren’t the two of you just going to stand back and watch? 

You didn’t have time to answer your own questions before you were in the center of the dancing couples. You froze with the spotlight on you, the jazz ringing in your ears as your shoulders softly pumped to the music.

Alastor took your hands carefully, his legs beginning to move in practiced motion as you stood there awkwardly.

“I can’t dance!” You squeaked. 

“It’s the Charleston, darling!” His voice cut through the romping rhythm, sending you a charming grin as he began to move his feet, “It’s not too hard, just follow my lead!” 

Taking a deep breath, you tried to steady your nerves as you focused on Alastor’s movements. His feet moved with precision and fluidity, his body swaying effortlessly to the beat of the music. You tried to mimic his steps, clumsily at first, but with each passing moment, you found yourself growing more confident as you fell into sync with his rhythm.

As the music swirled around you, you lost yourself in the dance, allowing Alastor to guide you with gentle precision. His hands were warm and reassuring against yours, his touch sending shivers down your spine as you moved together in perfect harmony.

The sounds of shoes hitting pavement echoed in time with the drumming beat, creating a hypnotic melody that seemed to envelop you in its embrace. The world around you faded away as you focused solely on the dance.

With each step, each turn, you felt yourself letting go of your inhibitions, allowing the music to flow through you like a river. You spun and twirled with glee, lost in the intoxicating energy of the moment, a smile spreading across your face as laughter bubbled up from deep within your chest.

As the song reached its climax, you and Alastor moved as one, your bodies intertwined in a symphony of movement and sound. In that fleeting moment, there was no past or future, no worries or doubts – there was only the here and now, the exhilarating rush of the dance, and the feeling of Alastor’s touch against your skin. 

As the music faded into the night, you found yourself breathless and exhilarated, your cheeks flushed with exertion and excitement. You turned to Alastor with a grin, your eyes shining with newfound confidence.

“I can’t believe I just did that!” You exclaimed, the thrill of the dance still coursing through your veins. Alastor chuckled softly, his gaze warm and affectionate as he tilted his head towards you. 

“You were marvelous, my dear,” he replied, his voice filled with pride. “But then again, I wouldn’t expect anything less from someone as extraordinary as you.”

You returned the smile, a breathless laugh escaping your lips as you swayed next to him. The music was beginning to die, the scene slowly falling away as the grass began to replace the tiled, stone pavement under your feet. 

Never did you imagine you’d find yourself dancing near glistening waters, eating the delicacies that the human world once had to offer. 

Never did you imagine, Alastor would be such a good dancer! And, dancing with you, no less! 

“I think my hunger for information has been quenched, for now,” you smiled playfully, eyes locked onto Alastor as the world around you shifted. 

“Good,” Alastor smiled satisfactorily, before a mischievous glint reflected through his monocle, “Now… I believe it's time to hold up your end of the deal.” 

Right. The part where you had to move into the hotel. One month. Not a year, not forever, just one month. Couldn’t you decide by then? 

Yes, you could. You could come to a decision now, honestly, but something else was itching at the back of your mind. An act of affection that would no doubt get a reaction from the demon in front of you. 

“I think you’re onto something…” You nodded slowly, pulling Alastor's hand toward you with a sly smile.

Alastor’s eyebrows furrowed at your behavior, as his fingers lifted closer and closer towards your lips. 

With gentle reverence, you pressed a soft kiss to each of his fingertips, your lips lingering against his skin for a moment longer than necessary. Alastor’s breath caught in his throat, a startled look crossing his features as he watched you with wide eyes.

Finally, the roles had reversed. 

For a brief moment, the world seemed to stand still as you held his hand in yours, your lips leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. The touch of your lips against his skin sent a fire igniting inside Alastor, one he was struggling to contain. 

A flush of color spread across his cheeks, a rare display of vulnerability that took you by surprise. His usual composed demeanor faltered for just a moment, revealing the depth of emotion hidden beneath the surface.

“Y-you…” Alastor stammered, his voice barely above a whisper as he searched for the right words. But before he could find them, he was interrupted by the sound of laughter echoing in the distance, the moment broken by the world slowly shifting around you.

Clearing his throat and regaining his composure, Alastor withdrew his hand from yours with careful movements. 

“Well, I suppose we should be getting your things,” he said, his tone carefully neutral. But the faint blush on his cheeks betrayed the lingering effects of your gesture.

Behind him, the fireplace illuminated the non-magical side of Alastor’s room, the vintage clock displaying arms that had barely moved an inch since you left on your little adventure. 

“Seems so,” you replied with a honeyed tone, batting your eyelashes at him as he adjusted his bowtie with clumsy fingers.

If you had looked down while flustering the poor man, you’d have noticed his tail high, white fur on full display behind him. Instead, you brushed past him and back into the confines of normalcy.

awwww man, we made it, alastor finally has his girl staying at the hotel! and a lil kissy kiss :3

i hope you guys could understand what was going on lmao i spent like an hour or two looking up pictures of new orleans, southern food, and steamboats 😂

thank you with your patience on this part, have a great day! 🤍

tags 1/2 🏷️

@the-tortured-poet @anonymousewrites @coleisyn @froggybich @chewbrry @watchinthestarz @mechanicalmari @luxmessorem @kottenox @cherry-cola-100 @the-shark-named-sharon @rae-pottah @just-trash-yeah-thats-it @corpsebridenightamare @pweewee @nijiru @ourfinalisation @anuttellaa @nonetheartist @bunnypeew @cryptidghostgirl @hxzbinwrites @lunaramune @enigmatic-blues @thytorturedpoet @vanhelsingsbigtoe @mixplara @blue122 @zardward @loser-bby @sirens-and-moonflowers @diaouranask @luzzbuzz @theredviolets @the-attention-whore @girl-nahh-two @moonmark98 @asianfrustration13 @fairyv-ice @missam @beezgobuzzbuzz @valentique @dory-98 @mo-0-o @willow404 @karolinda007-blog @nightreverie @luujjvi @amoraneuro @kimmikreates

#hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor x reader #hellaverse

[tinydeskwriter]

Lando NorrisxWolff!reader

words: 2825

requested: no

A/n: This is going to be a multi-chapters, most of the chapters won't be social midia or something. It is going to 'follow' the 2023 F1 season. Reader is Toto's eldest child by a fictitious ex- first wife. I just watched Break Point, with is another sport Netflix docuseries from the same producing company that makes DST, and since then I have this idea of a prodigy tennis player reader.

next part»

GQ 10 things Y/n Wolff can’t live without

“Hi GQ, I am Y/n Wolff and here are my essentials.” The young woman opens her arms looking at the objects displayed on the table, before looking up and smiling to the camera.

# Sugar

“My trainer may not agree. My coaches may not agree. My performance coach may not agree. My parents definitely don’t agree.” She points out, “But I need sugar.” The young woman brings to the centre of the table a small pile of sweets, a tall cup of caffeinated drink and a can of Red Bull, “I live of sugar and… sugary things…”

“My day starts with this lovely peppermint iced mocha sweetened with vanilla sugar… a ton of vanilla sugar.” Y/n laughs taking a sip of her drink “I am weirdly obsessed with mint and chocolate combinations…” She comments looking at the camera, “I drink perhaps two or three of those per day,” The young woman then places her hand over the top of the Red Bull can, most people who follow her already know that she is an athlete sponsored by Red Bull, “sugar-free Red Bull, which ironically is sweeter than the regular one.” She puts her hand on the pile of chocolates, “Milk-chocolate, I am not going to lie and say that I eat the healthy stuff, I don’t, I have the taste buds of a child,” the tennis player smiles mischievously at the camera, “right now I am really into this Finnish chocolate, Geisha and the blue Fazer, daddy always keep those in his offices for me.” She wrinkles her nose a little, giving the camera a lovely—childish—smile.

“Aero Mint bar, Chocolate Orange, Maltesers, Bounty, Kinder, truffles…I'm honestly starting to wonder how we managed to get through customs.” She laughs looking at her entourage behind the cameras. “This is like… a fraction of what I usually travel with, this is more like what I have in my bag for the day.”

#Photos

Y/n played a little with a golden square object in her hand.

“I travel a lot, I am on the road from January to November playing at tournaments around the world, so I can’t always be surrounded or in touch with the people that I love,” she says in a slightly more serious tone, taking the golden case in her hands and pressing the button to open, showing pile of polaroid photos, “those are mini Polaroids, so I can bring them with me wherever I go, I keep them inside this vintage cigarette case that belonged to my maternal grandmother, she was a absolute rockstar and I miss her very much.”  The camera takes a close-up on the golden case with rope motif and small colourful stones. “As I don’t smoke, I had to find another use for it.”

The first photo she shows is five adults together, smiling around a table, in what appears to be a ski resort.

“I have a very patchwork family, and somehow the adults in my life made it work…which I am very grateful for, not everyone is lucky to have so many amazing parents…so here I have my mum and my two other mothers, Stephanie and Susie, papa and my other father, Phillippe,” the second photo is her with a boy not much younger than her, two teenage girls and a small child in front of a Christmas tree, “my siblings, I have four, I am the eldest whatever way you go, huge flex,” the photo is followed by one of a pyjama party with several girls in matching pyjamas, and another of the tennis player with a blonde in front of the Eiffel Tower, “My gurls! This is my best friend, she is also my PA… so amazing to have someone I trust so much with me all the time…” a golden cocker spaniel with a crystal necklace, silk bows in its ears and a Gucci sweater appears on the screen, “this is Éclair Wolff, my emotional support dog aka my child, she actually goes with me mostly everywhere, but sometimes I leave her with my mum so she won’t be stressed by the long flights.”

She points to the next three photos, the first has the Mercedes drivers in Tommy Hilfinger, posing for the photo. “Lew and Georgie, the adopted older brothers I never asked for, but I love them.” The second photo has three other familiar faces making faces at the camera, “C2, my Ferrari boys, feat Pear, there is something wholesome about good looking men looking so silly, I love those guys and I love this picture, it is very on brand with them.”  The tennis player smiles at the camera. “Sharls, Carlitos and Pear are three of the nicest guys I have ever met, it is truly a blessing be able to call them friends and having them in my life.”

McLaren driver Lando Norris, in his third or fourth season, apparently not even realizing he was having his photo taken, it's a spontaneous photo, the soft sunlight highlighting the driver's profile as he smiles.

“Because of karting, I’ve known Lando since I was a head taller than him, he was my first crush…he was so shy, so adorable, so babygirl coded.” Y/n blushed a little as she shows the photo.

“I think most of the current grid is in here…oh, look, it’s Lance! Friends from life, from tennis…” She quickly changes showing another photo. “I think I easily have about sixty photos here..."

#Camera

“I don’t have a specific camera I like more than the others, but as a rule, I prefer vintage cameras just for the beauty of the final result, I inherited a few, I bought a few, I usually develop the photos when I'm at home for longer periods of time, edit the videos, digitalize a few…” She points to the cameras in front of her, a Bolex, a Digital Bolex, a very iconic Rolleiflex and a Super 8, “It is a very nostalgic experience to just go through a year worth of memories…” She says resting her face in her hand, “I have a hundred boxes with pictures and film rolls.”

“I love going through old pictures with my mom and Cass, my younger sister, from when we were babies, my parents in the 90’s, my mom when she was young, the wonderful life my grandparents lived, and is such a lovely moment to share with my mom.” Y/n has a soft smile on her lips. “One day, when I have my own kids, I want to have those moments with them, and not just scrolling through a phone or an iPad.”

#Journals

“I keep journals since I was a child, I get a new one every year,” She holds up the leather hardcover notebook, a deep indigo blue, a little worn around the edges, “after I turned thirteen years old, I started to get it in this specific shade of blue, with my initials in gold,” The girl opens the journal, leafing through it briefly, “I am never going to write an auto-biography, it’s kind of a little bit too egocentric to my taste,” She knocks it closed, but keeps it up, looking at the camera as she speaks , “but if someone ever write about me, fifty years from now… the facts will be straight, at least from my point of view… but even if no one ever writes about me… when I am old and grey and memory starts to fail me, I will be able to come back to the thoughts of twenty years old me…”

There is a moment of silence.

“That was kind of dark.” Y/n laughs to break the tension.

#Art Supplies

“I love to draw and paint, it eases the anxieties of life,” The tennis player shows the large sketchbook, a small aluminium case with the watercolours, and the rolling leather case with pencils and brushes, “I always bring a watercolour travel kit with my sketchbook wherever I go.”

She displays for the internet some of the landscapes she painted during her travels around the world.

#Hoodies

“I like to be comfortable after a match,” she spreads her arms across the perfectly folded hoodies on the table, “and nothing is more comfortable than a hoodie, feels a little bit like home.”

“I have my collection of hoodies with Adidas, they always provide me with new cool colours to try out and see if I want to add to the next collection,” Y/n opens sage green hoodie, running her hand over her initials and the Adidas logo. “Enchanté by Dani Ric, I have a bunch of those, Daniel is always kind enough to drop them at my house in Monaco, VIP treatment baby.” She points to the white hoodie. “Quadrant hoodies, Lando’s merch, ridiculously comfy, I would really like them in pastel colours or dusty rose… just putting out to the universe…” Y/n smiles and winks at the camera. “Valtteri, MV1… those all came with me for the US Open.”

#Skincare

“This is part of my daily routine.” The girl opens the toiletry bag, taking out the products inside, “I am always in different countries and different hotel rooms, so is nice to have this little sense of routine.”

She lines the pearlescent bottles with opaque round lids on top of the table.

“I launched Muse when I was seventeen years old, it is my skincare brand, and it is very me. I wanted it to be un-complicated and complete,” The young woman explains passionately looking at the camera, “skin is the body’s largest organ, and it is not only your face.” It affects the hair on your face, tucking it behind your ear before going back to the product bottles. “The line goes from body wash to suncream to night-time routine.”  

#Travel Pillow

“If I mess up my neck and shoulder, I am f***ed, my match is over and possibly the tournament.” She holds up a medium-sized pillow to the camera, the pillowcase light pink silk with red buttonholes around the edges and her initials in the corner. “So, this baby goes with me everywhere, it is a memory foam pillow with a silk pillowcase. Best sleep, best hair.”

#Sport Gear

“I generalized here, sport gear, I travel heavy, always,” she points to the array of equipment on the table, “this is my racket, I go to each tournament with around ten of those, just in case I wreak one on the ground,” Y/n passes her hand over the racket, “those are custom Yonex Ezone 98, they made it in Mountbatten pink with some cool pattern and my initials,” she smiles as she pulls the helmet close to her chest, “my helmet, also custom Mountbatten pink, with my initials in rose, I love to try new karting tracks, most people don’t know I used to race karts when I was younger, won a couple of trophies, went as far as F3 before I choose to go pro with tennis, car racing is a huge thing in my family…my dad used to race, my stepmom was a driver, my little brother probably going to be a F1 driver,” she recounts with a smile, “I joked once with my dad that we are at a window that if I have a kid in the next year or two, in twenty years we can have a Wolff’s drivers line-up for Mercedes.” The young woman smirks to the camera. “My dad almost passed out, and now I am not allowed to date until I am thirty.”

#Headphones

“Those are custom made for me, again, they are Mountbatten pink and rose with my logo, super comfortable on the ears, I usually have problems with headphones due to the piercings and earrings, but these didn't give me any problems, they fit well, and I can spend the whole day wearing them." She takes the gadget out of the case, showing the details. “It's not wireless, because I always forget to charge it, so it has a wire, they made this lovely, thick cord that is durable and super resistant,” Y/n wraps the rope around her fingers, “it is noise cancelling and it is always with me before every match as an essential part of my pre-match rituals.”

