#multi part

[chickenparm]

Tradition - Part Eight

Check out @drawlypsy’s full version of the header that can be found here!

“Sn-Snezhnayan tradition dictates in a traditional battle, the winner is allowed to request one thing from the-” another cough, born from phlegm in his throat that rattles wetly, “from the loser.” (or, You accept a bet and despite not winning, you’re not sure if you’ve actually lost.)

Previous Part | Next Part AO3 Link

Childe/f!Reader 2,123 Words - SFW (Bamboozled into marriage, awkwardness, fluff, future smut)

---

Childe had said before that his mother was a saint. 

If so, then why would he avoid telling either of his parents of his impending nuptials? 

Following Teucer’s footsteps in the snow, you walk with the other two siblings back to what you assume is Childe’s family home. With his descriptions being as fond and intricate as they were, you’re able to pick it out from a small cluster of others. In the front there’s an obvious space for chopping firewood. A stone wall encapsulates what would be a front garden if this home were in any other country that allowed for a garden. 

Instead, it holds a few half-made snowmen, scattered sticks that have been tied together to create what seems to be swords with little handguards, and a stone bench that is close enough to the home that it doesn’t accumulate snow. The chimney above it shows that the fireplace must be on the other side of that wall. 

At the front gate, Anthon grabs your arm and speaks once more with that serious voice that doesn’t seem right coming from someone who likely still plays with the wooden swords in the yard. “Remember, don’t tell her about…y’know.”

“My lips are sealed.” You promise, even though you’re not sure why you’re doing so. Wouldn’t it make it easier to just come clean? Surely this saint of a woman would appreciate knowing that her treasured son would be doing exactly as she wished him to. 

And then you remember his other words. About how he came back different. Not quite himself. Angry, combative, impulsive. Something rumbling beneath the surface that they didn’t know how to tame in the same way they once had been able to wrangle their overexcited son. 

Childe was still as excitable, he said so himself, except it wasn’t the same. Once that energy came, the only way to vent it was through combat, discord, havoc that made his blood sing merrily in a strange echo of a song his master seemed to have composed herself. 

All it takes for mistrust to bloom is the tiniest spore. It spreads rapidly in ways you don’t expect. 

No, perhaps it’s better that you say nothing at all. 

The pathway is carefully shoveled and maintained, not even a lick of ice to be seen. Lucky for Teucer. You make it to the door, then the children give you no further time to prepare before they’re opening the door and announcing their arrival with, “Ajax’s friend is here!”

The title makes your fist clench beneath the security of your cloak. Countless times, Childe has called you comrade, yet even now with his ring on, you’re not confident that the amount of times you’d ever thought of him as a friend would need more than perhaps a finger or two to count. 

“Tsk, look at you, not even muffs to keep your ears from freezing.” A woman snaps you from your reverie as she reaches for your ears and pinches one - you don’t even feel it. They are cold. “Sit by the fire, we can get your cloak off when you’re a little warmer. Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

The woman is pushy. She pushes you further into the home. She pushes you to sit down. And when she is satisfied you are warm, she pushes the cloak from your shoulders and hangs it near the fire to dry a little more before putting it up elsewhere. Only then does she realize her mistake, and introduces herself as Galina. 

It’s a pretty name, and you tell her so. Her smile doesn’t have any of that tension that Childe mentions, and in fact her eyes seem to sparkle as she thanks you for such a compliment. 

You wonder - as you stare into the fire while she bustles in the kitchen to continue the meal she’d been making with an extra portion added - how many of Childe’s “friends” have arrived here and were less than cordial. Certainly the Fatui wouldn’t be rude, not to a Harbinger’s family, at least. But Galina had seemed so delighted at something so simple as a compliment. 

The point is driven home as she returns from the kitchen as dinner is set to simmer, and pushes something warm and liquid into your hands. “You’re not a coworker of his, are you?”

The wording is specific; Teucer still is unaware of Childe’s alignment. You’d nearly forgotten. Yet her delivery speaks of the amount of times she’s had to entertain the very coworkers that she fears you’re part of.

“No, I’m not. I truly am just a… friend.” The single syllable of that word makes your hand feel heavy. You remove it from the mug and tuck it beneath your thigh to try and hide the way you want to fidget with it. “We lost contact a while ago. He told me about his family, so I thought this would be a good place to look.”

Galina’s eyes dart to the movement of your hand, but she doesn’t seem curious or intrigued. It’s the instinct of a human to naturally look at any sudden movements. After a beat or two, her lips turn into a frown and she shakes her head. “It was a good idea, but he hasn’t returned home in some time. The last letter he sent didn’t have a return address, so he got reassigned elsewhere and we won’t know until he sends another.”

In the past, you’ve been told that you’re rather like an open book. Your heart sits on your sleeve and your emotions are plain on your face. Disappointment must have shined through, because Galina reaches out to place a hand on your knee - it’s warm through the thick fabric. “But you’re welcome to stay with us for as long as you need to come up with another plan. Ajax is very prompt with sending a letter once he’s gotten to wherever new place he’s meant to be.”

“When was his last letter delivered?”

“He dated it for a month ago, it was delivered last week.” Galina answers, obviously understanding that you’re coming up with a plan already. 

If it was dated a month ago, and delivered last week, then that would leave three weeks for the travel time. Quite a distance, considering you had arrived here from Liyue after nearly a week yourself on that boat. You take a cautious sip of the steaming mug, hold back a grimace at the temperature, then ask with a burnt tongue, “And where had he been stationed before that?”

“Let’s see… Teucer has the letter in his bedroom somewhere, goodness knows where it might be now. But the last few letters have been strange. Quite a few haven’t had return addresses, and the ones that do are all over the place. They must be running him ragged.”

Then that settles it. With a little sigh and another sip now that you can’t feel the temperature anymore, you ask, “Could I stay until his next letter arrives?”

---

Childe doesn’t quite know the specifics of what has been happening in Sumeru. 

For the most part, all of the Harbingers take action separately from one another. Individual moving parts that accomplish a variety of goals, both personal and for the cause they’re tenuously united under. Some perhaps more tenuous than others, of course. 

But it must have been something truly concerning, if the figure in front of him is anything to go off of. 

“Lesser Lord Kusanali has graciously held off on ordering any sort of forceful ejection. I think she hopes you’ll find what you’re looking for and leave.”

The young man in front of him is familiar, somehow. There’s a twisting in his gut, almost as if Childe is very aware that this person is distasteful to him in some way. The sort of sensation you’d feel toward a coworker you’re forced to cooperate with while enduring a bad attitude and a big mouth. 

Childe’s lips turn down, and he tilts his head a little to get a look beneath the brim of his hat. Faint reminiscence spikes again, but Childe never forgets a face, especially of someone so rude to him for seemingly no reason at all. 

Or, for a reason he’s not involved with. Whatever Dottore did here, it’s not Childe’s concern, and his impatience shines through, “If Lesser Lord Kusanali would just let me know the Traveler’s whereabouts, then I’ll be out of Sumeru faster than you can blink.”

The figure’s shoulders tense, his lips turning downward. “The Traveler. I should have known. If the Fatui are looking to finish the job, you’re too late. The Traveler left the country over a week ago.”

A week. So, he’s behind. You’d be arriving in Liyue at this point, most likely. Childe’s mind wanders for a moment as he does the math on travel times and the likelihood of you smacking him if he were to just grab hold of you and kiss you already-

“Well? That’s what you came for, isn’t it? Get lost.”

“Look, whatever happened here before, I didn’t have anything to do with it. So you can drop the hostility, unless you’re looking for a fight?” Childe has already mapped out the area; it’s secluded enough that there would be no risk for intervention. However, there’s an Anemo vision on this one’s person, and that could be either a good thing or a bad thing.

The figure scoffs, violet eyes rolling to the sky if not for the wide brim of his hat blocking the way. “Oh, I’m well aware you had nothing to do with it. I just don’t like you, Childe.”

And now Childe wants that fight. It was a taunt before, now he’s chomping at the bit beneath a carefully calm veneer. The only sign of what lurks beneath is the tweak of his jaw muscle. The young man’s chin juts to the side, his arms crossing. “Well? What’ll it be? I’d love to fight and make you fall even further behind.”

God, still Childe hates him. It isn’t until he’s nearing Gandharva Ville that he wonders why his thoughts supplied a phrase of such familiarity. 

…

For how long he’s been stationed here, Liyue could serve as a comfortable replacement for his homeland, if necessary. It isn’t, of course, but at least he’s relaxed in the atmosphere as Zhongli tells him that you had been here only a few weeks before, asking for Childe’s location. 

“And you didn’t tell them to wait?”

“You would have me ask the Traveler to waste an indeterminate amount of time waiting for you to return to Liyue?” Zhongli levels him with a deep-set expression of dissatisfaction. “Even I think that’s a little too much to expect.”

“I’ve come back within weeks every time I’ve had to go elsewhere. This wasn’t that different, you know that.”

“No, I didn’t.” Zhongli is normally willing to patiently ignore any poor argument that Childe will put out for the sake of allowing the conversation to flow, but there’s a strange impatience in the Archon’s body language as he leans back in the chair. Is that his foot tapping? “What I do know is that the reason you continued to default here rather than elsewhere is currently in another country. Why would I assume you’d return to Liyue otherwise?”

Childe’s mouth snaps shut so quickly his teeth click together, and his train of thought slows to a halt. It’s a valid point, and one that he’d quietly accepted, but he didn’t expect Zhongli of all people to get him backed into a corner like this. 

A comfortable corner, one that Childe accepted, but trapped nonetheless. 

“Does that mean the Traveler was here, though?”

…

“So, the Traveler’s fiancé comes trotting into my shrine. You’re like a little dog, sniffing at the ground, following a trail. Or perhaps even a fox?”

“If the Great Guuji Yae labels me as such, then a fox I must be.” Childe doesn’t like the look in her eye. Yae Miko knows all of his secrets at just a glance. The false cut of his smile does nothing to hide them. “My intentions are only good, however.”

“I never claimed they would be otherwise. But I might be suspicious now…”

“Guuji Yae, please-”

Yae’s voice lilts with laughter, the tips of her fingers ghosting over her mouth as if they would do anything to hide it. Childe is certain that her eyes are glowing. “Oh hush. I’m well aware of what you’re here for. But I’d still like you to say it.”

Childe’s cheeks hurt from smiling when he so desperately wants to scowl. His cheeks are just warm enough for him to feel embarrassed further. Why was it so easy to say these sorts of things to you, but not to nearly anyone else? 

“I’m looking for my… Traveler.”

“Your Traveler? I wasn’t aware you had one. Could you describe them for me? In great detail?”

“My fiancée, then. The Traveler. Guuji Yae, if you could be a little more forthcoming, the distance is growing larger the longer this takes.”

Yae makes a sound behind her teeth, one that sounds disappointed as if she’d been looking forward to further haranguing and harassing Childe. As her lips twist into an annoyed frown, Childe wonders if she perhaps used a magnifying glass to burn ants to amuse herself when she was young. 

“They chartered a ship out of Ritou.” And it isn’t until he’s almost to the steps of the mountain that she relents further and calls, “To some dumpy little fishing village. I heard it’s quite cold this time of year.”

---

It’s an odd week. 

Briefly, you meet Childe’s father, Maks. At first, you expected someone similar to Childe in build, but the man is more akin to the shape of a bear than a human being. Dinner that night is interesting when you sit between Anthon and Teucer, picking at the fish on your plate as Maks scrutinizes you through bushy eyebrows with deep-set eyes. 

It’s difficult to see where his gaze is tracking to. At first you think it’s your face, then your left hand, then the way you nervously pick at your plate. You’re not quite sure. But then something changes and he tilts his head up a little - the serious expression is gone, and in its place is a surprisingly jovial smile. 

Maks is a fisherman - the captain of his own boat and crew. Due to the hazards of moving through the ice fields, his returns home are limited to once every two weeks or so to drop off their catch and visit family. When you explain that you’re a friend of Ajax’s, his smile wavers for just a moment and you catch a glimpse of that tension you’ve been told about. 

And then it’s gone. And Maks is laughing and saying he’s glad his son has made some friends that aren’t so entwined with his line of work. Teucer’s head tilts to the side, his mouth opens, breath whistling through his missing teeth, and you hurriedly answer, “Yes, I just don’t have the charisma to sell toys, it seems. Not for lack of Ajax trying to recruit me, though.”

Maks nods in approval - of what, you’re not quite sure.

By the next morning, he’s packed up to head back out on the water, announcing he’ll be back a bit sooner than usual In passing last night, he mentioned that despite the income being sent by Ajax, Maks can’t quite hang his hat up just yet. There are twenty men working on his ship that depend on the employment and wages he provides. 

And the sea calls him, he says. Perhaps there’s more of Maks in his son than he thinks; fighting calls to Childe like the sea calls to his father. 

Maks kisses his wife, hugs each of his children from oldest to youngest, and yanks you into a hug as well that you’re dwarfed by. You’re not sure how to respond, but he doesn’t give you a chance before he’s murmuring, “You’ll be good for him,” and pulling away to leave once again. 

Galina doesn’t show that she’s overheard anything, and the children are already off to take care of their morning chores. You’re left alone standing near the front door, a chill creeping in at the bottom of the frame as you ponder what exactly that might mean. Your toes grow cold through your thick socks, but you don’t quite feel that as you remain distracted. 

Childe’s mother calls to you from the kitchen, and you hurry along to assist without a second thought. And later that night, as you lay on the cot near the fireplace with your blankets piled high and your eyes following the shapes of the flames, you wonder about the last time it was that you felt like you were home. 

The feeling you’re having now is so unfamiliar that you wonder if you can recall such a time at all.

#childe #tartaglia #genshin impact #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #childe x reader #childe/reader #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia/reader #genshin #multi part #multi chap #x reader #reader insert #f!reader #female reader #afab!reader

[cambion-companion]

Woven Fate part 1

Exploring the idea of the reader/Tav being sent by Raphael's daddy to spy and distract him from power grabbing INSTEAD of Haarlep. Throwing into the plot that the reader is still kidnapped by the Nautiloid and thus becomes a keystone in Raphael's crown heist.

