#WHADDAYA MEAN YOURE NOT DEAD??
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running with the idea that Trapper thinks Hawkeye is dead due to the Incident in “The Late Captain Pierce”, scenario where after the war ends Trapper finally makes himself go to Crabapple Cove to visit Hawkeye’s grave and he finds the late Mrs Pierce’s grave but he can’t find Hawkeye’s and he awkwardly asks someone he finds visiting the graveyard where he can find the grave of one Benjamin Franklin Pierce, explains they were close during the war, and the person looks at him with complete and utter confusion like “you mean Dr Pierce? I mean, yeah, he visits his mom here most Saturdays, but I think it’d be more appropriate to just go to his house. He lives up the road”
and that’s how Trapper finds out Hawkeye isn’t, in fact, dead
#mash#trapper mcintyre#hawkeye pierce#otp: if you kiss me I'll throw up#this scenario is incredibly funny to me#Trapper shows up at Hawkeye's door with the flowers he was gonna put on his gravelike#WHADDAYA MEAN YOURE NOT DEAD??#and Hawkeye's standing there experiencing every emotion known to man at once
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Their favorite pet names ♡
demon brothers x gender neutral reader
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
ෆ Lucifer ━ Darling, Dear
Make no mistakes, Lucifer always prefers hearing his own name, specifically when it's being spilled out of your mouth as a lingering whine, demanding him to avert his attention to you. However, if he already has to settle for a pet name of some sort, he would prefer a good old fashioned term you would use to title the first line of a letter with, if the two of you were star crossed lovers mailing each other through different worlds. (Because he's just dramatic like that, but the truth is, it makes him blush.)
"When you intimated you need my assistance, I didn't reckon a bake sale is what you had in mind. May I remind you of the outright failure we experienced when we attempted to bake hellfire mushroom rolled cigar cookies?" Lucifer shakes his head, sensing defeat from merely facing the ingredients laid across the table. "Well, I haven't invited you here to cook, don't worry. Your role is to supply entertainment and mental support, and also to stand guard in case Beel tries to infiltrate our mission." You reassure him with a grin, carefully tying an apron around his waist. "Now, be a dear and fetch me the recipe?"
Lucifer is quite stunned at your confidence to speak to him at this level, regardless, he cannot deny your dauntless attitude tugging at the strings of his heart.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
ෆ Mammon ━ Babe
No explanation needed, it just makes sense. Use a confident, possessive tone when you say it and watch him quack and become as red as the roulette in the casino. In return, he will probably use a bunch of embarrassingly cringy pet names on you.
"Whaddaya mean you don't want me callin' ya my sweet snuggly crow princess in public?" Mammon frowns, huffing at the rejection of his advantages. "I think crows are cute, and so are you. Cute! My sweet snuggly c-" His sentence is cut short by your lips crushing against his own, leaving him with a loss of words and rosy cheeks. "Come on babe, stop being silly."
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
ෆ Leviathan ━ Weapon of (m)ass destruction
He doesn't have a preference, simply because anything you'd choose to call him feels like someone tore a rift in time and space and crowned him king of the three worlds. With that said, he particularly likes silly ones, or just anything normies wouldn't regularly use. It makes him feel special because you definitely haven't used that on anyone else.
"Hey, let me use your phone for a second. I'm gonna call myself since I can't find my cell." You mindlessly announce, grabbing his mobile device after a couple long minutes of patting the bed in hopes of finding your own. "Huh? w-w-wait, let me do that!" Leviathan hurries to try and eject the device out of your grip, but to no avail. Your fingers had already clicked their way through the different screens, leading you to his contact list. "Hm? You saved me as 'Only second to Ruri-chan in beauty'? Aww, Levi!" You coo, messing his hair. "Now I feel bad I only saved your contact as 'noob'."
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
ෆ Satan ━ Kitten
It is most likely a given (or a chewed up headcanon), but Satan is the embodiment of a cat and likes to be recognized for it; privately, of course. Rumor has it that if you call Satan by the following pet names of kitten, kitty or anything that resembles, it will awaken his inner feline and bring him to rub his cheeks against you, asking to be petted.
"Come here, kitty kitty." Satan looks up from his book at the melody of your voice, at first searching around to scope if a real cat is nearby. But with his sharp mind, he reads the situation almost immediately, cocking an eyebrow at your hopeful expression. "Huh? Are you referring to me?" You nod, holding out an arm as you gesture him to come closer. "Pspspspsps" Satan heaves a sigh, placing a bookmark inside one of the pages before he closes his novel shut and paces towards you. "Such a good kitty!" You praise, holding in your chuckle.
"Say one word to anyone about this, and you're dead meat, human. Understood?" Defeated, he tilts his head towards you and nuzzles against your extended palm. "Now... scratch behind my ear please?"
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
ෆ Asmodeus ━ Prince/ss
No surprises with this one, Asmo is royalty and believes he should be addressed accordingly. He doesn't mind which version of the word is being used, as long as it comes with the acknowledgment that he's the most ethereal, majestic creature your eyes ever had the sanctified right to witness.
"No, no and no! None of these are on theme. I usually find good keeps in majolish, but this season their clothes are all off." Asmodeus falls into the velvet chair allocated at the store's fitting booths. You had accompanied him on a shopping trip prior to an event at RAD as he was in need of a new wardrobe for the occasion. "I kind of liked this outfit. I think it suits you!" You sheepishly smile, praying to be leaving the store before sundown. "Suits me is not enough! It has to be dazzling, breath taking, absolutely stunning!" He huffs, displeased at the selection of items at hand.
"I mean, it's the person who makes the clothes, not the opposite. It doesn't matter what you wear because everything looks so good on you, princess." The corners of Asmodeus' mouth stretches into a smile, but it differs from his usual smug, conceited one. It was a humble display of contentment at your compliment. "That's correct!"
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
ෆ Beelzebub ━ Babycakes, Pudding, anything food related
Think about it, what is one of Beel's biggest pleasures in life? What does he yearn for so much, that he can't clear his mind from it to the point it is brought up in every conversation he's having? Food. So it's only natural that using food related nicknames will make him feel as important to you as food is to him.
Beel licks his lips as his eyes skim through the grocery list. You had brought him along with you to a human world supermarket, assuming you'll be able to keep him at bay, except... you forgot to take one variable into consideration.
"Cheese, cheese! Come try our cheese!" You were doing a good job holding him back from finishing a whole tub of blueberries, but the announcement called from afar by a samples vendor made his ears perk up. It took all of your magical energy to stop him from storming that poor salesperson like a hungry wolf, but you've managed. "I'm so sorry, y/n... you know it's hard for me to resist human world food, and for free too..." Beel was pouting at you, genuinely feeling guilty for scaring the unfortunate human. "I know you're trying your best... you were doing so well today, my little cinnamon roll."
"Mm, cinnamon rolls... can we go get some now? Please?"
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
ෆ Belphegor ━ Baby, baby boy
With every cell in his body, Belphegor loves being babied. As the youngest brother, he's often spoiled by his siblings and gets away with a lot. He's allowed to slack off, be rude or partake in the usual pranks and leave nearly unscathed because he's just so cute. Naturally, his pick to be called by his lover will be along those same terms of endearment and he will absolutely melt whenever you use them to address him.
"Five more minutes, I promise we'll make it in time..." Belphegor mutters sleepily, sheltering you between his arms as he snuggles closer to you. You take a peek at the clock, five minutes had turned to fifteen, but your weary demon refuses to let go of the bed, or of you. Sighing, you accept your upcoming fate of being scolded by Lucifer for your tardiness and reach to caress Belphegor's warm cheek, earning a soft hum in return. "You're gonna get us both in trouble, baby boy."
#The inspiration for this was actually a meme i saw on twitter#this is so silly lmaoo#obey me#obey me scenarios#obey me headcanons#obey me lucifer#obey me shall we date#obey me mammon#obey me mc#obey me satan#obey me belphegor#obey me beelzebub#obey me leviathan#obey me asmodeus
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house-training
pairing(s): dark!poison ivy x f!reader x dark!harley quinn
summary:
For a beat (or two), Ivy says nothing. Dimly, you can’t help but find her ability to maintain a stoic front in the face of Harley’s, shall we say, Harley-ness rather impressive.
And then, finally: “Harley, dear,” she begins, words tinged with exasperation. “What did I say about getting a pet?”
word count: ~1,000
rating: explicit (18+)
warnings: this is a dark!fic. that means non-consensual dynamics, non-consensual touching, etc. etc. all of it, non-consensual! dead dove: do not eat. bad BDSM etiquette, humiliation, implications of pet play (harley calls reader ‘puppy’), brief mommy kink, profanity, condescension, uneven power dynamics, un-negotiated three-person play, references to past non-consensual physical punishments, ivy’s vines. no minors; don’t like, don’t read!
notes: bro i do not know. i am literally just sitting here
— —
You awaken to the scent of fresh greens tickling your nose. Unusual. You nuzzle your face further into the pillow, inhaling deeply. Fresh, clean, grassy. Nothing like the gunpowder and bubblegum aroma that infuses every inch of Harley’s cluttered apartment.
Reluctantly, you crack open an eyelid—
And promptly snap the other one open, too.
Shit.
A tall, green-skinned woman looms over you, cataloguing you silently with a contemplative—but decidedly critical—expression. Springy, corkscrew curls tease her bare shoulders, each strand a startling shade of red. Lean, green arms are crossed against her chest, and a single green vine taps out an impatient rhythm on her hip.
For a long moment, neither of you say anything.
You know who she is. You know that she knows you know who she is.
Her gaze is calm and measured as it sweeps over the state of you: the lipstick smeared across your chin, the pinkish handprints across swollen cheeks... the collar around your neck. The blanket does little to preserve any pretense of modesty.
Shame heats your cheeks.
The woman—Poison Ivy—just rolls her eyes. As you watch, another vine snakes up her back to perch on her shoulder. She murmurs something unintelligible to it, though you can make out the word ‘Harley.’
The plant is quick to dismiss itself, and you… well. You don’t dare look away from her, even as the vine slithers over your waist to where Harley is sprawled face-down beside you. There’s a puff of… something behind you, then a sweet pollen-like scent infusing the air.
A grumble tickles your shoulder. “Wha—Wha’ happen’d?” Harley slurs out as she rouses, voice rough with sleep. “Whaddaya—” You can tell the moment she blinks herself awake, the moment she spots the… visitor in the bedroom, because— “PAM-A-LAMB!”
Her excited screech fills your ears. Both you and Ivy wince.
“When’d’ya get back? Did’ya see the Venus flytrap? It’s pretty cool, right? I named him ‘Red’ ‘cause I missed you!”
Harley’s sitting bolt upright in bed now, practically bouncing on her haunches, the sheets bunched around her waist. You whine when the blanket goes with her, cool air ghosting across your naked back in its absence.
For a beat (or two), Ivy says nothing. Dimly, you can’t help but find her ability to maintain a stoic front in the face of Harley’s, shall we say, Harley-ness rather impressive.
And then, finally: “Harley, dear,” she begins, words tinged with exasperation. “What did I say about getting a pet?”
— —
“Aw, Red, don’t be like that,” Harley pouts, only mildly chagrined. “She’s cute as a button! C’mon, puppy, up,” she urges, shaking your shoulder and poking you with both hands.
You bite back a sigh but do as she says, hoisting yourself up on shaky arms.
A pale arm curls around your waist, pulling you back against a warm and very naked Harley. “Good girl,” she coos in a voice that’s all honey and sweetness, her lips grazing the shell of your ear. A shudder runs down your spine, and you feel her smirk against your skin. “I know ya said no pets, Ive, but just look at her.” It takes all your willpower not to cover your bare chest—littered with swollen-pink bite marks and streaks of dried spit —as Ivy’s unimpressed gaze falls on you. “I couldn’t help myself!”
“Clearly.” Ivy’s tone is droll even as a glint of… something ignites itself in her darkened gaze. Interest, perhaps. “I guess she does, admittedly, hold a certain… appeal.” The vines at her feet shudder in kind.
A renewed flush heats your cheeks. It’s agony to keep still as her eyes sink lower, lower… And Harley—like she knows exactly what Ivy’s thinking, damn her—is quick to reposition herself to reach more of you, her hands creeping down your thighs.
“C’mon, puppy girl, spread ‘em,” she murmurs, tapping out an errant melody on the skin above your kneecaps. “You don’t wanna make me ask twice, do ya?”
Your spine stiffens. As threats of hers go, this one is somewhat thinly-veiled; already, your body bears a hundred hurts and bruises from days of calling her bluff. Suffice it all to say you’ve learned your lesson.
You don’t resist as Harley urges your thighs apart with firm hands, your overworked muscles straining to accommodate the shift. Cool air ghosts over the slick, swollen mess between your thighs; your legs tremble with the effort to keep from closing them.
God, it aches.
“Oh, my,” Ivy remarks roughly, head tilted, her eyes glued to your most private parts. In the very same breath, a number of vines inch towards you, creeping up the bedframe. “Harley did quite the number on you, didn’t she?” Her gaze darts up to meet yours.
You’re quick to look away, cheeks aflame. “Answer her, sweetness,” Harley prompts, nails skating up your thighs—a warning.
“Y—” You flinch when the first vine touches you, its budded green tip grazing along the fleshy skin of your inner thigh. “Yes.”
Harley hums. “Poor baby,” she coos, planting a feather-light kiss beneath your ear that sends a tingle down your spine. “Puppy girl isn’t quite house-trained, yet, is she?”
Tears burning in your eyes, you shake your head. “N-No.”
“Mommy had to use the hairbrush, didn’t she?” Harley adds, a hand ghosting across your battered cunt—but stopping just short.
Your chest feels tight; your sore, overworked cunt throbbing in time with your rapidly beating heart. “Y-Yes,” you whisper, every muscle tensed—bracing yourself for the inevitable.
You choke back a sob when Harley’s fingers slide down, down, down to your glistening outer lips, spreading them apart with ease. “Sh-shh,” Harley shushes you, like you’re an unruly child throwing a tantrum. “You’re okay, puppy girl. I know it hurts, I know.” Her fingers pull up and back until all of you is exposed, open to Ivy’s attentive gaze.
You nearly faint on the spot.
“Messy thing,” Ivy muses, more to herself than anyone else.
You wish the ground would swallow you whole.
“You wanna play with her, don’t’cha?” Harley teases in a sing-song tone, your nether lips kept mercilessly spread between her fingers. “Admit it.”
Ivy rolls her eyes but nods, irises dark with intention. “You’re incorrigible, my love.” A vine curls its way around your ankle.
“Guilty as charged.”
Fuck.
— —
end notes: hehe haha. me when i. me when. me .....
link to masterlist
#poison ivy x reader#harley quinn x reader#harley quinn x poison ivy x reader#dark!poison ivy x reader#dark!harley quinn x reader#dark!harley quinn x dark!poison ivy x reader#f!reader#stuff i wrote#dark fic#dark!harley quinn x dark!poison ivy x f!reader
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smirk emoji…. can we see a snippet of whichever wip is gripping you most rn 🫣🫶 IM EYEING ALL OF THEM LIKE HEY…. grabby hands
Referencing this post
Um, idk if this classifies as a "snippet" 🤪 but, I swear, this is only a small portion of what I have written...
This is the start of 'Fellow Honest Drunken Confession' (WIP, subject to change. SFW, swearing, gn reader)
To the people who voted on my poll for me to post the Leona/Malleus/Reader love triangle early, this isn't the content you voted for, but hopefully this might hold you over???
Fellow Honest let out an exasperated sigh, standing next to you and your classmates as the massive cruise ship that housed Playfulland amusement park sinks into the abyss of the ocean. His hands are clasped behind his head, and a carefree grin lights up his face. "You know what?" He asks, turning to you. His fox ears twitch atop his head as a salty breeze stirs his orange hair. The night has begun to encroach, a half moon hangs suspended in the starry sky like a pale glowing lamp above the dark waters of the ocean. You stare back into his face, noting his fangs poking out as the tip of his curly orange tail swishes happily. Fellow winks as he laughs his signature haughty cackle. He opens his mouth to speak. "Do you want to grab a drink sometime?"
Ace Trappola perks right up at the mention of alcohol and barrels forward, face beaming and completely missing Fellow's lascivious intent towards you. "Hey, free drinks? You're talking to the right person, man. Hell yeah, let's do it, you're gonna let us drink free? I mean, it's like, the least you could do for trying to human traffic us, am I right?" He does an excited fist-pumping action as Trey Clover trails in his wake, attempting to shush him to no avail, calling, "Ace!" in a desperate hiss. Fellow regards the spectacle with the most blank stare, his ear flicking as a tiny, unnoticed wince of annoyance flickers across his visage.
