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tiredmamaissy · 6 months

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Ralak te Sepwan ieyk’itan: Special Episode III

Calm After the Storm

An Illustrated Collaboration with @zestys-stuff

Masterlist ; Rut/Heat/Knotting Info

🔞 minors, do not interact 🔞

Hyperlinks are attached to specific paragraphs that when clicked on will lead you to its illustration by Ralak's creator @zestys-stuff.

Characters: Metkayina!Ralak (24) x Sully!Omaticaya!Reader (19)

Warnings: nsfw, smut, fluff, profanity, age gap, rut cycle, heat cycle, extreme knotting, marking, scenting, territorial/possessive behaviour, breeding kink, p in v, mating/bonding, multiple climaxes, creampie, belly bulge, actual breeding, let me know if I forgot anything?

Word Count: 6.3k

Requested: Yes || No

Author’s Note: Happy halloween guys! I know I literally fell off the face of the earth and I will make another post to address that. But I know I haven’t participated for @pandoraslxna ‘s kinktober event (I’m so sorry bby) but if I could only participate for one of the days it would be today for sure. So I definitely wanted to get this out before midnight. It’s not purely a/b/o but honestly entails all the aspects of it. I think we can all definitely tell who’s the alpha and omega here (Ralak is alpha material hands down, ofc). I hope you guys enjoy this one, and I apologize for such a wait <3 Also I feel like I’m a bit rusty, so apologies for any typos, errors, or just plain suckish writing.

ALSO a big happy birthday to my babe @neteyamsoare <3 love you and hope it was a good one!!

Synopsis: Your heat starts to subside, but Ralak’s rut is only getting stronger. What could possibly go wrong?

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——

Only an hour has passed before you feel your not-so-gentle giant stirring behind you, waking you from your sleep. You’d both been on your sides for too long now and everywhere seems to ache. You whine when you feel his hips shift against you, tugging at the immense pressure between your hips. The bulge protruding from your lower abdomen has barely gone down and you feel almost as full as you did when he initially emptied his load inside you.

Silken strands of his hair fall onto your prickled skin as he props himself up on his elbow from behind you, perching his chin on your throbbing shoulder. He inhales deeply – longingly. His hot breath gently blows against your neck just as you feel his arm snake under your leg and yank it back in one rough tug.

“Ralak.” His name falls from your lips through a nearly inaudible croak. “‘m so full.” You barely mumble out, rolling your head to the side. Yet, the flame within you is without a doubt reigniting with a vengeance.

And he can sense it.

Simply by the way you push back into him, making that bulge in your belly protrude a little more. His large hand resting on your stomach can indubitably feel it. And the smile that it puts on his face is almost baleful, bearing his lengthy canines that yearn to sink deep into you once more. “Sorry, tìyawn [love].”

He just can’t help it.

No matter how hard he tried. The desire—no, the need—to fuck into you and claim you as his time and time again is… irrepressible. In this moment, nothing else felt better than your little, used cunt hugging his cock so tightly that it almost hurts. He yearns to fill you over and over. Again and again until your womb is overflowing with his seed. The mere thought has his balls pulling tight to his body, firming up by the second all just to flood your womb again.

“Muntxate [wife].” Ralak growls into your neck, sliding his hand down to your inner thigh. “I will try to be–” He groans slowly, his pointer finger now burrowing itself between your tied pelvises, “–flrr [gentle].”

The final accented word comes out roughly, and if it weren’t for his finger slipping past his knot and into your cunt, you would’ve probably heard it clearly. You yelp out when he traces his finger around his knot, stretching your already taut skin, attempting to work a little space to allow his bulge to slip out.

It's all consuming and you’re simply too overwhelmed with his size that you fail to realise how your body is synced with his and bearing down to push him out. All whilst he’s struggling to fight the snap of hips to avoid hurting you. But the tugging is nothing like you’ve felt before adn you can finally understand why he was so insistent in the first place.

ut there was no getting out of this now, not that you even wanted to.

“It–it’s…” You brace yourself by grabbing onto his forearm, “...t-too big.”

“Ngaytxoa [sorry]” He huffs out his fourth apology, losing himself once again as his hips finally jerk back out of his control.

Pop.

His knot slips out of you with such force that the squelch it makes is as loud as your whimper. It’s so wet and slippery that his cock follows behind his knot, sliding out of you effortlessly. He’s more than half-hard yet so heavy and hung it rests close to your knee. Then you feel it. His cum dribbling down your thigh, still warm and sticky as if he just filled you up seconds ago.

It’s such a conflicting feeling — a mixture of relief and pent up frustration. Your heat is still in full bloom, despite it being so quenched until you’re almost nauseated. It’s as if you were two pieces perfectly linked together, allowing nature to run its course with no second thought. He grunts when he feels the crisp night air against his groin, his cock now springing up to its full length in just a few seconds.

He, too, feels some sort of feverish way now. Itching to be back inside your warmth, enveloped by your gummy, slimy walls. He opts to pepper wet kisses along your neck, and then up to your jaw, lingering there as he tries to distract himself from the ache to shove it back inside you.

Until it becomes too much.

“Tanhì.” He moans into your ear, heavy lidded eyes struggling to stay open as his tongue trails the skin on the back of your neck. “Need you.” It’s his way of begging for permission. Permission to slam his cock back inside you and hammer into you until the annoying itch deep in his core goes away again. You were the only one to make it go away. To stop the hurt. “Please.” He whines out a plea of desperation, now gritting his teeth from the way his stomach is tensing. “Now.”

But that last plea wasn’t much of a question, no. It was more of a demand. A way of saying, ‘give it to me, or I’ll take you on my own terms’.

“Fuck.” You mumble under your breath, sliding your free hand down your side to hook it under your leg. You pull it back and reposition your hips to give him access to your cunt. “P-Put it in, ‘Lak.”

Ralak’s hips begin to stutter — the leaking, mushroomy tip of his cock now repeatedly prodding between your puffed up folds. His breath turns raggedy as he tries to guide himself back inside you handsfree. Your slick is overflowing, making it even more difficult for him to align himself with your entrance. The frustration brewing within him bubbles over when his cockhead glides past your swollen clit instead of sinking in your cunt. So he pulls back in one swift move and —

Thrust.

Your body jolts from how quickly he slams every inch of his cock inside you, forcing you split-open. Ralak huffs a shaky sigh of relief, his breathing growing a little steadier now that he’s deep inside his mate. Meanwhile, your mouth hangs agape yet no sound falls from your lips. Your eyes well up with tears and your ears lay flat against your skull. Your body is in complete submission to the beast dominating it and there’s nothing else you can do but give in to the pleasure.

“Your scent.” He whispers open-mouthed, tips of his canines grazing the nape of your neck. “It is driving me crazy.” You release the breath that you didn’t even realise you were holding. You didn’t even know what to say. Not like you could really say much right now anyways. You’re too lost in the fog of your own heat. For once, Ralak is doing most of the talking. “It makes me…” He snaps his hips back, only leaving half of his length inside you. “...lose myself completely.”

A deep roll of his hips.

A lewd moan dripping off your lips.

“How do you do that?” He huffs, pressing his teeth against your neck. You don’t answer yet again. You just can’t find the words. Not right now. Not when he’s so deep inside you. “Hm?” A deep growl vibrates up his throat, his teeth just barely piercing the first layer of your silken skin.

“I—” You’re cut off by your own squeal when you feel the sting of his bite. Your breath catches in your throat and he immediately unlatches, lapping at the nicked skin to soothe it. “Sorry.” He whispers breathlessly, planting a quick kiss on each of your marks. “Sorry. Sorry.” A few more apologies flow from his mouth, as if he were drunk off of too much fermented fruit. Somewhat lucid but still so spaced. “I cannot —ngh— help myself.”

Thrust.

“‘M sorry.”

He knows he went a little too deep just now. But you feel so fucking good around his cock.

Chomp.

Another mark. Right on the bend of your shoulder, next to your first.

“Ngaytxoa [I’m sorry]”

A small cry from your quivering lips.

“S-Stop. No more apologies. I am yours to do what you p-please with.” You finally get out in one, weary breath.

Ralak’s languid, deep thrusts are laced with desperation. And with each stroke they become harsher and harsher. Faster and faster. Now he’s got your full permission he lets go once more, falling into the thick fog of his rut.

Within seconds his cock is pumping in and out of you, his half-deflated knot continuously prodding and poking at your entrance. The tip of his cock drags against your walls, putting an immense pressure right on your sweet spot. Yet still, sounds barely fall from your flushed lips. You’re too out of it. Too focused on the raw sensations rippling through you all at once. His overwhelming pheromones. His marking. His relentless pounding.

Rather, hot tears well over your eyes and stream down your face.

He can’t stop slamming himself inside you. He doesn’t want it to stop. It’s absolute rapture and he’s unapologetically drowning in it.

“Tanhì. Tanhì.” He groans needily. “y/n.”

He only says your name when he’s serious about something.

And hearing it drip from his tongue onto the nape of your neck has your hairs standing high and your clit throbbing.

“Eywa. Yes, ‘lak? T-Tell me what you need.” You blubber out, tightening your grip on his forearm.

“Haa — spread yourself.” He demands, prompting you to tuck your leg back as far as you can. His pace quickens, hips striking you with a sinful vengeance. But no matter how hard he fucks you, or how deep he buries himself inside you — its just not enough. He needs to be closer. To be deeper. To really be inside you. To knot you.

“More.” He grunts, slowing his thrusts into rocking, grinding himself inside your slippery, tight cunt.

You go to tug at your leg and meet nothing but resistance. “I-I’m trying.” You can feel it now. Perhaps it’s the bond or maybe it’s the way his knot is working you open but he’s growing more and more frustrated by the thrust.

“Mmmh. Wider.”

“I can’t. I can’t.” You’re quick to answer, feeling nothing but pressure from the way he’s trying to shove more of himself inside you.

“Agh.” He growls in frustration, pulling out of you and grabbing you by the ankle to flip you onto your back.

Ralak situates himself between your legs without hesitation and pushes them so far back your knees graze against the tips of your ears. You can barely breathe in this position and are having a hard time seeing anything else but his raging cock at your entrance. You can feel the burn in your thighs from how far back he’s shoving your knees but that sting is masked by the pleasure of him plunging himself back into your pussy.

The moan that rips from your lips is obscene and like no other. The crown of his cock is drilling itself directly into your sweet spot, causing it to swell with unadulterated pleasure. And each time he pulls out just to sink it back inside you he winds you in the process – making you sputter out absolute nonsense. Even he knows you're close, despite being in the thick of his rut.

But frankly, he doesn't care.

All he’s concerned about is satisfying his own urges.

“Not enough.” He grits through his teeth as his eyes shift to an even deeper shade of mauve. “‘ts not enough.” He pants, voice laced with something of worry. Panic that this feeling won’t go away. It makes you panic too, wondering if you’re doing enough for him. If he’s going to take even more from you. If you can manage it.

“You’re okay. Do what you need.” You try to reassure him, grasping your feet and holding them back–opening yourself up even more. But fuck, that only made things worst for you.

And by worst, you mean better. It feels like you’ll burst any second now, especially with how much pressure is on your bladder. “Fu-ck me. God, fuck–ahaa-fuck me.”

His brows bunch together as he peers down at you, beads of sweat rolling off his face to drip onto your chest. His jaw is so tense it looks as if it may fracture. He’s grunting with every push and huffing with every pull.

“Right there! Fuck. I’m close. I’m so fucking close. I-I need you to cum i-inside me. Oh—please ‘lak. Please!” Your cries are choked and muffled, breaths short and raggedy. The heat pooling in your core is unbearable. It needs out. Now.

Ralak swallows. Hard. Through his own haze he can see that you’re in need too. He shuffles closer to you, tucking his feet under him to assume a squatting position. Now he’s all but on top of you, folding you into a merciless mating press. This one shift in position has you coming undone on his cock, coating it in your thick slick as you sob from the white hot pleasure. The force of your climax has you pushing him out and only has him drilling himself further inside you. If it’s not for the way your pussy walls tighten around him surely his knot would have popped inside you by now.

He’s still fucking into you, right through your orgasm and towards his.

“Say what you need.” He panics through a tightened jaw, grinding himself inside you – pushing his knot against the resistance.

You know what he’s actually asking from you. To say something. Anything to tip him over the edge. To rid him of this maddening itch.

“Breed me.” You whisper, locking eyes with him. You watch as his pupils blow into thin rings and then constrict into nothing but dots. You try to swallow what spit you could, attempting to clear your throat. “Breed me. Please.”

“Then take it.” He lets loose a sinister growl, putting all his weight into his final push. For the first time, you feel his knot pop inside you, veiny and as thick as can be. You let out a high-pitched whimper, and feel your teeth begin to chatter. That doesn’t make him ease up, though. He continues to grind himself inside you until you feel the familiar, warm sensation of his sticky seed spraying inside you – filling your womb to the brim. His cock throbs wildly, in perfect synchrony with his own heartbeat, and soon yours too as the bond equilibrates your souls once more.

Strangely, you thought you’d be sore and overstimulated by now, but your body has never felt better. You’re full and content and more than satiated. Ralak heaves a sigh — one of pure relief. It’s glued to his face. All panic washes away and he’s feeling more at peace the longer he remains inside you. He’s rigid, firmly holding his position on top of you — ensuring he empties every single drop inside you. Yet, his heavy lidded eyes begin to close.

“I can’t breathe.” You mumble, snapping him out of his tranquil trance. His eyes meet yours and the corner of his mouth pulls into a little smirk. He exhales a breathy chuckle and carefully manoeuvres you both into a more comfortable position. He settles himself on his back and supports your body whilst positioning you on top of him.

“Better?” Ralak husks, drawing circles into your back with the tip of his finger.

You take a deep breath, filling your lungs to full capacity and then slowly release it. “Much.”

“Nga yawne lu oer [I love you]” His accented words slur together as he dozes off.

“Nga yawne lu oer, Ralak [I love you].”

——

Ralak woke repeatedly throughout the night for his fill. If it wasn’t him, it was you. Waking up in a clammy state, shaking and nuzzling into his chest from your heat. You honestly thought that the more time passed — the more rounds you went — the more he would calm down.

But, you thought wrong.

He’d start by leaving tender kisses wherever he could, whispering he’d do his best to be as gentle as he can be. Then, he’d slip a finger inside you, stretching you out in attempts to pull his knot out without hurting you. But it would always sting, even just a little bit. After that he’d beg. Pleading with you to let him back in, and apologize right after plunging inside you regardless of your answer—which was always yes.

At this point your own foggy haze would take over. Perhaps it was your body’s way of coping with the overstimulation, but you pined for every single second of it. Sometimes it would last for a few minutes. Where he’d be quick to fold you in two and growl in the shell of your ear, ‘you’re mine, haah — fuck, take me’.

