#there are no people there are no expectations there's no mirroring of the face or tone checking in my voice

[ellecdc]

Hardass

Chef!Sirius Black x mixologist!reader who survive a shift from hell

CW: fem!reader, mention of alchohol/drinking, fluff.

comes from a request from @maladaptiveescapism: chef!sirius and mixologist!reader. sirius is a chef at a fancy restaurant and maybe a mishap happens with booking and reader has to keep the people sitting at the bar waiting for a seat and she does such a good job because she’s flirty and fun and trained for this. sirius who always has such a short temper (chefs, am I right) secretly worships her because she’s the one thing he can count on

Sirius was fuming, to say the least.

He loved his job; he really did. The kitchens were his sanctuary, and it was the first place he fled to when he ran away from home at only sixteen. 

Though he knew Effie and Fleamont would have helped with anything he needed (or even wanted, for that matter), he didn’t want to become a burden or take advantage of their kindness. So, he found a part time job in a small family owned restaurant as a dishwasher.

Washing dishes became bussing tables. Bussing tables became hosting. Hosting became serving. He went from a server to a line cook, until finally someone took him under their wing, and Sirius made a name for himself.

Now he was a successful chef working in a successful restaurant and he certainly had made a name for himself.

That name? Hardass.

But it took a certain intensity to run the kind of kitchen that Sirius did, and he expected nothing short of greatness from the kitchen staff.

Fortunately for Sirius, it was the restaurant manager’s fuck up that caused tonights issues.

Unfortunately for Sirius, that fucked everything up for his staff in the kitchen. 

“So, quick question for you Jeffery; did you pass year four maths?” Sirius asked earnestly, watching Jeffery shove his tongue in his cheek to avoid snapping back at the glowering chef in all his tattooed intensity. “Because last time I counted, we don’t have this many sodding tables!” He continued, pointing at the number of reservations scheduled for tonight.

“Uh oh.” You carefully called out as you walked in through the front door, in the process of shucking off your jacket as you made your way towards the bar. “Looks like you could use a drink, chef.” 

Sirius was almost mad at how much of the rage seemed to settle down into a simmer at the sight of you; he didn’t want to calm down, he wanted to ring Jeffery’s fucking neck out.

But Jeffery, the coward, had used your entrance as a means to fuck off from whatever circle of Sirius’ personal hell he’d been summoned from. 

“We’re overbooked tonight.” Sirius grumbled as he sat dejectedly at your bar; mirroring what likely most of your patrons looked like as they spent their weekday evenings with you.

“Shit luck.” you sighed commiseratingly as you poured two shots of vodka and slid one to him. “Here’s to working our sodding asses off then, hm?” You said with a smirk as you touched your glass to his and threw it back like a pro. 

And you had indeed been right; the two of you had worked your sodding asses off tonight. But the difference between the two of you was astounding.

Sirius spent most of his evening sweating, cursing, and - more embarrassingly - shouting at the poor servers looking for their orders that ‘clearly weren’t fucking ready yet, were they?!’. 

But not you. 

Alright, did he take the opportunity to run out the odd plate for the servers just to steal a glance at you? Sure. Sue him. And everytime he did, he’d pass the very busy bar which was always full of couples and groups waiting for a table to clear. None of them seemed to mind, however, as they watched you shake, throw, spin, catch bottles like it was an olympic sport; all with a smile on your face and mischief in your eyes. 

It was as if they were your captive audience and you were thriving on stage. 

Sirius wanted to stay and enjoy the show; but you were working your arse off, and Sirius should be too.

Sirius’ feet were killing him, which meant most of his staff’s feet were worse; his shoulders ached, his head was pounding, and his fingers were raw.

But they made it to the end of the shift; and he supposed that was all that mattered.

He brought out two plates of the restaurant’s famous (read: Sirius’ famous) pasta alla gricia.

You were no longer wearing your beaming smile and Sirius could now see some of the weight of the night in your shoulders and the way your hair was falling as you reorganised your bar.

“Think you can take a break?” He asked as he sat at your freshly cleared bar and placed one plate in front of him and one behind the bar for you.

You startled, which Sirius thought strange for someone who seemed so confident and assured every time he’d walked past your bar for the past almost year the two of you have worked here, but he didn’t comment on it.

“Oh my God.” You groaned appreciatively as you abandoned your task to take in the plate he’d prepared for you. “I’m starving; thank you!”

Sirius chuckled and suddenly felt shy, which he did not think suited him at all, but you were smiling at him like he was your personal angel on earth and he couldn’t help but return the gaze.

“Let me get you a drink?” You asked, but turned to start pouring him a glass of wine (perfectly suited for the dish, mind you) before he had a chance to answer. 

You placed both drinks on the bar and brought your plate around to sit on the stool beside Sirius.

The two of you ate in relative silence; allowing the stress and exhaustion from the shift to wash over you. 

“I think I made Chloe cry.” Sirius said finally, causing you to snort.

“You did.” You agreed quickly. “She came and helped me in the bar for a bit and Jeffery had to run her tables after that.”

Sirius barked a laugh as he took a sip of his wine. “I was wondering why that sod was in my kitchen. Well, I’m sorry to Chloe, but happy to have put Jeffery to work.”

Speaking of the devil; Jeffery came out front with his jacket on and a work bag slung over his shoulder. 

“I’m heading out now; are you two okay to close up?”

You smiled at him, but unfortunately for Jeffrey, Sirius responded first. “Yes we can close up.” He sneered. “We’re not new here Jeffery.”

“Thanks Jeffery, have a nice night.” You relented; giving Sirius a gentle kick in the shin.

The door shut behind the bastard and Sirius felt his shoulders relax. “I hate that sod.”

Thankfully, you only laughed at him.

“I think you hate everyone here.”

“That’s not true.” Sirius disagreed quickly.

“Well you certainly don’t like anyone here.”

“That’s not true either. I quite like you.” Sirius admitted, quickly hoping to god his cheeks didn’t flush at his impromptu admission. 

You hummed in acknowledgement with a cheeky smile on your lips. “Is that why you made me dinner? As a thanks for being the most tolerable coworker?”

“Most tolerable, certainly. Also for saving our arses tonight in the kitchen; I’m not sure how you managed to keep those folks so happy all evening.”

“Oh, that’s easy; get them drunk and steal desserts from the kitchen.”

“That’s where all my tiramisu was going?” Sirius asked in faux contempt.

You only smiled at him and shoved the last bite of your pasta in your mouth.

“You minx.” He continued, taking the now empty plates to the kitchen as you followed dutifully behind him with the glasses. 

“Get out of my kitchen.” Sirius joked, plucking the wine glasses from your hands as he moved to wash the dishes.

“I’d think not.” You argued. “I got a free meal; put me to work, chef.”

“First of all, it was not a free meal; you more than earned it after your performance tonight. Secondly, don’t call me chef.”

“Why not? You are a chef, aren’t you?” You teased as you leaned sideways against the counter to watch him work.

“Yes; but if you call me chef, what am I supposed to call you?”

Your eyebrows raised at that. “What do you mean ‘what are you supposed to call me’? My name is fine.”

“My name’s not chef.” He countered.

Your eyes narrowed challengingly at him. “What do you want to call me, Sirius?”

Mine?

“Haven’t decided yet.” He said instead, keeping his eyes on the dishes in his hands instead of meeting your gaze currently burning into the side of his head.

“Well…” You started, walking over to release some paper from the chit, and scribbling something out on it. “Why don’t you just call me…tomorrow?” You said, handing him the paper after he dried his hands on a teatowel.

Your number was scrawled out with a dainty little heart beside it.

Sirius looked back up at you to see you smiling shyly at him.

“I can assure you I will be.” He promised.

Your smile grew at that as you began walking backwards towards the backroom. 

“Have a nice night, Sirius.” You said before you exited the kitchen.

It was too late to wish him a nice night; he’d already had one.

#marauders era #marauders au #marauders fanfiction #reader insert #self insert #mutual love #sirius black #sirius being sirius #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black blurb #sirius black fic #sirius black ficlet #chef!sirius #restaurant au #ellecdc fics

[beary-rambles]

Undeniable Desire

c.w season two spoilers; characters (addam and nettles), mention of dragonseeds (nothing more), loss of virginity (jacaerys) non virgin reader, smut, fingering (fem), oral (fem), p in v, clothed sex ?, possessive jacaerys, not proofread

summary: You are dragonseed and have become good friends with the prince. You think nothing of it and not expecting your desires to lead to anything but when you speak of what you think of your future his truer colors show.

w.c: 1.8k

a.n: anybody else cant stop thinking about bridgerton LMAO, i need to rewatch soon, anyways i hope you all enjoy :3 promise im getting around to requests i just needed to push out this idea 🥰 LOVE YOU GUYS

You finally manage to shake off addam and his drunken rampage with a laugh telling him off. “come on you cant leave yet.” “I am going to bed you fool leave me be.” You knock him upside the head and he groans giving you the opportunity to walk away and turn back to the rest of them with a wave. Chimes of goodnights and sleep well are what your met with and you walk away, feeling eyes burning into you you turn back once more and see him staring at you with an unknown look on his face, taking a drink out of his chalice ignoring alyn next to him who was talking his ear off, not even sparing him a glance as he continues to stare at you.

You turn around attempting to ignore how your stomach burns and your face heats at the thought of him. Jacaerys Velaryon. You just like the rest of your ‘dragonseed’ friends have grown close to jacaerys during your time together. Yet you can’t help but feel their was something different about the way he looked at you and even other people can’t help but notice it either.

‘He is definitely wants to fuck you.’ ‘Nettles!’ The girl next to you laughs before chugging down her wine. ‘Do not say such things.’ Addam walks over and drops down to the spot next to you, ‘what are you two talking about?’ ‘The prince.’ ‘ah and how he wants to shag miss oblivious right here.’ ‘did you guys plan this?!’ You in your frustration rip the cup out of addams hands and chug it. ‘its not our fault he makes it so painfully obvious and you are so painfully oblivious to it.’ You shake your head and keep your gaze at the campfire in front of you. ‘It is not true.’ you don’t see the way the pair look at each other and instead start picking at the grass near you.

Even if it was true it wouldn’t matter, you certainly had no intention of sleeping with him. He was betrothed and he certainly did not seem like the type of man to lay around with any women he saw fit. He was the crowned prince for gods sake the heir to the queen and you were in the middle of a damn succession war feelings be damned and you were certain your friends were just playing jokes on you and he certainly just saw you as a friend.

You think nothing of it as you are getting ready to go to bed, just having put on your night gown after your bath, when the flap of your tent opens and you turn to it alarmed and let out a sigh of relief when you see him. “I am sorry i did not mean to disturb you.” “It is no issue my prince, Do you need something?”

You turn back to the mirror and fiddle around with your hair, eyeing the prince through the mirror. He just stares at you for a moment and takes a drink from his cup, you gulp and look away from him, pushing down your own desires attempting to stop your imagination from running wild. What if he just walked over to you and pushing you against the mirror, ripping off your dress and having his way with you, maybe he would drop to his knees and wrap his lips around your pearl, only letting go until you were withering and begging him to stop.

You shake your head and “Would it be selfish of me to admit i missed you? i feel as though we did not talk much today?” You smile lightly at his words and curse yourself for thinking such terrible things. Of course he simply just wished to see you, as he had been busy with his duties all day, only getting to see you all at the end of they day only for you to leave before getting to say a single word to him.

“You honor me my prince with your time.” He shakes his head with a laugh taking another sip, “i would give you anything in the world.” You flush and look down, fiddling with your dress too embarrassed to move from your place in front of the mirror. Hes just being dramatic you think, he does not mean what he says, especially since he seems to be drinking. “You are too kind my prince.” “Call me Jace i beg of you.” “Would you truly beg me?” “I would get on my knees at your feet and do whatever you asked.” Your knees shake as you press your thighs together, the heat between you legs almost unbearable, a part of you wants to shoo him away so you can put your hand between your legs and take care of yourself or find some poor soul in the camp to relieve yourself with. You don’t, you cannot simply ask him to leave for such selfish reasons, especially since you know deep deep down that if you sought out somebody else you would only be thinking about him.

He seems to realize you don’t plan on saying anything so he begins to speak. “You know they were all talking about something.” You give him an interested look in the mirror and he takes another sip, “About what they were planning on doing after this fight is over. Do you have any thoughts? About what you plan to do?” You look up in thought, “I haven't given it much thought if im being honest.” He hums but says nothing. “Maybe i go off to the reach, it sounds very lovely.” “You would not stay in the keep?” You laugh at his idea and shake your head, “Why would i stay there? What would you miss me?” He says nothing and you don't look at him, instead continue talking, lost in your own imagination. “I would probably travel around for a bit, then find some lord to marry he fuck some babies into me and then i live the rest of my life-” You gasp as your suddenly pushed against the mirror being completely trapped by him, you hadn’t even registered the cup being thrown to the ground.

“My prince?” He flips you around suddenly and your eye to eye with him. His hands grip your waist and pull you directly against him. “You will not leave.” “I don't understand-” “You are not going anywhere you will stay by my side.” He has an animalistic look about him, like he's about to eat you whole, completely bewildered by the idea of you leaving. “I have no place in the keep.” “Your place is by my side.” His words have such a finality and certainty about them as if he's giving you no reason to argue with him. “You are to be married, This is highly inappropriate.” Your words are pushed out like puffs of air as his hands have moved up to your chest, rubbing your nipples through the fabric, you can feel him hardening between your legs. “I shall take you as a my second wife, no one will argue i will be king.” “You are being absurd.” “Do you desire me?”

