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zhongrin · 1 year

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so that even the world does not doubt that you are mine

— aka their ways to stake their 'claim' on you (in a cute and wholesome way)

◇ characters ◇ zhongli, ayato, childe, xiao, diluc, wanderer, cyno, al haitham

◇ tags ◇ teeth-rotting stomach-hurting fluff, dragon!li, childe calls himself your puppy

◇ a/n ◇ *throws this at yall after the angst last week* HERE'S YOUR THERAPY BILLS /j

𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

aside from the obvious way he gravitates around you whenever you’re in public - sometimes with his arm resting on your back and other times with yours looped around his - zhongli never does tell you but he has a little ritual he never fails to perform every morning before he goes his merry way to the funeral parlor.

they do not look like much from a normal person’s perspective, but had you listened religiously to all the tales he told you throughout your relationship, you would have understood the ancient gestures’ meanings to the dragons of the olden days.

today too is no exception; he lets you run your delicate fingers up his proud, battle-scarred horns as you clean them before moving on to clip his hair with his usual hairclip. at the end of it all, he thanks you with a soft nip to your nape.

“there you go. all set. thank you, dearest. have a good day, and i’ll see you again at lunch later, yes?”

ayato believes that the way one dresses - at least in public that is - could make or break a business deal or a potential ally, therefore, he always upholds himself to dress sophistically at all times. and while he normally does not force you to follow this belief, the number of clothing articles and the finest accessories gracing your doorstep could get a little burdensome…

but the moment he sees you out and about with that specific haori he custom-tailored just for you, its color scheme and the fine embroidery literally screaming ‘kamisato clan’? hmmm… perhaps if wearing them would make him this happy, you should consider doing it more often?

“that haori looks lovely on you, darling. hmm? people were being more polite than usual today, you say? haha, i’d say they were besotted by your loveliness, dear. soft blues and whites have always looked good on you, afterall.”

childe might be a good actor, but sadly his subordinates are not.

so it really isn’t a surprise when, after befriending the harbinger, you open your door to see a fatui agent conspicuously spying on you right across your lawn.

and when you started dating?

it got worse.

it didn’t even take you a full day to count all five agents trailing after you like lost puppies. you would have thought they learned to disguise themselves after all these times, but no. they look horribly out of place with their huge weapons and flashy uniforms. sure, they’re fulfilling their purpose by being flashy, but you’d prefer if people don’t run away from you in fear whenever you try to talk to them!

…. it seems like it’s time to give them a crash course on how to dress and act more inconspicuously.

“did the dogs misbehave today? no? i’m glad!! ….. still, you sound like you’re getting fond of them…. hey, i’m still your number one puppy, right? right??”

there are no such things as adepti’s blessings, and yet you carry xiao’s with you everywhere you go.

not that you’re aware of it.

but it shows. it's indicated by the remnants of anemo energy trailing upon your steps. of how his trinkets clink gently against your accessories, always subtle and never too intruding, effectively shooing the evil spirits vying upon possessing your body. in the way the breeze hums gently as it listens to all of the sounds surrounding you, silently protecting, watching, vigilant.

though he might not be able to watch you 24/7, xiao will always continue to make tremendous efforts to keep you safe.

“welcome back. i’m glad you had a good day today.”

a walking contradiction, this one.

wanderer says he does not enjoy being stared at as you walk through the market, yet he scowls when people ignore him in favor of talking to you instead. he says he does not enjoy sweet food and yet he continues to kiss you, tells you that you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted, silently pleading for more with the insistent chase of his lips when you retreat. he says he doesn’t feel the need to announce your relationship to the public eye, and yet the moment someone gets just a little bit too friendly with you, he’s there, almost hissing like an angry cat chancing upon a dog wagging their tail at his unsuspecting owner - his hand settles on your and his hip sticks onto yours, and if looks could kill the unfortunate soul would have been blown a thousand feet into the air and falling rapidly to its demise a hundred times over.

“…… hah! coward. shouldn't have coveted what you can’t have. stupid human. wh- the hell are you doing?! stop pinching my cheek! and how many times do i have to tell you that i’m not ‘cute’!”

him staking his claim on you? ha. elementary. no, no, no. the tcg legendary player uses an uno reverse card on this one. in everyone else’s eyes, there is no doubt that he is yours.

the way cyno wears your accessories whenever he’s out on duty (it matters not if it “doesn’t match” his aesthetics - he claims seeing it on himself gives him a sense of peace), the speech ticks and the mannerisms he adopts from you (tighnari was the one who picked up on it; he thinks it’s very adorable), the way he walks about sumeru city with a bunch of padisarahs in hand, tied with a ribbon of your favorite color (and more often than not, with a bag of your favorite drinks or snacks in his other hand)…

... and most of all, the way a gentle smile always spreads on his lips when someone mentions your name.

“[name]…………. hm…... come on, tighnari. i need to finish this job. what? you think we can get this done before dinner? that's ridiculous. we will finish it by lunchtime. now, get moving.”

diluc is so hesitant to stake his claim on you most days, but after a while, it comes almost naturally to him.

he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, but the way he refers to you as his whenever your name comes up in conversations is so smooth, people could easily miss it if they don’t pay enough attention to his words. from “my spouse? yes, they’re doing fine” to “adelinde, where has my beloved gone off to? they weren’t in the study room”, he has mastered the subtle art of painting you as one of his people in others’ eyes, but on the contrary, the implied message is clear - “if you hurt them, i will not hesitate to take action.”

“my betrothed? no, they’re not with me today. but if you need to tell them something, you can always tell me and i’ll relay it to them.”

whenever he is not within the walls of his new office, al haitham is always seen with you.

in the bustling streets of sumeru, the acting grand sage sticks by your side, sometimes with his hand holding yours, or with you sticking to him like a koala under that cape of his. if one stops by the grand bazaar, they would see him carrying bags upon bags of items as you try to haggle for the 'exorbitant’ amount of mora needed to buy a pack of allspices. and whenever one happens to take a spontaneous stroll in the lush woods surrounding the city, they might stumble to the two of you stargazing, with your head pillowed on your lover’s arm, his expression smoothed out in serene bliss.

there is no mistaking your relationship, for the whole population of sumeru could unanimously agree even without the now-obsolete akasha terminal’s guide: he is yours just as you are his.

“tsk. it is outside office hours right now, i- hm? ah- i… see. you merely wished to inform me where [name] is? very well. this does not mean i will approve of the proposal for your darshan.” “.... but i will at least extend my gratitude and check on it latest by the end of office hours tomorrow.”

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seokjinsonlyone · 1 year

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this how i think bts would be if you were pregnant

namjoon:

he’s kind of clumsy and brutish by nature so he would try his absolute hardest to be quiet gentle and out of the way when it comes to you

reads to your baby every night once their hearing develops; goes through tons of children’s books and buys the ones that have all the messages and lessons he wants his child to learn so you now have a very large carefully curated library in the nursery

your pregnancy becomes his new j hope like he’s gonna mention it at every given opportunity whether it’s related to the topic at hand or not

comes back with a new baby item every time you send him to the store; you have to draw the line once he starts buying jars of baby food just bc they’re cute and little

not too keen on going into the whole birthing thing blind so he persuades you into taking lamaze classes with him

seokjin:

has one of them pregnancy apps downloaded and updates you each week on which fruit your baby is the size of

thinks it’s unfair how you get unlimited time with your baby and demands he get one on one time with them; makes you put on headphones and play music so he can spend time and talk with them without you intruding

puts himself in charge of your diet; looks up different ingredients that are supposed to be good for you and the baby and makes recipes centered around that; feels guilty bc every once in a while he cooks something that baby decides they do NOT like at ALL and it makes you sick

once your baby starts kicking he lets them make final decisions on things y’all can’t or don’t feel like deciding on; what shirt should he wear today? baby chooses. can’t choose a restaurant for dinner? baby chooses. accent color for the nursery? baby chooses.

tbh his favorite thing about you being pregnant is that when y’all go out he gets to park in the spaces that be up front for expecting mothers

yoongi:

when you get to be too much for him he always threatens that he’s gonna go to the store to “get milk”

all you’d have to do is give him a theme and a color scheme for the nursery and he’d take care of the rest; would give your baby the childhood room of your dreams

always 10 steps ahead in planning; like you’re trying to figure out if it’s acceptable go out with your jeans unbuttoned bc they is not fastening no matter how hard you try and he’s trying to figure out if y’all should move bc he likes the school that’s zoned for the neighborhood 5 blocks away

tries to act all nonchalant but every time he talks about you and your baby his hand ends up clutching his chest and he has this undeniably soft fond smile etched across his face

daily foot and back massages and belly rub downs with stretch mark cream

hoseok:

most likely to get on your nerves; like most of time he is rainbows and sunshine and the absolute light of your life; but he gon catch you on the wrong day, a day when you’re already in a bad mood and your back hurts and your feet are swollen and he’s gon be hopping around making sound effects and you’re gonna absolutely lose it; he’ll try not to take it personally but you’re gonna have to give him quite a few kisses and cuddles to make up for your raging

would be even more terrified than you if you ever fell; like after the shock's worn off and you're calm again he's definitely gonna make you go to the hospital just to make sure everything's okay even if you told him you felt fine

carries the sonogram in his wallet front and center in the space where his ID should be for easy access to show any and everyone who asks about how you’re doing

buys all kinds of designer things for your baby; you have to beg him to stop spending thousands of dollars on clothes and shoes that are only gonna fit for a month and a half at best

has more of a nesting phase than you i think; like nursery is fully completed, go bag is ready, baby’s clothes are washed and organized, all the little gadgets, diaper genies, bottle warmers, etc are set up and placement tested for maximum efficiency by month 6

jimin:

the type to be uncomfortable with you doing anything; like if it was up to him you’d be in bed the entire time; you have to remind him that you’re pregnant not dead but you take it easy and let him help you as much as possible to ease his nerves

thinks it’s cute when you start needing help to stand up; sometimes he’ll just sit back giggling and watch for a while as you try to get up on your own before stepping in and helping you; videos the experience nd shows it to his friends

goes to every one of your doctor’s appointment with a notebook full of questions about your’s and the baby’s health and writes all the answers down very meticulously

spends like 3 hours building the crib for the nursery; there’s so much grunting going on that you’re concerned HE might be going into labor; gets inside the crib after he’s finally finished building it to prove to you how sturdy it is; ends up taking a nap inside of it bc he didn’t realize how laborious it was gonna he

completely empathetic to your experience so he’s up when you’re up no matter how late it is; will literally get up at 4am to get you a bottle of water and make you a snack and rubs your shoulders and back until you can fall asleep again

taehyung:

his hand stays on your belly the whole 9 months; like you’ll be 6 weeks looking completely regular trying to keep it a Secret until you make it out your first trimester but everyone is suspicious bc taehyung will just come up and start rubbing your tummy whenever he sees you

tries on your nursing bra and would be walking around the house flipping the cover off showing you his nipples at odd times

starts picking out names immediately; at the end of the day he’s always gonna yield to you bc he wants you to be happy but he really really wants to name his child

plays so much classical music bc he heard it makes the baby smarter that you start to feel like you live in the 18th century

knows he isn’t the best at cooking but wants to be better for his baby so he spends like 2 weeks perfecting his baby formula bottle making method

jungkook:

doesn’t understand how anyone could have the type of cravings you have but his curiosity is too strong and he tries each of one them; finds the peanut butter covered pickles absolutely disgusting but rocks with the dessert pasta

starts calling you ms penguin bc of the way you waddle walk when your belly gets too big

lactation kink

would be deep diving on the internet researching various things about pregnancy and then spend the next 4 months trying to convince you to do a water birth bc he thinks it would be “cool”

sits bam down and has a conversation with him about how he’s gonna have a baby brother or sister and what’s gonna be expected of him when the time comes; it’s definitely more of a pep talk for him than the dog

a/n: me posting this is just as much of a surprise to me as it is to you anyway 🫣 thoughts comments concerns are welcome

#bts #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts headcanons #bts x reader #kim namjoon fic #namjoon x y/n #seokjin fic #jin x reader #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x you #hoseok x reader #jhope fanfic #jimin fanfic #park jimin x you #taehyung fanfic #kim taehyung x y/n #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook fic

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skyahri · 1 month

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So..? |Kakashi Hatake X Civilian! Reader| HC

Pairing: Kakashi Hatake X Civilian!Fem! Reader

Summary: Kakashi finally musters up the courage to ask you out.

Warnings: Nothing, really. Pretty tame.

- - - - -

You worked in the hospital. It was nothing spectacular; the shifts are long, it can get a bit over crowded, and sometimes you don't even have time for a meal, but it's honest work.