I'm starting this off as a drabble, to set the scene and get a feel for the reception of such an idea before I fully commit.

I really want this to be a multiple part series, perhaps with a prologue of how the reader was sent by Mephistopheles to spy on Raphael instead of Haarlep (or whatever Haarlep's name was before HoH).

Raphael x reader (gn) | reader's race is up in the air, though probably from infernal persuasion, I like giving you guys the freedom to use your imagination as much as possible | rivals/enemies to assets with benefits

“’Go distract my son’ he said, ‘it’d be easy’, he said.”  You growled in frustration as, for the umpteenth time that week, you cleaned up after Mephistopheles’ infuriating son. “I can hardly report back to the old chap while elbow deep in his son’s shitter.”

You felt the familiar warping press of the planes flexing, signaling Raphael’s arrival back home.

You heaved a sigh. “Great.”

“What a lovely sound to return to.” Raphael greeted, strolling into the boudoir, not deigning to look at you. “Ready to return to my father with your tail between your legs?”

“For the thousandth time, no.” You sat at his ornate desk and propped your chin upon your hand. “Though I am putting my foot down.  Utilize the slaves you have to do your menial labor, I’m done.”

“You are one of my slaves, pet.” Raphael murmured, a hard edge to his voice.

“I serve your father, Raphael.  Or should I double check with him really quick?”

Raphael rounded on you, eyes burning.  You stood to meet his anger, your defiance flaring corporeal flames around your body.

“You serve me.”  Raphael said each word with dangerous emphasis.

“I’m going on strike.”  You seethed back.

He towered over you, your noses almost touching, the mutual enmity palpable in the hot air.

“You are yet protected by the archdevil, for now.” Raphael’s shoulders relaxed slightly as he regained composure. He didn’t step away. “That does not shield you from my wrath, little impling.”

That rankled. “What’re you going to do, fuck me sideways on the floor again?”

“Begone, nattering pest.” Raphael waved a hand in agitation and turned from you.

“I know about your plans for the crown, Raphael.”

That stopped him in his tracks.

You smiled slowly. “This is precisely the kind of thing that led to my being sent here.”

“Then it is evident you are failing at the job my father appointed you.”  Raphael tsked and began his daily ritual of setting in order his contracts.  The rustle of parchment mingling with the crackling fireplace as he feigned disinterest. “What do you plan on doing with this information?”

“I’m keeping it close to my chest, for now.”  You cooed, stepping near him and sliding your hand along his tense back. “Just wanted to let you know, master. I am a player not a pawn.”

Raphael caught your hand and held it tightly, squeezing until your fingers hurt.  “Naive creature. Then you are bound to lose.”

“Who said I’m playing against you?”

The question hung in the air.  Raphael breathed in slowly, deeply, his hand relaxing ever so slightly around yours. You slipped your fingers from his grip and kissed his cheek coyly. “Just a thought.”

Then you deftly made your way from his boudoir before you devised other ways to tempt the Fates.

You had indeed been dealt an interesting hand, and were determined to explore your options to determine which path would be most self- beneficial.

A plan that might have come to fruition had the Nautiloid not thrown a wrench in it. Traversing the vast barren fields of Avernus near the House of Hope, you saw the Mindflayer ship blast into being. Too close to where you were.  You felt the horrible ache of familiar helplessness as the monstrous ship bore down on you.

A flash of white, an excruciating pain, then all went dark.

#raphael bg3 #raphael fanfic #raphael x tav #raphael x reader #multi part #drabble #raphael the cambion #raphael baldur's gate 3

[kisses-from-crows]

Crossed Wires - Campbell Bain - Ch. 6

Pairing: Radio Host!Campbell Bain/Popstar!femReader

Summary: Y/N and Campbell agree to meet and discuss a plan to put the pesky dating rumors to rest. Campbell is just hoping to get to the bottom of this mysterious interview.

Genre: enemies to lovers, slow burn, modern au, reader insert, forced proximity, misunderstandings, fluff, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 4,199

Warnings: Swearing, Yelling, Mental Illness, References to Alcohol

Chapter 6: Cocoa and Conversations

Beginning | Previous | Next

TMZ: Breaking News! A source close to Rodger Del Ray Jr. states that he and F/N L/N have amicably called it quits. The couple has ended their three-year engagement over issues with the prenup. Click here to read more about the split!

Posted: 1 year ago

“My place is swarmed with paps right now. Can we meet at yours?” Y/N messaged.

Campbell’s heart dropped to his stomach. Y/N at his apartment? Images of dirty dishes and piles of laundry flashed through his mind. His fingers twitched over the screen as he wracked his brain for excuses. For any single reason to keep her out of his space. Dread filled his whole body at the thought of it.

They had to meet somewhere else, anywhere else. What would they even do at his house? He barely kept any food that wasn’t frozen or microwaveable. What kind of snacks did she eat? What if she didn’t like any of the drinks he had? What if she thought his decorations were dumb? It had to be somewhere else.

Memories of getting swarmed in the restaurant flooded his consciousness. Phantom sensations of running through the streets, gasping for air, and the weight of her hand in his. Campbell flexed his hand unconsciously at the thought. A repeat of that incident would just make everything worse. His apartment was the only option.

“What time?”         

Around 7:15 Campbell was scrambling around his apartment in a feeble attempt to make it presentable. Shoving clothes into closets and frantically washing dishes that had begun to develop their own ecosystem. He may work well under pressure, but it didn’t ease the overwhelming panic that sat on his chest. Once his closets were thoroughly stuffed and his dishes mostly done, Campbell decided the space was as good as it was going to get.

He plopped himself down on his threadbare old couch and waited. And waited. And waited. Feet tapped the floor impatiently as hours ticked by. Unable to stand the rising pressure, he checked his phone. It had only been two minutes.

Nervous energy took hold of his being. Campbell sprung to his feet and began rearranging the furniture in his living room. He took to manic interior decorating like a fish to track and field. In a matter of minutes, the armchair was in front of the window, and he was struggling to push the couch across the room. With an effortful grunt, he pushed against the couch with all his might before collapsing into a heap on the ground. As he began to catch his breath, the buzzer to his apartment rang out. He scrambled to the intercom.

“It’s unlocked.” He rasped out. And fell dramatically to the ground once more. Moments later there was a knock on the door. He miserably crawled over and fumbled with the door handle from the floor. It opened to reveal a pair of fine brown leather boots.

“Hi- why are you on the ground?” Y/N asked puzzled, she crouched low and gave him a once-over.

“Dinnae worry bout’ it,” Campbell said breathlessly. Were the impromptu workouts going to be a more frequent thing? Because that was going to be an issue. Upon discovering he had no immediate injuries requiring medical attention, Y/N stepped over his prone figure and into the apartment.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” she said politely, the pleasant tone a contrast to the rather presumptuous way she had entered the apartment. Campbell pulled himself to his feet, nearly stumbling into an unsuspecting Y/N, but righted himself moments before collision. He let out a breath of relief. The idea of touching her made his skin feel tight and tingly.

“Aye, I’m rather fond of it. Something wonderful about having yer own space.” He followed behind her, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “It’s not much but it’s home.” She must be used to her penthouse on the Upper East Side. A lush life surrounded by doormen in well-pressed uniforms and influencers awash in petty status symbols. The heels on her tall boots clicked across the wooden floor. The sound paused as she stopped to examine a picture frame on the wall.

In it, a younger Eddie gave a crooked smile as a younger Campbell slung an arm around his shoulder with a smile so wide it took up his entire face, eyes disappearing behind his rosy cheeks. It had been taken in the old studio back at St. Jude’s. He had only been 19 at the time. There was something so innocent and unsullied in those scrunched-up eyes.  Something tugged at his heart as he realized just how young he looked. He remembered feeling so much older.

Behind them stood a merry Rosalie, a coy-looking Francine, and… Fergus. His throat felt tight. Fergus was making some ridiculous face, with his brows scrunched together and his teeth protruding over his bottom lip. The corners of Campbell’s mouth tugged upwards despite the way the well-worn cracks in his heart had once again sprung a leak.

She smiled and traced a finger along the image of him before remembering herself and withdrawing her hand. Her eyes flashed quickly to the side to see if he noticed. He did.

“Is that you?” She said with a warmth in her voice that he wasn’t quite familiar with.

“Aye,” Campbell said a bit shyly as he shoved his hands in his pockets. He felt rather vulnerable as she absorbed a crumb of that part of his life.

“Who’s this with you?” She asked, squinting her eyes eagerly and leaning closer to the photo. That was a loaded question. Campbell settled on the safe option.

“That’s Eddie McKenna, he’s the reason I’m even a DJ today. I wouldn’t have gotten anywhere without him. Though if yae ask him, he’d insist I had enough stubborn will to do it on my own. But I like to think I wouldn’t have enjoyed it half as much” Fondness laced through his words as he recalled the influence the older man had on his life. Eddie was the closest Campbell ever got to a supportive father figure. Eddie believed in Campbell like no one ever had, defended him in his absence, and looked after him to his own detriment. He really needed to call him.

“He seems like a great guy. You think rather highly of him, huh?” Y/N turned to look at him, with a glimmer in her eyes that Campbell knew better than to call longing. And yet. “Must be quite the endeavor to get into your good favor.” The honeyed warmth in her voice soured with a tinge of bitterness. Campbell couldn’t quite wrap his head around where it came from.

Turning on her heel, Y/N took a few steps forward into the kitchen. Awkwardness sat on her tense shoulders like a yoke as she looked around the small space, unsure of what to do with herself. Campbell studied her stiff movements as she navigated the unfamiliar environment. She eyed the chairs to the kitchen table warily, as though picking the wrong one would cause a trap door in the floor to open up and swallow her whole. Based on the grim expression on her face, it seemed she might prefer the trapdoor option. Clearly, he was going to need to take the lead on this.

“Aye, there’s no reason to look so glum. Let me remind yae, yae came here willingly. Just take a seat.” Campbell flashed her his signature disarming grin. “Do yae want anything to drink before we get down to the nitty-gritty?”

Upon hearing a lack of response, he turned to look over his shoulder at Y/N. Meeting her gaze briefly, her eyes betrayed just how uncomfortable she was. Not quite to the same level it was at the restaurant, but that deer-in-the-headlights look was making a strong appearance. Okay, a slow approach would be best then.

“Do yae like cocoa? I make a damn good cup of cocoa.” His gaze didn’t leave hers as she gave a small nod with a rather pathetic attempt at a smile. He grinned in return and gathered the ingredients for the drinks. Campbell bounced happily, remembering that he had snagged more mini marshmallows on the way home. He turned on the stove, electric only of course, and began heating the kettle full of milk.

“I can’t remember the last time I had hot chocolate.” Y/N mused; amusement floated through her voice with a note of something more Campbell couldn’t place.

“Seems yer long overdue then, if yae ask me.”

“I guess so.” Y/N played with rings on her fingers. Twisting the silver bands, pulling them off one by one, and setting them on the table. Before putting the rings back on and repeating the process over in a sort of nervous ritual.

As the milk came to a boil Campbell pulled it from the burner and poured it into the two mugs. He tore open three packets of cocoa mix, stirring one and a half packets into each until he was satisfied with the consistency. Just as he went to pick up the mugs and bring them to the table, a tiny voice shouted out in his mind. Without a second thought, he pulled out a small espresso mug and poured a splash of his cocoa into it for Fergus. It was their ritual, and he wasn’t going to stop it now.

He carried the mugs to the table, shoving down the complicated feelings fighting their way to the surface. The mugs clicked against the table as he set them down haphazardly, a bit of steaming hot cocoa spilling over the side and onto his fingers. He quickly shoved the afflicted knuckle into his mouth to soothe the burn. Y/N sucked in a breath, air hissing between her teeth. Eyes flitting between his knuckles and his furrowed brow, assessing the damage.

“Are you all right?” There was an unusual tenderness in Y/N's voice. Campbell gave a non-committal shrug and removed his fingers from his mouth, shaking them.

“S’alright.” He gave a cheeky smile. “Would take more than that to take me down.”

He sat down and pushed the fuller mug across the table to the not-so-empty seat opposite him. She gave him a grateful smile and picked up the mug. The sight of that second cup of cocoa doing anything other than growing cold and remaining miserably untouched was a little jarring to Campbell. She blew on the liquid to cool it off before bringing it to her lips. Her eyes lit up with delight as she began to down the chocolate beverage. Moments later she yanked the cup from her mouth and let out an undignified wail.

“Oh god, I burnt my tongue!” Y/N whined, panting dramatically in an attempt to cool off her mouth.

“What didya do that for? Yae just watched me burn myself not three seconds ago!” Campbell laughed at her theatrics and took a sip from his own mug.

“God, that is it good.” Y/N practically groaned. Ignoring Campbell’s teasing she went back in for another ill-advised swig of cocoa.

“Oi, I almost forgot!” Campbell exclaimed, leaping from his chair suddenly, nearly knocking it over in the process. Y/N jumped slightly at his sudden movement but kept her composure, staring after him curiously. He bounded across the kitchen to snatch his prize from the cupboard. Treasure in hand, he plopped himself back down into his seat.

He tore a messy hole in the bag of marshmallows and stuffed his fingers in to grab a handful. Campbell plopped them messily into his mug with a proud smile, picking off the rogue mallow stuck to his finger with his teeth. Without asking, he reached in to grab another heaping handful, dropping them into Y/N’s mug with even less ceremony than the first. The sheer number of mallows could not be contained by the measly mug. They toppled over the sides and onto the table.

Y/N let out a loud sudden laugh that staggered out of her like it caught her by surprise. She picked up her mug gingerly to preserve the marshmallow mountain, but to no avail. A few more precious morsels fell into her lap. A lopsided smile slowly took over most of her face, tongue poking out slightly from between her teeth. It was goofy, and adorable, and perfect.