“The right music kind of puts you in the right mood, I usually go with Eminem in 80% of my matches, I feel like it unleashes my inner fighter, these are matches where I'm not really worried about my opponent, it is just raw and a little bit thoughtless, I just play,” she comments, “when I know that my opponent is going to be hard on the mind games, which is not an uncommon move in tennis, I tend to listen to calmer and more melancholic music, piano, it keeps me in a more peaceful zone, I don’t get pumped up and full of adrenaline, my game tends to be far more calculated…”

 #

“That’s it. Those were my ten essentials,” the young woman smiles, “thank you, GQ, for allowing me to share my essentials, much appreciated, and thank you guys for taking the time to watch it! Much love and see you next time!” The athlete says, blowing a kiss and winking to the camera as the credits shows up.

__________________________________________

2,109,963 views   Aug 29, 2022

978 Comments

 userone

i was todays yrs old when i found out that tennis superstar Y/n Wolff is the eldest child of THE Toto Wolff

            user1

            From what little she talks about her dad here, u just get the vibes that Merce boss Toto is a softie girl dad, he keeps her favourite candy in his offices and forbids her to date until she’s thirty, this is so sweet

haterone

a billionaire’s nepo baby, talking about her millionaire friends and her unrelatable lifestyle and things

usertwo

Y/n’s hair is probably the healthiest hair i ever seen i need her hair routine

userthree

I am so obsessed with her career! I want to see her continue to succeed and be one of the biggest tennis players of all times. She deserves it. Such a talented, humble kid.

userfour

i loved hearing her talk about her family and friends!!! it is so crazy that she is close friends with a bunch of F1 drivers.

            hatertwo

            Not so crazy since she’s literally a f1 nepo baby, her daddy is part owner of Mercedes.

userfive

She's like that one super popular chick in school who's actually a total sweetheart.

usersix

I totally relate to her being a sweet tooth

@userseven

I love that she was not talking to the camera. She was actually talking to the people there behind the scenes

usereight

i love how a lot of these items are usually a stereotype of being pretentious—a vintage cartier cigarette case, a film camera, a leather bound custom hermes journal, art supplies--but she talks about all of them with such genuine interest and attachment that it doesnt seem pretentious at all

usereighteen

U r the one name dropping the brands she uses…

usernine

Her nicknames for Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz Jr and Pierre Gasly… I died dead…

            user9

            The fact that she’s gushing about lando and being so sweet about her childhood crush on him oml

            user10

            Omg it is so cuuute!!! Like, she had a crush on little Lando and not McLaren glow up Lando Norris

            user11

            I used to be so conflicted shipping her with the drivers, because she dates that tennis player, but her insta has a bunch of her and Charles and her and Pierre and her and Lance and it is so cute and kind of gives such soft vibes, those boys look half in love with her in most pictures, also ...the chemistry. but seeing the way she talks about Lando… they r my new diehard ship…

userten  

Are we going to ignore that she confessed that Lando Norizz was her first crush???

            user1

            They would be so cute together… and they ate both single now… at the same time… we can dream…

            user12

            i went ten steps further and in my head, they are already getting married and having cute future Mercedes world drivers’ champions…

user13

 Can we already dream of Lando at Mercedes???

usereleven

Ok… but didn’t Lando once commented like, very briefly, in a McLaren video, that he used to have a crush on a girl that used to go karting with him??? The girl who wore red ribbons in her hair… do you guys know who uses red ribbons in heir hair since she was an actual baby?? Y/n! There is a pic in her insta of her in a karting track with her dad, and she has red bows in her hair…

            user11

            Not gonna lie… It would be kinda of cute if they actually had a mutual childhood crush and then eventually end up together as adults…

next part»

#f1 imagine #lando norris imagine #lando x reader #f1 grid x reader #wolff!reader #lando norris #charles leclerc x reader #pierre gasly x reader #carlos sainz x reader #lance stroll x reader #toto wolff x reader

[edgeray]

Vixen

(Arlecchino x Reader Blurb)

A/N: Last Arlecchino post before I go back to classes. 😿This is a hybrid au! blurb from my poll, and it's likely I won't make a oneshot out of this idea. It's still a really cute concept, so maybe I'll make another blurb of this concept or another hybrid au! idea. concept. Shoutout to @megistusdiary for this adorable idea of Artic Fox Arlecchino! (Love you CEO of Arlecchino!) For those of you guys that weren't entirely... pleased with my 'Arlecchino is not a person' blurb I offer this piece in favor of having my life spared. Future Edit: I call this a blurb, and then proceeds to write 1.4k last night from like 11pm-2am ._. I'll just dub this as a oneshot now. So literally disregard the second paragraph. Not my usual quality, but since it's long enough, it's a oneshot. Content Warning: Pretty OOC for Arlecchino, mentioned but not graphic injury, 2.2k words

Arlecchino is as beautiful as snow.

It's the first thing you've noticed when your eyes laid upon the hybrid Harbinger. Beneath the silky snow-white fur and graceful, cordial appearance, you recognize that a predator laid underneath her exterior; a feral fox ready to lash at anything that so much as touches what was deemed hers. You don't let her sleek, fluffy coat distract you from her red-crossed eyes or her black claws.

Still, it is futile to deny her beauty.

You recall your first meeting with her in Snezhnaya, trudging through its frosty forests in nearly knee-deep snow. You don't quite remember what your purpose for being there was, though you ventured out to the wilderness behind your home often with no real purpose. Snow crunching underneath your boots, you admire the pristine, white landscape that no other place in Teyvat could display.

Here, your sight is met with a frost-covered plane, a frozen river cutting between you and a forest, the silhouette of a grand mountain behind the conifers. The sun hangs low, just above the peaks of the mountain, painting the sky as a gradient of topaz oranges and honey yellows. The only noise that fills the air is the whispers of the occasional winter breeze, blowing through your hair and making you shiver. Captivated by this picturesque scene, you simply stand and observe what's around you, your stare unbreaking.

That is until your ears pick up on a noise, a soft whine in the distance. You can tell it's not human-like, more like a cry that a puppy would make, but nonetheless, you're curious. There's another similar sound, this one more faint, but you let your ears guide you to the source of the noise until you near the edge of another wooded area of the wilderness.

What your eyes set on shocks you. A relatively large white blob sits amongst red patches of snow around. Is that blood? Approaching closer, you realize it's a rather large animal with white fur, and you assume that it's a Snezhnayan Snow Wolf from its size, though it's hard to tell with its back turned away. It's struggling to stand up fully; one of its hind legs appears to be injured given how it's not putting as much weight on it when it limps through the snow. You watch it struggle a little, wary of approaching a wild animal especially one of that size before you witness it collapse. Not intent on just observing the poor creature, you walks towards it, making your presence known so as to not startle it abruptly.

It whips its head and locks eyes with you. It is then, you chillingly discern, that this is no ordinary Teyvat creature. It's bigger than what wolves can grow up to, and its ears and tails don't match that of a wolf. Its ears are shorter in height and more triangular and its tail is much thicker than the average wolf's. Notably, on its legs, the fur darkens from white to pitch black, the color encompassing its feet entirely. This is something unseen in any snow creature you've come across. But most striking of all is its gaze. Red pupils with ebony eyes matching its feet, it watches you calculatingly.

You expect it to growl or snarl or make any sort of noise a wild, cornered creature would, but you get nothing besides continued staring. It's unsettling, but it should be a good thing that it hasn't perceived you as a threat yet, right. Regardless though, you still try to verbally communicate with it.

"Hey, I'm just here to help okay? I won't hurt you. If I do, you can, I don't know, bite my face off or something?" You awkwardly reassure it as you kneel beside the animal. It simply tilts its head to lock eye contact, and you half-expect it to bite you without warning.

Although it feels pointless to talk to a wild animal, you ask, "Can I touch you?" Expectedly, there's no response, but you take it as permission. You place a tentative hand over its fur, brushing your hand through its fur. It's incredibly soft, almost like how you'd imagine what touching a cloud feels like. It's a light and immaculate coat. But you didn't come here just to pet it.

"You have a really pretty coat," you compliment the fox(? Let's stick with that for now), before your fingers trail down to where the blood originated. It's a clean, deep laceration across the length of its back leg. What could have injured it like this? There's no other marks on the leg, so it can't be a claw from another animal. This was a precise cut, something that only a human can do.

"Did someone do this to you?" You wonder out loud in a sorrowful tone. What kind of human could harm such a beautiful creature? Unbeknownst to you, its ears twitched in response.

You get to work treating the wound with the emergency equipment you always carried when you ventured. There's no resistance or protest from canine, and you question if this is really an animal you're treating. How it hadn't budged one bit as you cleaned its wound, you're not sure, but you're just glad it hasn't shown one sign of aggression towards you. If you clean it and allow the skin to heal, the cut will likely heal independently. Once you've wrapped the final bandage around its leg, you glance at the fox's eyes again.

Not even once did it stop watching you.

You try to comfort yourself from the disturbing fact by observing how cute it is and imagining what it would be like to snuggle with it. It's when you notice the sun was setting, and dusk is approaching quickly. This typically wouldn't be a problem, but as you increasingly grew worried, a distinct problem struck out. You're lost.

"Well, shit."

Guess you have to set up camp. You hate the thought of having to spend the night out here, but you have no choice. You won't be able to make out anything soon from how dark this place gets. It's not your first time doing so, but you hate it still. With the remaining minutes of sun you have left, you gather as many sticks and branches as possible before you light them with a match, creating a campfire. You lay a little close to the fox, which seems to have also decided to make the campfire its resting place for now.

You cocoon yourself with a thick blanket.

"You'll keep me safe, right...?" You ask of the fox. No response. How very assuring.

Despite the bundles of fabric purposed for helping with extreme temperatures, you find yourself still shivering. You're cold, not to the point of frostbite, but your form can't stop trembling, your teeth chattering.

"It's too fucking cold for this shit," you groan, hugging yourself for extra warmth and curling into a fetal position. As you curse yourself for getting lost, you hear a shuffle, and the crunch of snow. Before you can even search for the origins of the sound, you feel a warm, large weight against your back--it's something soft. You look over your shoulder to see white fur and then look back to where the fox was originally: it's no longer there. Instead, it's pressed against you, sharing its body warmth with you.

"Mmm... good kit," you tiredly drawl as you absorb its heat greedily, enjoying the texture of its coat. It makes falling asleep easy.

Before you drift to sleep, you swore you heard a human, feminine voice purr from behind you.

"Annoying little vixen."

When you wake up, you expect to be met with white--white snow and fur. You are only met with one of those. Your eyes adjust to the pricking sunlight that stab into your vision. Surprisingly, you're warm even with the chill that you feel cascade against your cheeks. Memories of the night prior start piecing together. You still feel the fox's presence, though, strangely, the weight behind you doesn't seem nearly as soft or large as you remember. And something is draped around your midsection. You look down, expecting to a fur-covered limb.

Instead, it's a human arm that is wraps around your form, holding flushed against a person and your heart skids to a stop. The forearm is black with gold and ebony markings on its surface, but the dark color fades into pale skin. Is this person even human? A humanoid? A hybrid? With your rising panic, you become increasingly more aware of the presence that has you encaged in their embrace. You can't turn to look who is behind you in fear of waking them up--you don't know what they'll do to you once they're awake.

The soft snoring behind your ear and the warm breath brushing against your nape makes you shiver. However, what you do notice is how warm their body is; they exude a body heat that's abnormal. Do they produce their own heat from within? You know of very little creatures that can do that, let alone humans. Maybe an external source? Like a vision?

Then a sudden thought comes to you. Has this person been... sleeping with you to keep you warm? Is this person somehow the fox you helped? Deciding to risk it, you twist your head to look over your shoulder.

Red-crossed pupils glare back at you and your entire form freezes. Faced with perhaps the most gorgeous woman ever, a pale, unblemished face framed by ivory hair and some ebony strands appear before you.

"You're awake," her gruff voice comes out and the tips of your ears burn from being caught awake.

"Y-yes," you stammer out, still trying to recover from the shock. "Thank you for keeping me warm."

She hums in response before unfurling her arm from your body and standing up. Immediately, your body misses her warmth and you shudder, wrapping the blanket around you tighter. You sit up with her and it's then that you realize that she is indeed a hybrid. The same ears from the fox last night matches those on her head, and there's a tail that swishes lightly from behind her.

You take the time to admire her clothes, the question of where she got them slipping from your mind. She dons a marble white and slate gray jacket over a corset-type shirt with black and a matching gray and wears black pants. Her outfit reminds you of similar attire to Snezynayan nobles. What is someone of her status out here? Something about her seems vaguely familiar, though you don't quite know why.

"You're the... fox from last night," you dumbly state.

"Correct."

"But you're a human now."

"Astute observation," she huffed with a bit of mockery in her voice and you chuck snow in her direction.

"I've never seen a hybrid before, cut me some slack!" You snap back in faux anger. You let out a sigh, before you flick your attention to her leg. You can't see the wound because of her leggings, but you presume that it's still there.

"Who hurt you before?" You rasp out, corner eminent in your words and expression.

"That's not of your concern," she answers in a curt manner, making you wince.

You bite your bottom lip, a bit frustrated from the quick shut refusal, but you know she shouldn't pry. For as beautiful as she is, both in her human and fox form, you know just from the unsettling... sensation she emitted that she was dangerous, not to be disturbed or poked to much. You figure you should probing her on what led to this situation.

"Can I know who you are?" You question instead.

The fox hybrid steeps in silence for a few moments. Her facial muscles softening just the bit, the red flare in her eyes glowing. Then, a crack in her hardened expression, a small smile graces her lips.

"Arlecchino."

Bonus (Content Warning: VERY Suggestive. Like the closest thing to a smut I'll get.)

"Arlecchino."

"Mmh?"

"I need to get up."

"Just a little longer, kit."

"Arle, I love you, but I will kick you."

"With what functioning legs?"

"Is this why you wanted to dick me down? So you can harass me with no consequences?"

"Exactly."

You grit your teeth, trying to peel her arms off of your bare form, but the fox hybrid persists, keeping you glued to her as she nibbles gently on the skin of your nape. To emphasize her hold, her tail curls around one of your legs, its grasp tight and ensuring you can't go anywhere.

"Annoying little vixen," you groan, pulling the covers off of the two of you.

Arlecchino purrs into your shoulder, and her hands trail from your midsection down to your hips. Her tail caresses your inner thigh and you shudder.

"Again?" You gasp in dulled surprise as you feel her rise and she flips your body over to be beneath her. One blackened claw hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers with hers and pressing your hand into the mattress behind you. The other hooks underneath one of your legs, raising the leg over her shoulder.

"Of course. After all, I need to ensure you take my kits."

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact fic #arlecchino smut #genshin arlecchino #arlecchino #edgeray.writes #edgeray.blog

[call-sign-shark]

Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary: When starting the vendetta with the Peaky Blinders, Luca Changretta didn't expect you, Arthur's wife, to be the one meeting him. Now that you're facing him, he's determined to make you understand who leads the dance. It's a man's world after all! || Featuring Luca Changretta x Reader

Words: 6.7k

TW: alteration of canon events, canonical violence, drug use, slight allusions to sex, canonical misogyny, quick allusions to domestic abuse, witchcraft (canonical since PB flirts with it sometimes), fluff, Arthur is as fucked up as cute, depictions of slaughter and body horror. The last part of this chapter is a flash forward. What happened will be described in the next chapter.

Notes:

✞ The mentioned character of Aurora, Luca's wife, belonged to @zablife.

✞ The bold sentence Heaven says comes from Lana Del Rey.

✞ This is chapter 15 of the Arthur Shelby x You series Heaven in Your Eyes. Usually, each chapter can be read as stand-alones but reading the whole series will make the experience far more intense.