You were decent with medical ninjutsu. You could heal cuts and bruises, but anything more was outside your skill set.

You have your fair share of regulars, Kakashi being one of them.

Sometimes, he's in and out - just there for a few stitches or a mandatory check-up after a long mission. Sometimes it's longer, like after his battle with Itachi or the Kazekage's retrieval.

You scold him every time for being reckless.

"Kakashi, you know what happens when you overuse your sharingan. Can't you at least try to be a bit more careful?"

He always dismisses you, promising that everything he does it put of 100% necessity.

You roll your eyes and fix him up regardless.

Its a lucky thing that you always end up taking care of him, or at least you think it is.

He's actually using his social pull to end up wherever you are. Kakashi Hatake, the copy cat ninja, is very well known and has earned more favors than he could ever cash in.

He remembers the first time he met you - it was several years ago, in this very hospital. He'd been injured during one of his Anbu missions and needed some critical care.

The hospital was swamped that day, and you were new. He could tell by how anxious you were. It was lucky that you had ended up with him, someone who wasn't picky about his treatment and wasn't bothered by nerves.

There was something about you, though he wasn't sure what. Yes, you're pretty, but he's seen lots of pretty girls. Maybe it was the confidence you emitted despite the cluster of the environment. Maybe it was the gentle way you touched him as yo wrapped his arm or the feeling of your chakra on his skin.

Either way, it stuck with him, and all the feelings he felt have only intensified over time.

Which is where we are now.

Eventually, he sees you outside of the hospital. A rare sight, really. He's perfectly healthy, between missions, and not being dragged around by his students for once.

Your last shift of the week just ended. You're carrying home your weekly grocery haul when he spots you and basically demands to carry some most of your bags.

He tries to chat you up, along about work, hobbies... potential partners?

"So what have you been doing outside of work, hm? Interesting... I see. And you do all of this by yourself, or..?"

You laugh, knowing he's fishing for specific information. He already knows you pretty well after seeing him so often at work. Maybe he forgot that fact in his stupor.

However, slick Kakashi thinks he's been all this time, knock it down by 60%.

You may not be a shinobi like him, but you're very well aware of people.

"No, Kakashi, I don't have a boyfriend."

He plays it off. Shoving his hands in his pockets and pretends not to be borderline giddy at this newfound information.

Once you reach your apartment, you have no problem allowing him entry so he can set your groceries down on your counter.

He looks around while you put things away. Everything embodied you perfectly. The plants, the color scheme, the decor. It was perfect.

Once you're finished, he becomes nervous again.

"So..."

"So?" You ask expectantly.

"Would you wanna meet up with me sometime? As a thank you for all you've done for me over the years, of course."

"Of course," you mock him lightly, crinkling your nose.

"I'd love to."

He let's out an animated breath.

"I'll pick you up tonight at 6? We can head to..."

The plans are set. Now, it's just a matter of patience before this long-awaited date.

Although you've been looking forward to this day for so many years, the anxiety is still there, and you're wondering how it'll go and if he likes you.

Little did you know he's having the same thoughts.

What if you didn't like him? What if he just damaged your friendship (could it even be called that considering how confined they had been to the hospital?) and now he's lost someone else because he's stupid?

Only time will tell, so may as well just shove down the nerves and prepare for what could be the beginning of something great.

#kakashi fluff #kakashi hatake #kakashi x reader #kakashi sensei #kakashi headcanons #naruto #naruto shippuden #naruto x reader #naruto headcanons #anime #anime headcanons

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writers-potion · 2 months

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Using Description and Setting Meaningfully

The setting, and a writer's description of it, is an essential part of any story. A good writer would use that setting for more than just a place for things to happen.

Use setting to emphasize other aspects of the story, such as:

Magnify the theme

Convey the general mood

Enlarge conflict

Magnifying Some Theme Through Description

Here's the thing about theme: modern readers aren't looking to be reformed. They wish to be entertained.

So, let description carry the burden of conveying the theme rather than you having to say it!

Side note: Theme is NOT a few haughty ideas you learn in lit class (like pride, beauty, everlasting love) but anything that you are trying to convey in a particular scene (like, trying to get a date). You can have several themes instead of one lofty philiosophical theme. That's fine.

The key here is to pick and choose the kind of details that contributes to the theme. A few examples:

Theme = oppression and manipulation of workers.

Aim = highlight deariness and tension

Setting: a break room in a factory

Details: slow ticking of a clock, raspy gurgling of a coffeemaker, completely utilitarian carpet and walls

Theme = teenager scheming a scam that his father already knows about

Aim = establish stealthy tension

Setting: the breakfast table

Details: toaster loudly launching two slices of bread at exactly the same moment that the teenager realizes his plan is ruined, catlike movements of the "stealthy"teen

Theme = a character's life is about to be transformed

Aim = show that change is imminent

Setting = train platform

Details: the darkness falling, colors of distant hills and the sky changining, the last train rolling in, workers happliy switching from "work mode" to "weekend mood" as the character waits for his train

Conveying Mood and Tone

The mood of a character determines how the story progresses.

If your main character is depressed, the plot will crawl on and take on a brooding, ominous tone. If he is determined, passionate and happy, the plot will speed up into loud, blowing action.

Often, the prevailing mood doesn't come from the character, but from the setting itself.

Again, let's explain by example:

Mood = Gloomy, baleful

Details: Sulphurous smoke, thick fog, horses' hoofs on cobbled streets, vendor's cries, unseen organ creaking out a sinister tune, sounds being muffled

Word choice is important. If you're conveying gloom, using strong verbs like creak, screech and adjectives like sinister and eerie.

Use sensory description: visual, auditory, tactile, olfactory and gustatory.

Another way is to describe simple actions:

Mood = irritation, aggression

Details: mashing the end of a cigarette in his plate, one draught of the coffee in his cup, wiping lips with his napkin - crumpling and dropping in on the table, standing up from the table, staring at the other person.

Mood = Giddiness

Details: flicking water from his glass on a lunch companion, twisting his napkin, playing with food without eating

Once you've established a prevailing mood, you've pretty much set the course of your story. No reader will expect the main character to party all night with loud rock music after a sinister description of his way back home.

Enlarging Conflict

Think of the things or actions that will eventually build up to the main conflict. Then, choose a setting that will naturally bring out such an action/ though from the characters in it.

Conflict = Woman hasn't spoken to her son for a decade and now, she has to confront him

Setting: House where she raised her son, among things that he hasn't seen in all that time, working bits of backstory into objects in the house (tie in a sofa, picture on the wall), mannerisms of the characters as they greet each other at the door.

Allow the setting to provide the little sparks that will blow up eventually. This way, you can effectively cut out that slow middle and jump into action without much effort.

Description is a matter of wordsmithing, of selecting preciosuly the right words to create certain meanings. Make every word and sentence count.

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

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turtleblogatlast · 13 days

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Thinking about the Don Suave scene and what it means in terms of LGBTQ+ representation because my brain does nothing if not torment me with random topics to ramble about on the regular.

Anyway, I just wanted to ramble about why I like the scene but to get it out of the way - the scene can very easily be interpreted in so many different ways, and all of them are valid. I personally see it as Leo having at least some attraction to a man. And the following is an explanation of my own interpretation and thoughts on it and what it means especially for Leo’s portrayal in the grand scheme of things.

Long-winded interpretation under the cut!

Now, to start with, it’s important to me that in the scene Leo looks at Don Suave in the very beginning and then for the entirety of the rest of the time the man is on screen, Leo’s eyes are closed. Yet, in the end, he is still visibly enamored with Don Suave, happily cuddling up to him as he’s being carried away.

You can very easily interpret this as Leo being spellbound and that’s honestly super valid and I believe he likely was at least somewhat in the beginning, but considering how fast he looked away and how he never looked again, I personally think it makes more sense to read it as Leo just finding the man attractive, at least somewhat. (For the record, I personally headcanon Rise Leo as bisexual with a heavy preference for men, but I want to be blunt when I say that any interpretation is valid. Literally any. Ace, pan, gay, bi, none of the above or a mixture of something new literally all of it is more than okay and fair. Hell you could even interpret this entire scene as more romantic attraction than physical and it would still work. Anything goes!! Don’t bother people, guys, really.)

The main reason I take this scene to be at the very least LGBTQ+ adjacent isn’t just because of how it’s portrayed, but because of who Leonardo is. Not in terms of Rise of the TMNT, but in terms of the entire Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles™️ franchise.

Leo’s a character who, while changing with each iteration, has still at his core been around for decades upon decades as “the blue one”. One fourth of the team. He’s the one most are going to look at as the Leader, and oftentimes he is the one closest to having the title of Main Character. Not to say the others aren’t just as important, but Leo’s presence in the A plots of basically all TMNT media is often something very main character-esque.

And that’s very, very important to note. Here we have a Main Character of a prolific and decades long-running franchise distributed by a children’s television network. You can play around with his and his brothers’ characters all you like, but there is always going to be challenges to dodge around, especially since this was still in 2018-2019.

For example, you can play around with their designs so long as they’re color coded turtles, but their sexualities? Now that’s tricky.

“But what about Hypno and Warren?” Not main characters and also they’re Rise originals. They have a lot more room to play around with than a character like Leo does. But even talking about main characters in the franchise, you could arguably have an easier time playing around with Donnie or Mikey’s sexualities than Leo or even Raph, as (unfortunately) the former two tend to get more B plots, so they’d likely have had a little more leeway (still not a lot though.)

So, where does this leave us?

It leaves us in a place where outright stating and/or showing undeniable proof of Leo’s attraction to men is very, very difficult. So, workarounds!

Workarounds like the entire Don Suave situation.

To be honest, as left up to interpretation and lowkey and deniable as it is, this whole scene means a lot to me because of who Leo is as a character. It’s just nice when we get so see even the bare bones of representation with characters that have been such a large part of pop culture for decades, y’know? Even if more would be so much nicer, this is better than I thought we’d ever get for these boys.

And, again, literally nothing I’ve said is the only way to interpret it, I’m more than happy when people interpret media on their own honestly, it’s just something I’ve been thinking of lately and I was wondering if others felt the same way.

Whatever you think when you interpret this scene or Rise Leo as a whole, I just thought this would be interesting to think about, even if it was ramble-y, haha.

#rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt headcanons #rottmnt leo #rise leo #rise don suave #rottmnt don suave #I lied I’m back to ramble because I’m just #so bad at keeping my mouth shut #or uh #not typing word vomit #anyway- yeah this is my personal interpretation #I believe Leo was legitimately mesmerized by Don Suave’s powers…in the beginning #but even the series’ creator says it was ‘at least PART of what was going on with Leo’ so #idk it’s something that’s been on my mind and I was wondering if anyone else felt the same??#may delete this later who knowssss #pleaaaase feel free to disagree I just like to talk lol #but yeah sometimes I look around at how much media has LGBTQ+ rep in it now and it honestly makes me emotional??#(we always always ALWAYS could use more but)#we did not have even a crumb of this as kids #but also like most of that rep is new properties #and I just was thinking about what that could mean #idk man idk #once again please don’t take this as facts it is VERY MUCH NOT #man I was looking around for good images to use and found jack all #anyway tho did you know Donnie often has bi colors around him and Leo is often dressed in the colors of the trans flag-#okay anyway back to the caves I go this comic won’t draw itself #I gotta spray myself with water any time I go to type long winded essays because they’re not great for the mental health fr

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dronarryfest · 1 month

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What an incredible first week of dronarry! Here is the roundup of all the amazing works we’ve shared so far. We’re giving you the Sunday off to catch up if you haven't yet! And we want to send a huge THANK YOU to our wonderful readers for all the comments and kudos you’ve been sending. Keep them coming and stay tuned for week two!

[FIC] Some Nights || E || 23k || by @thecouchsofa

Ron fucks up his Silencing Charms in the dorms one night. Then Malfoy does. The rest, as they say, is history.

💭 Came for the filth stayed for the feels. And the filth. Scorching hot, funny as fuck, got me curling my toes so hard my whole leg cramped. - emsuemsu

💭 This is so incredibly perfect, like the smut is perfect but Harry’s cluelessness and excitement is amazing and Ron just rolling with the punches…needless to say I’ve already read it more than once - marebear723

[FIC] Hear Me Out || E || 5k || by @rainstormradish

“I know this is all just a big joke to you,” whispered Draco, his lips inches from Ron’s ear, his breath on his neck, his hips pressed against him, Merlin, “but I need you to fucking commit to the bit here, Ron.”

💭 I am burning UP. i love how distinct each of their characters are. And the tension???? God, they’re all so sexy. - lostinyourcostellation

💭 Scorching hot! Absolutely love this premise & the way you carried it out here felt sooo good. Wonderfully done :) - thestarryknight

[ART] Signing The Forever Bond || G || by @digthewriter

No fanfare adorned their sacred moment, no gaze of a world eager to witness, for they sought not the spotlight's glow but rather the quiet dance of shared hearts. And some paperwork.