Campbell felt his heart stutter in his chest for just a moment. It was a foreign sight, such a raw genuine smile gracing Y/N’s face. When had he ever seen her smile like that? With the way the emotion shifted in its place like it was unused to being there, he wondered if anyone had ever seen it. He liked it.

“I have to admit, you make a pretty good cup of hot chocolate. This is amazing! Really-” Y/N rattled off praises that made the tips of Campbell’s ears turn pink. A thin hot chocolate mustache lined her top lip. He smirked as he took in the sight. She didn’t have a clue as she continued to take deep gulps of the now cooler cocoa. Her lips probably tasted just like chocolate right now.

Well, that was new. Campbell’s eyes widened at his traitorous thoughts. He scrambled to remember why they were here, drinking together and laughing.

Enemies. They were enemies. Who were using each other to get out of a sticky situation, that’s all. They hated each other. It was nothing more than that.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, desperately trying to urge his mind off its current topic of interest. Y/N bounced slightly in her seat, happily downing the rest of her drink, blissfully unaware of the war happening behind Campbell’s eyes. He wracked his brain for something to say, anything.

“So apparently yae and I are dating.” Brilliant Campbell, just brilliant. Evasive maneuver of the century. Y/N choked on the last of her cocoa. She attempted to compose herself through poorly hidden coughs.

“Are we now? Well, you could’ve at least told me.” She smirked as if she had any dignity left after that coughing fit.

“Well, I’m just as surprised as yae are.” Campbell smiled, leaning back in his chair and locking his hands behind his head. A perfect picture of feigned indifference. His heart, however, beat out a confusing rhythm in his chest. “Yae wanna stage a messy public breakup? Could be fun!” A conniving smile slid across his face as he hatched an overly elaborate scheme that was likely doomed to fail.

“Let’s not reinvent the wheel here, we just need to stick to the original plan. And the rest will work itself out. No reason to give the vultures the false satisfaction of being right.” Y/N said, unable to meet his eyes as she smoothed out invisible wrinkles on her wool sweater. Gone was the carefree Y/N who had been laughing moments before. In her place was the media-trained figurehead he knew and loathed. ‘False’… something about that wording made Campbell’s chest ache a little.

“Aww come on, wouldnae be fun! We could come up with a whole buncha shite about each other. I would say I couldnae handle yer fifteen-step skincare routine and the way yae slept with all the lights on like some sort of serial killer. And yae could say how it would never work because I’m far too handsome and too good of a lover. That the pressure of knowing yae couldnae find better just got to yer head” Campbell teased, wiggling his eyebrows. He longed to get a rise out of her, leaning across the table to see even a glimmer of irritation in Y/N’s eyes. She rolled her eyes, but no wrinkle appeared. Damn, he was losing his touch. He leaned back in his seat and pouted slightly.

Silence stretched out between them as Y/N pretended to sip from a mug that Campbell knew damn well was empty. She was stalling. No more beating around the bush. He had very little to start with, but this game of cat and mouse was wearing on his patience.

“Why did yae choose me for the interview?” Campbell verbally laid his cards out on the table. “Back in the bistro yae said yae didn’t leave by choice. That yae needed MY help. Mine specifically. I wanna know why.”

“Right into it then? Alright.” Y/N said wearily, eyes trained on the table. She rubbed a hand over her face with a sigh, unsure where to start.

“Here’s the truth… a lot happened. I wish I could say it all started with the paps in the park.” Y/N slowly eased into the story as if she were wadding into uncomfortably cold water. Campbell remembers the incident well. Videos of Y/N surrounded by photographers in Central Park, screaming and yelling at them. The clip of her throwing a $12,000 camera to the ground had been inescapable for weeks.

“That thing,” Campbell wasn’t quite sure what the thing she referred to was. “had been building for months… hell years.” Her eyes flicked back and forth as though she was replaying a scene in her mind.

“It’s so exhausting, you know? Living that life. It all seems so exciting at first, all the fancy cars and the famous people and the endless glamour.” She picked at a loose thread on her sweater. “But it wears on you. You begin to realize these people; they all surround themselves with disgusting amounts of wealth to distract from how empty they feel inside.” Y/N’s voice was tinged with a trace of bitterness as she spoke. Her fist tightened around the handle of her empty mug. Campbell wondered if it might crack under her grip.

“Your life just isn’t your own. It becomes its own consumable product. Everything you do is calculated and controlled by people on your own damn payroll.” Should he have started recording before this conversation started? “Where you go, what you do, who you meet, what you eat. All of it, planned down to the last detail. And god forbid you deviate from that plan.” Y/N hissed out the last bit, brows scrunched together, jaw clenched.

At that moment, Campbell felt like he was seeing her for the first time. Not Y/N the popstar, not Y/N the brand, but Y/N the person. She was complicated and messy and bitter. She was utterly human.

Her eyes glazed over as she became aware of just how much she had revealed, just how vulnerable she had been. But that was the point of it all. So why did it bother her so much? Was it that difficult of a story to tell?

“I fell into a really dark place. I felt so out of control, I just lost it. And after everything happened in the park, it just all went to shit. A couple of months later is when…” She paused, eyes tinged with guilt flicking up to meet his. “That was when I started researching you.”

Campbell sucked in a breath. Researching him? What the hell did that mean? Even worse, what did she find?

“What?” He said, unsure of where this was going.

“I don’t know, I was mad at the world. I needed something to latch on to. I was jealous of you. The way you seem to do whatever the hell you like, and everybody loves you!” She spat out the words like they disgusted her. Campbell blinked owlishly at her outburst.

“Well… not everyone.” Campbell attempted to cut the tension, uncomfortable with how deeply serious the conversation had gotten. “There’s always Rodger.”

Y/N leveled a glare at him over the mention of her ex-fiancé. Alright, so maybe there was such a thing as a bad time for humor.

“I don’t know why I thought this was going to work, this was a stupid idea.” Y/N shook her head and started to stand. Surprising them both, Campbell sprung up and grabbed her hand, gripping it tight.

“Dinnae go. It’s not stupid, just sit back down. I’ll be quiet, I promise.” He pleaded with her gently, sinking slowly back into his chair with his hand still wrapped around hers. A silent bid to stay.

Y/N sat back down cautiously. Their hands lingered a beat too long before she pulled hers back into her lap. Campbell’s hand stayed right where it was.

“I thought maybe if I knew more about you, I could figure out… how to be more like you.” Her voice trailed off at the end like she was ashamed of it. Campbell fought the smirk that threatened to take over his features, letting the snide remark die in his throat. He promised to be quiet, and he very much intended to keep that promise.

“There was this article… from a smaller publication in Glasgow. It was from ages ago. But there you were, wearing the goofiest button-up I’d ever seen. You had been DJ-ing at some hospital fair.” Y/N words hung in the air as Campbell’s blood ran cold.

Hardly anyone knew about his past medical history. That part of his life stayed back in Glasgow. His time in St. Jude’s wasn’t something he was ashamed of. Regardless of the potential ramifications it could have on his career. Yet Campbell could never forget the effect that knowledge had on Fergus. What it cost him. What it drove him to do.

“I know about St. Jude’s.” She said finally. Campbell felt his cold blood start to boil. He carried the weight of everything associated with St. Jude’s every day of his life. It was an experience he wasn’t very willing to relive outside of his little family that he found there. The ones that got it.

“So what? Yae found out my deep dark secret and decided what? That yae’d throw me a bone because you pitied me?” Campbell broke his oath of silence.

“Campbell, no-“ Y/N interjected.

“Well, I dinnae need yer stupid pity. I’ll have yae know I am doing quite well by myself.” Campbell felt the anger rise in him with each word that he spoke. “So yae can take yer pity and shove it right up yer arse because I AM NOT ILL.” His voice rose as he stood up.

“No, no, that’s not what I meant!” Y/N pleaded with him, crossing the floor into his space. He huffed as he took a step back.

“I know exactly what yae meant, yae spoiled princess.” Campbell spat. “I’m no charity case.”

“I never said that! You’re not listening to me! Please.” She reached out to touch his hand, but he pulled back as though he’d been burned. “What can I say to make you believe me?”

“Yae cannae say a thing because it’s none of yer business.” He waved his arms indignantly, forcing distance between them. “Yae dinnae know what yer talking about so just shut it.” Anxiety took over him. His head pounding as unpleasant memories came flooding back.

“I know more than you think… I know what happened, Campbell.” Y/N’s voice got notably softer as she spoke. “I know what happened to Fergus.”

That was the final straw.

“GET OUT” Campbell lost the last shred of his composure. “YAE DINNAE GET TO TALK ABOUT HIM”

Y/N stepped back in shock; eyes wide. Without another word, Campbell grabbed her wrist and pulled her with him toward the door. His touch was far gentler than his tone.

“Yae need to leave, yer no longer welcome here.” His nostrils flared as he flung open the front door, ushering her to leave.

“Wait Campbell, please, I wasn’t finished” Y/N pushed against the door as he attempted to close it on her.

“Nae, I think yer quite finished all right.” Campbell attempted to close the door again, she was stronger than she looked.

“Campbell listen!” She took a deep breath, closing her eyes tight like the words pained her. “I got hospitalized.”

He paused, limbs going slack as he processed the words.

“After that day in the park, they had me forcibly hospitalized.” She gathered all the courage she had left to look him in the eyes. Hopefully, he could see the truth in them. Maybe they could communicate something that she wasn’t quite ready to put into words. But the look in his eyes froze her to the spot. The anger had melted away to reveal something much softer. Something akin to understanding. A feeling so unfamiliar to her, that it made her weak at the knees. ‘I was hoping you could understand.’ The words died on her tongue before she could speak them.

Time slowed as they stared at each other. Both feel far more exposed than they were comfortable with. Campbell blinked like he was breaking out of a trance. He cleared his throat and turned his back to the door, walking slowly back to the kitchen. He took a deep breath in and out just like Eddie had shown him all those years ago. The voices in his head got quieter but didn’t fully leave.

“Where are you going?” Y/N called after him, voice thick. Campbell rummaged through the cupboard above his fridge and pulled out a bottle of whisky.

“I figured we were gonna need something stronger than cocoa.”

_________________________________________________

A/N: Have you guys ever heard that saying that if your brain tells you take a break and you ignore it, your body will force you to. that essentially happened to me this week. i had the worst cold but i’m on the up and up now! thank you so much for reading this story and i appreciate all your kindness on my other post about needing a break. love you guys!!! have a good week, you deserve it!! <3 -Ducky

#campbell bain #david tennant #fanfic #fanfic writing #taking over the asylum #campbell bain x reader #kisses-from-crows #modern au #campbell bain fanfic #enjoy! #multi part #enemies to lovers #WIP

[a-gal-with-taste]

Battered and Baked (1/3)

Summary: It's the classic story: Boy meets girl, Sumpsnipe meets Promenade-brat, baker meets rebel.

And then it becomes so, so much more than that, for both of them.

(Inspired by @sweatandwoe​ & Secret Ingredient, a must-read)

Warnings: SFW. Baker!Reader, fluff, romance, revolutionary-shenannigans, young love, flirting, bit of world-building, slice-of-life-ish, humor, eventual happy-ending

Part 2

"Uhh..."

His eyes reflected yours - owlish, stunned and bright, even in the darkness of the bakery kitchen. Perhaps illuminated by the candle you held, or perhaps his cerulean-gaze was just naturally bright and shiny. But regardless, both you and the stranger regarded each other in shocked silence.

You, with your mouth wide and gaping, as you stared at the culprit of your unexpected midnight awakening.

Him, with his mouth stuffed with one bread roll, and wiry arms full of at least a dozen others.

No older than you - thin as he is, there's the roundness of youth still on his cheeks - but even frozen, the boy looked wired and ready to run, energized even at such a late-hour.

There's a sumpsnipe looting your mentor's bakery, stealing rolls you'd spent hours to perfect in your training, but you can only feel a quiet-surge of pity.

Driven to breaking-in by the desperation hunger... even in this level of the Promenade, your life was far from a paradise, but at least you didn't go to bed on an empty-stomach.

You blink, and he does as well, mirroring your stuck-dumb attitude completely. But you're the only one of the two with the ability to speak, and what you say next, only makes him blink again, with eyes going impossibly wider:

"Do... you want a basket for that?"

You drop your gaze when a small group of Enforcers marched by the shop-front, broom already. Polite, but unassuming as you back slowly through the front door of the bakery and put the broom well-away. Practiced in your careful, casual movements of turning the sign to CLOSED, you shut, locked and then bolted the door for good-measure.

Quietly, you breathe slowly through your nose, before sharply exhaling in relief - the patrol passed by without even taking notice of a baker's young apprentice.

Then, you turn and glower at the three who had taken refuge in the bakery, who you knew were guilty for such an unexpected Topside patrol. "So. What did you do this time?"

Benzo, Silco have practiced poker-faces, but you doubt Vander's ever been able to stick with a lie in his entire life. You deduce this, simply based on how quickly his eyes popped-wide at the accusation, and how he takes too long to answer under your stern glower.

"Excuse you. We are the picture of innocence."

"Aye, we wouldn't hurt a fly."

"Please. I know you guys. You would do something ridiculous, like mess with Enforcers. Now, scoot."

Vander, somehow growing only more colossal everytime you saw him, had laid claim to the counter you had been trying to work at before the trio showed up. Ignoring his pout, you wagged the rolling-pin in your hand for emphasis, before hopped off with an exaggerated grumble, allowing you to return to your work.

He ought to be grateful. Your mentor was not one known for patience, and instead of gesturing with a rolling-pin, they would wield it, especially against strays.

You were nicer then that - probably why they came around on a weekly basis, often bordering on daily.

Your voice, as usual, was patient and calm, "Benzo?" You say, but he only starts whistling casually, glaring at the ceiling-titles, and perhaps even counting them to avoid your look.

How very casual.