PREVIOUS || Masterlist || NEXT PART

The dim glow of luxuriant chandeliers cast their orange light over the bar, their warm hue sublimating the rich notes of aged oak from which the counter had been sculpted. Standing alone on a barstool with your crystal gaze fixed on the swirling depths of your glass of red wine, you relished how the liquid gracefully danced and caught the light in a hypnotizing display of crimson elegance. Smooth as silk, its robe was deprived of lees and hugged your throat at each sip. It had been a while since you hadn't drunk such fine alcohol, and this experiment was almost enough to make you forget the curious glances of some noisy clients. As rare as it was to see a woman drinking by herself at the bar without the company of a gentleman due to the prohibited nature of such actions, no one had dared confront you about the matter yet. The waiter had thought of doing so because it didn't feel right to him but one look at the deadly frost of your eyes had been efficient enough for him to swallow his words and mind his own business. Wise decision, you weren't in the mood to be polite. There had been something off in the way you had stared at him, like a wild cat waiting for its prey to come just a little bit closer to pounce on it. He quickly lowered his gaze and went on with wiping down his glass, definitely not taking the risk of causing a scene. Bringing the expensive glass to your plump lips, you froze mid-movement at the sudden feeling of someone's presence behind your back. So, he came. Your mouth slowly curled in a cold, sardonic smirk. Your special guest didn't bother to greet you. Instead, he simply put his fedora hat on the bar counter right where the corner of your eyes you could see it.

"Isn't it the lady who should play hard to get?" You stated before drowning your sarcasm with a gulp of wine, its complex and refined taste displaying all its flavors on your tongue. So far, it has been one of the few places in which the wine was exquisite. And French, of course.

Swiftly slipping between two barstools, the man sat next to you — all his movements, measured and confident, denoted an indescribable elegance.

"So?" A collected and alluring voice inquired, wasting no time in futile courtesy nor in answering your taunt. He would have been surprised if his men hadn't warned him that you were the kind of woman to never be at a loss for words. Just like the two other harpies of the Shelby clan though.

"So, you spare my husband." You finished your glass and put it back on the wooden counter with a movement that translated both your firmness and determination. If there was one thing he had learned throughout his gangster life it was to pay attention to details. Since the very beginning of his criminal activities, Luca always focused on the way someone moved, especially because body language often said much more about people than words themselves. Contrary to prose, the body never lied, and concerning yours the signals were rather clear: you wouldn't cave in. "Oh, and you also spare Finn but it stands to reason. He's just a kid after all." Your request, spoken with a measured yet Artic calmness, snatched an amused snort from the threatening man. How did you dare bargain with him about who would die and who would live while your place wasn't in men's business? Luca slightly shook his head, disconcerted by the fact that the random wife of an enemy could behave so insolently with him while he could easily end her life with the gun he was hiding under his four-digit price jacket.

"In return for what?" His sharp eyes fixed intently on your dainty frame as he spoke. His expression, usually veiled in stoic composure, betrayed a keen attentiveness that mirrored his interest. Making himself comfortable on the barstool, he withdrew a matchbox from his pocket, its metallic surface catching the muted light. With languid grace, he extracted a match, the small stick cradled between his fingers, and brought it to his lips.

"Tommy Shelby." Your voice resounded like a chilling death knell when you pronounced these syllables nonchalantly as if selling one of your in-laws was nothing but one of the many formalities to retrieve your peaceful life. Such apathy was a bit chilling he reckoned. A ghost of a smile played on his lips as he held the match delicately between his teeth. After a while, you eventually condescended to look at the man, your iris meeting the splendid green of his. The same green eyes that squinted a little bit now that they had a clear sight of your doll face, whose cold beauty made him wonder what the hell such a delicate thing like you was doing here, involving herself in the middle of intricating gang wars.

"Well, interesting." He mused, a part of him genuinely excited at the thought of butchering Tommy, the other still intrigued by you and how you contrasted with everything else around. No, how you contrasted with everything he had ever seen in his life. Changretta's features, chiseled and unyielding, remained an inscrutable mask, but beneath the surface, a calculated mind sought to see right through you. His posture exuded a quiet confidence despite your unsettling aura and ghostly appearance, a testament to the years of navigating the treacherous underworld of crimes.

"And why should I trust you?" He asked, going on with his observation of every tiny detail of your face. To be honest, Luca didn't imagine you like this. All he had been told about you was that you were the French harlot Arthur Shelby had married, some kind of bratty young girl who came from nowhere. At first, he was convinced that you would be nothing but boring at worst, or entertaining in your way of begging for your husband's life at best but you were none of these. Now that he was sitting next to you at the bar, discussing as if he hadn't murdered one of the most important people in your life, he found himself enthralled by the pure snow-white color of your long hair. More than your unusual hair color, what had surprised him the most was how your coldness cut with the softness of your physical traits. You felt like a walking paradox to him, your appearance conveying a message at the antithesis of what you truly were.

"Because it's all in my interest to see him dead and cold." You replied with a little shrug. Admittedly, you didn't imagine him like this. Quite the contrary, your mind had created the picture of a rat-faced gangster marked with ugly scars and vicious black eyes by dint of hearing how Arthur talked about him. Yet, here you were, facing a rather attractive gentleman with such atypical traits and a charismatic aura that your eternal coldness was slightly shaken. Men of these kinds were always the most dangerous, you thought with full knowledge of the facts. Luca Changretta was something: as slim as Arthur yet standing taller, his face was adorned with a seductive charm and an aquiline nose which rendered his features even more unique.

"Principessa" He started, sneering. Luca pushed the match to the other corner of his mouth with his tongue one last time before his sly fingers grabbed it to put it in the nearest ashtray. Then, his hand reached for the whisky glass the waiter had just put in front of him, "Allow me to doubt that. You are a Shelby, and I've heard your clan is tightly knitted together. Don't think of me fool enough to believe that a Shelby would want to kill another one." Luca concluded his accusation with a little head tilt as he swallowed his whisky in one go. A small grunt of pleasure escaped from his mouth at the pleasant burn the alcohol left in his trail.

"The only reason I bear the name Shelby is for my husband, not for anyone else. If you aren't aware of it may I suggest that your informants only did half of the job otherwise you should have known that Thomas had been nothing but a bane to my existence from the first day we met."

"A bane? That's not a trivial world to use when talking about your brother-in-law." Changretta's fingers, adorned with sleek rings, tapped against the wooden counter as a clear manifestation of his suspicions.

"Well, he had tried to strangle me, then blamed me for his son's abduction, and also for his brother's death and now he is actively seeking to ruin my marriage. I think "bane" is an appropriate way to call him. Now," You said with a little wave of the hand, "if my offer doesn't stir your interest I'd rather leave." When you shifted your body to stand up, Luca's immense hand gently rested on yours to invite you to sit back. The striking temperature difference between his warm flesh and the iciness of your skin gave him sudden goosebumps. Once you did sit back, his unimpressed mask cracked and moved on to an amused and fascinated smile that danced on his thin lips. It was a heavily murderous speech for such a little thing. If it wasn't for the frost you were made of, you would have made him think of his own more fire-coded wife.

"Let me tell you something. My mother was a very patient woman you know?" He said out of the blue with a softer voice, "I've never heard her raise her voice during all my childhood except once. That was one of the many reasons she was a teacher every kid loved. When she did yell at me I was a kid and I just saw a magnificent creature in my nonna's garden. It was an albino ferret, the most beautiful animal I've ever encountered. Straight out of a fairy tale with fur as pure as freshly fallen snow and little beady eyes as red as precious rubies. Usually, wild animals are skippish but that little fella didn't move away when I approached it. It seemed so quiet and docile that I decided to pet it. And do you know what the ferret did?" Luca leaned over you at his question, his face closer to yours and his smirk stretching in an evil grin, "It bit me. That fucking vermin sunk its sharp teeth into my skin and gave me one nasty bite. I still have the scar carved deep in my flesh up to this day. A bite scar among the gunshots and stab wounds." He paused for a while, his green eyes momentarily dropping to your swollen lips and lingering on the white pearly fangs he could glimpse at when you "tsk" at him. The air suddenly crackled with a palpable tension that thickened with every second flying by. Each of his silences loudly echoed the rising intensity of the moment one of you would snap at the other. But it never happened, and the only thing Luca did was grin even more, his squinted eyes meeting yours again. "Should have known it though, this fucking sausage rat had a twisted something in its red eyes. The same vile and twisted something as you, Amore."

His words, coated with honey but cutting like razor blades, made the corner of your plum lips subtlety curl in a dangerous but brief smirk too at the realization that all the rumors surrounding the Italian were true: he was devilishly clever. Maybe that was why you didn't manage to completely hate him despite his horrible actions. While your dainty body, your small size, and the far-too-seraphic complexions of your face often misled people about the brutality that was coursing through your cursed veins and the sickening void of your coal-black pupils, Luca didn't fall for any of them. Not even the glittery makeup and your big round eyes could make him ignore the creepy murmurs of the underlying Devil living in you. After a brief and uncomfortable silence that seemed to last one awful eternity, you finally parted your lips.

"Let me tell you something too," Your voice was a gentle melody, "Arthur and John should have killed your mother." Each word flowed like a soft breeze, carrying a subtle allure that only enhanced the cruelty of their meaning. Your lack of consideration for potentially hurting his feelings had taken him aback. " But they decided to spare her despite Little King Shelby's ruthless order. They genuinely wanted to do it out of sheer compassion" You pursed your lips and backed up from Luca, rolling your eyes. "Fuckin' idiots, they should have killed her when they had the chance." The mobster quickly moistened his lips, the faint surprised expression on his face vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.

"His ruthlessness was right." He agreed, "They should have." Luca concluded, yet elaborating an arrangement with you didn’t seem to be his top priority suddenly. The mobster already knew he would grant you your wishes, the idea of having direct access to Tommy was too alluring to resist after all. What he wanted at his precise moment was… Different.   "You know, I don't fear being bitten anymore — the danger is a deliciously wicked part of the job I learned to accept and love. Considering this, Mrs, Shelby" He let his sentence hanged as he offered you the palm of his hand, long and bony fingers waiting for yours. "May I ask for a dance?" His eyes sparkled with an amusement that hinted at a hidden game, a dance of power between you and him. The seductive charm with which he invited you blurred the lines between rivalry and fascination.

"Do we have a deal?" You inquired with one brow raised, just to make sure he had taken notes of your terms.

"A deal for a dance." He slightly wiggled the fingers of his inviting hand. "Plus, you're already dancing with me in your own way."

A discreet and longer inhale escaped from your nostrils as you weighed the pros and cons but still you slipped your hand into his, which enveloped your skin with a tender strength. A little dance couldn't hurt anyone, you thought. Without further ado, Luca led the way to the dance floor as you both snaked in and out through the crowd until you reached a more spacious corner. It was the mafioso who initiated the dance. First, his grip strengthened around you: not to the extent of hurting you of course but definitely enough to make you understand that you were trapped. Then, his arm wrapped around your waist firmly like a snake. "Closer," He instructed and you obliged, taking a step toward him and placing your free upon his shoulder. After he set the rhythm, you started to move to the slow melody the orchestra was playing across the room. As the haunting music enveloped you, you moved in synchronized steps, your bodies entwined in a waltz that displayed outside tenderness while your eyes held a sharp glint of adversaries locked in an unspoken battle.

Come now, dance with me as the song plays.

With each twirl and turn, the odd and gripping tension you shared thickened, just like an intricate tango of conflicting emotions. As soft as the dance had started, it was gradually turning into a visceral yet elegant battlefield where intimidation and seduction engaged in a delicate but fierce fight.

Down down, dance with me stuck on replay.

Your heart leaped in your tight ribcage at a sudden dip, your hair hanging down like a silver cascade, and your gaze set on the golden sculpted ceiling that quickly flashed in front of your eyes before disappearing, replaced by Luca's intense green eyes again.

Down down, dance with me stuck on replay.

"Don't be shy Amore," He cooed with a charming wink before pulling you even closer to him until your body collided with his. You stopped breathing for a short moment, shutting your eyes when you realized that your face was almost nuzzled in the crook of his neck. In that fleeting moment, you relinquished a fraction of your resistance, swept away by the remote yet familiar feeling of letting someone guide you without any need to think— or maybe that was the sweet fragrance of his cologne which pleasantly tingled your nostrils that woke up memories anchored deep within your mind. From the way he moved to how he behaved, from the luxurious place to the languid melody of the piano, everything was bringing you years ago, back in the comforting arms of your first fiance.

And you hated how pleasant it felt. You viscerally hated it.

Both the song's tempo and Luca's steps fastened as he noticed the subtle change in your facial expression, slowly turning your graceful dance into a dizzying and confusing round. His piercing gaze bore into your soul, daring it to reveal its vulnerability. The room seemed to spin around you and yet, you clenched your jaw and forced yourself to maintain an unmoved facade. No. You wouldn't sink into melancholia. Gathering all your willpower, you chased away the panic that crept within you and felt a rush of anger toward Luca for daring to reopen an old wound you tried to heal every day of your life since you left France. And with anger came the end of your self-control.

To hell with Tommy's plan, you could put an end to this exhausting vendetta yourself by killing the infamous Luca Changretta right here, right now.

Guided by your murderous nature, you started to focus on his heartbeat as soon as you regained control of the dance, forcing him to slow down the pace. In a thorough study of his pulse, you could clearly hear the rhythmic thud of his heartbeat resounding in his chest, and even counted how many times it beat in one minute. And the more you listened to it, the more music faded away in the background.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Killing him would be a piece of cake considering the horrific magic that was coursing through your veins, the magic of blood and flesh. All you would have to do was accelerate his pulse until it became too much for his body to bear. In a minute, Luca would drop to the ground, limp and dead. No blood, no fight, just the sudden and inevitable consequences of a heart attack. Quite different from the gruesome and slow death you had wished to inflict upon Tommy the day he had crossed the line.

"You're a great dancer, Miss Shelby." The mobster stated, having no choice but to follow your slower pace. Now you were the one leading the dance, "Did your husband teach you? I must admit that I have all the trouble of the world imagining Arthur Shelby being good at waltzing." He had already trouble imagining how the most rabid of these Gypsy bastards could have pulled you, to be honest. His tastes regarding women might not encompass you but, God, he thought that your place wasn't beside a man like Arthur Shelby since you could easily be a trophy wife for a classy and far more powerful criminal. Or some blue blood, but these were the same except the latter legally robbed people.

"Arthur is far better at dancing than what he seems but it wasn't him who taught me." Your reply was sharper than intended.

Another dip, smoother this time.

"Another man?"

"Yes."

"So you've been married before." It wasn't a question, it was a statement for the mafioso had easily decypher your micro-expressions despite your best efforts to hide them.

"Engaged. We didn't make it to the actual wedding."

Kill him. Kill him now.

The fingers that were resting on his shoulder dug deeper into his jacket as you channeled the gift your mother had passed you the day of your birth. It could have gone unnoticed if you hadn't paid attention but Luca's eyebrows slightly frowned, not understanding why his heart had started racing like that all of sudden.

"That's a shame. And how does one lose a woman like you? If I had been him I would have rather locked you in the house than let you flee." Luca grinned, his charming voice steady but the way he clenched his jaw betrayed the building pain he was feeling in his chest. Men were all the same: too much ego to show that they were in distress.

"Well, that's how he lost a woman like me." No matter the exact nature of the impact your words had on him it did trigger something within his soul. On top of a literal ache in his heart, his wedding ring became suddenly heavier. In the dance's rhythmic embrace, your witchcraft went on with poisoning Luca's very core. Yet, as the enchantment unfolded, an unforeseen consequence took hold. The more you delved into your mystical powers, the more the mobster's pain echoed within your own body in an unexpected symbiosis. Except that it wasn't in the heart you suffered, but in the belly.