The monster of a man tilts his head and smiles slyly to you and only you, his eyes sweeping you with interest, "Just you and me, hotstuff. We're talking romantic and steamy. We've got a connection, don't deny it. So. Whaddaya say?" Fellow steps closer, tongue running along his canines as he looks you up and down with a cheeky grin and a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. "You and me, alone together, drinking, talking... I'll be real good to you—I'm an honest guy! All my business is legit now!" he throws his head back with a flourish of his arms, roaring with raucous laughter. After a second, he composes himself, his piercing orange eyes turning sharp as he flashes another lecherous look in your direction. With a slight smirk on the corner of his lips and a suggestive raise of his eyebrow, Fellow leans to whisper in your ear, lingering in the electricity of your aura a bit too long before speaking, making you shiver. His voice drops to a low, suggestive purr as his hot breath grazes your neck, "But, if you like, a little bit naughty ain't out of the question... "
Before you can respond, Ace—unable to be subdued by Trey—makes his way back over and elbows you in the arm. Just as clueless as ever, his freckled cheeks are flushed bright pink from excitement, and you swear he's bouncing with happiness on his toes as he hollers with unbridled hype for the evening ahead, "Free drinks, bro! He's an underworld mobster, dude—a high ranking one—we'll have the VIP treatment if he decides to take us out. Taste of that top shelf, not some gross, warm piss from a barrel they serve everyone else, only the best!" Ace says all this while gripping his heart and fake swooning, holding out his arms in an exaggerated gesture, leaning on your shoulder. "Free top shelf liquor!" Ace shouts to the rest of your classmates gathered around in small groups, waving them all over.
Fellow's eyebrow raises further upward until it threatens to leave the confines of his forehead, a dead look in his orange eyes. His tail doesn't twitch—it stays perfectly still, frozen in an upright arch. When his lips part in a rigid smile and his shoulders begin to shake, the absolute venomous displeasure that radiates off the poor fox is palpable enough that you can practically feel it soaking into your skin. For a minute, all that comes out of his mouth is a jumble of fragmented curse words mixed with giggles. You look over at him in mild alarm, unsure if he has finally reached a state of losing his goddamn mind or if he's about to violently lash out and murder Ace and everyone in attendance on sight.
Fellow holds up both gloved palms, almost covering his whole face as he slowly shakes his head and doubles over, guffawing uproariously and wiping away tears of hysterical mirth from his eyes, tail swishing from side to side again. You are stunned, staring as Fellow wheezes and struggles to get ahold of his faculties. Catching his breath, his eyes bulge and he bellows to the sky with unrestrained joy, throwing his head back, ears flying and pointing upwards, his hat almost tumbling off as his body quakes and his lungs struggle, "The sheer audacity! The unmitigated gumption of this fool—"
"Oh my GOD," he continues to snigger with laughter, almost out of control as his nose crinkles. Before long, he descends into violent snorts, then coughing as his breaths go askew and come short. In a valiant effort to calm himself, he holds up his hands, as if praying, a wicked grin plastered across his face. All Ace does is squint suspiciously at his antics, totally clueless to Fellow's intent. Trey shakes his head slowly, rubbing his face in abject defeat, looking as if he's willing his brain to purge the trauma of ever coming to this place. Fellow makes a poor attempt to control himself, breathing deeply, "Sorry, sorry, it's just funny, oh my God. Wow. He has some balls on him, I'll give him that! I really admire the gall. You know what? This brat might have a career in the biz, I'm serious." The fox beastman reaches out and ruffles Ace's head of red hair like he's some kid, chortling.
He is shaking his head and wearing a very impressed look as his fingers caress his chin pensively, lost in thought, unable to maintain eye contact as he's on the verge of losing his composure again. "Alright, tough guy. Yeah, let's go get boozed. And hey, little bastard," His fiendish grin takes a more sinister tone, fangs exposed as he tilts his head in a cocky way. "Just so you know, if your pathetic college didn't send that sweetheart of a cutie,” he winks suggestively at you, his tail giving a little twitch, before his eyes wander across the crowd of students, obviously unimpressed by your entire class, sneering, “I'd never be letting any of you idiots go. No way! I would have dragged each of you back to my boss by force. Don't test my generosity or my kindness." He shoves his finger into Ace's face, leaning towards him intimidatingly, but the smirk of delight stays on Fellow's face despite his posturing. He's clearly getting a huge kick out of trying to spook and intimidate Ace, who thinks he's some scary, powerful crime lord.
Fellow takes a sharp inhale and clasps his hands shut as he addresses the group, "Now, just for fun, let's get liquored up on the highest rooftop bar, play some poker, do a little dancing..." his eyes flit back over to you, "Maybe some smooches, hey?" A fox yip punctuates his sentence. His eyes return back to Ace, whose lips press in a firm, annoyed line, frowning at the con man. Fellow's eyebrow twitches with incredulous humor as he takes in Ace's defiance, biting his lip for a second as if trying not to give in to another peal of cackling. "There isn't going to be any 'VIP treatment', no 'free drinks', and definitely no 'top shelf', is that clear? Who do you think I am? You think I like doing that type of shit?" he points to the water, gesturing to the decimated remnants of the amusement park. "I'll let you in on a little secret, kid, people don't do those types of jobs because they're loaded.” He leans down to get eye level with Ace, using expressive jazz hands as he puts on a pompous voice, “'Oh, man, my yacht's all paid off and ready, better become a goddamn kidnapping organ trafficker—the glamour! The luxury!' Do you understand what I'm saying, you dinky little shit?"
#Fellow Honest#‧͙+ ̊*・༓☾ Erica Answers ☽༓・* ̊+‧͙#i can't believe im showing this many of my cards but#im proud of this one#i close my eyes and press 'post now'#😳
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OFFSCREEN POST
The Older Brother: Part Two
Bingo froze like a deer in the headlights as her haunches raised, “How… How do you know about that…? About… About Miss Mandibuzz bein’ there…?”
He tilted his head at her. “I did say I’d talked to Lucario, now didn’t I?”
She huffed, “Why would I assume he told you just ‘cause you talked to him? He’s told me not to tell no one about it so I assumed he’d do the same.”
“Yeah, personally I wouldn’t go yappin’ ‘bout it all willy-nilly. Folks don’t take too kindly to her or anythin’ associated wit’ her. He trusts me enough wit’ it, I guess?” He shrugged in response.
“Right…” Bingo gave an exasperated sigh, “Well, to answer your previous question… Yes. Mister Lucario found me half-dead in the middle of Nowhere with Miss Mandibuzz standin’ over me.”
Scrafty seemed to contemplate this for a moment as he gave her a once-over. But all he really said was, “I see…”
After a brief period of silence, he asks, “Well, you and Lucario are headed to the Guild, right? Whaddaya plan on doin’ once yer there?”
“Uh…” The younger Pokemon paused, furrowing her brows in thought. What did she plan to do once they arrived? What would they do when they got there? What was the plan afterwards? What happens next?
It seemed like such a hard concept to grasp. An “after”. An end to their current travels. The concept of anything being after they arrive seemed to elude her, like it was a blockage. Like she could see the rays of light over the top of a wall but no matter how much she stood on her hind legs she couldn’t see the sun fully.
She began to shift her weight between her paws once more, her ears flattening slightly as she tried to answer, “Um… I… I dunno… I…”
“WE’RE BACK!” Ryan shouted, holding out two handmade wooden toys in his hands. Tyson followed suit, three toys stashed in his loose skin. “We got the horrors!”
Bingo quietly flinched at the sudden shout, nearly bringing her paws over her ears again before stopping herself halfway.
“Horses.” Scrafty corrected him.
Ryan shrugged. “Same thing.”
Scrafty blinked for a moment, trying to process what the fuck bro was yappin’ about. “...Riiight…” Shifting his hands into his pockets, he tilted his head as a gesture to move along. “Anyways. Let’s keep movin’.”
The Lillipup nodded, following after the Scrafty without a word.
The street of old buildings came to an end at the next major intersection, where a handful of horse-drawn carts crossed the road. Scrafty waited until the path was clear before leading the kids to the other side, where they proceeded to stick close to the buildings on the right.
Scratching the beard under his chin, Scrafty cast a downward glance at Bingo and asked, “Well, I’ve asked you loads of questions already. But you got any yourself?”
Bingo paused for a moment, thinking before tilting her head up at him as they walked, “I dunno. I mean, what kinda questions am I meant to ask?”
“Uhhh…” he clicked his tongue as he tried to think. “Well, like… I dunno, anything really? Stuff you wanna know about Lucario, Little Town, Nowhere, the world… So like, anything, I guess?” He shrugged. “I can answer best I can… no good wit’ philosophical shit, though.”
“Mmm.” She stayed silent, wracking her brain for anything she could ask about only to come up empty. “Um, how was your day? You asked about mine, so I should ask about yours,” the Lillipup nodded.
Scrafty seemed genuinely surprised by this. His eyes widened for a moment, looking off to the side as if he was truly contemplating how his day went.
“Good,” he eventually settled for. With a slight nod, he smiled and repeated, “It was good.”
“Good is good!” Bingo beamed.
The group walked along the buildings for a little bit longer. Tyson and Ryan had fallen into a game of I Spy along the way, pointing out different Pokemon in the crowd in increasingly vague ways. “I spy with my little eye…” Ryan started, “...someone who’s… a Fire type!”
“We’re almost there, by the way,” Scrafty said to Bingo, “Just around the corner now.”
She nodded, rounding the corner with the brothers, “Alrigh–” But before she could finish her response a dark shape slammed into her shoulder, knocking her off balance for a moment as the stranger scurried off down the street before she could recover.
Bingo managed to regain her balance, glancing over her shoulder to see the back of the figure disappearing into the crowd.
A Salandit.
The three brothers turned to watch her slip away into the mass of Pokemon in the street.
Tyson turned to Ryan and asked, “A Salandit?”
“Yep!” Ryan grinned. “Your turn now!”
Scrafty only hummed in thought, his eyes scanning the crowd for where she disappeared to. After a moment, he resigned with a sigh and focused his attention back to Bingo. “You a’ight, kid?”
Bingo took her eyes off of the spot in the crowd where the Salandit vanished to look back up at the older Pokemon, “Oh, yeah, ‘m alright. It was just a lil’ bump.”
“Nothin’ nipped off’a ya, right?”
She shook her head, “Nope. Only thing I’ve got on me is my bandana right now and I’d notice if that was gone.”
“Good,” he huffed, “‘Cuz if they had, they’d’ve been long gone by now.”
Bingo sniffed at the air, the overwhelming scent of sweet smokey venom swirled in the air and entered her nose, allowing her to clearly “see” the trail the Salandit had left behind.
“No they wouldn’t," she replied bluntly, “I can still smell ‘em.”
Scrafty let out a small laugh, "Yeah, but with how fast and slippery Salandit can be? You'll only catch 'em if they let ya." He turns to face forwards, waving a hand to get Bingo and the Scraggies to follow. “A’ight, let’s keep movin’, y’all.”
The Lillipup gave no reply, instead just opting to listen and follow.
He led them to a large wooden building with a large sign that read “The Next Stop Inn”, passing several of the inn’s patrons as the group traveled up the stairs to the second floor and traveling down the hall. Scrafty stopped in front of one of the doors and raised a hand to knock but before he could touch the door, it opened up, revealing Lucario standing on the other side.
“Mighty kind of ya to pick up Lillipup for me, Scrafty,” Lucario says with a twitch of his aura sensors. “I hope she wasn’t too much trouble.”
Scrafty flinched at the door suddenly opening, blinking for a moment before frowning, “Ain’t never gonna get used to that—” Shaking his head, he moved on to his response, “But naw, she’s a good kid. No trouble at all.”
“Hi, Mister Lucario!” Bingo greeted the older Pokemon before tilting her head with a curious sniff at Scrafty, “Get used to what?”
“His sick aura powers!” Tyson interjected. “He can sense ya from a good ways away!” he explained, wiggling his fingers as if he had magic in them.
The Lillipup raised a brow before glancing up at Lucario in confusion, “Aura…?”
“Aura is a type of energy. It’s the essence of every livin’ thing,” Lucario explained. “Some species of Pokemon can learn to sense and utilize aura, like my own. Lucario are actually some of the best Pokemon at usin’ aura.”
Ryan jumped into the conversation. “Yeah! And! And! And and he can, like, sense emotions n’ stuff with it too! It’s soooooo cool!”
“Oooh. That is cool.” Bingo quietly agreed. Sense emotions? Then could he tell just how upset she was the other day after the nightmare, even if she hadn’t been so tired or tear stained?
“Not just emotions, but that’s the gist of it,” Lucario confirmed. “Comes in handy quite often.” he says, moving so Bingo can enter the hotel room. “Thank ya for takin’ her home fer me. You can leave now.”
Scrafty gave him a thumbs up. “A’ight.” He turned to grab Ryan and Tyson by the shoulders and leave, giving Lucario a nod of acknowledgement as he called back, “See ya, chief.”
“Oh,” Bingo looked over her shoulder towards the brothers, shouting after them as they left, “Bye!”
Scene End.
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Burning the Ice
Donnie has to deal with a sulking customer at his busy bar. Such is the life of a bartender in Lebanon...
Suptober prompt: Vintage
Flufftober prompt: Game Day (Sports)
Fictober prompt: "Sounds like a you problem."
Inktober prompt: Nest
(Read on AO3)
The place is packed tonight. The Jayhawks are playing the Tigers, and their epic rivalry has pulled every football fan in Lebanon into his bar. The servers have to move carefully, threading their way between the dense clusters of people packed around each of the big screens. The pool table, ignored for once, gathers a little dust in the corner.
The Jayhawks are ahead, but not by a lot, and there's still a chunk of game to go. The energy in the bar is a mammoth thing, an entity in its own right amalgamated from the intense, shared focus of nearly every person in the room.
“Nearly,” because there is one dead spot in all of this swirling energy. There's a stolid, sulky shape slumped at the bar, his back to all three TVs. A beer bottle sits in a tepid puddle of its own condensation on the wood in front of him. He's dragging a finger through the puddle, teasing the water out into lines that form intricate symbols. Every so often there's a strange trick of the light, probably a stray reflection from the overheads, and one of the symbols will seem to glow for a second.
Donnie shakes his head and wonders if the heat and the noise are bringing on a migraine. He hasn't had one in years, but if he's seeing weird shiny spots, maybe he's got one coming. He cracks open a bottle of water and chugs, hoping to stave it off with a little extra hydration.
He chucks the empty in the recycling bin and steps up to the man at the bar.
“Dean,” he greets. “Why are you here?”
“Whaddaya mean,” the man growls. “I'm here to watch the...” He gestures vaguely behind him, his voice trailing off.
“Yeah, no,” Donnie replies. “If you're here for game day, tell me who's playing. Uh-uh,” he adds, when Dean starts to turn his head. “Without looking.”
Dean flounders for a moment, then offers a limp “...Kansas?”
Donnie laughs at him. “Lucky guess, Cosell. Why are you really here?”
The man shrugs, a petulant look closing his face as he drops his gaze. His finger starts tracing shapes on the bar again, and Donnie has to force himself not to watch for the glow. He sighs and rolls his eyes.
“Not talkin' tonight, huh? That's fine. I can guess. Fight with Cas?”
Dean's head whips up, shocked.
“Yeah,” Donnie laughs. “You're that obvious. So what happened? Someone hang the toilet paper the wrong way again?”
The man takes a swig of his warm beer and grimaces. With clear reluctance, he grits, “He moved a bunch of the shit around in our room without tellin' me he was gonna do it. One of my Zep posters got torn.”
“You're here drinking room-temperature Margiekugel because of a torn poster?” Donnie asks incredulously. “Sounds like a you problem.”
“It's vintage!” Dean protests.
“So what? eBay exists for a reason. So does Scotch tape. You're really gonna let this blow up into a big thing between you? What, you think he tore the poster on purpose?”
“Pff, no, 'course not. Cas would never do that.”
“Well, why was he moving things around in the first place?”
“He was bringin' the rest of his stuff in. From his old room, from before we got together. Poster got torn when he was movin' in his extra bookcase,” he grumbles.
“So, your husband of one month tries to surprise you by adding the last of his single-man possessions to the nest you two have built together, and instead of swooning at the how romantic of it all, you decided to get pissy about a piece of old-ass paper getting a little ripped?”
Dean stares at him for a full minute, mouth agape. Then his jaw snaps shut with an audible thunk. “Shit,” he says. “I'm an asshole.”
“Pretty much,” Donnie tells him. “You wanna talk about why you once again fixated on some tiny unimportant detail to get upset about instead of focusing on how ecstatic he makes you? How unbelievably lucky you are to have found someone who would agree to tie his life to yours despite all of your ridiculous bullshit? Are you up for a deep dive into your ongoing fears of commitment and your own happiness? Or should we skip straight to the part where you settle your tab, tip me handsomely, and hightail it out of here to go home and apologize to your husband?”