You had a trump-card up your sleeve, but focused for a few minutes on rolling out the dough - despite the company, you did have plenty of work to do. The two larger boys were still tense, but also hungry and you had left yesterday's unsold rolls out for a reason - though, when your mentor came back to ask, you'd call it an accident.

Cubing the cold butter before placing it along the dough, soon refolding it to roll it out again for a rare, expensive order of croissants, you asked one question - or rather, said one name. "Silco?"

The boy, who had once  snuck into the bakery at midnight, was now leaning against the display-case opposite of the counter you worked at. He seemed incapable of lying to you, ever since the first night you had met, and drawled without any further prompting,  "Took a trip to the Tower, got a set of Topsider armor. Heavy-duty riot-gear. Could be useful one day."

You nearly dropped your rolling-pin as you whirled around in the midst of Vander and Benzo's whines. "Dammit Sil! Suppose to be a surprise-"

"One you'd think I'd be excited for?!"

Vander had the sense to look sheepish at your croaked exclamation, but Benzo only scoffed, crossing his arms and resuming to glare at a pastry instead of your scandalized face. Silco had no trouble with watching you, calm even as you sputtered in outrage, "I can't... why did you... how did you even get a uniform?!"

"Old Hungry." He admits without a hint of guilt or admonishment, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. It's not as scrawny as when the two of you first met, thanks to tough life on the streets and your contribution of meals. "Not as fortified at it looks... a pity for them, a benefit for us. But such items could have their uses."

Uses? You blinked, before frowning, propping your fists to your hips, "Enforcers got at least a foot-more on you, what do you plan to do - stack on top of each other??" Three kids in a Enforcer uniform, sweet Janna...

"No. But, I do have connections down in the Lanes. Metal uniforms like that, we could get at least a dozen knives out of it-"

"Or gauntlets!"

"And a hammer!"

A sigh, "You could just take one from th' mines..."

Benzo insisted that it just wouldn't be the same, but your attention was still on Silco, shocked while the dark-haired boy only blinked at you, studious. He usually was, but there was something... deeper in his gaze, even as your flustered tone took on a higher-pitch, "Weapons? You stole reinforced-armor for topside to make weapons? For what?!"

He blinks, again, looking puzzled. Like he can't believe you don't already know:

"We're going to war."

"Break it to 'er a little nicer, Sil, s'not like she knows the Lanes," Benzo said with a frown, giving your blank look some sympathy. "Enforcers been bein' right pricks down there - well, more than usual - and it's about time someone stood up to 'em. But it's not like we're going to war..."

"That's not the goal, true. But we all know how Enforcers will react... even if we act in defense, they'll see it as a declaration."

You... weren't quite sure how to react to that.

Enforcers weren't the most desired party, but they provided enough traction among the busy Promenade, that losing their coin would deal a serious blow to business operations.

But, if these three boys were any evidence, you knew however much the aloof, patronizing annoyance that the Enforcers were up here, they were a far different - and cruelest- breed of beasts in the lanes.

You couldn't fault your friends, but you weren't impressed either. That's why you couldn't resist a disbelieving giggle when Silco turned to you and asked, "Will you join us?"

But he was serious. His eyes more serious than anything, but they were still bright, shining with a light you knew all too well, from the very first night you met, and almost every day when he came to visit you.

There's also, oddly, a bit of hope in his ever-serious eyes as well.

"...Silco, what would I even do?"

"Well, I already called dibs on th' hammer-"

"Rolling-pin." Vander suggested helpfully, even though it was obvious your question was rhetorical. You tried, you really, really did, but it was impossible not to roll your eyes so far to the ceiling, that they stayed staring, sending a prayer to whoever listened.

"Yes. I, a mighty baker, taking on some in the most powerful police force in Valoran, with a rolling-pin."

Vander, bless his heart, started with how it wasn't the worst idea they had dragged you into... when the sounds of your mentor and employer sounded from the back, ambling back with the week's flour-delivery.

The three of them immediately began to scatter, Benzo snaking his hand around the display-case for a croissant, Vander nearly knocking over single creaky seating-table on his way out the door, and Silco, far more graceful, flashing towards the front door to follow-

"Wait!"

He stopped, immediately, at the sound of your voice. You figured it was for the linen-wrapped loaf you quickly plucked from a cabinet, racing over to press it into his hands. The edges had been burnt - unacceptable for sale, and after being scolded, you'd been expected to toss the rubbish out.

But Silco had been coming to you for a long, long time now. You knew how to perfectly burn a loaf to the point of unsellable, while he knew how to scrape off the burned bits.

"Come with us," He said, suddenly, as his hand clasped over yours. Your lips parted, but said nothing as you looked at him - expression serious, but with that flicker of hope burning even brighter now. "You don't know the streets - that's okay. We can look out for one another, stick together and face off the whole of Topside, together."

Your name was called from the storage room, just behind the shopfront. Ignoring the baker's voice entirely, Silco had his attention fixed entirely on you, waiting, hopeful...

"I... I have work."

It came out more like a question then a flat-refusal, but you still winced at what had to be the lamest response to... you don't know what this was, or where it came from. The apprenticeship kept you busy, and you didn't have nearly enough time to hang out with the Silco, or his friends outside of their sporadic yet predictable visits.

You had never even been to the Lanes. You didn't just 'not know the streets'... the deeper half the Undercity was a complete stranger to you.

But Silco was not. And though that desiring look for you to join him faded, the bright gleam of his green-eyes did not, and he squeezed your hand, almost in reassurance. "Someday. When you're ready, when you don't have... work," There's a small smile at that, rare on him, but you don't have time to savor the sight of it, or the warmth of his hand even as he gives a finally squeeze. "I'd like to be there with you, when the city is ours."

It borders on a boast, something all Undercity kids frequently say - kids with dreams of better lives, and lives standing at the top.

But you know Silco, and knew that coming from him, it wasn't just words. It bordered on a promise.

Then, Silco releases your hand. Takes the linen-wrapped meal, and by the time the baker steps into the main room, already cross at the sight of your abandoned work on the croissants while you only stand there, staring at the CLOSED front-door, Silco is gone.

A part of you wished you had gone with him, to see the beginnings of that promise come to fruition.

You fiddled with the CLOSED sign - not immediately flipping over as you leaned against the doorway. Arms crossed over an white-spattered apron you had fully grown-into, your nails tapped on your equally flour-splashed arms.

Silco, closer to a man than the boy you had grown up with, has the decency to look sheepish as he sits on the curb with a fresh black-eye. He retains some of his cheeky nature, as exhibited by the innocent-way he looks to you and asks, "Do you have work right now?"

"Do you have a war right now?"

Ducking his chin, he isn't quick enough to hide his smile. "Come now, I haven't used that line in years - "

"And yet you've never stopped with the melodramatics... or the recklessness." Reaching up, you pinch the bridge of your nose as you feel the first wave of a headache crashing behind your eyes. Then, you crack open your eyes again to warily glare down at the man staring up at you - whose attempting, and failing greatly with the black-eye, to look innocent. "Do you not have doctors in the Lanes?"

"None as lovely as you."

"I'm a baker, stupid. I can sew a cut as well as you can dodge, apparently."

Silco placed his palm to his chest in an offended, exaggerated reaction, even while the eye not swollen shut glittered with amusement, and a familiar fondness that softened your irritation. "You, of such little faith. Valiant fighting leaves memories of the mental and physical variety... scars to last the ages with their stories, and yet you decide to mock me for them?"

"Yep." Popping the word, you held a hand out to him. "Considering you want me playing doctor, I feel like I've earned the right. Come in, I have leftovers."

Thankfully, and unfortunately, you hadn't gotten too far in your work for the morning. Only half the dry-ingredients were incorporated into the bowl, an almost rare cake for some party a level up, but you decided to forego even looking at the mixture as you gently dabbed around his eye with a cold-cloth, ice not too far behind.

"Shall I guess, or shall you tell me?" You muse, earning a sigh as you held his chin with your fingers, holding his face gently hostage as you examined the new, deep scars on his upper lip. Not... necessarily a feature that damaged how he looked to you. Different, but not a bad look...

"It's a rather daunting task to lie to you... and a false hope to expect to you to let this go." You hum in a agreement, pressing just slightly harder along his sharp cheekbone, earning a hiss and a explanation, "There was... a tussle. Some don't agree with how we've chosen to go about things - establishing a broad leadership with the local-gangs, doesn't earn you followers or friends, evidently."

"Can't imagine why. Stealing so many of their scores, getting the law to crack down harder than ever..." He frowned at your pleasantly-nonchalant tone, knowing full-well about the sarcasm beneath it. His frown only grew, even as relief came in the form of you bringing the small ice-pack to his aching eye.

Silence reigns between you.

"... do you ever... ever want to stop this?"

"No. Never." Silco said, immediate and unapologetic. The corner of his thin lips turns up in time with his shoulder rising in a shrug. "Don't think I can if I wanted to. I'm in far too deep for me to ever reach the surface again... might as well keep working to make the world beneath it the great nation I know it can be. The Nation of Zaun."

A beat, then his hand reached up to replace yours, holding the cold-pack to his eye. Fingers brush over your skin during the switch, and it tingles from the warmth he provides. You laugh softly, "You, hopeful? Who'd a thought."

"Impossible things happen every day," Silco offers, the partial smile growing a bit wider on his lips, faltering only slightly when you pulled away.

You could almost hear the pout he made when he watched you turn back to the mixing-bowl. It calmed you, though, watching ingredients blend together, uniting into one, from being a separate dozen. And when the silence begin to break at the gentle sound of cracking eggs, Silco spoke again. "You could come down there... I'd like for you to come down there."

"I know." You did. It took you some years the first time he made the offer, but you weren't stupid, and he wasn't all-that subtle. You knew him too well. "But if you get your face beat on a daily-basis, I can't help but be worried on how I will get by."

"You'll get by fine. You honestly think Benzo, Vander or myself would let anything happen to you?" The young-man sounds borderline offended, and also perplexed. Like the idea of you ever getting hurt under his watch was simply ludicrous.

"Yeah, and with my trusty rolling-pin, we'll be an unstoppable force among the Lanes."

"See? Now you're getting it." The praising tone brought a small warmth to your ears, but you hid it by turning your attention to gathering the egg-shells - botanist up in the Alcoves district had a garden to fertilize - before returning to stir the flour gently, pouring the wet-ingredients in.

Once again, the comfortable silence between you broke, gently. "You could always stay here. With me."

Silco snorted, and didn't bother to cover it up. "I think we're both well-aware of the difference in Enforcer-presence between the Lanes and Promenade, and I... can't." Silco, known for his words and being annoyingly good at using them, finished his sentence so lamely you had to look over your shoulder with a raised-brow.

"You mean you don't want to, not you can't. I know you, Silco," You speak over the sharp-inhale suggesting a defense was on its way, and the sound of him pushing off the counter to stand straight. "You love the Lanes - you risk limb, life and liberty for them. But you wouldn't leave them."

It took you a while to figure that one out, but when the visits dropped in frequency, Enforcer-presence became more common, and Silco routinely came to the bakery with wounds or scars, it truly hit you that, despite all that, he returned to the Lanes at the end of it all.

And you didn't fault him for that, but judging by the quietness of his voice, he clearly thought you did.

"I... Zaun is young. Young, and it relies on it's youth to fight, and rise it from the depths. I can't leave it... and I don't want to." A small smile dances on your lips, even as he sighs as he says the obvious, "I don't want to abandon my city, not when I know I can see it grow into the Nation it was always meant to be."

"I know. And I don't necessarily want to leave this all behind either." Yes, the baker getting-up in their years didn't make them any less stern, or any more pleasant. But there was routine here you enjoyed too much to abandon, folks along the Promenade that relied on your business and, of course, there was the obvious: what would you even do in the Undercity?

You doubted there was a thriving baking community below the surface... or decent culinary equipment not made from scrap-metal.

You voiced this as much, and Silco sighs, a bit dramatically. "As our numbers grow, we would benefit from having an on-site cook, you know," The suggestion was met with a scoff, then a blink of surprise when he stepped closer - close enough that his body-heat was shared with yours. “And, I think we both know full-well that… the lack of distance between us would also be a sort of benefit.”

The pause in your mixing only lasted one-skipped heartbeat, but you resumed almost coyly, "Silco, if I didn't know any better, I would say you actually want me there." Your teasing only earned you a short exhale through nostrils to show his bemusement, but you continued, still playful and unassuming, even if you were anything but. "Why? Miss my food?"

A finger reached out, and scooped up some batter that had dribbled from the side of the bowl.

"If you only knew of the slop they sell at the corners… and unlike here in the Promenade, their creators aren't usually pretty enough to make-up for the lacking in flavor." His offhanded flattery, toeing the line of flirtation, was overshadowed by the unacceptable tasting of the cake-batter, which you tried to halt with a swat of your mixing-spoon.

The jerk dodged, and seeing your ire, stroked it to new heights by sticking the finger into his mouth, oblivious to your fuming as he hummed at the taste. "Hm. Sweetness. Not something usually found in the Lanes, though I've certainly acquired taste for it..."

"So you come up here to get your weekly-fix and pester me?" You grumble, "I'm flattered." Words were juxtaposed in action, as you again went to swat at him with your mixing-spatula.

Some of the batter, maybe only a few drops, went flying with the action, and peppered a angular cheek. The young man jerked from the action, but his reflexes kicked in at the same time, and before you could smack him in-true, his hand flashed out to the bowl, and-

Batter, splattered across your nose.

A blink, as you stared at Silco. Teal-eyes watch you casually, neutral even, as he pointedly reached for a nearby towel to rid himself of the evidence.

But it was a blow one cannot forgive, and that one cannot allow to go unpunished.

Silco jumped when a drier fistful of the mixture exploded on his chest, and you couldn't stop the giggle from bubbling up as he gazed down, almost stricken at the splattering of flour, like it had been a gunshot instead the beginnings of a silly, silly food-fight.

"... Apologize."

"Never."

It was a declaration of war. One that was met with a hand flashing out to gather another handful, this one landing with a wet splat on your shoulder.