The baby.

You backed up from Luca with a movement so quick it looked like you had touched hot-red metal, hence putting an abrupt end to the dance. A discreet growl fell from the man's lips for when the physical contact broke his heart resumed to a normal pace and the pain mysteriously disappeared. As well as yours.

"Enough fun for tonight." You said with hast, and Luca hadn't the quick thinking to keep you from doing so — the odd and unpredictable behavior of his heart was too concerning for him to carry on with this odd meeting.

"Hm. Yeah, don't forget about our deal." He replied, smoothing the fold of his tailored suit before slowly and discreetly pressing the left side of his chest with the palm of his hand.

" And don't forget to send my regards to your wife Aurora, who seems to be exactly a woman like me." You spat one last taunt with the most polite smile you could make before turning your heels and leaving this damn room.

What the hell had just happened?

According to Tommy, everything went perfectly. Satisfied with the outcome of your mission — and genuinely surprised you hadn't fucked up everything by your rebellious attitude or just for the sheer satisfaction of getting under his skin —, the lead pack dog of the Peaky Blinders went on with the Vendetta. Actually, the one who fucked up the whole plan hadn't been you, but rather Tommy himself following the failure of his surprise attack against Luca. He might have killed a few Italians in the process, but his initial target was still alive and in very good health conditions. A flash of anger and frustration coursed through your body when he told the family about it: here you were back to the start, with Luca not willing to give you a second chance and being more enraged than he already was when he came to England. None of it would have happened if you had listened to your instincts and killed him yourself. Served you right for trusting Tommy's plan for once. And for being reluctant to use the monstrous magic nature gave you. But there had also been... Something else. That weird and unplanned pain in your belly when you had used your magic. With all of this, the cherry on the top was probably Tommy's decision to carry on with today's boxing fight despite it being an obviously awful idea but of course, no one listened to you. Why would they? Tommy always knew better. Tommy always won. Tommy this. Tommy that.

You sighed loudly as you walked through the empty corridor, the cacophony of the crowd turning into a hushed noise when you reached the huge squared mirror that was hanging from the wall. There were so many people gathered in the building that accessing the bathroom would have taken both your precious time and your thin tolerance to social events. That was why you decided to look for a mirror or a window further away to add a few late touches to your makeup as well as to rearrange your hair. You had just finished putting another layer of mascara on your Bambi lashes and grabbed your lip gloss when a gravelly and familiar voice resounded in the hallway.

“I went looking for you.” The voice made you instantly relax, its baritone lilt holding the unique power of blowing your troubles away, both the past and the present ones. With one small yet graceful spin, you turned around to meet Arthur’s slim silhouette that was standing in the doorway. His sharp face, usually displaying a strict look, soon turned soft at the sight of you about to apply gloss on your tantalizing lips, “I thought you’d be in here.”

"And you thought right." You replied with an enamored smile. Arthur was quite delighted by the boxing fight, so there was no need to impede his joy with your concerns. Moreover, he was surely the only thing that kept you anchored during this confusing and stressful period.

The gangster approached you with slow steps and his steel blue eyes shone brighter the more he closed the distance between you and him. “I knew it, always seeking quiet places before a party to doll you up and take a deep breath...” He concluded, visibly proud to display his infinite knowledge about his beloved wife, which made you melt. Then, he stopped right in front of you, "Got a lil' something for me angel." Arthur didn't leave you the time to wonder what it was all about for one of his large hands slipped from behind his back and pulled a white Azalea from it, “Look what I’ve found. Almost as beautiful as you, eh?”  The way his face enlightened with the happiest and most genuine smile ever was something you never got bored of. Quite the contrary, it breathed life back into you each time. The ice of your eyes melted at such an endearing gift, turning your frozen traits into a child-like expression with your plump lips forming a silent ‘o’.

“For me? Really? Arthur, you shouldn't have!” You said with an excited but still quieter voice than his booming one. You couldn't believe he found the time to look for you in the middle of tonight's chaos.

"I wanted you to keep a little something with you in case you start panicking eh." He purred, low and gruff voice making his chest rumble. "Are you sure ya don't want me to stay with you?" You preyed the flower from his rough fingers delicately, actively trying not to break its fragile petals, and slipped it in your long silvery mane under your Arthur's tender gaze — he couldn’t help but smirk, enthralled by your beauty just like the first time he had met you, three years ago.

"We already talked about it. Go have fun alright? I'll stay with the women. Moreover, I know Tommy will ask you to stay near him and I'd rather avoid your boring brother, who can't crack a fucking smile for the life of his." You lift yourself on your tip toes to press a kiss on Arthur's jaw. His eyes half-closed at the silky sensation of your lips against his face.

"A very clever move that is. D'ya like the flower? The florist helped me, bet she took pity on me 'cos I looked very lost but she just made me even more confused with all the info she was dumping ay."

A sincere chuckle escaped from your throat at the thought of the lanky and rude gangster standing in the middle of a flower shop with a confused look on his face. Yup, it definitely sounded like something Arthur would do. “So how did you choose the Azalea?” You pondered with innocent curiosity.

“Well, I don't know jackshit about that flower language stuff. I only know roses and you hate ‘em.” He admitted with a smile, cupping your face with his two hands to lay a peck on your nose.  As trivial as this detail was he still remembered it and the mix of attention paired with the significance behind your loathing for roses made you swell with love for him. It came even more surprising considering that you only told him about your dislike for roses once during one of the nightly walks you took around the church days after your first encounter.  "So I just picked the one that made me think about ya the most, love." He admitted, his hands leaving your face to grip you by the hips bluntly as he peppered you with kisses. Another chuckle fell from your mouth at the tickle of his mustache against your skin.

"No, no, you'll ruin my makeup!" You playfully exclaimed. Trying to flee from his mouth, you tilted your head to the side and gave his stubbled cheek a gentle bite.

“Hey! I bring ye a flower and you thank me with a bite? Ye feral little thing!”

You gave him a second one without waiting for him to finish his sentence, "You're the one to blame. You’re so cute I just want to nibble you.” You replied, completely obliterating the remote noise as well as all the concerns you have been mulling over these past few days. Instead of anxiety, you were now possessed by joy and cuteness aggression, “I swear you look stupidly handsome.” You added with a pout, the target of your small bites shifting from his cheek to his sharp jaw. Arthur hummed, his lips sewn shut in a peaceful smile — he didn't even bother to flee from your teeth, "Alright, go find Tommy before I tear your suit apart."

"Wouldn't mind that, little one." His voice became raspier with anticipation. It seemed like your suggestion had already planted the seed of desire in his mind, for he already started pawing at your body. Nevertheless, your hands caught his wrists to keep him from doing so.

"No, no, no. My makeup is perfect and my dress too expensive for you to ruin it now." You reminded him with a soft laugh.

"Fuck me." The gangster complained but still obliged, keeping his hands to himself. However, the light mood was soon eroded by the question he didn't dare to ask you earlier. Caught in the weight of his demand, his smile dropped a little, "Eeer... Before I leave" He paused, "I wanted to ask you somethin'."

"Hm?"

Arthur let out a long sigh and looked for something inside the pocket of his trousers all the while rambling, "That's a rare occasion tonight. I mean, a good boxing fight with the new Gold lad I coach and an upcoming party that might last all night long y'know. A really great program that is. Exhausting too." His fingers nervously fidgeted with something inside his pocket. His usually relaxed demeanor was replaced by tense shoulders and furrowed brows. Despite his efforts to appear composed, the strain was palpable, lingering in the air as he gathered all his courage. It was after a long hesitation that he finally took a tiny blue vial out and the simple view of it turned your joyful face into deadly ice again.

"Are you serious?" Your voice, a freezing breeze, cut through the air with a stern cadence, "Are you fucking serious, Arthur William Shelby Jr?" Your grip around the small lip gloss you were holding strengthened so much that the skin of your knuckles whitened.

"Hey, that's okay love." Arthur leaned in close. With gentle eyes that mirrored his sincerity, he spoke softly, trying to convey reassurance in each word as your anger simmered. "I didn't take any of it."

"Oh yeah?"

"Nah. Told ya I wasn't going to make the same mistake twice." The gangster lowered his head just like a terrorizing but gentle mutt would do to show his submission, "I wanted to ask if ya allowed me to take some tonight? Ya told me I could if it remained occasional. Wasn't going to take it in your back, I swear." Wrapping yourself in threatening silence, you stood like a tempest in the quiet aftermath, your posture rigid with the echoes of anger. The storm in your eyes gradually subsided, replaced by a contemplative gaze that softened the hard expression of your seraphic face. As the storm clouds of your fury dispersed, a calm determination settled upon you instead. Arthur bit his lips, mustache twitching as he did so, for time seemed suspended as you collected your thoughts and tried to regain control over your fury. You breathed deep and slow while Arthur held his, awaiting your reply and wondering if your reaction would be born from the storm or from the calm eye at its center.

"Give." You said, your melodious and quiet voice breaking the silence, then you snatched the bottle from his hand. Quickly looking to your left and then to your right to make sure no one could interrupt you, you first opened the lipgloss and proceeded to pour the white powder inside your makeup vial. Once this was done, you handed back the empty blue bottle to Arthur and mixed the cocaine with your lipgloss with the help of the small brush, "I have to admit that you're making a great deal of effort. Thank you for asking, I really... Appreciate it." The gangster stood silent and dumbstruck, wondering what the hell you could be doing. "And I did say you could take some snow occasionally." You brought the brush to your lips and carefully applied a great amount of the glistening liquid on your flesh. "So yes, you can take snow tonight... But you'll have to lick it from my lips so that when you kiss me you think I'm God." You smooched your lips together and then smiled, a wicked and tantalizing smirk that sent a sudden wave of fever through his whole being. Arthur swallowed, his gaze fixed upon the enticing curve of your lips. In the stillness of the moment, desire stirred within him, a smoldering ember ignited by the mere sight of you mixed with the sinful words you just spoke. His breath caught in his throat as he watched the subtle movements of your mouth, each gesture a silent invitation that beckoned him closer.

"I already do." He breathed with a low growl, his fervid passion turning his lean body into a shaky mess. With each passing second, the intensity of his longing grew, consuming him in a fiery embrace. His heart pounded in his chest, every fiber of his being yearned to bridge the distance between you, to taste the sweet and spice that lingered on your lips. With no more persuading needed, Arthur grabbed your face rough and let his mouth collide with yours, the kiss as brutal as a car crash. His scorching and rapid breath fanned over your skin as he licked your lips from the right corner to the left, the caress of his warm tongue making you moan against his wet flesh. Caught in the fire of desire — and definitely aroused by his carelessness— your trembling hands found rest upon his back, your nails digging into the expensive fabric of his jacket. An immediate wave of euphoria unfurled in his brain when the cocaine saturated his synapses. As needful moans raised in the corridor, Arthur couldn't tell if that was the drug or you that kickstarted his heart and dilated his pupils, but in any case, he was experiencing the most exquisite high he had ever had.

"Fuck." Arthur grunted with pleasure and gave several other licks until none of your gloss remained, then his tongue forced its way between your lips, not minding whether you had time to catch your breath or not because you were the real drug in the end. His deepest and most maddening addiction. "A fookin" Goddess you are hm."

"Arthur, Tommy's looking for—" Johnny Dog didn't finish his sentence, eyes wide open. " I just interrupted something right?" He finally blurted out, the initial shock of walking into such a steamy scene turning into the most annoying smile ever.

"Yeah, yeah Tommy. Alright." He repeated as he tried to break from the haziness. Arthur grunted, his lips still a few inches away from yours and your erratic breath melting together. Giving him one last peck —far more delicate than what you were doing one minute ago— you mouthed a silent "go" and forced yourself to resist the attraction of the invisible magnet that was inevitably pulling you towards the lanky criminal. "Alright!" Arthur roared when he turned back to you, clasping his hands together and walking to Johnny Dog with a carnivorous grin and dilated pupils. The Lee man slapped the eldest Shelby brother's back and, right before he go, shot you a little wink.

Their voices could still be heard when they walked away.

"Gonna wait a bit longer before getting your dick wet, boy."

"Shut the fuck up you fookin' cunt ay and let's watch the fight. I'm feeling bloodthirsty eh."

Three bodies lay strewn like discarded puppets, their lifeless forms twisted and broken on the blood-flown concrete floor. The once clean backroom had transformed into a nightmare realm of gore and horror that made Tommy's stomach turn upside-down.

"Oh my God. Oh my fucking God — Arthur!"

Amidst the chaos, where the air hung heavy with the acrid and disgusting scent of blood, Tommy's screams echoed far away in the distance as you knelt there, eyes wide open and silent tears streaming down your cheeks, mixed with dark trails of ruined mascara.

"Arthur!"

You let out a muffled whimper, or at least you thought you did as your senses drowned in a deafening symphony of tinnitus, a relentless ringing that echoed in the hollow caverns of your mind. With each pulse of your heart, the sound intensified, threatening to consume the last remnant of sanity you had left. The world around you had seemed to fade into obscurity, your sight blurry and reduced to only one color: red. Vibrant red splattered everywhere, on the walls, and yourself but most of it was on the floor. In fact, the ground itself seemed to writhe beneath the weight of the corpses, as crimson rivers flowed freely, painting the concrete in shades of crimson that gleamed like freshly spilled paint.

"Oh lord please help us, oh Lord, oh Lord..." Polly cried, horrified by the bloodbath as well as by the sight of you clinging to Arthur's limp body. She had already lost one of her nephews and couldn't bear the weight of losing another one. Not her sweet Arthur. Not him, "Heaven!" She called, grabbing your shoulder and shaking you but all you did was scream. A haunting and otherworldly scream which pierced the darkness. A sound so agonizing and inhumane that it seemed to tear at the very fabric of existence. It echoed across the building, carrying with it the weight indescribable of sorrow and despair as your arms tightened your grip around your dying husband.

The tall Italian man twitching on the ground, choking in his own blood, should have been proud of his successful attack on the eldest Shelby brother. And yet, all he could do was stare at you horrified, his eyes reflecting the terror of his soul.

"D— Diàvulu..." He mouthed, as death came like the most wonderful relief, bringing his sinner soul far away from you, for even in Hell he'd feel safer.

Anywhere, as long as you weren't there.

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language. gif by the wonderful @alicent-targaryen.

✞ Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @alexandra-001 @dearshelby @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @kmc1989 @emotionalcadaver @peakyswritings @peakyltd @chaosinkest1996 @vanhelsingsbigtoe @cherubswhispers

#Arthur Shelby #Arthur Shelby x Reader #Peaky Blinders #Peaky Blinders imagine #Tommy Shelby #Tommy Shelby x reader #Arthur Shelby x oc #Paul Anderson #Heaven Shelby #Peaky blinders oc #John Shelby #Polly Gray #Luca Changretta #Luca Changretta x Reader #Arthur SHelby imagine

[soaricarus]

DEAR VOIDS SLUGCAT DESIGNS HERE WE GO.

also this nightcat is seperate from my invterator askblog nightcat. for clarification

id honestly consider the cut arena scug 4 an oc at this point. it deviates so much from the One sprite we get. oops

seperates + Not So Line Lineup under cut AS WELL AS DESIGN NOTES woooh boy. MIND YOU its really long

the Not So Line Lineup

survivor! scar on snout is based on one of the cut arena sprites for player 1, it has a little.. scar? notch? line? there. survivor passage symbol on head as well and freckles :) some brown to match monk sorta. spikey fur!