“Uhhh, I'll take option B, please,” Dean mutters, slapping a twenty on the bar.
Donnie pockets it and does not offer him any change, even though drinks are half-price for the game. “You should probably stop and pick up some flowers on the way, man. Cas deserves that. I mean, he deserves a freakin' medal for putting up with you, but flowers would be a nice token.”
Dean nods dumbly and clambers off his stool. Before he can turn to leave, Donnie grabs his sleeve. “Hey, tell Cas I said hi, and that I'm sorry he married a dumbass. Bring him out for nachos next week, okay? I'm getting in more of that honey stout he likes.”
“Yeah, will do. See you then. Thanks, Donnie.”
“No problem, Dean. See you later.”
In a stadium hundreds of miles away, the Tigers fumble and the Jayhawks recover the ball. The crowd in his bar roars, and Donnie watches the instant replay while he wipes up the puddle where Dean's beer had been.
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Power Rangers Incorrect Quotes
(Over a group chat)
Kim: LOWERCASE LETTERS ARE FOR THE LOWER CLASS
Trini: and here we have a capitalist
Jason: did you just
Billy: Let us all take a moment to appreciate that all of human history and human language and the universe itself alligned to make this joke possible.
-
Tommy: (Screams)
Jason: (Screams louder to establish dominance)
Zordon:
Zordon: Should we do something?
Alpha 5: No, i want to see who wins.
-
Jason, texting Kim: Help! I’m being kidnapped!!
Kim: Where are you?!
Jason: I’m with some strange person in a car, Help
Kim: I’ll call Tommy.
Tommy, answering his cell: Y’ello?
Kim: Where’s Jason?! He texted me that he was being kidnapped!!!
Tommy: Jason? Whaddaya mean, he’s right next to-
Tommy:
Tommy: I’ll call you back. (hangs up)
Tommy: THE NEW HAIRCUT ISN’T THAT BAD
Jason: WHO ARE YOU
-
Rita: I WILL RUIN YOUR HAPPINESS, NO MATTER THE COST!!!
Tommy: my happiness?
Tommy, looking at the rest of the squad: I’m happy??
-
Jason: (Kicks down the door with a panicked look)
Zordon: What happened?
Jason: Nobody died!
Alpha 5: WHAT KIND OF ANSWER IS THAT
-
Zack: Yoink is the opposite of Yeet.
Trini: But it’s just as fast.
Kim: The lord Yeeteth and the lord Yoinketh away.
Tommy: Well there’s my eulogy sorted.
-
Zack: Who thinks i can fit 15 marshmellos in my mouth?
Billy: You’re a hazard to society.
Jason: And a coward. Do 20.
-
Kim: Here’s a fun christmas idea, we hang mistletoe, but instead of kissing, you have to FIGHT whoever’s under it!
Zordon: Kimbery, no.
Alpha 5: Mistlefoe.
Zordon: please stop encouraging this.
-
Kim: Why am i not a banana?
Billy: Because your genetic code dictates that you are human. However, it should please you to know that you share 50-60% of your DNA with a banana.
Kim: Thanks, man.
Zack: Wait, are you telling me some people are 10% more banana than other people?
-
Tommy: Love is dead and never existed. All you did was betray me as i laid, festered and sick. you are the definition of dread.
Jason: .... are you okay?
Tommy: Kimberly stole my ****ing garlic bread.
-
Zordon, yelling: This is WITHOUT A DOUBT, the single most IRRESPONSIBLE thing you all have EVER done!!
Trini: Hey, remember that "Selfie with a Monster" contest?
Zordon:
Zordon: You did WHAT
Alpha 5: Oh, i remember that.
-
Tommy: When i die, i want my tombstone to read, “Mistakes were made.”
Jason: Wasn’t that already on your birth certificate?
-
Kim: You are now one day closer to eating your next plate of nachos.
Zack: This is the most hopeful thing i’ve ever heard.
Billy: What if i die tomorrow and never eat any nachos?
Jason: Then tomorrow is Nacho lucky day.
Trini: Get out.
-
Zack, singing to a youtube video: You are, my fire
Trini, quietly: My one desire
Billy, half asleep: Believe, when i say
Kim, not looking up from a magazine: I want it that way
Jason bursting into the room: TELL ME WHYY
Everyone unenthusiastically: Ain't nothing but a heart ache
Jason: TELLLLLLLLL ME WHY
Zack: Ain't nothing but a mistake
Jason: Tell me Whyyyyy
Trini: I never wanna hear you say
Kim loudly: I WANT IT THAT WAY
Zordon: W-what?
-
Zordon: Recruit Teenagers, they said. It'll be fun, they said.
Tommy: PUT IT OUT PUT IT OUT
Jason: IT'S TOO BIG TO SMOTHER!!! GET THE ANTI-FLAME THROWER!!!
Kim: It's called a Fire Extinguisher!?!?
(Glass shatters, something explodes, Billy screams)
Zordon: Don't listen to them. Don't.
-
Zordon: Alright, everyone pay attention. I have an important announcement to make and i only have a minute.
Team: Why? are you in a hurry?
Zordon: No, i was referring to your relatively short attention spans.
-
Jason: I'm sorry for all the stuff i said.
Tommy: And for punching me in the face?
Jason: No, you deserved that.
-
Tommy: Do you ever get so annoyed at everything that you start to get pissed off at even little things, like a spoon clinking against a bowl or people talking?
Kim: I think that's called Sensory Overload, and it's really common in people with anxiety.
Billy: It can also be a result of sleep deprivation, stress, or even dehydration.
Tommy: Thanks, i thought i was just a bitch.
-
Jason: Synonyms are weird because if you invite someone to your cottage in the forest, that just sounds nice and cozy, but if i invite you to my cabin in the woods, you're gonna die.
Trini: My favorite is "Butt Dial" vs "Booty Call".
Billy: It's called Connotation.
Zack: Also, "Forgive me Father, for i have Sinned," vs "Sorry daddy, i've been naughty".
Kim: Great news! Language is now CANCELLED!
-
Alpha 5: How do the rangers usually deal with these messes?
Zordon: They don't. they usually create a bigger mess that cancels out the first one.
-
(Tommy being controlled by Rita)
Jason: Tommy, stop! This isn't you, you've gone mad with power!
Tommy: Well of course I have.
Tommy: Have you ever tried going mad without power?
Tommy: It's boring.
-
Kim: On a scale from “damn Daniel” to “fre sha vaca do”, how are you feeling?
Zack: In between “it’s an avocado, thanks” and “how did you defeat Captain America”, but as a solid answer I would say “I don’t need a degree to be a clothing hanger”. How about you, Alisa?
Tommy: Probably “road work ahead”.
Alpha 5: I speak many languages, and this is none of them.
-
Jason, about Tommy: Apparently we’re getting someone new in the group.
Zack: Are we stealing them?
Kim: New or used?
Trini: Wonderful responses, both of you.
-
Zack: Rules are made to be broken!
Zordon: They were made to be followed. Nothing is made to be broken.
Kim: Uh, piñatas.
Trini: Glow sticks.
Jason: Karate boards.
Billy: Spaghetti when you have a small pot.
Zack: and Rules!
-
Jason: I CAN'T DO IT!
Zack: I CAN'T EITHER!
Jason: I CANT FREAKING DO IT ANYMORE
Zack: WELL I'LL TELL YOU WHAT, YOU CAN EITHER GIVE UP NOW, OR YOU CAN FIGURE IT OUT. BECAUSE WE CERTAINLY CAN'T DO IT WITHOUT YOU, AND WE KNOW YOU CAN'T DO IT WITHOUT US.
Jason:
Zack: I appreciate it,
Jason: BUT LOOK WHAT WE'RE DEALING WITH-
Kim: Jason-
Jason: YOU GOTTA DRAW THE LINE SOMEWHERE!
Zack: Jason we gotta-
Jason: YOU GOTTA DRAW A FREAKING LINE IN THE SAND. YOU GOTTA MAKE A STATEMENT.
Jason: YOU GOTTA LOOK INSIDE YOURSELF AND SAY “What am I willing to put up with today?”
Jason, motioning to Brainwashed Tommy: NOT FREAKING THIS
#Mighty Morphin Power Rangers#incorrect quotes#I DIDN'T MEAN FOR THIS TO BE SO LONG BUT I KEPT THINKING OF NEW ONES THAT MADE ME LAUGH HELP
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th THE MINE ELECTRIC ???!!!?!
???: THE MINE ELECTRIC???!!!?!
???: (mind_electric.wav)
Gamble steps up for the group, and approaches the fallen figure.
GAMBLING MAN: And where th’ HELL did YOU come from?
???: WHAT YOU WANNA BUY A VACATION HOME THERE
???: BECAUSE I SURE AS HELL WOULDN’T
???: I MEAN IT WOULD BE CHEAP BUT-
RANVIER: STOP YELLING THAT’S MY THING
???: OH SHIT ITS PINK BABY?
RANVIER: IM ADULT DUMBASS
???: (laughtrack.wav)
???: WELL YOU’RE NOT THE OTHER PINK ADULT AND IM NOT CALLING TWO TWO TWO TWO TWO PEOPLE PINK ADULT. IGNORE THE LOOP.
RANVIER: WHO ARE YOU CALLING PINK ADULT
???: THE PINK ADULT CLEARLY
GAMBLING MAN: Look. Don’t get smart with us. Where th’ hell are ya from?
???: UMMMMMMM UPTOWN I THINK
???: BUT IF YOU MEAN WHERE I JUST CAME FROM WELL
???: i dont actually know EL OH EL
GAMBLING MAN: Whaddaya mean?
???: I SAW A PINK PERSON AND FOLLOWED THEM AND THEN
???: (splat.wav)
???: TALK ABOUT GAY JA VU I MEAN DEJA VU
???: SPEAKING OF GAY
???: WHATS WITH THE COWBOY
GAMBLING MAN: What are ya implyin’.
???: WHY IS YOUR WAIST OUT
???: FOR MEN TO HOLD HUH
RON DEVLIN: snrk
???: BLUEBITCH DONT YOU LAUGH IVE SEEN YOU AROUND
RON DEVLIN:
RON DEVLIN: what
???: I MIGHT HAVE UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHH
???: LEFT OUT A STEP OF MY STORY WHERE I FOLLOWED YOU
GAMBLING MAN: Oh joy.
GAMBLING MAN: We got a stalker. I bet I know what this is about.
???: HUH WHUH
GAMBLING MAN: It’s about that damn bounty, isn’t it.
???: NUH UH
GAMBLING MAN: Pleaaaaase.
GAMBLING MAN: Only reason someone would be near me is fer th money. So come clean.
???: I LITERALLY DO NOT CARE???? YOU HAVE ISSUES DUDE
???: I DONT EVER KNOW WHO YOU ACTUALLY ARE IVE JUST BEEN CALLING YOU PEOPLE STUPID NICKNAMES
GAMBLING MAN: Uhuh. And what’s mine? Jackpot?
???: GAYBOY, COWBOY, WHORE ENERGY,
GAMBLING MAN: And why the hell are ya callin me a whore? What have ya seen, huh?
It extends an arm- which has two hands- and slaps the bare stomach of Gamble.
???: WHAT HAVENT I SEEN EL EM AY OH
Gamble is silent, frozen in place.
RON DEVLIN: So… who are you…?
???: DUDE IVE BEEN WANDERING AROUND NOTHINGNESS FOR YEARS DO YOU EXPECT ME TO REMEMBER
VITREOUS: JUST KIDDING MY NAME IS VITREOUS
VITREOUS: (laughtrack.wav)
VITREOUS: IS THE COWBOY DEAD HES NOT MOVING
INPUT ACTION?
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caput mortuum
it's the color of dried blood.
is there color in your world?
warnings — none.
word count — 1.4k
prev. — next.
suna had grown used to the feeling of [surname]'s eyes on him. they pricked against his skin like needles, but they didn't bother him anymore. he couldn't understand why osamu or anyone else didn't pay as much regard to her gaze as he did—involuntarily, nonetheless.
each morning when she approached, his fight or flight response seemed to be triggered. yet he did neither. the hairs on the back of his head bristled as he heard her footsteps coming closer from behind. all he did was sit down patiently and wait for her to greet him.
good mornin', suna-kun, he could hear it replaying like a broken record inside his head.
he waited and waited and waited. [surname]'s eyes blistered his back, his nape, his head. the needles merged together into a knife; the knife grew larger into a sword. the temperature in the classroom rose.
suna peeked from over his shoulder to see her standing completely motionless. he wouldn't put it past her to function properly without breathing. one glance into her glare helped him understand why it scorched like lava.
[surname] was frowning.
he had seen her furrowed brows when she scrunched up her face playfully. she didn't look very playful this morning.
she pulled an empty chair from the seat beside his desk. he wanted to claw out his own eyes to avoid the eye contact she forced upon him. osamu was very clearly enjoying their staring contest as he munched on his snacks.
her knife flickered from his eyes to his hands and back to him. "what happened to yer fingers, suna-kun?"
suna found the courage to blink, tearing his sights away from her to inspect his fingers. he had taped them the previous afternoon during practice. he glanced up at osamu and that smug smirk of his.
"osamu's spike," suna replied with a shrug. he turned back to [surname] just in time to see her eyes grow wide.
her burning glare whipped towards osamu. "miya-kun?!" her voice rose a few pitches. osamu's lips fell into a flat line as he swallowed his food. he wasn't enjoying anything anymore.
"i jammed my fingernail, it's nothing." suna snickered to himself. he fiddled with the tape, tugging at the edges to pull it off.
[surname]'s attention returned to him in an instant. "whaddaya mean nothing? this the norm in volley?"
he shrugged again. the tape unwrapped from his fingers with ease. "it happens often, if that's what you're asking." he faced his purple nail towards her. dried blood coated the edge.
[surname] blinked. her frown smoothed out and vanished. "oh." she gently held onto his hand with careful fingers. "caput mortuum."
ah, there it was. her colors had been overshadowed by her scowling concern. they resurfaced in a second with suna's help.
"what?"
"yeah, what?" osamu echoed.
"this color." he noticed how much longer her nails were compared to his. they were painted a dark color. he guessed it could've been dark byzantium. "it's caput mortuum, translates from latin to dead head."
suna winced when she prodded his finger with her nail. it didn't hurt, it simply startled him. she scraped the blood off him.
he stared at [surname] and her weird decisions. did she act subconsciously or fully conscious? "i don't know if i like that," suna managed to mumble.
"well, i don't like seein' yer fingers bruised, but i ain't whinin'." her sharpened pupils darted up from his hand to his eyes. he recoiled.
he still couldn't figure it out—figure her out. nobody had ever cleaned the blood off his nails, and honestly, he preferred it that way. [surname] glared into him with his hand between her fingers, as if she were silently scolding him for not taking better care of himself. she either had no shame or was a complete idiot.
she let go of him and he instantly pulled his arm onto his desk. she stood up, smiling. "i think it fits, anyway. caput mortuum's used to refer to the residues in alchemy, the useless stuff ya pull apart and throw away." her rambles fell from her tongue as she returned the chair to its place.
"where are you going with this?" suna sighed, one of his brows arching.
[surname] shook her head and let out a hum. "i've nowhere to go, but ya taped yer fingers ta keep going. it's useless to think about the pain if it's only gonna hold ya back."
"sounds similar to the school banner."
"what's it say?" she seemed to perk up at his comment. suna regretted opening his mouth.
"we don't need things like memories."
"oh." [surname] blinked. her eyes carved holes on him. "i agree. we don't." the smile on her lips was thin.
it slapped him with enough shock to give him whiplash. he could hear glass shattering in the background. suna hadn't realized when he had started making assumptions about [surname]. she agreed with a school banner she'd never paid attention to. he had assumed she held memories dear to her heart simply because of her demeanor.
but she mentioned gainsboro only once. the one to constantly dwell on everything she spouted was him.
her gaze didn't make him flinch when he locked eyes. instead, it was [surname] who raised her brows in surprise. "you don't—"
"[name]-chan!" shijiki cut into their conversation with her shrill shrieks. "yer takin' too long! come back!" she waved her arm in the air as if [surname] couldn't find her.
[surname] snorted. "that's my cue, suna-kun. take care of yerself." she glanced to osamu with a slanted simper. "treat 'im nice, miya-kun, he seems to be fragile." her palm patted his shoulder before she waved her fingers and walked away.
the boys watched her sit down at her seat and how shijiki suffocated her in a hug. suna turned to face forward again, maybe rest a bit more on his desk. he met osamu's eyes.
"she's weird," he commented with that smirk of his.
suna sighed, "i know."
"she flirts weird."
"i don't think she's flirting." he rolled his eyes. "i don't know what she wants."
"she's flirtin' with ya."