The way the two of you devolved into pure childishness, of the likes of which you didn't even experience when you were actually children, was absurd.

Ridiculous, as your cackles turned to shrieks, with Silco's silent grin breaking into a small, audible chuckle. The chase around the counter was not hindered by your larger, nearly-adult sizes - in fact, after a particularly skilled throw, with flour-mixture splashing his inky black hair, the man smoothly hopped over the counter you were eager to keep between you.

"Silco-!"

Escape was already impossible, but Silco's arms wrapping around your waist felt like the metaphorical sound of lock clicking shut. Stupidly long, wiry arms caged to you against the counter, before it snagged the mixing-bowl nearby and you were helpless to push him away.

An audible smack, and you gasped in outrage, but Silco's evil little smile only spread into a grin as he thumbed the mess, smearing it across your cheek.

"You're evil."

"Perhaps."

"Annoyance..."

"Both you and Enforcers seem to think so."

"Intolerable."

Long dark hair brushes against your forehead, just before his own rests against yours - body heat capable of melting you if you didn't freeze at his quiet, musing sigh. "You love me, though."

Silence passes with time, but he just stands there, resting his forehead against yours - one eye swollen, the other gently closed. After a moment, your eyes close too, and as silly, messy and caked-in-cake batter that you are, you take a moment, and just bask in the fact that he’s here.

Not for long - he’ll leave again, but the fact that he’s always come back, that he’s always sought you out, ever since the first night you both met... that gives you that hopeful feeling you’ve seen in his face.

Both your eyes are closed, with Silco’s arms around you, and for a moment, you think it can stay like this - that you can be like this, forever.

And you start to tell him as such, “Silco?”

It’s hard not to shiver, when his breath is so warm, and only inches from your own.

“Yes?”

“I... we could-”

There’s never been a louder slam of a door opening in your entire life, and you and Silco immediately jerk back from each-other in surprise at the volume. You aren’t given enough time to mourn the divide, because your mentor in already rounding on you both, finger and tongue already wagging in outrage.

“I...! The gall of you two- you clean this up now, and you!” You are required to take a moment to recover with how sharply the mop was shoved into your arms - and your gut, and you look up in time to see Silco actually appear weary at the seething rage of your mentor, driving him backwards towards the door. “Out! Out, and STAY out, damn sump-raker!”

The insult is enough to cool his hesitancy, and Silco’s is cool enough to carry like a breeze, “Customer-service like this, explains why I don’t pay.”

“Yeah, and i’ll get the Enforcers crashin’ down on you the next time you do! Stay out.” The seething tone has you clutching your broom, and you step forward the moment Silco is shoved out the door, half-stumbling. Catching himself with ease, his bright green meets your own in the instant before the door shuts, and once more, you’re the target of the baker’s ire.

It’s quieter, however, and only comes with a shake of the head in disgust at the sight of you, clenching a broom, with yourself and counter coated in the remains of a food-fight. “Unbelievable...”

You counted yourself lucky that they only turned, storming away without sharper words, and a unspoken order to clean-up. That didn’t need any further prompting, and guilt began to brew inside as you made quick work to wiping up the floor, brushing batter from your face in the meantime.

It had always been disapproved-of, your relationship to Silco and the others. While you were thankfully never caught for feeding him that first night, and all the others that came after, the presence of fissure-foundlings was not an appreciated sight, and with Enforcers closing closer and closer in on the rumblings from deeper in the Underground...

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Silco doesn’t dare to knock any louder, but you’re quick to look up at the quietest of sounds from him. Giving a scan of the shop from beyond it's front door, it only takes him a second for his eyes to find you, and after another, to mouth one-question.

"Tonight?"

Tonight.

Tonight, could mean a million things. It could mean problems, rather than solutions - confliction, rather than conclusion.

Tonight leaves far too much open for interpretation, and you already made a mess of the kitchen - a mess between you and Silco would preferably like to be avoided as well.

And yet, you find yourself mouthing back, without any hesitation, "Yes."

The smile that crosses his face, and that hopeful, bright gleaming in his eyes, is quick to make all those doubts go away, and makes your cleaning-hands work even quicker, for the sake of tonight.

[Taglist: @mazikomo @ellhd-imagination @lackofhonor @soullessbody @ironandglass @syx-00 @wanna-plan-world-domination @bloodmoon-bites @sengawolf @thereading-nook @bb-8 @zillahvathek @my-awakened-ghost @shuttlelauncher81 @stabmemaybe @rosmariner @intpthinkinginquiet @atalldrinkofcaprisun @ladykatakuri @littledollll @betasuppe @of-the-argonath @dropssofjupitter @zaunsin @caddyissad @marina-and-the-memes @masterjedilenawrites @callistotml @foppishish @dad-dumpster @nyx2021 @beef-bakery @jennithejester @the-lake-is-calling @ariaud]

#silco x reader #arcane silco #silco #arcane #arcane fanfic #fanfic #writing #fanfiction #secret ingredient #romance #humor #multi part

[mlimby]

fnuuy gartic

#jjba #jjba fanart #bunny jojo #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojos bizarre adventure #leone abbacchio #joseph joestar #speedwagon #trish una #multi part #my mlart

[not-souleaterpost]

Fanfic Recomendation

Do you ever feel that all these fics you google are either boring, unimaginative or just weird kinks that don't even try to hide it?

Like you may think I'm an asshole by starting a recomendation by shitting on other works, but the thing I'm talking about has enough ambition and potential to make it all ok:

A story that actually twists concepts and ideas in a different direction while preserving the core of the thing and exploring it further in a way that would be impossible in a straight up sequel or side story.

I've read a previous fanfic by @motley-box-rose-1 that explored Crona's life before, and even that one was better than 95% of storys in the soul eater tags, so with all the improvments and preperation time, I'm sure this new story will be even a lot better.

Would probably try to illustrate this whole post with some fanart of the story, but I guess that will have to wait till 2024.

And if because of that people dismiss it and dont read it, they can look at the mirror and say:

"Yeah...Sorry"

Cause its their lose lol

#soul eater #fanfic #fic recomendation #crona #detective #mystery #story #multi part #au #actually explores the world #like Arachne teaming up with lord death #and the witches living with humans but still having lots of tension #anyways I know a lot of effort gets put into it and it isnt just slap dashed together #unlike my own work lol #reblogs are apreciated #cause its not im self promoting this time

[queerfics]

[i'll crawl home to her] pt 1: ser - yara greyjoy x brienne of tarth

Summary: Brienne of Tarth, after escaping the grasp of the Ironborn queen, finds herself wandering back to Yara Greyjoy instead of the safety offered to her at Winterfell.

Warnings: mature content, smut to come, drinking, f/f, lesbianism (but that's a blessing), implied hostage situation, canon divergent

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: THEY DIDN'T LET BRIENNE AND YARA FUCK BECAUSE THEY KNEW IT WOULD KILL ME! Anyways, I randomly thought of this, and it was going to be one part, but I decided to do a mini-fic and do like 2-3 parts, depending on my heart's desire. Happy reading :)

NO MINORS BEYOND THIS POINT

Not many men were able wrangle Brienne of Tarth. She was six feet and three inches of pure skill, and she carried the heart and honor of a warrior that often saved her when her strength could not.

This honor took her to the ends of the earth, wandering aimlessly, over and under and around and through every bit of trouble imaginable, yet she always emerged unscathed. But when the task was completed, all ends tied and everything said and done, Brienne would hesitate.

And wait.

And hesitate.

And wait.

She was nothing without a job.

So the soldier would make her home for the night in brothels and under trees. Occasionally, she would crawl into the arms of another knight just to find a warm bed or another task to busy her. She lived to serve, to be faithful to something or someone, and until she could find another lord to bend the knee for, she would wander.

Sometimes this wandering led to a fair bit of trouble.

Brienne wasn't entirely sure how she had gotten there that night that they met. Boats weren't really her thing - she was more favorable to the stability of land and a horse, so to anyone that asked, she had no idea what she was doing there, drunk and sword-to-throat with some Ironborn brute.

He was but a man, and so it was easy to pin him to the wall when he started to get a bit too handsy with her. Cockiness wasn't really something Brienne admired in a man. She would much rather a man shut the fuck up, if you would be so inclined to hear her say so, but this poor sailor hadn't heeded Brienne's warnings. Unfortunately for him, she wasn't really one for mercy this late at night.

Brienne had planned to hang him from the mast, in all honesty, and she would've gotten away with it, slipping into the night without a trace. Not many men could wrangle Brienne of Tarth.

But Yara Greyjoy was no man.

It was embarrassing to admit the raw force behind Yara's sword surprised Brienne caused her confidence to stutter, then her own sword. She had fallen much easier to Yara than she had any man, and perhaps that stirred something a bit more complex than shame within Brienne.

That was eight months ago, three months since she had escaped the grasp of the Ironborn queen, and only just a few weeks since she had safely saw Sansa Stark to Winterfell. And here she was once again, sitting in a tavern or brothel of sorts, ale in hand.

It wasn't that the men (or the women, for that matter) trying to seduce Brienne were particularly boring, but rather her mind was preoccupied with the leaving and the waiting, her heart had been skipping every other beat for hours, and she was fucking tired.

"Won't you stay?" Sansa asked, taking Brienne's hand between both of her own. "You would have a place here, you know."

Sansa had said it so earnestly, with so much devotion and promise in her eyes. Gods, she had looked just like Catelyn, and for a moment, Brienne saw the both of them swearing that oath all over again.

She saw it in the way Sansa smiled up at her with those lakes of eyes. The curve of Sansa's pink lips against her milky cheeks, the regality in her new robes -- watching over Sansa, caring for Sansa, loving Sansa... it was a future Brienne knew she would be happy in. It was the promise of a home. She would not have to roam Westeros any longer. Still, something lingered in the back of Brienne's mind that made her hesitate, as she always did.

It was a difficult offer to say no to, especially knowing the respect and security that came with staying with Sansa, the queen in the North. It had ripped at Brienne's heart, tore her throat raw with dryness. It was a solid deal, probably the best thing to ever happen to her, but it wasn't enough.

Brienne knew she was fucking herself over. Her selfishness would be the death of her. An offer like this was not easy to come by, especially for a woman knight. She was robbing herself of an easy, good life with a powerful woman who cared for her in a place where both of their presences were revered.

It had been difficult, but not impossible, to say no. But the guilt followed her out of Winterfell.

"Another one," Brienne said, slamming her pint on the table. She pushed her palms into her eyes, trying to rub out her exhaustion.

The man behind the bar looked at her curiously.

"Do y'have coin to pay for all this?" He asked, rubbing a glass with a towel in a rather stereotypical fashion. He was about twenty or so years older than her, but he looked down at her in almost disbelief, mockery playing on his lips as he took her in.

Brienne pulled her hands away and scoffed.

"What, do you think I'm trying to rob you?" She said, half joking, but it didn't quite reach the bartender. The man raised his eyebrow. He did not pour her another glass.

She rolled her eyes, then reaching below into the pockets of her armor. Inside was tucked a small leather pouch, and she fished out a small stack of coins given to her by Sansa before she had left. She slammed a few on the bar top, then gave the man an exasperated look.

He took the coin and looked it over in his hand for a long moment before he refilled her stein.

"Thank you," she said sarcastically as he handed it back to her. She raised the cup up in a satirical toast, and the bartender chuckled, but left her be with her fourth refill of the night.

Then her fifth, and her sixth.

Brienne was about to call it a night. She had no reason to believe this particular bar would be the place where she would find what she was looking for other than the history that was attached to it. She was searching with twigs of clues at this point, but something indescribable within her overtook her senses, packed her few bags, and forced her return to this shithole.

Halfway through her sixth pint, the smell of piss started to irritate her beyond belief, and she reached into her pocket again. She slid her last payment of the night across the bartop and sighed as she stood.

"Finally calling it a night?" The man asked, still cleaning those stupid glasses. Brienne nodded silently, and he wished her well as she began to work her way to the exit of the bar.

Brienne's head pounded as she dodged an impressively-dirty man sneering at her, sidestepped a woman with quite a few missing teeth reaching for her sword, and squeezed through a few sweaty couples getting rather promiscuous in the dining area. Just as the door was in view, she was suddenly cut off.

A short, blonde beauty stepped in front of her, smiling sweetly as she looked over Brienne from bottom to top.

"Excuse us, ser," a soft voice whispered from behind Brienne. Before she could react, she felt a set of hands reach around and run up her front.

Brienne opened her mouth to say something, cheeks bright red.

"Oh, she is no ser," the blonde woman said, licking her plush lips. Brienne tried to speak again, but her eyes wandered over the woman's revealing, lavender-colored dress that was more likely a few strips of fabric covering her most private areas. The blonde giggled and cupped Brienne's chin, then turned her around.

The redheaded woman now in front of Brienne looked pleased.

"Oh, this is quite a delight now, isn't it?" She asked, pressing her front to Brienne's cool armor. Brienne swallowed heavily.

"I am sorry, I think you have mistaken me -"

"For whom?" The blonde woman cooed in Brienne's ear.

"Perhaps dessert," The red-haired woman teased as they both guided Brienne farther away from the door. Brienne opened her mouth again, but the redheaded woman covered her lips with a finger, and drunken Brienne blushed furiously.

"We would be happy to make dessert out of you," one of them whispered, Brienne couldn't tell whom. She considered staying here within the embrace of the two courtesans, and she let them back her into a wall. After all, would it really be so bad to be lavished by two women on a god-awful night like this?

Or perhaps just the one, as the blonde woman seemed to have slipped away, but Brienne was more than happy to make do with the redheaded lady in front of her.

Brienne, sighed, and shook her head to let out her nerves. Then, she bent down, just enough to slam her lips against the woman's. The lady gasped against Brienne's mouth and let Brienne wrap her strong hands around the other's much smaller figure, pulling her closer.

The woman tasted like something sweet mixed with something deliciously sour, like a tart apple, and Brienne let herself melt into the embrace, eyes slipping shut and even growling softly as the woman's lips wandered to Brienne's throat.