You pull him into a heated kiss. He quickly reciprocates, his hands moving from your waist to under your night gown and he lets out a delighted hum at the liquid on your thighs. ‘Are you bare?” “I was planning on sleeping.” He moans lightly before he pauses before actually touching, “Do you want this?” you nod feverishly, “Please touch me please.” wasting no more time he runs his fingers along your folds, “This is for me right? and no some stupid pompous lord in the reach.” “yes yes.” You answer him but he doesn't seem to be listening, mumbling to himself in anger. “I hate the lords in the reach, always with each other heads in their asses no way you will marry any of them, let them put a baby in you.” He sticks two fingers inside you, “I wouldn’t i wouldn’t only you.” The pit in your lower stomach grows as you watch in shock him drop to his knees in front of you, his body being lost to your gown as he begins to lick and suck at your clit, his fingers moving quicker to pump in and out of you.

You cannot speak so much of his name. Using one of your hands to cover your mouth to not draw attention to yourself, the other plays with one of your tits, sliding it under your dress. He does not let up, even has you orgasm once then twice, only releasing you after the third time and you fall back, leaning against the mirror with wobbly legs as he keeps a tight grip on you holding you up as he stands. You can see the shine of your own essence on his lips and jaw, you swear you can even see some of it dripping down his neck into his collarbone.

He simply stands there and watches you fiddle around with his pants to free him for a few moments as he licks his lips. “You do not know how often i have thought about this.” You look up at him and give him a smile, “You think of me?” “Every minute of everyday, my waking thoughts and my dreams are only filled with you.”

Before you know it he is pushing into you with a hiss and you chuckle with a delighted moan at his closed eyes and clenched teeth. “First time?” “I may not have been your first but i will be your last.” Giving himself a second to get used to your pulsing warm walls that seem to be sucking him in every second he begins to move. Hes a little sloppy, clearly unsure and if anything a little unconfident about what he’s supposed to do. You place your head on his neck, making sure your lips are right next to his ear and you begin to move your hips to meet his, moaning in his ear only for him to hear.

He gains confidence after a few moments and soon enough you have no longer and need to meet him as he begins to pound into you diligently. Your fingers dig into the fabric of his tunic as the pit in your stomach grows once more. “please tell me your close.” You’re shocked he’s even managed to last this long but nod and he groans in delight. “Please peak please together.”

The mirror behind you is completely covered with a foggy mist just as your eyes are when you finally release. You pray as you catch your breath that you two were quiet enough because you would rather be dead than me made fun of by your friends for finally fucking the prince. But as you feel his seed running out your lips and down your thigh you decide maybe it was worth it.

--

perm jacaerys taglist <3

@tyronesien @itsbookworm987 @cruelworldlana @smurfelle @ireneispunk @hxtd @venmondiese

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd imagine #jacaerys targaryen x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys strong #prince jacaerys #jacaerys targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #hotd jacaerys #jacaerys x reader #jace x you #jace velaryon #jace targaryen #jace x reader #hotd fanfic #hotd x reader #hotd x y/n #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #house targaryen #jacaerys #modern hotd #modern jace #modern jacaerys

[cevansbrat0007]

Hello, Duchess

Summary: Your first encounter with Bounty Hunter, Ari Levinson, goes worse than you ever could've imagined. Takes place directly after the events in New in Town.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Bickering, Implied Jealousy, Threats of Violence, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Special thanks to my creative consultant, @curls-and-eyeliner. Part my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Ari’s P.O.V.

“Can’t believe this town actually has a real live bookstore.” Ari muses as he pulls up in front of the tiny, quaint-looking bookstore. “Fuckin’ wild.” Throwing his truck in park he takes a moment to survey the area, making note of the empty lot.

‘Must not do much business.’ He thinks before climbing out of his vehicle and confidently striding toward the door. Hopefully, the lack of an audience would make things flow a hell of a lot faster. Hell, if you were anything like some of the other women in this town, he’d probably just have to smile and flash his baby blues to convince you to spill your guts.

In fact, he was practically banking on it. Because this wasn’t Ari’s first rodeo – not by a long shot. He’d spent a lot of his life in and out of small towns like Bell’s Creek, which was part of the reason he couldn’t wait to bag his latest bounty and put this place, and its people, in his rearview mirror. Ari reaches for the handle on the door, only to frown when he gets a look at the sign hanging in the window that reads: “sorry, we’re closed”. 

Well, that couldn’t be right. 

He could’ve sworn that when he’d pressed Mrs. Turner, the First Lady of Calvary Baptist Church, about your whereabouts she’d said he’d be able to find you at your shop. Something about your preferring to work instead of resting and rejoicing on the Lord’s day. 

While the bounty hunter supposed he could always try back tomorrow, he was keen to check you off his list. Refusing to admit defeat, he decides to try his luck anyway, only to be surprised when the door opens with a tinkling chime of a bail. 

Confused but also now on high alert, Ari takes a tentative step inside as he looks for any sign of life. “Hello?” He calls out, finally allowing the door to swing shut behind him. Instinct has him reaching for his back pocket, checking to make sure he had brought along his firearm.

Just in case.

“Is anybody here?” He tries again, moving further into the shop. The place is clean and well lit, and boasts rack after rack of books. But what’s most impressive is that there doesn’t appear to be a speck of dust anywhere. “Look, I just came by to–”

“We’re closed!” A disembodied voice sounds from the back of the store. 

“Yeah, I saw the sign, ma’am…” He clears his throat. “But I think you forgot to lock the door, so I –”

“That means get out!”

“So much for southern hospitality.” Ari grumbles under his breath as he continues on his mission to track down the owner of the voice. “Ma’am, I just wanna talk. And maybe–ahh shit!” He curses when his hip accidentally connects with a half-full rolling cart, sending several of the heavier books crashing to the ground. “Sorry!” 

“Did you just break something?!” The voice suddenly screeches. “Don’t make me get my taser.”

“There’s no need for that.” Instead of picking them up, the bounty hunter hastily nudges them aside with his foot. “My name is Ari Levinson, and I’m just here to ask you a couple of questions.”

While this isn’t how the man had expected any of this to go, he’s relieved when he sees a familiar face peek at him from around the corner. A face that happened to be even more beautiful than he initially remembered. Even though it had only been a couple of hours since he’d seen you last. 

Damn! It was as if the image of you in that dress taking up space at the other end of the pew was now permanently imprinted into his brain. He'd have to tread lightly here.

Otherwise things could get complicated. Fast.

Your P.O.V

“Pretty sure this is what law enforcement calls trespassing.” You sniff, craning your head around the corner to stare at the man who was taking up entirely too much space in the narrow hallway. Sure said man was easy on the eyes, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t at least a little concerned about his apparent inability to read. 

“I can assure you that’s not what this is.” The lawman holds up his palms in an effort to placate you. 

And although you try not to stare, it’s impossible to miss just how big they are – how rough they seemed – with just the right amount of callus. You can’t help but wonder what those hands would feel like on your bare flesh. 

“Then what is it?” You ask, struggling to keep your tone short and clipped as you emerge from your hiding place. The last thing you needed was to have this man thinking you were actually attracted to him. 

If anything, you considered yourself to be curious. No harm there, right? 

“As I said, my name is Ari Levinson. I’m a bounty hunter from just outside Rosewell, New Mexico who also occasionally moonlights as a private investigator.” He tells you, jamming his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I just stopped by to ask you a couple of questions. And while I didn’t necessarily mean to intrude, I figured you might appreciate me taking a more delicate approach on account of your relationship with my person of interest.”

Fucking Martin Westbrook. He’d been the bane of your existence ever since you’d first crossed paths back in high school. 

“I know you’re looking for Martin.” Annoyed by the very nature of the conversation, you pick up a box, hefting it onto your hip so that you can carry it out to the sales floor. “But I’m not quite sure how much help I can be.”

You brush past him, inwardly smiling when he scrambles to get out of your way. It was a subtle reminder that this was your shop. And you absolutely refused to be intimidated by him or anyone else. 

“I’m sure whatever you have to say will be plenty helpful.” He’s quick to reassure you as he turns to follow the path you set. “Provided you’re honest, that is.”

“Did you really just waltz into my shop and call me a liar, Mr. Levinson?” 

“I meant no offense.” Ari coughs, scrubbing a weary hand over his bearded jaw. If you were the overly presumptuous type, you might think you’d just managed to fluster the poor man.

Now feeling extra prickly, you drop the box onto the far counter of your cashwrap before turning to face your unwelcome guest. “As you can see, I have a busy day’s work ahead of me. And I was really keen on doing it by myself.” You gesture at the array of other boxes and racks placed around the store. “So if we could get a move on, I would greatly appreciate it.”  

“Gladly.” He gives a brief look around. “Is there some place maybe where you and I can sit and chat?”

“I’d say here is about as good a place as any.” You tell him as you step behind the counter. Bending down, you snag a bottle of cleaner, along with a couple of rags. If this man insisted on being here, then he would just have to deal with you taking care of your business. “I’m pretty confident in my ability to multitask.”  

Nodding along, Ari pulls out a small notepad and pen from his back pocket. “When was the last time you saw Mr. Westbrook?”

You let out a sigh as you begin to spray down your countertops with your all-purpose cleaner. While you supposed you could’ve gone with something a little more industrial, you were partial to the way this particular brand’s products always smelled. 

“I don’t know.” You shrug as you bask in the scent of rose and cedar. “Maybe three, four weeks ago.” 

“Do you happen to recall the day and time?”

“No. Not really. If I had to ballpark it, I’d guess sometime around the 5th of last month.” You move to the next flat surface, spraying it down just like the last.

“You sure about that?” You try not to let it irk you when you see him take a seat on a nearby step stool out of the corner of your eye. 

“As much as I can be.” 

“And did Mr. Westbrook happen to give you any indication of where he might be headed?”

“Nope.”

He’d been nervous though. That much you did recall. By the time he’d come to you that night, your old friend had been well beyond spooked. 

“Did he give you his reason for leaving?”

“We didn’t…” You trail off, taking a moment to scrub at a particularly stubborn sticky spot that’s marring the wood. “There wasn’t really much time for talking.” You’re so concerned with scrubbing that you miss the way the county hunter’s eyes narrow as he studies you. “He just stopped over to say goodbye.”

And to borrow all the cash you happened to have on hand – to the tune of $500. Enough for a bus ticket and a couple nights in a dirt cheap motel.

“Right.” Ari scoffs, admittedly with a bit more heat than he intends. “Not a lot of time for talking.” He pauses briefly to drag a hand through his shaggy brown locks. “Not sure why I didn’t wanna believe them.” 

“Am I sensing a problem, Mr. Levinson?” You hum, tossing your rag to the side in favor of focusing on the rugs. 

“I guess I’m just having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that he kept you in the dark about his plans.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “In my experience, most men like Martin tend to have loose lips around the women they’re fuckin’.”

In that moment, it’s almost as if you can feel the air go out of the room. Just who the fuck did this knuckle-dragging, mouth-breather think he was?

“Excuse me?” Those two little words are spoken through clenched teeth. You’re so taken aback by his brazen accusation that you can scarcely breathe, let alone think.    

Ari simply quirks a tawny brow at you, seemingly unaware of the danger he’s just placed himself in. Did he not see how close your hand was to that damned stapler? While it was clear that folks in this town had been running their mouths, they’d apparently neglected to mention that you’d also been the star pitcher for your high school softball team.   

“Apologies if I offended your delicate sensibilities, Duchess. But I’ve never been the type to beat around the bush. Besides…” The smug bastard tucks his pen behind his ear. “You have to know that people in this town like to talk.”

Fire simmers hot in your belly, as you come out from behind the register. It takes less than ten  seconds for you to bridge the distance between yourself and the cocky lawman. While you might’ve been taught never to raise a hand against anyone, this man was sorely testing every last bit of your patience.

“I want to make one thing very, very clear.” You hiss once you’re finally standing toe-to-toe with the handsome interloper who, of course, makes no room to get up himself. “I have never – not even once – slept with Martin Westbrook. He’s a friend, you backwoods jackass. Something you clearly know nothing about.” 

“I get the feeling I struck a nerve.” 

And, judging by the newfound tick in his jaw, so had you. Except you had no way of knowing it was because he’d lost a buddy of his own a little while back. 

“And I think it’s about time you got the hell out of my shop.” His piercing blue eyes fly to yours, letting you know that you’d managed to surprise him with your heated dismissal. 

Good. Because this Ari Levinson fella had officially overstayed his welcome.

“Look, Duchess. I apolo –”

“That’s the second time you’ve called me out of my name, Mr. Levinson. And I’m not sure I appreciate it.” You spit as you take a step backwards with the intention of giving him enough space to stand. “Now, I’ve been nothing but amenable to your rather…invasive questions. But we’re done. So, I’m gonna have to insist that you leave.”

Before you decided he’d make a deserving candidate for death by a thousand paper cuts. 

Your pulse continues to thrum in your ears as you watch him rise to his full height – an impressive 6’4 – so that he now towers over you. Perhaps if you weren’t so angry you’d be a little more tempted to allow your mind to wander a little farther into the realm of fantasy. 

But not now. 

Right now, in this moment, all you wanted was to watch Ari Levinson’s sculpted ass walk right out your front door.  

Nodding, the now quiet bounty hunter begins moving in the direction of the entrance. Neither of you say a word as you make that quick walk. In fact, you don’t speak again until Ari’s hand is on the handle. 

“For what it's worth…” He blows out a weary breath. “This wasn’t how I meant for this to go.” His eyes find yours, as if imploring you to see the truth in them. 

However, instead of responding all you can do is offer up a shrug. Which he, of course, takes as an opportunity to keep going. 

“It’s just…the idea of someone like you getting caught up with a piece of slime like Westbrook…” He pauses long enough to open the door and take a tentative step outside. “I guess it bothered me more than I realized.”

His reluctant admission has your stomach tied up in knots, which prompts you to ask the one question you were almost certain you’d regret later: 

“And just what do you mean by that?” You do your best to seem unruffled as you awkwardly brace yourself against the doorframe.

“All I’m saying is that you’re out of his league.” Feeling even more confused, you watch as Ari’s lips curve in a faint smile. “And if you didn’t know that before, well, now you do.” His head dips politely as he turns to head towards his truck. 