"what do you know?"
osamu shrugged, popping almonds into his mouth. "count yer blessings, ya don't get crazy fangirls and billions of envelopes."
"no, i get a weird girl saying i'm colorless." osamu was just as dumbfounded as him, a questioning frown etched on his brows. suna shook his head. "whatever that means."
his phone vibrated from inside his pocket before osamu could retort. he pulled it out to find a message from [surname]. it was a picture of the color she had scraped off the edge of his bruised nail.
"ya have her number?"
suna couldn't help the grimace contorting his face. "long story."
"and you talk?" the expression he wore reminded suna so much of atsumu. he had plans of spiking a ball into both of their faces in the afternoon.
he handed his phone to the better twin—although that title was slowly becoming inaccurate. "she sends me pictures of things and their color, i don't know."
"what?"
osamu scrolled through the chat he shared with [surname]. the messages on her part were long and messy, jumping from hiragana to kanji to english words, misspelled more often than not. suna's replies—always replies because he never messaged her first—were so unbelievably interested that osamu cringed. he didn't think suna had it in him.
on weekends, she sent him good mornin's with an unnecessary amount of exclamation points. and suna always answered back.
osamu scrunched his nose as he returned the phone. "you guys flirt weird."
"woah, a promotion." suna's volume rose to pretend he was excited. osamu cackled. "from getting flirted with to mutual flirting."
"i'm rootin' for her."
"watch out for your head, i'll give you an aneurysm." his threat disappeared into an unexpected yawn. he slammed his forehead against his desk to knock himself out until homeroom started.
part of him hoped he wouldn't get a bruise. he knew he couldn't handle another frowning [surname].
#is there color in your world?#Haikyuu#Suna Rintarou#Suna Rintarou x Reader#Suna x Reader#Haikyuu x Reader
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hey nerd! you like books? me too!
today and tomorrow, that’s July 12 & 13, bookshop dot org has FREE SHIPPING!
if you live in the US, the UK, or Spain, and you order books online, you should do it through this website! [ here ] is where they explain what they’re about in detail, but tl;dr bookshop dot org handles shipping & returns while giving the profits to independent bookstores. you can name a specific bookstore with your order and they’ll get all the profit, as if you bought the book straight from them! that’s helpful for me because i like my local indie bookstore a lot, but it’s a little difficult to drive to and it doesn’t always have my hyper-specific interests in stock. (whaddaya mean, you don’t dedicate your limited shelf space to a treatise from the 1980′s explaining how large technical failures are an emergent property of certain kinds of physical-social systems??)
and if you don’t have a specific bookstore in mind, the profits go to a pool that’s then shared between all their affiliated stores, so you’re still supporting indies! since this website launched in january 2020, they’ve raised over $20 million for independent bookstores.
(for the record, i’m not getting paid to say any of this. i just REALLY believe in not giving business to amaz*n at every opportunity lol)
i’ve been on a horror kick this year! can’t imagine why!!!!! i recommend the anthologies produced by the British Library Tales of the Weird, particularly The Platform Edge and Mortal Echoes. or do you want a ghost ship IN SPACE? i deeply enjoyed Dead Silence by SA Barnes! lots of people seem to be all about Our Wives Under the Sea by Julia Armfield, and i’d order it myself except i’ve already got thirteen goddamn books piled up & waiting for me! one of those books is What Moves the Dead by T Kingfisher! and last but not least, some nonfic for the fallen london fans who follow me, i recommend Judith Flanders’ books Inside the Victorian Home and The Victorian City. well-researched, very detailed and interesting.
check it out!
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Could you do head cannon’s with Dallas, Johnny or soda with a hippie reader who doesn’t like fights and who wears flower crowns. Also love your work!
You don’t like fights?
Whaddaya mean ya don’t like fights doll?
Only joking, Dally doesn’t really care!
Besides, no fights means you stay safe!
You’ll help him clean up though, bandaging his wounds from the rumbles and making sure he stays relatively safe
As for the flower crowns?
Don’t even try putting one on his head in public
He’ll promptly put it back on your head, mumbling about how he’s too tough for them
When it’s just the two of you, though?
Oh don’t try taking it off
He treats that little flower crown like it’s worth a million dollars
Won’t through it away either, don’t judge him for having the half-dead crown in his room at Buck’s place
Johnny would love a hippie s/o!!!
You don’t want to fight? That’s alright darlin’, he doesn’t really want to fight either
You’d get along quite well!
Johnny loves, loves, loves, flower crowns
Please, make him one, make him a hundred of them, please, please, please
He wears them proudly and loves it even more when you have a matching one
He really like to watch you put them together too, how nimbly your fingers braid the flower stems together
He is not capable of doing it
You thought he was a Greek god come to earth before?
Well you haven’t seen this boy in a flower crown
He looks ANGELIC
Literally so beautiful, especially if you pick flowers that match his eyes
If you don’t want to fight?
That’s alright honey, he really doesn’t like fighting either (he does, but that doesn’t matter here)
But you guys would get along great, hippie personality with his laid-back attitude?
A match made in heaven
#the outsiders#the outsiders hcs#the outsiders headcanons#the outsiders x reader#dillo’s writing#sodapop curtis#dallas winston#johnny cade#sodapop curtis x reader#dallas winston x reader#johnny cade x reader
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Aro Volturi N.S.F.W Alphabet
CANON DIVERGENT.
Info on Reader: Reader is an Elemental Gift user like Benjamin
CW/TW: a SLIGHT MENTION of assault but NO DETAIL AT ALL (as a SA survivor I do not use this lightly but I do like representation and not having the survivor be that cliche broken doll we end abusers here thank you)
How you two met:
You…..oh you. You’re standing with the Cullens wondering how the FUCK you got here.
Why am I here? What’s with this tiny little kid who can touch me and tell me things. Awe but she’s cute.
You’re just a bored Vampire who knows Carlisle and is Esme’s BFF.
You’re a nomad, and a badass one, see your gift is the Elements like Benjamin, it’s why Amun has his eye on you and is freaked out.
You and Benji are buddies now. Benjamin specializes in Earth and Water. You specialize in Fire and Air.
So now, here you are watching a bunch of cloaked baddies stomping towards you. But Carlisle and you have spoken frequently, the Volturi aren’t bad.
However, they are cautious.
And caution bred by fear is something you know to be wary of.
So you keep yourself a bit behind Carly. Waiting and watching.
The leader— that must be Aro you think, flings his hood back and suddenly you feel your entire chest clench up and a yank within yourself towards him. “Oh what the fuck.” You growl. Glancing UP at the Old Gods you couldn’t help but snap at them “ARE YOU ALL KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW?! HIM?!”
The platinum haired man barked angrily, “who dares?!”
Aro is too busy glancing at his brother Marcus who’s smiling. He nods at Aro and huffs a bit of a sigh.
The raven haired man turns ever so slowly, casting his red gaze over the crowd and it falls to Carlisle. “Carly.”
“Aro?”
“Who is that behind you.” Aro can feel his chest hurt like a chain is being pulled.
Carlisle looks confused and glances behind him where you are shaking your head face palming—looking embarrassed.
Edward and Bella are utterly confused, before Edward listens to Aro’s and your thoughts and gets a look of disgust, “REALLY.” He barks.
You feel the rage of a thousand suns consume you. “I CAN’T PICK IT YA KNOW AND HEY WHADDAYA MEAN REALLY —ASSHOLE DON’T TALK ABOUT MY MATE LIKE THAT!”
The entire field is utterly still as you’re heaving, standing on your tip toes in front of the bronze haired vampire pointing at Edwards cringing face, “but it’s—“ he starts, you let out a growl and sparks fly off you.
Edward shuts up.
“I will light your ass on fire.” You whisper hiss.
The Volturi are just tilting their heads like WTF.
Marcus is trying not to laugh, Caius has just become stunned glancing between his brother and the woman across the battlefield.
Aro is getting GIDDY.
“And who is the girl.” He asks.
You turn, your hips swinging with attitude and your arms crossing as you scoff. “Psh, get a load of this Mother fucker,” you whisper to yourself glaring across the expanse of space. “HEY. I have a name.”
------
-----
His First Impression:
Of course my mate swears like a sailor.
Is Aro’s first thought.
His next thought is that you’re awful adorable. Awe so lithe and cute and— Much too … hm, much too adorable to be mine I would think how In the —a violent wind kicks up and flames burst out from your body enveloping your form as you take a few steps forward.
Ah there it is.
“You wanna ask me my name— darling.” You smile wide at him.
“Of course,” his purr is laced with annoyance, but he’s far too intrigued. “Who might you be?”
“I’m y/n. No last name, my parents were assholes.” You shrug. “So, we doing this trial or we figuring the whole—“ you wave your hand between the gaping maw of land between you two, “bond thing.”
Aro pauses, a twitch on his lips, “after the proceedings cara mia.”
“Ooo… love me a man that speaks Italian—” You smirk, raising a brow and cock your head to the side.
Aro makes a stifled choked off growl as his eyes go black— thank God he lost the ability to blush as arousal slammed into him like a freight train.
You’re obviously annoyed, and have as Caius mutters ‘more balls than a Christmas tree’ and you are ready for this trial to be over.
Frankly so is Aro he wants to drag you back to Volterra and bring you to heel.
Not that he thinks that’s going to happen.
But he loves playing with fire. And you’re full of it.
He watches you glance at the Cullens and the half-breed. “Alright Nessie come on let’s show him what you can do kiddo.” You scoop the girl up and you and the Cullens walk over with Jake behind you.
-----
-----
When does he know of his feelings?
When within reaching distance you set Renessme down and pat her head, “okay tiny Loch Ness, say hello.”
Bella is panicking, but she trusts you it seems, she better, you have no qualms frying— sans mate— every vampire here. They do their little song and dance. Aro tries to talk about the danger and you feel your temper boil over.
“Darling.” You croon taking a step forward with a sharp but soft smile.
You remind him of a lioness, purring softly but ready to tear into him with one movement.
He raises a brow; you are in 6 inch heels putting you nose to nose with him. “Yes carissima?” He breathes deep and nearly groans out loud, you smell so good, like spring and a heady feminine scent like perfume edged in lilacs and lavender.
“Could you pretty pretty pretty please just keep an eye on little Nessie— I hate to tell you but she’s quite important to me and I can assure you she fits in with humans better than the Cullens do.”
“And if I don’t.”
You let flames dance in your gaze. “I’ll roast everyone here except your brothers and their mates and make you start the fuck over without me.”
Aro’s done.
Cupid has struck him in his dead heart.
He’s never been more terrified or aroused or enraged at once at your dulcet threat purred from such sweet lips.
He wants to grip you by your hair to him, pick you up and haul you to somewhere private and teach you a lesson.
He wants to fight you. And it’s quite clear you’re ready to rumble, though he’s not sure you’d let him win. Or that it wouldn’t end up tangling in a bed somewhere on fire. That’s fine too.
A manic grin spreads across his face, eyes going pitch black as he snatches you up by the waist and hauls you closer loving the startled look in your eyes settling into something dark and wanting. “And if I agree?”
The brothers roll their eyes.
Go figure you’d be as bat shit as he is.
“I’ll leave with you right now.” You give him THAT look matching his almost mad grin.
A low purr echos from him making Bella clap her hands over Nessie’s ears. “Una ragazza così meravigliosa, credo che mi piaccia come funziona la tua mente.” Such a wonderful girl, I think I like how your mind works.
But your plans to drag your mate off end as Alice shows up with her witness right when he’s about to whisk you off for some obvious adult time.
Both of you sigh put out and exasperated.
Yes you just about ended an entire potential threat with batting pretty eyes and coaxing the leader of the Volturi into some fun.
But now that’s ruined because of the psychic. Alice is looking rather embarrassed as the proceedings go. Given that she probably saw how everything was about to go down.
Aro can sense you’re as annoyed as he is, that and you’re not leaving his side. And you don’t mind touching him but you’re not because oh yeah he needs to focus. But oh he can see your hand twitching towards his own.
He can easily turn his gift off and so he does and grips your hand, quickly jerking you to his side.
Electricity lights along your skin at the contact and both of you jolt a moment and glance sideways looking amused.
This was going to be fun.
——
——
How’d you end up with the Volturi?
Alice and her witnesses ease their concerns about Nessie. Aro placates the Volturi as you linger back behind him a bit. Everyone just poof! Vanishes.
“So ah, can we get my stuff first before you whisk me off around the world?” You ask sweetly.
Aro’s a bit startled, “you wish to leave already?”
You realize he would be willing to stay for a bit and let you acclimate.
“Nah where you go I fucking go, come on baby. Let’s get the fuck outta dodge.” You give him a teasing shove as you walk by making Carlisle’s coven silently shake in mirth at his surprised expression.
Carlisle murmurs, “Good luck Aro.”
“Fuck off Carly.” The King growls back before following you.
That’s all they wrote.
You were in. And you made yourself at home quite easily.
Jane and Alec adore you— you saw them and just SQUEEd. “OMG they’re so DEADLY but so CUTE!”
Jane wasn’t quite sure what to do with you picking her UP and hugging her nuzzling your nose to her cheek, “she’s just a tiny tot of doom I adore it! We’re going to burn the SHIT outta people.”
Alec just sat starry eyed as you ruffled his hair, “I know boys don’t like being picked up.”
Jane had become a koala on you. And you didn’t mind.
Well. You’re Mama now. Aro couldn’t be more pleased as you continue to help develop their skills trying things outside of the box.
See, that’s also a sort of talent you have— you can help people learn how to use their gifts because of how you think. Not a gift per say, but certainly useful.
Jane it turns out can utilize the fire element.
Alec can utilize air.
With you knowing both you’re easily able to teach Alec how to hone his targets and even allow his gift to POP UP near someone rather than from his hands.
Jane is capable of setting shit on fire now.
Aro isn’t sure if he’s proud or worried.
Bit of both. But you are STERN with their use of powers. And when Jane set Felix’s foot on fire she was forced to shine everyone’s shoes in the Volturi in the afternoon and write 200,000 times at HUMAN PACE. “We do not light family on fire.”
She never did it again.
The inner coven loves you. Caius and you are besties Marcus is like a big brother always doting on you. Athenadora and Sulpricia are of course still together as companions, and don’t worry about his ex wife— they were on the rocks she’s ecstatic someone else can keep him in line.
The coven instantly takes to you, in fact you’re now basically Mother to everyone. Scolding, teaching, comforting, you do it all. But you’re also a leader and a ruthless one at that.
A perfect fit Aro thinks.
——
——
How’d he deal with his emotions?
You are driving Aro FUCKING CRAZY.
Literally mad.
You know how to push his buttons and you are not one to do as told. So for him, he who has anyone bending to his will to see you just cock a brow at him and laugh “awe.”
He wants to choke you half to death.
You are a Queen. He tells himself. It’s to be expected that you’d challenge him.
Sulpricia finds it HILARIOUS and you two are besties. Fuck that’s all he needs. She is ever so encouraging of your independence.
He often finds himself in Sulpricia’s study pacing rampantly, “what am I going to do with her?”
“You know you like it.” Sully says lounging back on her couch. “If you didn’t you wouldn’t be so utterly ass over tea kettle.”
Aro is not good with his emotions when it comes to jealousy. And he is JEALOUS.
You’re perfect to him, utterly beautiful, you are the sun and he Icarus stupidly flying as high as he can towards you in hopes to reach the light.
You’re also inclined to let him touch you whenever you want to express things without using words— and you’ve learned to let him speak to you telepathically as well.
So often you just sit with your pinkies touching on a couch and have back and forth silently except for the occasional twitch on your lips at a humorous comment.
You’ve managed to make him huff a laugh occasionally.
But he is utterly posessive. He does not like it when men stare too long, admiring is one thing, but nothing escapes Aro.
So when a lower guard had been in trouble for an infraction and when you had disciplined him the utter disrespect for a concubine replacement was across Aro’s mind and…welll—
Guard died.
You had just looked startled and gave a ‘oh well’ kinda shrug before touching ARo’s hand. Feel better baby?
Yes you called him baby in private, so modern, and he would NEVER admit he loved it. Baby, darling, love, honey, the list went on and each one twisted his insides into ribbons of absolute adoration.
You had actually taken to the bond so well Marcus had informed him that it was practically cemented.
His only hang up was himself.
——
——
Who does he ask for help?
Didyme is no longer there— his dear sister, a deep sorrow as he was accidentally responsible for her death.
Marcus however is always there to be the voice of reason, and he sits Aro down and listens to his brother spill his guts. Aro is terrified, he is well aware he is THE monster that makes OTHER monsters keep in line.
But for you to look at him like that? He could never bear it. His heart would break.
Marcus sighs, “Aro come here.” He drags his brother to the training grounds.