Sometimes it was closer to an hour. Where you’d both be so tired you’d take breaks, lazily taking turns fucking each other, telling him to ‘put it back in’ whenever he’d slip out. But one thing remained the same every time. You’d sob when you’d cum and then beg him to breed you. And he would, without a doubt, breed you.

Mercilessly.

And with each breeding, he’d lose himself a little deeper. Knotting you over and over. Marking you repeatedly until your body’s littered with bites. Until you were so fucked out you’d lost the feeling in your legs. Until your throat was so dry you could barely speak. Until you needed a break.

——

“Wait.” You crawl towards the bedside table with wobbly knees. “Just need some water, Lak.”

Ralak pounces on you, knocking you onto your stomach and pressing himself against you. You extend an arm out, fingers splayed out and shaking from you trying to reach the cup of water Ka’ani left there more than a day ago. Ralak grabs your hips and hoists you up onto your knees and elbows, and mounts you from behind.

“Water. Water, Lak.” You beg with a hoarse cry, only for him to line the crown of his cock up with your sopping cunt. He growls next to your ear as he stretches over you and reaches for the cup of water, filling his cheeks and putting it back down within a couple seconds. With a quick grip of your jaw, he turns your head and meets his lips with yours.

Before you can process what’s going on you’re gulping down water as fast as you can. And when he pulls away, you’re yet again met with the hazy eyes of his rut. That’s when it dawns on you that whilst your heat is coming to an end, his rut is only getting stronger.

Rather than looking away, he locks his gaze onto you, just so he can watch your face screw as he slams his cock inside of you in one, hard thrust. It works a sudden, breathy moan from your mouth, eyebrows pinching together from the stretch. He holds his position, basking in the warmth and tightness of your cunt as his breath goes shaky.

“Wait.” You mumble weakly, shoving a hand behind you to push against his lower stomach. “Please.”

For the first time, you were telling him to stop.

His jawbone flutters as his eyes search yours. Restraint plasters to his face, and the only audible thing is his heavy breathing. He nods. Just once. A firm and intentional nod. He swallows the residual water left in his mouth and tenderly pulls out of you. You hear the thud of his footsteps quiet down as he nears the marui door, and then the splash of the water when he dives into the rough sea.

It’s pouring outside.

Storming, actually. Thundering and lightning. Yet he feels this is the only way he’d be able to resist the urge to storm back in and fuck you. But the instinct to protect his mate, even if it’s from himself, is more than enough to give him the willpower to walk away.

You take this moment to just breathe, turning your head to face the plush bed beneath you as you gather your thoughts. Did he just show that much restraint? Enough to walk away from a female na’vi during her heat cycle… all whilst in the height of his own rut cycle?

“Lekye’ung [insane]” You mutter, using your trembling hand to grab and bring the cup to your lips. They, too, are sore and chapped. Having gone so many hours without any food or water, you knock it back, shaking the cup to get out every drop. Finished already? You think to yourself, looking inside the cup with hazed vision, confirming it’s indeed empty.

After setting it back down onto the table, you slump back into the bedhead, relaxing your body. You’re sore. Actually, sore is an understatement. Every single muscle and fiber in your body burns—and that isn’t entirely due to your heat either now that it’s finally subsiding. Perhaps you should be taking this time to have a look at your… condition, but you’re finding it harder and harder to keep your eyes open.

So you give in, sinking further and further into the bed as you doze off.

—

A few hours go by and Ralak returns with a net of fish thrown over his shoulder and a bucket of fresh water perched on his hip. He carefully sets down the bucket and rests the net next to the fire pit. He’s cautious not to wake you, nor come too close to you. Ralak ignites the fire and fans the flame. As quietly as possible, he prepares and cooks the fish, setting them aside to wrap in the leaves of a spartan tree.

Since coming to Awa’atltu, one of your biggest adjustments—despite the obvious—has been your change in diet. Fish weren’t uncommon back home, but they certainly weren’t the main source of food. You prefer the other foods here, your favourite being what you call ‘inland boar’, which is an animal that resembles what your father calls a ‘pig’ from his star.

But not even that, (boar) could smell better than this (fish).

The aroma alone rouses you from your sleep.

Your eyes open to a dark room and a glowing fire pit. The fire is out but the wood remains hot, shifting among different shades of orange and red. Ralak sits beside it, with his back leaning against the support beam of the pod. His arms are crossed over his chest and his knees are slightly bent. It’s hard to see more than just his silhouette with the lack of moonlight.

“That smells good.” You rasp. Ralak’s eyes fly open to reveal a familiar shade of deep blue. Like the sea. They glow and flicker before you, examining you now that you’re sitting up out of bed.

Crack.

A bolt of lightning strikes in the distance, illuminating the room. For a moment, you were able to see every single bike mark, scratch and bruise you’ve given him. It also reveals that he’s shaking. Trembling from being wet and cold, or possibly from the strain he was putting himself through from just being in the same room as you.

Ralak moves quickly, shuffling to his feet and going right for the leaf that holds a few sloppily rolled fish. He brings it to you, setting it slowly on your lap, being overly cautious not to touch you. Grabbing your cup on the table, he dunks it in the bucket and sets it beside you.

“Eat.” He whispers, backing away to sit next to the pit. You watch as he slides down the beam and into a sitting position, and then glance down at your food. Saliva pools in your mouth from the aroma wafting up your nose.

You’re hungry.

“Thank you.” You say quietly, hastily stuffing an entire roll into your mouth.

You moan as you chew, nodding your head from how good it tastes. It’s hard to swallow, given that you bit off more than you could chew—literally—but when it finally goesdown you feel your stomach grumble for more. Ralak watches you intently. A wince screwing his face with every swallow he witnesses. And when you finish, you chug down your water and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

Another crack of lightning strikes, and then a low, lengthy rumble of thunder follows.

“That was… one of the best you’ve made, lak.” You say with a wobbly smile, slowly getting on your feet to wash your hands. The bucket is nearby your mate, who is still fixed in position. Although he remains unmoving, his eyes follow your every move. You shake your hands to dry them and shuffle over to Ralak and sit next to him.

“so… how do you feel?” You ask quietly, raising your hand to check if he’s feverish. He turns his head before your hand can make contact with his skin and his gaze locks onto the charred wood in the fire pit.

“Fine.” Ralak mutters.

Eyebrows pinching in confusion, you tilt your head to try and look him in the eye. Your brows relax when you come to the realisation that he’s already taken care of himself. And only Eywa knows how many times.

“You know, you didn’t have to do that. I would have—”

“Ma’ muntxate [my wife]”He croaks, swiftly turning his head to look directly into your eyes. “Oeru txoa livu [please forgive me].”

“Txoa? [forgive?] What for, ma’ muntxatan? [husband]”

“I have… neglected you.” He’s struggling to speak. You can hear it in the strain of his voice.

Regardless, none of his words are really making any sense to you right now. How has he been neglectful? Despite the circumstances, it’s obvious he’s been trying his hardest to be good to you. Somehow, even conjuring up the strength to pull out of you and walk away.

“Ralak. You have not. Please, I—”

“Look at yourself.” He snaps, taking a quick glance at your body before dropping his head in his hands.

Crack.

Conveniently, another strike of lightning and boom of thunder, revealing exactly what he’s talking about. For a few seconds, you’re met with the sight of your battered body—scabbed and bruised. You lift your head, staring at his shameful demeanour. But the more you stare, the more you see your own reflection.

“And have you looked at yourself?” Your words bounce as you shuffle closer to him. “I bet you can’t even feel all that damage I’ve done to you.” You coo, using your thumb to gently graze past an easy six-inch scratch mark on his bicep. “I haven’t been so gentle with you either.”

Ralak shakes his head, allowing it to sink further into his hands. “You were starved.” He mumbles into the palms of his hands.

You sigh, pulling your knees to your chest and resting your chin in the dip between them. Your eyes wander over to the fire pit, catching sight of the outline of a few fish rolls.

Has he really punished himself by not eating?

“Have you eaten?” You ask, resting a gentle hand on his back.

“No need.”

“You should, you know. Don’t want you starving on me, lak.” You say lightheartedly, allowing your hand to slide up his spine and to the base of his skull.

He lets loose a quiet groan, fighting the twitch of his ears. Your fingers smooth over the base of his kuru, playing with the braid encasing that covers it. “If you do that—”

“Do what?” You whisper coyly, quickly running your hand down the length of his kuru.

His spine immediately straightens, his head lifting from his hands. The tips of your fingers gently make their way to his tendrils, carefully teasing them as they try to wrap around your digits. He sucks in a sharp breath and closes his eyes, allowing a shiver to run through him. It feels like your fingers were inside his skull, tickling his brain in the best way possible.

Reaching for your kuru with your free hand, you bring it up and over your shoulder. You lean into Ralak, your lips only inches away from his. You pull away your fingers to grip and pull his queue forth. The loss of contact has him sitting up straight, opening his eyes to look at you.

“I will not let you suffer alone.” You whisper, lessening the distance between the two of you, tilting your head to the side ever so slightly. He stills himself, even limiting his own breath so as not to make any sudden moves. “Okay?”

You wait for just a moment. For him to say something. To move away. But he remains stock-still, waiting for you to initiate this. You smile, your top teeth briefly rubbing against this lower lip, and lock your lips with his. He exhales through his nose, coming to life from your kiss and returning it full force. You take this as a good sign. A sign that you’ve broken through that wall once again, and bring your kurus together — making tsaheylu [the bond].

Both your eyes fly open, blown pupils staring into one another as your spirits unify. You both pull back, shoulders and chests heaving from your quick, unsteady breaths. You feel all that he feels – the frustration, the panic, the tension. It’s all fading, now finally nearing the end. He feels your subsiding heat, your soreness, your overpowering urge to care for him.

Before another second could pass, your lips crash into each other again—tongues intertwining as they explore one another’s mouth. Using his hand to support your upper back, he slowly lowers you onto the woven floor, parting your legs with his free hand. He situates himself between them, pressing his crotch firmly against yours. He’s warm, just like the toasty fire pit next to you.

I will try to be gentle. Ralak thinks to you, just like he’s been promising to be night after night.

I know you will. You smile, moving your kisses down his jawline as he slides his hands between your sticky pelvises.

——

It hasn’t even been two full weeks since the synchronous heat that had you and your mate locked away in your marui pod for a little over two days. Your back and thighs–and honestly everywhere else– still ache but outside of that, you feel like a brand new person. You weren’t able to confidently say that Ralak feels the same way, however.

Of course, he was adamant on limiting intimacy until you were ‘healed and recovered’. But, he had a bounce in his step. As if he were physically lighter. As if the weight of six years of pent up sexual frustration and self neglect melted off his back when you satiated the ‘insatiable’.

The constant aftercare was almost sickening. Even after most of your marks had faded he remained adamant on treating them with your own omaticayan herbs from back home. He praised them at every use, thanking your people for making such exceptional ’umtsa [medicine].

But as you entered the second week, after tons of reassurance, things dissipated and went back to normal. Ralak went back to his usual routine—fishing, hunting, responding to a few calls to Tonowari and your father. Ralak, without a doubt, made a vow to you and himself not to initiate anything until you were more than healed. But nonetheless clung to you in the nights.

He even, in fact, added a new step into your usual nighttime regimen. As usual, it began with the snuggles and tucking you under his arm just right, providing you with enough warmth to endure the cool night air. Then, he would release the perfect amount of pheromones to get you drowsy enough for bed.

But recently, he’s spent the past seven nights delaying the nightly routine until he’s had his fill of your scent. He’d lay himself down on your chest, nuzzling his face into your bosom and just breathe. You allowed it, thinking it was his own newfound way to wind down for bed.

Yet, the real reason was much different.

——

Right on the two week mark, Tsireya had roped you in with helping her with some of her Tsakrem duties. You were always happy to help her though, as it meant getting away from the marui pod for a little even if it meant being poked and prodded at.

And it certainly didn’t take long for that to happen.

Tsireya lets out a frustrated sigh and plops the medicinal pouch she’s weaving in her lap. “I can no longer ignore it, y/n. You smell different.”

You lift your head, tearing your focus from your task of weaving and look at her with a puzzled expression on your face. You bring the end of your tail to your nose and sniff, but smell… nothing. “Like what?” Her brows lower and her eyes glisten with concern. She purses her lips and unsheathes the lengthy pin from its casing and grabs your hand. “Here we go.” You mutter to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut as you anticipate the sting.

Prick.

“Sss—ah! You need to be careful with how deep you go with that, you know. You could really—” The tsahik in training puts the wooden stick to her tongue and stares at you wide eyed, mouth agape. It’s as if she wants to speak but the words are lodged in her throat. “What? What is it?”

“You—perhaps I am wrong.” She stutters, quickly sheathing the tool back into its casing. “You should see my mother, y/n.”

“What? Why? Just tell me.” The words come out in a haste, and your voice is laced with panic. Do you have some sort of disease of the sea? Is there a cure?

“You — you are with child.” Her lips tremble as she says the words in an uncertain tone of voice.

“What?” You stare at her dumbfounded, a little caught off guard by her choice of words.

“Pregnant. You’re pregnant. But I am likely mistaken. I am only in training. Which is why I said you should see my moth—”

“Oh. No. You’re… you’re probably right, Tsireya.” You swallow the spit pooling in your cheeks, avoiding eye contact.

“H-How? I mean. I know how. But how? Surely Ralak knows not to do such a thing during your heat. He can control himself. R-Right?”

“Right. If I were the only one… in heat.” You say the last few words under your breath, fixing your shawl before picking back up your task.

“What do you mean?” Tsireya leans in with a tilted head, looking a little closer at your covered shoulder. “Did you help him with his rut?” Tsireya asks bluntly. “He’s been unmated for six years, y/n. Did you reall—”

“I am his mate. Of course I did.” You nearly snap, baffled by the tone she’s having with you.

“H-How did that even work?” Tsireya shakes her head, slowly raising her hand towards you.

“What is that supposed to mean?” You finally lift your head to shoot her a puzzled, yet offended stare. “It worked like it would for any other Na’vi.”

“Y/n…” Tsireya quickly grabs your shawl, pulling it off your shoulder to reveal a large, deep and scabbed up bite mark. It looks almost infected because of the strange omaticayan herbal concoction smeared over it. “You should have just let him ease you into it. Look at you, you’re all bruised and—”

“Tsireya.” You interject, “thank you for the concern, but—” you aggressively pull up your shawl, “I feel just fine. Besides, being in heat was the best way to ‘ease me into it’…He was as gentle as he could be.” You mutter, twiddling with the twine as you think back to the way he tried to handle you with care.

“By the looks of it, he was anything but gentle with you.” Tsireya seethes, angry that the man she grew up looking at like a brother would do something like this to you.

You wince at her words. They’re like a knife to the heart.