💭 I adore long hair Dronarry! What beautiful patterns and color, and I love their comfortable closeness and contentment. adore long hair Dronarry! What beautiful patterns and color, and I love their comfortable closeness and contentment. -schmem_14

💭 This is so gorgeous! I'm obsessed with ALL the details. Bearded Draco! There isn't enough Bearded!Draco content, honestly. - sleepstxtic

[FIC] Permanent || M || 14k || by @citrusses

"Harry's always been fixated on older men. Have you ever noticed that, Ron?” Granger asks. “Have I ever noticed—Hermione, we’ve lived with the bloke for years! He doesn’t bring them home much, but I’m not blind. I see who he’s shagging.” “And David, an older man, tells Harry ‘Saviour Complex’ Potter he needs him to save the world?” “He didn’t stand a chance,” Ron agrees. “Fascinating,” Draco says, in a strangled voice.

💭 I love this so much. I can't wait to reread it. What a gorgeous fucking fic with beautiful, agonising detail and introspection. - TheGoblinMatriarch

💭 Omg I don’t want to be that person BUT I COULD READ 300K OF THIS it was brilliant! - Moonflower_Rose

[FIC] These Foolish Little Games || E || 8.5k || by @schmem14

Thanks to a falling out between Harry and Ron, Draco can finally get together with Harry, have the most spectacular and inappropriate office sex, and enjoy Weasley-free weekends out. Life is perfect. So why does he have the nagging feeling he should get the estranged best friends to patch things up?

💭 Incredibly steamy, love the setup of a Ron/Harry fight and Draco’s scheming ❤️❤️❤️❤️ - citrusses

💭 yesssss - i am always here for the under the desk shenanigans. Lol at how easily they convinced Ron. There was no hope for him 😂 - MaesterChill

[FIC] Edging into His Heart || E || 5k || by @chelsiewhitlock & diplobeanz

Stuck on a long stakeout, Draco has reached the end of his patience with Ron Weasley's rule. In an effort to make the best of the situation, he decides to push the boundaries and past the edge of propriety. Shenanigans ensue.

💭 THIS is the Draco Ron dynamic I’m here for 😍 this story was fucking hot, and that tantric spell thingy oh, my… 🥵 - schmem_14

💭 wowww the dynamics you have going on here!!! 100/10 will be thinking about forever. - fluxweed

[FIC] People Are Boring || E || 14.3k || by @starquestingfordrarry

“Alright, what’s your terrible news?” Draco braces himself on Harry’s desk. “Weasley’s hot.” “You’ll have to be more specific, there are a lot of hot Weasleys.” Draco makes a strangled, groaning sound in his throat. “The Weasley. Weasel. Weasel-by. Your Weasley.” Harry’s heart jumps to his throat, and his stomach drops to his shoes. “Ron’s back?”

💭 THAT.WAS. DMCJSKDKCJDH. I was excited, my heart ached at one point, I cried, then screeched, this really did have it all 🔥 - Jaqie

💭 So softly angsty then so tender then so sexy. This dynamic just works beautifully, and your Ron is 🔥🔥🔥 - gr8k8

#dronarry fest 24 #dronarryfest #dronarry #draco malfoy #ron weasley #harry potter #week 1 roundup

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mayajadewrites · 1 month

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Sweet Secret (Levi Ackerman x Reader)

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x F! Reader CEO Levi Ackerman coming in hot. I've been wanting to write a CEO Levi/Sugar daddy Levi story for a hot minute. Enjoy! Summary: You needed a job. Ackerman Inc was hiring for an in house assistant for none other than the CEO: Levi Ackerman. He's known to be essentially the worst to work with, you decide to take the job and take on the challenge that is Levi Ackerman. Will your relationship remain professional, or will their be monetary value added to the stakes? Or possibly even... love? ao3 Chapter Two: Chamomile

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay here?” Historia said as you walked down the steps to her apartment.

“I’m positive. I’m a big girl, I can do this.” You reassure her.

“Just because you’re 28 doesn’t mean you have to leave us!!” She pouted.

“You act like I’m going to war. I’m a text away!” You wave as Ymir placed her hand on Historia’s shoulder.

“She just feels protective of you like I do.” Ymir pulled you into a hug.

“You have never hugged me this much before.” You fake winced as the girls wrapped their arms around you.

“Movie night soon.” Ymir said as a matte black Range Rover pulled up to the curb.

“Holy shit.” Ymir gawked at the car. You turned as the passenger window slowly slid down, revealing Levi Ackerman himself.

You pull your tote bag over your shoulder and wave bye to the girls. As you reach for the door handle, you feel a tight grip on your wrist.

“Let me.” Levi let go of you and opened the door. How did he get next to you so fast?

He glanced at your former roommates quickly before getting in the driver’s seat.

Levi studied you for a moment before speaking. “You really only have 1 bag?”

“All I need is in here.” You tap your tote bag. “I’m a simple woman.”

Levi nods as he pulls away from the curb. You watch as his arm stretches out to the wheel, his right hand resting on his thigh. You take note of how plump his thighs look, even in black jeans.

“Stop staring.” Levi interrupted your thoughts.

“Sorry, Mr. Ackerman. I’ve never been in a car this nice before.” You lie as you look out the window.

“Call me Levi.”

“A-Are you sure?”

“It’s gonna be annoying if you keep saying ‘Mr. Ackerman’ every time you say anything. Plus it sounds like you’re talking to my uncle. Yes, call me Levi.”

Levi pulls his car up to a gate. “Levi.” He says into the speaker.

“Mr. Ackerman! Good morning!”

Levi says nothing. The gate opens and he proceeds to his… mansion.

Because this for damn sure is not a house.

The house is painted a dark grey, close to Levi’s eye color. The roof is black and the plants surrounding are well kept. You see an empty garden spot which piques your interest.

“You garden?” You ask as Levi opens the door for you.

“Sometimes. I have professionals clean it up, but it’s a nice way for me to de-stress.” Levi offers his hand to you. His hands are large accompanied by long fingers. You take his hand gently, feeling his pillow soft skin on yours.

“What are you gonna put here?”

“Not sure yet.” Levi shrugged. “Let me get your bag.” He held out his arm.

“I can carry it, sir.”

“Stop calling me sir. Give me your bag. I’m not asking.”

You hand Levi your tote bag as he fumbles with his keys. When he opens the door, you’re amazed.

The house seems like it’s never ending. It’s clean, almost too clean. As if a speck of dust has never been in this home. The color scheme is mostly neutrals and there was obviously an interior decorator that worked here.

Levi lead you up the stairs to the room that you would be sleeping in.

“I hope it’s up to your standards. I had new sheets put on this morning. You have a dresser, desk, TV, and a big closet.”

“My standards are pretty low.” You chuckle and look at Levi. But he doesn’t laugh. “I’m just kidding.”

Levi nods, setting your bag on the desk chair. “I’ll leave you to settling in. Let me know if you need anything.”

You watch Levi leave the room, the hand that was previously wrapped around your wrist only minutes ago was now closing the door softly behind him.

The room is basic: a queen sized bed with white sheets and blankets, a neutral rug, a flat screen TV, a dresser, and a sleek white desk. You smile to yourself as you think about making this room your home. You haven’t been able to decorate any space you were occupying. Even when you lived with your parents, you felt like those homes were never yours.

You unpacked your tote bag and settled into your new space. You grazed your hand over the sheets - they’re definitely expensive. They feel expensive. You turn your attention to your nightstand where you placed a moon shaped crystal that Alexis got you a couple of years ago. You have no idea where she got it, but it was from her, so you kept it.

You heard a light knock at your door, startling you a bit.

“Come in.” You say softly.

“Just wanted to make sure you settled in ok.” Levi looked around. “It still looks like when you walked in.”

“I told you I don’t have a lot of stuff.”

“Do you have clothes? Shoes?”

You look down at the outfit you have on. “I have a couple of other professional outfits but that’s it.”

Levi raised his right eyebrow as he analyzed your face. He wondered where you came from. Why you have nothing.

“I’ll take you shopping.” Levi cleared his throat. “We can go tomorrow. I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“I appreciate it, but I can go shopping after my first check.”

“That wasn’t a question. I wasn’t asking you if you wanted to go. I’m telling you that we’re going. You should stop assuming I’m ever asking you anything. You’ll know when I have a question.”

“Okay.” You nod.

“Are you hungry?”

You ponder his question because you don’t want to seem too… needy. Food was always a delicacy in your house because your parens would rather spend money on drugs.

“Hello?” Levi waved his hand in your face.

“I-Um, yes I am.”

“I’m starting dinner now and brewing some tea. I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

“You cook for yourself?” You perk up. You never knew how to cook, even though you’ve tried various recipes from Pinterest. “I would’ve thought you had a chef.”

“I don’t like having people do shit for me. I don’t like owing anyone anything.” Levi closed the door behind him softly again.

You watched the back of his head as he exited the room, his undercut fresh. He must’ve gotten his hair cut this morning before he picked you up.

As you drift into your thoughts, you smell chamomile tea brewing in the kitchen.

#levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi x reader #levi ackerman smut #levi ackerman fanfic #attack on titan #aot #levi ackerman attack on titan #levi x you #levi ackerman x you

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euphiea · 10 months

Text

[NEW FILE UPLOADED]: STATUS: LEAKED//CORRUPTED ↳ Black Panther ↳ Shuri Udaku ↳ Alternate Universe ↳ Synopsis: Absurdity colors the wind, the true song of Aquarius. White doves and weeded lawns bring abundance, and though tradition condemns the latter, it took an absurd eye to deem a dandelion a wishing flower. It took an angel condemned by God to grant it so.

Euphoria’s Annotations: ##Based in 1800s || ##Tribbing || ##Arranged Marriage || #Inspired by: This Fic by Wiinters on AO3 & Queen Charlotte (Bridgerton) || ##Shuri Has A Dirty Mouth

[ATTACHED MESSAGE]:

↳ EUPHORIA: I feel like domspace shuri is more of a dirty, slutty talker than a sadist. Expect heavy edits over time. You are not british here.

Love conquers hate. The elders of the living generation have tried to pass this down, but to no avail, for they leave the context out of it—leave it up to the youth to interpret on their own, without any clue on where to start, what to think. The repetition of the saying with no further explanation rendered it tasteless, wisdom that’s carried nations is now a graying chatterbox that no one pays mind to.

The planet is run by two powerful, opposing kingdoms by the names of Wakanda and Vymont. The war has stretched on for centuries, legend has it the land of Jormil was once rich, nutrient soil—until bloodshed soaked the grounds in great volume, far surpassing the limits of its thirst, and therefore turning it into a vacant, hilled land of wild clay.

As the elders passed and the world modernized as to not be left behind by expansion, the war over resources grew to be a nuisance. The people despised the other side, while the ones who wore the crown could not figure a vital reason to continue fighting. In typical history, when nations quarrel it’s ended by two means: total conquering, or union. This case was different, what could be done when the kingdoms simply grow tired?

The story needed to be good, believable. Enough to throw salt on any fires before they emerge. A fairytale with a valuable lesson, love conquers hate.

Thus, the papers sealing your marriage were drawn.

Princess of Vymont and Princess of Wakanda, two young women who met and fell madly in love, despite being rivals. Desire bewitched you as your knights fought, carelessness revealed your schemings much to the rulers’ horror. Efforts that could move mountains and change the weather, the seasons at will, what it took for either to come around. Now, you join Princess Shuri Udaku hand in hand, allowing love to light the way.

Good, believable.

It’s your duty as Princess to endure for the sake of your people. Your marriage with Shuri was sealed in ink weeks before the matrimonial kiss, and even by that time, you hadn’t spoken much. Complete strangers too skilled at lying for your own good.

You assumed that once you married, once your nations united, you wouldn’t have to see her. Sure, all eyes were on you, closely watching your faces and mannerisms for any chances of fraud, but Shuri is a busy woman, the innovative leader of sciences and technology, she had no real time for you.

“Have you consummated the marriage?”

Unfortunately, your mothers were much keener than the public. Queen Ramonda’s question was met with stiff side-eyes and silent nods, and if that didn’t give it away, it was the five foot distance standing between you.

It’s been five months since your marriage, and three weeks since your holy matrimony was sealed in stone. The months leading up to that night, Shuri made astounding efforts to be a wife to you, despite you claiming she did not need to. You were fine with lying, maybe even a quickie in the case that the Gods and Ancestors happen to be vindictive. Shuri denied, saying she didn’t want to touch you as a stranger when you’re her wife, for you didn’t deserve that, and it wouldn’t feel right.