Where Aro get’s to see his mate literally tear apart the entire guard with blades…. Did his eyes deceive him— were those made from vampire ash and fangs?!
You pause your onslaught, “oh hi darling!” You prance over and smile, “like them? My witch-smith friend made them for me! Fucking bastards kept coming for me after awhile and ya know I just hate the idea of wasting shit.”
Marcus glanced at Aro and gave him a I told you so.
“Everything okay?” You ask looking concerned. You are dragging him along as he partially willingly let’s you take him to his sister’s gardens. “What’s wrong?”
And so, he exhales and does the one thing he’s never done with his gift.
He touches your hand and shows you his own thoughts.
He expects your recoil. Expects you to shun him. Expects your hatred and braces himself for it.
You gasp and when he’s about to drag his hand away and you grip him tighter. “No don’t…let me…” and so you watch— thousands of years of memories over the course of a week or two. Asking silent questions as the images play, getting silent answers in return.
And so, in return, you show him your human life— a life that had been riddled with abusers, torment and lack of love, the iron in your spine that had solidified your creation when you had dragged yourself from an open alley way at dawn into the sewer system after being left to die being drained by a nomad after a brutal assault. You shared with him that it had taken a lot for you to even move after what had happened.
Esme had found you.
And so your friends made sure you were okay even if you didn’t follow their diet.
You both spend time going over your pasts, Aro gently asking questions and you doing the same to answer as best you could.
It was why Rosalie and you got along so well, there were some experiences one could only understand by going through it. And you both had learned how to cope with the trauma you had.
Aro is patient, both of you taking time to feel through each others wounds, taking time to rework into each others personal space.
Marcus is stunned to tell Aro that the bond is nigh unbreakable after this exchange.
The Kings magically -coughs- big brother Marcus loses his shit finding out and Caius leads the search party with Demetri— cough cough— find the nomad and he’s now in a box limb free 15 feet below the dungeon with a tube connecting him to the surface, his tongue removed and he only gets blood once a year. *Jane lit them on fire multiple times to practice her accuracy and aim*
You find out of course, and smile through the dry sobs as all three embrace you like a big protective group hug. For the first time in a very long time, it’s safe.
Truly safe.
——
——
What happens when he tells you?
Aro is a man of few words, and honestly not much is needed between you two with the ability to go back and forth with his gift.
So in the middle of a walk in Didyme’s gardens he merely grabs your hand gently and kisses the top of your fingers.
And you’re flooded with his emotions.
The warmth and tenderness and absolute adoration is almost enough to restart your dead heart as venom pools in your eyes. “Aro…”
He loves you, loves you more than his own life, would give anything for you to make you smile.
This isn’t the love that is complacent, to just sit idle and rust away, he wants to chase you for eternity, whatever it takes to keep you at his side.
And you flood him right back— lowering the barriers you had and after a moment he merely leans down and presses his forehead to your own, giving the two of you time to just bask in the warmth of affection that’s swirling back and forth akin to the waves of the tide under the moon and sun at twilight.
——
——
First Kiss?
The leaders of Volterra were in the throne room, the Queens having their own thrones behind their husbands but visible carved in different woods to represent their personalities with different intricate features much like the brother’s thrones holding different crowning points but all the same color.
Your own is the same color as Aro’s throne, but mingled with mahogany accents. Ruby red stones slotted at the top with a crescent moon and sun carving emboldened with gold spiked halo.
Caius' mate's throne is a pale color, affixed with branches and beautiful earth like tones, complimenting her grounded nature.
Marcus’ Witch Mate is merely embellished in a ash throne, deep red almost black gems and the symbol for the overall witch and vampire alliance above her throne.
With all three positions of Queen in Volterra taken up by a true mate, it is the most stable the Volturi have been in several millennia.
But that day in particular was rough, there were a few traitors that had been brought forward— and one of them had managed to get loose from Felix as Aro had been gaining information lunging for the King’s throat.
You moved so fast no one even saw you as you streaked forward like a ghost and lobbed the vampire’s head off holding a blade made of vampire teeth expertly with an animalistic snarl.
You had positioned yourself in front of Aro, crouched, blade poised and your eyes wide and wild, teeth flashing with a dangerous snarl.
Marcus’ witch had already shielded Aro but paused when she saw how enraged you were. Athena and Sulpricia had faltered, Caius looked utterly proud.
You spun round, dropping your blade— knowing Felix and the others had everything in hand as Aro had reached for you, the two of you locked in an embrace, his hands holding your face still as your own hands grasped his wrists. Foreheads pressed together—
The coven was used to this, a private conversation but you could feel the utter terror that had gone through him when he saw you out of the corner of his eye. If anything had happened to you—he was almost angry at you.
But he could easily sense the rage that had consumed you at the thought of someone hurting him. Despite knowing the guard and Jane would Never allow it, your instincts had taken over.
No one would ever take from you again.
And you had been frightened.
Behind that rage when he got past it was utter fear that he’d be gone and you’d be all alone again all the tender memories would be the last you’d have of him as you gave a dry sob before the venom dropped from your eyes— a true show of vampiric emotion that was a rarity.
“Carissima, no. I’ll not leave you that easily.” He murmured and not giving a flying fuck about anyone in the room kissed you full on the mouth gathering you up in a tight embrace.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered half broken against his mouth. “I’m sorry-“
“I know I know, shhh cara mia shhh,” gathering you up he merely flitted out of the room leaving the others to deal with the issue.
Tons of snuggles. He had bundled you up to him in his private rooms and merely kept your hands together enjoying the shared emotions knowing the other was close and safe.
Aro knew exactly how to calm you, he merely showed you all his favorite memories, of the coven, of his travels, the antics his brother’s got up to. He replayed the moment he first saw you.
That always made you laugh of course she swears like a sailor.
——
——
First Time?
It’s in an elevator.
Okay so here’s the thing. The Volturi have these massive events, and your official coronation happens at one of these.
Aro is so proud.
And so fucking jealous as you are danced across the floor with other vampires— who are oh so respectful and as they should be as Aro watches from the upper floor like an angel of death.
You look stunning, your smile lighting up the entire ballroom, friends from near and far are there— even then Cullens— God bless Carly he even had animal blood brought for him.
You’re dancing around with Nessie laughing and watching the girl child giggle like a fiend before handing her off to the Shifter Aro hated the smell but it was what it was.
Over the course of the evening he was getting awful tired of sharing you. And as the evening wound down to an end you both were just going to take the elevator back up to the private rooms as the Ballroom was on the top floor of Volterra.
The energy crackled in the small space and you both glanced at one another. It was like a short fuse had been lit on a stick of dynamite.
We’re so not doing this in an elevator are we?
You didn’t realize you had said it out loud even as you both gravitated towards one another and his hands tangled into your hair sending gold pins flying to the ground as his mouth found yours and you let out a deep moan as his tongue swiped your lips before you happily opened them.
“We’re going to be patient. Cara mia. ” He said sternly more to himself than you— then groaned when your teeth tugged gently on his bottom lip knowing it drove him crazy. “Sarai la mia morte. Sulla mia tomba scriveranno 'ha giocato con il fuoco ed è perito felicemente’” his voice became heated as his hands moved over your form, “non mi importa più, vieni da me mia fiamma, brucia con me.” You will be my death. On my grave they will write 'he played with fire and perished happily'. I don't care anymore, come to me my flame, burn with me.
His hands were gripping your backside and hauling you up, pressing himself firmly between your thighs before grinding against you. But when his teeth scraped your neck your brain shorted out—
“Oh for gods sake Aro just fuck me already—” your hands were scrabbling at his waist coat and shirt pleased how easily the buttons pinged off the walls of the elevator.
Your mate let out a pleased noise, one that was utterly inhuman when your hands tangled into his raven locks and knocked the golden V pin to the floor allowing the ocean and pomegranate scent of his to curtain you from the world as he bent his head down and kissed you as if it were the last thing he would get to do just then. Right before he smacked his hand against the emergency stop button jolting the ride to the private floor still.
If you thought his kisses were something to be swooning over— because he always knew what you needed.
Well his gift extends to much and he is in tune with it.
Your mind is his favorite place to be, and he brutally uses what he knows to his advantage as his fingers skim up your legs flinging your skirt over your thighs to teasingly grind himself against you till you’re almost clawing at him half feral.
“My pretty little mate—“ he croons at you, “you looked so beautiful cara mia,” kissing down your throat before biting marks into your flesh licking them before continuing on as his teeth jerk the fabric of your bodice and sleeves off not even bothering with his hands. “E tu sei tutto mio, cazzo.” And you’re all fucking mine.
You were busy molding your hands against his form, loving how it was just ratcheting up his half mad with desire motions, twitchy, greedy, desperate to touch, “What was it you joked about that one time?” He was referring to a memory with your best friends over drinks.
You gulped and shivered a bit. “I believe I said sometimes a girl just wants to ahem— get slammed to a wall and fucked stupid?”
He smirked as his hands tore fabric off you letting his fingers to glide along your skin, allowing your own to do the same and showing you know exactly what he liked through the bond of touch.
If you’d been human the air would have left your lungs as he pressed his body tight to your own, pinning you in place letting you feel what you did to him, the hard length of his cock pressed into your belly. “What do you say we take care of that, hm?”
You’re speaking in tongues before he even takes you fully, and roughly, there’s no slow tender love making and frankly you’re just glad for it.
His wild smile sliding into a predatory proud smirk when you’re just a mess; whining at him, begging, pleading, twitching against him and oh you’re just so pretty when at his mercy.
He literally has the tongue of the devil.
“Did I finally break you little one?” He croons despite his rough movements sending you into another shockwave of bliss as your nails make claw marks in the wall.
Fuck he had— you’ll do anything if he’ll just continue.
Your submission is like a drug, he’s mad on it, hands digging against you, making small fissures of cracks along your hips that make you groan gleeful as you push closer for more of his touches.
“That’s right bambi, give me everything.”
That’s all you hear before he’s fucking you into the wall of the elevator, sinking his teeth into your shoulder and neck just to relish in the pain and pleasure filled noises that escape from you as you beg for more, more, just please give more it’s all you want.
“My good bambi.” He growls as he begins it all over again, rumbling in your ear as your try to escape the onslaught of sensations— but happy you can’t as his grip has you immovable. “You’re not escaping me just yet.”
You’re both a mess, not that either of you care. Adjusting yourselves as best you can—
You’re lucky his private rooms are close and he simply carries you and flits you both into his rooms; you both end up continuing what was started.
——
——
A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
He is a touch telepath, he knows exactly what you need.
But he also surprises you with what you didn’t even know you needed.
Snuggles, so many snuggles— Aro is not a tactile person— but with you?
Forget it.
He’s practically melting into your form and trying to fuse himself to you.
Massages, nuzzling your hair, biting.
Lots of biting— but not hard bites, love bites. Pressing his teeth to your skin to leave little imprints that he just can’t get over. You always poke fun at him for it.
Plus let’s face it.
Bite = Love.
He and Caius are on one mind with that.
He also took a note from Marcus and you both enjoy the heat of the baths together after a particularly long rough romp.
Which turns into a bath romp.
Because ahem *REASONS*
“I’m King I don’t need a reason to have you— now come here.” He’ll huff imperiously when you giggle at him as he drags you close into his embrace kissing you.
Okay he lies.
You looked too pretty in the bath.
Aro can’t help himself. That’s the reason.
——
——
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
He is SHOOK when you tell him your favorite thing about him is his hands. You never feel misunderstood.
Even in the rare fights you simply huff and reach out to him, wiggling your fingers with a pleading glance; or if he won’t take your hand you’ll walk over sit in his lap and headbutt your forehead to his like an angry cat.
But usually Aro will take your hand and you both have a deep understanding of where you’re both coming from.
After a few moments it’s settled.
You kiss his hands, he knows you love how he plays you like a finely tuned instrument when alone.
Love when he delves his fingers into your hair and cradles you close even if you’re in the throne room— he’s the fucking king he can do what he likes damn it.
But Aro is startled by this— everyone hates touching him even though he can control his gift, they seem to think that— aside from his brothers and sister in laws— that he just loves to dive into people’s minds for funsies.
No it’s awful. Plain awful. He can barely stand his own mind why would he want to traverse someone else’s?
But that brings us to what he likes about you— he LOVES your head space. When he’s stressed it’s his favorite place to be because you have a vivid imagination, as a writer as well you show him stories you’ve thought of and worlds you’ve created with vivid detail. He finds it quite amusing to use watch your thoughts too on a daily, you like it simply because he’s close.
But aside from that it’s you.
Just You.
Just ALL of you.
He can’t pick don’t make the man pick, he would just keep you near him for eternity which you seem to have no issues with.
———
———
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically…I am a disgusting person…)
He is quite a posessive person.
Two Words:
Breeding Kink
You’re his and his alone, so the idea of ah— claiming you that way just sends him off into the ether.
The fact that you both have a breeding kink and literally can’t have kids is a GREAT thing because you’ve literally sat there a absolute mess after round five and thought out loud as he tenderly cleans you up, “shit thank god we can’t reproduce because I am 100% sure that’d have knocked my ass up—” which has had him shaking in mirth having to pause to control himself after a few moments.
Beg him for it.
Make that whining needy noise in the back of your throat at him for him to finally give you what you need.
He’ll just lose it, pin you by the throat and well— you’ve broken a few beds this way.
He has no shame.
Just glances at the bed, hits speed dial to the furniture store and orders a new one.
His only other favorite thing with C as he soon found out from O (you’ll see) was he adores when you swallow down everything he gives you. That’s got him rumbling in Italian about what a good girl you are and how much you please him.
———
———
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
He’s a MASSIVE Pleasure Dom. And when I say Dom.
HE GOT DOM ENERGY.
With very mild Sadistic tendencies. (Thanks a lot Caius ya pervy fucker)
However he is also a very sincere soft streak when you’re a very good pet.
He picked up pet play from his sadistic brother hearing him call his amore Bunny. One day down the rabbit hole that is Google and he was hooked.
But he calls you Bambi. It’s an Italian term for baby-girl.
It also works because you become like a damn deer in the headlights when he pulls the Dominant voice on you.
It thrums with a low purr and has the capability to just make your brain go wait what?
HE’S A FUCKING SWITCH.
You had been pissed as shit at him. “I don’t know whether I want to strangle you or fuck you to death!” You paused because you had literally throat pinned him to the wall, the stone crumbling beneath him, feeling the muscles of his neck working as he swallowed nervously.
You were about to let go but saw his eyes had gone totally black and expectant and startled but excited.
He was just as fucking confused as you both calculated in a matter of seconds what had happened.
You were first to catch on. “Oh?….OH...….oooooohhhhhhh ….. you….you son of a….” You sputtered as he got a sly grin, “you can’t just look at me like— you are so ill behaved!!”
He wasn’t far behind and raised a black brow at you looking mischievous, “…..and what are you going to do about it mia regina?”
Next thing he knew he was face planted on his office floor with your boot pressed on his cheek making him groan low. “Gonna make you regret mouthing off to me is what I’m going to do my Aro.”
Edge him. Don’t let him touch you all day till he begs. He loves when you exert your authority especially on him? Oh forget it.
Queen Slay.
Literally you are his Queen and you are the only one who get’s to fucking tell him what to do.
And you ruthlessly do so when he’s in the mood. All you hear is “mia regina?” He’ll croon at you, as your hand comes up and drags him to you by his tie.
“would you like to be of service to me Aro?”
Magic words. He’s done, let him have you and he will literally just focus on your pleasure.
Worship Kink.
You had dropped to your knees at his desk and laid your head in his lap and he almost lost his god damn mind. You purred at him, “il mio maestro”.
Aro .exe has stopped fucking working.
———
———
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
Thanks to the tactile telepathy as well as the fact that he and his brothers have slept their way through history, Aro is a very mixed lover.
When I say greedy as a lover, he wants your pleasure for himself. And will literally drive you to it till you’re sobbing for mercy.
He has none.
But he does take pity on you when he knows you’re truly at your limit with touch.
You weren’t inexperienced but his own experience blew yours out of the damn water. Can literally have you on the edge in mere minuets. And is SMUG about it.
Fucking smug bastard just watching you with that smirk on his face and a ‘well?’ Kinda expression.
You have to beg if you want it.
You have to plead, you have to let him hear you or he’ll just keep going and I quote ‘hmmm I can’t hear you cara mia, you’re being so quiet you know that makes me want to fuck you harder, come now, let me hear you— don’t make me have to drag it from you baby girl. You know I love to hear your sweet sounds.”
Could probably kill you if you weren’t already dead with what he can do with his hands.
His tongue is even better.
When asked which you preferred you had just panted desperately after a hard orgasm, “any. All. Both. God just…holy fuck.”
He cracked up over that. “My poor baby I broke her.”
————
————
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
Loves having you in his lap.
Prefers to see your face and eyes, seems to need it.