A long, awkward silence fills the space between you and Tsireya. She reflects on everything she’s said, realising that perhaps she was a little more harsh than needed. She softens her gaze, “I’m sorry. I should not have said that. I just hate seeing you hurt.”

“I get it. I know you’re just looking out for me. It’s alright, ‘reya.”

You exchange lighthearted smiles.

“You are definitely pregnant then. After six years, he must have really filled you—”

“Tsireya!” You laugh, giving her shoulder a light shove.

Tsireya’s grin morphs into a more serious expression. “See mother to make sure. Okay?”

Your smile also fades into something softer as you nod your head in agreement. “Okay.”

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mysteryshoptls · 10 days

Text

SSR Ruggie Bucchi - Platinum Jacket Voice Lines

When Summoned: Well, we're gettin' free admission, so... Guess it wouldn't hurt to look at the art while I'm here.

Summon Line: A supporter of the National Museum of Art, huh. Sure hope that title and the little gig that comes with it'll help me for future jobs.

Groooovy!!: Look at 'em, sharin' bugs and lazily singin' without a care in the world... Their little friendship must've been faaaantastic.

Home: Time to party! It's a 100th Anniversary!

Home Idle 1: Hey, looks like Cater-san's Magicam account just had a post update. Guess this's why he was snappin' that selfie in front of the Queen of Hearts' paintin'.

Home Idle 2: Azul-kun was yammerin' on about investin' in artwork, but even stuff by obscure artists go for hundreds of thousands of madol [thousands of thaumarks]... That's crazy high for an initial investment!

Home Idle 3: The Thorn Fairy was totally in the right to get angry. If I got denied a feast at a party, I'd never forgive that slight for the rest of my life!

Home Idle - Login: The Land of Dawning's National Museum of Art, huh... It's so biiig. I bet it takes forever to clean that they might be hirin' some part-timers at a good rate!

Home Idle - Groovy: The stuff Trey-san was talkin' about was actually pretty interestin'. Ya never know when a convo topic'll turn towards food!

Home Tap 1: Yeah, the best kinda person to work under's gotta be someone with status like the King of Beasts, what with his real deep pockets～

Home Tap 2: Can't believe this museum just passes out all these nice-lookin' outfits just to help promote the place... The Land of Dawning's just way too giving.

Home Tap 3: What's he talkin' 'bout, sayin' he remembers when this museum was still under construction...? Sometimes Lilia-san's lies are way too obvious.

Home Tap 4: He was strong enough to lift a mountain-sized bale of hay with only one hand, huh... I bet if I was that legendary child of the gods, it'd've been sooo easy for me to make a ton of money～

Home Tap 5: Wh-Why're you keepin' an eye on me like that...? C'mon, even I'm not gonna swipe and make off with any of the stuff in the exhibits, y'know?

Home Tap - Groovy: You're wantin' to go to the cafe together? If you're really hopin' to drink that super pricy coffee, here, give me some madol and I'll go get you a cup!

Duo: [RUGGIE]: I got high hopes for ya, Trey-san! [TREY]: Let's see what you can do too, Ruggie.

Birthday Login Message: Thanks for the birthday wishes! Sooo, I wonder whatcha got for mee~ Handmade donuts? Uh-huuuh. Y'know, I'm pretty particular about how my donuts taste... [chomps] Huhー this's so good...! How'd youー!? It's almost like it came from a... Ohhh, so these are handmade donuts from a pastry shop. That makes more sense.

Requested by Anonymous.

#twisted wonderland #twst #ruggie bucchi #trey clover #twst ruggie #twst trey #twst translation #twst birthday #mention: cater #mention: azul #mention: trey #mention: lilia

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bumblebeesfromvenus · 7 months

Note

Okay bestie listen here.

So bale!bruce wayne being stubborn and not letting you pay for ANYTHING. Literally spoiling the f- out of you. And the only thing he asks in return is your love. Just wanting to be loved and cherished by you!

you can do this WHENEVER you are free and feel like it, don't rush yourself bestie.

Okay ly!

You got the ol' gears turning, you did.

IT'S HERE <3

I have so many ideas how this could go, and I can't make up my mind. My head is this close to exploding omfg

It's in the works and it's gonna be good

Enjoy some rambly thoughts on this, in the meantime <3

◇He would totally take out every card and all the change in your wallet and replace it with his, so when you go to pay, you have no choice but to use his.

◇When he's out with you, he quickly swipes his card through the machine before you can even get yours out. You managed to catch him off guard one time, but by the time you were home, all the money you spent was already back in your account.

◇This man will literally pay for his own birthday present. He will do anything to stop you from paying for absolutely anything. You want new clothes? No problem. Expensive jewelry? Pfft, that's nothing. You're out, restocking your shampoos and other beauty products? He's got his card out and ready. He probably bought the whole store, to be honest. Forgot to get some ingredients for a meal you're cooking? He purchased the whole stock. He would spend his entire fortune on potatoes if they were for you.

◇God forbid it's your birthday. He will make it rain presents. Literally. One year, he made it rain diamonds. Actual, real diamonds. You have no idea how he pulled that off, but they got fucking everywhere. Alfred still complains about finding them to this day while cleaning.

◇He would fuck the ever living daylights out of you, clad in nothing but the expensive jewelry that he bought for you.

I'm working on a full fic, and it's gonna be scrumptious <3 ilyt Bestie!!

#bumblebeesfromvenus #vampkennedy #bale!bruce x reader #bale!bruce wayne #bale!batman x reader #christian bale #the dark knight #bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader

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allysunny · 3 months

Note

Hi Ally!! (Can I call you that?)

First of all,

*ahem*

CONGRATS ON 200 FOLLOWERS WOOOOOO✨️🩷🎉

I know that every single one is deserved, and I'm proud to be one as well 😌

I saw that you were doing a lil event to celebrate, so don't mind if I do!! 👀

I'd love it if you could write some much needed luv with Brucey! I picked 25+1 + g!

Imagine that Bruce and reader are just watching the stars, maybe either in the gardens of Wayne Manor or on top of Wayne Enterprises, and all Bruce can think is how beautiful reader looks under the shinning stars 🥹

Basically, Bruce is infatuated and he's smiling like an idiot!

You can add, take away stuff as you please, of course!

I'll wait as long as you need, so no pressure!

I'm excited to see what you come up with!!!

Much love,~ Fi 🐝

"You look stunning" / "You don't look so bad yourself" + "I love you" + Stargazing x Bale!Bruce Wayne

Words: 4k words

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff, friends-to-lovers, Bruce is a big sap and he's very much in love, stargazing and talks of stars (nothing too technical). This is extremely sweet, very corny and sappy and I live for it! Written with a female reader in mind, I'm sorry but I don't yet write for GN!Reader.

A/N: First of all, thank you very very much for the kind words!! YES, you can absolutely call me Ally! Everyone can! I agree that we need some love with Bruce because this man needs happiness pleasepleaseplease...

This was my first 200 Followers Celebration entry (which is still open and you can participate!), and I'm so happy that I got to write this scenario! We don't often get to see Bale!Batman being happy, so I hope I did him justice, and I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Took me some time because I had to sort out some uni stuff, but it's done and I really had fun with it!

I hope it is to your liking!

⁽ᵃˡˢᵒ, ˢᵐᵃˡˡ ᶠᵘⁿ ᶠᵃᶜᵗ, ⁱ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᵍᵒ ᵃˡᵒⁿᵍ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵐᵃᵍᵍⁱᵉ ᵍʸˡˡᵉⁿʰᵃᵃˡ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵃᶜᵗᵘᵃˡˡʸ ʳᵉᵃˡˡʸ ᵈⁱˢˡⁱᵏᵉ ʰᵉʳ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵒᵛⁱᵉ ˢᵒ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ⁱ ʷʳⁱᵗᵉ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ʳᵃᶜʰᵉˡ, ⁱ ᵃˡʷᵃʸˢ ᵖⁱᶜᵗᵘʳᵉ ᵏᵃᵗⁱᵉ ʰᵒˡᵐᵉˢ 😭⁾

Parties at Wayne Manor could be oh so dreadfully boring.

Bruce didn’t particularly enjoy them, nor did he even want to throw them, but he knew it was necessary to keep up appearances. Tonight, he celebrated his birthday.

The evening had been filled with fake smiles, polite nods, firm handshakes. “Happy birthday, Mr. Wayne”s here, “You’re looking more and more like your father each day”s there, “What a spendind party this is, Mr. Wayne!”s in the corner, and, if he was feeling particularly unlucky, a few “Ah, what a lovely Manor you have, Mr. Wayne. Such a shame you’ve been keeping its beauty from the world…”s somewhere.

He’d downed one or two glasses of champagne in a few gulps, finding it harder and harder to stand the people all around him, fake leeches who hung on his every word and command, enthralled by the promises of what his money and wealth might mean to him.

Well, all except for one.

You.

You’d been friends for a while. Bruce can’t pinpoint exactly what made him think of you as his best friend other than just a regular acquaintance, but he knew he would never give you up. You were the only person who saw him for he really was, who refused to kiss his ass and baby him, who told him things as they were instead of coddling him simply because his name implied he was to be so.

He felt disarmed when he was with you, able to say anything that went on his mind. He could be himself. Could crack terrible jokes that would have you throw pillows at his face, could drop the eccentric billionaire façade and be an annoying nerd (as you so often put it), just looking for some friendship. He could talk to you for hours on end about topics that weren’t his last name, his family, his money, or his status. He could ask you for book recommendations and be told he’d enjoy this one silly adventure book about spaceships and planes, as opposed to the boring non-fiction and autobiographies usually gifted to him, “a man of culture”.

He could ask you for good restaurants and you’d take him to small, barely noticeable cafes and places that served homemade food, instead of being offered reservations at Michelin worthy restaurants. He could be a regular person.

Every time he felt himself loose grasp of his identity when adorning the black suit, he was reminded by you of who he was. You didn’t know of his secret identity but could sense when he was particularly tired or trained and were always able to put a smile on his face and return his grip on reality.

He needed you by his side. You calmed him down. You cheered him up whenever he felt upset. You made him laugh whenever all he wanted to do was cry. You didn’t question him whenever he told you he needed space, instead providing him with just that. And as days went by, Bruce Wayne was not sure if he saw you as a mere friend anymore.

After all, friends don’t linger their gazes on each other’s lips for more time than deemed appropriate. Just friends don’t make up fake problems or fake dilemmas just to get the one to visit them (let’s be honest – “I don’t know where I put my remote” was a pretty pathetic excuse and Alfred mocked the hell out of him after you’d left).

In conclusion, he needed you. By his side, to cheer him up, to get him out of boring situations, close, smiling, laughing, happy, to hug him, to be with him, etc. He needed you.

Which was why he’d invited you to celebrate a date as important as his birthday.

Bruce never really minded his birthday. He usually spent it at work during the day, politely accepting the nice words people gave him, then got home, ate his favourite dish cooked by Alfred, and left right after to protect the city of Gotham.

But unfortunately, he just had to celebrate his birthday this year. He’d been cornered by a few Wayne Enterprises associates and tricked into throwing a hell of a party in his Manor. He just sighed and filled Alfred in on the conversation he’d had at work, instructing the older man to take care of the preparations.

And of course, he’d invited you. If there was anyone that could make this dreadful celebration just a bit more bearable, it’d be you. He invited his childhood friend Rachel Dawes as well, but she’s just announced her engagement to District Attorney Harvey Dent, and while they remained friends, he did not expect her to dedicate him all of her time (especially when everyone kept asking to see her ring and tell the wonderful story of how they met).

But the problem was, you were nowhere to be found.

He knew you had arrived, Alfred had told him so, but just as he was about to chase you down the huge area that served as a ballroom, he was interrupted by a few family friends. Seeing as these were some of the few families that were in genuine good terms with his parents, and not simply greedy leeches, he decided to chat with them, smiling genuinely at their compliments and quips.

But now it’d been a few hours, and he couldn’t find you. And the combination of all of the unwanted people, the general chatter, and the lack of the one person he wanted by his side were getting to his head. And perhaps the champagne as well, even though he hadn’t drunk nearly enough to be the slightest of tipsy. What if Gotham needed him?

“Ma’am, I’m sure your quest for the very much secret next Fabergé Egg is quite intriguing, but I have a few guests I need to tend to. Everyone wants a piece of the host, what can I say? Birthday boy privileges.” He charmed the woman with one of his most dazzling smiles and pried away from her gloved grip, looking around for his knight in black and white armour.

Quickly replying to every guest that throwed a comment his way, he reached Alfred, who was standing in the corner of the room, silently accessing the party.

“Another useless conversation with any of these bloodsucking idiots and I’m killing myself,” he muttered, grabbing a champagne flute from a passing maid, and chugging the whole thing in one go.

“And here I was thinking you’d probably die at the hands of some unruly criminal, wearing the cape and cowl. All that training and fighting in some remote location only for you to die at the hands of Gotham’s wealthiest?” Alfred said, his voice laced with sarcasm and brow quirked up.

“Well Alfred, get me out of this and I might just be able to die the way you envisioned me doing so.”

“By my hand, Master Wayne?”

“Exactly.”

The two men chuckled, and Bruce took another look around the room, before turning to his butler.

“Have you seen – “

“In the gardens.”

Bruce was halfway across the ballroom, shouting “Thank you!” before Alfred could say anything else.

It took a while for him to find you.

After all, the gardens were filled with people talking, catching up, and the occasional couple slobbering all over each other’s mouths, apologizing profusely once they saw the Manor’s owner stride past them.

“Bruce?”

He turned around and was met with Rachel’s smiling face.

“Running off so soon?” she asked, Harvey Dent’s unmistakable figure walking up next to her right after.

“Yes, well, one can only get so much attention before they start getting bored of it.”

Rachel gave him a sympathetic look, and shook her head, nudging it towards Harvey.

“You don’t have to pretend with us.”

With these words, a weight was lifted off Bruce’s shoulders. His posture wasn’t perfect anymore, and the charming, cocky smile left his lips.

“If I have to talk to one more person who wishes to know who the hell decorated the living room…” Bruce sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

“I get it,” Harvey said, shaking his head. “If only people were interested in something other than how much I spent on Rachel’s ring, I’d feel more inclined to interact with them.”

Bruce nodded and smiled in understanding, before looking around. He thought he’d glanced at a very familiar face, but unfortunately, it wasn’t you.

“Looking for someone?” Rachel asked with a knowing smile.

“Yeah, actually, have you seen – “

“She was near the apple tree in the back.”

“Thank you.” Bruce nodded and all but sprinted towards the place, leaving Rachel to giggle with a rather confused Harvey.

“Who’s he talking about?” he asked.

“A “friend” of his,” Rachel replied nonchalantly.

“He seemed rather eager to see this friend of his. Surely that’s not all there is to her.” He chuckled; brow quirked up.

