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queers-gambit · 7 months

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The Last Will and Testament of James Barnes, Sr.

prompt: The Boss passes away, and at the reading of his Last Will and Testament, your lover, Bucky, is named successor - not his older (adopted) brother, John. tension breaks at the funeral.

pairing: Mafia Bucky Barnes x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Marvel

word count: 4k+

note: author wants to remind everyone that there are 1,000 different ways to host a funeral; to celebrate a life.

warnings: Mafia AU, cursing, mention of deceased family member, depictions of violence, greed, spoiled brat behavior (not by reader or Buck, you'll see), entitlement, does author ever edit? where is this fic going? author lost sight of the plot but fuck it!

"The Last Will and Testament of James Barnes, Sr.; read on May 16th, after being last revised on January 3rd, - being of assured sound body, mind, and soul - is to divide assets and bequeath inheritance," the lawyer with thinning hair announced to the room, his baritone voice sending vibrations to the glasses of water set before him.

You tightened your hand in Bucky's flesh one, sharing a small glance together as his mother commandeered all attention by sniffling loudly from the middle of the room. It was a lively sort of office; a high rise with floor-to-ceiling windows, painted a light, pale yellow that glowed in sunlight, a long mahogany conference table, plush, leather rolling chairs, and an array of flavored waters to choose from. Both sparkling and flat.

It felt wrong to be there, totally unreal.

The Last Will and Testament of James Barnes, Sr., was read from behind a pair of thick-framed glasses by a portly man in a tacky, summer khaki suit. Mr. Happy had been the Barnes' lawyer for years now, someone The Boss, James Sr., trusted without a doubt. He was the only man trusted to see this division to the end and without conflict, fearing it'd upset Mr. Barnes' soul should his family begin feuding over material items.

"First, to my beloved wife, Mary Beth, who I know will succeed me in death. I to her leave our beach house, the penthouse on Fifth, every car in mine and her name is to be transferred solely into her name, the building, apartment leases in Manhattan so she might continue being landlord and earn a monthly, sizable income. In addition," Happy glanced at Mary Beth, "I bequeath a lump sum of 25% of my savings."

Everyone seemed to think this was acceptable, nodding in agreement as Mary Beth sobbed loudly into a crumpled, saturated tissue. However, Happy paused as he scanned over the document nervously. His throat cleared, informing that John was to get his own share - yet there was no mention of the organization's leadership and the entire room filled with tension. Finally, Happy sighed through his reading of Bucky's inheritance as you took a sip of coffee; revealing he had been chosen as Mr. James Barnes, Sr.'s successor.

Coffee sprayed out of your nose to splatter on the table, making you gag and cough instantly; Bucky patting your back in support as he turned rigid with confusing tension. Mary Beth Barnes gasped dramatically, insisting that couldn't be right.

"What!?" John raged, shooting out of his leather chair so fast, it toppled over. "That's impossible! That should not be possible!"

"I assure you, Mr. Barnes, it's - "

"Bullshit!" John snapped, snatching a copy of The Last Will and Testament of James Barnes, Sr..

Happy sighed, "Your father did not leave you the business, John, he left it to Bucky, instead."

"How the fuck - !?" Nobody moved as John read for himself what the legal documents said. He grit his teeth and tossed the padded file to the lawyer, glaring at his family. "So," he seethed, "Father's decided to name Bucky over me."

"What does all this mean!?" Mary Beth asked tearfully.

He smirked, "You two couldn't get pregnant. You tried, tried, tried, but just couldn't, so, you adopted me. But just 3 months after I came home, you were giving birth to Bucky - and even better, you gave him Father's name! My whole life, you've all tried to erase me because the adoption was final and there was nowhere to dump me, but then Father started teaching me about the business. He knew I was the eldest - and succession respects birth order!"

"I didn't ask for this," Bucky snapped, his hand flat on your back as you had stopped choking finally but he didn't want to lift his hand from your inviting warmth.

"No? That why you're the one benefitting from everything?" John sneered.

"Benefitting? From our father dying? I understand you feel scorned, but Father made his decision," Bucky reminded. "And I'm sorry he made you feel as if you were guaranteed this job, but this is how it works. Someone's appointed."

"If you were decent, you'd refuse so I could step in and take my place. You know I'm the better fit!"

Happy shook his head, "That's not how this works, kid."

"Excuse me?" John seethed, turning to the lawyer.

"Bucky can't just refuse and you accept," Happy explained. "If the chosen inheritor refuses, then there's a trial to elect a new Boss. You'd have to plead your case to everyone."

John huffed and turned to Bucky, demanding, "Well?"

"I'm not refusing what Father wanted," Bucky decided, making you freeze. "And I'm not useless, John, I know how to do this job."

He scoffed, "Whatever."

"Hang on a second," you whispered, grabbing Bucky's wrist to lean into his side, barely muttering, "baby, are you sure?" He nodded at you, not quite picking up on the question you asked between the lines.

The Last Will and Testament of James Barnes, Sr., had been officially read, and after naming Bucky successor, tore apart a fragile family that was barely knit together with frayed string. He knew his decision would cause disruption, yet Senior Barnes made a decision best based on the needs of the organization - not his sons.

Now that John had stormed off, Happy read the rest of the document to ensure there were as little questions as possible; everyone aware of the temper John harnessed - thinking this was his final trigger that made him snap. After hearing the division of assets, you all parted ways with Happy, who promised he'd be in contact with Bucky soon before telling Mary Beth the money would hit her account in a day.

25% of Senior Barnes' savings to Mary Beth. 25% to John. 50% left for Bucky to operate an ever-profiting business.

The Last Will and Testament of James Barnes, Sr. had torn apart a mother and (adopted) son; two brothers; and while you didn't want to add to the stress Bucky must've felt, you couldn't hold back. When alone in the car, you lashed out at Bucky - demanding to know how he could make such an important decision without at least consulting you.