But occasionally he just loves gripping your neck from behind and feeling you gasp against his grip as he slams into you roughly.
Adores anything that has you clinging onto him for dear life.
Likes being in a position to mark you. Favorite thing ever.
You had once tested his patience (willfully hoping for this outcome) a bit too much and he had pinned you completely immobile to the desk of his office and fucked you within an inch of your immortal life gagging you with his black tie.
“you just have to test me don’t you mia regina?” He had growled in your ear leaning over you, his hand crunching the ornate wood to splinters as you keened and whined for him to keep going. “Such a ill behaved thing you are, should just keep you here like this for when I please hm?”
He was not joking, you were kept there quite happily under his desk sitting at his feet your head on his lap waiting and absolutely willing.
He could feel your hands grip his thighs, “quit that I know what you’re trying to do and it’s not going to work—“ his voice teetered off in a guttural growl as he looked down.
You were biting his shirt looking up at him already nudging yourself between his thighs your teeth digging into his trouser zipper and tugging down.
his hands were gripping your hair jerking you up to kiss him deep, a growl against your lips, “Fucking damn it— come here.”
When you can get him to swear which is rare— yeah…
He didn’t exactly sound angry.
But he sure fucked you like he was though.
“This is what you were after hm? You brat!” A harsh laugh as he pinned you down a bit harder, “fine then I should ensure you’re good….and….sated…shouldn’t I bambi?”
———
———
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
Very sincere.
Teasing but only in a very sexual way.
Borders on humiliation but he respects you too much.
Very serious though when he focuses on you.
He’s focusing on all the sensations you’re sending him, letting you know what he’s feeling as well which just sets you into the damn ether.
———
———
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
It’s ARO.
The man is vain.
The man is neat.
Clean and pristine.
He’d give a regal huff of annoyance, “I am not a heathen darling.”
———
———
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
Ohhh you wouldn’t know it but he’s such a god damn romantic.
He is. And he MAKES time for you. The schedules are changed so you have time together more often— something that was never done before.
Operas, romantic walks out in Volterra at night.
Sightseeing.
Your favorite was your trip to Germany in the winter with a big cozy cottage and a big fire and lots of bedding to ahem— destroy.
Aro has penguin brain.
He brings you small gifts that made him think of you— you have a bracelet that has special charms he had custom made for you, a lochness monster for when you met, a castle obviously for Volterra, a doe, different tiny items that speckled through your life, each one means something— you hardly ever take it off.
You have a collection of very sparkly stones in many jars that he found on his missions.
They are actually gemstones— insert eye roll— they set off pretty prisms through your shared rooms.
“Aren’t you going to make jewelry of them?” Aro asks.
“No darling they are perfect just as they are.” You smile.
Aro actually has the literal voice of a damn angel.
He sings to you in Italian, soft dulcet sweet tones and dances you around your rooms teasing you relentlessly.
Aro writes beautiful poetry. He will at least write one every few months when inspiration comes to him.
You have your own private box at the opera house. As well as being allowed to fund artists across the world, you’ve found incredible talent on broadway and other venues.
Flowers. Aro ensures care for a private greenhouse for you on the roof, each flower has a meaning, and they all bloom year round given the proper temperatures on the greenhouse. “Why would I send you flowers when they die so easily.” He asks kissing your cheek as you smile over the new blooms. “This is everlasting, much more fitting.” He muses.
All his poetry is in a beautiful book Caius got you for your birthday.
———
———
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
Why would he do that when he has you?
He is a patient man.
He can wait.
And he has pristine control over himself.
He is too old for pre-pubescent raging hormone crap.
But he will legit melt for you if you do it for him. Prefers it slow, enjoying your touch and loves to watch as you take instruction.
You’re such a good girl for him.
————
———
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Aro is a kinky bastard.
MASSIVE Pleasure Dom.
Worship Kink.
Edging.
Controlling Orgasms *you don’t get to come till he gives permission*
Collaring *your Volturi necklace is LITERALLY on a collar*
Overstimulation. *his gift allows him to know when you’re pushed to hard and when you can take a bit more. When you’re craving that over stimulus, he’ll give it happily. Knowing he can turn you into a babbling speaking in tongues, drooling, eyes rolling back mess just— just— GAH.*
Breeding Kink *Aro has a true breeding kink, ask him to fill you up beg him for it and he’s going to lose his mind.*
Gagging. *he loves to gag you, but also loves being choked by you or you grabbing onto his tie.
Wax Play *you’re a fire elemental user, bringing candles into play is just oh it’s nice. * Prefers to have it done TO him. Your air element gift also allows you to cool the wax quickly and give new sensations.
————
———
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
Aro is private, he prefers somewhere comfortable to take his sweet time with you.
Rooms Private, hotel, somewhere he can just lavish you and enjoy everything you can give him.
He’d rather take the time to find a nice comfy setting.
But every blue moon— he’ll just look at you in that specific dress molding to your thighs.
He will drag you into an alley way and just rail the shit out of you keeping you quiet with a firm grip over your mouth as he hisses the dirtiest things in your ear.
You two once had a quick rendezvous in a changing room at a theatre. -shrug- it was empty oh well.
———
———
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
“Master?” You bat your eyes at him
His nostrils flare as he breathes in and just knows exactly what you want and you smell so fucking good.
The tone you use.
He knows. You want him. That’s it.
Unless it’s a trial— and DO NOT DO THIS BEFORE TRIAL.
And if you happen to when he takes your hand send him your fantasies after seeing him standing there all regal and watching his mouth form syllables so well and how much better it’ll be with his mouth— ahem— busy somewhere else.
He will be so mad at you.
He’s glaring at you behind a mask of calm and you can feel the fucking tremor in his limbs.
You just bat your eyes innocently at him and smile.
His face: you’re in SO MUCH trouble.
Brat energy??? During Trial?!??! Now is that the time to give brat energy!!???
Oh. Oh. oh you are so in trouble. When he gets done with ripping some poor idiots head off— okay not really they broke the rules— stalks over to you; grabs you by your oh so pretty collar, “come with me bambi.”
And just pulls you along to your rooms with you giggling the whole way and practically prancing behind him like a— well like a doe prancing into a lions den.
He’s tossed you over his shoulder once and just flitted out of the rooms into your private chambers, hurling you onto the bed before ripping into your clothing. “You best be ready for your punishment.”
“Oooohhhhhh absolutly master.”
“that’s my girl.”
The coven just rolls their eyes. Aro is less manic with you there and you surprisingly bring ease to the coven— so ya know what if that’s what does it whatever.
————
————
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Humiliation. No.
Impact play is one thing, but to intentionally hurt you no.
If he does impact play one hand is always touching you to ensure you’re okay.
————
———
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
Giving? The man has a wicked tongue.
His oral game is LEGIT.
Will have you in a puddle of twitching ecstasy in mere moments of teasing because he knows where to touch and that’s not just his tongue but his hands.
Will kiss you all over before even getting to the ahem— final destination.
You’re either ready to combust or ready to strangle him when he finally just begins to devour you.
Eats pussy like a man starved but has all the time to enjoy.
Smug as Fuck.
Expect him to just watch you as you’re coming back down from the absolute height he threw you up to and glaring down at his smug grin as he waits before beginning all over again.
Will go all night if you’ve been ill behaved.
Your record is 20 before you BEGGED for a break.
He finally took pity and gave you a warm bubble bath and snuggles and praises.
It wasn’t that he didn’t like receiving, however it was more just a “hm, that’s nice—“
But with you.
Especially when you had decided to walk into his office, lay your head in his lap as you had sat yourself under his desk so he could work while he played with your hair (you have a comfy cushion there who was he to argue if that was the best way to be close and he could get work done??!!)
But his work was abruptly halted when you had nuzzled his cock through his trousers dragging your mouth wide as he became painfully hard in record time.
“what is it you think you’re doing bambi?” He purred looking oh so curious.
“Nothing.” You muffled around him as your teeth found his zipper and trouser buttons with a rather feral sound.
Upon finding out you had no gag reflex and having your nose buried in his pelvis as you moaned around him he was done for and he didn’t even care.
Work was forgotten.
Loves when you pleasure him, but of course has to be in control for the most part.
Buries his hands into your hair and loves throat fucking you, praising you the entire time. “What a good thing you don’t need to breathe dolcezza.”
You had hummed around him ecstatically.
The reward for this is always drool worthy.
Play with yourself as you do and let him see you do so keeping your clothing out of the way and you’ll have him break finally, that cool haughty composure cracking as his gaze goes just utterly uncontrollably wild, his hips moving a bit harder.
————
———
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
You both fuck rough.
But you both also love the slow and sensual moments too.
Especially if you have the time to just drown in one another.
It just depends on the situation.
Rough And Fast:
Slow and Sensual is how it usually starts off, he’s so attentive, so soft and cherishes you, that is till you growl at him for more and he has of course no other option but to give you what he wants.
You’re his queen after all what kind of mate would he be if he didn’t give in?
But has today been exceedingly trying for either of you?
Or is your mate quite amped up from a particularly rough trial?
You’ve been pestering him haven’t you? Hmmm.. yeah buckle up.
You’re in trouble and therefore need to relearn where your place is— it’s in your bed, beneath him losing your mind out of pleasure.
And he is all too happy to provide that lesson if you seem to forget.
You try to forget often. You damn brat.
Slow and Sensual
However sometimes he just wants to be gentle. And frankly so do you, you want to just bask in the bond you have and slowly explore all over again despite knowing you have memorized one another to heart by now.
Doesn’t matter, you still find things that surprise you, things that make you smile.
Places that when touched cause a jolt— well that’s new.
“I could spend my entire life mapping out your body carissima.”
“that’s an awful long time in bed.”
Aro would just smirk kissing down your sternum, “oh what a pity— I suppose my brothers shall have to cover for me hm?” Bite marks being pressed into your flesh, “I plan on leaving so many of these that I forget where they are so I can find them later.”
“Such an evil overlord.” But you’re giddy, he’s going to make your entire world tilt again with those slow careful hands of his and you’re going to enjoy every second of it.
———
———
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
You’d be surprised that such a patient man could be so damn impatient for you.
He’s not as impatient as Caius but not AS patient as Marcus.
So it’s a toss up when he’s twitchy during trials and catches a glimpse of you floating down the hallway in all your grandure and he mentally tosses a coin.
Nope he can’t take it that flash of leg just set him off.
“Excuse me I do belive I remembered something that needs my attention.”
The others just inwardly roll their eyes.
Next thing you know you’re gagged by his tie in his office pinned over the desk with his teeth buried in your neck and frankly you expected this you wore that damn skirt with the slit in it to tease him.
Seeing this just makes him let out a feral noise and a laugh at the end, “oh you planned that hm?” He nibbles the outer shell of your ear, “missed me did you?”
You can only nod as he continues, eyes rolling back as he knows exactly what you’re needing and it’s certainly not gentle right now.
“I have exactly fifteen minutes before my brothers come looking for me— think you can be a good girl and make me come?”
You smirk against the gag in your mouth before purring at him; and it’s off to the races.
He’s in trouble quite often for this— but who’s to argue with him.
He’s king he can do what he wants…. At times….
Okay most of the time.
Plus he’s always in a MUCH better mood.
I wonder Why.
————
———
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
While Aro does love to experiment your safety is his utmost importance.
But he’s a curious bastard and you are right behind him on that scale so sometimes your games become a bit risky.
Never life threatening but oh boy do you two get a grin and just glance at one another, “you know we haven’t done that yet.”
“No…. No we haven’t….”
And that’s how it usually starts.
The worst thing you two can realize is you both utter “I don’t know”.
Well now you have to know if either of you are able to ahem— arrive— under rather dire circumstances such as utilizing your gift (don’t worry your gift doesn’t hurt him he knows how to use fire too surprise surprise.).
You almost had a heart attack though and nearly killed him after.
He just cackled that manic laugh that had you joining in after hitting him several times.
———
———
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
Need I say more than one word?
Vampire.
Aro takes his time most occasions, his slow, slow sweet time.
Now— you��d THINK that the rougher encounters would last a shorter period.
You’re wrong.
So wrong.
He lives for it you’re going to be so happy you’re a vampire and can’t really get sore except for when you both leave cracking handprints on one another.
————
———
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
Sensory.
Crops, leather gloves, feathers, ben wa balls are huge and he likes that they are silent but give you that teasing sensation. Wax candle play is huge for both of you and you enjoy long luxurious heated baths and sauna sessions with one another.
Ooooo he loves it.
Leather gloves area huge thing for him but not for what you’d think— he likes to challenge himself.
Sure he can know what you’re feeling but he wants to be in tune with your physical responses as well and so occasionally he dons them just to test his knowledge.
Damn smug overlord is just as good and you hate it and now he’s smirking at you while popping his jaw with his hand on his elbow waiting for you to come back into your body.
“Shut up.” You rasp as your head spins.
“I didn’t say anything.” His raven hair slides across his face as he grins wider.
“Your SMUGNESS IS LOUD ARO.”
“Me?! Smug! Why I never…” -cue the dark chuckle before he starts it up all over again, “maybe once more to ensure you remember it’s not just the gifts edge hm?”
“Ohhhh I’m going to die.” But you reach for him biting his leather clad hands.
“No you won’t.” He hums happily, “I won’t let you. You’re not allowed to leave me bambi.”
————
————
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
HE IS SO DAMN UNFAIR.
But so are you.
He’s not as bad as Caius but he is close, and he only does it with LOOKS.
His eyes are utterly expressive, as is that mouth of his, so when he glances at you in just the right way you can feel it drop down in your gut and sizzle.
And he does it during trial. Oh but when you do it you’re in trouble. Psh.
He’ll tease you and brush your hand as he walks by just to know that you’re basically twitching from frustration at the end of the day and about to boil over as he leans down and licks your neck. “Bambi, awe, was I too mean to you? Hmm I should make it up to you shouldn’t I?”
He always makes it up to you.
The man has the best ways to use his mouth aside from running the coven and giving orders.
————
———
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
Aro was quite clear studies, and private rooms were to be soundproofed.
He’s loud, swearing (which he normally does not do), praising mess of a man, it’s needed.
And you love it.
You can practically feel the vibration in his chest when he purrs at you, less growling, he’s not as violent unless you get him too worked up.
No no no, he loves making you melt, and knows exactly what to croon at you to make your mind go blank.
———
———
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
He’s more posessive than Marcus. And that bleeds into a protective nature.
A bit controlling, but he knows very well he can’t do that to you as he had to Sulprica. BUT it doesn’t stop him from trying as gods forbid anything happen to you.
Less Jealous than Caius.
But his ah— mood swings can cause for quite an interesting feat.
Since Marcus and Caius were always the brunt of the bashing and warfare, and he the brains behind the operation, many seem to think he has no bite marks on his body due to not being in the fray.
No.
The problem is Aro becomes too violent. Especially because of his talent when touching his victims it tends to become a frenzy. Once he had decimated an entire coven single handedly because the rage they had was swamping him.
His brothers had to pin him down and try to relay calm emotions— his sister Didyme thankfully had been the one to bring him back.
You yourself are now that calm place.
At one point, a guard had been careless enough to have thought about you in ah— that way— Aro was aware you were quite beautiful, your personality no nonsense and many of the guard and lower guard considered you a maternal figure almost otherwise a very good friend.
But this guard.
Ohhh he coveted. What was not his.
But what was worse, was that on the way to the throne room he had spoken to you rather crassly, you merely ignored him; he wasn’t even worth your time. But he had glanced you over as if you were a rather tasty morsel, the imaginings of you spread out beneath him had Aro’s hands cracking his wrists.
You saw the change slightly as you were behind him. His spine went poker straight. “You dare.” It was worse, the guard had actually tried to think of how to lure you away to him— you were a queen so surely infidelity was expected—
The rumble in his chest was a whole new sound you’d never even heard.
Both Marcus and Caius were sitting straight up and narrowing their gaze at Aro before Marcus flitted over and guided you to Aro’s throne placing you on it and standing protectively in front of you.
“Marcus?” you peered behind the eldest king and he hushed you gently.
The guard was torn apart in mere seconds.
It was utterly ruthless and with no mercy.
“People tend to forget Aro is only about a thousand years younger than I.” Marcus muttered.
You blinked. Aro was at least five thousand meaning that Marcus was Six, Caius being the youngest at three.
Aro speared the entire guard with a terrifyingly cold glare before flitting over to you, gripping your head back by your hair and sinking his teeth into your shoulder and neck with a low growl.
The sentiment was well understood as the entire guard backed the fuck away from the dais— he closed the wound before his head shot up and he snarled at the coven tucking you into his embrace your face buried into his robes. “She is mine.” It was a quiet, soft voice that spoke.
“Aro.” you muffled tugging his sleeve and looking up at him.