“And that, Harvey, is what everyone else but the two of them have figured out.”

Bruce did not hear what his friend had said, but if he did, he’d have gently corrected her.

Because he had, in fact, figured out whatever he felt about you.

Mostly.

He knew he liked you, that’s for sure.

He liked your smile. He liked your personality. He liked how your nose wrinkled up whenever you were cooking. He liked how your eyes sparkled whenever he gifted you a new volume of a book series you’d been collecting, or the way your laughter resonated across the Manor whenever you beat him at videogames. He liked how you always stopped to pet cats and dogs on the street, and how you made funny faces at babies in the supermarket.

He liked how his Manor, although big and empty, seemed full of life with you in it. Even if you were cuddled up on one of his couches, watching a movie, he always thought of it was warmer and more inviting just from your mere presence. He liked it when you massaged his head, thumbs circling his forehead so gently that he often found himself falling asleep in your lap. He liked your touch – found it addictive. Pulling you close to him on the street to protect you from traffic, hugging you every time he saw you, having you throw fake punches at him whenever he told a terrible joke.

He likes you. That much is clear.

But why was it so damn hard admitting that to you?

His steps slowed down as he approached a very familiar apple tree. Wayne Manor had plenty of beautiful plants and trees, much more so than this one. But there was something about it that always caught your eye. Not to mention, it was near a secluded area of the gardens, and you had always been fond of hiding in there. “It makes me feel at peace”, you told him.

Sure enough, that’s where he found you. Staring at the night sky, pretty locks of hair carefully styled with a few flower clips, hands resting one on top of the other behind your back.

You turned to him, shaken up by the sound of footsteps, and he took you in.

And, wow.

To say you looked beautiful would’ve been a crime - such a word couldn’t do you justice.

You wore a sparkly silver gown that pooled softly at your feet, your form modestly accentuated. Two silver straps held it at the front, coming together in a flattering cleavage. Your back was on display, and Bruce had to control himself not to touch it with his bare hands. You looked lovely, your silhouette shining beneath the stars. Their gentle glow was casting a perfect light on you, making you look even more like the celestial bodies you were admiring.

“Bruce?” you asked, tilting your head slightly.

Bruce shook his head, grounding himself.

“Yes. Hey – hey.”

“Cat got your tongue? I said happy birthday,” you smiled and walked up to him, silver dress twinkling with each step you took.

It was as if all of you were made of pure, sheer, dazzling starlight.

“Won’t your guests miss you?”

Bruce approached you halfway and gave you a shrug.

“Probably. Doesn’t mean I’m going to miss them.” This earned a smile from you, and Bruce found himself smiling too. His gaze lingered on your face for a while, before descending once more and taking your lovely figure in again.

“You look stunning,” he said, and you seemed to blossom at his praise.

“Thank you. You don’t look so bad yourself.” And he didn’t. With his black tux and matching bow, he was the picture of elegance and charm. And that disarmingly charismatic smile of his was helping him a long way. There was a reason of course, women fawned over his good looks.

“What are you doing out here?” Bruce asked nodding his head towards the night sky, the one you had been looking at.

“I couldn’t take it in there anymore. It was way too loud, and everyone was way too fake,” you rolled your eyes and sighed. “And the sky is looking far too beautiful tonight. At least here I won’t be disturbed.”

“Well, I did just disturb you, so I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“I wouldn’t call it disturbing. Your presence is always welcome.”

For a while, the two of you stood side by side, just watching as the sky glittered above. It was peaceful and quiet, and everything Bruce had wanted for his birthday. A nice, uneventful evening with you by his side.

“I can’t believe you can actually see the stars tonight,” Bruce mumbled, genuinely impressed. Usually, as the industrial and active city it was, one never got to see the stars thanks to smoke, lights, or other manmade obstacles. But tonight, the sky was clear and bright, and no clouds were in sight.

“Right?” you smiled, pointing at the sky above you. “Look over there – see that one?”

“Which?” Bruce squinted.

“That one – the kyte.”

“Ah. Yes. I do.”

“That’s the Big Dipper.”

“And the other one next to it?”

“That’s the Small Dipper. Can you see that bright star at the end of it?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s Polaris, the Polar Star. It’s supposedly the brightest star in the night sky.”

“I can think of something brighter,” he muttered stealing a glance at you.

You leaned against him and spoke of constellations and stars to him. Told him the myths that surrounded each one, how far they were from the Earth, how they’d come to be discovered. The party had been long forgotten by the two of you, and after a few minutes of discussing each constellation and their origin, you fell into a comfortable silence, just happy to listen to the happy sounds of crickets and the soft wind brushing against the trees.

“I got you something,” you said, breaking the silence after a while.

He turned to you as you opened your purse and pulled out a small, rectangular object carefully wrapped in golden wrapping paper.

“I know it’s not much – “

“[Y/N]”

“Shush! I know it’s not much, but I worked hard to find it.”

You handed him the small package and he was careful to not rip the whole thing open. Bruce carefully removed a book from inside, and his eyes widened.

“The Great Gatsby?”

“Open it.”

He did, and his eyebrows nearly rose to his hairline.

“Is this?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mhm.”

Bruce carefully touched the inked paper, eyes going over F. Scott Fitzgerald’s words over and over again.

“Where’d you find this?” he asked with a smile.

“That’s a secret. But it’s been quality checked a few times, and I can guarantee it’s the real deal.”

“So, with “It’s not much”, you meant you were giving me a signed copy of The Great Gatsby?”

“You deserve more than that, Bruce.”

In a heartbeat, he had embraced you tightly. You rested your head in the crook of his neck, standing on your tiptoes to wrap your arms around him. Overcome with joy, Bruce spun you around once your twice, and you laughed loudly, holding onto him for dear life.

“Be careful Bruce – shit, don’t drop me!” You protested in between giggles.

Bruce came to a stop, and looked right into your eyes, the world’s biggest grin playing on his lips. It’d been a while since you’ve seen him laugh so freely. Such occurrences were rare – Bruce wasn’t one to smile, not really. But when he did, it was a lovely thing. Not one of his fake smiles, the ones practiced in front of a mirror to impress rich folks and Gotham socialites – the real ones, the ones he gave you in special, true moments like these.

You’d do anything to see him smile like this more often.

“I’d never drop you,” his voice dropped to a whisper, and he swore he could see one hundred stars in the spark of your eyes. In fact, the stars in the sky did not hold a candle to your beauty, no celestial body would ever be more fascinating than your eyes. He was sure astronauts had to be wrong – how did they want to explore the galaxy, when there was one right here, staring into him?

“I know,” you whispered back, hands still on his chest. “I trust you.”

He waited for a minute, eyeing the contours of your face, memorising the way your mouth parted and how soft strands of hair fell on top of your forehead. You stood still, still observing the smile that never left his lips.

“Do you?” He broke the silence.

“Hm?”

“Trust me.”

“Of course I do. I’ll always trust you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise, Bruce. Always.”

“Please remember those words after I do what I’m about to do.” He chuckled and leaned in, brushing his lips against yours in a silent request. Your breath hitched and you looked up at him, to find his eyes closed. You were inches away from him, and yet, he refused to move any further.

“Tell me it’s not just me,” he whispered. You could feel his warm breath on your skin, and it sent goosebumps all over your body. “Tell me the way I feel about you is not one-sided. But if it is – “ and you swore you felt him tense, “I’ll leave it alone. We’ll forget this ever happened; we’ll go back to being friends. But please, just tell me.”

You took shaky breaths, still feeling dazed from being so close to him.

Bruce remained with his eyes closed – he didn’t have it in himself to look at you, not right now. He was far too scared of what he might find in your eyes. Regret, disgust, hate. He couldn’t deal with it.

But the worst thing was the silence. Weren’t you going to say something? Were you going to taunt him forever? He could feel your body against his hands, soft skin sending shivers down his spine, so he knew you hadn’t left yet. Why weren’t you replying?

He got his answer when you pressed closer against him, and he felt your lips on his.

Bruce had fantasised about how his first kiss with you would be, but nothing prepared him for this moment. It was as if you were made for him, slotting perfectly against your body, hands on the small of your back, bringing you closer while your hands rested on his cheeks. Your lips moved in unison, as if speaking a language of their own, and Bruce felt slightly lightheaded.

You tasted sweet – probably from the chocolate covered strawberries you’d no doubt been stealing inside, and wanted to savour them, savour you, for as long as he could.

When you two parted for air, he pressed his forehead against yours, finally opening his eyes. The view was breathtaking; your lips were puffy and parted, your eyes were big and wide, pupils dilated and sparkling in the moonlight. Bruce swore you’d never been so beautiful.

And then he smiled, widely, and burst into chuckles like a lovesick teenager.

“You look beautiful. Have I told you this yet?”

“You have,” you replied, caressing the skin of his cheek. He leaned into your touch, pressing a tender kiss on your palm. “You do too. I love to see you smiling. You should smile more often.”

“Like this?” he asked, pointing at his grin.

“Yes – exactly like that. I could see you smiling more often. And I bet Alfred could too.”

Bruce grinned and kissed your forehead. After, he kissed each of your cheeks, and then the palm of your hand, and then the back.

“As long as you’re by my side, I’m sure I’ll smile much more often.” He confesses.

“Well,” you brought his body closer to you, and all Bruce could think of was how stunning you were, how beautiful you looked, how lucky he was to hold a star in his hands. “I don’t plan on leaving, Birthday Boy.”

It was so uncharacteristic of him. He never smiled this often, and certainly, never for this long, but Bruce couldn’t help it. He was happy. He had you, right there and then with him. Everything was well – more than well, everything was perfect. So why wouldn’t he smile?

His heart was getting fuller and fuller, and he blurted out the next words, without giving them much thought.

“I love you.”

You stared at him, eyes wide, surprise written all over your face.

And Bruce kept speaking, because for once, he was not at a loss for words, he knew exactly what to say.

“I think I’ve loved you ever since I first saw you. I love you and the way you brighten my days and make me feel like something when I can barely get out of bed. I love how you always manage to pick up the pieces whenever I’m shattered and never make me feel responsible for it. I love you. I love your beautiful face, your bright mind, your kind soul, your feisty spirit. I love you – I think I have for a long time, but I’ve never had the courage to tell you. But tonight – this party – you – it's made me realise something. This is Gotham. I could wake up tomorrow, and you’d be gone. I’d be gone. Anything could happen in this city. And I can’t let them happen without you knowing how I feel about you. I’m not expecting an answer back; I know this is a lot of information. And I know I come with a lot of baggage. There’s a lot about me you don’t know, and I haven’t told people to keep them away and keep them safe. But, if you’ll have me, I promise to spend the rest of my days making it all worth it. I will love you and take care of you forever, I promise. I love you, [Y/N].”

You looked at him, and Bruce saw your eyes sparkle with unshed tears. Had he scared you off? Were you upset? He reached out to hold your face, ready to wipe the tears away should they fall.

“I’m sorry. That was too much, wasn’t it?”

“I… I think I love you too.” You replied. The tears did not roll very far down your face, because Bruce was there to wipe them away. And in that moment, you knew he would always be there, be it to catch you, or wipe away your tears, or hold you close. “I really do.”

Bruce’s smile only widened, and he picked you up once again, spinning you around in the darkness of the garden. Your dress floated around you, like a shooting star’s trail, and he laughed loudly. He hadn’t felt this happy, truly happy in a big while. You joined him in laughter, and he put you down carefully.

“Thank you.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“For what?”

“For the perfect birthday gift.” Bruce bent down to capture your lips once more, and stare into your eyes. “You look like starlight tonight. You look perfect. And I’m the luckiest man in the world.” He smiled and kissed you again, because the stars were shining, and you looked beautiful, and his heart was full.

Bruce Wayne didn’t smile very often. But how could he not, when you rivalled the stars up above, and were his, and made his heart burst with joy?

A/N: And that's it! I hope you guys liked it! I'm afraid it was a tiny bit rushed - please do tell if it was. I hope it lived up to the expectations!

Thank you very much for reading, and I hope you have an amazing day ahead!

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne x you #bale!bruce wayne #bale!batman x reader #bale!batman #bale!bruce wayne x reader #the dark knight #the dark knight trilogy #nolanverse #the dark knight fanfiction #nolanverse fanfiction #bruce wayne fanfiction #batman fanfiction #batman x reader #batman x fem!reader #bruce wayne x fem!reader

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callsignfate · 4 months

Text

rustic charm

Day Seventeen of Writemas/Birthday posts!

If you want to see the scheduled posts go here If you want to see more posts like this go here

TW: None? If I've missed any let me know!

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡ Kate needed a break from the city and its people. The endless buildings and standard scenery were boring her. After a friend of a friend mentioned they had a place for her to enjoy the countryside, that's exactly what she did.

The car's tires crackled and dug into the rocks and dirt as she pulled into the driveway, driving slowly down it as she saw cows starting to walk towards the fence she was driving next to, mooing loudly.

She stopped at a big red house that sat in the back of the property. An older man patted what Kate assumed was his daughter on the shoulder and said something before he and the woman next to him climbed into a truck and left as Kate parked.

She stepped out, slapped in the face by the smell of cow manure piled nearby. Her face contorted into a small expression of disgust as you walked up to her.

"Welcome, darlin'. I heard you were the city girl coming to help on the farm?" You asked, trying to stifle a laugh at her face of disgust from the smell. "It's manure day; people are coming to collect it for their fields," you added with a smile as you put your hand out to shake hers.

"Nice to meet you. I'll be showin' you around the place and teachin' you how to do the farm chores," you added before she took your hand.

"Nice to meet you too," Kate muttered with a polite smile until she jumped slightly as she felt a wet, cold sensation on her exposed ankle.

"Oh, that's wee Lass, call her Lassie. Go on, git'," you said swatting the air slightly before she ran back towards the field. "She's good, just nosey. Let's grab your bags, and you'll be staying in the room next to mine," you said as you opened the car's trunk and started grabbing the bags as you spoke.

"Oh, you don't have to—I've got it," Kate said, trying to help you grab her bags.

"Oh, it's alright, darlin'. Let's get inside before all of the cows come runnin' over; they get loud when they want attention," you said with a small laugh before you easily carried the bags to the house.

"Thank you," Kate said, noticing how easily you carried the bags, how willing you were to help, and how sweet you were to her right away.

"Hope my car treated you alright; left it at the airport for you last night. Hope the drive wasn't too long, and don't worry about it; these are lighter than the hay bales I throw around," you said with another small laugh. As you led Kate into the house, she couldn't help but feel a sense of relief from the city's hustle and bustle. The country air, even with a hint of manure, was a welcome change. Inside, the atmosphere was warm and inviting. A mix of rustic charm and modern conveniences made the house feel like a comfortable haven.

"You've got a beautiful place here," Kate remarked, genuinely appreciating the simplicity and authenticity of the farmhouse.