^ what the scar is based on

overall more rounded than survivor, to reference the monk passage symbol which is also on their head. a little dewlap to reference gourmand - i think gourmand and survivor and monk are related. lighter yellows to reference survivor!

third sibling!!! the little orange line on their head is actually karma 7 (i realized survivor is karma 5 and monk is karma 6- so why not go with the theme?) and a sorta partial saint symbol on their head, missing the middle line. yellow/red accenting color to reference monk and survivor sorta. blu :)

sorta pinker. based on one of my old draft designs, just made a little better. green accent color to match sig. a little fluffy and sharp. ear tufts cause theyre fun and a tufted tail. hunter passage symbol is also on tail teehee. sig's head symbol is also on hunter. the scar is also green

nightcat is some sorta weird echo thing. to me. little wings for the fun of it. i dont have much on this design honestly other than i used dodge A Lot. the accenting pink on the dark purple parts was originally an accident but like? it vibes.

wanderer! cause actually why not. the white symbol on their chest is a half of sig's symbol, i'd like to think sig helped suns make wanderer. if you put its head symbol together with nightcat it makes the scholar :) blue accenting color is close to the negative/opposite colors of nightcat.

i dont have many notes for this biggol guy. sorta looks alike survivor and monk i suppose. feathers! theyre sorta rose colored i think. idk. it looks nice. simple patterns cause gourmand is a symbol guy

artiiii. i wanted to put an accent color on arti but it was so Hard because i was Stubborn and Needed That Damn Cyan on it. markings based on a siamese cat except for the ones on the arm and legs, theyre sort of tabby based?

green pup is tabby based in markings, pink sorta looks like flower petals. blue pup is siamese cat based in markings and the yellow? idk it looked nice

RIVULETTT. i love rivulet. i made the bright sunset gradient contrast by adding some darker but still vibrant blues and purples to the design, as well as a cream. there's also actual gills udner the display frills (which also got a color update to match instead of being an offbrand bi flag). also webbed fingers!!!

vibrant fuckin purple because it looks nice actually. made it have some cream-pink-purple thing as underbelly instead to make it look nicer. head markings are based directly on suns :) biggol Orb Eyes to Stare In Your Soul. accenting colors sorta match rivulet? idk? they just look nice without contrasting too much. also whiskers. and tall. and thin with long ass grabbers

i kept getting "portal colors" and "aroace flag" and like YEA YALL ARE RIGHT ACTUALLY i just wanted to fit blue and orange on it though lmao. anyway pretty simple body markings to make up for the Six Fucking Accent Colors. three forehead dots are yellow while there's an x on its back and head thats blue... to imitate the rot :) why? figure it out yourself

inv!! not much has changed since honestly i just saturated the colors a bit more i think. idk. i like the yellow on inv though so i make it more prominent sorta? just a guy. still an iterator that turned itself into a slugcat. to me.

originally based on this cut arena slugcat

then i uh. accent color and scales and um. um. im so normal about this slugcat holyshit curveberry my beloved.... anyway the scales were originally a dark teal? then i hueshifted them and Oh Fuck Dusk Colors Holy Shit. its so good i genuinely love this design so much i doodled it lmao. the scales are based on a pangolin. i actually have ideas for this if it were to be a slugcat campaign...

another cut arena slug! this time this one. i tried to keep it more in line rather than go a bit silly ehe. i still like how this came out- i think the accent color is nice. it looks like bingus to me actually. bingus slugcat

iggy projection slug. weird thing with lines under its eyes

to me this is another of nsh's purposed messengers. the lil guy that sent the distateful message. whatever it was icr the exacts but. him. boy. the darker pink is like armor like a centipede. looks like ham to me

iggy projection slug that had silly little small ears so i thought i'd include them

i was having so much trouble with this design but @pinkavtomation actually helped me out because i was. Struggling so hard and i was streaming doing these designs in vc (for 9 hours straight... voids) 'n it sent this and honestly. yeah. funky vitiligo cat to me.

colors r sorta based on vanilla and chocolate icecream???? thats what i was thinkin when i was lookin at it honestly. just a lil guy to me

#OOOHHH BOY TAG TIME #rain world #rainworld #rain world art #rain world downpour #rainworld downpour #slugcat #survivor #rw survivor #rain world survivor #monk #rw monk #rain world monk #hunter #rw hunter #rain world hunter #nightcat #rw nightcat #rain world nightcat #wanderer #rw wanderer #gourmand #rw gourmand #rain world gourmand #artificer #rw artificer #rain world artificer #rivulet #rw rivulet #rain world rivulet

[son1c]

the value of the here and now

falling stars fic masterpost

Shadow’s hands were red and blistering from his fight with the Android. The heat of its metallic flesh had turned the white cloth of his gloves into a staunch black, and the scorched fabric was unravelling where his fingers met his palms. There was no fixing them--he'd just have to get new ones once they landed at Club Rouge.

So, Shadow peeled off the ruined gloves as he and the rest of Team Dark made their way back through the lower deck of the manta ray ship.

He was thankful for the hissing pipes surrounding them, because they covered up his own hisses of discomfort as he picked the stray strings off his paw pads.

Then, in a move that would surely sadden Captain Planet, Shadow dropped what was left of his gloves on the floor. But he couldn't bring himself to care about the fact he was littering. If anything, disrespecting an Eggman battleship with his trash brought him a sense of satisfaction.

Sonic glanced back at Shadow over his shoulder.

Tight-faced, Shadow kept his hands balled into fists during the rest of the walk back to the maintenance tunnel. He followed behind everyone else, and so he was the last to arrive at the foot of the ladder that led up to the hatch. His hands ached when he unclenched them.

It was going to be a long climb to the top.

“Hey, Omega,” Sonic said as Shadow reached for the ladder. “Mind if we hitch a ride?”

Shadow paused, his fingers brushing against the first rung of the ladder.

"REQUEST DENIED. IF YOUR FLIMSY FLESH LEGS ARE TIRED, THE INSUFFERABLE WASP MODEL CAN BE YOUR 'RIDE.'"

The buzzy bomber in Sonic's quills hummed in agreement. It started to beat its wings, but stopped when Sonic reached up and placed his hand on its head, a silent request. Then, with a click of his tongue, Sonic said, "I get it. Your rockets ain't tough enough to pull the extra weight. That right?"

Rouge raised an eyebrow. She looked over at Shadow, but he was staring intensely at Sonic.

Omega took a lumbering step toward Sonic. He hunched over the blue hedgehog, his shiny red eyes drilling into him like laser beams in the dark. “YOUR TINY BODY IS LIKE A FEATHER," Omega said. "MY EFFICIENCY WOULD BE UNAFFECTED BY YOUR ADDITIONAL WEIGHT.”

Sonic didn't match Omega's stare. Instead, he closed his eyes and shrugged his shoulders, sounding real casual when he said, "Sure, dude. But that's just me. I bet if you tried it with everyone, it'd be a different story!"

"CEASE, BLUE HEDGEHOG.“

Omega snatched Sonic up like the hedgehog was nothing more than a hot pocket. He dropped him onto one of his broad metal shoulders with about as much care as a 4-year-old who had just been shown their dad's prized Gundam for the first time. But Sonic didn't mind--in fact, he practically had to bite his cheek to keep from grinning.

Shadow was next, and the dark hedgehog could only grimace when his burned hands smacked down on the robot’s shoulder. But at least the metal was cool to the touch.

Rouge was last, but she had chosen to float up to Omega's other shoulder without the robot's help.

Then, Omega ignited his thrusters, and the darkness surrounding them immediately fled to the recesses of the lower deck. Bright orange and yellow light filled the maintenance tunnel while Sonic and Rouge gripped Omega's handlebars.

Shadow would've done the same if there was a third handlebar. Unfortunately, there wasn't, and he was too proud to grab onto Sonic's arm, so he had to rely on sheer force of will to stay onboard as the robot rose through the tunnel and up to the hatch.

Once there, Omega blasted the hatch open with his fists, and tore it off its hinges. The entire thing went flying, and slammed into the wall with a bang so loud, it startled all of the badniks in the cabin. Even Buggy jumped a little, and it was behind a closed door in the cockpit.

Rouge dusted herself off. "Ah ha! A fabulous display," she said. "Even if it was a little… extravagant."

Omega twisted his head around so he could look at Sonic. "AWAITING CONFIRMATION: YOUR DOUBTS ARE NOW ERADICATED?"

Sonic hopped down from Omega's shoulder. "You sure proved me wrong," Sonic said. Then, he smiled apologetically. "You're tough stuff, Omega! Sorry for sayin' otherwise."

Omega examined Sonic. While the hedgehog rubbed the back of his neck, the robot had to ignore every scanner telling him that he was looking at an enemy badnik. "APOLOGY ACCEPTED," Omega finally said. "NEVER QUESTION MY STRENGTH AGAIN."

Five minutes later, Rouge had resumed her storytelling session with Omega, and Sonic and Shadow were back in the cockpit. The desert below them had started to give way to a scattered assortment of buildings, but it was still a far cry from the densely packed Night Babylon. As the manta ray battleship passed by overhead, a few people on the ground looked up, but all they could see was a shadow racing across the clouds.

There was nothing Shadow could use on the ship to dress his weeping hands. He’d have to wait until they reached Club Rouge to clean and dry them, and he planned on keeping them clenched until then, because the pressure made them hurt less.

So sloppy, that fight! So careless, the way he’d ignored the orange glow of the Android’s stripes! The furnace-like heat that had burned him should’ve come as no surprise.

While Shadow stewed in his thoughts, his expression darkened. He recalled the claw marks now marring his cheek. Just like his hands, they would heal. But for the time being, he was forced to carry them around, and they stung.

But what hurt the most was Shadow’s ego.

The dark hedgehog returned to his spot on the dashboard. If there was such a place, he would go to a corner of the ship that was completely isolated. But the only place like that was the lower deck, and he didn’t want to be subjected to his poor night vision playing tricks on him. As it was, the face of the Android already haunted the corner of his eye.

Sonic pulled Buggy into a one armed hug. "Great job, bud! I told you I've never met a ladybug who couldn't fly!"

The motobug beeped. Its antennas twirled at Sonic’s praise.

"So what if you're the only ladybug I've met? You can fly, can't ya?"

The motobug beeped again. This time, it scratched the front of its face with its claw in a bashful imitation of Sonic’s nose rub.

“Uh huh. Well, don’t let it get to your head, hot shot.” Sonic gave the motobug one last squeeze before letting go.

After he straightened, Sonic leaned against the side of the pilot’s chair. At first he looked out the window, but it wasn’t long before his eyes drifted over to Shadow, and then fell down to the hedgehog’s clenched hands. A pang of guilt twisted in his stomach.

"You really showed that fake who's boss, Stripes," Sonic said. "Heh. Yeah, I bet Mr. Ivo's boiling mad about it! He was all full of himself when he showed it off, like there was no way it could lose. But it couldn't live up to the real deal!"

Shadow pursed his lips. "Can it really be considered a fake?" Shadow asked. His claws dug into his palms, and the pain made his heart beat faster. "The face it wears has no identity. Maybe the shallow imitation here is…"

Sonic's eyes flickered. Anyone watching (Shadow wasn't in a state to notice) would've said there was a deep sadness swimming among them at that moment, but it was gone by the time he'd pushed himself away from the pilot's chair. A second later and he was holding Shadow's shoulders, his gaze searing into him like a pair of green suns. Intense, but not unkind.

Sonic said, "You're not some half-rate fake. You beat that thing, for starters. And I'm sorry you had to do that, by the way. If I hadn't been in such a rush to split town, I would've mopped the floor with it myself!"

Sonic leaned forward, hoping his words would sink into Shadow's thick skull. "You wanna know why you deserve your face? You wanna know who you are? Well, I've seen it. You're stubborn, you're strong, and you've got enough grit to sand any discount robo-duplicate into scrap metal!

"So don't let Egghead get in your head, alright? Cuz that's what he's countin' on. Don't let him have it."

There was nothing else for Shadow in that moment. There was no wind rushing by the outside of the ship, no beeping from the control panel, no motobug chittering curiously a few feet away. Sonic's eyes were shining like twin stars. And Shadow was reminded again of his dream, and the visage of the golden hedgehog, overflowing with power.

He felt some of that power now. That confidence. It radiated off of Sonic in waves, and Shadow desperately wanted to reach out and grasp it, to take some of it for himself. But the uncertainty that was plaguing him wouldn't be shaken off so easily. After all, it had been with him since the beginning, and its talons were wedged deep in Shadow's heart.

"Flattery won't get you far, hedgehog," Shadow said. However, his hands were ever-so-slightly relaxed. "Your words can't distract me from the truth. The value of my past far outweighs whatever the present has to offer."

Shadow raised a hand, intending to push Sonic's off him. But he paused when his knuckles brushed against Sonic's wrist. He remembered their conversation at the Starfall Festival, which felt like yesterday and a million years ago at the same time.

"But…"

Shadow's hand dropped back down to his lap.

"Your support is… appreciated." he said softly.

Sonic squeezed Shadow's shoulders. "It beats havin' to crawl outta the woods yourself, right?"

Shadow couldn't imagine it. Waking up in the crater alone. Confused, with no clues as to who he was or what had happened to him. With Sonic there, he'd immediately been given a goal. A purpose. To help him. If he hadn't been there, Shadow could've gotten scooped up by the G.U.N. soldier, or trapped by the cowboy ghost, or taken by Doctor Eggman. And without Sonic, the Doctor could've easily gotten into his head.

"I suppose it does," Shadow concluded.

His reward was a smile.

And then Sonic went back to the pilot's chair, and squeezed in next to Buggy. Shadow watched him take the controls back from the little robot, but whatever he was saying to the motobug didn't reach Shadow's ears. They were still swimming from Sonic's words.

He thought about the teammates he'd acquired. The connections he'd made.

Would it be right to allow himself to exist in the present?

Shadow recalled the ghostly space station. The place he felt such a strong connection to. The feelings, though buried and shrouded in mystery, still so clear. And the longing to understand why he wanted to call that place he couldn't remember "home."

And then the obligation returned. He couldn't turn his back on the graveyard of his past.

Shadow rubbed one of his inhibitor rings with his thumb. He looked over at the pilot's chair and saw Sonic and the motobug were squished together, playfully wrestling over who got to press the next button on the dash. Through the door, he could hear Rouge's voice raise as she got to the climax of her story, and Omega's metal joints creak as he leaned forward, completely enraptured by the carnage she was describing.

Shadow allowed himself to experience it.

#falling stars au #shadow's in his feelings again :/c #lotta stuff in this part i really enjoy :)

[marlynnofmany]

Tactical Artwork

I paused work with my hand tools in order to watch Glowing Coals buzz an intricate pattern into a small rock with his. He worked quickly, turning the rock like a gray Easter egg and completing the pattern without any flaws I could see, then setting it down and moving on to the next. The pattern for this one was just as complex, and just as freehand. He was easily the most talented at the table.

“How much practice did it take you to get so fast?” I asked, raising my voice to account for the breathing mask. Mine was pretty comfortable, but it muffled sounds a bit. Coals hadn’t complained about his, though he didn’t complain much in general.

“I had an artisan apprenticeship back home,” Coals said. His mask flexed a bit with the motion of his lizardy jaw, and was a stylish gold on top of his brick-red scales. “The creating was nice, but the people weren’t.”

“Yeah, I’ve had jobs like that.” I would have said more, but Painted Sunset finished an art piece and held it up for approval.

“Ta-da!” she said, displaying a three-legged shape made of sliced-up and reassembled mushrooms. Wait, two legs. That was a tail.

“Very nice,” I said. “How long do you think it will last without shriveling?”

Paint set it on the table. “Any shriveling will only add to its charm,” she said firmly.

I had a sudden memory of mushrooms that melted away into black goo instead of drying up, and was deciding whether or not to mention it when Trrili grabbed a fresh log and showered all of us in wood chips.