She moved into your gifted estate and slept in a room three halls over. Three months of dining together, painting, gardening, attending balls and picking out fabrics for elaborate complimenting gowns—newlywed activities, a real honeymoon. Your time spent had ignited a spark, a spark that morphed into an unrecognizable blaze of red heat that charred your skin that night of your first time.

Your first time may be your only time, and it irks you.

The fact that you’re irked, irks you.

You woke up in an empty bed, rung the bell, and as your servants tended to you, you asked them where your wife went.

“She’s at the lab for today. She wanted me to tell you she’ll be home by dinner!”

Shuri kept her promise, she returned about an hour from supper while you were in the garden, reading. The next day, the same servant repeated the same thing, except Shuri will be home a little after dinner, and the next day, she’s going to be staying late at the lab, don’t wait up.

Secretly, you were hurt. Shuri never stopped being a busy woman, but you feel as though she merely prioritized you for one thing, and now that you’ve given it to her, she’s lowered your name on the list.

You could confront her, but for what? You married to end a three hundred year war between nations, not from being in love with one another, like Prince T’Challa and Nakia. You told yourself that you’d get over it, but you overheard your servants gossiping:

“What of Rineea, now that the Princess is married?”

“Riri? She has been spending her time at the lab… I halfway expected it to be a call off situation when they married, but that’s unrealistic, huh?”

“I did too. But they were together for a minute, when I heard of the Princess’ engagement, I assumed it was to her. Now imagine my shock when I found out it was a Vymont.”

“Thee Vymont. I am just the cook, but… Put a Princess and a coworker in front of me, and tell me to choose a spouse. But I’m just the cook.”

“Right.”

Right, you’re a Vymont. A crucial detail so easily forgotten. You’re staying on Wakandan soil, holding a piece of Wakanda’s crown, but in no way are you Wakandan. You’re still an outsider, trapped in a marriage with someone who will never see you as anything but. Although, Shuri is a generous sweetheart with you. She told you once how stupid she thinks the war is, how she’s overcome with glee now that it’s over.

“The war has ceased, and I get a beautiful wife as a token,” She had said to you, standing irritatingly close, “And the prettiest Vymont has to offer, at that.”

You told yourself you just aren’t home at the same time, but the possibility she’s been skipping out on you for a girl she has real feelings for, real history with, sharing real similarities with as a Wakandan scientist—meanwhile, you paint, study music, and teach horse riding to children. Shuri said you were the prettiest Vymont, not the prettiest in general. The Wakandan must be show-stoppingly gorgeous, how silly is it to think one night with a Vymont could amount to many with a Wakandan?

It’s three hours until midnight, the warm bodies of your servants is what’s stopping the estate from growing cold. Ethereal are the full moons in November, traces of clouds brush the stars’ cheeks, the wind blows away October’s remnants, and strips crooked branches naked. The daytime servants are tucked away in their own, the nighttime servants are dutifully buzzing; you know the estate well enough to avoid being seen by them.

“Have you changed—“

You abruptly pause your journey mid-step at the sound of a servant’s voice. You’re at a four way stop, of sorts, near the ballroom. Tongue bitten, fingers digging into the black silk of your nightgown, you take a peek around the corner.

Two brown skinned women in uniform, one holding a lantern, the other a stack of aprons resembling the ones they have situated atop their ragged, black dresses. You didn’t hear the door close, but they’ve just come out of a room, tension releases your shoulders as they walk in the opposite direction of you.

Still, you tiptoe across the way. If they catch you, they’ll gaslight you to death about cold-driven sicknesses and royalty needing their beauty rest until you agree to return to your chambers.

The estate’s grand halls are a gothic black with bleached carpet. The moon’s essence gleams through high windows, illuminating your path in a way you’re thankful for, the hall you just journeyed from had no windows and it’s not wise to carry a candle when sneaking around. Yes, it can be blown out and re-lit, but you’re not in the mood for extra activities. At least, not those sorts, of extra activities.

The name of the game is distraction, you’re looking to blow off some steam by walking around. Being alone in your room, underneath your sheets with your thoughts, is poisonous. You’re meeting with congress tomorrow to discuss plans regarding a new terrorist group that’s been attacking countries under Wakanda, to which the Princess herself will be riding with you. At close proximity in a three hour carriage ride with the curtains drawn.

It’s record breaking how fast your sheets became sweltering, each scenario you pushed away was followed by a new one, filthier than the last. They were all painfully unrealistic, you know this, the only reason you shared that night was to affirm your marriage. The weighed rock on your finger is for your people, for the greater good, your wife’s inventions center just that.

Shuri is resilient, hot-headed. She performs her duties well, a brilliant leader for the intellectual world, and her jokes are funny. Prince T’Challa, her brother, is charming and even-tempered compared to Shuri. He doesn’t raise his voice, his bearded face hosts a permanent smirk, T’Challa is the definition of a dashing prince. Shuri is nothing like him. Humbleness is the only trait they share, really.

She has a smart remark reserved for any situation, she’s attentive to everything, listens even when it’s assumed no one is. One thing you admire in her is her polite streak, she’s genuinely respectful. Shuri treats her staff as coworkers and her coworkers as friends. She’s a friendly, warm hearted woman that gives without a second thought.

She’s a giver indeed, in more ways than one.

You stop at a grand wooden door. You don’t need to look around to know it’s Shuri’s room. No guards crowding the hall, she still hasn’t returned.

Teeth pulling the skin at your lip, you allow your knuckles to brush the smooth wood. Three weeks ago, you were pinned against this door. Days prior she revealed to you her taste for dominance, it was brief and fleeting, like the hint of a character death in a book, you didn’t take it to heart.

“Come on, talk to me. Nothing to say now, my love?”

“Is this what gets you off, baby? I can make you cum like this?”

“Everytime you close your legs, I’ll stop.”

Arousal throbs at your core. You’re bad at following your own directions, then again, this is your fifth walk this week.

You were back from a ball that night. Your corset was fitted to accentuate your tits, neatly placed was a silver cross pendant necklace—Shuri’s favorite on you, silver. She smelled heavenly that night, when she pulled you taut to her body as you danced, you felt how tense she was and smiled. You knew you did that.

Courtesy as the new Princess of Wakanda, you mingled with the guests that night, danced with civilians and giggled as they held you close, akin to how she did. They spun and dipped you, kissed your hand, sprayed you with compliments, by the end of the night you were glowing, and Shuri’s grinning face called you ravishing.

You didn’t think your sly little tactic worked until you got in the carriage. You were met with a silence so sudden, so solemn and heavy, it shocked you. Shuri’s gaze locked you in place, her expression unreadable, uncharacteristically so. She didn’t speak the entire fifteen minute ride to the estate.

A frown tugs at your lips. She claimed you as her wife, no one else’s. Perhaps she only meant it then, as a one-night medium for blowing off steam.

Perhaps your connection is meant to be this way, her in one corner, you in the other. Your marriage is one of obligation, a peace treaty, it’s meant to be shallow. After all, she’s Wakandan, and you’re of Vymont, your bloods don’t mix, they never have. It’s stupid to believe they ever could, your alliance was for the people, not you.

Indeed. It’s high time to get her out of your head. It’s silly to crave someone with every bone in your body when they’ll never see you in that way.

“Princess?”

You jump out of your skin, braids knocking against the wood as you whip around.

Behind you is your wife and her royal adviser, Okoye, wearing long, extravagant black fur capes with mini hills of melted snow collected on the hoods and shoulders. Okoye’s lantern allows you to see the way Shuri’s eyes are soft, adoring. Your heart lurches, her fatigue is blatantly obvious, and, still, she’s so gentle.

You suck at following your own directions. You train your attention on Okoye, whose expression is a stark difference from Shuri’s.

“What are you doing out here, and wearing that? It’s freezing,” She presses, scrunching her eyebrows. Your outfit isn’t as skimpy as she makes it seem: a black, thigh-length, silk nightgown with slippery straps, a matching silk robe that trails your footsteps, and black slippers. You cross your robe over your torso and tie it with a loose knot.

“I was only taking a walk-“

“—And where is Aneka?!”

“Enough, Okoye.”

The royal adviser slowly kisses her teeth, but quiets at the royal’s command nonetheless.

“Princess, is everything alright? Do you need anything?” Shuri says, and frowns when you shake your head. “It is almost midnight. You should be asleep.”

You hate this, you would have rather been caught by your servants than your wife.

“I’m fine. As I stated, I was merely just walking around,” You reaffirm, tucking a braid behind your ear before twirling its end. “I was not expecting you, how were your travels?”

“Cold,” Okoye answers, you squint at her.

“We caught wind of a blizzard approaching, so we left earlier than scheduled. I’m so glad I caught you, let’s talk more inside.”

“Ah, I think I should return to my room. We present to congress in the morning.” You tangle your fingers behind your back, feigning a look of disappointment. Shuri tilts her head.

“It’s funny you bring that up,” She says, “That’s what I need to talk to you about. I’m sorry to keep you up, Princess, but I would let it go if I could debrief you on the way.”

Any word of protest dies on your tongue when she ghosts her hand on your hip, brushing past you to open the door. As she guides you inside her room, she bids Okoye a good night.

Shuri doesn’t give you a second to breathe, when the doors close she pulls you into a kiss, sliding her hands along the silk of your waist. She holds you taut against her, a whimper sounds at the back of your throat and she sighs, immediately deepening the kiss. The musk of outside clings to her, it’s not an unpleasant scent, it’s subtle and bearable.

You confusedly try to wrack your brain for conclusions, explanations on how this can be if there’s crucial information to be shared, but the haze that clouds your judgment slaps you away.

You’re chocolate to her burning hands, melting almost too easily into her. The cold, damp fur tickles your palms as you slide up her arms before pulling the hood off. Her hair isn’t detangled enough for you to play in, too dry for a comfortable attempt, so your nosy fingers fall to her neck instead. Arousal is the fire that melts your organs, steadily burns you from the inside out, all you can do is pant and weakly push at her, sweat beading your forehead.

“You’ve been hiding from me, my love,” She mutters against your lips as she very subtly ruts into you, her declaration sends a surge of desire straight through you. She squeezes various areas of your torso as if to leave handprints on your body, she’s asking—pleading for permission to touch you and it’s so hard to think, her and her fucking mouth make it so hard.

Your tongue is too heavy for words, when you buck your hips she furthers her point by sliding a hand between your legs to rub your pussy over the silks.

“I never imagined you to be so cruel.” Shuri guides you back by your waist, and you let her, relishing in the feel of her kissing down your neck; as far as you’re concerned, she can do whatever she wants to you. “How much longer were you planning to deprive me of this? Of you?”

Your back hits a wall, Shuri moans and reconnects your lips—before the smoke can thicken, you break away.

“Have you been sleeping with other people?”

“No.”

Shuri has a special ability, she can move space, manipulate the particles that make up your reality, as she pleases. It’s the only explanation for how heavy the room is now that she has you caged, her amorous breaths lightly fan your eyelashes, her expression is difficult to make out in the dark, but her presence is telling enough. It’s her special ability at play.

Her response is incredibly quick, but she’s not lying. Your lips are chapped, you haven’t done much, is a simple kiss this titillating, to this degree? She’s not lying, but you don’t believe she’s telling the entire truth.

You hum, looking off to the side. Shuri notices, you believe that she’s lying to you, though she swore at the podium she never would; she pays it little regard, there’s other, more pressing matters on her mind, it’s been three weeks since she’s had you, and she prayed to Bast that she got to see you before your trip.

“..You are captivating, my love,” Shuri breathes, “Take off your clothes and lie on the floor.”

It’s her special ability that wills you to pull the knot of your robe a-loose, the garment cascades to the floor and Shuri never takes her eyes off of you, even when she unclasps her cape and tosses it across the room. She’s wearing black trousers and a beautiful white blouse with frills adorning the chest, which suffers the same fate as her coat when she tugs it off.

—

Your legs are stretched to the hint of exertion, halfway numb due to how your wife is situated on top of you, but it’s welcomed, for it gives her access to you, access to your cunt that throbs with each rock of her hips.

Shuri’s wetness trails down your lips to join the puddle dirtying your silks, her breaths fan your ear, accompanied by deep, throated moans that slip without her permission. It’s not as obscene as the slick sounds of your cunts, but it heats your face, blood roars underneath your cheeks.

“You’re enjoying this. Look at you.”

Shuri’s taunting contributes to your lightheadedness. Pleasure is a sea of waves far too rowdy for you to handle, a soft mewl pulls you further in its depths, the only answer you can muster is a nod, eyes struggling to stay open, weakly clawing at her back.