“Guess I’ll see you around, Duchess.” You don’t have to see his face to know that he’s grinning. “Oh, and don’t forget to lock up. Might help with all those unwanted visitors you’ve been havin.”

Ari doesn't need to turn his head to know that you're currently giving him the finger. He can feel it. And all it does it make him smile harder.

END 

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[cattolino]

little bit of advice, take the dare.

pairing: bang chan x f!reader. warnings: profanities, implied exhibitionism, dirty truth or dare (more like dare or dare...), stripping, mild grinding, dirty talks. genre: implied rivals to lovers, implied smut. rating: mature. word count: 2.1k

“Let Chan strip two pieces of your clothing.”

These little bitches.

The innocence in Seungmin’s broad grin as he delivered aloud and clear what Minho had earlier whispered in his ear wasn’t able to deceit Chan the slightest in spite of it combined with that sparkly attentive puppy stare.

A foul scheme had been carefully arranged in those two cunning heads of theirs before they instigated this truth or dare game as soon as the majority of people returned home. Chan wasn’t oblivious of what he would get himself into the moment Minho escorted him from the drinking game in the back patio to a coffee table in the living room and begged him to join in the fun. Especially when you were one of the people centering around the table.

And so Chan was down for whatever challenges thrown his way no matter truth or dare it was that he ended up choosing. Wouldn’t really matter. Except now it was your turn, yet he was somehow involved in such a risque dare so early in the game.

Seungmin’s index finger pointed around the room twice, attracting the attention of the few people close enough to the table to see what he was up to, and he added, “or let anyone in the room. Your choice.”

As though he expected you would actually pick one of the sweaty and tipsy dimwits you barely knew of instead of Chan who you were certainly more familiar with. When, seriously, it was clear to Chan that both Seungmin and Minho wanted to prove him wrong— that the possibility of you romantically attracted to one another wasn’t even close to impossible despite the banter between the two of you sometimes getting out of hand.

The banter, Seungmin and Minho insisted, was a flirting attempt.

You leaned back onto the sofa behind you, crossing your arms with a stare of haughty disdain piercing through Seungmin and Minho’s who both seemed to be just as imperious.

“I was expecting a more daring one from you horny freaks,” your eyes then landed on Chan who was sitting across from you. Not looking away, your proud smile widened into a blithe grin, “this isn’t even his dare. But if he’s down, I don’t see why I have to back down.”

Chan stretched his arms and arched his back as a dramatic warmup before downing the remaining liquor in his red cup, earning supportive laughs from the excessively excited spectators around. “As long as you don’t back down if they involve you in my dares later.”

Getting up from the floor, you rounded the table and stood before him. You mirrored the smug grin that stretched across his face as he peered up at you, “pants and sweater then, gentleman.”

Despite the profuse tease that gleamed in your irises, Chan didn’t entertain you with even a slight wavering in the way he looked back up at you. Instead, taunting you with a faux innocent tilt of his head as his firm yet tender fingers began to toy with the button of your jeans.

The waistband of your black panties as if emerged once he slid down the zipper. He wasn’t sure if your hand placement on the crown of his head was unintended, but then your lips tilted up into a smile and your brow arched challengingly as your fingers ran through the soft tresses of his brown curls.

Encouraged, he lifted the hem of your sweater, exposing just enough of your bare stomach. His other palm smothered around your waist and landed on the small of your back, drawing you closer until his lips accidentally brushed against the bare skin of your stomach.

Chan’s hearts didn’t leap at his own sly, dirty initiation.

It didn’t. Definitely not.

Perhaps one could cut the air with a knife as the tension between you two was thickening the longer he took his time sliding the pants off your waist and the tighter you had his hair gripped in your palm. But everyone else was too preoccupied with keeping track of his veiny hands lingering around the waistband of your jeans, tugging down the denims at an intentionally slow pace.

In one glance, nothing of your true emotions was shown through your perfunctory facade. But Chan was practically on his knees, hands on you, and there was less than two inches gap between his lips and your stomach. Anything changed from your stance, he could easily catch it.

So when he felt you tensed up when he tantalized you by skimming his palm down the side of your thigh as the other pulled the jeans down to pool around your ankles, he had to fight back the triumphant grin he felt was close to spread on his face.

Once the pants were tossed somewhere on the floor, Chan got up on his feet as you held your arms up for him to take your knitted sweater off over your head.

His eyes peered down at where the bare skin of your stomach was supposed to be on full display as he pulled the hem of your sweater up. The underband of your bralette was slowly showing the higher the hem of your sweater was lifted.

He drew closer, lips lingered on your ear, chuckling and murmuring out of everyone’s earshot, “should’ve made you rid of three garments instead of two. What a shame.”

You ran your palms down along his torso as soon as your sweater was off your upper half, and you leaned in to whisper in his ear where nobody else could hear, too. “Next time it’s your turn, I’ll make you stand on the porch naked.”

Shameless gasps of “oh fuck” was heard from around you as you casually sat down with only high cut panties and black bralette. Chan could easily relate. He found himself checking you out when you weren’t looking.

He was grateful of the sudden rough smack on his thigh that brought him back to his senses. He looked to his left where the hand was from and Minho shot him a knowing look before leaning over to mutter, “you fucking pervert.”

He chuckled. Perhaps he was.

“Spin the bottle! Spin the bottle!” Felix chippered lovely squeaks and giggles as he bounced up and down on the carpeted floor in anticipation. More because the game had progressed into all the more obscene to earlier than he had expected. Don’t be fooled by such an irradiant, angelic face.

Chan just had to dissolve into laughter and squeaks and giggles when the bottle cap once again pointed in your direction. Twice in a row, it was. He threw his head back laughing when your jaw plunged into the ground in disbelief and eyes narrowed into slits in spite, feeling betrayed— by the bottle.

“Sit on Chan’s lap.” Jeongin smugly declared before anyone could even think of something potent to embarrass yourself, effectively shutting down the jeers and laughter as they contemplated.

You shrugged, once again rounding the table to where Chan was perched on the floor and nonchalantly settled your ass on his lap before he could protest.

Chan, on the other hand, grasped either side of your waist tightly and tried to prevent you from dwelling on that particular spot. But you persisted on reclining your back onto his chest, shoving your ass further down to where Chan could feel himself twitch.

“Fuck you.” He cursed against your neck when you slightly wiggled your lower half.

“Quit being a jerk,” you whispered back with a chuckle, but tone laced with genuine threat, “or I’ll make you wet your pants. Literally.”

Not even thirty minutes into the game that everyone around the table was a little tipsy with signs of either misery and happiness written on their faces.

With five people being out of the circle and off to the back patio for a lot more lame drinking  game with other football players, the remaining nine still held out in place to seek revenge.

Minho had tasted his own medicine as he was left with only briefs around his waist but not that he was unhappy about it as he’d gotten to proudly present his hard-earned well built body when you had Jisung leave three hickeys on his shoulders and two on his inner thigh. Jisung had solid yellow face paint all over his face, exactly resembling Looney Tunes’ Tweety.

Hyunjin was sprawled on the floor with occasional dramatic huffs and groans after he’d called his problematic ex and told him he’d been missing him. Changbin and Felix were disgustingly glued to one another after the older prolonged the supposedly five-second kiss. Seungmin had collected lipstick marks around his neck from ten people. Jeongin almost passed out from seven slices of pizza he’d had to finish before Seungmin returned.

And Chan was about to get his second turn after the top of the bottle pointed at him and you, who was still very much comfortably perched on his lap.

“Dare.” He didn’t even hesitate, calm and confident.

Not even when Minho slightly shoved himself forward to gain everyone’s attention. A little lift at the corner of his lips didn’t go unnoticed and for some reason, Chan was even anticipating what the little bitch had to say now.

“Are people still doing seven minutes in heaven?” Minho blurted, making Felix perk up instantly.

Hyunjin abruptly ended his dramatic disintegration and sat down with a gasp. “Oh my god,” he started, “I did it a year ago at a frat party with a guy except we weren’t allowed to say anything. Not a single fucking sound ‘cause one of them was sitting in the front of the door and if they heard even a small bit of me moaning, we’d have to walk to class the next day with extremely short fucking miniskirt. Imagine such suffering I had to bear while a hot guy blew me. He was great though.”

Wonder-stricken looks were instead what the taller got from everyone in the room. Minho was especially beaming at the deliberate suggestion and against his better judgement, his eyes landed on Chan whose chin rested on your shoulder. The older raised a brow in amusement when catching him staring, already seeing through the younger’s impish smirk.

Seungmin turned towards Minho, “I vote for what exactly Hyunjin did.”

Minho chuckled, “slow down, my guy. Our Channie doesn’t have to get someone suck him off. He can do whatever he pleases behind the door. But not. A single. Fucking. Sound.” He firmly suggested as he looked Chan dead in the eye. Insisted, even, perhaps, “or Changbin would love to lend his sister’s pink tutu.”

While Chan’s expression was hard to read, the rest seemed to be pleased. Excited, even.

You straightforwardly approved of Minho’s suggestion, ripping through the sound of supportive cheers from the others with an excited squeak after taking a sip of cheap beer from your cup, “I volunteer to sit at the door.”

Chan snorted behind you, “who says you’re not coming with me?”

A noisy commotion of “ooooohhh” and dramatic “aaaaahhh” immediately collided with the blaring EDM played in the background.

He’d thought you would never run out of snide remarks to shoot back at him at a time like this. So when you choked on your drink at his candidness, he couldn’t hold back a laugh.

Felix unattached himself from Changbin’s arm, hands flailing before his own face as he grinned so brightly that the dim room no longer seemed to be as dim as it was supposed to be. Once again, don’t be fooled by such an irradiant, angelic face. “Okay, look. You got seven minutes. Choose your person. No sounds allowed. We’ll set the timer once the door’s shut.”

“That room’s empty.” Changbin added with a snicker, nodding at the door to his roommate’s room, “he’s gone for two weeks. Just don’t make a mess.”

If Chan was surprised at how he managed to manhandle you and somehow scoop you up as he got on his feet, it didn’t show on his face. You securely wrapped yourself around his upper half, a long list of filthiest profanity was at the tip of your tongue at the sudden, unannounced move.

Chan blinked. Not breaking eye contact, his tongue brushed over the upper row of his pearly teeth before those sank in his lower lip. There might be a lack of reaction shown on your face as you seemed to be still as annoyed, but the faint pinkish tint that stained your cheeks had said so much already.

He glanced over to Changbin, nodding, “worry not. I’ll swallow everything y/n has to give me.”

“You better,” your irritated stare tapered off into that of a challenging glare injecting venom straight into his dimpled grin, “or I’ll make you wear the tutu.”

#skz fictions #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #skz smut #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz bang chan #bang chan smut #chan smut #chan imagines

[impale-me-radio-daddy]

The Lookalike (Part 6)

☒ Summary: The first thing you remembered after your death was an argument. “No, this isn’t one of my fucking sluts.” The man behind you exhaled, frustrated. “This is a present for you. Something to help you work through your Alastor fixation.” You awaken in Hell as the near-spitting image of a certain infamous radio host. Unfortunately for you, you immediately fall into the clutches of his nemesis, and then into the arms of the Radio Demon himself. 

☒ Warnings: hermaphrodite!reader, deer!reader, reader x Alastor, reader x Vox, Vox x Alastor, they/them pronouns used, explicit sexual content, reader is in Hell for a reason, Valentino, canon typical scenarios.

☒ Series links: Part I Part2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Post coital Alastor was different to how you had expected him. You’d thought he would be aloof, to peel himself from your body and your fluids and your stickiness and not deign to touch you for the rest of the night, leaving you to your own devices. Instead, he was cuddly, almost kittenish, pressing his face to the crook of your neck, your collar, your chest, his arms possessive around you. You kissed the tips of his antlers, which brought forth a hum of pleasure from him; nothing sexual, but a sound of satisfaction that you could feel through your lips as you pressed them to his prongs, his slight frame relaxing against yours. You stroked his hair, letting him nuzzle against you, and stroked his back, feeling the edges of the bandages he wore beneath his clothes and delicately avoiding them.

Even after both of you had washed up and changed for bed, he returned to embracing you, his face on your shoulder and the length of his body pressed up against yours, warm and comfortable as both of you settled for sleep.

“Are you always like this?” you asked, carding your fingers through his silky hair.

Alastor curled himself against you further, smiling into the fabric of your pajamas. “I can’t say I recall,” he said, eyes briefly meeting yours with a look that made your heart flutter.

What was he trying to achieve? To seduce you now made little sense, considering the power imbalance between you and your willingness to fuck him. Perhaps like you he enjoyed a warm body next to him. Or perhaps, like you, he was becoming a little attached.

You slept with long limbs tangled, you careful not to put weight on Alastor’s injuries, he careful not to damage your nascent antlers, and when you woke Alastor was still half on top of you, his face against your chest, arms round you, hugging you like you had hugged his pillows previously.

It was hard for Alastor to describe the sensation of touch after its long absence. Sex had been exquisite, of course, the soft squeeze of your thighs and then the heat of your cunt around him, but it had been serving an immediate need, the drug an insistent pull on his hindbrain. To hold you, though, to relax into languid almost-stupor with your warm body against him, that was for him. It was a long drink of clear water after years in the desert, soothing a psyche he had forgotten was parched.

He touched people all the time, of course. An arm around the shoulders, a casual hand on the back, a dance or two. But he was always the instigator, always in control. For an animal demon, to be petted was an act of ultimate subservience, and as the Radio Demon, he couldn’t afford to be seen in such a way. Couldn’t afford to be seen as anything less than monstrous.

Sometimes the lack became too much, and he would find himself a few drinks in, demanding waltzes and tangos with friends, his poor dehydrated heart palpitating with each new touch. But he never really let his guard down; this was Hell, after all, and one couldn’t trust anyone here. His early years had taught him that lesson, before Vox had hammered it home.