He showed you “what he had seen and tilted his head. Would you mind cara?”
You lit the bastard on fire with a scowl aimed at the body winding your arms about Aro’s waist and nuzzling into his solid form.
A soft kiss in your hair, his body relaxing. “That’s my bambi.”
———
———
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
Aro although he is lithe and tall….he’s not exactly easy to handle.
9” decent width, knows how to use it.
Be forewarned, he knows what he’s doing.
Tactile Telepathy, good luck remember to keep your head on straight.
————
———
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
It’s less of a wistful like of yearning.
And more a burning bonfire of desire always in the wing of his mind ready to take over the forefront.
One glance at you and he wants you— granted he thinks it might cool down over the centuries but when you look at him like that and bite your lip and grin.
Nah.
Nope. This isn’t going away. Not at all.
He of course has excellent control so he is able to push other desires to the back of his mind, but once finished you are certainly at the front of the line.
Super high.
You both are insane.
You can be sitting reading and next moment with one small brush you’re gone from the library and you’ve tackled him through the doors of your rooms and pinned him to the floor.
Insatiable.
Good luck!
————
———
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
Aro LOVES resting with you.
He likes to just lay with his hands on your body and watching your thoughts, you’re his favorite mind to go through and he just adores it.
You both can spend hours like this if you were allowed—
He likes when you drag your fingers through his hair.
Makes him melt.
Kiss across his eyes and kiss his hands as he brushes your mouth with his fingers trying to learn you all over again.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get enough.” He murmurs to you lazily. He has you nestled in his arms your head tucked under his jaw.
“That’s fucking fine by me.” You giggle.
He rolls his eyes and huffs a soft laugh kissing the top of your head. “Of course she swears like a sailor…”
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comme un écho
AKA whoops i talked to @yoursummerfrost about orpheus and eurydice and then tripped and fell on this very weird ficlet that is only sort of what i meant it to be. uh oh. (title lifted from “it’s never over (oh orpheus)” by arcade fire because i’m incredibly literal sometimes)
warnings: off-screen major character death
*
The mage had told him to perform the ritual in a field of wildflowers.
“Plenty of life,” she said.
Jaskier had asked, “For what?”
“To feed it,” she said, and did not elaborate.
And as he follows her instructions, surrounded by blooming weeds and swaying grasses, he sees that she was right. As the herbs and other unmentionables in the bowl burn, scorching the wooden sides, the green around him darkens to black. He feels the magic tugging at his energy and resists it. The ruin spreads from his epicenter, cursing the very dirt on which he kneels. A slow but inexorable exchange, and Jaskier thinks it fair. Geralt had watered the earth with his blood and now the earth must give back.
“You’re out of your depth, bard,” the mage had said as he turned to leave, her lips pursed. Was she amused or disapproving? Jaskier didn’t care, nor, he suspected, did she. Her pockets were full, and his own empty.
He hefted the lute higher on his back, clutched at the strap across his chest.
“And yet,” he said.
“He will not come easily,” she said.
“He never did,” Jaskier replied.
The flame in the bowl burns out with a flare of noxious smoke that stings Jaskier’s eyes, makes him cough. The world hums. It’s a tune of his own, as of yet unsung, plucked from his consciousness. It reaches out to him and burrows under his skin. Pulling. He follows it.
Between two gnarled, ancient trees, in the arch of their overlapping branches (Which belongs to which? Where does one stop and the other begin? If one was broken, would the other suffer for it?) the air shimmers.
The tune fades and in its place is a whisper saying, Come.
*
The stairs spiral downward for hours, days. Jaskier’s legs do not ache and he does not hunger, but it is ever so quiet. He takes the lute from his back and plays every song he’s ever composed in Geralt’s honor. Maybe Geralt can hear them. Maybe he will know Jaskier is on his way.
“Get ready, Witcher,” Jaskier says to the darkness. “Gather your underworldly things. You won’t be coming back any time soon. I can promise you that.”
And he says, “I’m sorry that you were alone. I’m sorry that I was too late.”
And he says, when the darkness presses upon him, when it seems the stairs will never end, “I don’t know when I began to love you, but it has been long enough that I don’t know how not to.”
And he says, “I’ve done this for you. You deserve to have a better life. You deserve to live.”
And he takes one more step and trips, for there is no stair where he expected there to be one. He taps the toe of his boot against the ground. It’s solid. He lifts his hand in front of his own face and it is invisible. There is no breeze, no sound, no smells, no light. There’s nothing down here.
In the face of such vastness, Jaskier is insignificant. He is nothing. You are nothing. You are less than a flea clinging to the fur of a great beast. You will be mine. You will become a part of me. You will cease. You will be forgotten.
“Hold on now,” Jaskier says, head whipping around. “Who’s there?”
I am everything that has been. I await everything that is. I anticipate what will be. I am.
“You’re Death,” Jaskier realizes, perhaps belatedly.
There is no such thing. I have no name. I have no need of it.
“That’s okay,” Jaskier says. “I don’t give a rat’s arse who or what you are.” His heart thumps arrhythmically, and sweat drips from his brow. He swipes it off on his sleeve. He is far under water. His lungs fill. He ignores it, swallows. Throws back his shoulders. “I’m here for Geralt of Rivia.”
There is no Geralt of Rivia.
“Bullshit.”
You are insolent.
“I’ve been told.”
You will be mine.
“Perhaps.” Jaskier licks his lips, an unbreakable habit. “But I will live on.”
You will not.
He laughs a little, despite himself, a nervous little giggle that he stifles as quickly as he can, clearing his throat. “On the contrary, I am an artist. I shan’t die as long as my art lives. And art does not die.”
Art? Art is not living. I have no use of it.
“Exactly,” he says. “Yes, precisely. It does not live or die. It simply is. Whatever you—whatever you are, being of, ah, all-ness…or what have you—whatever you are, whatever comprises you, you have none of art. You have no music, no stories, none at all. You will always lack it.”
There is a thoughtful pause.
I desire it.
“I can give it to you. Did you hear? I played my whole way down.”
I heard.
“Did you enjoy it? Three words or less.”
It was pleasing.
Jaskier exhales. “That’s actually a decent review, as these things go. I’m glad. I mean, would you like more? I could write you a song. Got a decent hand at improv, me. Won’t take a moment.”
A song. For me?
“Yes,” Jaskier promises, feeling the weight of it as it passes over his tongue, “a song, only for you. I shall never play it again. Well, um, on one condition.”
You want Geralt of Rivia.
“Oh, you were paying attention. Smart one, you are, Your…um, Majesty.”
I can retrieve him. If I am careful. He is me. I am him.
“Truly, I understand. His loss, for me, was…” Jaskier struggles for adequate words. “Irreconcilable. But you will always have the memory of your song to take his place.”
You sang of him.
“I do. Rather habitually. Every day of my life, in fact.”
Hmm.
“You sound like him already. So, whaddaya say?”
Play for me.
*
He plays, and every note that vibrates out from his lute, every note that leaves his mouth disappears from his mind. It is absorbed from him upon conception. He doesn’t know what the last measure was, nor what the next will be. He does not know what key or time signature his song is in, but he knows it’s a song. And that is all he promised.
It ends, and Jaskier does not notice. Possibly his jaw hangs open stupidly for minutes after it is over. He closes it.
“Was, um, was that…”
Yes. I will give you your reward.
“You will?” Jaskier asks, surprised despite himself.
I will release Geralt of Rivia, for you have given me something in return. And I will regain him, as I will gain you. We will meet again, bard.
“I—How do—”
You will walk forward. You will ascend, and he will follow. Until he emerges above, he is still a part of me. You may not look upon him, as you may not look upon me. You must not look back.
“How will I know he is there?”
He will follow.
“How will I know it is him?”
You must have faith.
“How—” Jaskier chokes now, tears welling up. He is glad no one can see. “Will he be—himself?”
Entirely. Once he emerges.
“Thank you,” Jaskier whispers.
It is time. Walk forward. In three paces, you shall begin to ascend. Be well, bard.
*
Jaskier climbs. The stairs remember his tread, the shape of his feet. It’s easy.
There are footsteps behind him. Are they Geralt’s? Do they match the way he shifts his weight, the deliberate heel-toe steps that Jaskier has been hearing for decades? He’s not sure.
Jaskier is afraid. More afraid than ever before. There could be anything back there. Anything at all. He must not look.
But he is not forbidden to talk.
“Geralt?” he says, tentatively. “Geralt, is that you?”
A grunt. “It’s me, Jaskier.”
And it is, thank the gods, it is. “Sounds like you,” he says, voice carefully measured, lest he sob in relief.
Silence. Four, five more stairs. They will not end. When will they end?
“How’ve you been, Witcher? It’s good to hear you again, my friend.”
“Where are we?”
“Well, who’s to say,” Jaskier says lightly. “Tell me, what do you last remember?”
“Bleeding out in a forest. I couldn’t get up. I waited to die. I…died. I died, didn’t I, Jaskier?”
Jaskier chooses to take that as rhetorical, and does not answer.
“Anything else?”
“Not until now. Is this a dream?”
“To my knowledge, no, Geralt, it is not. I pray that this is not a dream.”
“Then where—?”
Jaskier picks up his foot, sets it down. One stair at a time. There have been hundreds, there will be more. Is that light above? No, a trick of his eyes. He is still blind.
“Not to worry. We’ll soon be outside. It’s a beautiful day, you know. Big blue sky. Everything in bloom. Your favorite time of the year. We’ll have to do some foraging, stock up for potions. I have your things, of course, but I don’t know the shelf life of your concoctions.”
“A quarter year.”
“Ah, might have to make fresh, then.”
But no, it is growing brighter. Jaskier can see the faint silhouettes of his hands, the edges of the stairs to come. If he were to turn back he might be able to see the gleam of Geralt’s eyes, but he mustn’t.
Why mustn’t he? Oh, yes, the warning. He—can’t look back. He must not—
“Jaskier,” Geralt says again. “I’m dead.”
“You are, Geralt, yes, is that what you would like to hear?” Jaskier says, a little hysterically. “But you won’t be for much longer, if we just keep going.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“Where? Where?” His pitch climbs with the staircase. Around and around. Dizzying. So many circles. “Above, Geralt. Back home, of course.”
“Why?”
Jaskier has to stop himself from whirling around. “Good gods, you ask me why? I follow you for decades, I immortalize you in song, and the witcher asks me why.” He draws in a great lungful of air, releases it. “I love you, you great idiot. I have loved you.”
The response comes, so softly, a mere rumble, “I know. That’s why I asked.”
The stairs are made of warped stone. He can see that now. They are well worn, dipping in the centers. It can’t be far. “Please, Geralt, we’re almost there.”
“You haven’t answered me. Why you would do this.”
“I was supposed to let you rot, huh? I was meant to live on as if it was fine? As if nothing was missing?”
“Yes,” says Geralt. “You didn’t ask me if I wanted to come back.”
“Of course you did. Of course you do.”
“I don’t,” says Geralt.
Jaskier stops, and behind him the second set of footsteps also halts.
“It was peaceful. It was my time.”
“It wasn’t,” Jaskier whispers. “Don’t tell me that.”
“Look at me.”
“I can’t.”
There is a touch to the small of his back, a gust of air across the nape of his neck. So familiar. He aches.
“Jaskier.” A strong hand closes around his wrist. He doesn’t look down at it, not even a glance. “The world doesn’t need me anymore.”
“What about the monsters? The wars?”
“There is Yennefer, and Ciri, and Eskel and the rest. There will always be someone.”
With dread creeping through his limbs, Jaskier says, “You’re telling me you don’t want to come back. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
He can almost hear the creaking of the intertwined, ancient trees above. It is just a few more steps.
“You can’t tell me that, not when I—”
Arms come around him, and he shuts his eyes. “Jaskier, I would rather have done what I have done and no more, than continue on and overstay my welcome. I would rather have my peace.”
“What if I need you?” Jaskier breathes.
“I am with you.”
“You weren’t.”
Geralt’s hand comes to rest over his heart. It is not cold nor hot through Jaskier’s doublet. It simply isn’t much of anything at all. There, but insubstantial. It trails its way up his jaw, traces over his bottom lip. “You forget,” Geralt says, “that I am in your words. That I will live on. Isn’t that what you said? Art does not die.”
“You heard.”
“I must have.”
“That’s not fair.” Jaskier sniffles, knowing full well he sounds like a child. “I came all this way. I have always followed you. What am I supposed to do now?”
“Whatever you wish.”
“I will sing of you until I can’t any longer, to anyone who will listen, and to many who will not.”
A smile, pressed to his ear. “I can think of no better way to be loved.”
Something nags at Jaskier, and he can’t say what. He is surrounded by a body he knows as well as his own, yet it’s not right. Why?
The body releases him. It says, “Look at me, Jaskier. That’s all you have to do.”
“You’re not Geralt, are you,” he says with trepidation, eyes still squeezed tight. “Are you? Don’t lie.”
“Jaskier.”
He breathes in. Opens his eyes. Grips the lute strap in both hands. Turns.
Silvered hair, sad golden eyes, a sharp nose, wispy around the edges.
“Geralt,” he whispers, reaching out even as the form dissipates. Called back to the bottom of the stairwell.
“Thank you, Jaskier,” it says, and then it is gone.
#the witcher#the witcher fic#geraskier#geralt x jaskier#geraskier fic#how tag???#anyway orpheus!jaskier and eurydice!geralt deserves to be a real fic#not like whatever the fuck this is#i humbly invite someone to write it and nourish me#my fic
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what are your thoughts on scary/creepy danny? to me danny's never been good at scaring people beyond prank scares but gives off huge uncanny valley vibes once his powers settle because of things like being too cold, forgetting to breathe, dismissal and quick recovery from large injuries, moving too quietly and sharp teeth, I also like the idea that he can tap into his more ghostly side and press that part of people's brains that screams *get away from this thing it's dangerous* if he needs to.
I love the idea of it but have never written it. I admittedly never thought about Danny essentially weaponizing his ghostly side like in your last example, though. That’s a neat idea. So’s the uncanny valley feeling; that makes a lot of sense, and I love it. I just. Hmm.... What if I just....
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EDIT: Now reworked and expanded on the AO3 as The Curious Case of Danny Fenton (FFN).
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“What is up with that kid?” Wes whispered, loudly enough to be heard by the girl beside him but hopefully not by the kid in question. He hoped his nod in the appropriate direction was subtle enough, too.
The girl frowned and pointed at him with her nail file. “Why are you talking to me?” she asked.
Wes blinked.
The girl behind the first girl added, “Just avoid Fenton if you don’t want to be a loser like him.” The two of them laughed and walked off.
Fenton. That was Fenton, the kid with the crazy ghost hunting parents?
The kid in question glanced his way, and Wes looked away and tried to suppress a shudder. There was something about him, something…something…something wrong. Wes couldn’t put his finger on what it was, but he was going to find out.
XXX
In less than a week, Wes realized two very important things about Danny Fenton. One: Star’s assertion that Fenton was a loser was reinforced daily by the school bully. (Wes himself had enough athletic ability to stay off of Dash’s radar.) Two: Dash’s star quarterback status wasn’t the only reason the teachers turned a blind eye to the treatment.
Wes had seen Fenton picked up by his shirt and shoved into his locker more often than Mickey was into his, but the math nerd showed the treatment of it. He had bruises. Scratches. He still smiled, still had a cheerfully subservient attitude in the hopes that it would prevent further treatment, but he’d walk with a limp or eat only soup for a few days or stumble into class just before the bell with red marks crisscrossing his skin.
Fenton did not.
He’d be punched. Tripped. Kicked. All manner of ‘accidentally knocked into’ and ‘accidentally knocked down’. And it never showed. It wasn’t just that he didn’t bruise easily—or at all, as far as Wes could tell. He wasn’t favouring any limbs. He didn’t complain—at least in Wes’s hearing—of being sore. He didn’t act as if he were hurt. Ever.
No one else ever commented on this, so Wes kept his mouth shut and his eyes open.
That was why, months later, Wes saw something he was pretty sure no one else did.
Fenton was banned from handling glassware in chemistry, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t help Manson move some drama props for a prank or a protest or whatever he was up to, and Wes was coming out of the washroom after basketball practice when he saw Fenton drop some glass orb.
It broke, and Fenton cut himself when trying to clean it up. Wes heard the quiet crud muttered even as he stepped back to hover in the alcove by the washroom, and he peeked out just enough to see Fenton press some tissue into his hand and then pick up the glass.
When Wes walked by later, all he saw was a forgotten glimmer of glass and a trio of red splotches staining the floor.
The next day, Wes made a point of looking for it, but Fenton didn’t have so much as a band-aid on, and there was no sign of a telltale scab.
XXX
By their senior year, Wes had it all figured out. He’d long ago pointed out the truth—that Fenton was Phantom—but no one believed him, despite all the evidence he trotted out again and again. Worse still, Fenton didn’t even try to hide it around him anymore.