If her people heard any of the things she’s saying, any of the things she’s whispered in your ears when no one is looking, shock would turn their bodies to stone. The months leading up to your first time were torture. Your image matters, it’s imperative you have a good reputation or you risk being overthrown, a lesson your father sat you down and talked to you about when you were 5, and you’d thrown a hissy fit during a festival.

“There’s a mask attached to the crown.” — A quote you once read in a fantasy book, written by a civilian. You internally squealed, they had no clue how correct they were, and they never will, for your mask wouldn’t allow it. It’s partially why you like Shuri, she’s a princess herself, and you’ve seen firsthand the stark difference between Princess Shuri of Wakanda, and Shuri Udaku.

“Can I make you cum like this, beloved? Hm? Make my pretty wife cum all over herself, from a little humping,” Shuri slurs through pants, her clit twitching as it glides along your folds. Her and her fucking mouth is going to be the death of you, she’s so incredibly raunchy when lust impassions her, as if arousal is a poison, a sickness.

Shuri stills her hips at your lack of response, and you whine, jerking into her.

“Yes, Shuri, ‘m gonna cum like this,” You plea, nipples brushing her own as your back arches, “Keep going, please please.”

She shudders, the way you say her name is criminal. Her hips resume their pace, your eyes loll to the back of your head.

“Good girl,” Shuri practically purrs in your ear, “Good girl.”

She sits up to pin you by your shoulders, holding you in place as if you were ever going anywhere. Her pace grows harsher, her grip comes with a resounding ache that fans the flames licking your belly, you’re convinced Shuri can do anything, say anything, and it’ll dampen your arousal the very same.

“I want to fuck you with a toy, just like this. I’ll make you ride me ‘til it hurts, ‘til you can’t think. You won’t know what to do with yourself.”

Shuri’s eyes are trained on your face, you feel moreso than see it, for it’s her special ability. She’s an obvious woman, says what she means and means what she says, even blunt to her own detriment, at times. Her words stir something in you, force their way through your ribs to caress the heart that’s forgotten it’s meant to beat. The knot in your belly is steadily tightening, if she stops you truly might cry.

The approach of her own release is telling from the way her pussy throbs and pulses along your lips. She lowers her hips, dropping more of her weight to increase the pressure where your desires conjoin, knowing she has you locked in your position. You wonder if she’s holding anything back at the moment, how far her limits are from this point.

“And you’ll take it for me, won’t you? Like the obedient girl you are.” And you shudder, nodding incessantly to the jerky rhythm of your tits.

“Shuri, ’m so close,” You whimper, legs twitching. “Please don’t stop.”

She would be a fool to do so, knowing this she nods anyway, whispering under her breath curses not fitted for a woman of her stature. Pleasure is a sea of waves too rowdy for you to handle, it creeps on you, bringing with it an insurmountable pressure you’d squirm to flee if Shuri weren’t holding you still.

If you asked, she’d say she’s holding you in place to keep the angle right, and it’d be a half truth. She’d leave out the sick satisfaction that surges through her when doing so, the hint, or inkling, that you’re trapped with no other choices. You’re water through her fingers in everyday life. Shuri gulped down her desires when pursuing you, she wanted to go at your pace, do things to your accord, otherwise she’d risk being seen as clingy and eager.

You didn’t believe her earlier when she told you she hadn’t slept with anyone, but she was telling the truth. The entire carriage ride home, Shuri was squirming in her seat, resorting to palming her pussy over her pants to satiate the teenage urge to get off right then and there, for she couldn’t stop thinking of you, in various positions, various settings, far more scandalous than the privacy of her room, far less lady like for a woman of your stature.

Your wife’s eyes roll to the back of her head. “(Y/N), cum for me, Princess, let me see it.”

The air is punched from your gut, your mouth drops open in a silent scream as you release, your stomach twitching at each wave that passes. It’s the feeling of your pussy’s incessant pulsing coupled with the dashing sight of you that drives Shuri to follow, she cums with a broken whimper, her head lolled over her shoulders.

“Yes, like that, just like that,” She breathlessly encourages, hips slown to drawn out thrusts, “Doing so well for me, my love, so so well.”

Shuri’s name is but an anchor, you repeat it under your breath over and over to keep yourself grounded. Her arms jelly, you catch her before she can completely collapse on you—not that you’d mind.

Weeks, she’s had to smile in people’s faces, feign interest in their lives, and come back to an empty home. Weeks, she’s had to camp in her lab to ensure her coworkers’ tasks were done to perfection, and it’s imperative they are—they were not. Weeks, she’s had to live off simple interactions with you, long hug, light conversation, and then she’s pulled away.

Weeks, she’s had to tell herself the lives of others are important too, civilians are people too, if not she’d be under you—or on top of you—all the time, enjoying the serenity your aura provides.

It’s scary how quick it’s come to this. Five months, you met on a chilly day, bedded on a windy night, and now her windows are blanketed in frost. Five months, and the signature of her human coding is tattooed on your finger, the skin where your wedding ring rests.

“Have you been sleeping with other people?”

Shuri makes a mental note to address it tomorrow, at an appropriate time.

#shuri x reader #shuri x reader smut #shuri udaku x reader #shuri udaku x reader smut #black panther

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allysdelta · 5 months

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A while ago, while the Good Omens graphic novel was running its Kickstarter campaign, I saw the character designs for the Ineffable Duo and got inspired to create my own. Some of the details are still in flux, but I'm really quite pleased with how their basic looks have turned out and I'd like to draw them in comic form someday.

Notes on design and color choices under the readmore.

Though originally I'd intended for Aziraphale to be the shorter of the two, I like the implications that he still retains some vestiges of the angelic soldier he once was -- that hint in the way he carries himself that he could become very dangerous indeed if he has to. As a bonus, when Crowley became the smaller one, it emphasizes his personality, both as someone who must seek hiding places to avoid harm and as the guile hero who relies on his wits to survive and even thrive. So now we have a soft angel with a steel core and a pointy little garter snake of a demon.

They're not tied to any specific ethnicities, being celestial entities, but they both appear brown, partially because I like the nod to the Fertile Crescent housing the first known examples of human civilization, but largely because no one can stop me. Crowley ended up with a vaguely East Asian complexion and eyes, while Aziraphale has features that faintly echo the Middle East. Don't ask me about the halo of chestnut curls -- I don't know where that came from, but Aziraphale insisted.

Like his show counterpart's, Crowley's eyes get more snakelike when he's stressed, upset, angry, or exhausted. I gave him the presence of a sclera for the sake of facial expression, but because I didn't want to entirely lose the reptilian look, it now has a yellow tint. (I haven't designed his snake form yet, but it's based on a bush viper for their pretty scale textures and their cute little snub noses)

Aziraphale's eyes have a burst of sunlight yellow around the pupils, a feature I saw once on a real-life acquaintance and thought beautiful. The green-hazel irises are just 'cause I like them.

Surprising absolutely no one, Crowley's clothing scheme is blacks, grays, and reds, with flashes of silver. I haven't done any research on whether leather blazers were a thing in the late 80s, but it seemed very appropriate for him to wear, and it's a little nod to Neil Gaiman's liking for leather jackets as well.

Aziraphale wears heavenly colors (white, blue, gold) close to his chest, while the rest of his clothing grounds him with earth tones. He's just a little more up to date on fashion than the show's Aziraphale (whose clothes skew Victorian), but he still wears clothing that wouldn't look out of place in the 1950s.

I probably make Aziraphale a little too handsome compared to his descriptions in the book, but I like how it makes him all the more infuriating when he's being condescending. Like, you bastard, how dare you look that hot while you're lecturing me. Poor Crowley.

#Aly tries to art #Good Omens #Book Omens #Aziraphale #Crowley #Ineffable Husbands #good omens fanart #book husbands #was going to paint this but then I decided nah #it works better as a color key anyway

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blueywrites · 1 year

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turtle dove and the crow, interlude 1930

A 1940s Farm AU, featuring bsf!neighbor!eddie x fem!reader

story tags: 18+ (minors dni). smut; true love; unexpected pregnancy; angst, angst, angst; parental issues; corporal punishment; scheming, plotting, and betrayal; hurt/comfort; period-typical stigma regarding unwed pregnancy; angst with a happy ending.

Set in 1930 - ten years before the events of Turtle Dove and the Crow - this interlude is the first of two glimpses back to their humble beginnings.

INTERLUDE 1930: MUSIC BOX (5.7k)

There’s a music box in the bedroom

It’s playing songs from 1922

And if you listen for long enough

You’ll fall asleep and might wake up

Walking in a wonderland

Music Box — Leith Ross

Before he was your crow, and you his turtle dove, Edward Munson was the strange new boy next door.

The morning he arrives is colored the clear blue of late May. It’s one of those first few days after school has let out for the year, and you’re stuck half in a daze, acclimating to a sense of freedom that has not yet seeped entirely in. That irreality keeps you inside for now, and thus, you’re perched in the formal sitting room, occupying one of the stiffer chairs chosen for its proximity to the window offering a view of Mr. Wayne’s front porch. Your eyes are fixed not to its neat row of balustrades standing proudly from the white-painted decking, or even the gnarled branches of the forsythia where some yellow petals still cling stubbornly despite the lateness of the season. Instead, you’re looking at the lattice that protects the porch’s underside, at the place where it meets the corner of the house’s red clapboard. The wood there is broken at one criss-cross, leaving a small gap.

From there, a rabbit is slowly emerging. Breath catches in your throat as it shimmies its small russet body from beneath the broken lattice into the open air. Your eyes widen; tiny fingers find the window pane, leaving tiny, heedless smudge marks on the glass. Raptly, you watch its nose wriggle, head dipping to the grass and nudging around before coming up again. It ventures forward with staccato little hops before halting with its head perked high.

You hear what has alerted it a second later: a muffled rumble begins to permeate the glass between you and the rabbit. The sound grows gradually louder, and your eyes dart from the red house to the yard and then to the dirt road beyond, where the source is now visible. It begins as a vague blue shape, sharpening slowly but steadily until it resolves itself, finally, into a familiar truck. The truck putt-putt-putts gradually up the dirt road before turning with a crunch of thick dirt and gravel into the unpaved drive of your neighbor.

The rabbit stretches its neck and freezes warily for a long, tense moment, legs bunched and ready to flee. Interestingly, though, it never does. Even when a metallic creak draws your attention from the rabbit back to the parked truck, it eases back into the grass, seemingly unbothered now.

This is when you see him for the first time.

It's a silent affair, his arrival, but the new boy next door rolls in with all the beautiful violence of a summer storm. Face wedged between your Mama’s gauze curtains, you watch the passenger door of the truck pop open to allow the chaos inside to tumble out in a whirl of thrashing limbs. And those limbs become a boy. Pale and jagged, thin and angular, he stalks ahead with clenched fists and a strange backward tilt to his upper body— a posture which implies that, while his feet may carry him toward the front door, the rest of him wants nothing more than to rebel. His face, what little you can see of it from this distance, is contorted into a fierce scowl. It cuts pale beneath a wild mop of dark cloudlike curls, slashed by red lips snarled open as if in the middle of a tantrum.

Yet you cannot hear him. Mr. Wayne catches up to him quickly despite the stiffness of his hips; he dwarfs the smaller boy’s roiling shadow, containing his tempestuousness with a hand on his shoulder and guiding him to mount the porch steps before him. You hear the creak of the wood under their feet, and you hear the crack of the screen door as it bounces off red clapboard, and you hear the vague rasp of your older neighbor’s voice before the gentle click of the handle closes the red house up again behind them. But the boy does not make a sound.

Strange.

In your eight-year-old mind, strangeness does not beget caution; it beckons curiosity.

For that reason, Mama doesn’t have to drag you reluctantly with her to deliver a peach pie welcome, though she still plies you with one of her little decorum lessons nonetheless. “It’s the polite thing to do. And never go empty-handed,” she informs you as you slip your hand into the crook of her elbow without resistance, shuffling alongside her across the grass. Together, you mount those same steps you’d watched a summer storm thunder up yesterday; the recollection causes wonderings about the strange boy to whip through your mind like wind touseling your hair. You end up too sluggish for Mama’s taste, and she gestures impatiently for you to knock on the door for her since her hands are occupied. You rush to comply, rapping quickly but for a little too long, so that she has to shoot you a sharp look to get you to stop.

Your curiosity mixes with both wariness and excitement as you hear movement from within the house, and you find it bubbling over as the sounds come imminently closer. Anticipation thrums as the bolt clicks and the knob turns, but when the door finally opens, Mr. Wayne stands there alone.