But you? You were his mirror, your face devoid of guile and your frequency in tune with his own. Would people think he was weak, if they found out he had slept in your arms, your fingers in his hair? No, they would think it was fucking creepy, and that, in Alastor’s opinion, was just fine and dandy.

You kept a professional distance from each other outside of your shared bedroom, which suited you just fine. Behind that closed door was warmth, and quiet companionship, neither of you demanding much of the other. If this was romance, it was a backwards sort of romance; getting to know a man in the afterglow of fucking, your first dates in the comfort of his bed. You talked about safe things- Alastor’s voice fizzing with a quiet delight when he found out you could play an instrument or two- but both of you skirting around the subject of your mortal lives. Neither of you talking about your methods, or your rationale, or the dark urges that crept beneath your skins.

Each morning as you lay in bed, Alastor would examine your antlers, fingers delicate over your velvet, and each morning he would purse his lips and shake his head, not yet, before kissing you softly good morning.

It was inevitable, of course, that your confinement in the hotel would begin to chafe.

Killing cockroaches with Niffty barely put a dent in your appetites, but you did it anyway to fill your time, until you were able to casually fling a knife across a room and pin a roach to a wall. There was a certain satisfaction to the crunch that they made as they died, but no fear in their eyes, no chase, no hunt. You took one to Alastor’s room to dissect it, Alastor turning up to watch curiously as you did; the carapace of the insect came away in neat segments to reveal organs that looked no different to those of an earthly beetle, right down to the fine tubules that formed its guts. You even cut a sliver of the meat from its back and tasted it, but it was bitter, so you packed up the unfortunate creature, cleaned the tools you had used and took it out to the garbage.

Though you had shown no ability to magically control shadows, you found that the ventilation system in the hotel could be used to much the same effect as Alastor’s teleportation. If you were clever about it, you could vanish from one room and drop from the ceiling in another, and you amused yourself for a good day and a half practicing Alastor’s nonchalant walk and grin as you did this.

Finally your chores were done and your insects dead, leaving you with nothing to do until your antlers grew in. Small things started to irritate you, more than they should.

“Can you stop pacing?” said Husk, as you stalked the length of the lobby for the twentieth time that day. “You’re giving me the creeps.”

You turned to Husk, frowning. He’d never been anything other than gruffly deferential to Alastor.

“You’re not him,” said Husk, tilting his head to one side. “So don’t expect me to treat you the same.”

“How do you know I’m not him?”

“You’re not smiling, for one,” said Husk. “And for the second, you’re wearing a novelty fez with definitely not Alastor embroidered on it.”

Turning to Husk, you removed the fez from your hair, leaving your head bare, and gave him a smile. “And Alastor definitely wouldn’t stop smiling, even if it benefited him in some way, hm?”

“Are you two fucking?”

You raised an eyebrow. “None of your business.”

“See, that’s how I know you’re not him.” Husk stacked the glass he had been cleaning onto the shelf. “He would be halfway through eviscerating me by now. You’re more in control than that.”

It was probably true- you had seen it. Alastor’s temper was easily frayed; even a mention of Vox set him on edge, his eyes glowing dials and his fingernails long. “Seems pretty risky to provoke someone like that,” you said.

“What can I say, I’m a gambling man.” Husk smiled to himself, leaning onto his side of the bar. “What good am I if I can’t trust a gut feeling once in a while?”

You took a seat at the bar, noting that Angel was absent from his usual spot. No sign of either Alastor or his shadow- perhaps he was dealing with something outside the hotel. “What do you know about him?”

“About Alastor?” Husk’s expression darkened, his eyes going to the shadowy corners you had scanned a moment before. “You’re the one sharing his bedroom.”

It was a cheap deflection. Possible that he was under a magical nondisclosure agreement regarding Alastor’s affairs. Equally possible that he was just being a good retainer. You pushed anyway “And you’ve worked for him a long time now. You must know something.”

Husk raised one long eyebrow. “You’re planning an escape?

“What?” The question caught you unguarded. Why would you want to surrender what you had now? Memory of how Alastor had felt curled against you came to mind, how soft his hair was between your fingers. “You must be kidding.”

Husk snorted. “You actually like that psychopath.”

“What can I say? He reminds me of me.”

“Yeah, you are a creepshow alright.”

“Someone less generous might assume you were still trying to provoke me.”

“I’m telling it like I see it,” said Husk, darkly “That’s all. And right now what I see is someone who looks like my psychopath employer’s creepy twin pacing around like a junkie on the prowl for their next fix.”

A junkie. If only it were that simple. The skin beneath your fingernails itched. You gave Husk a wry smile. “I’m just bored, stuck in here,” you lied.

“Then fuckin’ leave,” said Husk. “He won’t be back until nightfall.”

You looked for a long moment at the stained glass of the hotel doors, then shook your head. You were frustrated, yes, but you’d believed Alastor when he had talked about the vulnerabilities of your anatomy. It was the same as his own, after all. You just needed patience. “I shouldn’t,” you said. “I’ll just find something to occupy my hands for now,” you said, and you saw Husk look at you sharply, probably remembering Alastor’s comment, actually I think they’re more of a strangler.

Unwilling to alienate the hotel staff further, you returned to Alastor’s room, and looked for something to do, and your gaze settled on the gramophone on the table in the corner. You had talked about music in bed, idly, Alastor rattling off a list of recommendations, some timeless and some lost to history, but he’d never offered to play you anything. Since he was usually demonstrative, that probably meant the player was broken, and sure enough, when you inspected it, the turntable was stiff, unable to spin. It was an old model, entirely mechanical in nature, and obviously well-used, given the marks on the handles of the cover where the chrome plating had been rubbed from the brass.

You fetched tools and materials from one of the unoccupied rooms you’d found on your rounds, and set to work dismantling the piece, lining up the screws in order as you took them out. The felt on the turntable had seen better days, but that was only cosmetic. The real problems were likely to be the motor and spring fro the turntable, and given the age of the device, possibly perishing on the rubber components.

Methodically, you cleaned and polished each piece, applying new grease as needed. You let memory take over as you worked, an odd sort of peace overcoming you as your focus narrowed to the task at hand. The rubber diaphragms on the soundbox were in a bad state but not unusable; the major problem was, as you had suspected, the spring that powered the turntable itself. Stress had weakened a certain point on the spring, and repeated use had sheared the metal, leaving it hanging limp.

Taking some of the sheet metal you had taken from the mystery workshop room, you cut and turned a fresh spring for the turntable, testing its strength with your fingers. The task didn’t exactly remove the itch you felt, but it occupied you as the hours passed, the outside world fading into irrelevance.

“What, exactly,” said Alastor from behind you, his voice cold. “Do you think you are doing?”

The hair on the back of your neck stood on end; you hadn’t even registered Alastor entering the room. You’d overstepped. The gramophone had been precious to him, and you hadn’t realized. You raised your hands. “I was fixing it. The turntable-

“You weren’t-” Alastor’s eyes were dials. “-upgrading it, by any chance.”

“Of course not, I was restoring it,” you said, a little archness creeping into your own tone, and you felt your own body shift a little in response to your emotional state, antlers curling. “That is a Pathé Olotonal and once I replace the spring it’ll work fine. Why the fuck would I want to upgrade it?”

Alastor looked at the neatly disassembled parts on the table, and the tools you had put down, his antlers slowly retracting. “Oh? You were an antiquarian?”

“Close. I used to curate a museum.” This was as close as you’d come to talking about your mortal life since you’d come here, and you suspected that Hell was much like jail, in that people didn’t tend to talk about what they’d done before they died.

“I was a radio host,” offered Alastor, and it felt like he was putting the information forward as a gift. Not a secret, exactly, but something for you to know about him in exchange. “I’d like to watch,” he said, nodding to the table. “If that’s alright with you?”

“That’s fine. Do you have a record I can test it on?” you asked. “Nothing too precious, please.”

Alastor polished his claws on his jacket. “I suppose I have one or two I could part with.”

You finished the job as Alastor watched, smiling with satisfaction as you wound the mechanism and the turntable began to spin evenly. Alastor handed you a record, some contemporary jazz, and you placed it down, lowering the needle carefully so as to not damage it.

And you listened to the music. Both of you listened, Alastor looking down so fondly at the little turntable that you almost offered to give him a moment alone with it.

There was an edge to the sound that you hadn’t expected, an almost tinny sound. Electronic. You frowned, lowering your head to the horn, but the sound wasn’t coming from the gramophone. It was feedback. Alastor seemed troubled too, his ear twitching. Not just one source, but many, all broadcasting the music on the turntable.

You looked at him, not voicing your concerns, but your eyes questioning. Given that his room lacked even an electrical socket, you doubted he had anything to do with an array of microphones. The light in the room turned to a dim, angry red at Alastor’s silent bidding, and you caught the gleam of lenses embedded in the room around you.

“I think,” said Alastor, his smile strained. “There may be something wrong with this record. I have more in my tower, if you would care to accompany me.”

You nodded, trying not to sound stilted now that you knew you were being recorded. “Of course.”

No sooner had you agreed than Alastor swallowed you up in his shadow, spitting you out into the floor of the control room of his radio tower, absent any pretense of calm.

“You did this. You’re working for him.” Alastor’s voice was thick with distortion. “Fucking Vox.” He spat the name, like it was a bad taste in his mouth.

Your ears flattened against your skull as you picked yourself up. “I’m not working for Vox. Fuck that guy.”

“Oh, you seem to have that covered,” said Alastor, his smile cruel and his eyes glowing. “Judging by what I saw of you.”

Fury rose to the surface. You’d tried not to let it show how the photos had bothered you, but Alastor had seen, and now he was twisting the knife. You didn’t trust yourself with words- that would just make it worse, but a hiss of static escaped from between your bared teeth.

“I let you in my bed, and you betrayed me,” Alastor continued, rounding on you. There was an edge to his voice, a crack there. You wanted to touch his shoulder and comfort him, but the part of your brain that was still halfway rational told you that would only make him think worse of you.

You needed to think. You needed to stop him, before he made up his mind to kick you to the curb. Whoever had planted the cameras had betrayed both of you, and if you could convince him you were on his side, you could work together. Mentally, you reviewed the terms of your contract. No physical or metaphysical harm to those within the hotel. That meant you couldn’t hurt Alastor, not that you stood much of a chance against him with his shadow powers. But the way he had spoken hinted that his own obligations imposed similar limitations upon him.

You stared into Alastor’s dials as he approached, steeling yourself as you felt your own antlers unfurling, the buzz of your own static in your throat. All you needed was for Alastor to be surprised for a moment, to be rational, and listen. Keeping eye contact, you stepped within Alastor’s reach, and with a quick jerk of your head, locked your antlers with his.

Pain. That was the first thing you felt, dizzying hot and sharp, like a knife slicing the skin. A rivulet of blood ran down the left side of your face, your eyes inches from Alastor’s. You could feel him through your antlers and through his, his body freezing in place, the vibration of his heart, his rage and his hurt. He grunted at the contact, eyes horrid and wide.

“Alastor, please help me,” you said, dead-eyed, invoking your own contract with him as another stream of blood crept down over your forehead. “I’m being attacked.”

Alastor snarled through his grin, an awful, distorted noise that made the bleeding tines of your antlers ache in time with it, but he did not move his head. Could not, you suspected as the terms of your deal required him to aid you. But now he was captive. Now he might listen to reason.

You breathed out, blinking away blood that flowed into your eye, struggling to keep your voice steady. “I’m flattered that you think I’m capable of bugging our bedroom like that, but I’m really not. You stripped me naked when you brought me here, you’ve been watching me this whole time, and I’ve not left the fucking building.”

Alastor breathed out through his open mouth, teeth wicked sharp, but his eyes no longer maddened. “You’re an idiot.”

“Precisely.” You smiled, blood dripping down over your nose and lips. “Now, what are we going to do about Vox?”

“Oi, are you even payin’ attention?” Velvette snapped her fingers in front of Vox’s face.

Vox sighed. The truth was, he hadn’t been. The truth was, he had been cycling through the feeds of the drones he’d posted around the hotel, looking for Alastor.

“I’m sure whatever you said is the correct thing,” he said, waving her back. Fake Alastor had just fixed Alastor’s record player, and there was bound to be a sexy thank-you for that, right? But they were gone, vanished in a blob of shadow.

“You’re a massive knobhead, you know that?” said Velvette.

“I haven’t had knobs since the early nineties,” replied Vox, deadpan. “What do you want?”

“What I want is for you to quit fucking around on whatever your fucking secret santa wank workshop is and actually fucking contribute to our fucking strategy meeting,” said Velvette.

“I don’t see that there’s much to say. Cannibal town is weak, move the fuck in already.”

“See?” Valentino gesticulated. “That’s what I’ve been fucking saying, for the past fucking hour. He agrees with me.”

“Yeah, right.” Velvette put one hand on her hip. “He just said he agrees with me.”

“Ay, he wasn’t paying a-fucking-ttention,” said Valentino. “You just pointed that out.”

“Ladies. Please.” Vox spread his claws. “I’m sure you can both be right.”

It was always like this, with the three of them. Val was capable of picking a fight with furniture if he was left in a room with it for long enough, and while Velvette wasn’t that bad, she had approximately zero patience for what she termed, not inaccurately, Valentino’s bullshit. They needed Vox to mediate, always. Reluctantly, Vox tore himself from reviewing drone footage and put his talents to work making Valentino and Velvette feel valued, so they didn’t tear each other apart.

By the time he was done and had returned to his control room, all of the feeds to Alastor’s room were dead. The fuck? Vox hissed in frustration, checking the recorded files, and scanning the video back and forth to find the point at which the feed cut.