"We're together, Bucky, and this is a partnership! One person doesn't get to do everything, we make big-time, life-changing decisions together since it's not just your life you're shaking up!"

"This has nothing to do with you!" Bucky snapped back.

"It's everything to do with me!" You argued. "You're not the only one in this relationship, so you don't get to make unilateral decisions!"

"It's not your job, it's not your family - "

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" You snarled. "Few weeks ago, it was, 'oh, baby, I'm gonna marry you one day. I can't live without you,' and now it's not my family...? What? Not my business? Not my concern?"

"It's up to me to deal with."

"Why couldn't you of just asked for a minute to think?" You asked in a defeated tone. "You could've used a minute or two to talk to me about it before jumping the gun."

"What would you've said?"

"That we could try it out and then if you didn't like it, let it go to trial..."

He nodded, "Not half a bad idea."

"But you didn't think to include me!"

"It's not your life!"

"Oh, go fuck yourself, it's our life. Okay? Like it or not, this is our life we're talking about. Fucking clue me in next time, you irrational fuck."

Bucky took a long breath, "All right, fine, fair enough. I should've included you. I'll do better in the future."

You huffed, crossing your arms, "I doubt it."

Due to the nature of your stress, you didn't push Bucky farther that night. He seemed distracted, and even when you got back to your penthouse apartment, he was sullen and quiet. You spent two hours in bed, alone, tossing and turning, before finally getting up to look for your lover. He was found on the balcony, dried tear tracks left on his cheeks; mutely opening his arm to welcome you onto his lap. Bucky needed you now more than ever, his tears starting again as the funeral now loomed over you all.

Two days later, The Last Will and Testament of James Barnes, Sr. was contested on May 18th by... John Walker? Who the fuck...?

"Hi, Happy," you greeted the lawyer at your hotel door, opening it to let him enter.

"Thanks, doll," he smiled. "Where's Mr. Barnes?"

"In here," you lead him to the sitting room, trying to ignore how everyone now called Bucky "Boss" or "Mr. Barnes". When you arrived, the three of you sat to listen to the lawyer speak about whatever he had called an emergency meeting about.

"Who the hell is John Walker?" You wondered softly. "Some rip-off John Wick?

"John, it's John," Happy snickered. "It's John - he's legally changed his adopted name to his birth name. From Barnes to Walker."

"When?"

"Yesterday. Today, he contested the will."

"Fuck's sake," you sighed.

"This inheritance is iron-clad," Happy assured, "but it's enough disruption to shake the men in the organization. Apparently, John's procured a plethora of followers - all ready to march behind him."

"He has fucking supporters?" Bucky mumbled in angry disbelief.

"Enough to make a small dent in our numbers..."

"Can I ask?" You interrupted. "What's John's issue? Why's he so angry?"

Happy glanced at Bucky and saw there was no answer on his lips, so, he told you, "Years ago, Mrs. Barnes struggled to carry children to-term. Eventually, they were told it wouldn't happen, so, they decided to adopt. It took about a year for them to adopt John, but Mary Beth was surprisingly pregnant - gave birth three months after they adopted John, who was about two at the time and understood he had to share the attention of his new parents. That's where the competition started..."

"So, John's mad...?"

"He's the eldest," Happy shrugged. "But Senior Barnes named his firstborn son..."

"What a slap in the face," you frowned, feeling sad for John. "To learn after his father died that... What? He didn't think John was really his son? Was really family?"

Happy nodded, "He was clear when he stated his firstborn son... They were in a feud when Senior Barnes made this revision."

"So, he was just angry - "

"More than that," Happy frowned. "Have you spoken Mr. Stark yet?"

"Tony? Not yet," Bucky answered.

"He's your father's investment banker, works with your father's accountant. John had an unhealthy habit of asking for more and more money to be bailed out. When your father tried to cut him off, he started stealing the money, leading their blow-out."

You blinked in shock.

Bucky just hummed and nodded, deep in thought. "Perhaps it's time to change the banker," he muttered.

"Tony's good," Happy assured, "but John knows how to manipulate people. Your father never wanted to see it, but when John burned through money, he got frustrated."

"Okay," you waved, "new motion. No more business talk until we lay Mr. Barnes to rest, okay? Just let us bury the man, then y'all can plot and plan and do whatever."

"Mr. Barnes - this, Mr. Barnes," he pointed at Bucky, " - has informed me you'll be present going forward...?"

"He did?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well, of course, but I'm still asking for a pause," you eased, trying to play down how off-guard you felt. "Let's get through the funeral and we can figure out what to do moving forward."

Bucky agreed and showed Happy out; returning to you not a minute later with his hands on his hips. You cocked your head in question and he answered, "He got rid of the Barnes name..."

"He did."

"He's contesting the will."

"He is."

"He's got supporters in the organization."

"He does."

Bucky took a long breath, telling you, "I'm gonna need your help getting through this, doll."

"That's what I'm here for," you promised.

It was strange, seeing your lover assimilate into such an intense role. You were grateful he had an ON / OFF switch with you, being the kind, sweet, soft-hearted, tender man you fell in love with in private, but the cold, calculating maniac when acting in his newly appointed job. It was intriguing to watch; always content to play dutiful wife when he requested your presence.

You had gone to law school, and because of that, you knew how to take lightning fast notes, so, he liked you being present at his meetings. It was only three days since reading The Last Will and Testament of James Barnes, Sr., and in the time, Bucky truly took control. He weeded out most of those who supported John over him, "removing" them from their position in the org., trying to set a precedence for the other men who meant to follow him. He wore suits everyday now, had two different phones, and assigned personal security to you and him.