Your neighbor, Mr. Wayne, has always seemed a calm, steadfast presence to you. It’s a combination of his homely, dirt-dusted clothes, his tanned forearms and weathered knuckles, his thinning hair that leaches color too fast for his age, and his downturned mouth that feels comfortingly familiar but is also a shade less severe than your papa’s. You aren’t unhappy to see him now, but your insides sag as your expectations are thwarted.

Above your head, you watch the adults exchange pleasantries, but the specifics of their conversation are lost on you. You’re consumed by that sagging disappointment; you’d been so sure you’d see your new neighbor standing beside Wayne like you stand with Mama, or perhaps half-hiding behind his legs, had he a shyer disposition. You could forgive that easily. But only a glance is needed to tell you that he’s nowhere in the vicinity of the front door. Perhaps, you suppose, he’s concealed behind a nearby wall to listen without being seen. Or maybe he is loitering at the bend in the staircase, too hesitant to come closer. It’s possible; you begin to hope it is so, and your hope emboldens you.

The pie plate has passed from your mother’s hands into Mr. Wayne’s, but you don’t see that because you’ve begun inching your nose past the threshold of the doorway, craning your neck around Mr. Wayne’s sturdy legs as you search for a peek of that tumultuous boy. You don’t get far before Mama is tugging you back with a sharp yank of your collar, and you stifle a surprised yelp as you yield to her quickly. She clears her throat— a clear chastisement— and as your face creases with remorse, Mr. Wayne huffs with amusement.

“No harm,” he rasps, and your mother’s squeezing fingers drop from your neck upon seeing the easiness in his crinkled blue eyes. “Why don’t you both join me for a slice o’this pie? Looks might fine.”

You brighten visibly, which makes Mr. Wayne chuckle again; when your wide eyes meet your Mama’s, the surge of your excitement is clear, and she is left with no choice but to accept the invitation. Her tiny wry sigh, fond and exasperated, is likely borne of the false assumption that you are excited by the prospect of dessert. That is, in fact, not what has you excited at all.

Your head whips this way and that in search of that elusive boy. You crane and twist, peeking around corners as best as you are able without slowing down as Mr. Wayne guides you toward the dining room. But your seeking yields no results. You plop at the table without having claimed your prize, feet swinging in impatience as a slice of pie is placed in front of you. The large fork is clumsy in your fist, but you manage to eat your desserts with dainty bites that Mama would approve of as she continues to exchange more pleasantries with your neighbor. It doesn’t take long for them to begin discussing the new arrival, and your eyes dart between them intently as you grasp for explanations— who the strange boy is, where he came from, why he wasn’t at the door to greet you, anything to sate the curiosity that has been growing since your first glimpse of the storm.

It quickly becomes clear that there is little for you to glean listening in on this conversation. You grow disinterested with their murmuring, their painstaking way of speaking as if each word must be turned over like fruit to appraise, and each each possible selection must be examined slowly before being settled on. Your disappointment returns with a tinge of frustration as the discussion continues on nonsensically, growing less clear with each successive comment.

“I’d give Joyce and Lonnie a ring,” your Mama suggest to Wayne, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug with a tiny chip along its rim. “Their older boy is goin’ through a spurt, outgrowin’ his clothes quicker than they can keep up with.”

You crinkle up your nose. What does that matter? You can’t understand them, and you give up trying soon enough.

As they continue talking, Mama and Mr. Wayne cast you occasional glances as if they’re assessing whether you will react. But you’re preoccupied now with sweet peach filling and flaky crust, which coats your lips until you rub it off with the back of your arm. Once you’ve consumed the entire slice and licked up all the crumbs, you manage to sit quietly for a minute or so before your curiosity, without that distraction, grows too insistent to ignore. In typical fashion, you’ve just barely conceived of a question before it’s already being voiced.

“Is your son gonna come eat pie with us?” you ask baldly.

Mama stiffens beside you, but Wayne remains unruffled. “He’s my nephew,” he corrects you gently. “And I don’t reckon he will.”

The next question— “Why not?”— is begging to burst from your mouth. But one quick look at your Mama’s face tells you you’d be in for it if you give in to that impulse. Mr. Wayne must read the discomfort in your pouted lips, so he offers you a morsel to tide you over.

“He’s not up for visitors just now,” he explains, and his blue eyes leave you to fix on your Mama’s in a weighty way. “M’tryin’ to get him settled in here first, make sure he’s comfortable. Then y’can meet ‘im, if he’s willing.”

There’s a silent conversation then that passes between their gazes. There is a shade of fear and hesitation in the blue, a hint of vulnerability burdening the short silence following that vague explanation. It’s met with empathy across the table, with tinges of experience and reassurance offered without reluctance.

“You will, Wayne.” Your Mama sounds decisive, and your eyes follow the movement of her hand as she reaches across the table and pats him briskly on the hand. “The boy’ll be fine.”

You are ignorant to the significance of these things. All you know is that you’ve been denied that which you want, and you will need to wait to get it. You manage to contain your frustration until you reach the sanctuary of your bedroom; only then do you let your limbs flail against the comforter and pillows, beating out your impatience like rain pattering a roof.

On the third day after the boy’s arrival, you awaken the way you fell asleep: to the melody of a song. But it’s not the soft plinking of the music box your Mama always winds to lull you to sleep at night. Instead, it’s some twangy, uneven notes, starting and stopping in awkward cadence. As daylight streams in warm stripes across your comforter, they filter through wood and glass to rouse you from your slumber.

It’s the first evidence you have, besides Mr. Wayne’s word during your visit, that your new neighbor is actually still residing in the house across the way and that he was not, in fact, a walking daydream conceived by your own boredom. You haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since he’d tumbled from the truck; you’ve been spending many hours outside now in the midday, and you know beyond a shadow of doubt that he has not ventured into his front yard, and likely not into his backyard either. There has not been even a ruffle of a curtain, or a silhouette in a lit window, or a slivered door opening through which he might peer out to provide evidence of his existence.

But now, you can hear him. You hear him in this indirect way, in the fumbling of his fingers on some instrument, a sound that has you rising early despite the lazy minutes you could steal before Mama expects you to start on your morning chores.

It’s almost worse now that you can hear his invisible presence because it makes the silence of his arrival feel even more frustrating. And the more elusive he is, the more you want to see him. You find yourself looking toward the fence that separates your properties as if compelled; you walk slowly on your way to the goat pen, eyes tracking the gaps between the posts, desperate for a glimpse of dark curls and pale angles. This endeavor has yielded nothing but the vague unease of unfulfilled wanting.

Your curiosity can never settle. It haunts you, sustained by the knowledge that as you close your eyes at night, drifting off to the sound of that dainty music box, you will awaken to a twirling of staccato notes too intangible to grasp.

It isn’t until May has eased into the sticky warmth of June that you properly meet your new neighbor. As you’re cutting through your sitting room, slinking toward the kitchen in search of a covert midday snack, you catch a glimpse of him through the flimsy gauze of that same window which afforded you a view of his arrival. The sight is so unexpected that it nearly gives you a fright, and your heart thuds wildly until you realize what that vague shape must be. You stare until your eyes blink clear and reveal a boy hunched in the front yard across the way, pale and topped by a wild mop of wayward dark. That swooping of fear quickly gives way to familiar curiosity, and curiosity then to eagerness. Soon enough, the slight rumbling of your stomach is forgotten entirely as you find yourself turning sharply on your heel and redirecting toward the front door.

The grass is soft as it creases under your small bare feet, and you cross the yard with your eyes fixed on your prize, who crouches in front of the leafy forsythia lining his front porch. He doesn’t seem to notice you, occupied as he is in his task, and you seize the chance to drink in every detail you can as you approach. The boy wears gray pants, which have been gathered at the hems into thick, sloppy rolls but still drag across the grass like he doesn’t have any feet. He wears a rumpled white shirt, slightly yellowed from age and wear. His curls dust the nape of a gaping collar, which sags even farther open as he leans forward to poke around in the bushes. From this angle you cannot see his face properly, only the slope of a soft nose and the suggestion of dark lashes above it.

Your appraisal ends when you grow too close to continue. You stop a short distance away, looking down at the crown of his head as you watch him push aside branches. This yields a new observation, which is that his hands appear too big for his thin wrists— overlarge, they twist and grasp, long bony fingers moving restlessly as if searching for something in the greenery.

Absent any prior consideration and with the baldness only a child can possess, you announce your presence with a loud question. “What’re you doin'?”

The boy’s short curls flop against his ears as he looks up sharply in your direction, and your directness is rewarded with a view of his face. Though he doesn’t appear to be startled, there is something close to that in his brown eyes— something shifty and skitterish. Under the left is a healing bruise a shade lighter than the streak of dirt on his cheek, and his red mouth is a little too wide for his face, moreso when he opens it to answer you.

“Lookin’ for bugs,” he replies, and his voice rasps like Wayne’s but isn’t as deep, nor as pleasant.

“Why?”

He squints that bruised eye and matches your baldness. “‘Cause I’m makin’ ‘em a home, and I wanna see who’s gonna be movin’ in before I put together the furnishings.”

“Oh.”

As your reply falls flatly into the space between you, the boy eyes you warily for a moment longer before returning to his quest. If he moves a little more brusquely than before, it either escapes your notice or you pay it no mind, and after an extended beat of silence, your next question comes out— again— bald and loud. “So where’s the house?”

The next look he shoots you is less sharp, though somehow also more impatient, with the way his red mouth is set in a long, flat line. “Hmm?”

It’s not so much a hummed question, more a vague grunt, but you interpret it correctly. You repeat yourself with more emphasis. “Where’s the bug house? I wanna see it,” you declare.

The boy’s face scrunches up in a scowl then, and he makes no attempt to sweeten his reply.

“Can’t you see I’m busy?” he snaps, and you’re dismissed with a shake of those messy curls.

You fall back on a hip, crossing your arms as he pushes aside forsythia branches with increased aggression. You huff impatiently. “Well, how’s I gonna help you if I don’t know what size bugs to find? I dunno ‘bout where you come from, but there’s lots of bugs here.” Dramatically, you grab onto your fingers one at a time as you count, drawing out the words as you recall them. “We got… worms,” you snatch up your index, “rolly-pollies,” you switch to your middle, “ants…”

You pause there, twisting your ring finger in your opposite fist as you cast your eyes upward, trying to think of another bug to illustrate your point. The boy’s rolled trouser hems drag against the grass as he shifts restlessly in his crouch, but your next example never comes. Instead, you pull your finger out of your grip, crossing your arms and staring down at him with an air of triumph you really aren’t entitled to. “See? Loads of bugs,” you finish almost smugly.

The boy twists his lips and narrows his eyes at you. He drags those eyes from your bare toes to the top of your head in a slow, appraising path. It feels distinctly like you’re one of the bugs you’d mentioned, and he’s trying to puzzle out whether or not you’ll sting him.

You want to ruffle up your feathers and squawk your protest, but this brief conversation has not satisfied that yawning pit of curiosity inside you. Instead, you just plant your hands on your hips like your Mama does when Papa’s not listening fast enough. He stares up at you, and you look right back, staring down at your new neighbor’s guarded face.

This you manage for a fair while. But, inevitably, you cannot contain yourself for too long. Soon enough, your next question of the day sees fit to burst and pop from you like the first bubble in a pot set to boil.

“Well then?”

Your voice is loud; your sass is too potent to ignore. When his scowl returns in earnest, you clamp your lips shut too little too late. Mama always did say you need to be more patient, after all, and now you’ll just be left to mourn the permanent disappointment you’ll feel when he barks back. He’ll send you away unkindly, and you’ll have to retreat with your tail between your legs—

The boy next door straightens to his full height, and it’s only then that you realize just how much bigger he is than you. He is still lanky and angular, with ill-fitting clothes that don’t disguise his thinness, but the sudden shift from looking down into those guarded umber eyes to looking up, up, up ‘til your neck cranes is enough to make a teensy twinge of foreboding tighten in your chest.

This boy, you realize, is under no obligation to tolerate your sass. He isn’t your kin, and though he is Wayne’s, that doesn’t automatically speak to his nature.

Your composure falters for the first time as he frowns harshly down at you, and you begin to shrink. You shink like you do when Mama’s caught you doing something wrong and you know her admonishment will be swiftly followed by Papa’s until you’re left feeling hollow and thoroughly castigated. All of you presses in— your shoulders, your elbows, your knees, your brows where they pucker in the middle of your forehead. It’s the perfect opportunity for this strange boy to seize hold of the cracks within you and shatter you to pieces.

But at the sight of your breaking, those umber eyes do not harden further as you expect. Instead, the stormcloud clears; where you shrink and tighten, he gentles, and the furrows of his face ease into smoothness. Silently, he jerks his head to the side in a clear indication for you to follow.

You do.