Alastor carrying you back into the bedroom, both of you covered in blood. Alastor, throwing you down onto the bed. Alastor, crawling over you, tentacles extending from his back. Then, nothing. Vox wound to the point just before the feed cut, playing at normal speed and turning on the audio.

“Hello, old chum.” Alastor turned his neck uncannily and looked directly at the hidden camera, smiling. “I find that these things are really best enjoyed in person. So, if you want to come along-” he treated the camera to a salacious wink. “-you know exactly where to find me.”

The feed cut in a burst of eldritch static, and Vox stared at the blank screen for a good thirty seconds, rock hard in his pants.

#alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor x y/n #hazbin x reader #vox x reader #vox #vox x alastor #antlerplay

[archiveikemen]

『Surprise Bag』 Story Sale: Prologue

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection and is not intended as replacement for official localisation. I do not own any of the original content. Please support CYBIRD by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Warnings and FAQ

Ever since becoming the Fairytale Keeper, I’ve built some level of resistance to unusual happenings.

However, despite that, some strange things that happen in Crown still manage to surpass my expectations.

…

“Jude” (Ellis): Good morning, Kate. I’m going to make you happy today too.

Kate: … Jude, uhh… did you suffer a blow to the head?

“Jude” (Ellis): Eh? I didn’t take any blows to anywhere, I’m feeling great.

Kate: What happened to your usual scumbag attitude?! Are you sick? Injured, perhaps? We must take you to the hospital at once!

“Ellis” (Jude): Tch, what’s the ruckus about?

“Jude” (Ellis): Oh, Jude.

“Jude” (Ellis): Huh? Why is Jude me?

“Ellis” (Jude): That’s my line. Why are YOU me?

Kate: W-What?

“Elbert” (Alfons): AHHA! This is getting awfully amusing.

Kate: Al… wait, Sir Elbert?!

Kate: Don’t tell me… the one behind you is Alfons?

“Alfons” (Elbert): … When I looked into the mirror, I saw that I turned into Al.

“Elbert” (Alfons): It’s interesting to look at myself objectively.

“Elbert” (Alfons): Oh, El. Please put in more energy when speaking. It’s disturbing to hear myself sound so depressed.

“Alfons” (Elbert): … Energy? … I’ll try.

“Alfons” (Elbert): … ahha.

“Elbert” (Alfons): It was a mistake on my part to expect energy from you.

Kate: Maybe, or not just maybe…

Kate: — Did Jude and Ellis, Alfons and Sir Elbert swap bodies!?

Kate: How did this happen…?

“Ellis” (Jude): Definitely that quack’s fault, I’m going to beat him up.

…

All members of Crown gathered to question Roger, who simply laughed at the situation.

Roger: My bad. I can’t believe it took effect this fast. Aren't I a genius?

Victor: Don't say such things, Roger! Why did such a cute… I mean, serious thing happen?

Liam: Victor, you’re exposing your inner thoughts. Also, your words and facial expression don’t match.

Roger: I was conducting research on whether a curse can be transferred if I swapped the bodies of a cursed person with a normal person.

William: Your insatiable inquisitive mind is truly eye opening, but shouldn't your test subjects be a cursed person and a normal person instead?

Roger: I thought it’d be dangerous if something were to happen to someone who isn’t cursed, so I decided to experiment on these guys first.

Harrison: What do you take us for? We die just like normal people.

“Elbert” (Alfons): Let’s drown that four-eyed musclehead in the River Thames.

“Ellis” (Jude): Yeah. Tie some stone weights onto him and plop him in to make it quick.

Kate: Wait, please don't say such unsettling things with Sir Elbert and Ellis’ faces!

“Jude” (Ellis): But Roger is so cool for being able to make a drug like this.

Liam: … Now Jude is being a softie. Goodness, this is chaos!

Roger: Relax. I’ll produce an antidote if you let me collect the data I need.

Roger: … If I can produce an antidote, that means I can experiment on the others too.

Harrison: … You just said something disturbing.

Roger: I said nothing.

“Elbert” (Alfons): I must say, you have no rights to be bargaining with us. Pardon my vulgar language, but please die.

Harrison: Woah, um… Liam? Oi, oi. — Is he asleep?

“Jude” (Ellis): I touched his head, sorry. I was curious to see if I can use Jude’s curse’s abilities.

Roger: Heh, the curse’s abilities remain in the body, huh. So I am a genius after all!

(This is getting out of hand…!)

Kate: Please give us the antidote immediately, Roger!

Kate: … Oh my goodness, what’s going to happen if this reaches Her Majesty's ears?

Roger: She might fire me for this.

Roger: … That’s why you should help keep an eye on them so word doesn't get out, lil lady.

Kate: Eh? Roger? Hey!

“Ellis” (Jude): Tch… useless. Getting fired just like that.

“Jude” (Ellis): Oh, Jude, body can’t take cig—

“Ellis” (Jude): *cough*... tastes like shit. Ellis, you need to train yourself to take at least ONE cigar.

“Elbert” (Alfons): I could get away with a lot of bad things with this face, don't you think?

Alfons: … Is this spoon beautiful, Kate?

Kate: T-This is driving me insane…!

I so badly wanted it to be some horrible april fools joke, but the scene unfolding before my eyes showed otherwise.

At that point in time, I still didn't know.

— To be continued.

#ikemen villains #ikemen series #cybird ikemen #cybird otome #otome #ikevil story sale #william rex #harrison gray #liam evans #elbert greetia #alfons sylvatica #roger barel #jude jazza #ellis twilight #victor #aikm translation

[lostloveletters]

Crimson and Clover (Bucky Egan x OC)

Summary: Bucky expects a lot of things when he arrives at Thorpe Abbotts, but Holly Dean isn't one of them. He's not complaining, though.

Word count: 5.1k

Note: I wrote most of this in a notebook over the past 3 days so my hand hates me, but I hope y’all like this! This fic covers pretty much from when Holly and Bucky meet to about Damn Yankees (mid-May to mid-June). Title comes from the song (Joan Jett version, we're bisexuals here). Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Warnings: Inevitable historical and technical inaccuracies (I’m playing a little fast and loose with who was at Thorpe Abbotts early with Bucky). Depictions of grief and depression. Period typical attitudes.

“Wait, what’s going on?” Bucky asked.

“Some of the Air Exec girls are having another typing contest,” Dye said.

“Who’s the favorite to win?”

“Dean’s won the past two, but Spinelli’s pretty good.”

He was glad to have caught Lieutenant Glenn Dye when he did. The guy had been making a beeline to the Air Exec office when Bucky joined him. His first night there, and already some kind of action—socially, at least. No one had been able to tell him when exactly he’d actually get to join McDaniels’ crew on a mission, but he was itching to get up there, even despite the weariness McDaniels carried with him.

He looked a lot more relaxed in the Air Exec office, standing toward the front of the bustling chaos with Duvall, his navigator. Bucky and Dye pushed their way through the people packed in like sardines to witness the typing contest. Dread fell over Bucky for a split second. What if that was the most exciting thing going on at Thorpe Abbotts?

A shout carried over the conversations. “Last chance to place your bets, ladies and gents!”

“Over here!” Duvall fished a quarter from his pocket. “I’m in on Pinkowsky.”

“You’re throwing your money away,” McDaniels said.

Bucky pulled a crumpled dollar bill out of his pocket and placed it in the outstretched hat next to Duvall. “Put a dollar on Dean for me.”

A young woman with blonde hair in messy twin braids and oil-stained coveralls rushed over, nearly knocking into Duvall. “Hey, did I miss it?”

“Just about to start. Hey Major, have you met Woody yet?” Duvall asked.

Bucky shook his head. “Don’t believe I have.”

“Private Woodward—Woody,” she said. “I’d shake your hand, Major, but I’d probably stain it.” She held up her right hand, covered in black grime that she made some effort to scrub out before arriving.

“Major John Egan, but everyone calls me Bucky,” he said, before gesturing to the women sitting around the office. “So who’s who in this thing?”

Of the Air Exec typists, three were competing in the typing contest that night. Nancy Pinkowsky, a Floridian, sat a little toward the back of the room, as she applied red lipstick in a small compact mirror. Leona Spinelli of Newark, New Jersey, had her heels—sleek black pumps, not regulation—kicked up on the desk of one Holly Dean, straight from the nation’s capital with the brightest smile and sparkling brown eyes Bucky had ever seen in his life.

“He bet a buck on Holly to win,” Dye said.

“You bet on Holly, and you haven’t even met her yet?” Woody asked.

Bucky grinned. “Intuition. I got a good feeling about her.”

“You’re right about that.” Woody smiled. “She’s my best friend.”

His eyes scanned the room as he tried to commit faces to memory, but his gaze kept drifting back to Holly until she caught him staring and responded with a smile that he couldn’t help but return. He moved to make his way over and say something to her, but his introduction was interrupted by the announcement for the competing Air Exec girls to get to their desks, and all spectators to shut the hell up.

Holly’s eyes met his again, only to fall to the blank page in front of her when he blinked. From the sound of just three typewriters clicking away incessantly, Bucky could tell he’d end up with a headache if he stayed stuck as Air Exec, and that would be on top of the inevitable hangovers. 

Her fingers moved fluidly across the keys, her face calm and focused, no evidence of her smile to be seen. 

He finally tore his gaze from her to glance at Woody at his side, the mechanic silently bouncing back and forth on her feet, bottom lip between her teeth. Her focus was fixed on Holly, too.

“Finished!” Holly shouted to a cacophony of cheers and groans.

Two guys walked over, one of whom had been collecting everyone's bets. Scanned the paper and muttered between themselves for an agonizing minute before one of them announced Holly had, in fact, won with no mistakes and an impressive word per minute count.

Woody bounced back and forth on her feet, excitedly grabbing Bucky’s arm. “Beat her own record!”

“Attagirl, Holly!” Bucky shouted.

Just as soon as the chaos began, it promptly ended with Holly’s win. No reason to stick around after hours any more. Don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here, as Bucky had heard many a bartender say at last call. People slowly filtered out of the office.

A few bills and some change were shoved into his hand. “Here’s your cut. $4.50.”

He raised his eyebrows, slipping the money into his pocket. Not bad for his first night in East Anglia.

Holly didn’t recognize the man standing next to Woody, but something about him seemed familiar, comforting without the ache that usually accompanied thoughts of home, of…she figured it best not to spoil the rush of her win before she even reached Woody and met the man smiling her way. 

Woody threw her arms around Holly in congratulations, their embrace lasting a few seconds before remembering they weren’t alone.

“Oh, Holly! This is Major John Egan. Just landed a few hours ago,” Woody said, her arm around Holly. “Major, this is Sergeant Holly Dean, typing queen.”

“Quit it!” Holly laughed. “You’re the new Air Exec officer, aren’t you?” She extended her hand. “Good to meet you, Major.”

Bucky shook her hand. “Looks like you’re batting 300, Sarge. I gotta keep you on my roster.”

“Starting lineup?” she asked.

“You bet,” he said. “You’re from DC, aren’t you? You must be a Nats fan.”

“Sure am,” she said, with all the foolhardy pride of someone devoted to an ever-struggling team. “How about you?”

“Yankees.”

“So you’re from New York!”

He shook his head. “Manitowoc, Wisconsin.”

“How does a man from Wisconsin end up a Yankees fan, Major?”

“I know winners when I see ‘em,” he said with a wink. “And call me Bucky.”

“Alright, Bucky.”

The two women leaned into each other, sharing an expression Bucky couldn’t quite read. Their closeness palpable, he found himself missing Buck. Probably would’ve had something to say about his betting on a typing contest, and Bucky would astutely point out typing wasn’t a sport, receiving an eye roll accompanied by a movie star smile of amusement in return.

“I hate to be that person,” Woody said apologetically, “but we should be heading back now.” 

He nodded. "Right, well it was nice meeting you, Woody. I’ll see you tomorrow, Holly.”

“Bright and early, Bucky.”

——

Despite being in East Anglia for less than 24 hours, Bucky knew Thorpe Abbotts wasn’t anything to write home about, even if he had someone to write home to. The Rip Van Winkle village was only woken up from its slumber by the arrival of the United States Army Air Force and Red Cross. Local farmers were forced to trade a rooster’s morning crow for the roar of bomber planes as their alarm clocks. The English and Irish laborers who worked around the base considered their American compatriots novel and exotic—or a nuisance, depending on who he was talking to.

Found out there was a pub in town. Headed over with some of the other pilots and local laborers the night before. Good drinks, fun company, and a pretty barmaid. At least he wouldn’t have to rely on typing contests and the officers’ club exclusively to get his kicks. Though, if the typing contests happened regularly enough, he’d be looking at a decent payday if he kept betting on Holly to win. A guy the previous night had argued that Spinelli would win often enough, but Bucky, in all of his misguided superstition, figured there must have been something to going into the damn thing blind and making the best bet.

When Bucky got to the office, he almost couldn’t believe it was the same place that had been bursting at the seams the night before. Nancy Pinkowsky’s lips bore no trace of the bold red she painted on them. Leona Spinelli wore WAAC-issued heels, clacking across the floor as she walked over to a file cabinet. And Holly Dean’s brown eyes were dull, framed by light purple crescents below them.

Bucky frowned, making his way over to her.

“Morning, Sergeant,” he said.

“Good morning, Major.”

“Rough night?”

She gave him a tired smile. “Something like that. Did you get a chance to meet Corporal Pinkowsky or Sergeant Spinelli last night, sir?”

“Afraid I didn’t,” he said, a charming smile spreading across his face. “I’m sure we’ll all get to know each other pretty well. Major John Egan, but you can call me Bucky.”

They all seemed more controlled, stifled in contrast to the night before as they introduced themselves. Women always had personas to shift in and out of, social chameleons depending on the situation. Bucky had gotten along just fine without watering himself down for anybody, but as an old paramour of his had pointed out to him, he had the distinct advantage of being a man, and the world was far more forgiving to men with character than women, who had to shrink themselves to fit into perfume bottles, lipstick tubes, or in the cases of Holly, Nancy, and Leona, ribbons of typewriter ink.