Paint shielded her mushroom doll; Coals ignored the shrapnel; I flinched, then sighed and gathered up a few bits to use in my own art. I was gluing together pieces of other people’s material into tiny sculptures. Maybe I could make a porcupine out of the flakes of wood.

Trrili was sure giving me plenty to work with. She attacked the log with all the intensity of a chainsaw carver in the midst of a painful breakup, and who also happened to have blade arms like a praying mantis. I wouldn’t have thought that those pinchers were exactly suited to woodworking, but the wood was soft and Trrili was angry.

She’d been there when the pirates stole our payment, and she hadn’t been able to stop them. Granted, I had too, but I wasn’t a large terrifying bug alien with a warrior’s pride. Her shiny black blade arms moved quickly, red patterns flashing like warning flares, and everyone gave her lots of room.

There was plenty of table space to go around — this was something like a local picnic area with one long table set on top of a low wall. Enormous chunks of crystal served as stools, which only some of the crew were using. Trrili certainly didn’t need them, though on the other side of her I could see that Mur had actually stacked two, to raise his squidlike body up to near table height. It looked like he and Captain Sunlight were both carving that horrible smelly soap into fanciful shapes. Hopefully the locals would take a liking to it in flower form. I was all for leaving the stuff behind whether they bought it or not. Nobody on our ship wanted it. It had been mislabeled at a market several planets ago.

This planet, as far as I knew, probably used soap. Probably. The locals were made of green-white crystalline material instead of any flesh I’d encountered before, so who knew? The air here was low-grade toxic. The social eating areas were strung out in long lines. The juvenile locals behaved more like puppies than children, with the four-legged frolicking and loud barking to match. They easily could have not used soap; there were stranger things about the place.

“Are you going to use those leaves?” Paint asked me, pointing at a stack of orange ones. “They’d make great scales for my little person here.”

“Sure, go for it,” I said. “There are more by that tree over there.” I jerked my head to the side, busy focusing on the porcupine body I was assembling out of acorns. Was it bizarre that this planet had people so alien, but plants so familiar? Yes it was. Maybe there was a reason for it — someone doing interstellar traveling to collect and relocate alien flora, or maybe some genetic engineering was at work, or sheer coincidence. I’d seen more unlikely things that that before too. And, as had become my mantra for this sort of minor curiosity, I’d either find out or I wouldn’t. We had higher priorities today.

Like making enough sellable art to unload at the market across the street and recoup at least most of the money we were out. The local guard force had promised to search for the pirates, with hopes of recovering what they’d stolen, but nobody seemed very optimistic about that. We hadn’t even seen what type of ship the pirates had, just their powerful hand weapons and full-body jumpsuits. My guess was that the species under all the pink and brown camo was something like the jumpy chipmunk people we’d met some time ago. I could easily have been wrong. So, there wasn’t much to go on. They were probably long gone already, the next best thing to anonymous.

Or, I thought at a flash of pink, They could be here hoping to exchange the local money for something easier to spend off-system. I leaned hard to see past Coals and into the crowd of crystal-green locals, where two very familiar shapes were walking from stall to stall.

With our bag of gemstones. Like the absolute rookie imbeciles they apparently were. They weren’t holding the guns; those must have been in the bag too.

They hadn’t even seen us yet.

I grabbed two of Coals’ rocks and bolted from the table. “Trrili! There!”

Trrili whirled at my shout, and was right behind me, but I was in range first. Just close enough to fling a rock with all the speed of a good ol’ Earthling throwing arm.

The thieves had turned at our approach, with the closer one reaching into the bag, but that was the one I blasted in the facemask first. He went down hard, taking the bag with him. The other dithered a moment between going for the gun and just running for his life. His bobbing around made my shot bounce off his shoulder instead of his face.

He yelped and ran for it, dodging between startled crystal people with Trrili in hot pursuit.

Locals were yelling for the guards. So was Captain Sunlight, behind me. And unless I missed my guess, so was the thief.

If Trrili had been on my heels, I probably would have too.

I picked up the rocks and stood watch over the groaning thief who probably had a concussion, though lucky for him, no crack in the faceplate. Captain Sunlight caught up and claimed the bag, pawing through it to check the contents. Mur came out of nowhere with a tentacle tackle that held the thief more immobile than I ever could.

“The guards are coming,” said Captain Sunlight. “You three go be tactful.” She pointed at me and at the Frillian twins just now jogging up, then in the direction Trrili had gone.

“Got it,” I said.

The twins nodded, and we took off. Crystalline locals gave us space. The yelling pirate gave us a trail to follow.

He didn’t sound injured yet. We might be able to calm things down into a capture-and-turn-over-to-the-authorities. Or he might deserve what he got. Or he could have another gun hidden somewhere. Or the guards might get the wrong idea and target us. Anything could happen.

I’ve got customer-service diplomacy and two good throwing rocks, I thought as I ran. Bring it on.

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come!

#my writing #the Token Human #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #haso #hfy #eiad #humans can throw #art for everybody

[an-angels-fury]

The only Heaven I'll be sent to is when I'm alone with you

OR: Basically what happens after one day I find myself re-listining to "Take me to Church" by Hozier and suddenly getting all inspired to write a Caspeter oneshot based on the concept of #love as religion

OR: My first (kind of) successful attempt at writing something... spicier... I think...

A little dedication to @equixen, because you said you were interested at seeing more of my writing for this ship, and @eds-gryff, because I believe you might enjoy this as well - also the fact you made a Caspeter edit with the lyrics of this song, which I absolutely love it (😍) ! (Oh, and in case any of you feel uncomfortable for being tagged in my posts for any reason, just warn me so I won't do it next time, okay? 😅).

Anyway, good reading! 🫶

P.S.: The moodboard below was made by me. Images and quotes used were all found on Pinterest. The photo in the middle is from a fanart made by Tasya Rey (don't know the original ship tho).

Warning: Sexual Content (but nothing super descriptive)

You always knew this would happen anyway. You've been waiting for this moment your whole life. It was the truest of all truths, the one that had already been carved into your bones by the arrows of destiny long before you even existed.

And it was precisely because you blindly believed in such certainty that you didn't question when the High King intertwined his fingers with yours and guided you through the infinite maze of corridors to his private chambers, turning his head back from time to time to make sure you were still following him - of course you were. You would follow him to the ends of the earth if he asked you to. There is no other place you would rather be than by his side.

You don't question it when you hear the slow creak of doors being closed and locked. The noise sends a shiver down your spine, only serving to alert you to the proximity of what is to come. The crackling fire in the hearth is the only source of light in the entire room, creating a trail of orange flash across the stone floor. You don't question it when the High King pushes you against the wall and his lips collide with yours. The two of you start off at a gentle pace, savoring every inch of each other's mouths. You tilt your head just a little to the side and make room for his tongue to enter, letting a hoarse moan escape from the back of your throat. Your hands find their way to the hair on the back of his neck and give a slight tug, causing the other to emit a low, guttural sound and quickly deepen the kiss.

You feel his hands slide down the sides of your body, burning your skin beneath your robes, until they stop at your hips and press them against his. The more the technique improves, the faster the embers burn and you fear that your heart will stop beating. You continue to taste those soft lips, the two of you moving in a continuous rhythm, until you are forced to stop to catch your breath.

Your eyes meet his and your insides are taken over by a wave of heat that weakens you from head to toe. You admire the way the red of the hearth flames mix with the blue of his pupils like liquid gold, displaying a flickering glow. For a moment, you begin to believe that you are under the influence of some spell - and you don't want to wake up. You would have already fallen to your knees if you weren't holding onto his shoulders as if he were the only anchor keeping you from drowning. But he is also the water that clogs your lungs, the water that cleanses and purifies your soul, the water that, the more you drink, the more you become thirsty.

A smile spreads across the High King's face, conveying a new kind of emotion for which there seem to be no words to describe its true meaning. Passion? Lust? Devotion? Maybe... love? Whatever it was, it was something that made you want to surrender to that feeling. Surrender to him.

You don't let yourself be intimidated by the intensity of his gaze, you just keep staring at him while you feel nimble fingers working to open the buttons on your tunic. And you don't try to stop him. You don't want him to stop because you need to feel more of him, more than ever, and he knows it.

The boy takes his time removing the remaining parts of your costume, layer by layer, undressing you with deliciously torturous slowness. You stop breathing for a moment when his hands find your bare chest and his palm rests over where your heart beats like a drum. Quickly, the hand is replaced by the mouth and you close your eyes and revel in the way those lips so intimately caress that specific place - the sacred place of your life source - and all you want is for him to go forward. You want him to rip your skin, open your ribcage and take your heart in his hands just so you can declare to him "It's yours. It beats for you... I bleed for you." You want to cling to him. You want him inside you.

When you least realize it, you find yourself completely undressed from your clothes, your back tingling from the contact against the rough, cold surface of the wall. Your lover's lips gently brush your skin, starting on your chest and passing through your shoulder, your collarbone and only stopping until they find a pulsing vein on your neck. Soon, his tongue and teeth begin to taste more of that corner and, involuntarily, you lift your head back just a little bit and oh! It feels so, so good. You can't help the whimpers of ecstasy that leave your mouth, the kind of sound you had no idea you were capable of producing. In an instinctive gesture, you grope the body in front of you, your vision still clouded by the darkness of your eyelids, and pull the fabric of his coat in a failed attempt to get rid of it. However, you feel your wrists being grabbed and pinned above your head and you grunt in frustration at the break of contact.

When your vision clears, you are met with a serious expression on the High King's face. His grip, once gentle, was now firm and strong. Despite having the youthful features of a teenager, it was enough to feel the calluses on his hands or dive into the deep abyss of his eyes to remember that in that body - that small cage - lay the soul of a powerful warrior whose acts of bravery spanned the centuries and gave you hope in the darkest days of your childhood. You dreamed of meeting him, of sitting next to him and listening to him tell you stories about his adventures for days and nights. You dreamed of the enchanting sound of his voice, the sweetness of his laugh and the feeling of his arms comforting you and taking all the loneliness away. But never, not even in your wildest dreams, have you seen yourself as the object of his adoration, of his most primal desire. A mere mortal like you being bestowed with such an honor? How was this possible?

For a minute, you both remain still where you are, until he approaches and places a chaste kiss on your lips before whispering in a commanding tone:

- Lay down.

And you just obey. You walk towards the bed and lie down on the velvet sheets. He comes to you, sits on the edge of the mattress and observes your nakedness appreciatively. His hands slide carefully over your tanned skin, knowing every curve and noticing your reactions. Every touch is a sacred gesture that you always respond to with a sigh of pleasure. It continues its path through the muscles of your belly, always descending, and a strange throbbing sensation begins to spread in the space between your thighs. When those skilled fingers finally approach your intimacy, your entire body contracts in a mix of embarrassment and thrill. The young blond man just gives you a small cheeky smile when you instinctively lift your pelvis towards the touch you so longed for.

Suddenly, he stops what he was doing and gets out of bed to take off his boots. Confused, you sit down and watch him attentively, not daring to say a single word. The High King stands before you and asks you to extend your hand. You give it to him – the one with the scar – and he kisses the thin, pink line across your palm. Then he takes that same hand and guides it to his belt buckle and you know exactly what to do. Your movements are slow and shaky, exposing your inexperience, but you keep going anyway. With each layer of clothing that falls to the floor, your heart skips a beat. In the end, you just gasp in admiration before the divine image that blesses your eyes.

Even naked, he carries the same aura of grandeur and magnanimity that he has always displayed. He is the Sun, and every part of his being - from his golden hair and his eyes as blue and vast as the northern sky that is his domain, to his marble skin, pale and marked with cracks - is sculpted by light. It shines so brightly that you fear you will go blind. You want to look away, you want to touch him too, but you can't move. His presence paralyzes every fiber of your being. It's as if your body no longer belongs to you.

Fortunately, in your moment of greatest despair, your loved one came to your aid - as he always did. He lifts your chin and holds your face between his hands, sliding his thumbs down your cheeks, then your nose, until it rests on the surface of your lips. He acts as if you are the work of art and he is the fascinated admirer. You find yourself too busy soaking in such grace that you don't even notice the silent shadows that begin to grow behind the mirrors of his soul. That darkness that manifested itself was just the silhouette of an even deeper and… animalistic feeling.

You finally find out what it is when he leans towards you and takes your mouth in an eager, ardent kiss. Tongues dance and meet in perfect synchrony and it doesn't take long for teeth to join in the act. His fingers cling to the black strands of your hair and you don't even try to contain your loud moan when he sits on your lap. Your arms grab him around the waist, trying to increase the friction between your bodies for as long as possible. Yes, you know that feeling, the desperate desire to devour and be eaten alive. It's so strong, so visceral, so... pure.

"What's the name again?" You wonder. Oh yes. Hunger. And the most exquisite kind.

You fall onto the pillow like a feather and he positions himself over you, all without breaking the kiss. There was no longer any escape - you already knew that the moment you heard the door close -. Now you are completely at his mercy. And you couldn't have it any other way.

His lips leave yours and begin to trace their way along your jawline, continuing until he reaches your neck. He starts to explore your weaknesses and quickly learns the best way to stimulate them. His magical touch makes you tremble and arch your spine in a mix of agony and delight. His enchanted tongue leaves a hot trail of saliva wherever it goes, and the further it goes down, the fiercer the need becomes. And when it finally arrives at the place that most craves attention, you just… feel like you're floating in the air. And you have to hold on to his tangled hair, otherwise you are sure you would get lost somewhere amidst the clouds and never return to the ground again.

An explosion of completely new sensations turns you into a pile of rubble on the sheets. It was exactly what you wanted. That's why you gave him the power to ruin you. You wanted him to hurt you and then end your suffering. You wanted him to kill you slowly and then bring you back to life. He is pain and relief, sickness and the cure, chaos and tranquility. He is everything to you and he is beautiful - Oh, heavens, he's absolutely beautiful - in a way you've never seen before and you soon regret not having worshiped him sooner.

That's why the first thing you decide to do right after you regain your senses is to hold him by the shoulders and push him against the bed, putting all your weight on him. Now it was your turn to drive him crazy with passion and, just like him, you wouldn't be the least bit merciful.

You kiss and caress him with the devotion of a fervent believer. You feel his nails scratching your back, leaving marks on your skin, a reminder that everything you are and everything you will ever become belongs to him and him alone. But that's where the best part comes from: there's reciprocity. His pleasure is also yours. You feel his desire - the same one that takes over you right now - to be consumed, to merge and become one. One body. One heart. One love.

Suddenly, he calls you and you answer him. You kiss him again and you even get to taste a little of yourself in his mouth. He finally surrenders to your advances and begs you to give him peace and take him to Paradise. Who would have thought that one day you would witness this scene: the High King, always so correct and composed, reduced to a pitiful creature begging for something that only you can give him? Seeing him so defenseless, so vulnerable and so uninhibited awakens something in your heart that leaves it heavy. It's shocking and painful to realize that you were responsible for leaving him in that state. You ruined him too.

You decide that you won't make either of you wait any longer. The truth is, there was nothing in this world or any other that you could ever deny him. You rest your forehead on his and look into his eyes one last time, searching for any sign of fear or doubt. However, all you find is a tempting invitation to your own damnation, which you accept with open arms because if he is a religion, then you are his most passionate disciple.

When you begin the ritual, which had only the moon and the night as legitimate witnesses, it is as if everything around you two faded into oblivion and the only thing that existed were your hands clasped on the mattress and the heavy breathing that marked the rhythm of the music to which your sweaty bodies danced. May the Great Lion forgive you for such blasphemy, but you do not wish to pay obeisance to any other god than the one beneath you. His body is your temple and his hips are the altar on which you kneel to pray. It is his name that comes from your lips when you sing your orisons and it is between his legs that you find your salvation. If it is such an abominable crime to praise the one you love most, then you will accept burning in that heavenly fire for all eternity.