"Ah, thank you, darlin'. It's been in the family for generations. Now, let me show you around," you said, leading her through the cozy living room, where the scent of fresh wood lingered. The walls adorned with family photos told a story of a life rooted in the land.

The kitchen was spacious and well-equipped, and the view from the window revealed the vast greenery stretching out to meet the sky.

As Kate settled into the room next to yours, she took note of the carefully chosen furnishings and the thoughtfulness in every detail. It was evident that you cared for the place deeply. The next morning after Kate fell asleep in the homey feeling space she was shocked to hear soft knocks before she welcomed you in to the room before her eyes glanced out the window to see it was still dark. "Time to get up, cows need some hay, and some feed the chickens need to be let out of the coop, the waterers need to be filled, the ducks need some food, the pig wants his feed and some treats." You listed off the chores as you carried in some overalls, a pair of tall rubber boots, and a thick shirt for her to wear.

"mornin' dear," you greeted her with a cheerful smile as she finally sat up in the bed. "The farm waits for no one, you know? Time to embrace the country routine."

Kate, still half-asleep, nodded in acknowledgment. "Alright, I'm up. But can I just say it's still practically the middle of the night?"

You chuckled. "City time and farm time don't always sync up. But trust me, once you get used to it, you won't mind the early starts. Its already 4:45am, I usually start at 4:00."

With a good-natured grumble, Kate changed into the farm-appropriate attire you provided. The overalls were a bit big on her, but the boots fit perfectly. As she followed you outside into the pre-dawn darkness, the fresh, crisp air invigorated her senses.

The farm was a different world at this hour. The stars still shone brightly, and the moon cast a soft glow over the fields. The sounds of the animals awakening gradually filled the air.

You demonstrated each chore patiently, explaining the routine of caring for the animals. The cows lowed in the distance, the chickens clucked in their coop, and the rooster crowed loudly in the distance.

By the time the sun painted the sky with hues of pink and gold, Kate had forgotten the early hour. The simplicity and purposeful work had a grounding effect. The connection to nature and the animals made the chores more fulfilling than she could have imagined.

As you both finished up the morning tasks, you turned to Kate with a satisfied grin. "See, not so bad, is it? The farm has its own magic, especially when you're a part of it."

Kate, though tired, couldn't help but smile back. The exhaustion was different, a result of meaningful work and a closeness to the land she had never experienced before. The simplicity, the authenticity, and your warm companionship made her appreciate the charm of farm life.

As you headed back to the house, Kate realized that the farm, with its early mornings and hard work, had become a place of solace. And in you, she found not just a farm guide but a friend who welcomed her into this world with open arms.

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡

A/N: I may have a Pt. 2 to this and a version where Kate is the farmer! I do live on a farm so this was just something fun to write and if you think the accent is written poorly its because I've never written my own accent (I have one sadly). I also am 21 today! yay?

If you want to see the scheduled posts go here If you want to see more posts like this go here

#kate laswell #kate laswell x reader #laswell #call of duty laswell #laswell cod #laswell mw2 #kate laswell fluff #kate laswell x you #kate laswell x fem!reader #kate laswell cod #kate laswell call of duty

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lunavadash-creates · 11 months

Note

Next idea reffering to the latest message. The reader gives them their necklace as a lucky charm and some kind of promise to come back to them right before they go on a mission/battle?

You know my favorite characters, but feel free to write for characters you like to write about.

🔪

After weeks/months/years of silence, I am back.

Thank you Knifey for believing in me when I couldn't believe in myself! I hope you will enjoy it!

Altaїr

„Why are you giving me this?” he was so surprised when you suddenly gave him a turquoise

The stone was in the shade of summer sky, covered with a thin web of darker veins, it was held in place by a black, leather strap

“It should give you protection, especially that I won’t be there with you”

It didn’t matter that he wasn’t the one to believe in the magical power of colourful stones, he was just happy to have a gift from you

He immediately put it around his neck, secretly happy that he will be able to have a piece of you wherever he goes

“Thank you” he would say while hugging you and leaving a gentle kiss on your temple

“Promise me you will be careful and that you will come back to me”

“I shall”

After that, he thought about what to give you in return

During his missions, he was learning about different stones and when he found out that turquoise was really supposed to give peace and protection, he felt like his heart skipped a beat

It took a long time but finally, he managed to find the perfect stone – one that you then wore to the end of the time

Shay

The Morrigan was docked in the port for a week now and you were bored

As not-yet-the-official-templar you weren’t allowed to attend the meetings and all the weird shenanigans Shay had to take part in

It’s not like you cared a lot about politics but it was boring all alone

Like sure shopping and eating nice food was great after weeks at the sea but you missed your love

That day you were on the shore, enjoying the sun and the warm weather, baling barefoot on the wet sand, allowing the ocean to wash around your feet

At one point you found a clam

It had a pearl inside

And only by a total accident you also knew that Shay will have a birthday soon

It took a bit to find the right blacksmith but he agreed, after getting some additional coins, to put priority on your order

You made a sketch of what you wanted – a silver four-leaf clover with this small pearl inside

“It’s for good luck,” you said while giving him the present

The grin on his face widened

“I make my own luck”

And then he spent half of the night thanking you for a beautiful gift

Arno

He doesn’t really like getting gifts

Unless a gift is a cup of coffee

Honestly giving him a gift is such a pain as he has almost everything he wants

Like seriously he grew up rich and as a Café Theatre owner he doesn’t really complain about the lack of money to spend

One day he comes back home and tells you he has a mission in Germany so he will be away for a few weeks

He also asked you to take care of the Café in his absence as he trusts you the most

It broke your heart that he will be away for so long so you desperately thought about something to make him remember his home and you

At one point you found a weird man from a land far far away who was selling some goods

Among them, there was a little Rhodochrosite. A pink crystal in a shape of an obelisk hanging on a silver threat

This man piqued your curiosity so you listen to the story of the spiritual meaning of the stone

You came back home with this necklace just to find Arno packing his clothes

You hugged him from behind, not really wanting to let him go so far away without you

“I have something for you”

“I hope it’s a cup of coffee”

“I don’t want you to go. But also, I cannot stop you so… please, have it with you. It’s a Rhodochrosite and it means compassion and love. They say it clears away emotional wounds and scars from the past. With it… you will come back to me eventually, right?”

There was a moment of silence and you thought Arno wasn’t really happy

It was until he hugged you so tightly, he almost took your breath away

“It is so much better than coffee. I swear I will come back to your Cherie”

He kept his promise

Edward

The crew was preparing your ship to set sails

Right next to your there was Jackdaw, also getting ready to head toward the endless blue

While sitting on the railing you watched the blond man, your friend and lover, ready to leave for a mission that will take him god-knows-where

You were holding a coin in your hand frantically flipping it through your fingers

“Hey, Kenway!” you shouted, to catch his attention. Despite the sound of waves crashing against the shore, he heard you and immediately turned around, just in time to catch the object that flew his way

It was a golden coin with jackdaw on it and a little hole at the top, through which run a leather strap

He raised his head only to see you holding the twin coin, already on your neck

“This is a promise, Kenway. Better come back and find me after the job is done” you threaten, but actually, you were afraid that the endless ocean will be too much of a gap between you and the bond you shared would be severed

Edward put the necklace with a coin on and then sent you one of his smirks

“I will find you even at the edge of the world, Lass! And you better have the second coin prepared for me!”

#assassin's creed #arno dorian #altair ibn la ahad #edward kenway #shay cormac #shay patrick cormac #assassins creed unity #assassins creed black flag #assassins creed 1 #ac1 #ac black flag #ac unity #assassins creed rogue #ac rogue #luna writes

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normmacdonald · 6 months

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Norm MacDonald on Bob Dylan Pt II

"He mostly listens to music now, but when he talks, it's like poetry. But he's done writing it down. His eyes are narrow as hell and his voice is rough from years of fine whiskey. It's his birthday but you wouldn't know it. He doesn't believe in such things.

He doesn't like shaking hands. When you've had to do it a million times, you let your hand go limp, so the other guy follows suit. He thinks he's just a vessel, a cipher. But he knows he's the best by far. And he knows he'll be the best there ever was. But, for now, he just listens to other music. He nods a lot, but sometimes winces at a bad line. Not that I would know which is the bad line and which isn't.

Told him I saw Neil Diamond. No response, frightening stare.

He likes CDs, hates vinyl, hates people who like vinyl. Won't sign his name or stand for a picture. He says he's said all he ever has to say and I can see what he means. A man who's given all the great words he has and now stays silent.

I got lots of songs I wrote through the years. Too scared to show him. Too scared to show [mutual friend] Billy Joe [Shaver], too. But Billy Joe, he said, show them to me. But not him. He has no interest. I guess, even after all this time, I know the fellow in the guard shack better. Don't know why I get summoned to silence. Billy Joe, when I'm with him, it's like he could fight me at any minute, just for the fun of it, but not him.

He asks me questions about my jokes, and I don't know how he knows them. He quotes some sometimes, always without laughter, and a stare as hard as kerosene.

'You ever vote,' says I.

'Never. Against anyone with power over me, why should I vote a man in so he can have power over me?' says he.

'What about a God, then?' says I.

'What day is it today?' says he, and, finally, the shadow of a smile crosses his worn countenance. I know if he's gonna talk, this is about the only thing of interest. He likes music but won't talk about it. Not with the likes of me. Not with the likes of me.

We went out once. Out of the house. Me and him and a guy named Ray and another man driving and he looked out the window at the world. I know he used to walk the streets, and I know he used to love that. But now the world was what he saw through tinted windows. Tinted windows in the back seat of a long, long car. Tinted windows in the back seat of a car.

The driver got us burgers from in and out. When we finished eating he decided he'd tell a story. I always thought he liked me because I hardly ever talk. All I ever really do is listen. And he told a story, a story about a shark. And he said he knew a man who was a session man and a shark took away that man's arm.

And just as his story ended, the car stopped and a one-armed man come running from his house and jumps in the car. And he smiles at the one-armed man. And he says, 'Tell these boys the story, the whole story.' And so the one-armed man does and we are all spellbound. All but him, who looks out the window with his baleful stare.

And now so many ones have vanished, so many have been banished, so many simply died, and now it's just him and me. If you never break the rules, then you will earn his trust. If you break them, you're as dead as rust.

What I like about him most is he's impressed by nothing and nobody. He says all music is owned by everyone, and the writer don't own what he gives away. I don't even know if he knows how old he is. He's doing real well, that much I know."

Norm posted this on Twitter in 2015, sometime shortly after posting part I, and then deleted it a few hours later.

For context, he and Bob really were mutual fans of each other and it seems to be true that Norm once spent two days at Bob's house. But to exactly what extent this is real and to what extent it's an avid fan's satire of Bob's public image we will never know.

#it's so much funnier not to know BUT I'll throw out my two cents that it's probably a few kernels of truth wrapped in satire #that was the vibe of his 'memoir' and I think it's where his comedy thrived #surreal and bizarre in the realest most human way possible #norm macdonald #bob dylan

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geesenoises · 1 year

Text

wip snip

i've been kind of protective of letting bits of my ex-wireless fic out into the world, a little because it was supposed to be secret for wireless and a little because it's my baby. but! i got tagged for a wip snip by @tackytigerfic @sorrybutblog and @saintgarbanzo and i really can't say no to their combined powers. also, i think it's time to get back to writing this after an extended break, and some gentle peer pressure/enthusiasm might be exactly what i need.

And that’s how Draco finds himself getting ready to go out the night before his actual birthday—”We’ll still be out at midnight, obviously,” Potter had explained. He’s just finished when Potter knocks on his door. Draco opens it to find him dressed not in his usual ill-fitting t-shirt and joggers uniform, but in a pair of dark jeans with a t-shirt that actually fits. His hair is still a mess, so it’s not a complete transformation, but it’s a welcome step up—especially if Draco is going to be seen with him in public.

“I didn’t even know you owned clothes that fit properly,” Draco remarks while they head to the entrance of the house.

“It was the weirdest thing. That night you made me clean my glasses, I looked in the wardrobe and there were all these new clothes I hadn’t been able to see before,” Potter says, grinning over his shoulder at Draco.

It occurs to Draco that he has his answer. This is what it’s like to be friends with Harry Potter, having him cook you dinner and take you out for your birthday and smile at you while he makes jokes. “You know, I thought being friends with you would involve more danger and sneaking about.”

Beside him, Potter flinches slightly but remarks in a light tone, “It’s still early. We have all night to get to that.”

They squeeze through the rush of people coming out of the West 4th Street subway station to descend down the stairs for their train. Draco can hear the train arriving and hurriedly swipes his card and pushes through the turnstile. He hears Potter get stuck, banging into the unyielding bar when the reader refuses to take his card. “Come on, Potter. We’re going to miss the train.”

“This isn’t the Hogwarts Express. We’ll just wait for the next one.”

“I’m not spending any more time on that disgusting platform than I have to.” Draco peers down the stairs. The train is coming to a stop and if Draco doesn’t want to have to navigate through a crowd of people climbing the stairs out of the station, he has to move now.. “Figure out your card situation or jump the turnstile or something, Potter.” Draco runs down the stairs to the train platform with Potter cursing behind him.

He just makes it, the doors of the train opening while he takes the last few steps. A fast moving crowd soon starts to swarm up the steps while Draco stands halfway through the closest set of doors, angling his body to block the doors from closing. They push against him twice before Potter finally appears, barreling down the stairs, spotting Draco, and running into the train car.

“What was that you said about danger?” Potter murmurs, with a little nod to the rest of the train. Draco looks around to see several baleful glares briefly levelled at the two of them before they turn back to their phones and books. Draco can’t help himself. He laughs, causing a couple of the glares to jerk back up to roll their eyes at him. Even Potter’s suppressing a laugh when the train jerks into motion, throwing him off balance and knocking him right into Draco, pinning him against the closed doors. For a second, they’re startled, still smiling at each other until Potter rights himself and grabs on to a metal pole for support with a muttered apology while the train speeds through the tunnel.

can you tell where they are? 😉

no pressure tagging @sweet-s0rr0w @ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm @basicallyahedgehog @makeitp1nk all of whom either have already read this or knew of this thing's existence

#wip snip #drarry #my writing #the sharing reluctance was also a little bit 'i need to rewrite this whole thing better'#but you know how it is #and while we're at it let's not lie #it was also a tiny bit me enjoying being a mysterious little shit

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spacepandar · 9 months

Text

tagged by @ruby-red-inky-blue (thank you! i love movies :D)

rules: post 10 of your favourite comfort movies then tag 10 people

Robin Hood: Men in Tights — there were countless summers I spent with my brothers and we all sat together and we all enjoyed this ridiculous movie. we didn’t truly understand all of the jokes and 1990s pop culture reference, but boy did we laugh out loud the whole time.