It feels like grace when he bids you to follow him, and you resolve not to waste it. ‘Y’could use an attitude adjustment,’ you think to yourself, and so you let your sass leech through the soles of your feet as you follow the boy around to the side of his house opposite yours. By the time he stops in front of a small mound of rubbish piled near the concrete foundation, your manners have returned. You regard it with a carefully neutral expression in case he happens to look at you as he explains its purpose.

“M’gonna build the walls out of bark I stripped from that big oak,” he tells you. “And the roof’ll be leaves, so they can eat their way out if they’re clever enough.”

You appraise the rubbish heap, which, you quickly realize, is not rubbish at all, but is, instead, a carefully gathered pile of supplies meant for building a bug house. A hollow acorn cap catches your eye. “Could use that for a trough in case they get thirsty,” you suggest. You turn wide eyes to him, craning your neck back to look into his face and holding there until he meets your eye. You’re hoping he can tell from the bright tone of your voice and the earnestness of your expression that you’ve left your rudeness behind in the grass.

He appears, thankfully, quick to forgive and move on. The boy nods a little too hard in his haste to agree with you, and when his unruly curls flop in front of one dark eye, he blows them out of the way with an impatient puff. “Was thinkin’ that very same thing,” he replies, and there’s even a touch of warmth in his voice.

With that hint of warmth, the foreboding within you finally wisps away as if it had never been. In its absence, the full force of your self returns.

You crouch eagerly to examine the pile more closely, heedless of the way your pink skirt drags over the dirt as you carefully spread out each supply he’s gathered. He wavers nearby hesitantly before joining you near the ground, though he keeps his hands hanging between his knees, seemingly content to let you organize things yourself without interference.

“Looks like it’ll be big enough for a whole lot o’bugs,” you say, and your voice is eager, swollen with your obvious intent to be generous. “Which kind d’you like the most? We can start with those.”

Thus begins the hunt for your neighbor’s bug house residents, a venture that occupies half an hour of your young lives and concludes as a resounding failure. You search first all along the forsythia beds and the edges of the porch. When this yields nothing, you move on to the taller grass at the edges of the yard near the treeline, and then even venture into your own yard. But all you and your neighbor manage to find is the husk of an old worm stuck to the lowest step of his porch and some elusive beetles too quick for even him to catch. Frustration builds within you both over the course of that half-hour, a shared irritation at the difficulty of what should, by all accounts, be a fairly simple endeavor.

“Y’always get ants all over when y’dont want them,” you grouse, flopping yourself down onto the bottom porch step and planting your elbows on your knees and your chin in your hands. You quickly wriggle your hips away from that dried worm as he comes to stand in front of you.

“I know!” he exclaims, throwing his hands wide and letting them slap against his thighs. You sigh heavily together, a near simultaneous sound of defeat, and for a moment you listen to the distant cooing of a mourning dove, allowing yourself to wallow in disappointment.

“Y’know…” you say suddenly, looking up at him from the cradle of your palms, “there’s a bunny livin’ under your porch. Maybe it ate all the bugs ‘round your house.”

The boy’s soft nose wrinkles with a frown, but it’s not critical like before. “Do bunnies eat bugs?”

You stare at him and shrug, a sharp tug and fall of narrow shoulders. After a moment, the boy shrugs back as if in acquiescence. “Well,” he offers, “we could just make a house for the bunny then. In case it wants a ‘change of scenery.’” The phrase trips inelegantly off his tongue like it’s something foreign, something he’d heard once and is now repeating.

You, however, pay that no mind, because a blooming of color fills you at his suggestion. It’s blooming so big and bright and fills you so insistently that the tumultuous boy startles visibly when you leap from the step and scrabble off without a word of explanation.

Some swift minutes later, you’re returning at a trot, your hands laden with a new companion who swings at your side with flopping brown ears and a billowing red cloak. The corner of his eye is caught by your approach; he straightens up whip-sharp and shields his face with an overlarge palm to watch the remainder of your journey back to him, dropping his hand only once you skid to a stop one pace away. Eagerly, you set your bunny doll carefully atop one of the flat rocks lining the garden bed, nudging her arms and legs so she’ll sit there primly without assistance.

Breathless still from the quick run to your house but smiling nonetheless, you explain as if he’d asked, “If we’re buildin’ a rabbit house, Mopsy’s gotta watch! She’s my best friend.”

“Mopsy?” the boy asks curiously, “like from Peter Rabbit?”

Again, you bloom; your eyes light from within as you turn to him. “Yes, that’s exactly it! Oh, Peter Rabbit was my favorite book Ms. Willard read w’me this year!” You blink at him, eyes big and wide and so earnest. “Did you read it too?”

His head tilts just slightly, and the frizzy curls shift across his forehead. “How old r’you?” he asks in lieu of answering your question.

“M’eight,” you reply, still earnest if not a bit confused at the question. “Why? How old r’you?”

“Eight,” he answers, “same’s you.” He scratches at the corner of his wide mouth with a dirty fingernail, eyeing you as if he wants to say more but is holding back. You don’t know it, but it’s because your neighbor is trying to reconcile how you’ve just told him that you read this book with your teacher just this year, but it’s been quite some time since he had need of reading together with a teacher, and even longer than that since he last read Peter Rabbit— something he very much considers a ‘baby book’ now.

You don’t know that. But what you do notice is that he seems to be appraising you again, though not in the same way he had when he checked you for a stinger earlier. This appraisal is gentler and over much more quickly; at its conclusion, he changes the subject yet again. “If we’re building the rabbit a house,” he tells you, “we’ll need sticks f’r the walls. Bark’s not gonna be good enough.”

It’s an adequate distraction, and soon enough, you’ve forgotten the dangling conversation about Peter Rabbit as you and your neighbor collect sticks and branches, gather more leaves, and tear long grass from its roots to lay it down for cushioning in the bottom of your construction project.

The process is not entirely smooth, as it never is between two people who are still learning to work with one another, but you and your new neighbor share a common desire which helps to ease it. Despite starting your acquaintance firmly enclosed within your own tough shells, since then, common ground has been discovered. As such, both you and this strange boy are reluctant to trample the new seed of friendship freshly planted between you. As you work alongside one another, you tend that seed with the best of yourselves: you resist the urge to insist on your own way, and he resists the urge to assume the worst in you.

You are, as Ms. Willard would put it, acting on your very best behavior.

Mama would be proud.

By the time the sun has reached its highest point in the sky, your makeshift rabbit house has three walls and a soft bed of grass at its center. The leaf roof he’d intended to make was more difficult than anticipated, so you used them instead to adorn the ground and create a path from one side of the red house to the other, with the intention of leading the bunny to the new sanctuary you’ve created. How likely it is to take you up on the offer remains to be seen, but you are pleased nonetheless with the fruits of your labor. The gleam in the boy’s eyes seems to indicate that he’s pleased, too, and you watch him begin a meandering circle to admire your hard work from all angles.

He’s pleased up until the point that tragedy strikes.

On the back end of the circle he’s making around your shared creation, an accidental knock of his calf sends Mopsy tipping slowly backward. He feels the impact and spins clumsily, but his scrabbling fingers are too late to prevent her from falling off the flat rock into the garden bed

Mopsy only lays there in the dirt for maybe a second before the boy snatches her up and cradles her to his chest in a crushing hug, holding her close and then yanking her back out to look her over. Yet the damage has been done: dirt is smudged into her red felt cloak, and it also marrs the pale cream of her long ears and the entire back of her head.

The boy tries to clear the stains away with hasty swipes of his hands. But his fingers are dirty, so all he manages to do is streak her with more brown filth. The more he tries— the more frantic he becomes, desperate to correct his mistake— the worse she gets. Helplessly, he turns to you, and you take in the crinkle of his brow, the pinch of his wide red mouth, the panicked look in his eyes as he waits for your reaction.

It’s not unreasonable for him to assume you will be angry. You had, after all, told him that Mopsy is your best friend, and now she’s been soiled by his hand. And he has, after all, already caught a glimpse of the impatience, the stubbornness, the hotness of temper that lives inside you. But what he doesn’t know is that life has already taught you that accidents happen. You remember all the times Ms. Willard has soothed hot tears, or helped you and your classmates clean up spills. And despite— or, perhaps, because of— the ire you face when your accidents make Mama and Papa so angry with you, you accept the earnest apology in his expression without any further fuss.

“Oh, that’s all right,” you tell him, and there isn’t a hint of sourness in it. When you take Mopsy from his loose fingers and look down at the new stains on her fur and clothing, your expression doesn’t even flicker. “S’just an accident. Accidents happen, y’know,” you add when the worry in his dark eyes doesn’t ease.

And then, just to make sure he really, truly understands, you smile at him. Big and wide and uninhibited, you smile.

Though you’re missing one front tooth and the effect is borderline manic, it is so poignantly obvious that the reassurance your smile offers is an instant balm. The worry clears; the boy smiles back, crinkly-eyed and wide. It warms you like a ray of sunshine has overtaken his whole face, like dark clouds have broken to reveal the wild beauty left in the sky after a summer storm has passed.

In the end, that's all it took for inevitability to take hold: a single bright smile echoed on two faces.

You don’t know the name of the strange new boy next door, but it little matters. Because when two like souls finally find their rest on a common wire, fluttering their wings as they descend to perch together and rest in the comfort of sweet company, what one calls another becomes nothing more than an afterthought.

#blueywrites #td&tc #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfiction #farmer!eddie munson #farmer!eddie

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slugpupencyclopedia · 21 days

Note

Thoughts on the pups+ mod?

Generally its a good mod, I really do enjoy pups+ I have like, minor issues? but thats really it. I'll put a read more and a more in depth look.

Pups+ is a mod that adds new versions of pups to your game based on some of the playable campaigns, this includes abilities, personalities, and food needs. Yes I like it, it has its issues but I do like it. It's a great mod. /gen

Tundrapup -Saint variant. -Gives the player saint tongue. -Unable to throw spears. -Can't store food. Aquaticpup -Rivulet variant. -Increased speed and agility. -Fast in water. -Gives a boost underwater. Hunterpup -Hunter variant. -Able to throw spears at Survivor strength. -Carnivorous, eats large corpses. -Taller then an average pup.

Rotundpup -Gourmand variant. -Highest food requirement, eats basically anything. -Throws spears at Hunter strength, exhausts very easily. -Large, slams on creatures, carrying one will let you do the same. -Spits up items when given a disliked food. The basic spawn chance for these pups is 18% for a Aquaticpup 11% for a Tundrapup 25% for a Hunterpup 16% for a Rotundpup 30% for a regular pup

You can adjust these in the remix menu settings. PROS: -This mod allows for pups to be waaaaay more fun and useful. -The variety breaks up gameplay, its nice, each pup has its own look and food requirements.

-The mod is compatible with multiple different mods, Slugpup Safari, Rainbow pups (eeeeeh), Dress My Slugcat, and Dev Console. -Also allows for slugpups to store items! -Also works with Genetic Slugpups! (for everyone but survivor and monk, lol) CONS: -Because of the way the color generation works, and how its linked to personalities, a lot of variants will be the same color scheme, so yes it works with Rainbow Pups, but, variants tend to look the same.

As you can see, a lot of the colors match up. even if you do adjust the percentage typically they'll still group up into colors- why is there a routund pup in the tundra pup cage wait. -Hunter pup is almost indistinguishable from a regular pup, technically they are meant to be "taller" but, typically the only way to tell is 1. the color (see con above) or two, throwing a corpse at them to see if they eat it. /lh

The left pup is the regular pup, the right is the hunter pup. -This would be fine if you could see the food pip bar, before hibernating, but what ends up happening es a lot of time my hunter pups starve for a cycle, because they will still eat plants. -Hunter pups I find typically very useless to me, and more frustrating, if you're good at combat, they tend to just get in the way. -Rotund pups can be INCREDIBLY frustrating, but that's just because of the exhaustion mechanic when they're on your back. I think if it was a little less often it'd be better.

All in all I DO enjoy this mod, and do use them in my own playthrus, I do recommend it, but highly suggest adjusting the ratios on spawns.

#rain world #rainworld #rain world downpour #rainworld downpour #slugcat #rw downpour #slugpup #thank you for the ask!#rainworld mods #rw mods #rw modding

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reticulating-splines · 5 months

Text

Chez Cromwell: Redux - Pt. 1

Magical Victorian Cat Mansion. Redone.

Part I: Exteriors | Part II

So after the long-awaited addition of Infants and Ceilings to the game, I realized I should probably update my one furnished build (so far) for these features. Unfortunately I got carried away again and just ended up revamping the whole build from the exterior, to each individual room + some new ones! This version has also been more extensively play-tested over time with all age groups and pets, with some extra fire hazard and accessibility issues addressed.