Her fingers carded through the smaller woman's hair, cradling the other in the crook of her neck. When the woman bit down on Brienne's collarbone, she couldn't help but let out a low moan, eyes shooting open with surprise.

For a second, Brienne's eyes watered, making it impossible to see, until the thrill wound back up inside her and cleared her vision.

That was when Brienne saw her.

Though her back was to Brienne, it was impossible to mistake her for anyone else. Strolling in with a group of loud men following behind her, bartender preparing her a drink without any order, her raspy voice calling confidently for a particular woman, but especially by the way she pulled a seat back by the top of it and sat herself on it like a king, legs spreading and arms opening to welcome the blonde woman from earlier into her lap.

Brienne's body stiffened against the redheaded woman, and for a few minutes, she watched Yara Greyjoy engage with the prostitute.

She watched the way Yara ran her tongue down and bury her face between the woman's breasts. Both laughed at Yara's little party trick, and Yara leaned back, taking a sip of her ale as the blonde woman straddling her began to slip the top of her dress off, revealing her upper half.

Brienne watched with a burning storm in her stomach as Yara ran her hand up the woman's chest, pinching at her nipple to feel for a reaction. The woman whined, then grabbed ahold of Yara's neck, bringing their bodies closer and pressing against the Ironborn lady. Yara chuckled and slipped her hand downwards, still relentlessly searching for responses.

The blonde woman pulled Yara closer, and Yara curled into her, head resting on her shoulder as her hand slipped up the woman's upper thigh and into her dress. Brienne felt her anxiety boil, running down her spine and into her hands that clenched at the base of the redheaded woman's back.

Her eyes narrowed, breathing growing heavy in a way that had the redhead woman giggling as she watched the woman in Yara's lap gasp, back curling.

Yara looked up at the blonde woman, smirking and whispering into her ear. Brienne glared as she smiled sweetly back down at Yara, saying something coyly that had Yara barking with laughter, shaking her head. For a moment, Brienne caught a glimpse of Yara's full face, and she felt months of tension and complexity swell inside of her.

Her heart thumped so loudly she worried it might burst out of her chest, and Brienne nearly choked on the lump in her throat when Yara's deep eyes locked with hers.

#game of thrones #yara posting #yara greyjoy smut #yara greyjoy #brienne of tarth #brienne smut #lesbian #f/f #x reader #sapphic #reader insert #multi part #brienne/yara #asha greyjoy #daenerys stormborn #daenerys targaryen #Jon snow #robb stark #a song of ice and fire #house of dragons #house of the dragon #pov #arya #sansa #kraken #stark #theon greyjoy

[silviawrites]

The Class Codex [CH 1]

Chapter One: Lady Keeper

The Keeper, as the people had called her, had apparently killed the Sun.

Or at least, the people's Sun.

People ran hither and tither, spreading the news in a frenzied panic. It spread far and wide, a piece of news more deadly than a wildfire.

The Class Codex is gone.

The Keeper was a revered woman. People far and wide across all the seas had heard about her and the duty she had on her shoulders. Protecting the Class Codex. If anybody tried to destroy the Class Codex, the Keeper would be there to stop the damned person.

But nobody knew what to do when the tales from the smooth, serpentile tongues of the priests said that the Keeper was the damned person in question.

"The Genaicus are worried, my lady," a boy no more than sixteen with burnt brown hair and cinnamon eyes full of devotion, "They demand your presence. What should I do?"

Lady Keeper, as she was called when addressed to directly, gave a mirthless smile. Her sandy blonde hair cascaded down her back and her brown eyes looked at him with gentleness. Gone were the days where people used to request her presence. Not demand. Never demand.

"Alas, what can I say?" she sighed, closing her eyes, "Let them in, Alastor. Five at a time, thank you." She tied her hair into a tight bun.

The shouting from outside didn't cease. Alastor struggled to move past the crowd of people, eager to get inside. Whether it was to gloat that she truly wasn't a proper Keeper, others saying that they didn't believe in any of the rumours to people who simply would love nothing more than to stab her with a knife, the people kept pushing past each other, as if this was a fish market and not the residence of one of the Archons.

Lady Keeper refocused her eyes onto the empty case with a lustrous navy pin-cushion, surrounded by shatterproof glass on all sides.

That was where the Class Codex used to be.

"We need answers!" shouted a burly man. She snapped out of her trance, "We deserve them!"

The rest of the crowd screamed with assent, the sound too much for her ears. She winced, before putting on a polite smile. The Keeper's smile.

"BE NOT AFRAID!" Her voice rang throughout the halls of the Temple of Pyrinthius, the words gliding smoothly down her tongue, prepared in advance for situations like these. The voice and words of the angels.

"I know," her voice became lower, "that all of you are afraid. Those who wish to do us harm have stolen the Class Codex. I have also been rumours spreading around the city that I, myself, had done something to it. Is there any proof, I say? Any evidence? Protecting the Class Codex is my duty and it is my obligation. The previous Keeper had entrusted me with this sacred duty five years ago. I'll be damned if I fail it."

"It would also do you well," she continued, not letting a person from in the crowd interrupt her, "to pay no heed to such rumours. They are all baseless. False. Planted by people who wish to see the empire, our empire, crash and burn. Please, simply turn your head away from such people."

"Even the priests?" a person asked from the crowd, "They are from our empire, no? What about them?"

"Unfortunately, there are people who may... believe things a little too quickly. Of course, I shall not slander the names of our priests so wildly, for they are very effective," she glowered at the priests who struggled to hid their faces, "at their jobs. They truly make the empire better than it ever is. For the priests, leave it to me. You have no need to fear." she opened her arms, "Rest assured, I will find the person responsible for this injustice and will make sure that you are compensated fairly."

Murmurs from the crowd varied from "Is she telling the truth?", "The priests have always been unreliable", "The Keeper dares to lie..." and "I have never doubted her!" spread around.

"Now come!" she looked at everyone, "If you have any other concerns, I will do my best to solve them. Only five people are allowed at a time though. We cannot have this Temple crowded."

The day seemed to pass by so quickly for the Lady. People went in and out, voiced their concerns, their agitations, their worries. And she smiled, like she always did and told her viewpoints and suggestions.

I am the Keeper, the thoughts kept coming to her head, and I will not let my name be slandered by some priests who don't even know how to do their own fucking job.

"Alastor," she sighed, "I am tired. Please, send everybody else out. Tell them that I am currently not feeling well."

"Of course." he complied, bowing before conveying the message. A smile quirked up the Keeper's lips.

"And another thing..." she asked, "Could you call Marquess Thomas for me?"

"Of course.." he looked surprised at the thought. He must have been wondering "Is there anything scandalous going on between the Marquess and Lady Keeper? They have been seeing each other almost every day."

She quietly laughed.

She went to her chambers and untied her hair. Changing into her nightgown, she jumped onto the bed and closed her eyes.

"Lady Keeper, I was informed you wished to see me."

Marquess Thomas, with his mahogany brown hair and honey-coloured eyes, emerged from the door, confusion swimming in them.

"Yes," she hummed, "You must have heard of the rumours that I stole the Codex that I was supposed to protect, correct?"

"Why, obviously. Everyone has."

"Good to know," she smiled, though her blood was secretly boiling, the anger spiking. As if she didn't know that already.

"I just wanted to send you a warning."

"A warning?" he almost jumped, "Did something happen?"

"No, but it's about to." She looked at him with concerned eyes, "I fear there's someone out to... eradicate you."

"You mean murder?!"

"Not so loud," she shushed him, placing her hand on his mouth as his cheeks turned warm with embarrassment, "You don't want Alastor to hear."

"But- but what? Where? How did you find out?"

"I do not know. But no matter, I am looking into the matter. But please, rest easy. Do not get worried."

"How could you ask that of me?! Someone's about to murder me!" He gasped in surprise as she kissed him, the soft lips brushing his lips, her left hand on the cusp of his neck and the right, rummaging through his hair.

"You know I would never let anyone hurt you, my love. I promise, I will know about who is going to try and murder you, dearest. All this fear isn't good for you," she placed her left hand on his chest, "I love you. Do you really think I'll let that person get away with this?"

"Well... well, no..." he whispered, his eyes looking at everything but her eyes, "No, of course not."

"Exactly, so why don't you just breathe for me for a moment. Just relax..."

"Yes, relax..."

She embraced him and buried her face in his hair and smiled snidely. She already knew who was going to murder the Marquess.

It was her.

Okay, so, haha. This was longer than I thought it would be. This is an idea I recently came up with. If you like this, thank you so much! But please don't get your hopes up as I won't update this regularly. It's going to be extremely irregular. I have a lot of things going on with my life, so unfortunately, I don't have the time to write more chapters of The Class Codex. But I hope you enjoyed reading this!

#silviawrites #silvia hemmings #creative writing #writer #writing #writing tumblr #creativewriting #multi-part story #multi part #multichapter #story #novel

[askathewierdo]

So i mentioned plotting a Harry Potter and My Hero Academia crossover, now I'm going to share with you my numerous headcanons.

After the end of the Harry Potter series quirks start to first appear. As they do it becomes obvious that one either was a quirk or magic— never both.

#crossover #headcanons #bnha #mha #hp #Harry Potter #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #multi part

[dorothydalmati1]

My Little Pony Equestria Girls Special 5: Rollercoaster of Friendship

Written by Nick Confalone

Storyboard by Jeff Bittle, Tori Grant, Gloria Jenkins & Selena Marchetti

Directed and animation directed by Ishi Rudell

#my little pony #friendship is magic #equestria girls #special #multi part

[1spark1-blog]

DoYouLikeMySwordSword

It's done!! a 3 and a half foot long Claymore SWORD. I modeled this as a project a while back when I only had one machine. I couldn't justify taking the time to lock down my machine for over 24 hours to print this, but now that I have laser engravers that can run while I 3d print as well, I went for it!!! I'm decently happy with how this came out, but I ran into a lot that I would do differently when I make these again. The sword is a total of 8 pieces (10 pieces after it broke 5 seconds after I finished it XD) After separating the pieces out in blender, I modified the handle to have the wood pla accents you see there. It took about 23 hours to print in total, with 3d print nozzles double the size that I usually print at. This is FAST compared to what is usually output from my machine.  I sanded the whole thing smooth which took around 5 hours total I'd say.  made a mistake with the sanding process unfortunately. IAfter sanding it, I glued the pieces together with something called 3dgloop(A glue that melts polymers together, Suuuper strong) This is where I made my most visible mistake. I could still clearly see the seams in between the pieces. I then got out my plastic welding gun and spliced some pla and melted it into the semas. For no knowledge using this thing, it went pretty well I'd say! I sanded down the seams and you're left with what is in the picture! I should have glued and sealed the semas before sanding... But, that's a lesson learned for next time! Overall this was a fun project, and it will definitely be going on my wall. I'm proud of this piece!

Posted using PostyBirb

#3d print #3d #physical #sword #weapon #plastic #pla #multi part #brown #wood #dual extrusion #model

[chickenparm]

Tradition - Part Seven

Check out @drawlypsy’s full version of the header that can be found here!

“Sn-Snezhnayan tradition dictates in a traditional battle, the winner is allowed to request one thing from the-” another cough, born from phlegm in his throat that rattles wetly, “from the loser.” (or, You accept a bet and despite not winning, you’re not sure if you’ve actually lost.)

Previous Part | Next Part AO3 Link

Childe/f!Reader 2,123 Words - SFW Bamboozled into marriage, awkwardness, fluff, future smut

---

Once, perhaps the second or third rematch, Childe made small talk as he sprawled across the floor, leaned back on his hands behind him. First, he mentioned his brother that you’d helped; Teucer. Then, he slipped aimlessly from one topic to the other. 

A comfortable cottage made of stone and well-made roof thatching, settled at the edge of a little fishing village tucked along the coastline of Snezhnaya. Its shores protected from battering waves by slow-moving icebergs that create an ever-shifting wall from the outside world. 

And in that cottage, in that village, is his family. Siblings who are genuinely happy to see him, parents that put smiles on their faces and tension at the corner of their eyes. A backyard with a ruin guard, its core removed. Farmland that had once been worked by his family to sustain them that lay barren now thanks to Childe’s flow of cash. 

Childe paints a pretty picture of rigid mountains, forests of pine trees that would be a deep green if not for the layers and layers of snow covering each individual needle. Frozen lakes that are sturdier than the earth itself, protesting as he drills holes to fish through. The sky stretching into the distance, clear and cold and blue. 

Snezhnaya is as beautiful as he describes it to be. 

The ship was forced to wait in the small harbor for the night. To approach Morepesok without the guiding light of the sun would be to openly invite the vessel to go ahead and sink. The icebergs don’t move quickly, but they do move, and the village is small enough that the light can’t quite reach out to where you prop your chin on the cold, frozen wood of the ship’s railing. 

The moon is just passed new. A thin little sliver, squinting down at the way your breath pushes from your nose in a sigh, the cloud drifting up and away. The stars here are no different than the ones in Mondstadt, or Liyue, or Sumeru, but they seem somehow both brighter and more far away. Like even they are afraid of the chill that’s just barely being fought off by the thick cloak and clothing you’ve procured for the trip. 

On your left hand, the ring is warmed happily by your body heat.

It’s getting late, and you should return to the bunk room to get some sleep before you try to piece together Childe’s descriptions to find your way. Before, not so long ago, you would have been endlessly irritated that you could recall such descriptions with picture-perfect clarity. It’s as if he’s dreamily reciting memories of his homeland to you right now, at your side. 

But now, it’s comforting. Soothing enough to lull you asleep with the rocking of the ship and the quiet thudding of your heart in anticipation. 

Sumeru was - is - arduous. Scaramouche is spirited away somewhere by Nahida, but that’s still a mess that needs to be cleaned up. There’s still so much to do, so many places to explore, every little rock and ruin to pick through for even a trace of your sibling. Even Dainsleif would be a welcome arrival; it’s about that time again where he shows his face and says things that only leave you more confused and frustrated. 