However, come the 21st, everything came to something of a grinding halt at the funeral. It was a simple set-up: the morning started with a mass, then they'd congregate for a viewing, lastly, transport the body to the grave site. You wore black, like everyone else, and kept a hand on Bucky the entire time - knowing his anxiety made him skittish and prone to his fight or flight reaction. He was quiet, stoic, busying himself by keeping a hand on your form; be it your waist, hip, hand, around your shoulders. To save him from any awkward encounters, you accepted people's grievances with kindness.

The mass was pleasant enough. Short, simple, to the point; offering the death rite prayers Mr. Barnes had designated in his final documents. After that, Bucky kept busy by helping load the casket into the hearse to transport him to the funeral home while you intercepted any conversation. Once at the funeral home, you helped bring in all the floral arrangements as Bucky comforted his mother, no sign of trouble yet.

However, right in the middle of the some 600-person strong memorial, there came a small commotion. You flinched when you saw your security guards hit the floor, John emerging from the stunned crowd with a few men flanking his sides. "Well, ain't this real heart-warmin'," he smirked, eyeing the attending patrons. "Funny seein' you here, Tony, 'cause you always hated Old Man Barnes. You, too, Clint," he pointed out different attendants, "'cause I remember you sayin' you wished you hit The Boss with your car that one Christmas party. Mhm, and you, Natasha, so good to see you here after all the stress you and your little gang caused Father."

"John," Bucky grit, but your hands kept him anchored in place.

"Mhm," John eyed you both, "always restrained by your bitch, huh?"

"What're you doing here?" You deflected. "Why make a scene?"

"Ain't no other way to get y'alls attention," he spread his arms in gusto. "I see you haven't responded to my contention."

"Why would I?" Bucky shot back, taking a more relaxed stance as his arm slung around your shoulders. "It's just the woes of a spoiled brat not getting what he assumes are his dues. Didn't you steal enough from Father when he was alive? What's this? You wanna try again to fuck him up in death by stealing the position he left me?"

John's tongue licked over his teeth, "Strong words."

"You're one to talk. Look, for what it's worth, I am sorry you were short handed, but it's not something we can change. You made a mistake, I get that, but it was Father's money you fucked with, that you stole, and you proved untrustworthy. Why the fuck do you think he'd leave the business to you? Listen, I'd love for you to come into the org officially, but not if you're contesting Father's wishes."

"I'm owed more than I was given," John snapped. "Years I endured his wrath and ruin, years I posed as his perfect and diligent son. To find out now, after his death, that I am not even viewed as family...? I didn't ask to be born, I didn't ask for my parents to die, I didn't ask for your mother to have fertility difficulties, I didn't ask to be adopted, and yet it all happened, but he still, until the end, kept me at arms length. I'm owed more than I was given since he stated in legal documents that I am not his son!"

"This is not the time or place," Bucky warned. "Don't fucking do this."

"No? When, then? Why do it later? When I can get through your security now? You know, you're a tough guy to get close to what with all the security you've hired recently," John smirked, opening his arms in bravado, "and yet, here I am."

"When we are not at our father's funeral, we will talk."

"No," John smirked, shaking his head, "we do this now. Here, and now, at your father's funeral."

You yelped when Bucky shoved you down, ducking swiftly himself to avoid John's swinging fist; launching his own attack, and the entire funeral home erupting in chaos. You gasped when hands grabbed your waist and hauled up - yelping in shock when you recognized Steve's tattoos as he shoved through the crowd.

"What the fuck!?" You demanded when set down on the side of the room.

"Boss' orders," he explained, keeping an eye out on the kerfuffle. "Shit - stay fuckin' here!" He barked, turning for the crowd and disappearing. You felt your panic brewing to a new height as you couldn't see Bucky... In fact, you couldn't see any of the regular men you were used to.

A gun fired, you ducked down.

People screamed, a stampede erupting to empty the funeral home as fast as possible as another shot sounded. You were about to follow the mass of people when Sam became visible, obviously struggling to get to you through the throngs of rushing people.

"C'mere, honey," Sam panted, grabbing hold of you and keeping you close.

"What's going on!?" You begged, a third shot echoing, making the last of the people scream in terror and run faster - pushing people out of their way.

"John's come to play," Sam grit, people bumping into him as he did his best to stand as a pillar to keep you safe. "C'mon," he heaved, leading you towards a side door, opening it to reveal Bucky's mother, Mary Beth, and a few other women - gently pushing you inside and shutting the locked door.

"Fucker," you grumbled, trying to open the locked handle. You sighed, hands on your hips, listening to the commotion outside the door and turning to glare at Mary Beth. "Did you know?"

"Know what?" She asked stiffly.

"That your husband resented John because he was adopted?"

She blinked and lowered her head in thought, releasing a deep, long sigh. "I didn't think it was this bad, I honestly thought things were getting better."

"James wrote John out of the will and now Bucky's the one paying for it," you snapped. "How did you not see this coming?"

"John's always been a good boy - "

"You mean a Mama's Boy. But surely you have to realize, a boy needs both his parents. Especially if he can feel the one parent fostering resentment."

The door rattled and you turned for it, the swinging wood revealing your boyfriend's deranged person. He surveyed the room, a heavy glare on his face, blood and bruising visible through his snarl, and when he locked onto your form, he surged forward, breathing, "Sweetheart."

His hands instantly slid over your cheeks, looking frantic as he took in your appearance - searching for any sign of injury. "I'm okay," you promised him, holding his wrists, "but you're not. Fuck's sake, Buck, you're bleeding."

He scoffed, "John wore rings."

"Pussy boy."

"C'mere," he stooped to scoop you in his arms, "gettin' you home."

"Bucky," you whined lightly.

He readjusted you so you were koala hugging his torso, huddling your head into his neck and insisting, "Don't look. Don't look, baby, don't fucking look."

But you did.