But all good things come to an end. You watch him reach his climax and marvel at the way those angelic features contort with pleasure and you swear the title of 'Magnificent' has never suited him so well as it did at that very moment. You finish right after him and feel the little that remains of your energy drain away. A whirlwind of emotions takes hold of you and you find yourself unable to formulate any concrete idea that describes what you are feeling right now. You are surprised by the hot tears that form in your eyes and run down your cheeks, but what really leaves you speechless are the fingers that brush your damp hair away from your face and the pink lips that kiss your tears, drinking them like the delicate bud that searches for rain. And it's when he smiles that you see him blossom into a lovely flower. Finally, he hugs you and whispers his vows in your ear like a secret:

- My beautiful, gentle sin.

Then you realize why you could never prevent what happened tonight, why your bodies fit together so perfectly as if they were made for each other and why you could never break the invisible bond that connects your souls: it was never something simply carnal. It was a love capable of crossing the barriers of time and space - after all, more than 1300 years separated you two and, even so, he somehow managed to find his way to you. It was a love that no superior force could overcome. It was a love that meant more than love.

You always knew this would happen, one way or another. This was the mystery that gave life to the stars and hold them in place, the secret you fought so long to unravel. For years, you made the same wish, again and again, and after a long wait, they finally granted it. And you couldn't be more grateful for having received such a precious gift in your life.

You rejoice in your good fortune as you drift off into a calm, peaceful sleep.

#bia's failed attempt at writing #I'm really not sure how to feel about this one... #like it's not that bad but I feel pretty embarrassed posting this because I'm not used to writing sexy stuff - which yeah it's obvious! #but I really wanted to take a risk so... #also I basically give myself the mission to fill the caspeter tumblr tag 'cause if I don't then who will? #the chronicles of narnia #chronicles of narnia #narnia #tcon #c.s. lewis #peter pevensie #caspian x #prince caspian #caspeter #caspian x peter #peter x caspian #fanfiction #narnia fanfiction #narnia fic #smut #take me to church #hozier #love as religion #love as worship #one shot #my writing #aesthetic #narnia aesthetic #aesthetic moodboard #my edits

[lorcandidlucienwill]

The Lady of Autumn prays to the Mother and gets a lot more than she bargained for.

“My lady, pardon my insolence, but are you sure this is a good idea?” Seraphina’s handmaiden asked, anxiously playing with her hair. Seraphina sighed, turning to the lady who had loyally served her for the past several centuries. “It is probably not, Tay. But, my heart yearns for a baby girl. Perhaps, if I am devoted enough, the Mother will grant my wish.”

“You intend to carry again?” Tay gasped. “But you almost died giving birth to little Lu-“

“If this sacrifice works, I won’t need to,” Seraphina said confidently. “Trust me.” She straightened her dress, patting her bun to ensure it was perfect.

“How do you think the Lord will react?” Tay asked tentatively. “His lord already knows and has given me permission to perform it in his absence, as you very well know, Tay.”

He might be a monster, but Beron did still love her. It was what made it so hard to stay away, aside from her children. Even when she had a mate elsewhere.

“As you say, Lady,” Tay said. She placed a coat over her shoulders. “Do wear this, won’t you? It is a tad bit chilly today.” Seraphina smiled. “I won’t be needing that. After all…” She let her flame course through her body, let her brown eyes shine as bronze as her dress. “I have the flames to keep me warm.”

The Lady of Autumn floated down the steps to the outside of the palace, every bit the perfect graceful consort to the High Lord of Autumn. No one knew what was happening today, merely that a great yagna was being performed by nobility, and fire sacrifices were always a religious spectacle.

Seraphina gently lowered herself to the position beside the priestesses. They chanted prayers, and at certain intervals, they’d instruct some rare treasure to be lowered into the fire.

Seraphina watched as her favorite ballroom dress was burned to cinders, as her gold jewelry entered the fire as well, praying the Goddess would finally grant her wish. The fire turned blue, then orange, then purple, then yellow.

“Lady, I need you to repeat after me,” the brunette priestess on her left said. Brunettes were not as common in Autumn as they were elsewhere; most here were blonde, or they got the red hair if they were lucky.

“Vakratunda mahakaya, Kotisurya, Samaprabha. Nirvighnam Kuru Me Deva Sarva Kaaryeshu Sarvada.”

The priestesses waited. Please please please, Seraphina begged. I’ll do anything.

“I’m sorry, Lady, it appears that-“

Just then, the fire turned blood red and narrowed into a rapid jet blasting rapidly into the sky. The crowd oohed and aahed at the display as moments later, the fire settled into its calm yellow-orange state.

And there was a shape there. Seraphina watched, transfixed, as a fully-grown woman stepped out of the flames.

She was stunning; her coloration was the farthest thing from Autumn. Her hair and eyes were midnight black, her chocolate skin glowing in the light of the Autumn sun. She wore a red and gold saree, the peacock embroidery dotting the dress from top to bottom marking it as one fit for royalty. She was draped in gold jewelry, a ruby man tika gracing her forehead. But perhaps the most shocking thing was what lay in her hand.

A long, fine sword with a ruby-encrusted hilt.

A noble lady indeed, but a noble lady can still kill.

The crowd was murmuring as they stared at the upstart, who smiled as she made a corona of fire around her head. Gifted, then.

Then, a loud voice from the heavens boomed, “THIS WOMAN SHALL KILL BERON VANSERRA AND RESTORE THE RIGHTEOUS LINE OF RULERS TO AUTUMN!”

The crowd now went completely silent. The woman who had just been born out of the fire looked unperturbed by this declaration; on the contrary, she gave Seraphina a little smirk.

Hah! A Vanserra, indeed!

And now Seraphina must fear for her life.

She had to get her daughter out of Autumn before he heard the news and had her killed.

#lady of autumn #fanfic #beron vanserra #autumn court

[aspiring-house-husband]

theres a thief who thinks himself too good to be caught. so he decides to take on bigger, more challenging prey. 

he climbs the sorcerer’s tower, cobblestone by cobblestone, and climbs into a window. he knows the sorcerer is gone, and so takes a moment to investigate. he taps at giant gemstones that chime with his touch, and glances over the spines of spellbooks. curious yet absent minded, he pinches a candle, and watches as its thin, whispy smoke floats up from the wick. he leans in to smell it, always having loved the scent of candle smoke. 

it’s a delicious aroma, one that makes his muscles relax. his eyes droop a bit low, but he ignores his tiredness, and wanders further. there’s a boiling cauldron over a fire, but he wouldn’t dare investigate that. no, he moves through the workshop again, deciding to pinch another candle. 

it just smells so good... makes his balance a little loopy, and his eyes even heavier. there’s nothing wrong with taking a little nap, right? 

he wakes up chained to the sorcerer’s table. 

“good morning,” the sorcerer says cheerfully, “i can’t wait for you to get to work.”

“work?” the thief slurs, still not awoken. 

“of course! you have to earn my forgiveness, after breaking into my workshop. so you’ll suffer beautifully through the effects of my potions i’ve yet to test. ready, pretty boy?” 

the thief doesn’t get to say a word before the sorcerer pours a bright purple liquid over his mouth. he can’t help but swallow some, but some drips down his chin and chest. 

the room spins, and he immediately feels an incredible desire to be fucked. it’s immensely powerful, making his cock harden and hole slicken. he moans, pulling against the binds to rub his thighs together. 

“how perfect”, says the sorcerer, and notes something in a notebook. “ready for the next?”

the thief cannot answer before this time a red liquid seeps down his throat. this one makes every bit of his skin light on fire with sensitivity. the wood beneath his back is too scratchy, and the chains too cold, but the air on his skin feels like the most incredible sensation of feverish warmth. his eyes roll back. 

“i’ll let you pick the next one, pet,” says the sorcerer, but when the thief lifts his eyes, his vision is too blurry to read. not that he could comprehend the words enough to decide, with how strong his desire is to be filled, touched, owned. it’s the only thought he could conjure. 

“yes, well. alright. this’ll do, if you wont decide.” something that tastes distinctly like oranges hits his tongue, and he feels an even further surge of lust, but particularly toward the sorcerer as they lock eyes. the thief lifts his hips pitifully, drooling hole on full display beneath his flushed cock. 

“of course, pet, be patient. let me finish my notes before i give you what you need.”

curiously, his first batch of each of those potions don’t ever fully... wear off. even after weeks of begging to be satisfied, being filled and fucked and pounded into unconsciousness, the thief still desires nothing more than the sorcerer’s cock, deep inside him. 

the sorcerer takes responsibility for his mistake, just as the thief took responsibility for his trespassing. they both live happier lives because of it. 

#og #story #non monster #dumbification #sorcerer #hypnosis #aphrodisiac

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

Fluttering wings

I visited a butterfly exhibit a while ago and I returned with brain worms.

This ficlet is a nod to one of my favorite chapters (Chapter 23) from one of my all time favorite fics, Ghost of Mine. I cannot recommend it enough, you guys give it a read, it's more than worth it!

A new chapter was uploaded just today, so go check it out!

Onto the ficlet!

A-Yuan had been raving about the butterfly exhibit to be displayed the local nature museum ever since he heard of it during a commercial break on the radio. Wei Wuxian had picked him up from school that day and, as they listened to music in the car - their little tradition to scream out songs to make the noon traffic more bearable - their favorite radio station played an announcement of an exotic butterfly exhibit temporarily taking a stop at the life sciences museum that weekend.

Given that butterflies happened to be the little one's favorite insects, and that Wei Wuxian could never tell him no when he used his widest, wettest puppy eyes, they arrived home with plans already set up for the next Saturday. It would be just the perfect way to spend the day together, pulling Lan Wangji into it as well - he had been working so hard lately, helping his brother run their family business after his long mental health break, that a day away from all those emails and phone calls could only be beneficial.

Expectedly, a lot of people had decided to spend their weekend the same way - so on the day of the exhibit, the queue was long and the spirits high despite the long wait.

The butterfly enclosure was a wide, glass greenhouse covered in vines and potted plants of varying sizes, as well as realistic branch twigs for the butterflies to hang onto. There were a few aquarium-shaped glass boxes for butterflies to rest in, fruit and fresh flowers awaiting them there. It looked magical, the way the colorful butterflies flitted about, dancing around the enclosure and around each other.

One of the caretakers noticed A-Yuan's starry eyes as he followed out the butterflies and handed him a large piece of orange.

"Hold this in your palm, and the butterflies will come to you." She said, with a smile. "The blue ones especially like citrus. They're called Giant Blue Morphos, because they grow so big!"

A-Yuan listened intently, and did as told, outstreching his palm for the butterflies to notice the treat.

In no time at all, a large, bright blue butterfly landed gracefully onto the orange slice, wings fluttering as if in excitement as it fed. Next to it, another species fluttered its wings to land, the black on them dotted with red and white markings.

"That is called a Red Admiral Butterfly." The caretaker explained. "This one and this Giant Blue Morpho specimen seem to have bonded, so where one is, the other is guaranteed to follow."

"Oh, just like baba and a-die!"

Lan Wangji's ears dusted pink as Wei Wuxian laughed. Indeed, just like them!

The butterflies flew away together a few seconds later and the caretaker showed A-Yuan where to place the orange slice for the other butterflies to find. Then, taken by the child's enthusiasm, she continued pointing out various species of butterflies to him.

"That one," she pointed towards a lone butterfly resting on a nearby branch, purple accents shining on its wings, "is called an Agathina Emperor. It lives in the Amazon rainforest, and it is our only purple colored butterfly. We are waiting for a female to be sent to us so he finally gets a girlfriend!"

"We also know of someone purple that needs a girlfriend." Wei Wuxian told Lan Wangji, who couldn't help a small laugh.

"And this one," the caretaker spoke as a light blue butterfly landed on her finger, "is a Northern Azure butterfly. He's one of my favorites, he's really social and whenever someone that's sad or upset in any way is around, he lands on their nose!"

The butterfly floated from the woman's finger on A-Yuan's, who took to admiring it intently.

"You can look around, take pictures and whatnot, enjoy the exhibit as much as you like! I have to go back to work, but if you have any questions, let me know!"

"Ok, thank you!" A-Yuan replied, very politely, earning a head pat from Lan Wangji in appreciation.

And so the woman returned to tending to the enclosure, while the family of three walked around, pointing towards the beautiful insects.

A shining flutter of wings suddenly caught Wei Wuxian's eye just as he was about to make a joke about uncle Lan Qiren being more like an old moth than a butterfly.

The little thing flew around Wei Wuxian, shining but transparent, like it was made of lace and sunlight. A closer look revealed it looking more like an origami butterfly, its markings spelling something unreadable. The butterfly then landed atop A-Yuan's head, batting its wings thrice, slowly.

Wei Wuxian blinked in the same rhythm, subconsciously and distant, faded images evoked in his mind - a dark plave, a tree stump, a child, a battle, a cave, a sword, please save him, I'm sorry and... thank you

There was a comforting hand placed onto Wei Wuxian's shoulder, and he recognizes it as his husband's, his voice soft though worried. "Wei Ying?"

He blinked away those images, the sounds ringing into his ears as they seemed to move further away until they became inaudible, and he shook his head as if to rid of them. "I'm fine, I'm fine... I just saw..."

But there was no sign of the odd butterfly that Wei Wuxian had seen, try as he might have to look for it. None of the insects flying about looked like it, and the little labels describing information about the species in the exhibit had no pictures similar to it.

Perhaps that wasn't a butterfly that lived there.

Perhaps it wasn't even a butterfly at all.

But whatever it had been, Wei Wuxian could only hope it found what it was looking for.

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #wangxian #writing attempts #can you tell butterflies used to be my special interest

[tozettastone]

Soup fic

------

"Hello Shop Girl-san!" called a voice from the counter above. Fingers rapped on the wood over her head.

Monica emerged, red-eyed from the dust under the bench, with a stack of supplier invoices and receipts of payment in hand. She could feel that the bandana she used to keep her hair covered and in line was lopsided on her head.

She used to get things done on a computer: a sleek little tablet that could fit inside an envelope. There was a point of sale system she connected via a single USB-c cable.

The elemental nations did not have point of sale systems or cute little tablets. They barely had books—the people here loved their scrolls, for some reason.

Her customer was a tall, dark-haired fellow in an orange mask that obscured his face and clashed magnificently with the red clouds on his clothes.

"Hi there," she said brightly.

Monica thought he had serious major character vibes, and hoped that somewhere in this stack of receipts was the one from having paid her shop's insurance. The ninja clause was paper thin, but it was in there.

"Ne, sister, is it really okay to be taking a nap down there during business hours?" her customer wondered. He had an incredibly exaggerated voice and a childish way of speaking. Major-major character vibes.

"Ah, sorry, I didn't hear you come in," she said. The change of light from the dimness under the register to the bright sunlight through the shop windows struck Monica, then. She tried very hard not to sneeze. "I was looking for pape—um, paperwork..."

No, she was losing that battle. She held up one finger "Scu—scuse me..." And then she turned her head away to unleash an almighty sneeze into her arm. "I didn't hear you come in," she said, again. "You ninja are all so quiet."

Ninja were the only people on the planet who would intentionally bypass the bell over her door and then get mad that she didn't magically notice their presence when they actually wanted her. (A lot of things were different when you accidentally switched planets into a cartoon. But customer service was pretty identical... unfortunately.)

The mask, and its rim of dark hair, tilted.

"Is that so...?" He tapped the chin of the mask like he was giving it really serious consideration.