Maybe it’s actually better he stays away for a little. Your life is complicated enough as it is.

You awaken to the sound of the crew on the deck, of orders being called out. It takes only a moment for you to blink at the ceiling and decipher the fact that there isn’t the sort of urgency that suggests an emergency. It’s alright to lay in your bunk a little longer. 

Hands laced over your stomach as you look upward, you think about Paimon. Dunyarzad had been plenty happy for Paimon to stay with her family - god knows they’d be able to foot the bill for an appetite like that. But Paimon had been adamant she come with you in case you do find your wayward fiance. 

“Who knows what will happen! You’ll come back and you’ll be… be… Mrs. Tartaglia, or something! Paimon has to make sure you don’t get swept off and married before Paimon can be there!”

But of course, by “being with you”, she meant tucked away in the nice, warm teapot that sits in your inventory. Close enough that you can call on her if the time for nuptials comes, but far enough away that she doesn’t have to deal with the cold of Snezhnaya. 

“Paimon is… cold-blooded! Once Paimon gets cold, it’s all over!” And that’s okay. As much as you appreciate your companion, it’s nice to have a little time alone. 

You’ve never really been alone before. 

A bell rings somewhere up above, signifying the final approach to the docks. The ship is small enough that you can get to the deck in a few short steps and prepare to disembark. Leaning against the same railing from the evening prior, you look out on the village in the light of day. It’s not exactly as you imagined, but it fits perfectly as it had been described. 

As a fishing village, you expected it to be a little more gray, a little more dreary. As a Snezhnayan village, you expected it to be less populated, a little less busy. 

It subverts your expectations in all those ways. There are already people on the dock ready to help moor the ship. Not so far away, you can see the square of the village, lit with a crackling bonfire to warm those who seem to be doing shopping at a morning market. Food must always be fresh, if it’s colder than an icebox all the time. 

And the fish. Childe wasn’t lying about the size of the fish. As you walk past one in the square to enjoy the bonfire for a moment, you swear its eyes seem to follow you. But surely it’s dead, and you’re just feeling odd being in a place so new without anyone else to comfort you. 

Right, you tell yourself, holding your mitten-clad hands out to accept the fire’s warmth, a moment longer here, and I’ll start that search in earnest. 

A moment turns into two, then three, and before long you realize you’re simply wasting time and stalling. You’re better at recognizing it now, after scrutinizing your behavior toward Childe and this situation. Diversion after stall tactic after excuse to drag things out. And then you took long enough that the two of you were separated before you could make any further headway. 

Though, he’s already an indeterminable amount of distance away from you, so what’s a few moments longer?

If the fire was a finite resource, it would be accurate to pin you with the sin of greed. Snezhnaya is so cold, colder than it would be if you had another form by your side that would let you snuggle into his cloak and press yourself against him to leech his warmth. 

Instead, a different body slams into you, almost knocking you off balance and into the wet slush on the ground made of melted snow. 

Your name, chanted in a cheerful voice with the slightest lisp of a child missing their front teeth. Over and over as his arms squeeze tighter and tighter, only loosening when another voice pipes up, “Wait, this is Ajax’s-?”

The voice cuts off and a third voice says, only in somewhat of a whisper, “Yeah! But don’t say anything, remember? Mama and Papa don’t know yet, and you know Teucer can’t keep a secret for his life.”

Teucer is who clings to you with giggling laughter and a cacophony of words that you can’t quite make out beyond his happiness at seeing you here. The other two would be unmistakable as his siblings - as Childe’s siblings. A girl with long orange hair in a braid, and blue eyes that have the same shine as Teucer’s. A boy with a darker shade of auburn, cropped short and looking far too serious for someone his age. 

Still bewildered, your mind wanders in the chaos as you contemplate whether a younger Childe was more similar to Teucer, or the pre-teen boy that you can only assume is Anthon. It’s difficult to imagine Childe with such an expression on his face; he seems far more suited to wide smiles and laughter and freckles on his cheeks. 

The two others don’t introduce themselves to you. It doesn’t seem necessary, considering they’re obviously aware of who and what you are, and you’ve heard more than your fair share of stories about Childe’s siblings. But still, you do your best to give them a smile before looking down at Teucer to pry his arms from around your waist. He’s letting the warmth out from inside your cloak, after all. 

“It’s good to see you, too. What happened to your teeth?”

“They fell out-”

“He slipped on the ice face-first and knocked them out.” Anthon says, stepping forward to scrutinize you better. “They’re still in the snow somewhere, we couldn’t find ‘em. Is Ajax with you?”

It takes a moment for you to process the mystery of Teucer’s missing teeth, immediately followed by a question that answers an unspoken one of your own. So he isn’t here. Unfortunate - that ticket cost a lot of mora, considering the vessel wasn’t meant for passengers. Who takes a Winter trip to Snezhnaya, anyway? Much less to a little fishing village more than a day of travel from the capitol.

Anthon asked a question, and you shake your head to answer, “No, he isn’t. I was actually hoping he was here, with you. We’ve been… apart for business, and I’m not sure where he’s stationed at the moment.”

“Well, the last letter he sent didn’t say where, so we dunno either.” Tonia explains, stepping forward as well. “It’s a good thing we found you before anyone else did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Your question sounds a little guarded. It’s probably not necessary to be defensive around the children who will inevitably be your in-laws, but they’re giving you the answers to questions you weren’t even aware of, and suddenly the snow feels a little too bright, the fire too warm, your cloak too heavy. 

Breathe. 

Sumeru took a lot out of you, put a lot into you that you’re still working through. A fear of too much happening at once - one-hundred and sixty eight defeats against a metal monstrosity of elemental power would burden anyone with an anxiety they can’t quite shake. 

In the midst of your swirling thoughts, Tonia interjects, reaching down beside her to a basket that had carefully been tucked into the snow. “Teucer, why don’t you run this back to Mama? She’s waiting on these and you’re the fastest runner. We’ll bring the Traveler, so don’t worry!”

The boy doesn’t even bat an eye. He accepts the basket with a look of determination, “I won’t even need a break!”

“Watch your footing, don’t slip again-”

“Yeah, or your bottom teeth will go next.” Anthon’s teasing could be construed as rude, but there’s a smile on his face, a smile on Teucer’s, and maybe that’s just a thing between them you don’t quite get. Surely your twin has made jibes like that in the past, but it feels like a lifetime since you last held their hand in yours before dispersing into golden light and stardust.

Once Teucer is far out of earshot, Anthon no longer withholds information.

“Ajax hasn’t said a word about your engagement to our parents.” He says with a seriousness that makes you wonder if perhaps his parents are some sort of abyssal beasts that would have their transformations triggered by the mention of holy matrimony. 

Tonia further clarifies, “Don’t be mad at him about it. It’s like.. a Snezhnayan tradition that the mother of the groom plans the wedding. And she said Ajax is old enough that he really should start looking-”

“Anyway, he obviously had a reason for only telling Tonia and me, so-”

“So, you shouldn’t say anything about it for now. Did you come here looking for him? Where from?” Tonia’s voice goes from trying too hard to seem grown-up to having that childlike inquisitiveness that Teucer still enjoys. Her gloved hand wraps around your arm to start guiding you along Teucer’s footprints in the snow. Anthon follows behind, listening as you do your best to answer her questions and ignore the unsettled feeling in your stomach of once again having no direction. 

There’s a suspiciously Teucer-shaped indent in the disturbed snow on the path, a footprint skidding longer than the others. You ignore that, too. 

#childe #tartaglia #genshin impact #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #childe x reader #childe/reader #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia/reader #genshin #multi part #multi chap

[willgrahamscock]

when I gain a mutual

#this is about to be a multi part post im sorry its necessary im playing w dolls on ur dash

[kisses-from-crows]

Crossed Wires - Campbell Bain

Pairing: Radio Host!Campbell Bain/Popstar!Reader (she/her)

Summary: after butting heads during an ill-fated interview for her debut album, Y/N and Campbell become professionally linked against their wills.

word count: 907

genre: enemies to lovers, modern au, reader insert, forced proximity, misunderstandings

cw: nothing yet, will let you know if that changes!

Chapter 1

Next

-TMZ: Breaking News! Long lost pop princess F/N L/N has been spotted outside her apartment in New York for the first time in over a year. A comeback may be just around the corner, a source close to L/N reports. Posted: 4 min ago -

“Good god, just when I thought I was rid of the wretch” Campbell groaned. He tossed his phone on the desk and leaned back in his desk chair. Y/N… to say he hadn’t thought about her in a year would be a lie. He might have hated her music but god no one could keep up with his banter like she could. In the time it took most people to make out his accent she was already firing back some witty response.

Their first meeting had been years ago. Back when he was still a full-time intern and part-time radio host on the graveyard shift. Y/N was days away from releasing her debut album, both of them unknowingly teetering right on the edge of overnight stardom.

The station gave him an interview with the singer as a fluff piece and he was determined to make the best of it. At the time the rumor was she’d only secured the spot after catching the eye of some studio executive’s son. Y/N’s lead single was charting well but Campbell guessed she would likely be another one hit wonder, destined to fade into obscurity. He’d been given an advance copy of the album and nearly fell asleep listening to it. The production was predictable and flat, the lyrics were repetitive and meaningless, and the vocals were… well the vocals were quite good but he’d never admit that out loud.

All Campbell needed was a good old publicity stunt and he was on his way to securing his own show. Determined to expose this clear industry plant, Campbell put Y/N in the hot seat and his tongue ran away with him. He endlessly grilled her about her new album and the flaws he found in her character because of it. Much to his surprise, she didn’t falter. She matched him for every hit, striking back quicker and harder each time. He found the exchange utterly thrilling. Scratching a particularly manic part of his brain, the part that loathed idleness and people who talked too slowly. So they verbally went for each other’s throats for the next half an hour. Exchanging cleverly harsh witticisms like a game of battleship. Which is to say by firing blindly and seeing what landed a blow then concentrating all your attention there. By the time the radio station techs told them time was up, a part of Campbell was bit sad to see her go. Never one to keep a thought to himself, stood up to tell her so. She, however, tossed her headset on the desk with a huff.

Y/N muttered a quick “Fucking finally” under her breath, before marching out of the studio without another word. It was in that moment that Campbell decided he had been absolutely right about Y/N. She was shallow and vain. A hollow figurehead for everything wrong with the music industry. She had no passion for the art, and it was insulting. The assumption that he would likely never see her again gave some comfort to his wounded ego.

But fate could never be so kind, he should have known that. Their careers and destinies were now undeniably linked. As the he stared up at the ceiling of his too small and too expensive New York apartment, the seemingly meaningless late night radio interview Campbell wanted to forget spread like wildfire. Those that despised Y/N’s music took Campbell’s word as gospel, bashing her music and praising his superior taste. Fans of Y/N rallied behind her and praised her composure. But the part of the interview neither side could get off their mind, was the heated chemistry between the pair.

Within 48 hours, both of their timelines were filled with half-baked think pieces and edits of themselves. It was all surreal really, watching strangers on the internet discuss you like you aren’t real.

Campbell’s stunt pulled in more attention for the station than they’d had since the dot com boom. Viewers fell in love with his unique voice and frantic energy, demanding Campbell get more airtime until the studio was forced to give him his own show. And the controversy surrounding Y/N’s debut caused it to rocket to the top the charts, trending in the top 10 for weeks.

But that was years ago. Almost seven now, to be exact. After that first interview, all anyone can wanted was a repeat performance. A chance to see the two quick-tongued hot heads in another cage match. That TMZ leak was a warning. Campbell laid in the dark and prayed that the call he knew was coming would miraculously never come. He fiddled with his New York Giants cap and wondered why he ever came to this town in the first place. Ah, yes, the unrelenting blind optimism that had gotten him so far.

As his phone lit up the black of his room, he knew it had failed him once again. Campbell almost let the damn thing go to voicemail. On the cracked screen of his old beat up phone was a call from a contact labelled: ITS THE DEVIL’S HENCHMAN DINNAE ANSWER IT.

So Campbell accepted the call.

“How would you like the exclusive interview for F/N L/N’s comeback album?”

_________________________________________________

Next Chapter

a/n: ahh so this is first fanfic i’ve ever written. i have an idea of where i want this to go so if people are into it i’d be happy to keep updating it. this chapter was mainly to establish some background info. anyway thank you for reading!!! love you!

#Campbell bain #campbell bain x reader #david tennant #enemies to lovers #multi part #taking over the asylum #reader insert #modern au #campbell bain fanfic #kisses-from-crows

[a-gal-with-taste]

FLAWED - Silco X F!Reader

The Undercity has no bounds.

The Lanes are a playground with few rules, fewer limits, and one in charge. A perfect system - it is not, but the overseeing Eye has held a reign for several, moreso successful years.

Silco knows exactly what he is - oftentimes using it to his advantage, or to the detriment of others.

It's become an ultimate weapon, in a way, one he has few qualms with using. And even fewer thoughts about suspecting how things could be different... or more effectually, how someone can look at him different.

You do, though. He isn't sure how, or why, but you do.

To your advantage, and to his willing detriment.

[Rewrite of Flawless | Extended | Silco's POV]

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Current WC: 2.9K

Warnings: NSFW|MDNI | SMUT. Slow-Burn, tension, romance, drama, explicit sexual-content, pining, Silco x F!Reader, sex-work, dom-sub undertones, angst with eventual happy-ending

Silco doesn't want her in the revealing attire of her peers. It's too bland, too normal and far too tasteless - though he's sure many others would disagree, and would prefer for a woman of her profession to greet him by wearing nothing at all.

Eventually, she will be clad in nothing but the perspiration of sweat on her bare skin, but Silco wants to take a moment. Take his time. Yes, likely because viewing this any other way but cautiously is bound to lead to disaster, and perhaps his hasty retreat from this establishment should such a disaster strike, but also because he prefers to savor this.