Tears filled your eyes when you identified two dead bodies on the bloody floor, and trailing behind you both, Bucky's footprints - in blood. You tightened your hold on him and whimpered.

The fire crackled and coughed ash into the air, a comfortable warmth emitting into the otherwise chilly room. Ice cubes sloshed in crystal, the smell of book leather and stale cologne perfumed the air, and four minds all raced with different thoughts.

Bucky, still bruised and sporting cuts on his face, clenched his jaw as he weighed options in his head. Across from him, on a matching leather loveseat, Sam sat beside Steve, handing the blonde a refilled glass of his desired alcohol. You were pressed to your lover's side, everyone replaying the events of this evening.

Sam and Steve filled you in on what went down, Bucky not making a single sound as his men spoke. The details made you feel lightheaded but you wanted to know, and now, more than before, you understood your new reality. Sam told you the names of the two men killed, names you didn't recognize, before wrapping the story up by explaining there were getaway cars waiting outside for John and his men. You spared a glance at Bucky, then asked the two men across from you, "So, what now?"

Silence.

"Now..." Bucky grit his teeth, speaking lowly and evenly, "I do the job I was given. No successful leader ever wanted their position of influence and power, being a reason I know John's the wrong fit for this job. If I step down, he'll slither in..." He nodded, "Time to be the boss, finally."

Your heart cemented and throat constricted, only able to listen to Sam and Steve agree with Buck, then instantly start planning their next move - not wanting to wait til morning.

The Last Will and Testament of James Barnes, Sr., was meant to be something clean, peaceful, and fair, and yet, it was anything but. A family without their patriarch, two confused sons sans a father, millions of dollars worth of inheritance left to be fought over, a wife off the deep end and a mother unavailable to the world; a feud brewing and sides being chose.

It wasn't supposed to come to this, James Barnes, Sr., wasn't a vindictive man. He didn't anticipate this kind of reaction, he just wanted to do something "right" without contest. He was incredibly wrong, though he'd never know it; leaving a mess in his wake that Bucky was responsible to clean.

You listened to the men devise the beginnings of a plan before whispering to Bucky you were going to sleep. After bidding Sam and Steve a goodnight, you left Senior Barnes' home study - you and Bucky moving in basically after The Last Will and Testament of James Barnes, Sr.. It was a gorgeous home, lost in time; inviting guests into her many halls; to discover all her secrets.

You found the bedroom you and Bucky had claimed, trying not to overwhelm yourself with reality. Truth was, you loved Bucky more than life but you started dating years ago - when he was a different man. When his father's wishes were different. Where different circumstances seemed plausible to your future together. However, this wasn't what you signed up for; and never did you (or Bucky) anticipate for him to be named heir.

You went to bed that night frazzled, rattled, alone, cold, and with severe heart palpitations; wishing to God your man would back down, but knew it was foolish to waste hope on the inevitable.

So, you fell asleep wondering if life with this "new" Bucky was worth living... Did you truly want to be with a man with such a dangerous job? A job that caused a crowd-fight at a funeral before creating need for more funerals? A job that would steal his time, money, effort, attention... A job that would affect you both in ways you couldn't begin to fathom?

Was loving Bucky worth this kind of conflict?

Of course, he was!

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wordbunch · 6 months

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a little secret (Bilbo x f!reader)

a/n: my brain wrote this on its own while i re-watched the hobbit trilogy twice within like, a week, so... there is that!! it's been sitting in my drafts for months??? anyway it's just a fluffy little piece cause he is an absolute cinnamon roll (i've been neglecting him too much and i'm gonna fix it) 💖 let me know ur thoughts and opinions, and please be so kind to reblog? 🥺 i'm exciteddd to be back and figuring out new things to post!

Yet another all-day-long march was behind them, and the setting sun signaled that it was time to set up camp for the night, and rest, as much as it was possible by sleeping on the ground and eating tiny portions of anything that was at all edible.

[y/n] let her weighty bag plop down onto the rough forest terrain and she let out a weary sigh, stretching her back and arms as much as it was humanly possible, wishing she could stretch away the negative feelings and thoughts that plagued her mind on that particular day.

As soon as Bilbo neatly stored his belongings near the bark of a tree, which seemed like a moderately comfortable spot to take a break in, his eyes keenly followed the movements and expressions of his beloved, who was uncharacteristically quiet and perhaps even sorrowful during the day. Normally she would put her things next to his and enjoy the few short hours of peace, but this time she just tossed them onto a random patch of grass and turned her back to him and the rest of the company, who were already discussing dinner. Before anyone asked her to weigh in with her opinion, she took the chance to walk away and among the trees, away from the commotion of the dwarves.

Bilbo's curious eyes followed the shape of her in the shadows as long as they could, but soon enough she was out of sight and, inevitably, he began to worry immediately. As much as he wanted to let her have a few minutes of silence and contemplation, it was too dangerous for any of them to go wandering around alone, especially while exhausted in every way; so his anxiety got the best of him, and even though it was nice to finally sit down for a moment, he had to make sure she was alright.

She was expecting he would follow after her shortly, as she stood among the trees and hugged her own arms for extra warmth; trees were swaying in a chilly breeze as the last rays of sun painted them in saturated hues. The moment she heard some shuffling she turned around cautiously, but sighed in relief at the sight of her favorite (as a matter of fact, the only one she knew) hobbit. A small smile stretched her lips, without quite reaching her eyes, and that’s all it took for Bilbo to all but run to her and pull her close.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” he spoke, albeit a little bit breathlessly, as soon as he reached the taller woman. “All day you have been acting…differently.” He murmured with caution, hoping not to offend her with his probing.

[y/n] released a shaky breath and shook her head slightly, looking down at his hands on her waist. Even though she felt like she would start crying if she spoke up, she didn’t want Bilbo to think she was keeping something from him; she knew him well enough to know he would surely overthink it later in the night, instead of sleeping.