Wes always saw a flash of fangs when Danny’s smirk inevitably grew into a grin when he noticed Wes watching him, even when other people were around.
Entirely too often, Fenton would just appear, and even though others wrote it off as ‘not noticing the loser’s approach’, Wes knew it was so much more than that. And, okay, fine, it wasn’t always literally appearing out of nowhere, but no one should be able to walk that quietly over fallen autumn leaves. It just wasn’t natural, which was his (entirely ignored) point.
One time in gym class, Wes was the only one close enough to Fenton to hear the sickening crack when he slipped and fell on his arm and it bent the wrong way. Fenton never said anything about it, but he did favour it. For the rest of the day. The next day, it was business as usual for him.
No one thought it weird that Fenton didn’t dress for the winter weather. If he bothered with a coat over his T-shirt, it was never done up anymore. But they also didn’t find it weird that it was always cool around him, even in the heat of summer. Assuming anyone else acknowledged it, they’d blame the air conditioning or a sudden gust of nonexistent wind, as if that made any sense at all.
That permanent cold spot might be why no one seemed to think it weird that Fenton wasn’t ever warm to the touch, either. Not that Wes could bring that up without a lot of teasing for all the wrong reasons, but every time Wes had brushed by him, Fenton had been cold. Not just cool, not just chilly, cold. Cold enough to give Wes goosebumps.
It didn’t help that Fenton’s only redeeming quality in the eyes of the popular kids was that he could hold his breath for a long time. It had been discovered during one of Dash’s more questionable bouts of bullying, but it had earned Fenton some grudging respect. He hammed it up instead of brushing it off, and no one questioned the fact that he could hold his breath for five minutes, despite how insane that was, especially for kids their age with zero training.
No one noticed the fact that Fenton never took a giant gulp of air before doing that, either.
No one realized that he simply didn’t need to breathe, at least not as often as a normal human if he did.
There was just…. It wasn’t normal. None of it was normal. It drove Wes nuts, and no one else seemed to see any of it.
XXX
On their last day of high school, Wes managed to get Danny alone.
Well.
Sam and Tucker were hovering in the background, snickering, but it was as alone as they were going to get.
“C’mon, you have to own up to this,” Wes said, trying not to make it sound like the plea it was. “You just…. You can’t pretend none of this…. You can’t let everyone keep thinking I’m Phantom when you’re, y’know.”
Danny smiled, his teeth just a touch too long and just this side of too sharp. “Whaddaya mean?”
Instinct was telling Wes to get out of there, but he held his ground.
“You’re Phantom,” he said. “I know you’re Phantom. I’ve seen you change.”
Danger, shouted his mind as it reminded him of all possible exits. Run, thundered his heart, beating faster with each passing second. Get away, screamed his muscles, tensed and ready to spring.
He was standing there waiting for an answer, gulping in lungfuls of air, before he realized the unnerving feeling had entirely disappeared.
Danny was frowning. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His teeth looked normal. His face, his demeanour…. It all seemed perfectly normal.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about!” Wes hissed. “The…the glowing eyes, the freaky stuff you do, everything!”
Danny raised an eyebrow.
“Stop doing that! You know what I mean!”
“Phantom’s dead, Wes,” Danny said. “He was long dead before you ever moved here. No one seriously thinks you’re him.”
“So you admit you’re dead, then? Because you’re Phantom?”
Danny snorted. “Phantom’s a ghost,” he said. “Ghosts are dead. I do not need to have grown up with the parents I did to know that. Do I look dead to you?”
He really didn’t, not at that precise moment, but Wes growled out an affirmative anyway.
Danny shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said. “I can’t make you not believe your own crazy conspiracy theory. Have a good rest of your life, Wes.”
He started to walk away, his soft footsteps on the linoleum sounding loud to Wes’s ears.
“Hey, wait, I’m not done!” Wes yelled. He sprinted after Danny, easily catching up to him, and reached to grab his arm.
Wes watched his fingers pass right through Danny’s arm and backpack as Danny reached Sam and Tucker. Wes stared at his hand for a split second and then looked up to confront them with this obvious bit of proof, but the hallway was empty.
He couldn’t hear any footsteps leading away, nor any muffled laughter at his expense.
Wes stood entirely by himself, left with exactly as much concrete proof of the truth as he’d ever had.
Nothing.
(see more fics | buy me a coffee?)
#danny phantom#danny fenton#wes weston#dp fanfiction#phanfiction#creepy!danny fenton#fanfiction#creamcloud0#ladylynse#my writing#snippets#dp snippet#i tried
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So, talkin abt multilingual Mams,
I was gonna make this post anyway but then I saw @cheerypining put this in the tags of my post re: Mams’ English in his character song:
I would like to hollar out a hell yes!
The thing with Mams is that he isn’t stupid. He’s smart as fuck, he’s just motivated by self interest and fixation. It’s easier for him to learn things that are of interest to him, or that expand his interests. He’s got that sweet, sweet ADD brain.
So, if language helps him spread out his influence, make money, expand his contacts? It’s gonna be that lil bit easier for him to figure out. It might even be a fixation of his. Learn a language; open opportunities in the place that language hails from. Gain an interest in how language works. Learn other languages bc it’s fun.
Consider, then, if you will, for some of that tastey lore-building,
Mams starting out learning the languages of the most influencial/opulent human powers. It’s beneficial for him to figure out how to speak their language if he really wants to get at their pockets, and you can’t really smooth talk someone if you barely understand the way their haggling works. How is anyone going to trust you if their idioms go over your head, or if you miss some slang that marks you very starkly as an outsider? It’s a lot easier if they think you’re like them; if you know the little things that’ll get them lowering their guard around you.
He’s great with dialects, too. With differences between the upper and lower classes. It only takes one slip-up using court language around the common folk, or using the dialet of the north in the south, for him to recognise how important those divisions are. He works with trust, and the eventual corruption of that trust, and it becomes pretty clear to him pretty quick that trust can only be attained the more like his target he sounds.
Dead languages still live on in Mammon’s brain. He’s fluent in them, and even though he hasn’t really had to use them in some time, for some reason they’ve just never faded away. You can pretty much use him as a way to track how languages changed over time, how regional variants were influenced by other languages or cultures, when various languages died out and what replaced them.
It’s not something that he really thinks about. It was beneficial for him, so he learnt it. Beyond that, it was fun, and he enjoyed it. He doesn’t really give himself credit for just how much linguistic history he has stored inside his head, and he really doesn’t put much credit into how goddamn useful it is - or would be - for modern historians. That’s not what he’s interested in. He’s content to leave Satan to the books, to the past; he’s got more of a propensity for the practicality, anyway.
Listening to him talk is actually pretty astounding. The ease with which he slips into each language, the depth of his understanding for even the slight nuances between regions, makes him seem like a native speaker. The speed, too, is absolutely stunning; you’ve never seen a more baffling sight than Mammon, speaking mild-mannered in Russian to a witch, switching mid-sentence into heavily-flirtatious French to order from the waitress that came to their table. It’s like he doesn’t even stumble between the two, both as natural to him as breathing.
He has his preferences, of course. When he’s not using the language for his own goals - doesn’t need to, for instance, be careful about his word choice to ensure a bond of trust is made - he quickly slips into a dialect that is most comfortable for him. He might use ‘watashi’ or ‘ore’ when he’s on the job, might tack on the ‘gozaimasu’ to his greetings to make them polite, but when he’s just generally speaking Japanese? That’s when he starts using ‘ore-sama’, when he drops all the humble or stilted phrases; uses ‘ja ne’ instead of ‘sayounara'. That’s when, in English, he stops making sure to enunciate fully; starts shortening ‘you’ to ‘ya’, cuts off the ‘g’ from ‘ing’ words, starts peppering in ‘crap’ instead of ‘stuff’, lets his words slur together to make ‘whaddaya’ out of ‘what are you’.
He’s naturally an informal guy! It’s just the way he prefers to talk. He hates the pompous lingo, even if it’s usually the most beneficial to learn for what he does. If the language he’s speaking has a way to show belligerent informality, he will absolutely use it whenever he can. It’s a choice, make no mistake; he can arguably speak better in most languages than the stupid high academics. He just doesn’t enjoy that crap when it’s not immediately useful to him.
(Yes, that does mean he can comprehend even the most pompously written academic papers. No, that doesn’t mean he wants to read them. He would much sooner stab a fork into his giblets than sit down for any period of time and read that wordy bullshit. Same goes for a lot of Satan’s literature; it’s just not enjoyable for him to read, even if he can perfectly understand it.)
Sometimes a word works better in one language than another. It can get extremely frustrating for him, if he has a very specific point to get across; unless someone knows both languages, they’re never going to fully understand. And why use five words in the inefficient language when one in the efficient language would have been even better for his intent? ‘Fernweh’ works much better than ‘imagine being homesick for a place you’ve never been’, after all.
Mams has a tendency to drop in words he likes from other languages, which makes some of his speech sound a little confusing. He doesn’t think it makes him sound smarter, and he’s not doing it to show off; just, sometimes, he thinks ‘hey’ sounds better than ‘ohayou’, or that ‘ciao’ is cooler and more aloof than ‘au revoir’. Plus, it’s kinda funny when you’re talking to someone Lucifer and you insult them in a language they don’t understand.
(I mean, in English, we literally say stuff like “it has a little je ne sais quoi,” [it has a little something that I can’t adequately express] so we merge languages into our own in order to better express ourselves. Mams does the same. He just does it with words and phrases that aren’t always naturally used together within that language.)
Do you understand the amount of skill that comes with being able to do this without even stopping to think? He somehow manages to do it in a way that makes each sentence still perfectly fluent and understandable in translation. It’s a little incredible, actually, considering he doesn’t put any stock into this ability. It’s just natural for him. Why’s he gotta think on it more than that?
(This does mean, the few times someone points it out, that he gets incredibly flustered. Especially if they say it in awe, or in praise. It really is just second nature to him, not even something he’s putting on for show or something that he’s trying to be good at, so being given so much positive attention for it is... well. It’s surprising, and a little nice, actually. But also genuinely embarrasing. It’s perhaps the only time he’ll struggle to find words in any language.)
In conclusion:
Hell yeah I love reinforcin the idea that Mams ain’t stupid and that there’s a lot of goddamn skill that comes with learnin languages and learnin them to such a degree you can accurately pepper their words into your speech without stoppin to think.
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friday night - bucky barnes x fem!reader (college!au)
a/n: hi! so as per the request of a lovely girl who asked for more frat!bucky, without further ado, here it is! just to let y’all know, i love frat!bucky so i will NEVER say no to more of him-- and thank you @xicanalarraa for being my first request ever !!! -ali
wc: 1.4k
Having a boyfriend in a fraternity was difficult.
But it was even more difficult when said fraternity threw parties every. single. weekend.
Sometimes you just wanted quality time with Bucky, and you only had so many opportunities to be in your apartment alone with your roommates that were always around.
So when you asked Bucky if you guys could maybe just stay in his room and watch a movie while the party happened downstairs, you thought that it would be fine, that you could just have a calm Friday night in. It was rare that you guys spend quality time together these past few weeks, as finals were in full swing.
And since everyone was done with finals, tonight’s celebration was louder than ever.
“Hon, you want some snacks? I can go grab some from downstairs.” Bucky piped up from where you were leaning into him on his bed, the movie playing on the TV in front of you two.
“Uhm, sure. You’ll be okay down there?” You smirked, knowing how Tony and Thor could drag him into a party.
“I’ll be back in a flash, doll,” he flashed a smirk as he pulled away from your hold, swinging the door and shut it behind him.
-
The movie was about a quarter way through when Bucky left, and about 20 minutes had passed since he left.
What the hell could he be getting that’s taking this long?
You really didn’t want to go downstairs, so you settled with texting him. After another 10 minutes with no response, you felt like you had no choice, heaving yourself up from the warmth of Bucky’s giant bed and making your way down the stairs.
Of course, the first place you thought to check was the kitchen, but that was dead end, as Bucky was nowhere to be found.
But you know where he would be found?
Doing a keg stand.
A fucking keg stand.
Cheers and whoops were being chanted all around your boyfriend who was upside down on a keg of beer. So of course, your first instinct is to tug at Steve’s sleeve, who was standing off to the side talking to a pretty brunette.
“Y/N? What’s up, I thought you were upstairs with Buck?” He asked, confused.
“Yeah, well, he came downstairs to get snacks. That was like, half an hour ago. So I came down to see if he was alright, but it looks like he’s more than fine.” You turn your head to where Bucky is now just standing up from the keg, cheering on with everyone as Tony and Same pat him on the back.
“He’s... he’s a fuckin’ idiot, Y/N, I’m sorry.” Steve says apologetically, placing a hand on your shoulder.
“Whatever... it’s alright. I know we haven’t seen much of each other because we were busy studying, and I know he wants to have fun, but he could’ve just told me he wanted to party instead of watching a dumb movie with me...” Your voice trailed off as you lost more and more of your confidence. If he didn’t want to spend time with me, he could’ve just said so.
Steve opened his mouth to say more, but before he could, the brunette from before came back from refilling her drink, and he shot you look saying, ‘I’m sorry, but I’m here if you want to talk.’
You just put on a fake smile and walked back upstairs to get your bag you’d brought, thinking you’d spend the night, but it was becoming clearer Bucky had no intention of finishing the movie with you.
As you were opening the front door of the house to leave, a hand grabbed yours, making you freeze and tug it out of the strangers’ hold.
Oh, not a stranger.
“Where ya goin, doll?” Bucky’s voice was a bit slurred, but you knew he wasn’t completely wasted.
“Home, since you don’t seem to want to spend time with me, Buck. If you wanted to party tonight, you could’ve just asked me to come another night. You don’t have to feel guilty or obligated to spend time with me, but next time just be straightforward.” You finished, your voice low and surprisingly not angry at all. Just a bit... dejected.
-
After making it back home and getting into bed, your thoughts floated all around your mind.
Was I too harsh? Why didn’t he just tell me he wanted to go to the party? Am I too clingy?
All these thoughts were jumbling together until you fell into a dreamless sleep.
-
The next morning, your body felt heavier than ever as you pressed the button to brew on your coffee maker, your roommates watching you warily from the couch.
“Y/N, weren’t you supposed to stay at Bucky’s last night?” Nat asked you.
“I was... I think he wanted to go to the party but he felt bad, so he stayed in with me. Then I found him doing a keg stand... so...” You explained, the look of pity overtaking Nat and Wanda’s faces.
“Aw, honey, it’s okay. We can spend the day doing something fun today! How ‘bout a mall trip, a little treat for after finals?” Wanda chimed in.
“Yeah... that sounds fun...” You really didn’t want to go out, but it would be better for you than staying home and wallowing.
-
After a few hours of shopping and trying on every piece of clothing in sight, you made your way back home, ready to settle in for the night with a box of pizza and a bottle of wine.
Only the lights were already on when you 3 walked in, and the door was unlocked.
“Wan, did you lock the door when we left?” You asked cautiously, your hand still on the knob.
“Oh! I must’ve forgotten, silly me.” She giggled, waving a hand in front of her face.
What you missed as you turned back around was the look your two roommates shared, a mischievous grin on both of their faces.
When you reached your room, you jaw dropped after you pushed open the door.
“Bucky? What are you doing here?” Your voice was breathy, taking in the scene before you.
Bucky had essentially transformed your room into a cozy movie theater, with blankets and pillows, dimmed, twinkling lights, and a movie ready to be played.
“I... I can’t explain to you how sorry I am for last night, angel. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I’d choose a party over you, and I never wanted you to think you’re my second choice. You’re my everything, sweetheart. I thought I could entertain Tony for a bit so he’d get off my back about not coming to the party, but I should’ve talked to you first. Please, please forgive me?” Bucky ended his speech with opening his arms, hoping you’d come closer to him.
When you felt your eyes well up not only at his speech, but this whole gesture, your body moved on its’ own accord into his arms.
“Bucky, you know you can always talk to me, right? I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide anything from me, I’m always here to listen.” You told him while you buried your face in his neck.
“I- I know, doll. I was so stupid. I love you so much.” Bucky’s voice was full of conviction.
“You’re not stupid, Bucky. Just a little... weird sometimes when you make decisions. And I love you too, you big fool.” You laughed, leaning up to give him a peck on the lips.
“Yeah, I see that now. Whaddaya say, let’s do it right this time?” He suggested, nodding to your bed.
“Sure Buck, let me get out of these jeans first.” You smiled, pulling off your pants and pulling on a pair of his boxers you had and a t-shirt of his, and cuddling into his side.
Bucky’s lips met the crown of your head, whispering, “There’s no where else I’d rather be, doll.” As he smiled down at you, your face mirrored it.
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