However long it lasts, however long she is to be his, before boredom or mistrust drive him away from her services, Silco at least plans to enjoy the time he does have with her. However fleeting, it might just be good for his sanity and his health to slow down, and relax.

Sevika had said he had been more than tightly-strung for many years, and if that string is to snap, he prefers it to snap upon the touch of a stranger, then in full-view before his empire and subjects. Easier to compact the blast-radius, establish damage control… disaster is all but assured as the price for being asinine enough to listen to the under breath snark of his second, but it'll be a disaster more easily contained between silk-sheets.

The door opens.

Shuts, and the automatic lock accompanies the soft-footsteps that finally pull him away from the attention of the window, and ensure the drapes are drawn fully- it matters not that he wears a mask, nor that anonymity was promised.

Silco rolls his shoulders back as he stands fully, the darker shirt straining against muscles, and already wishes for his thicker cloak as he stands with his back towards his lady of the night, who is surely anything but a lady.

But, if she followed his instructions, he might just see some hint of refinement in this woman. Not the target goal, but the beauty of a woman would certainly be a welcomed side-effect.

"You wore it? Does it fit well?"

"I did, thank you. It is a flawless fit, beloved."

He slows the sharp exhale as he raises his chin, glaring straight ahead. Her voice is that of perfect devastation, sweet and low, rasped perfectly and already commanding attention.

She's good, and didn't even hesitate to use the... pet-name, that he was required to pick at the front desk. A sacrifice for anonymity, just as the loss of his attire, coat and even his face was. The mask sits comfortably, and obscures enough to make it a mystery of his face, but the Eye of Zaun knows one would only have to glance at the slits in place for his eyes to see that they are burning .

"Good." Pause, and he feels stupid for saying such a plain remark. "I… Good."

Silco chose to savor this, but turns rather sharply on his heel to face her, and -

And he hated.

On-sight, there is an immediate, fiery inferno that explodes within Silco's chest, in whatever's left of that pulsing pound of useless muscle and sinew beneath his skin, and it burns with something he can only know - can only understand - as hatred.

Hatred, for the beautiful, kneeling woman on the floor, who pauses a heartbeat, before glancing up. Doe-like eyes gleam up through thick lashes, and it's the first hint that this entire arrangement is to be a disaster.

The gown he's picked for her gathers around her legs from where she kneels so elegantly, obedient. Sheer, but sophisticated even as it saps at imagination of her body, and it even slips off her shoulders to reveal soft, inviting skin…

It's a sight that forces Silco's gaze to return to her face, which makes his body-heat flare up even more, to a temperature that should be concerning.

But Silco can't bring himself to be concerned. Not when the mask that hangs around her eyes doesn't even qualify as fabric, but is as thin as smoke. Through such a wispy shield, her own gaze reveals she is equally examining him, though thanks to the thicker concealment crossing his face, she's left with only her imagination as to her clients features…

Does she see a younger man behind his own mask of gold?

A silly thought, but it's immediate, and turns that fire dark inside the concealed Kingpin as he takes a step towards her kneeling form, then another.

Would that make it easier for her? Again, an arbitrary thought - and how absurd, to even entertain such an idea born of jealousy - but one he uses in order to make sure he hates her evermore.

Hatred is easier. Hatred, is the only way he is able to translate whatever is flaring in his chest to be, as she continues to watch the secret Eye's approach.

She doesn't look away. Barely blinks as she watches his steady, hard approach, pitch-black boots thumping hard with every footfall, before he stands before her.

Her head silently tilts back, studying the cover of his face, and picturing whomever she prefers to see behind it. It's appreciated… and is also vile, in some sudden, twisted way. Vile in a way that Silco almost finds dark comfort in, that she may picture any other man's face behind the mask but his own...

Does that make it easier for her, to reach out, and slide her hands up along his legs?

To picture that it's another, another man for her to slowly, sensually caress along thighs and tendons beneath clothing. Is it easier to focus on the job at hand? For her to gaze into the slits where his eyes are, instead of the painfully ache of a bulge that's not inches in front of her face?

Silco is almost tempted to ask, who she pictures behind the mask. By pride or by practicality, he doesn't dare too, and is too focused on his relief that comes with her cool-hands soothing the ache as her nails trace along the back of his thighs.

And then that relief returns to the fire, with the sound of her voice - lightly rasped, low, and sweet, like some hidden delicacy among the bitterness of life.

"Is this what you want from me, beloved? Are you satisfied?"

Satisfaction? Silco wasn't sure that still existed.

The laugh is dulled somewhat by the mask, but still, she didn't react to the bitter sound. Only continues to gaze up at him through the thin-slip of sheer-gray that hangs over her eyes, in lieu of anonymity.

Anonymity. What a joke.

As if Silco can't tell that she already peers inside the furnace that has become his heart, body and soul. It's impressive she hasn't called him by his real name yet, he's so certain she is reading him like a book already…

"No. I'm… dissatisfied with seeing you on your knees."

A first, for him. But this entire situation is, so it's not overly-surprising. What comes out of his mouth next, though, is. "I want to see you above me."

She blinks, but doesn't react otherwise, even though Silco jolts slightly at his own words, all but commanding her to take charge. He jolts a second-time at the feel of her fingers, sliding up, and up.

Up, and further-upward still, as she effortlessly slips onto one knee, and then on none. The touch passing his inner-thigh is nothing short of cruelty … an admirable-quality Silco loves to hate about her as her palms slide over his abdomen, and settle on his chest as she gazes-still where his eyes should be.

It's incredible her palms haven't scalded yet. His body feels like a living, destructive flame, and she still travels her touch over him like it's a far more pleasant warmth.

"Is there anything else you would like, beloved? You had... reservations."

He did. And damn them all.

"The mask stays. The chosen-name stays. The dress as well."

A pause. Fingertips press and knead gently through the shirt on his pectorals, and Silco snaps.

His voice, soft, and low as he finalizes the exact steps that will lead him to his doom:

"You may touch my neck."

Silk-soft lips touch along his jugular not-seconds later, and the breath it drags from him is nothing short of horrid. Silco is drowning - not on water or even air - but he drowns in the fire that is burning him from the inside out.

Fire that she seems to be an expert of stoking into a blaze, fanning every spark as her fingers glide down, under and up, skimming skin and stroking circles along his stomach even as he bounces back onto the bed beneath him, and remains.

How many years since he had been manhandled like that… or allowed someone to be so effective about it? Silco hadn't even realized his world had gone off-balance, and by the time he even tries to balance his world's axis, she's already straddling his thighs, hips-

Frozen in the heat, Silco can do nothing but grab her. Leaving bruises on the whore, is as predictable as a sunrise, but there's nothing more that could prepare him from the way she murmurs beloved into the hollow of his throat. All he can do is cling even tighter, as she breathes such a dreaded word against his skin, between lips mouthing the expanse of his throat as if with some sort of mission in mind.

A mission to destroy him, evidently.

Silco is breathless, and hates her. Hates her for choking him with the softest of kisses there, all the while she casually moves the elegant fabric of her gown,  bunching it up around her waist gracefully, in order to maneuver his own pants aside. Soon freeing his leaking, rock-hard cock from its confines with the most simple of touches, fingertips exploring a new source of flesh to torment with pleasure.

She leans back only enough to murmur wordlessly in praise as she traces her nail along a vein, her other nails having found his hair to card through with nothing short of belovement, indeed-

Silco lets out a breath that rasps as if strangled.  

Hate, fire, and the greatest desire he's ever felt in his life compelled Silco's parched lips to move in his command; the weakest order, but one she follows as she slips down, moving her palm flat against his head to steady herself. Thumb still stroking at the sweaty, longer errant strands of grey-streaked black that have spilled onto the pillows.

About the same time, she lines him up to her already soaked-cunt in order to lower herself onto him in a single slow, practiced movement.

Practiced.

She's done this before - to countless, and will no doubt do it countless times more.

It's enough of a reminder to douse out some of those flames - though he doesn't have a prayer to fully avoid being reduced to ashes. Silco grits his already aching-teeth with pleasure. He all but hisses out his final command, when he finally remembers that he's supposed to be savoring this, "Ride me."

"Yes, beloved."

Damn her.

Damn her, but by the Gods, if he doesn't savor it. If sex is a recreational business, then he's become a witness to art, at the same time he becomes it's willing participant, watching the master and artist at work.

And she works.

Works into a near-frenzy with her body, gripping a hand at his waist and once more threading fingers through his hair as she rocks. Forward, back, circles and with knees soon trembling at his thighs as she whimpers, moans and cries out his new title - not to the ceiling, no.

Despite his own grunts, the Eye of Zaun feels the urge to laugh at the level of her audacity, as she has the nerve to gaze down at him. Eyes lustful and nearly wet in overwhelming pleasure. And a whisper, breathlessly oozes from the slim-excuse of a mask around her twisted expression as she clenches tight around him in promise, in warning, "Beloved."

His undoing comes in time with hers.

How hilariously poetic.

Nails bury into her hips, until he knows they bleed - it feels justified, in the heat of the moment and in the unbearable heat his body still holds. Her own fingers clench tight enough at his hair to make it ache as hard as his teeth are, while fire licks at the inside of his organs, behind his teeth, and roaring through every vein within his body as the thrusts up into her cunt turn wild.

It's hatred that he feels.

It must be - has to be - for though the flames begin to smolder within his body, it doesn't erase the way he stares up at her, open-mouthed and silent as her hair cascades down her shoulders and back. Chest-heaving with every breath she drags from the air into her greedy lips, one sleeve has fallen so far down that her exposed breast bounces with the every-hitch in her breath as she finally slackens above him, thoroughly fucked.

Silco squeezes his remaining eye shut when her chin begins to tip back down, certain he does not want to freeze in her gaze a second time. " Off. Lay back, on the... on the bed."

She doesn't call-out his hesitation. She very likely can't, too focused on the feel of his release staining down her thighs as she eases him from her spent-entrance, soon collapsing beside him with heavy-breaths. A short, low moan of satisfaction with her face in the soft cushioning beneath her.

Silco doesn't open his eyes to see any of it.

He only learns to move again when he finally registers her palm, shaking still, tracing over his rapidly-falling and rising chest.

Turning away from her, the man takes a moment to puff a series of breaths back into his airless body while half-curled on his side, before finding the strength to fully turn. Boots hit the ground in unison as he yanks himself into an upright position at the bedside, ignoring the shaking of his knees even as he sits, and doing his hardest to ignore her.

Back to her, he still feels those eyes of hers watching him. They shouldn't be - her job is done, and yet here she was. Daring to still be here. Daring to still torment him…

Gods, she doesn't even have to be facing him, nor him to her. Silco can already feel the disaster brewing, and frankly, he doesn't help his cause by turning to glare down at her.

Perhaps he is some sort of a masochist after all.

She can hardly read his expression, though she takes it as an invitation, and turns onto her back. Legs-splaying - indeed stained with the dress barely hanging off her body - she lays in a tousled pillow of her own hair. Sensuality itself, even as she is merely breathing, eyes hooded and arms lazily resting alongside her head, as if to frame the beautiful, and deadly image she makes…

"...Do you want it back?"

“What?" Truly, he is confused. With many things, but her most of all, for how does a whore have this much control over the flames inside of him. He seems to burn just by looking at her, and has the gall to act like she knows nothing of the scorched earth she leaves in her wake-

She smiles. Sweet, patient, and dreadful.

"The dress? Would you like it back?"

A blink she doesn't see, but she smiles wider at him regardless.

And far, far too late, Silco realizes he must leave. He is already destroyed, but might spare himself further destruction by leaving now.

"Keep it."

"... it's very expensive, beloved. Are you sure-?"

“Keep it."  

The soft snarl, weakened from recent coitus and from the recent ravaging of his all that remains of common-sense, shuts her up in time with the sound of clinking-coins, which are muffled only slightly in the drawstring bag he pulls from his boot, and tosses onto the pillow beside her.

At least a quarter of her nightly tip spills out, fresh gold glinting in the warm red of the room lighting, but she pays them no mind. Save for a single hand, quivering slightly at the fingertips, in order to pinch one of the coins up, and mindlessly stroke between thumb and forefinger. She gazes at him all the while in her quiet contemplation, before quietly asking the question of his doom:

"Will you come back for me, beloved?"

No.

He… no.

Silco shouldn't he shouldn't indulge this, damn whatever Sevika says, or his body demands.

Damn savoring the experience. Damn this brothel, damn the undercity and the access of red-light districts, damn Zaun, and most importantly, damn her-

(It's hatred that he feels, isn't it? What else could be so powerful?)

Because this is a disaster in the making - she's all but ensured that, and Silco is more than aware of it already.

Because above all else, above everything he has sacrificed, and may yet sacrifice in the future, he knows this woman is going to burn him alive…

"Beloved?"

"I... yes. I will be back. Tomorrow evening."

… and he already knows he's not going to be adverse to it, if it’s by her hand.

[Taglist: @sweatandwoe @lackofhonor @betasuppe @ironandglass @soullessbody @syx-00 @bb-8 @bloodmoon-bites @zillahvathek @my-awakened-ghost @agoutighost @shuttlelauncher81 @stabmemaybe @rosmariner @intpthinkinginquiet @atalldrinkofcaprisun @ladykatakuri @littledollll @of-the-argonath @mazikomo @dropssofjupitter @boredanimatr @gooseberries88 @yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy @cat-shapedgoo @watercolourdreamer @meimayooo @constant-fragmentation @marina-and-the-memes @masterjedilenaaa @callistotml @foppishish @dad-dumpster @nyx2021 @beef-bakery @jennithejester @the-lake-is-calling @ariaud ]

#silco #arcane #arcane silco #silco x reader #female reader #reader insert #mdni #18+ #multi part #flawed

[mlimby]

What A Nice Bonfire ! :)

#jjba #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojo’s bizarre adventure #jjba part 5 #jjba part 3 #pannacotta fugo #narancia ghirga #mohammed avdol #vanilla ice jojo #dio brando #guido mista #vinegar doppio #gmod #my mlart #multi part #gmod au