“You know you can tell me anything,” he urged her in a soft voice, reaching up to her cheek and stroking it with the back of his hand. “Even if it’s about something that i’ve done,” he added, half-jokingly.

After a string of rough days packed with danger and uncertainty, she was rather moved by the display of tenderness, and she felt her lower lip quiver. At last her eyes, that were brimming with tears and exhaustion, met his, and he let out a quiet gasp. [y/n] could swear he looked like he could start crying only at seeing her like that.

“i just- I cannot,” she confessed shakily, while he pulled her as close to him as possible, “I cannot really handle all of this right now. I’m so tired, a-and there are so many terrifying things going on all the time, and it seems like this whole undertaking might never end, and I just can’t,” she rambled on, trying her best to fight the tears that wanted to spill. The grip she had on the hobbit’s shoulders was so strong, as if he was going to evaporate if she let him go. It was terrible for him to see her feeling that way, and for a second he felt a stab of guilt - maybe he was failing her - but he had to fix it as soon as he could. Both of his hands found a way to her tear stained face, and he gazed at her with so much love and understanding that she could have melted right in that moment. [y/n] wrapped her fingers around one of his wrists to ground herself in reality.

“My beautiful flower, most beautiful in all the world,” Bilbo began, speaking so lowly that only she could hear him, “do you want to know a little secret?” he raised his eyebrows with a playful glint in his eyes and a smirk on his lips. If he couldn’t make her smile, then what was the point of anything at all? She immediately recognized a small attempt at cheering her up, and her heart fluttered in her chest. she really considered herself lucky amid all the chaos.

“Yes, dearest,” she sniffed, but the beginning of a smile was playing on her lips too.

"I can’t either,” he chuckled airily, with a small shake of his head, “but with you by my side, maybe I can. And all of this has been… well, insane, to say the least, but it won’t last forever. I mean, I really hope so.” [y/n] finally laughed, and a tremendous weight was lifted off of his chest. Bilbo stood a little taller as he looked up at her with more hopeful eyes.

“But sometimes insane things lead to beautiful things, I suppose,” he continued, still cradling her face as if it was made of the finest glass, and his smile was contagious as she let those words sink in. “Trust me, I would love nothing more than to be at home with you right now, holding you close, wrapping you in blankets when you get cold, bringing you breakfast every. single. morning,” he accentuated his words with three taps of his finger to the tip of her nose, and her giggle warmed him up from his curls to his toes. “And look at the stars with you on every clear night, and read by the fire together, and chase away visitors because I want you only to myself…” he trailed off, suddenly very aware that she was looking at him with such open love that he needed to remind himself to breathe before continuing. “And, petal, I promise you, very soon we will be doing exactly that, we just need to finish up this-this little dwarven errand.”

[y/n] all but threw herself over him in a haphazard hug, drawing out a startled laugh from the hobbit.

“Thank you,” she muttered into his hair. “I cannot wait to do all those things with you.”

“Anything for you, my love,” he replied, “and until then… even if we can’t, we can’t together.”

✨

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astudyincontrasts · 1 year

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Incubus Viktor ~ Part 2

Incubus Viktor x Fem!Reader NSFW

Art by @arcanescribbles my beloved angel

Well. It only took me an entire month of work BUT here you go, my sweetly patient darlings. A continuation of this fun little drabble. Thank you all for bearing with my slow progress and for all your lovely support🖤 Enormous thank you to @insult-2-injury for helping to battle my brain goblins. ilu bb

TW: no y/n, anxiety, new relationship dynamics, how to train your incubus, sex, smut, cockwarming, edging, overstim, body worship, multiple orgasms, anal/rimming, possessiveness, breeding kink(?), attempted assault, off screen implied death

The heavy iron skeleton keys rattled against the lock as you opened the door. You’d become used to their weight, in your hand, in your pocket, clanking about in your bag. And used to the home they belonged to… that you belonged to now, as surely as those rough edged, intricately cast metal monstrosities that let you into your front door.

The landlord had seemed surprised to find you still there when he returned, unexpectedly and unannounced, to check on the place two days after you’d moved in. As shocked to see you standing there, dripping mop held like a weapon and eyes wide as your pulse hammered in your ears as you were to see him letting himself uninvited into your new home. Convinced he’d been someone picking the elderly locks to break in and claim squatter’s rights or else rob you.

He’d stayed shocked while you’d dissolved into irritation and held out your hand for the spare skeleton key he’d so conveniently chosen to keep for himself. He surrendered it without a fight, to his small credit, and as you assured him that you were perfectly happy with your lease of the house and shut the door upon him, you weren’t sure which of you were more suspicious of the other. You, wondering just how much the greasy oaf of an old man knew about the home he couldn’t seem to keep tenants in, or him, left to ponder over why or how you had made it through a single night there.

It had been several months now, and you still weren’t sure you could have honestly answered the question of why you had stayed, even to yourself.

“Moje sladká broskvička…”

The voice purred in your ear, no sooner than you had the door shut and the key turned in the lock on the inside. Broskvička, broskvička, broskvička… That reverberating, gradual manifestation of a voice that licked straight through the shell of your ear to course along the wet ripples of brain matter in its forward and back soft echo that still made your eyes struggle with the urge to flutter shut and thighs clench.

As he’d grown stronger, as you’d fed him, Viktor had gained more control over himself. No longer relegated to only appearing in the dead of night as he had been in the beginning, though he was certainly stronger, more whole after the sun had set. Not fond of brilliant, bright sunshine, and somehow less during daylight hours; that insatiable, insensible pull of him not nearly as intoxicating as it was after dusk.

Still, he seemed to like to be where you were, with you, daylight or no, and even when he wasn’t there beside you the house felt like an embrace, saturated with him and infatuated with you.