2. Pride & Prejudice — this one just hits all the right chords for me. i still love and am Mr. Darcy.

3. Howl’s Moving Castle — I remember gravitating towards this movie when it first released because I saw Christian Bale was listed as a voice actor. And then I just made this ghibli movie part of my personality and you all have to deal with it.

4. The Nightmare Before Christmas — another movie from my childhood. It was released on VHS (vhs!!!!) on my birthday, but my mom bought it as a gift for my older brother’s b-day two-weeks later. It’s safe to say I enjoyed it more than he did. I feel a little cringe admitting how much this movie comforts me but I’m trying to get over that.

5. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II: The Secret of the Ooze — we’re not getting away from my childhood just yet. Another movie my brothers and I loved immensely. Also filipino Ernie Reyes Jr?!? Someone who looked more like us than any other actor we bothered to recognize as kids? We all wanted to be like Ernie in this movie.

6. Kung Fu Hustle — also enjoyed the crap out of this one with my brothers. See this trend here? I talk about this in therapy. But, it’s got two things I love: martial arts and comedy. So good

7. Tangled — after swearing I’d never enjoy another animated musical again for some weird reason, this movie came out and i watched it again and again and again.

8. Alice in Wonderland — during a really hard part of my young adult life, I watched/listened to this movie a lot because something about it made me feel comfortable.

9. 101 Dalmatians — another movie I had on repeat that I also watched a lot as a kid. I still want a house full of dalmatians.

10. Little Women — the most recent of the bunch. i watched this for Saoirse Ronan, and then all of these old memories I had of watching the Winona Ryder version came up and I just. I can sit and watch these and for a 90-120 minutes I forget about my real life troubles and I’m just calm.

of course, share only if you’d like: @ladytharen @scoundrels-in-love @allatariel @jedi-bird @freebooter4ever @gretamaya @freshgratednutmeg and anyone else that would like to be tagged :D

#things i’m tagged in #favorite movie

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valeriasfragments · 5 months

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Pyrokinesis or: Understanding Fractured Memory

The house down the street is on fire and I think I did it. I think I am one of those fire psychic people, what's it called? Pyrokinesis the internet tells me. Or maybe I'm crazy, what would be the difference anyway?

Anyhow, I think I started the fire but I can't be sure because my memory can't be trusted and while I don't remember going into the building and lighting a match but I can't say I didn't not do it, you know? Brains are temperamental things and prone to forgetting upsetting things.

Oh, right, anyway, I think I started it with my mind. You see every day I walk to work and I cross East Hampton street and at the top of East Hampton is Von Strauss Manor, a very large, very old house with something like 10 bedrooms or whatever.

And every morning I stop and I stare at Von Strauss Manor from the bottom of East Hampton where it ends at Charleston Lane and while staring at it, catching my breath from all the walking, and I imagine what it would look like engulfed in flames. And on the way home from work tonight my wish came true.

Von Strauss Manor started life as a landowner's house and through the years property exchanged hands, people died, inheritances were had and now Von Strauss Manor was on fire and I think it was my fault. I would apologize but I would do it again and again, that house knows what it did wrong.

You see, while staring at the monstrosity of a mansion with a baleful stare, imagining the fire licking the air, and before I know it the flames were there. And I didn't mean to actually harm the house, but it looked at me with a sinister gaze.

I felt threatened. It was an act of self defense. Manslaughter in the first degree with pyrokinesis. Well I guess houseslaughter, does that exist? Probably not. They'll write a whole new section of law for this. I don't think pyrokinesis is technically illegal... or legal.

I think they call that a "technical gray area" or something like that. Anyway, I'm sure I will be the catalyst for this houseslaughter legislature, they're always making laws to punish queers like me.

But... Also... Why do I remember marble flooring and a sauna and hot tub? Why do I get flashes of a big rear projection TV and one of those sound systems with the big speakers you always see at Radio Shack in their gaudy tech display? Why the specifics?

I am unsure, but I am sure of one thing: my brain was rearranged by a drunk redneck in a bar fight outside Tupelo, Mississippi sometime in July 1979. Why do I remember that date but never any birthdays or anniversaries or any of the government holidays? Oh right, the brass knuckles and the redneck, yes, well, that guy beat me bad enough that I can't trust my memory anymore.

Also I remember it because it was the night of the Tupelo Concession Stand Brawl, Jerry Lawler & Bill Dundee vs. Larry Latham & Wayne Ferris in what would be known as the birth of hardcore wrestling. It was a wild brawl and goddamn I love wrestling.

Oh, right, the knuckles and the redneck, yeah that was my post-show ritual. I would go to the matches and cheer some good guys and yell at bad guys and have a great time, then I would come out here to the bar and drink a few drinks and walk home.

Well, on this night Mr. Redneck and I got into a verbal disagreement and he decided to rearrange my face, but what he didn't count on was my head bouncing off the pavement so hard my brain broke. A cheap shot blindsided me and now I have severe memory issues.

So now I am watching the firemen try to scramble and save the manor engulfed in flames by the weird trans girl who used her redneck brass knuckle birthed crazy person pyrokinesis and I realize, while I did do this, nobody knows I did do this because my brain did this for me. I think. I don't rightly remember.

#microfiction

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snowbellewells · 2 years

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Self Promo Sunday: “The Sweetest Treat”

While I realize that Halloween has passed and this one is somewhat Halloween-themed, I still wanted to re-run this and next week’s story here with the Fall season. I hope you will still enjoy if you give them a read. This one is a post-season six canon divergent fic, imagining all the lovely domestic stuff we might have gotten had we seen everyone stay in Storybrooke. Hope you enjoy!! :)

Originally, this was written as a gift for @kmomof4 on her birthday some years back, and in trying to give her the smuff she deserved, it is about as close to an M rating as I had gotten at the time; definitely a hard T, if nothing else...

Summary: After Storybrooke’s first Harvest Day Festival winds down, Emma has a sweet and sultry surpise in store for her pirate husband.

Also can be found on AO3, if you prefer...

“The Sweetest Treat”

by: @snowbellewells

The cider had been drunk, the campfire had burned down, and the last hayride had finished. All of the town’s children and adults who had packed Anton’s field where the First Annual Harvest Day Festival was held had dispersed, moving toward their homes in the October night air. Emma Swan-Jones is not far behind the rest of the satisfied revellers, pausing only briefly to make sure that her mother doesn’t need any more help securing things for the night. Even at that, her hand doesn’t leave her husband’s, their fingers linked together warmly as he gladly follows her to speak with her mom - the newly re-elected mayor of Storybrooke.

David gives his daughter and son-in-law a warm smile as well as he hefts one more hay bale over the tailgate and into the bed of his truck, then comes to join their huddle just as Snow answers, “No, don’t worry about the rest of it. Final clean up will keep until tomorrow when it’s light out. Are we still meeting for brunch at Granny’s?”

Killian glances quickly over at his wife, affirming without need of words that their earlier plans are still agreeable to his lovely Swan, before answering his mother-in-law jovially. “At present, I cannot imagine my gut being able to hold anything more, Milady, but aye, we will be there.”

The intended ruler of the Enchanted Forest, now three-time mayor of their vibrant hamlet, laughs aloud at his words, her nose crinkling as adorably as her daughter’s with the happy action - even as she swats at him in jest, shooing them both off toward home with a parting shot of, “Please! Spare me! You never look as though you gain an ounce, Sailor - despite the mass quantities of sugar I’ve watched you put away.”

His wife disloyally guffaws so loudly at that, Killian looks down at her surprise, her cheeks flush merrily from the recent heat of the bonfires, the mulled cider spiked with rum they’ve both imbibed, and a bit of embarrassment and humor both from her outburst.

Waggling an eyebrow at her salaciously, Killian and Emma both bid her parents goodnight and turn to meander home happily. Emma leans into his side with lazily relaxed ease, and Killian wraps his arm around her shoulders to pull her closer still. He whispers as they gain enough distance from David and Mary Margaret, “You seem in awfully good spirits tonight, Love,” his voice reverberating low and and tickling against her neck. “Perhaps I should get you home quickly and use it to my advantage.”

Emma merely tilts her head up to meet his seductive gaze, biting her lower lip temptingly and batting her eyes, “Mmm,” she hums in the back of her throat, “perhaps you should.”

There is a decided increase of speed in their steps as they follow the streets toward their house by the water. Even as they move further from the center of town, they can hear voices calling out in the night as folks bid each other good evening before parting ways and excited children begin to recount for their parents the things they’ve seen and games they’ve played. They see Marco dutifully helping Granny gather up the luminaries which had lined the walk to the diner, Frederick taking his wife Kathryn’s hand as he cradles their little boy in his other arm where he had fallen asleep against his father’s shoulder, and with a smirking nod, Killian makes sure Emma catches a glimpse of Leroy escorting Astrid back toward the small cottage she and Tink now rent together near the school. Together the awkward, but sweet, pair disappear around the corner and out of sight. All in all, the night has been a rousing success; all that Snow had hoped as she hatched the idea months ago and planned and prepared for the last several weeks.

They soon reach their own front walk, and Emma’s seemingly languid and sleepy haze dissipates as they pause on the porch and Killian fishes for his key. A mischievous grin quirks her lips and trouble sparks in her eye as she leans forward to grasp the lapels of the red-orange-and-brown-checked flannel she’d bought him for the Festival and pulls him down to her anxious lips. The kiss tastes of apple and butterscotch, tinged with rum and the hint of salt from the fire-popped corn, and Killian sighs at the deliciousness of it - right in every possible way.

When they part, panting, foreheads still pressed together, Emma winks at him before prodding huskily, “Let’s get inside already before we give some stranger a show.” Pressed up against their front door as he is by her warm, delicious body, Killian is loathe to move, but his lovely wife is right. The sparks flying back and forth between them would rival the huge bonfire that had lit up the whole town square not an hour ago, and if they don’t get indoors soon, he hardly feels he should be held responsible for his actions.

“Emma love,” he purrs against the sensitive skin where her neck meets her shoulder, nose brushing over her skin until he feels her shiver in his arms. “Do you have some mischief in mind?”

She quirks a brow in playful challenge, skirting around him quickly to pull open the door and slip inside first with a squeal of glee as he whirls trying to catch her.

It isn’t long before he has her pinned against the wall in the entryway; kissing, mouthing, nipping along her collarbone, his tongue tracing, “Going to answer my question, yet, hmm?”

Breathlessly, Emma pants, half in a daze, green eyes glazed over, “Nothing a sweet tooth like yours won’t enjoy,” she finally manages cryptically.

Tilting his head curiously, Emma can see that her husband is puzzled by her words - as she meant him to be - even though he waggles his dark brows at her, smirking, “And just what is that to mean, wife?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she purrs, trailing a finger up his sternum to chuck him under the chin, then tugging at the top button of his shirt, adds, “Lose this, and wait for me in the dining room...maybe you’ll find out.”

Grinning devilishly, pleased with herself even as the black pupils widening with arousal to overtake the blue in his eyes makes her own pulse begin to speed up and thrum unsteadily, Emma saunters away from him with intentional extra sway in her hips and a teasing glance back over her shoulder before she vanishes into the kitchen. The way her husband visibly swallows hard, seeming completely gobsmacked, makes her plan (which is making her palms sweat with its daring) seem already worth it.

Once in the kitchen, Emma reaches into the refrigerator for the bottle she needs, hidden behind several other items so that neither her husband or son would find it first and use it up, then setting it on the table, begins to shimmy out of her jacket, jeans and top, mouth dry with both nerves and anticipation. Once she stands in the playful lingerie she’d picked for this very occasion - black boy shorts and a push-up bra, both with tiny candy corns and candy apples printed all over them - she blows out a tense breath, self-consciousness almost getting the better of her despite the fact that Killian has never made her feel anything less than beautiful. Smoothing a hand over her hair, Emma focuses on the adoring look her husband only gets in his eyes for her, and biting her lip, she picks up the container and goes to find him.

Stepping into the entryway from kitchen to dining room clutching the bottle of caramel sauce for dear life, Emma tries to strike a seductive pose, clearing her throat to gain Killian’s attention from where he stands leaning against the table, shirtless as she had instructed, but staring at his own feet, lost in thought.

At her entrance, his face snaps up to look at her, and his mouth drops open. The sight of him bare chested with his weather-browned skin covered in dark hair that accentuates his toned pecs and abs before trailing down into his jeans makes her previously dry mouth practically water. ‘ This will be fun,’ her mind cheers, even if she feels ridiculous at the moment.

“E-Emma...wh-what are you…?” Killian stutters as he struggles to ask her what she has in mind, but she shakes her head, stalking slowly toward him, and his words trail off in stunned awe.

Once she reaches him, Emma presses her fingers to his lips for a moment, smiling wickedly, “Just hold still, and you’ll see,” she directs, raising the bottle of sticky sweet topping to wave before his eyes, then upending it to squeeze a bit of the caramel onto her fingers before returning them to his mouth. “Here, taste.”

Killian’s eyes are blown wide as he opens and then sucks her fingers between his lips, his tongue caressing them as well, and making her breath heave despite her attempt to hold the upper hand. “Mhmm,” he hums, hands coming to rest on her nearly bare hips and pulling her closer, until she stands between his legs and his long, calloused fingers trace around to lightly clutch at the supple cheeks of her behind.

Seeing that she has him where she wants him, Emma holds the dispenser over his chest, squeezing more liberally to line caramel across her husband’s collarbones, and back to center, trailing it down his stomach to the waistband of his pants. She licks her tongue along his skin after savoring the taste of the sweet sauce and a hint of the salt from the sweat that has broken out over Killian’s body. His head is flung back and his chest is already heaving by the time she brings her tongue to swirl around his nipple and adds her teeth with a playful bite.

Letting out a guttural noise that Emma honestly isn’t sure she’s ever heard him make, Killian suddenly lunges forward and wraps her tightly in his grasp, and in the blink of an eye turns the tables on her. She got a bit engrossed in feasting off of his decadent body and forgot just how stealthy her husband can be. Before she knows what has happened, she’s lying with her back pressed against the table, her pirate leaning over her and encasing her there between his arms. Eyes alight, he leers down at her devilishly and works the bottle of caramel from her suddenly nerveless hand.

“Let’s see now, Swan,” he murmurs, adeptly drizzling caramel over her ribs and into her belly button before surveying her like some half-finished piece of living art. He slides his hook ever-so-carefully into the waistband of her festive panties before deftly slicing them and tossing the scrap away with a single flick of his wrist. “That’s much better,” he muses happily, tracing the curve of his metal appendage along the edge of her bra cup next. “Though these articles are quite humorously arousing, I believe I was the one promised a reward for my sweet tooth and yet you were having all the fun.”