Monica bowed a little. Couldn't hurt. The people here loved their bowing, too, but they were much better at judging how deep and for how long to bow than she was. "What can I help you with, Shinobi-san?"

He thumped his hand into his palm like a little hammer. "I'm looking for your super extra mega special supreme lunch soup!"

"Eh?" Monica blinked. "My what?"

"Your super extra mega special supreme lunch s—"

"Ah, yes, yes, I heard you... But I don't sell anything called that. It's just what you see here, Shinobi-san." She gestured to her display case, which was where she kept the home cooked food.

There were some things in there that were "different," by local standards. Sweets here trended in the direction of fruit or coffee jellies, mochi, things with soft rice flour and red bean pastes or sweet buns. Sometimes they had fancy light cheese cakes, or very occasionally, chocolates. Some of those things were available on the shelves, like the sugar crusted melon bread in its individual plastic wrappers, but Monica had not the first idea how to make them.

She watched the ninja as he made a grand show of bending over and examining the case. Today the dishes she was offering were only two: a savoury meat pie, which was made with a hot water crust pastry, slow cooked beef, root vegetables and mushrooms, and a sweet dessert she made with paper-thin layered pastry, walnuts smashed to a paste, and honey. She'd labelled them "savoury meat pie," and "sweet pastry (contains nuts)" so it wasn't going to take the ninja more than two seconds to recognise that neither was "super extra mega special supreme lunch soup."

He took about a minute, peering at one and whirling to bend over and examine the other, cloak fluttering.

Monica had seen that cloak before, on several people. Some of them gave her major character vibes, but some were utterly unremarkable. That big guy with the pencil moustache? She'd seen him once and he'd looked barely filled in: mid-tone skin, a red nose, colourless grey hair...

That was the other thing about living in an animated world. Most people had bland clothes and indistinct designs, and most of them were pretty uniform. There was none of the natural variation of the real world: everyone was of the same builds, the same hair styles in the same brown hair, the same clothing. Except major characters. Major characters were distinct. They all had something: weird clothes, brightly coloured hair or eyes—or even a silhouette that was totally unique. Something that would stand out on the page or the screen.

Which brought Monica back to this ninja. The cloak was one she'd seen before, but they mask and the fluffy dark hair were both crisp and decided. He stuck out.

In her old life, Monica had never really thought she was missing out when she'd given up on a long anime. But... she wished she'd watched more, now that she lived in it.

"These aren't soup!" he decided eventually. It took some time.

"I know," said Monica patiently. She didn't think she'd ever sold a soup—she made soups out of leftover vegetables and misshapen roots from the garden. They weren't pretty enough to sell to paying customers. She'd occasionally given a beggar or an orphan a cup for free, or any particularly unfortunate looking person who wandered into her store, but she didn't see how this man could have ended up with one of those. Whatever organisation employed ninja in those big cloaks, she doubted they were strapped for cash.

...she didn't have any right now anyway.

"Do you want me to put the pie filling in a cup? That's kind of a stew." A very thick stew.

He turned to look at her very, very intently. Then he stuck his butt out and began wiggling like a happy puppy. For... Some reason. "That would be so kind of you, sister."

She left him exclaiming over shelf-stable mochi while she went into her back room. It was also her kitchen. There was a tiny bedroom above it, so the heat from her cooking rose and kept it tolerably warm all autumn. Monica had lived in worse places. Especially here.

In the kitchen she thinned a serve of pie filling—which had to stew before she could bake it into a case anyway—with extra vegetable broth, stirred it up and decanted it into a broad paper cup.

Whatever Mr Major Character Vibes had come for, he left with his cup of soup, looking extremely pleased with himself—in as much as someone whose entire face was mask could be pleased.

Monica was just relieved that she'd gotten him out of her shop. She went back to trying to find her butcher's receipt for last month, interrupted only by other sales to much more mundane people—two small, gap-toothed children sent on an errand to buy beer and dried fish, an elderly lady who needed bleach, a burly guy who came looking for a pot in which to cook rice and pretended he was so incompetent about cooking that he couldn't figure out which to pick.

She finally found the receipt at about three, which was when a harried grandmother herded five children into her shop and asked for pies and sweets for all of them.

"I like your hair, sister," said the smallest girl when Monica handed her a folded cardboard box full of pie.

"Thanks," said Monica. She raised her hands to her head and realised her hair was escaping her bandana. "Oops. I'd better fix that, huh?"

The girl smiled at her through a mouthful of meat and gravy.

Once she saw the grandmother and her kids out Monica tucked her hair away again. It was a strange irony that, while in her regular life, she'd never even thought to dye her hair from its natural dark brown, now that she too was animated, her hair had turned out to be a mass of thick, dark red curls.

And yeah. Monica knew what that meant.

#naruto #fic ideas for a rainy day #akatsuki #original character

[gintrinsic-writing]

Time—Majora’s Mask in Ravio’s Shop

A gift for @lyrabythelake! 

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The porch steps creak faintly as Time follows the others into Legend’s home. Birdsong and sunlight filter through the open windows with equal enthusiasm. The front room of the house is full of different items for sale; neatly displayed on rows of mismatched tables are talismans, warded cases full of jewelry, various weapons, and gilded sets of armor, all somehow made charming by the little handwritten cards detailing each item. 

Ravio greets them warmly, waving aside Legend’s grumbled complaints about “the price gouging mess.” He appears very practiced at it. “Oh hush,” Ravio says, bustling about the store as they all file in. He doesn’t seem to notice when his hood falls over his eyes. “You can’t blame a fellow for making an honest living.”

Legend groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. “An honest living? Some of these are my items; don’t think I don’t recognize that red amulet by the front door, or that tourmaline ring in the corner. You’re a plague upon my home.”

“I’m a plague who just made shepherd’s pie and apple cobbler from scratch,” Ravio says dryly. Shouldering past Legend, he gestures toward the kitchen with a smile. “Help yourselves, heroes! There may not be enough of those to go around, but there’s chili in the fridge! A couple slices of buttermilk pie, too. You can thank me by browsing the store later, hm?” 

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Time answers, trying not to grin at Legend’s exaggerated grimace. The others offer their own thanks, then waste no time making their way toward the kitchen, chatting in good spirits. Time is the last to move, watching with no little amusement as Legend pulls Ravio down a different hallway; he suspects they’ll have much more to discuss than simple finances. 

Shaking his head, he turns to join the others, and that’s when he sees it: hanging beside a window, nestled tightly between two Rito feathers and a quaint little painting of the countryside, is Majora’s Mask. 

For a moment—for the length of a breath, three nervous heartbeats, the clenching and unclenching and re-clenching of fists—time seems to stop. Seconds pass, surely, but they’re uncountable. Time stares into bright orange eyes, tracing the familiar, too-knowing whorls. His breath catches in his throat. He feels frozen to the spot, held fast by disbelief and a growing sense of dread. His hands twitch again, fingers curling, though he cannot say for certain whether he wants to reach for his sword or if he means to check on the Fierce Deity mask.

Has it followed me? Was it brought here somehow?

The alternative, that the mask somehow traveled across timelines under its own unknowable power, is terrifying. Time takes a step closer, hardly aware of the sweat beading across his face and neck. There’s no pull, no draw to this mask. Not even a vague sense of foreboding. Perhaps that, too, is part of its insidious nature.

Time reaches out a trembling hand. His fingers hover just above the slant of one eye when he hears footsteps and a quiet “oop” behind him. He snatches his hand back as though it had been about to burn. 

“What caught your eye?” Ravio asks a little breathily, adjusting his robes with one hand as if there’s something wrong with them. Legend holds his other hand. “The painting? It’s a Kaepora original, you know. Honestly, 20,000 rupees is a steal; I don’t know what I was thinking! Must’ve been feeling generous when I settled on a price. Would you like a closer look?”

Time realizes his mouth has gone dry. He clears his throat lightly before replying. “The mask—where did you get it?”

“Oh that little thing?” Ravio tilts his head to the side. “Must’ve picked it up in Skull Woods. Or, actually, no… A salesman? Hm, I don’t remember having it before the spring solstice.” He frowns and taps his chin. “Why can’t I remember?”

Legend glanced between Time and the mask. His pink hair is somewhat disheveled, but his eyes are no less sharp than usual. Warily, he steps closer to the mask, letting go of Ravio’s hand, shoulders squared as if he means to put himself between Majora and everyone else. Time lifts an arm to stop him. 

“You know this one?” Legend asks quietly. 

Time grasps for any semblance of steadiness. “I’ve seen it’s kind.

“Dangerous?” Legend asks softly, never looking away from the mask’s bright green irises. He studies the grains as though he’s prepared to fight them. 

“World-ending.”

Ravio makes a sound somewhere between a whine and a grunt. “Legend—Link—don’t you dare.”

“Too late,” Legend answers, nudging Time’s arm aside and pressing his fingertips to the mask’s many horns. 

Time curses under his breath—words he picked up from the carpenters in Termina, no less—and braces himself for something, for anything. But the moment passes without incident, and Legend shakes his head. 

“Nothing. It’s just a mask.”

“You’re sure?” Time presses. “You’re absolutely sure?”

Legend takes Majora’s Mask from the wall and turns it over in his hands. “Not even an echo of magical residue.” 

Time can’t help the force of his doubt. It leaves his knees feeling weak. “And life?”

“Life?” Legend shoots him a concerned look. “No, it’s not alive. It doesn’t feel like it ever was. Not to me, anyway. Maybe Hyrule could give it a look.” 

“The fewer who touch it, the better.” 

Clouds drift across the sky, dampening the light in the room. The birds continue to sing. “Haven’t had a bonfire in a while,” Legend says casually. 

“If it’ll burn.” Time isn’t sure it will, no matter its apparent harmlessness. 

“Only one way to find out.”

#so happy to have gotten to know you lyra!!! #lol time be freaking out #poor old man #majora's mask #lu time #lu legend #ravio #lu ravio #lu fic #linked universe #gintrinsic writing

[euphorajeon]

a/n: you = jeongguk, i = reader

You’ve been sitting down in front of me for hours, yet I just noticed that the tufts of hair under the grey cap you’re wearing are colored chesnut brown instead of the black I remember seeing beyond a year ago.

It’s insignificant, though, because your hair color changes in only three different shades: brown, very dark brown, and black. The cherry red you were sporting a few months ago doesn’t even feel real because you insisted to dye your locks back to dark.

Doesn’t matter what shade your hair is, actually, because all I can focus on is the way your eyes seem to twinkle more than they usually do, a little brighter despite the scary leather jacket you’re wearing. It’s a crime, you know, to be a paradox like that.

What tugs at my hearstrings is that the playful glint you normally have along with the grin you’re displaying to me right now is gone, and in its place, I only see genuine happiness and adoration pouring out like honey out of your eyes.

It’s a bit unsettling, in a good way.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

Your tone is uncharacteristically soft, completely void of the teasing lilt that seemingly never even leaves your mouth. Your grin dims to an even softer smile, making my heart clench because the softness is making me breathless.

I continue gazing into your eyes though, disregarding your sentence as the lights behind you blur to colorful orbs dancing around the corner of my eyes. Their glow reflects on your eyes, tiny specks of white and warm orange tinting the roundness of them.

I don’t know what goes on in your head, but your teeth make a reappearance as you stretch your lips to form a smile not unlike the one before, and tears prick the back of my eyes as you stare at me like i’m your everything and more.

Maybe I am your everything.

Maybe you are my everything.

I don’t know, but I know that no matter what,

I’ll love you all the same.

march 31st, 2019

masterlist | secreto

#bts #bts jungkook #fanfic #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts au #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook drabble #jungkook au #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook oneshot #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader

[furyisdead46]

Could you write for Doc x female reader?

Outsiders, reader, the cat and B12 went to a lake in outside after the roof open.Doc and reader having a fishing competition, Doc had caught various of objects except fish.Reader picked many flowers as a gift for Doc to appease him, and everything happened was seen by B12 who also did not catch any fish.

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Thank you for your request! I'm excited to write this one!

I wrote reader as a human, I hope I didn't misinterpret that-

I'm also unsure if you meant it was from b12s perspective or not, but due to that being a little limiting, I did it from the reader's perspective, so I'm sorry if that's an issue!

I've also never gone fishing before, so I'm sorry if I get anything wrong!

Reader is originally female, though it's not mentioned, so feel free to read this from any other gender perspective!

Could be read as both platonic or romantic.

If I get any details wrong, feel free to send another request and I can retype this if needed!

Warning: none?

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Doc let out an annoyed sigh, as he reeled in yet another piece of junk.

Me, Doc, and the other outsiders came out to a lake, and ended up setting up a small camp nearby. We also ran into our little friends B/12 and his cat companion.

Me and Doc decided to have a fishing contest, as it used to be one of my favorite things to do. But so far, I haven't caught anything, and Doc kept reeling in trash, weeds, and other useless junk.

Each time he pulled out yet another useless item, he seemed to get a little more irritated, but he managed to keep his cool.

I watched as he cast his fishing hook out again, hoping for something better this time.

“I'll be back, I wanna go explore” I said, giving him a small side hug, after setting my fishing rod aside.

“Okay, be careful” he replied, his screen flickering to a simple ‘:)’ for a brief second, before his attention returned to his fishing rod.

“I will, don't worry” I said as I got up.

I started to wander around the lake, taking in the beauty of the surrounding scenery and wildlife. I could hear birds chirping in the distance, the crunching of leaves from the other outsiders who were off doing their own things. And I could smell the sweet fresh air.

As I walked, I stumbled into a small flower-filled patch. It wasn't very big, but it was filled with colors, ranging from red to Violet. I carefully picked one, holding it up to my nose to take in its sweet scent, softly sighing as I knelt down to pick a few more.

After a few minutes I had around a dozen flowers, all different shapes and colors, but all carrying the same soft scent, and pure beauty.

As I turned around, I got a great idea, I started to speed walk back to me and Docs spot next to the lake. As I got closer, I could see Doc pulled in yet another clump of weeds from the water, clearly making him even more upset, as his screen had a ‘>:(’ on display.

“Hey Doc!” I say as I run over, before sitting next to him, and holding out the bouquet.

“Are these for me?” He asked, looking at the clump of colored flowers.

“Yep! I thought they would make you feel a little better about not being able to catch anything other than rubbish!” I say, as he carefully takes them from me, not wanting to crush such delicate and beautiful plants.

“Thank you, it's very appreciated,” he said, looking at each one.

I chuckled, “of course… wanna head back to camp?” I ask softly.

“That sounds nice,” he said with a smile.

“Are you guys leaving?” I jump at B/12s voice. He was floating a few feet away from me and Doc, as the little orange cat comes and nuzzles his head into my hand, which I carefully pet him in return.

“Yep!” I answer, as Doc gets up. I give the little orange cat one last pat, before I get up too

“You wouldn't mind telling the others we went back, would you?” Doc asks B/12, as he puts his fishing rod away.

“Not at all! I'll tell them you guys headed back! Before you go, did you have any luck with the fish?” He asks, as his furry orange companion sits under him.

“Nope, I'm not even sure if there are any fish here.” I reply, as Doc and I finish putting our stuff away.

“There are, our cat friend caught one, but nobody else has so far” he said, looking down at the orange cat for a few seconds.

“Huh, he's a very talented gentleman” I say, also looking at the small furry feline.

“We need to get going, say bye to the others for us!” Doc says, as we start to leave, I wave to the drone and cat, before quickly following behind Doc.

When we got back, Doc had put the flowers I picked for him in a makeshift vase (AKA, a small pot), after I told him it would make them last a bit longer. He thanked me again, saying he might do a bit more study on flowers, and plants as a whole.

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Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed!

#stray game x reader #stray(game) x reader