“You’re back.” He breathed over your shoulder, and you felt his face press into the soft give of your hair as the climbing, curling grasp of long clawed hands materialized around you and slid up under the front of your shirt to gently rake fine pointed nails over the small swell of your stomach as the black mist shroud that always heralded him coiled and spilled around you like tendrils of living, liquid smoke whilst he himself took shape from them.

The bags in your hands dropped as the weight of him pinned you to the door, his head laid in the crook of your shoulder, the sticky smoke soft strands of his dark hair tickling your cheek and throat.

These desperate, eager greetings had become common. Dogs were less eager to see their masters after a long day. Even though every evening you returned home from work, even though you’d never made a move to pack up your things, even though you spent most spare time fixing up and cleaning the old place, he still seemed to harbor a deep seated fear that perhaps each time you left the house that he was apparently bound to that you would not return. He never voiced this concern, but you could feel it in these greetings, in the subtle way the strange amorphously solid conundrum of his body shivered ever so slightly as he pressed to you, in the tenderness of clawed hands as they slid over your own skin, reassuring himself you had returned to him.

It was intoxicating, if you were honest, to be this desired and missed so badly, to be yearned for.

Turning in your pinion between him and the door arms lifted, hands sliding over the ephemeral texture of his skin as he gathered you to himself with a deep, quiet purring noise of immaculate pleasure that trailed out at the end of each breath in eerie, soft clicks. His kisses traced a map across your throat and jaw, to lick tenderly along the shape of your collarbone. Soft little lines of tingling fire rose from your shoulder blades and down your ribs as clawed fingertips raked gently down the span of your back to press palms hard into the small of your back, arch you toward him.

At times you thought perhaps you’d learned some resistance to that thick, honeyed drug of his seduction, that you’d somehow managed to keep your bearings and sense better as the time had passed, only to be disabused of that notion time and time again when he truly dialed up that unspeakable, heady pull of his that turned bones and willpower both to warm jelly.

No, it was Viktor who’d become better at his control, not you. As if sensitive to the quiet terror that ran like a low current under your eager submission to his power, as if he could see swimming in the back of your lust-drunk eyes the fear of that lack of self control, and so tried to keep that thrumming, beguiling narcotic effect of his in check.

He slipped at times though, too excited, too enthralled and eager and hungry for you.

Not that your appetite for him ran any different.

Whatever he was, however dark and terrifying and arcane, you wanted him. Craved him even without the influence of his seduction. Beautiful and dangerous and achingly gentle in the quiet moments, he was a creature that had infested your desire as surely as he had infested the decrepit old Victorian house.

He crooned wordlessly as your hands cradled up the angles of his face, pressing his forehead to your own with a sigh like it was the first time he’d been able to breathe since you’d left that morning. It made your heart ache a little.

“Viktor…” Voice gently chiding, ready to chase away his concern.

The knock at the door to your back cut you off, and quick as he had materialized, Viktor vanished, dark smoke dissipating into thin air, leaving behind a scent of petrichor and extinguished candles.

Spinning in surprise to gaze through the ancient leaded decorative glass panes of the door’s large window at the figure distorted behind them, you turned the key you hadn’t yet had a chance to take from the lock, and pulled the door open an inch. A toothily smiling masculine face greeted you, a good foot and half taller than yourself, and you felt the hair on the back of your neck rise to stand on end as thick fingers curled around the edge of your open door a few inches from your own face.

“Hullo, lovie. Name’s Barrett.”

“Hi.” Reply dry, cold and verging on impatience. The kind of tone you reserved specifically for overconfident door-to-door salesmen. Barrett seemed to take no notice.

“I been lookin for work in the neighborhood and heard a rumor this old place had been let again. I’m a bit o’ a handyman ya see. Specialty is roofing.” Dark eyes cast upward toward the inside of your obviously sagging porch roof before searching around the slice of room he could see through the barely cracked open door above your head. “I figured as I’d come introduce myself quick as I could, offer my services.”

You did not like how those dark eyes ticked up and down and over you with the same greedy calculation as they had the room behind you. Nor the way his smile spread like an oil slick across the uncomfortably unkempt looking five o'clock shadow of his face. Unable to tell if the dark smudges staining skin beneath the stubble were dirt or faded old scars under his olive complexion.

“Old place like this… sure it could use a lil tender care, hm?”

Did he just fucking wink at you?

“As you said, this place is leased. Any major repairs are the owner’s responsibility. Do go see him if it's employment you want.” Polite but firm, the only hint of rudeness in your inability to unclench your jaw.

He tutted and pushed at the door without exerting much effort at all and you were alarmed to find he easily slid you back a few inches across your carefully polished and restored glossy wooden floorboards.

“Sure you’re right. Silly of me, hm? I jus’ heard this place was occupied again an’ got excited. You don’t mind if I come in, take a look around an’ take stock of what might need doin’ so I can work up an estimate for the landlord, do ya sweetheart?”

Heels dug in as you shoved your shoulder against the door and tried to force the inexorable slow opening of it back closed against his strength.

“Yes I do mind! S-stop!”

He was laughing softly at your frantic effort, like your sudden jolt of hot fear was the silliest, funniest thing in the world, and weren’t your struggles precious?

Neither of you expected the way the door suddenly jerked and slammed shut on his fingers like it had a mind of its own.

Barrett was howling, scrambling on the other side of the door to yank his mashed fingers free, and there was a horrifying moment when all you could do was stand there and stare at those digits turning a sickly hot purple and angry red and think for sure you were about to see them fall severed onto your doormat.

No idea who was more relieved, you or him, when the door eased a fraction and he was able to wrench fingers free before it slammed shut in earnest and the key turned in the lock all on its own.

Only, you knew it was not on its own. Barrett stood on the porch, cursing and grunting and hissing breath through his gapped teeth as you stared at the distorted blob of him through the textured glass, stared at the smudge of blood where his fingers had grasped the door, and mustered your voice once more.