By this point, Emma is trembling all over, every hair on her body standing at attention. Killian always manages to make her quake with desire using his hook to disrobe her, and the thrill of this different, wholly abandoned encounter is almost more than she can stand. Almost whining in eager appeal, she reaches for his waist, getting his jeans unbuttoned before he pushes her hands away. Though the jeans fall open to yield a heartstopping view, Killian doesn’t pounce on her immediately as Emma aches for him to. Instead, he shakes his head at her in mock chiding, “Ah ah ah, not so fast, wife. Not until I’ve had my taste.”

So saying, he trails caramel onto her inner thigh, along the joint where her leg meets her torso and then flings the bottle somewhere behind them, swooping in to devour her with his mouth. His tongue swirls around her nipples, laving and teasing as she had done to him, leaving her gasping for breath and vibrating like a live wire waiting for the final spark to set her off. His whiskered face tickles the skin of her stomach before his tongue dips into her belly button, making her hips desperately lift off of the table toward him until he pins them back down with hook and hand.

Luckily, before she can combust into a pile of ash, he finally moves in earnest, lapping along the crease at the top of her leg where he’d traced the sweet confection. He chuckles maddeningly against her quivering skin as she tries to buck in impatience, “Yes, Swan, you were right... delectable .” Then, without anymore hesitation, his tongue slides home, pillaging and plundering in earnest and setting her off like a bottle rocket.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They are a heaving, sticky mess of boneless limbs and sweaty skin by the time all is said and done. Cleaning the remnants of sticky caramel from each other in a steamy shower leads to more delicious mingling, and by the time Killian emerges, about five minutes after his insatiable wife, still toweling his hair dry, he is completely, pleasantly wrung out and utterly spent. Tossing the towel haphazardly toward the hamper, in a distinctly less neat than usual gesture, he pads across the carpet toward the bed, waiting only for Emma to return with the water she had insisted they both needed to drink to replenish themselves.

A few moments later, his wife appears in the doorway, two cold bottles of water in hand, and she steals his breath all over again. Clad in the flannel he discarded when they had first begun, and nothing else, her bare, shapely legs entice him all the way up to where the hem of his shirt stops, and her sated smile lights her whole face as she moves toward him across the room. The sight of his Emma wrapped in his shirt as she crawls into bed beside him is the sweetest treat he could ever receive.

Tagging: @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @searchingwardrobes @jrob64 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @xsajx @apiratewhopines @elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @xhookswenchx @the-darkdragonfly @spartanguard @optomisticgirl @tiganasummertree @therooksshiningknight @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @deckerstarblanche @sotangledupinit @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @darkcolinodonorgasm @artistic-writer @xarandomdreamx @anmylica @wefoundloveunderthelight @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @resident-of-storybrooke @blowmiakisscolin @caught-in-the-filter @kday426 @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @superchocovian @justanother-unluckysoul @stahlop @bluewildcatfanatic @booksteaandtoomuchtv

#self promo sunday #cs ff #cs one shot #the sweetest treat #cs smuff #ouat post s6 divergent ff

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skinslip · 1 year

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Pyrokinesis or: Understanding Fractured Memory

Well, on this night Mr. Redneck and I got into a verbal disagreement and he decided to re-arrange my face, but what he didn't count on was my head bouncing off the pavement so hard my brain broke. A cheap shot blindsided me and now I have severe memory issues.

#fiction #horror #horror fiction #short story #horror story #pyrokinesis #pyrokinetic #Stephen King probably did it better #skinslipwriting #Valeria's fragments

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traincoded · 2 years

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vettonso, baby :)

hehe hehehe hehehehe. mwahahahaha

When Fernando Alonso retires, this time for real, for good, no take backs, no new series – he says he does it for himself.

It's not F1 but it is racing. Childhood devotion, Teenage crushes, the highs of his twenties, an inadvisable marriage with a pop star, a divorce and a prolonged midlife crisis – they all have always happened in between races.

He imagines getting behind a wheel and not even trying to find the line ever again and discovers that thought makes his shoulders turn to steel. So he keeps up, with young ones, incomprehensible little children of the new millennium. Fernando's Spanish gets more Mexican. A world reduced to potential trajectories is how he intends to live out the rest of his life.

Jenson chatters, bringing inane gossip and updates from everyone's life back in Europe. His kid – the fourth one is racing in EuroKart. When he wins the title, his father invites all his old friends out to Monaco. There's a joke about Ben being very starry eyed. It's probably about funding, but Fernando goes anyway – because it's in offseason.

Most of the gang's all here, even Lewis – probably because his driving schools have hired every coach at some point or the other. Mark is holding court with DC. Across the room, Sebastian has stepped out from wherever he is hiding. He's chatting very seriously with Jenson's youngest daughter with his hair tied back in an identical ponytail.

Fernando had missed her third birthday during the hubub of a double header on opposite coasts. He suppresses an annoyance that he's come to expect over 3 decades and steels himself to get through the milling guests. When he's close, she sights him approaching with something shiny, assuming correctly its for her. She tugs at Sebastian to stop talking and watch him approach with a quiet, strange solemnity.

"Hey darling, how are you doing?" he asks an unsmiling Kristen.

"Fine. Can I get my gift now?"

He's not her father, and Sebastian is unhelpful as ever, so he shrugs and hands it to her. "Sorry it's late," he mentions, uncomfortably realising that she probably didn't understand why he didn't come before.

She casts a baleful glance at him, and immediately sits down on the floor to begin unwrapping it.

Sebastian giggles.

It's a Kimoa bandana and a transformer that turns into a car. Her nose wrinkles at the box.

"Do you want help opening the box?," asks Sebastian, while Fernando marinates in the disappointment of a toddler.

"No." Her voice has the tell tale sound of a lie about to be told by a child.

"Cars are for babies," she announces.

"I am not a baby." She turns to Fernando to confirm this bit.

He repeats, "You are not a baby. This is a special car. It's also a robot."

"Oh." She sounds almost mollified. Sebastian approves, delicately gesturing his head at her brother with his friends.

"It's only for very smart girls who can do the changes," he adds.

"Thank you, Nando," she intones, solemn again.

She looks up at Sebastian. "Please?"

Sebastian sits down next to her.

"Shouldn't Uncle Nando help too?"

"Okay," she concedes.

They spend an hour with her, unwrapping and assembling, swearing under his breath about bad instructions. Sebastian is easy with her, drawing her out when she retreats with an easy joke.

He thinks about it again. There could just time for him, unbracketed by racing. It wouldn't be losing.

#EVERYTHING IS ABOUT THE POWER OF LOVE!#ty #fic stuff #i know everyone can tell this is overworked but thats what happens when i think about vettonso #i start vibrating #my fic

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jhoudiey · 2 years

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Crowley and Floyd... bonding? Oh dear. A Fic I commissioned from @raven-at-the-writing-desk about Crowley and Floyd running into each other while searching for the perfect gift for Yoru's birthday!

Rating: G

Word Count: 4450

Characters: Dire Crowley, Floyd Leech, Yoru Crowley (mentioned)

Winter had settled on Night Raven College like a thick wool blanket.

An overcast gray sky overlooked icy streets dimly lit by snow laden lamp posts. The entire campus was solemn, smothered in a deafening silence and a shower of snowflakes.

The cold season had a coy way of playing with time. It stole away the days and made the light scarce. Blink, and entire weeks may have already skipped by like feet on the frozen ground. As the seconds and the sun retreated, so, too, did the creatures that resided in the winter of Twisted Wonderland.

Seeking the warmth and the comfort of a blazing fire and full bellies, they’d stow away in their rooms and dens. Cups of warm beverages in tow as they watched the drifting bales of white falling down into the world. Nestled under safe covers, wrapped in the lullaby of a whistling, chilling wind, they’d slip into a deep slumber, dreaming of sugarplums, cocoa, and peppermint candies.

Not a creature stirred, not even a—

Mouse?

Crowley froze, his hand hovering over the doorknob. Ears alert and piqued.

From within the attic came a cacophony. Rattling, ruffling. Things breaking and smashing against hard surfaces. It sounded like a brawl was brewing in there—or a murder, short of bloodcurdling screams, was underway.

Whatever it was that was making that racket, it certainly was not a mouse.

Why, that shouldn’t be, the headmaster thought, his brow creasing. While it was true that his little Nugget had a tendency to get rowdy (especially in her worst of moods), he was sure that she had excused herself that day to tend to the campus crows.

The perfect moment to sneak into her room and pry away all the shining secrets and hidden wonders that had collected in her hideaway. How very kind of him to do.

Crowley pressed an arm flush against the slightly ajar door and slowly eased it open. Its hinges quietly squealed in protest—the blasted things needed a good oiling—but it was easily drowned out by something slamming, accompanies by the groans of a mysterious intruder.

The scene unfolded before him like a picture in a pop-up storybook.

The room looked like it had been ransacked, then turned upside down and back upright.

Books, clothes, and dark bedding were strewn across the floor—truthfully, nothing abnormal for his Nugget—but every drawer had been torn open, their contents flying free. Loose sheets rained down like broad white feathers, writing implements rolling across the rickety wooden floors and shredded remains of a bird’s nest. Pots had toppled over, spilling soil onto the shelf they lined.

The iced windows had been thrown open, inviting in a bitter winter breeze which kicked up all the fallen items, the forgotten pages. Despite this, the room reeked of apples. Cloying at times, tart at others, the aroma leaked from smashed bottles and unscrewed tubs. The room was wrapped in the memory of frostbitten fruits.

And there, standing in the center of it all, was the criminal in question.

One Floyd Leech, snow caught in his teal hair, a black stripe of it wet and sticking to his profile, as he pored through a notebook. He wore a bored expression, not startling one bit as his attention landed on Crowley, who stood at the threshold with a gaping jaw.

Floyd suddenly grinned, heterochromatic eyes lighting up as he let the notebook in his hands tumble to his feet. He lazily drew himself up, leaning back against a desk.

“Ne, what’re you doing here, headmaster? Shouldn’t you be off crashing classes or doing busy work or something?”

Crowley bristled at the easy tone the eel had adopted. Always too lax, too familiar. “Is it a crime to walk around in my own house?”

Floyd gave a raspy laugh. “Ehehehe, all your feathers are standing on end. You really should just chill out.”

Then, having already lost interest, he returned to digging around at the desk, carelessly flipping through another notebook. Floyd was only about halfway through when it was unceremoniously snatched out of his hands by golden talons.

“I should be the one asking the questions here!” Crowley crowed, crushing the pages of the notebook in his palm. “How are you in my home, Floyd Leech-kun?! You’re meant to be in lecture at this very moment!”

“Mm? I got bored of class, so I dipped. It was easy to climb in through the window.”

“That is NOT the issue at hand!! You cannot just break and enter a private residence whenever you please…!! Furthermore, what in the Seven makes you think it’s a dandy idea to catapult yourself into a lady’s nest and search through her belongings?!”

Floyd was completely unfazed by the scolding. “Isn’t that what you’re doing too, teach? You didn’t even knock.”

A squawk erupted out from Crowley at the accusation. He was but a bird ensnared in a predator’s trap, and Floyd knew it.

The merman’s mouth curved into a sly smile. “Barging into Fugu-chan’s room without warning ain’t exactly a good look for ya.”

“Wh-What!! You take that back…!! How dare you call my Nugget such a preposterous nickname! How dare you besmirch my magnanimous nature and my good name!”

“Dude, like ‘Nugget’ is any better–and seriously no one buys any of that stuff.” Floyd rolled his eyes, but the teasing glint never quite left them. “Wouldja rather I call her Yoru in front of you, daaad?”

Crowley’s heart caught in his throat. Flashes of both hot and cold fissured through him, pulling him in both directions. Intense anger and icy annoyance coiling at his fingertips.

Instead of making a proper rebuttal, Crowley hastily seized his student by the shoulders and steered him toward the exit. Floyd plodded along, but sent the headmaster a half amused look.

“Out, OUT!!” Crowley cried. He attempted to usher the boy through the door frame–but like the leech that he was, he hunkered down and held fast, lanky form lingering at the threshold.

“Nope, you’re stuck with me, like it or not.”

“And perhaps I would deign to entertain your silly, fickle notions of ‘fun’, were it any time but now,” Crowley countered frostily. “Tomorrow is a most important date, and I shan’t be late for it on account of you!!”

“Tomorrow?” Floyd tilted his head. “But tomorrow’s…”

There it was again: the overfamiliarity settling on his face, and a gleam to his olive and gold irises. A slight glee, a playfulness, as if regarding a loved one.

A single realization dawned in the cold quiet between the headmaster and his student. The sun rising upon a sheet of ice, and the glittering glare of snow that followed.

“My word,” Crowley gasped, drawing a shallow breath, “could it be that…”

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

A trip into the local town later, the headmaster was grinning from pointed ear to pointed ear and giving himself a presumptuous pat on the back.

Hohohoh! What a brilliant brain I have! Crowley, you old diamond in the rough, you!

He lowered his head to a rack of jewelry in a display case, just as entranced by the hypnotic shine of jewels and chains as he was with himself. His smug reflection bounced back at him.

“It appears that our motives are one and the same, my dear boy! Neither of us wishes to be tardy with Nugget’s birthday gift, yes?” Crowley had cooed, wrapping an arm around Floyd’s. “What say we kill two birds with one stone and combine our efforts?

“We’ll provide a single present while counting it as one from both of us! Fufufu. That’s more money saved and the hassle of finding our own gifts avoided!”

“Ew, stop,” his student had replied, looking vaguely disgusted as he tried to wrench himself away. “You’re being weird. Did the spirit of Azul’s greed possess you for a sec or something?”

“Oh, don’t be that way!! Come along, we’ve got a plethora of shops to look over, and not a moment to waste!!”

“Eeeeeh?”

So the serendipitous story had gone, with the duo darting from shop to shop and browsing all the various wares. (Floyd, more often than not, lagged behind or got distracted by other offerings). Alas, they had yet to stumble across a good gift—but Crowley clung on to hope.

He allowed himself another pleased chuckle. Vanity illuminated his beady little eyes, as if gems had been inlaid into them, the same as the spread of jewelry before him.

“Floyd Leech-kun!” Crowley called, looking back over his shoulder, “Take a look! What do you think of these as…”

But there was no one where the eel had been just mere minutes before.

Crowley startled. He whipped his head around the store, surveying the knick knacks for teal streaked with black. The headmaster found it nestled in a corner by a stand of novelty sunglasses. With a sigh, Crowley briskly made his way over.

Floyd turned to face him, sending the headmaster jolting back with another shock to his heart.

The boy wore a garish set of frames. A simple black, but with big, bushy false eyebrows mounted at the tops of the rims, and where the glasses would normally sit on one’s natural nose was a big, bulbous, and pink triangle–a caricature of a nose. Jutting out of his mouth was a stick of peppermint candy, which he slurped with great relish.