It still has all the original Lot Features:

Victorian era historical build, fully playtested

Off-the-grid compatible

9 Bed / 6 bath

Library Greenhouse

Spellcaster's room

Outdoor smokehouse

Pleasure + kitchen gardens

Portal to the magic realm

Hidden cat room, litterroom, + catway system for Familiars

Staff/Servant's lounge w/ private stairs

Bedrooms for Butler, Nanny/Governess, and Maids

Lot size 30x40, fully landscaped

Cat Hangout, Peace and Quiet

Spooky lot challenge

As well as an extensive Changelog and list of New Features:

Revamped exteriors + interiors, roofs, and gardens

Ceilings for all rooms

Added even more windows somehow

Skylights for 3rd floor and wraparound verandah

Rooftop meditation-garden-yoga-summoning-circle

Portals! Small library located off the spell-room has been converted into the Portal Room with 3 portals leading throughout the house: one to the tower on the roof, one to the greenhouse in the back, and one to the third floor hall.

Moved Magic Realm Portal to rooftop garden

Put more cat doors everywhere, they enjoy using the catdoors and portals for zoomies

Sprinklers, alarms, and fire resistant flooring have been added around fireplaces.

Fireplace in the tower was removed for it's propensity to set the roof on fire and become unreachable and inextinguishable

Tower room has been converted into a Collections display room instead, a la sims 3

Portal in the tower/Collections room also makes potential burglaries more threatening, but if you’re an occult you’re expected to employ practical DADA techniques to avert this

Updated Nursery and Playroom for Infants

Redid terrain paint. Twice. Why tf does it just vanish randomly sometimes

NEW Magic Bean Hunt! Stump is located where the magic realm portal used to be and beans are strategically hidden around the lot. I'd love to see how long it takes for you to catch them all!

Washbasins for rooms without bathrooms now look like washbasins and are actually useable, both on and off grid

Added privacy hedges and lattices to backyard and fenced in chicken run

Potions Crafting Table added to Spell-room

Crafters Supply Cabinet added to Kitchen

Pocketed pocket doors

Secret Cat Room color scheme updated and cat-approved artwork added

Another Cat room added to 3rd floor

Magic Well has been shrunk

Rooftop area outside 3rd floor Study converted into rooftop Pavilion with chessboard and painting easel

Jack-and-Jill bathroom added for two of the third floor bedrooms

Toilet room removed and bath added for staff washrooms, for an equal 2-toilet/2-bath arrangement, which means the build now has a total of 7 full baths, and 8 toilets.

More crafting tables (fizz machine and candle maker) added to Staff Lounge

Yoga/Meditation Balcony for staff above greenhouse

Small telescope added to rooftop outside tower room’s new 2nd door

Garden lights around yard configured for power + off grid lighting

‘Bike racks’ added by front gate

New Library shelves seem to allow sims to retrieve books but not put them back. However this is actually a feature, not a bug, since now you can put the books back yourself on on the right shelves and keep things organized 🙃

Should now be consistently able to feed and be eaten by the Cowplant

Homey trait replaced by Gnome lot trait since there is a proliferation of gnomes

Requirements

Lot: 40x30, $752,005, 9 bed 8 bath, Cat Hangout, Gnome, Peace and Quiet, Spooky Lot Challenge

Packs - packs in bold are essential:

EPs - Cottage Living, University, Island Living, Get Together, Get Famous, Seasons, Cats&Dogs, Eco Living, City Living, Get to Work

GPs - Realm Of Magic, Jungle Adventure, Parenthood, Vampires. Strangerville, Spa Day, Outdoor Retreat

SPs - Paranormal, Laundry Day, Romantic Garden. Nifty Knitting, Vintage Glamour

Kits - Blooming Rooms, Desert Luxe

Patreon Download

Public: Available Dec 15th!

#chez cromwell #chez cromwell redux #ts4 exterior #ts4 build #reticulated builds #ts4 cc free #ts4 mansion #ts4 maxis match #ts4 lots #furnished build #ts4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #ts4 1900s #ts4 1800s #ts4 occult #ts4 infants #ts4 #the sims 4 #early access

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acey-wacey · 2 years

Text

Mom Friend

Feat. Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade, Jack Howl, Epel Felmier, Sebek Zigvolt

Requested on Ko-fi by @thelazyhermits! And now a special song for this very special donator.

*clears throat*

🎶 You are so beautifuuuuuul to meeeeeeeee 🎶

🎶 Can't you seeeeeeeeee 🎶

Thank you.

...

Note- this ended up being kind of a character analysis so I hope you enjoy an in-depth exploration of how I characterize the first years.

...

At first, you would only trail after Ace and Deuce because of Grim's involvement, cleaning up the messes they left behind.

Once you got to know them though, you started hanging out with them outside of fixing their mistakes.

It didn't take long for you to be adopted into the first year friend group.

You adore all of them and, with some time, they come to adore you.

Upon meeting all the first years, you realized one crucial fact:

None of these boys have any self preservation.

Ace and Deuce's squabbling and scheming have gotten them into more than one inopportune situation.

You've had to hold Epel back from punching someone who called him cute one too many times.

Jack refused to take care of himself no matter how many times you urged him to practice healthy self care.

And Sebek of courses has screamed at many people for undermining the importance of the Great Malleus Draconia.

You always have to come prepared when you hang out with them, often carrying a full first aid kit and snacks to class with you.

People around NRC have taken to calling you the campus mom.

While your love and affection is reserved for the first year group of friends, if someone come up to you needing a band-aid, you are happy to oblige.

You do a lot for the first years and sometimes they forget to thank you for it, but you know they love you.

Deuce Spade comes to you for tutoring.

Seven knows he needs all the homework help he can get.

He's a bit slow to understand complex concepts so alchemy is his worst class.

Now you aren't at the top of your class but your a quick learner and you are very good at explaining.

Deuce has called you for homework help in the middle of the night many times.

You always smile and talk him through the assignment, explaining the details when he gets stuck.

He just wants to be a good honor student and you really admire him for that.

He's told you how much he wants to make his mom proud of him and you do everything you can to help him feel proud of himself.

When he gets a B- on a test you helped him study for, he's beyond excited to show you his progress.

And he didn't even need to sign a contract for it!

You tell him how proud you are of him and he almost bursts into tears.

He immediately texts his mom a picture of his test.

He's so happy to finally be on his way towards a new future.

Ace Trappola comes to you for impulse control.

He has a big mouth.

There's no way to sugarcoat it. He speaks his mind and gets into a lot of trouble for it.

While you love how honest and upfront he is, you cannot condone the fights he's gotten into because of this.

You are aware that Riddle would be furious about one of his first years tainting the Heartslabyul reputation so you make sure to stop the quarrels before they start.

Ace has a few tells when he's about to say something stupid.

For example, the corner of his mouth quirks up when he knows he could destroy someone's whole career in a few seconds and his eyebrows twitched when he starts getting annoyed.

He doesn't mean to be contrary, he just hates when people don't get what they deserve.

So when he sees some thugs saying something mean about another student, he's going to march up to them and give them a piece of his mind.

When this happens, you grab his shoulder and lead him off somewhere quiet to cool down.

He has a very strong sense of justice but you're still at a school.

You report the bullies to a teacher and go do something relaxing with Ace.

Usually you color in coloring books.

He insists that he's not a kid and he doesn't need coloring books, but it's actually really calming and fun.

While he's not an absolute hot-head, he's headstrong and sometimes needs someone to reign him back in until he can learn how to regulate his impulses by himself.

Epel Felmier comes to you for comfort.

It can be really difficult being in Pomefiore, constantly being poked and prodded, being criticized on your body and your etiquette and your posture.

Epel keeps a delicate persona while he's around other people but when he drops it whenever he's with just you.

He feels comfortable enough to use his real accent and slouch because he knows your the only person who wouldn't judge him for it.

When he's especially upset with Vil on a particular day, he practically sprints to Ramshackle and vents all his frustrations to you while you brush his hair.

He can't really be vulnerable with anyone else, even himself but you helped him to allow himself to feel.

Sometimes he'll just barge into your room and throw his arms open for a hug.

He's always welcome when he needs any kind of comfort.

You listen when he talks and just sit with him when he needs the reaffirmation.

You know how insecure he is about his masculinity and that he doesn't want to be perceived as so fragile and feminine.

But looks don't amount to masculinity.

How other people perceive you doesn't matter as long as you know who you are and you allow yourself to be that person.

It's a bit hard, since Epel has to change quite a bit to fit into the Pomefiore mold but being with you helps him remember who he is and who he wants to be.

Jack Howl comes to you for self care.

He's obviously very determined about his goals and aspirations but sometimes his determination turns into obsession.

When this happens, he won't let himself rest or eat until he's satisfied with his own performance.

He tries to push himself to work harder, hike farther, run faster.

It often just leaves him with exhaustion and a feeling of inadequacy.

Oftentimes, you've had to drag him to his bed when he stays up late exercising.

He just doesn't know how to practice healthy self-care while still striving for self improvement.

You teach him that self-care is the exploration of things that make you happy and help your brain and body to relax.

He eventually discovers that he really enjoys crochet.

He tries to brush it off, saying that crochet isn't manly or that the Savanaclaw students would make fun of him.

You assured him that it does make him any less masculine to enjoy something stereotypically associated with femininity and that it's actually very brave of him to do something that others may not understand.

The two of you crochet together every other evening and listen to audiobooks, usually romance mysteries.

He says he doesn't actually care about the romance bit but you always catch him smiling when the main characters finally kiss.

Being with you has helped him develop healthy habits and take care of himself more.

He really appreciates how you always try to help him stay healthy but you also will take no sh-- if he is too hard on himself.

Sebek Zigvolt comes to you for safety.

It took him a really long time to accept you onto the friend group and an even longer time to trust you.

He never knew your intentions of aspirations and he didn't trust that weird little cat companion of yours.

You'll just be a troublemaker and he wants you nowhere near him or the young master.

No matter how many times you offer to help him study for a test or try to give him some cookies you made, he refuses to like you.

That is, until one particularly difficult day of training for the knights.

Sebek had been a bit off his guard on that day which made him susceptible to surprise attacks from his sparring partner.

He came out of the training session with more than a few bruises.

When you came to visit the Diasomnia dorm to offer him a slice of cake, he tried his best to hide the injuries but you saw right through him.

He protested as you pulled out your first aid kit but you silenced him with a glare that reminded him a little too much of his mother.

He sat down on his bed and took off his shirt so you could tend to his bruises.

He whined like a little baby when you applied isopropyl alcohol to his cuts, to which you rolled your eyes and kept putting bandages on his wounds.

He actually really likes being doted on, but he'd never admit it to a lowly human like you, even if he does really need the hug you give him after.

No matter how hard he tries to escape, once you've noticed an injury he has, you've already fixed it up and kissed it better before he can say The Great Master Malleus Draconia.

He's used to sticking it out and bearing his pain on his own, physical and emotional so it means a lot to him to have someone else caring about his hurt.

They all love you with all their hearts and see you as a true friend and protector of physical/emotional well-being.

Though you love to help people in any way you can, some particularly nasty students try to take advantage of your good nature.

They ask you for more than you can give them, knowing you won't be able to say no.

They pester you constantly asking you for the treats and snuggles that are reserved for your close friends.

They'll even start venting to you without permission, stressing you out with their overwhelming problems.

When someone like this keeps bugging you, rest assured that they are going to get their a$$ beat.

Your friends first use the raw intimidation, standing behind you with murder in their eyes as an obnoxious pesterer talks to you.

That usually scares them off but if they continue to bother you, one of the first years, usually Jack will corner them in a secluded area to tell them to leave you alone.

If it still doesn't work, that's when it gets violent.

They know you would never condone any of them getting into fights but as long as it's for your honor, they are ready to throw hands.

They may get in trouble with the headmaster but they don't care that much.

Not even Jack will regret decking someone who was harassing you.

When you get sick or injured, the boys are practically your servants.

You tell them that they really don't have to do anything for you but after all you've done for them when they're vulnerable, they need to repay the kindness.

Anything you need or want will be yours immediately.

Ace takes notes for you in the classes you miss.

Deuce makes you tea every single day.

Epel sets you up with any books or movies you need.

Jack just sits by your bed, holding your hand so you don't get lonely in your room.

Sebek will 100% rush around getting you anything you need, from food to tissues to pads.

Ask and you shall receive.

They all just want to show you how much they love you and how much you mean to them.

You've done a lot for each of them and there's no denying that you are a very important person in the first year friend group.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #disneytw #ace trappola #ace trappola x reader #deuce spade #deuce spade x reader #epel felmier #epel felmier x reader #jack howl #jack howl x reader #nyx's kofi requests

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