“No thank you! …And no soliciting!”

The sound of him spitting some kind of hateful slur like ‘bitch’ at the door was the only response, paired a short second later with the heavy sound of his footfalls thundering across the porch and down the front steps. Another moment of staring at the door before you bent to grab your groceries off the floor and headed for the kitchen, shaken but alright.

Viktor found you there once more, hands trembling as you tried to simply focus on putting the groceries away. You felt him coalesce, felt him lingering close without touching, felt his confusion at the emotion rolling off you in unhappy waves. Cheeks hot, your face burning and you couldn’t say why, why you should feel so embarrassed or upset.

“You’re angry?”

Viktor’s question came softly behind your left ear, had you grit teeth as you struggled to even out your breathing.

“No, Viktor.” Your answer took the form of a tired sigh as you closed a cabinet door a little too hard and leaned heavily upon the countertop on the heels of your palms. At least that stopped them shaking.

One hook nailed fingertip drew a lock of hair back behind your ear, the sharp of it tracing lightly along the curving, delicate shell of its shape.

“He scared you.” His rejoinder was defensive, sulky, “He meant to hurt you.”

Hurt you hurt you hurt you. You shook off the subtle draw of his voice with a small shiver, eyes closing and brows knitting tightly as you fought the urge to forget your anxiety and seek out his mouth instead.

“Mmnnh. You…you don’t know that.” You pressed back, quietly petulant, turning your face away as you clung to the anger of the entire interaction. Of the stranger who felt comfortable enough to try to let himself into your home and the spectre who felt beholden to enact a violence on your behalf that had left your stomach turning.

The vision of those purpling fingertips and the shrieking of the man behind the door would not stop haunting you.

“Yes, I do.”

Goosebumps lifted along your skin in tandem to that chilling, insistent confession of his and the soft dragging stroke of the pads of his fingers along the shape of your jaw.

“Please just, stop. I don’t… I don’t need protecting.” Railing against the pull of him, you slammed a hand down hard on the countertop, letting the sting of the slap center you, “I can take care of myself!”

There was a soft little hissing, incomprehensible sound that might have been a muffled word in that language of his you did not understand, and his touch dissipated.

Viktor was gone by the time you managed to force eyes back open and turn around sharply. Left you wondering not for the first time exactly how that mind of his worked, how he worked. Left you both regretful to have chased him off with your angry chill and grateful to be left to sort through your thoughts rationally without the clouding influence of his presence.

By later that night however, when he had not reappeared, you had begun to feel worse about your little tantrum. Viktor was not at fault for how the stranger had made you feel both vulnerable and angry all at once. He’d only done what he could to try to help.

Finishing your glass of wine, you rose and dressed, and went downstairs.

Only after getting a crackling fire going in the ornate, large fireplace and settling back against the old tufted jacquard couch did you draw a deep breath and lift your chin and watch the shifting, flickering shadows play about the room. Long and sad, stretching thin along the walls in ever changing shapes that did not exactly correspond to the furniture or items that might have cast them. Watched them lick over the floor, darken the corners and cling to the ceiling.

“Viktor?”

The shadows shifted, drew back. The air in the room stirring, brushing back against your skin like the house itself had drawn a breath into unseen lungs.

“Viktor… please?”

The shadows seemed to suck back behind you, gathering together, portent to the dark spill of slow unwinding coils of heavy smoke that pooled and poured over the back of the couch before those impossibly long, necrosed dark claws came tack tack tacking over the wooden spine of the old couch and creeping slowly over your shoulder, up to curl over the column of your throat as the tip of his nose brushed the soft of your cheek opposite.

“Forgive…?”

Forgive forgive forgive. It suckled at the back of your brain, made you arch hard against the stiff back of the couch and let your neck roll over the cold decorative wooden spine of its upper edge as his mouth pressed to your temple, your hairline. As that thick cloying, molasses sweet darkness made your mouth feel full and heavy, turned a simple exhalation into a low, lingering moan.

“Forgive me, little peach… forgive me please…?”

“Vik…hhmmn… Viktor.”

Hands sought his, tugging carefully as you forced yourself back from the edge of submission, straightened your spine as you sat up, reeling back from that delicious abyss of want as you stood unsteadily and turned to face him.

“I want you,” It came out panting, struggling to finish that thought, “To sit.”

No way to describe how he moved from stooping over behind the couch to sitting upon it, as if he passed directly through it or just… shifted, mind-bending in how he moved without moving, leaving those tendrils of dissolving darkness behind to be seated upon the couch where you had just been, the gleaming irises of hotly golden illuminated eyes cast dejectedly into his own lap under those heavy dark brows, the cupids bow of his mouth parted but downturnt as he sat, arms open along the high armrest and back of the couch, long legs sprawled indolently even in his unhappiness.

Your handsome devil could make the world spin with his sly smirk but oh, the way his pout could turn you inside out. It was unfair, that such a creature should look so vulnerable, so beholden and chastised and dispirited and yet so enticing. Unfair that you should have made him feel this way.

Hands fumbled in their tug at the hem of your modest nightgown and those shining eyes of his lifted from their downcast to watch you tug that long gown up and over your head, his dark brows rising as you tossed it aside to stand before him in nothing save the deeply plunging lace bodysuit you’d hidden beneath.

It was a dark merlot colored confection that bared your entire back and nearly as much of your front, barely a set of sheer, high cut panties with twin slashes of matching lace attached in the center of the front that rose in a vee to cover each breast and only met again where they looped behind your neck. Hands smoothed over your own hips as you stood watching his eyes widen.