“Took you long enough,” Floyd said, sweeping off the joke glasses and replacing them with a different pair. The new ones were a bright blue with tinted lenses, decorated with sharks in the corners of the rims. “Hey, check out what I bought! Cool, right?”

“No, it is NOT ‘cool’ for you to wander off and spend your savings left and right on personal items!” Crowley shot him an exasperated glare. “If this keeps up, you won’t have any funds leftover for Nugget’s present! You’ve been no help with cutting down on our potential options, either.”

He groaned deeply, staring down into the palms of his taloned hands. “Oooh! Are the youth of today truly so self-absorbed, selfish, and prideful? Is there no faith left to be had in their humanity? Oh, woe is me!”

Floyd snapped his peppermint stick in half. His fingers were left sugary and sticky as he popped the broken part back into his mouth. “All that melodrama’s not my problem anyway.”

“How rude…! To think that children in this day and age don’t even hold an ounce of respect for their elders…” Crowley sniffled fakely. “It’s already bad enough that you’ve completely lost all interest in searching for a gift, then reject the idea of offering aid to me… Are you the sort that would abandon the elderly in need of help crossing the road as well?!”

“Tch, you’re really getting on my nerves, Gramps.” Floyd’s expression dropped, his brows drawing together. A lilt had slipped into his voice, deep and dark and dangerous. “I’m sick of being dragged all over the place. How about you butt out of my business and try lookin’ in a mirror for once?”

“GRAMPS?!”

Crowley exclaimed the word louder than he had meant to, causing the jewelry to tremble and attracting stares from fellow customers. (A nearby woman shielded her child’s eyes and directed them to look away from “the crazy bird man”.) The headmaster blushed behind his mask, cutting a dry glance away.

A small standing mirror, propped up for customers to gaze at themselves modeling baubles, captured him in its face. His expression, a silent slice of his character.

Crowley stopped.

In spite of its size, the mirror was a beautiful one. His reflection was arced by metal which was painted in ebony black, and finished off with a dusting that granted it a pearlescent sheen and a smooth touch.

It seemed to move, telling an intricate story as Crowley’s eyes followed the curve of the frame. Amid twisting leaves and the cover of night was a murder of crows. Roosting, gorging on apples, seeking comfort in one another.

It was absolutely perfect.

Crowley picked the mirror up, careful not to scratch its surface with his sharp nails. Waving a hand, he immediately summoned a sales associate.

“This,” Crowley murmured, gingerly placing the item in their hands. Then he reached into his cloak and produced a card from within the depths of the nebulous fabric and set it on top of the mirror. “I would very much like to purchase this. Please have it wrapped up in a gift box.”

“Of course, sir.” The store employee nodded and scurried off with the mirror and the card in tow.

Floyd frowned after them as they rang Crowey up. “Eeeh, you just ended up picking something without me anyway.”

“Well, maybe I wouldn’t have had to make the executive decision to do so if someone had been a little more cooperative.”

“I don’t get why you had me come with you at all.” Floyd furrowed his brow. Slightly frustrated. “I would’ve been okay on my own.”

“I don’t doubt it, but this was specifically meant to be a collaborative effort,” Crowley pointed out, folding his arms. “I expected better of you, young man.”

Floyd scoffed and pushed away from the wall, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Whatever. I’m outta here.”

The headmaster made no effort to stop him from exiting the store. He stared hard at the wall where Floyd had been, mouth pinched like a beak.

It had truthfully always been some degree of awkward between him and his students, but nowhere was that awkwardness made more painfully apparent than when he was forced to engage with Floyd. What was any parent to do when they were trapped with their child’s significant other? The one to steal away his beloved daughter from the nest he had so lovingly built for the two of them?

Crowley never quite knew what to do, what to say, to him. The line between educator and pupil was already difficult enough to tread, and a road that he had not yet mastered–and here he was, being thrusted into a dilemma ten times as challenging to navigate: father-in-law and boyfriend.

He was at the boundary, uncertain of when and if he should intrude at all. Too used to what he already had, and too afraid to relinquish it, letting it spread its wings and find its own way in the world.

… His Nugget was growing up so fast.

“... ir. Sir?”

Crowley tensed.

The sales associate cleared their throat, holding out a bag with satin ribbon handles. “Your purchase. Your receipt and card are inside.”

“Oh, thank you.” He dazedly accepted it.

The weight of the mirror humbled his strength and dragged his arm toward the ground. It carried with him as he shuffled to the door, swinging it open with his free arm and welcoming in a burst of wintery crisp evergreen into the shop’s otherwise spiced nutmeg interior.

There was something melancholy to be said about abandoning the cozy warmth for an unforgiving, unrelenting snowstorm and windchill. Comfort willingly traded for discomfort. A necessary sacrifice made.

Crowley expelled a breath as he crossed outside.

Something cold and hard and white shot at him. He didn’t have enough time to react before it made a harsh impact with his face, freezing his features in place.

Crowley hurriedly shook off the attack—the snowball that had pelted him—only to be met with a trill from his assailant.

“Ahahahah!! I totally nailed ya!” came Floyd’s throaty laugh. Beside him was a pile of incriminating ammo, and another snowball in his hands. The shark sunglasses bobbed on his head, as if hitching a ride on wild waves. “You shoulda kept your guard up!”

“I beg your pardon?!” Crowley wiped his face clean of stray shards of ice and bits of snow. “Our errand is complete. You will cease this tomfoolery at once and return to campus!”

Floyd’s reply was short and simple and punctuated with a shrug. “Don’t feel like it. This is waaay more fun~”

“You’d best retract your wor—”

“Oops, my hand slipped.”

It had very obviously not slipped, but Floyd pantomimed tripping anyway, letting the snowball fly from his hand. It rocketed like a shooting star tearing up the night sky, this time pelting Crowleyin the chest. The next, the back of his hand, and the third knocked off his top hat, nailing it into the slush-covered sidewalks.

The headmaster gritted his teeth and dug his heels into the ground. His arms up to shield himself from each blow. “Now see here…!!”

Floyd’s icy onslaught continued, marked by his gleeful cackling. “I’ve already got my eyes wide open. You sure you’re a crow, headmaster? Cuz all I see’s a frozen chicken too scared to fight back.”

“Grk…!”

It won’t do to retaliate against a child, reasoned Crowley’s better half.

Show him what for, hissed the other (not-as-yasashii kind) half. He’ll regret ever crossing you and showing such disrespect toward an instructor!

“Ahahah, the headmaster’s a chicken, a chicken! Bwaaaaak bwak bwak bwak bwak bwak!!”

Crowley’s patience snapped.

“That is… ENOUGH!!”

He flung his cane up. Then, all at once, every single snowball hung in the air, rigged up in invisible cages.

But the movement of his body, too fast, too swift.

The bag with the satin handle–and the mirror inside–launched into the air from that violent flick of his wrist. Time slowed to a crawl as the bag and its contents fell, fell, fell… followed by a devastatingly loud CRACK.

Realization kicked in, and Crowley dropped to his knees, not caring that his pant legs would get dirty and cold and wet. The suspended snowballs splattered onto the streets, making their own graves.

To his horror, digging through the bag yielded only a beautiful frame. The reflective face embedded within was broken beyond belief. So many ugly, jagged fragments and shining splinters shifted through his fingers. So many of him staring back in dismay.

Floyd whistled. “Guess that’s seven years of bad luck.”

“You think this is funny, do you?” Crowley’s hands balled into fists in his lap.

“Hilarious, actually.” Floyd failed to hide his smile (or rather, he made no attempt to).

“Have yourself a grand old time, then.”

The headmaster abruptly stood, tossing the remains of the mirror shards at his feet. His usual whimsy and jovial tone was nowhere in sight as he coolly straightened his lapels and brushed the snow from his feathers. The grip tightening on his walking stick. “We shall see who gets the last laugh.”

“Is that a challenge?” Curiosity had crept into Floyd’s voice, his lazy eyes lifting into slivers of intrigue.

“I would never consider using offensive magic against a precious student of mine!! I’m offended that you would even suggest such a thing,” Crowley insisted, placing a hand over his heart, and an appalled gasp from his lips. “But should a student refuse to step back into the classroom, and instead choose to remain off campus…”

Fwoosh.

Crowley raised his cane up in an elegant arc. The shoveled snow surrounding them sparkled, charged with the faint navy glow of his magic. Bit by bit, the snow floated upward, collecting at a singular meeting point in the sky. Gathering into a massive, monstrous beast of a snowball that titaned over them.

Floyd went slack-jawed.

The snowball casted a shadow over Crowley’s sunny smile.

“… I will have no choice but to shepherd them back to school with the appropriate disciplinary measures,” he chirped, “for I am so very kind.”

The bewilderment seemed to last for mere seconds Floyd’s features before he vigorously shook it off. Sparks flew, turning embers into a raging fire, a burning passion, within him.

“Heh. Now you’re speaking my language!!”

Crowley held his student’s—no, his opponent’s—gaze.

“Ne, headmaster. You and me, let’s have a fight.” Floyd cracked his knuckles, his face gleaming with delight. “Let’s see who wins.”

“You’re a hundred years too early to be making that sort of demand,” he huffed, not breaking eye contact, “but, as an esteemed educator, it falls upon me to teach you the natural order of this world.

Crowley let the snowball drop, and the world exploded into a vision of pure white.

When the veil lifted, Floyd was gone.

Another disappearing act for the slippery eel.

Crowley narrowed his eyes, scanning his surroundings in search for the boy. His ears strained, hearing heightened. A soft, scuffed sound emanated from above.

He craned his head, his gaze tilting skyward.

Gold.

Black.

Teal.

Floyd was on top of the gift store. Had he scuttled up a drain pipe like a primate? Used something as leverage to rocket up there?

Crowley gritted his teeth.

“Get down here this instant!!” he shouted, shaking a fist at the young man.

“Make me!!”

“Oh, I will…! You have my word on that!”

“Oh-kaaaay~ Catch me if you can!”

And with that, Floyd took off like a bullet. Crowley nestled deeper into the recesses of his cloak and followed in hot pursuit. His cape fluttered behind him as though he were some sort of superhero—but Crowley felt less than super in the mindless goose chase.

Floyd had the advantage in terms of speed, with his lanky, lithe body. Up above, he had a good view of the town, and the crow that trailed him.

Conjured snowball after conjured snowball aimed themselves at their moving target, intent on knocking Floyd off balance, and onto his ass. Yet the eel expertly skipped across the rooftops and slid to pick up speed. The windchill, a sharpened knife against his cheeks.

From one to the next, he raced and raced until he was at the end of a row of buildings, met with a dead end, a large pile of shoveled snow.

Crowley skidded to a halt, both mortified and out of breath. His breath crystallized with each painful inhale and exhale.

Floyd gave him a knowing grin. Flung his arms out, staring down the like of rooftops he had traversed. The wind at his back.

Crowley lurched forward.

“Don’t—”

Floyd fell backwards with a crazed cackle.

The headmaster dove, arms outstretched. His arms connected, hooking with Floyd’s heavy body as it crashed down.

They were both tackled by gravity and sent tumbling into the snow. The one caught, Floyd, easily rolled off of his savior, shark sunglasses flying off him and into the slushy streets. The catcher, Crowley, sprawled out on his back with a choked gasp. (His vigor was NOT what it used to be.)

His gaze tilted skyward, staring up at a gray film of sleet and snow. Prim and unassuming, the color of something slow and steady.

The snowflakes that drifted onto his skin melted like wax exposed to a too-close sun. His heart was pumping hard, his blood buzzing, from the chase. His insides burned, tingling from exhaustion.

Exhilarating.

Simply exhilarating.

When was the last time he had felt so alive? When had he had this much fun? He couldn’t recall.

A snicker.

Crowley instinctively turned his head to the side, finding Floyd already sitting up and looking back at the imprint he had left in the snow. It was a vague outline of his body from the impact, all 191 centimeters of it.

Imperfect—but Floyd didn’t care. He belted out a laugh, relishing in the imperfection of his snow angel. Sounds and sights fracturing and reforming again in the blink of an eye.

He had nothing to his name, and yet he acted as if he had everything. A poor man, wealthy with experience and adventures.

Crowley didn’t understand.

He was at the cusp of a discovery, dazzled by its disarming gleam.

“You didn’t manage to hit me, so I win,” Floyd beamed, his heterochromatic eyes meeting Crowley’s. “Hehe. How’s it feel to lose to your own student? Must be really embarrassi—”

It suddenly clicked.

Crowley bolted up, an exclamation at his lips. “THAT’S IT!!”

“Huh? What’s it?”

The headmaster wrapped his arms around Floyd and shook him excitedly. The merman’s black stripe of hair and earring bounced erratically, his head lolling.

“Don’t you see, my dear boy? The gift, the gift!”

Floyd grimaced, shaking the crow off of him. “The broken mirror? You can’t exactly give that as a birthday present.”

“But of course not!” Crowley smiled broadly, clapping Floyd’s back. “Look in the mirror for yourself! We will not purchase the gifts, we will be the gifts themselves!!”

Floyd quirked a brow and spoke with no filter. “... Is this a weird roleplay thing? Cuz I’m so not into it.”

“No, no!!” Crowley flailed his arms, making as though to dispel whatever misconceptions were floating around in his student’s mind. “That’s completely incorrect!

“You see, I’ve been enlightened! What is important in a gift is not the amount of money spent on it, nor the amount of time spent hunting it down! It’s quality, not quantity that counts–and what could possibly be better than spending precious quality time with loved ones?”

He twirled his cane, whistling as he swept up his hat from the ground and replaced it atop his hair. “We’ll have a candlelit dinner on the eve of her birthday! It needn’t be fancy, but there will be good food, good wine, and good company to keep us warm well into the night!

“… By the way, feel free to bring a dish of your own to contribute to the meal! Think of it like a potluck!”

Floyd stared at him.

“… Aren’t you just covering up for not having enough money for a replacement gift now? You’re cheaping out on those dinner plans too, and it isn’t exactly subtle~”

“Ohohohoh…! I haven’t the faintest clue what you mean!!” Crowley’s anxious laughter didn’t help his case.

“Man, all this mushy feel-good stuff’s gross. It’s like some after-school special.” Floyd puffed out his cheeks in a pout. “I liked you better when you were throwing fists. Can we go back to that?”

“Certainly not!! Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a celebratory dinner party to plan!! As for you, all you need bring is yourself for the occasion. That should be simple enough instruction for you, yes?”

“Still feels like you’re making this waaay too complicated.”

“Grkk! I won’t be condescended to by my own pupil, of all people!!”

“Whatever you say then.”

Their banter carried into the crisp winter air, set upon curtains of white, billowing breath. The words dissipated as easily as ice crystals exposed to sunlight, but the feelings in them would forever remain.

All the anger, the sorrow, and the joy of the sea and the sky, coming to understand one another just a bit more than they had before.

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