“Looking forward to working with you, Major,” Nancy said, her long, dark eyelashes fluttering. She desperately wanted to be a flirt, but lacked the nerve to follow through. 

Always sharp, Leona hardly missed a thing. Her attention could be unsettling, too intimidating for some people unless they knew her well enough. “Nice to meet you, sir.” 

Bucky shifted his weight on his feet, looking away from Leona. 

“Oh, Colonel Huglin’s looking for you,” Holly said.

He sighed. “That sounds about right. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck, Major.”

As soon as the door to Huglin’s office shut behind him, Nancy and Leona’s focus turned squarely to Holly, their attention weighing her down. She knew exactly what they were going to ask, anticipating their disappointment at her answer that no, she didn’t know if the handsome Major was taken. She would have been surprised if he were.

“So, what’s his deal?” Nancy asked.

Leona leaned over her desk. “Yeah, I saw you talking with him last night.”

“Well, he’s from Wisconsin, but he’s a Yankees fan.”

Nancy groaned. “You know what baseball team he likes, but you didn’t find out if he has a girlfriend?”

“What, you wanna make your move after flopping last night?” Leona teased, her cat-like gaze drifting over to Holly. “Besides, he’s got his sights set on you, Holly Dean.”

Holly shook her head. “I’m not ready to even consider anything romantic. You know that. I’ll never say ‘no’ to making a friend, though.”

“He might,” Nancy said.

“Well then you ask him if he’s getting his dick wet, if you’re so curious,” Leona said, snickering at the way Nancy’s face paled. “See, you need someone more your speed. Hey Holly, he say when the other flyboys were getting in?”

She shook her head. “He didn’t mention it.”

“Geez, maybe Nancy’s got a point. Is baseball all you talked about with the guy?” Leona asked.

The women’s chattering fell to whispers when Bucky stepped out of Huglin’s office a few minutes later. Perhaps Holly hadn’t noticed it sooner, caught up in the throes of her own exhaustion following a near sleepless night, but Bucky was quite clearly hungover. He certainly hadn’t kept his aviators on inside for style, that much became abundantly clear as he rubbed his forehead. The three typists shared wordless side glances at the state of him. First day on the job and probably got chewed out already.

“Any of you know where a guy can get aspirin?” he asked. 

“There’s a first aid kit in the cabinet over there. Should be some,” Holly said.

“Thanks.”

“Of course, sir.”

They went back to typing, silently, slowly, glancing up every now and then to watch Bucky rifle through the first aid kit and promptly dry swallow two aspirin pills. He haphazardly shoved the contents back inside the box and closed it, shoving the first aid kit back into the cabinet. He retreated into his own office, presumably to sleep off whatever ailed him.

“Forget him,” Nancy whispered, only loud enough for her compatriots to hear. “He hasn’t even been here a day and he’s hungover. That’s sick.”

Holly gave her a pointed look. “Don’t be rude, Nance.”

“And he made a mess of the first aid kit.”

“I got it,” Leona huffed, getting up from her desk. “You’re such a baby sometimes.”

Nancy stuck her tongue out at Leona as soon as her back was to them. 

Holly liked them both well enough, at least more than some of the other women in the Air Exec office. Considered them friends, close enough to go out with, share some drinks and laughs, but she never quite clicked with them on the same level she did Woody. Some kind of disconnect emotionally, never quite able to meet her energy the way she needed.

The two had met in San Francisco a little over a year prior, the weekend Stan was being sent off to the Pacific. Holly went with him, glad she had in hindsight, and among the mischief they got up to their last weekend together, one of Stan’s Navy buddies, Frank, invited them to a party. Woody had been Frank’s date, and in a city bustling with women who'd signed up to help Navy or Marines, the two WAAC women bonded right away. Like the stars aligned. The best weekend of their lives. Nothing short of a relief when they were both stationed at Thorpe Abbotts.

She wasn’t quite sure how to describe her relationship with Woody. Friends didn’t encapsulate the complexity of how deeply she felt for her, the certainty with which she knew she could rely on her. She found herself hard pressed to find anyone who understood her the way Woody did.

Holly didn’t see Bucky for a few more hours, and wondered how he could possibly get shut-eye with all of the commotion. If it wasn’t the combined clicking of half a dozen typewriters, it was the talking, a whirlwind of new reports and telegrams and projects to be started and those subsequently scrapped near completion because something had changed, which then affected everything else and brought everyone back to square one.

Quite different from the law firm she worked for as a typist prior to the war. Typically kept up case files and typed up minutes and summaries for various meetings. Sometimes, the lawyers would bring her with them on the cases that went to trial instead of being settled out of court, needing a typist to sit in and record testimonies. While her knowledge of shorthand helped back then, learning the United States Army Air Force acronyms and jargon was like learning another language, not to mention the plethora of accents she had to interpret on top of that.

At least it was interesting work, important work. Kept her on her toes, like she figured Bucky would, as around noon, when she made her leave to get lunch, he emerged from his office and rushed over to her just as she was walking out the door.

“Mind if I join you? I’m still learning my way around,” he said.

“Isn’t half your job knowing where you’re going, Major?” she joked.

He grinned. “That’s the navigator’s job. I’m a pilot, doll.”

“Well, I’m no navigator, but I think I can get us to mess in one piece, as long as you don’t mind walking.”

“Not at all.”

“You won’t be saying that for long, believe me. It rains so much here, you’d think you’d need a rowboat to get around.”

“Know where I can find one of those?”

She shook her head. “What you need is a bike. They’re hard to get a hold of, but since you’re a Major and all, you can probably get your hands on one easier than most.”

“See? I’m learning from you already.”

On their walk over, it became clear Bucky’s fanaticism for the Yankees rivaled Holly’s feverish devotion to the Nationals, and when he made a joke at their expense, he almost thought she took it as a personal offense. She also made a passing remark about how if she had any doubts about city life, it had been snuffed out after a mere two weeks in Thorpe Abbotts, the countryside charm wearing off rather quickly for her. Bucky agreed, neglecting to mention he hadn’t experienced much of fast-paced, city living himself, but he knew he’d thrive in it given the opportunity. 

“So, you writing to anyone back home?” he asked when they found a table to sit at.

“Just my parents and a few friends.”

“No boyfriend?”

Her lips pressed together in a thin line. “No.”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with that. I mean, I don’t have a girlfriend or anything.”

“It’s not that. I was engaged but…he died.”

“Was he a pilot?”

She shook her head. “Navy. Was killed at Midway last year. His name was Stan.”

“Shit, yeah,” he said softly, “I remember watching the newsreels from that.”

“I could never bring myself to watch ‘em.”

Biggest naval battle in history. The headlines screamed it. Boisterous radio and newsreel announcers regaled the public on the heroic exploits of the members of the Navy and Marines who took on and triumphed over their formidable Japanese enemies. He remembered the restless envy that tore through his gut with each newspaper article, each newsreel—not over the coverage or accolades, but of the action. Lucky bastards got to give the enemy a taste of their own medicine while the 100th was still running practice missions. He hadn’t considered the losses very much. Didn’t have reason to until then.

“Jesus, I’m sorry, Holly. I feel like a real jerk.”

She shrugged, a weak smile spreading across her lips. “Don’t apologize, you couldn’t have known. Just make sure you hit ‘em where it hurts when you’re up there. Doesn’t matter what continent. It’s all the same.”

He nodded. “You got it, Sarge. I’m goin’ up in two days. We’ll give ‘em hell.”

“Good,” she said. Cleared her throat, tried to shake off the sadness that slithered through her like a snake. “So, where’s the rest of the 100th?”

“Got lost coming over here,” Bucky said, laughing when her eyes widened. “Hey, I’m kidding! They’re still training stateside. They’ll be here in a few weeks. June, probably.”

“Anyone single?” Holly asked, quickly adding, “Leona and Nancy wanted me to ask.”

“Off the top of my head? Crank, Douglass, Brady, DeMarco…” He grinned. “Hey, maybe you can type up a list for me.”

She laughed. “Sure I can.”

“You gotta meet Buck. I think you’d really like him.”

His best buddy. Second best pilot in the 100th, only following him, of course. The one of the greatest storytellers she would ever meet. Pretty much inseparable since they met at basic. Didn’t mention how being the focus of Buck’s attention felt like being on top of the world, could send him even higher than any of the forts did. Couldn’t think of a time he felt that way about anyone else.

“He sounds terrific.”

“Pretty square, though—“

“Square?”

“The guy doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke, doesn’t like sports, including baseball, and he’s been dating the same dame since high school.”

“You make the last one sound like a bad thing.”

“Well, it will be for Nancy and Leona’s list.”

“Are we seriously going to make one?”

Bucky snickered, increasingly amused with the idea the more he thought about it. “Why not?”

——

If Holly minded Bucky’s company, she never said anything about it. Didn’t bat an eye when he’d tag along to wherever she was headed to every now and then. Sometimes on her own, but she spent a lot of time with Woody, and the more he was around the two of them, the more he was itching for Buck to finally make it over.

The Wilhelmshaven mission rattled Bucky. His first. Poor Duvall caught the bad end of flak and was covered in blood and barely hanging on when the fort landed back at the air base. Woody’s voice wavered when she told Holly about it, the state of the navigator. Woody was friends or friendly enough with most of the bomber boys by virtue of working on their forts, their babies, really. Being ground crew meant she also had the unfortunate burden of witnessing firsthand the aftermath of the brutality the bomber crews faced in the skies.

Suddenly, Bucky carried the same weariness Holly had seen the other men wrestle with in their own ways. She was hardly surprised when Bucky drowned his in alcohol at the village pub, inviting her and Woody along to join him and some of his fellow pilots for a nightcap, a celebration of Bucky’s first mission.

“Mark my words, Holly,” Bucky said, well into his fourth beer. “If there’s gonna be two pilots left in the sky by the end of this war, it’s gonna be Buck and me. I’d bet anything on it.”

His certainty caught in his throat when her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. 

“That’s hopeful.”

“You make that sound like a bad thing.”

“It’s not,” she said softly. “Sometimes I think too much about what could go wrong. I’m sorry, Bucky.”

A stormy melancholy hung above Holly once in a while, and though it never poured, she withdrew within herself. Some mornings, she greeted him with a shadow of the smile he always looked for as soon as he walked into the office. On those days especially, he reached out, tried to bridge the gap between them with whatever story or one-sided conversation he could think of.

He had asked Woody about it, knowing she’d be able to explain it to him better than anyone else. Only started after Stan died. Unnerved some people, annoyed others who thought she was being too dramatic, moping for so long over the man. Her behavior could be erratic, mostly self-isolating, occasionally self-destructive, but that aspect hadn’t reared its ugly head for some time. 

“I wish you knew her before,” Woody had told him quietly. “She wasn’t always like this.”

“I like her just fine now,” he’d answered, almost defensively.

“Good. She thinks the world of you, Bucky.”

His heart had jumped. Stopped himself from saying the same. 

Now, however, sitting with Holly in the small pub, He smiled, smacking his palm against the table, a mischievous gleam in his eye. “I know what’ll cheer you up. How about a song?”

“You can sing?”

“Nope.”

But he did anyway. Blue Skies. Enthusiastic. Off-key. Loud. Ran around the place like someone lit a fire under his ass while the pub erupted in cheers and heckling at his performance. 

“What the hell is he doing?” Woody asked, sitting down next to Holly, half-drunk glass of beer in hand.

“Trying to cheer me up."

Singing certainly wasn’t his forte, and adding dancing to the mix only served to make the performance worse. He crashed into a nearby table, sending glasses to the ground with shrill shatters that cut through his song. Holly’s hand flew to her mouth as she tried to stifle her laughter at the mess and the fact that he kept going. Pulled the exasperated barmaid in for a twirl, and she nearly hit him with her tray.

“He’s nuts,” Woody laughed.

Holly grinned, clapping enthusiastically when Bucky concluded the song, half out of breath, perspiration on his forehead. “Yeah, he is.”

“How about another round and an encore?” he asked when he returned to the table, pleased with himself at how big Holly’s smile was.

“Yes to another round!” Woody exclaimed. “Hold the encore.”

——

June didn’t offer a reprieve from the incessant English rain, but by the second week of the month, it brought Buck Cleven, and as far as Bucky was concerned, things were as right with the world as they could be, all things considered.

He tried not to think about the possibility of Buck not liking Holly. Knew he wouldn’t show it even if he somehow weren’t all that fond of her, ever the gentleman, good ol’ Buck. But Bucky had heard one too many guys make some snide remark about Holly and her odd behavior, her grief, to leave him with more than a few healthy grudges. Still, he wasn’t shocked at Buck’s incredulous attitude when he brought up Holly.

“Where are we going?” Buck asked from the passenger seat of the jeep.

“Quick pit stop to the Air Exec office,” Bucky said. “You gotta meet her—Sergeant Holly Dean, best typist you’ll ever see in your life.”

“Bucky—“

“C’mon, I talked you up to her! She’s keen to meet you.”

Buck shook his head. “You want me to humor your little girlfriend?”

“It’s not—Buck, come on.” Bucky scoffed. “What, I can’t have friends now?”

Buck hummed. “Sure. Friends.”

“She’s great, Buck. We should all go out sometime. You’ll see.”

“You know, Marge went to the trouble of introducing you to Peggy—”

“Holly’s fun! She makes the desk job less boring.”

“Whatever you say,” Buck said as the office came into view.

Holly swore she heard Nancy whisper “oh my god” when Bucky walked into the Air Exec office with whom she could only assume was Buck Cleven. She took in a deep breath in an attempt to even out her palpitating heartbeat. He almost looked like he walked off of a movie set. 

Then he took off his cap and smiled at them, introduced himself to Nancy first, who managed a quiet “Hello Major,” and then to Leona, whose deep eyes almost bore a hole through the pilot. Holly swallowed roughly when he made his way over to her.

“You must be Holly, then,” he said. “Buck Cleven, it's nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too," she said, glancing between him and Bucky. "I already know I’m gonna get your names mixed up, so I’m sorry in advance, sir.”

Buck smiled. “My first name is Gale, if that helps.”

“Gale’s a great name. Why go by Buck?”

“On account of this one,” Buck said, gesturing to Bucky. “He doesn’t have any manners, if you haven’t noticed.”

“He’s swell,” Holly said. “Best Air Exec we’ve had yet.”

“Heard you’ve been keeping an eye on him for me.”

“Trying my best, sir.”

“Well, he’s in one piece, so you’re doin’ a pretty good job.”

Kind and handsome—and woefully taken. But not perfect. Didn’t like booze or baseball, pretty much non-negotiables as far as she was concerned. Nancy and Leona didn’t know that, though. Neither of them had Bucky’s insider knowledge the way she did. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered to them all that much, anyway. Most importantly, she wasn’t ready to date again. Ignored who came to mind when she thought of where she’d like to start, though. Probably ruin a damn good thing if she did.

“It was nice meeting you ladies. I’m sure we’ll see each other around,” Buck said kindly.

“Don’t be a stranger, Major,” Leona said.

Nancy nodded enthusiastically in agreement.

“You girls behave while I’m gone,” Bucky joked.

As soon as the door closed behind them, the three typists shared dazed expressions.

“Was he on that list you gave us?” Nancy asked.

“Not a chance,” Holly said. “Bucky says Buck is hopelessly devoted to his girl back home.”

Leona groaned. “That was the most gorgeously unavailable man I’ve ever seen in my life. I need to have a drink or four over it tonight.”

——

The day of Buck’s first mission, Bucky clung to Holly the way a child would a blanket during a bad thunderstorm. He felt ridiculous making the comparison between himself and her, but he knew she’d understand the uncertainty, the waiting. Didn’t say anything when he found lame excuses to keep her working in his office, unsure of how else to express that he didn’t want to be alone with himself, with his thoughts.

The practice missions were just that—practice. Though Buck took them on with all of the focus and skill of real missions, there wasn’t much risk involved. Death couldn’t reach out its cold hands and touch them quite yet, but on his first mission, Bucky swore he felt its frigid grip on his shoulder, trying to pull him away with it somehow. Learned how to ignore it by his second mission, not to see its face behind his eyes every time he blinked or hear it calling for him with each burst of flak. But he couldn’t tell Buck, no way for him to understand until he was up there and experienced it for himself. Maybe that was why Holly sometimes retreated into silence when it came to Stan.

Wondered how she felt before she got the news about Stan. Was she expecting it? Had a gut feeling that she hoped was indigestion? Blindsided and crushed? He couldn’t bring himself to ask. Wasn’t sure he could handle knowing her answer. 

Instead, they talked baseball, as she’d given him a Lou Gehrig card she got from an old pack of Big League Chewing Gum, having inexplicably brought her modest collection of baseball cards over to England with her. Had a Yankee among her more treasured cards and didn’t think twice about giving it to him. So Lou found his home among Bucky’s two rosaries and various homegrown talismans that carried his hope and superstition. Took the place of his lucky deuce which he’d given to Buck that morning, not that he’d dream of biting a corner off of it.

He scratched the bridge of his nose, avoiding eye contact with her as he said, “Thanks for putting up with me.”

“What do you mean ‘putting up with you’?” she asked. “I like being with you.”

“Yeah, me too.”

He almost couldn’t believe how close they’d become in the weeks since they met. So close that every so often, they’d be asked if they were a couple, brushing off the assumptions with laughter and the answer that no, they weren’t. Hell, even Buck assumed it before he met Holly. But really, he couldn’t think of how much would change between them if they were. Didn’t matter. He knew things would be okay if he had Holly around, no matter how that looked.

“Hey, shouldn’t they be getting back soon?”

“Shit, you’re right. I’ll see you later, Holly.”

“See you, Bucky,” she said, taking his hand in hers and giving it a gentle squeeze before releasing it. “Take care.”

He nodded silently, slipping the hand she held into his jacket pocket when he turned to leave, wanting the warm, comforting feeling to last until he could see ‘Our Baby’ approaching and finally relax. A smile spread across his face, but there was no way for her to have seen it.

#bucky egan x oc #john egan x oc #masters of the air #bucky egan #john egan #masters of the air x oc #mota x oc #mota fanfic #masters of the air fanfic #mota #hbo war #hbo war fanfic #ch: holly

[isaacswhy]

height differences w/ the group

the group x gn!reader (sfw + nsfw) summary: romantic(and some nsfw) headcanons of being shorter/taller than members of the group. requested?: no tags: romantic & sexual hcs, light insecurity mentions, a bit of sub!tgc MINORS DNI OR GET BLOCKED

isaacwhy

If you're significantly shorter than Isaac (as an average person would be), he loves the fact he towers over you. He will remind you of it all the damn time.

He uses you like a little armrest, coming up behind you and putting his arms on your head or shoulders, using his phone or just talking to the boys while his arms are draped onto you.

Isaac likes to take pictures with you in them, and angle his head out of the photos for obvious reasons. With his height, it's really easy to pull it off. He posts all of them.

In public, don't expect any creeps to approach you. The second he stands behind you, towering over you, nobody dares to come near.

If you're significantly smaller than him, brace yourself. He's really big in all senses of the word, and it's gonna take a while to get used to it.

He loves seeing the pure size difference between you two in the bedroom. The way that in the end, he just has a strength gap with you and can take you so easily. He loves it, but it scares him a little sometimes.

If, by any chance, you're taller than him, you tease his friends with him about being short. Sorry Larry. You become this team of tall people that become house menaces.

You call him "the smallest man to ever live". As a loving joke. He calls you giant in return. Or goliath. Or something of the sort.

Isaac loves his share of dominance, but if you're taller than him, he will give it up. Having that push back from his partner is a lovely change he's never gotten to experience. Make him feel small.

softwilly

If you're shorter than Nick, he loves the fact he's so much bigger than you. He'll wrap his arms around you and coo little endearing phrases until you have to push him off.

Nick loves to make jokes about "my eyes are up here", even if you're still eye level with his head. Especially if you have to look up to talk to him.

Nick also does mirror selfies with you in them, but he always keeps his face in the photos and tries to put his head on top of yours. (He likes to make sure everybody knows you're his.)

If you're smaller than him in general, he will wrap himself around you if he's fucking you. He loves being completely larger than you and having you to manhandle.

If you're taller than Nick, which isn't that crazy, he gets a bit insecure about it at times. He likes his masculinity, and you sometimes gently remind him it's not bad to be shorter than his partner.

Being taller than Nick can piss him off sometimes, ruffling his hair from above him or wrapping your arms around him instead, he'll cuss you out (he secretly loves it).

If you're taller than him, sometimes it's a fight for dominance. He wants that control, and you have the power to take it from him. It's your choice if you want to make him submit.

BigT / Tanner

Tanner, if you're shorter than him, loves being your big teddy bear. He will give you bear hugs, will let you lay your body on him, etc. Absolutely loves the way you look when you use his size for comfort.

He also loves to make you feel big and strong! If you ever get upset over being shorter/smaller than him, he will constantly give you reassurance. Saying, "Ah, I'm really not that tall! Don't worry!"

Tanner really just is sunshine incarnate. Although, if you're the teasing type, he will dish it right back.

Tanner is extremely conscious of a size difference. He knows he might hurt you if he's too fast or rough in bed, so he's constantly checking in to make sure you're okay.

If you're taller than Tanner, he likes it too! He likes being able to collapse himself into you and wrap his arms around you, even if you have to brace yourself a bit. He's been getting bulky at the gym lately, be warned.

He loves it if you will come up to him (in front or behind) and smell his hair or play with it. Press kisses to his forehead. He melts like crazy and goes all soft.

Not being bigger than you gives Tanner confidence in bed. He worries a lot less about being too much, and it creates this amazing connection.

And, for the tops out there, he doesn't mind being smaller and being fucked. He likes being put into submission and fucked by someone bigger than him. Makes him feel all fuzzy and small.

yumi

If you're smaller than Blake, it's pretty common. He's taller than a lot of people. He really likes being taller, being able to kinda wrap his arm around your shoulder while standing next to you comfortably and slightly lean onto you.

Being smaller than Blake gives him a bit of fuel for jokes, though. Sometimes, out of the blue, he'll make a jab at your height and being tiny. But he'll never go so far as to make you feel bad for it.

Blake likes if you slide into his lap when he's at his desk. Being smaller than him, you'd fit conveniently and he likes to hold you like that. Even if it distracts him from editing, and he'll bitch about it to you when you do it.

Blake is super tender in bed. He'll be a bit worried to be on top of you so he doesn't hurt you, but you could convince him into doing it. In which case, he would love the view of you under him.

If you're taller than Blake, he can be a bit feisty about it. It's mostly just jokes, but he'll sometimes complain about being smaller than you when you help him out.

He would love for you to pull him into your arms. It would make him feel so secure to be held by someone bigger than him, as he doesn't get to feel that way much. It would make your hugs even more special than they already are.

He'd be a bit awkward and stilted the first time he fucked you if you were taller than him, but he'd get it figured out pretty quickly.

He secretly does kinda like being smaller. Makes him feel safe and secure, especially if you hold him close while he fucks you. Makes him feel like he'll be okay, like he's not doing anything wrong.

Larry Croft

If you are somehow shorter than Larry, the first thing to say is: congratulations, you've done it! It didn't seem like a possible feat to be notably smaller than Larry, but you've surpassed all expectations! (sorry.)

Larry loves being taller than someone, especially someone he loves so much as to call his partner in life. If there's anybody that loves to rag on him for his height, it's his friends.

Even if you are shorter than him, you can definitely call him short. Pot calling the kettle black here, but you'll get in on the jokes with the other guys. It's only fair, since Larry would do the same to you.

In reality, he's super soft with you when you're alone. He wants you to feel loved and okay, holding you and making sure you're fine after any jokes he or anyone else tosses at you.

He also loves being a bit bigger in bed. It's not a big priority, since it's not very likely to happen, but he'll take what he can get.

If you're taller than him, that's not surprising. However, you can definitely join in on the short jokes without being hypocritical. You make it up to him with lots of kisses anyways.

Although, you always make sure he's okay. Larry's got really tough skin, so he never lets those kinds of jokes get to him. He understands well enough he's short, and that doesn't bother him.

He loves having a partner that's bigger than him. Make him feel loved by picking him up, giving him big hugs, being the big spoon. He's used to it anyways, so he might as well get all the benefits of being smaller in the relationship.

He even loves the size difference in bed. When he's feeling a little more confident, he'll take control and disregard it entirely. He has no shortage of dominance waiting to come out.

But, he likes being small. If it's your style, you can take the reins from him easily and he will happily oblige. You can likely overpower him easily, and he folds. He's not very good at hiding how sensitive he is.

#the group chat #tgc #tgc x reader #larry croft x reader #larry croft #yumi x reader #yumi #bigt x reader #bigt #softwilly x reader #softwilly #isaacwhy x reader #isaacwhy #the group x reader #the group

[slavicviking]

STWG prompt: Buzz cut/shaved head

Summary: an AU where Eddie Munson is the one to find Eleven in the woods in 1983

wc: 830

Eddie feels his hands sweat.

“You can, uh, make yourself at home,” he says, gesturing to his cluttered mess of a room. “Mi casa es su casa and all that.”

The girl blinks, not a whiff of understanding crossing her face. She looks be around ten years old but he’s never been good with ages, especially for kids. She’s young and terrified, that much he is sure of.

“Do you want something to drink? Water?”

She nods and immediately curls onto herself. Eddie isn’t sure leaving her all alone in his room is a good idea but he doesn’t think there’s a set of rules to follow here. It’s not every day that he finds a scared child out in the woods, dressed only in a hospital gown, not even any shoes on. All he knows is that the look the kid wears on her face, the one she so desperately trying to mask, he recognizes all too well, has seen it in the mirror when Wayne first took him in five years ago.

He goes into the kitchen, eyes flickering to his bedroom all the time. It has never taken so long to fill a glass full of water but here he is, by the sink, counting away every second. His eyes linger on the phone. He should call the police, he knows that, but he doesn’t even know what to say.

She’s stood up from the bed by the time he returns, maybe finally taking his words to heart. That’s until the floor squeaks and her shoulders tense, and there’s a glare thrown his way yet again.

“Sorry. Just – here,” he offers her the glass and she takes it after a second, a huge goblet in a tiny hand looking terribly out of place. The kid turns back towards whatever peaked her interest while he was away. Eddie peers from behind her, not daring to come closer and spooking her further.

She’s looking at a photo. It’s an old one, taken right after he moved into the trailer. Wayne still had a full head of hair, not that it mattered because there’s a baseball cap hiding it all away. He has his arm swung loosely over Eddie’s tiny frame. But it’s not this that grabs the girl’s attention, Eddie thinks.

“My father shaved it,” he supplies with a waver to his voice that always comes whenever the man is involved. Young pimpled Eddie with a buzz cut peers back at him from the photo and both him and the kid can’t look away.

“Papa,” the girl finally says, barely anything louder than a whisper. It’s the first time she spoke as far as he knows.

“Did your father do this to you, too?” Eddie asks, trying to keep his voice as even and gentle as possible even though there’s a storm raging inside him.

“Bad men,” she informs him, not quite what he expected, but he’s finally getting somewhere, he thinks. She taps Wayne on the picture. “Bad men.”

“Oh!” Eddie swallows. “No, no, no. Wayne’s my uncle. He’s a good person. Kind.”

The girl looks confused, as if unfamiliar with the word. Maybe she is. Jesus Christ.

“He can help you. We can help you,” he insists, checking his tone immediately because the last thing he wants is to spook her when she’s finally opening up. “What’s your name?”

Eddie didn’t anticipate that a question this simple would be so problematic, but the girl clamps up, looks anywhere but at him. Her grip on the glass tightens and it’s only now that he notices a tattoo on her thin wrist. The number 011.

The sound of tires against gravel makes them both jump.

“Bad men,” the girl says again, eyes wide with fear.

“No, no. I’m sure it’s just a neighbor. Let me-“ and he sprints to the front of the trailer. Wayne’s not bound to be home until morning but it’s not unusual for a car to drive up at this time of night. Carl Sampson often comes back from his drunken adventures right around now.

But as Eddie peers from between blinds, he doesn’t recognize the car at all. It’s too expensive, too clean to be owned by someone living in the trailer park. The people that come out don’t seem familiar either. His heart stutters when he sees guns glint in the moonlight.

“Shit,” he mutters. “Shit, shit, shit.”

He thinks about the girl in his room. A part of him, a cowardly part of him, thinks about turning her in, his survival instinct kicking in, but he catches himself – what is he even thinking? This is a child. He runs back into the bedroom. The child is looking at him, looking as lost as he feels. He shudders a breath. “Bad men.”

She nods, as simple as that. Eddie’s eyes roam around the room in rushed panic.

They just about hid her in the wardrobe when Eddie hears a knock on the door.

#eddie munson #eleven hopper #stranger things #st #my writing #stwg

[annot8]

Top 20 RotE characters!

My final piece of ranking for this series!

There will be some spoilers in this!

20. Nettle

- If there’s one thing I love, it’s difficult women. Nettle is as harsh as her name suggests. I love young Nettle with her dream magic and how completely kind she is to Thick. And I love older Nettle, who doesn’t mind hurting Fitz’s feeling for Bee’s benefit. She is unforgiving and always strives to do what she thinks is best - even if she doesn’t always know what’s best.

19. Thymara

- Definitely my favourite Rain Wild character. She had my favourite POV in those books as well. I liked how her story paralleled Sintara’s, with her dragon features becoming more beautiful, getting her wings, and her determination to be her own woman. I didn’t love that she ended up with Tats and ended up having a kid with him, but again, it mirrored Sintara’s mating with Mercor.

18. Starling Birdsong

- are we seeing a theme? Starling is so great because she simply does not care if people like her personality. She’s beautiful, she’s talented, and she got her song. The way she destroyed Fitz in Golden Fool was a peak moment in this series. And something i love so much is that no matter how much Fitz complains about her or thinks she’s annoying, he can’t help but like her.

17. Chade Fallstar

- I hate him, I love him, he’s the worst, he’s the best. I’ve said this before - I have complicated feelings about Chade but regardless, they are strong feelings. Ngl, I misjudged his age and thought he was about 80 in the first book so when he made it to the last book?? Incredible. His death got me in a way that I really didn’t expect it to.

16. Dutiful Farseer

- My boy! He had some great development from the most fifteen year old boy ever, to a genuinely good king. I loved his dynamic with Fitz in Fool's Errand. It was really on sight with those two and it was entertaining the entire time. 

15. Selden Vestrit

- I saw someone say once that Selden felt like a random npc who managed to get a nat20 on charisma. He's great in Ship of Destiny, and fantastic in the Rain Wild Chronicles. His bond with Chassim was unexpected but so so lovely. 

14. Molly Chandler

- I understand why people don't like her. Her character gets in the way of Fitzloved. Soz guys, but I've seen too many female characters get hate because fans were rooting for a mlm ship. Don't get me wrong, its frustrating but Molly never inserts herself in Fitz's life. It the other way around. I think people don't like her less because of who she is and more because of what she represents. She's a simple life, and is the face of Fitz's delusion. But I love her. She's down to earth, she's rough around the edges, she's a simple gal who wants a simple life.

13. Etta

- Etta!!! From a Divvytown prostitute to Queen of the Pirate Isles??? Insane, incredible, showstopping. One thing that I absolutely love about her that I think is overlooked is that, despite how much Kennit was pushing for it and how much Wintrow was pining for her, it did not even cross her mind to get with this 15 year old boy. Kennit is all like 'teach the boys your… skills.' and she's like, ah yes, I will teach him how to use knives. Queen behaviour. 

12. Paragon

- Everyone's favourite murderous boat! His dynamic with Amber is great, and his friendship with Brashen is really underrated! He goes from being a grumpy old man to a bratty little boy in seconds (hmmm maybe the similarities between he and Fitz go past the face). He's unpredictable and he will kill again!

11. Althea Vestrit

- I fell in love with her immediately. She's rude to Kyle and then spends the next two weeks sleeping on the floor so she can be closer to Vivacia. She had my heart from the get go. Her ending will always leave a bitter taste in my mouth but none of it is her fault. She starts off a little immature and really grows into a woman worthy of captaining her own ship.

10. Wintrow Haven

- Ship of Magic!Wintrow has my entire heart. He frustrates me to no end with how he treats Vivacia but his arc is insane. He's generally an honourable guy. He frees the slaves and aids in the overthrowing of his father. He becomes a competent sailor and always shows Etta kindness. And despite his corruption by Kennit, he retains his moral compass and grows to be a good guy. I choose to ignore him in Ship of Destiny (just like Robin Hobb oops-) because I don't know who that man is :)

9. Malta Vestrit

- Without a doubt the best Liveships character. She has some of the best development I've ever seen. She's really the Amy March of Bingtown. She's self-centred, annoying, and that girlllllll. I love her so much. She's so clever and achieves so much.

8. Verity Farseer

- MY KING! treated Fitz like a human being which, in this book, is a step up from how most people treat him - especially when he's a boy. He's always a friendly face, even when he's so bogged down by defending the entirety of the Six Duchies with no thanks. He loved very honestly and had great respect for people who deserved it. And in the end, he made the ultimate sacrifice for his people for his folk. 

7. Bee Farseer

- She's just as much my daughter as she is Molly's, Fitz's, Nighteyes', and Beloved's. She won me over so quickly, and just when I thought I couldn't love her more, she started biting. I hope one day we see more of her!

6. LadyPatience

- You should have been mine???????? Such a fun, unapologetic character. She is so herself. I feel so seen by her constant, ever-changing hobbies and messy room. She and Lacey are the duo of the century.

5. Burrich

- When I read a book and I fancy a character, I tend to stay loyal to that character. I can love all of the characters, but I only love one. I took one look at Burrich and knew i'd found my man. His parenting skills were questionable at time, but he was doing what he thought was right. He gave up his life to raise Chivalry's son. He stepped up and took care of Molly with no expectations. He raised Nettle like she was his own. Just a solid, good man.

4. Nighteyes

- The best parent in this whole series. He's sarcastic, he's clever, and he's got such an entertaining dry sense of humour. He's a great influence on Fitz and he isn't afraid to call him out. The Wit is such a fantastic aspect of this series and the wit-bond that Fitz and Nighteyes share is so so beautiful. 

3. Kettricken

My Queen. I haven't felt this strongly about a character in a long time. Always a beacon of honour in a story of political intrigue, secrets, and betrayal. They really lucked out with this arranged marriage. Not a single person in this story deserved her. 

2. Beloved

- Fool, Amber, Lord Golden, Beloved. What a character. every facet of this character is so interesting and deep and beautiful. Amber was THE character in Liveships, the Fool was THE character in Farseer, Beloved with THE character in Tawny Man. THE CHARACTER OF ALL TIME.

Fitz

- You get it.

#rote spoilers #fitz and the fool spoilers #realm of the elderlings #rote

[o-wyrmlight]

A Toast to the Pigs: A Disco Elysium fanfiction that explores the concept of Harry Du Bois having not lost his memory in Martinaise and having to deal with the consequences of his actions. Featuring in Chapter 14: A couple of dressing downs over the radio, figuring out the sleeping situation, and brief insight about the pipeline of falling into fascistic beliefs.

Lieutenant Jean-Heron Vicquemare is anxious, and you are a mirror. He isn't here with you right now, but he's pacing with the sort of restless energy that only caged and starving animals in overstimulated and crowded enclosures ought to have. One could argue that an overstimulated and crowded enclosure is what the RCM is to begin with, and you would be one of those people leading that argument. You're already a laughingstock. You don't care. Lieutenant Kitsuragi is being sharp with him, trying to help Jean see his own reason. You understand why Jean is angry. It's always him who cleans up your messes. You'd be frustrated if you had to deal with yourself as much as he has to deal with you, too. And you are a mirror, so across 8/81 and a moor and a river, you mirror your partner because that's one of the things you do best. Aggravation met by aggravation. Fists met by fists. Cigarette by cigarette. Jean Vicquemare sighs heavily and collapses. The fighting spirit has left him. He gives up on being angry--for now, at least--and he's just tired. You are a mirror. You stop, too. You already know that Jean will cover you again. You were lucky to have him. You can't believe you've let yourself lose him.

Harry went quiet for a while, bracing himself against his arms, staring down toward the water. “…I wanted to talk to you,” he said suddenly, pivoting himself to face Kim, “because I wanted to apologize.”

“Apologize?” Kim raised a brow, nursing his cigarette. He was very careful not to blow the smoke directly into Harry’s face. “For what?”

“For what I said.” He knotted his fingers together, squeezing tightly, keeping them very still. His body weight was being supported by the efforts of his elbow. His voice was sharp and his eyes were keen. “In the gym.”

Kim huffed, shaking his head. “You already apologized. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine, Kim. That was barely even an apology, and you know it.”

Kim considered him for a long, long moment, a little surprised, a little intrigued. This was new—he couldn’t remember the last time that somebody did this, throwing down an attempt to make a more genuine apology beyond the typical, socially accepted one. Kim was always expected to just take those half-baked ‘sorries’ and deal with it. They apologized, after all. What else did he want?

Kim turned his body to face him, sliding his cigarette out of his mouth and letting it dangle from his fingers. He curled his arm over the railing but didn’t lean. He ignored the uncertain fluttering in his lungs, sucking in an anxious gasp. He didn’t expect this and he didn’t know what to expect going forward.

All right. Let’s hear it.

#disco elysium #harry du bois #kim kitsuragi #a toast to the pigs #wyrm writes #i always get nervous about posting a new chapter! pumping my fists into the air! yoom-tah!

[forestofsprites]

a few photos from today:]

#i love adding new woodland spaces to my little love list #(it is not a little list) #but i don't find safety anywhere like i do in the woods #i mean. i've been heavily observed by a bear and all sorts but #in the sense of- there are no obligations in the woods #the life of me is as . i don't know.. just in situ!! it's as gently existent as everything- and boy is there a lot of everything- #around me #there are no people there are no expectations there's no mirroring of the face or tone checking in my voice #my life isn't being put up against anything #i'm just there #and everything else is there too #and we're all just fucking there #i know that i'm alive when i'm in the woods #and it's undeniable that i am surrounded and enveloped by it likewise #that we are all part of this extensive energy chain #i find a lot of comfort and comradery in the whole thing #woods!!!! can't wait to go back tomorrow!!! #my photos #nature #mushrooms #fungi #autumn

[chelseasdagger]

the love i have for my little brother is immeasurable

#idk when the last time i was called pretty like people just don’t ever compliment me which is fine like i don’t expect it #but he came over to me and just saw me in the bathroom mirror and went ‘you’re so pretty’ and made this face 😊 #and i froze and did the florence pugh frown just ☹️ cause what the fuck that’s so sweet??? #and his smile faded and he went ‘why are you sad?’ and i #god i love him so much #he is the closest i’ll ever have to my own kid and i love him so so much #he’s 5 and autistic but looks at me like i hung the stars and my heart is so full of love for him #shut up chelsea

[sororfr]

Have some wips, most of which will probably never be finished knowing my brain. I’ve come to realize I don’t have a preferred way to draw hair and it has been driving me nuts trying to figure out what works ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh

#also TYVM to all the nice people who were sending well wishes my way about my car accident T~T #I’m fine just sore haha drawings been slow thanks to my neck and back #I just posted it to vent I wasn’t expecting any responses tbh #flightrising #flight rising #fr imperial #fr veilspun #fr mirror #wips #also just realized they’re all facing the same way?? I have a habit lmao

[ssomepersonn]

u know what time it is...

#object oc #osc oc #and then i talk a little #so i dont clog regular people tags with my silly gay people #in my month of thinking about my object ocs month baby #they are all so silly #i think lychee and fish case are both the type of mfs to get ridiculously stuck on ideas and neither are mature enough to admit they are #wrong so they just #end up arguing a lot lol #sketchbook likes someone who can keep the silly and the serious separate and. sharkie bud just doesnt like making everything so serious #(they CAN be more serious when needed but tbh. it is rarely ever with whatever sb has to tell them specifically( #i dont really have much in set mind for multitool aside from pubby guy rn dkjsd #lamp is insp by that ikea lamp u know the one #and uhhh yea! gay people #nuff said on that one i think #if the third guy is confusing to look at thats mirror!! it doesnt have a face so he emotes using other objects reflections :] #(it has its own voice tho lol) #expect more doodles of my guys #hopefully ^_^; #raspberry lemonade #mirror #shark plushie #lychee #sketchbook #my art #enjoy the essay in the tags i have more thoughts but it is almost 1am lmfao

[merge-conflict]

I want to commission art for Valentine but I don't want to have to think about what she looks like. It's like *closing my eyes really hard and trying to summon up color in the inside of my brain* her eyes are....grey. She has.... hair.

#listen i know exactly how she moves #i know all of her fidgets and her unconscious gestures #i don't see how i can be expected to know what her face shape is #what is a face shape? #every time i look at myself in a mirror i look different and then as soon as i look away and try to recall it goes all blank #i keep telling myself i'll just try to find a face or body claim or something #but then i have to look at endless photos of people's faces #and it makes my brain so tired and frustrated #ok rant over thanks for coming to my tedx talk