Your turn to be the one smiling slyly as you closed the space between you to climb into the spread of his lap and straddle one lean thigh, watching his mouth open soundlessly as he ricocheted from his dejection to delighted surprise, as the radiance of golden eyes raked up the shape of you in undiluted desire, his dark clawed hands hovering, as if afraid to touch and be chastised once more, but unable to deny the bitter, fighting longing to have the warmth of your skin under his palms once more.

You let him suffer his uncertainty as you shaped hands to the beautiful angles of his face, stroking the sharp of cheekbones, the sculptor’s perfection of a jawline.

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

Skin that soft strange play of cold and heat as you pressed a kiss to the very center of his dark brows where they’d pinched together over the bridge of his nose.

“I’m sorry, I was just scared and upset.”

Another brush of a kiss to the pretty little beauty mark under an amber eye before you straightened and let your weight settle more fully upon his thigh. Releasing a soft sigh as the delicious pressure of his leg became friction with a roll of your hips.

Hands slid to rest upon his shoulders as you rocked yourself in your seat upon his leg, watching him eye you with that insatiable hunger building steadily upon those beautiful, angular features as he lifted his thigh, pressed into the roll of your hips encouragingly.

“Such things I would do for you, milovaná,” That echoing, softly pitched voice of his sounded so longing as he watched you lean closer, for once the one slightly taller than him in your seat, forcing him to tilt the sharp of his chin up, “Precious to me.”

As if still trying to explain himself and his violence. Tongue made a little tutting sound against the roof of your mouth as you shushed him, leaned forward to lip a grazing little kiss to his upper lip. Precious to him. Protective of you. It fizzed beneath your heart, warmed in your veins and joined that delicious, growing weight of the ache for him in the pit of you. Who in your life had ever treasured you so? And you’d been so callous as to scold him for it.

Determined now to make it up to him, to show him that dark place he’d made a home in your heart, to let him taste how deep your devotions ran. Sample your affection and make a feast of apology.

Slow, so slow, the sharp and careful drag of nails and fingertips came at last, down either side of your spine, ghosting over the curve of hips only to play back up the edges of the lace that barely covered the shape of your bottom, catching and toying, threatening to snag. Coy tease, lighting little ticklish licks of electric fire under skin, prickling into the softness of your flesh, urging the roll of hips forward as you rode his thigh unhurriedly.

“You… you are precious to me too.” You managed to sigh out, the marvelous friction of dampening lace against your sex making cohesive thought as slippery as his thigh was quickly becoming. It had him croon delight; both the words and the way you shuddered as the first hint of a lazy flutter teased behind your navel.

Half lidded eyes watched that curious expression of his soften into the slicking spread of a sharp toothed fox-sly smile as deviously delighted in your admission as a devil could be. Was he devil? Demonic? A terribly gentle harbinger if that was the case.

The gleaming brilliance of eyes slanted closed as your fingertips stroked his throat, as you bent close to kiss the tiny dark mole just above the edge of his mouth, and then to lick at one of the strange, small markings carved darkly into his skin. Claws closed upon the spread of your thighs straddling his own as that warm rumbling, eerie clicking purr of his kicked up once more while your mouth strayed along his throat, down across his collarbone.

For as much as he delighted in unraveling you, it was those small moments when you could return his affections, show him softness and offer caress that seemed to undo him the greatest. Made you feel heady with power any time his head rocked back, or his grip upon his mischievous composure slipped. He was scrabbling, clawing for it now, struggling as you sucked soft, deep purple marks across his skin while your hand slipped down between his lean thighs and the ghosting, dark fog he often ‘clothed’ himself with dissipated at your touch.

Always hard for you, always eager and ready waiting.

Viktor’s chest was stuttering, heaving shallow quick breaths as you slid forward, thumbed aside the gusset of lingerie and straddled him in earnest, hooking ankles back over the tops of his thighs with the bend of your legs. All the better leverage as you pressed the thick, dark length of his cock to the part of your pussy. Let him savor that heat he so desired as you bobbed, slicking your wet along him in slow grinding lifts.

“...Beloved,” His voice, the words seemed to coalesce out of the air itself, drawn from somewhere far more distant than the lean column of his throat. The fire at your back guttered then roared, flames fed on more than the coals beneath them. Instead of more reassurances or sweet pleading, the terrible dark beauty of his mouth was left hanging open while the gleam of eyes shuttered behind taut closed lids.

About time he was the one struggling with his words instead of you. The power of it was delicious, had you lifting to settle over top of him, to let him press to your entrance invitingly. Let him feel how you dripped for him, savor that heat, so close…

Hands clenched upon your hips, their long fingered grasp nearly enough to span and touch at the small of your back, thumbs pressing a slow, circular caress, urging, trying to ease you down upon him. Ah but you were determined, wanted him ravenous, wanted to push that envelope as far as possible and see what it bought you. It was in your nature, you were coming to realize; that insatiable dance toward dangers you could not fathom. The girl who wanted the haunted house, the girl who stayed. The girl madly infatuated with the monster in the shadows under her bed.

“Mmn, impatient…” You panted, breath sticky in your throat, filling lungs like water as instead you lifted from over him and sat back once more, hands smoothing along the lean ripple of his stomach, catching a grip at narrow hips and then sliding inward. “Don’t I get to…mmnh… don’t I get to please you?”

“Moje malá broskvička, you always please m… ahhn!”

That seductive tenor of his voice dropped off sharply as your hands curled grip around the thick girth of his cock. Stiff and heavy in your hands, the same otherworldly deep ashen blue and bruised purple as the rest of him, deepening to that inky black at its smooth head. Fingers licked over it, tightening grip as he twitched in your hands and you stroked slow, let one thumb trace the throbbing ridged rise of thick vein that ran from base nearly to tip, watched him slyly as bright eyes slanted open and his dark head lifted.

Toying at the sensitive give of frenulum, you watched his hips rock, rise under you. Watched that dark smooth, thick bell curve head positively drool pearlescent, sticky drips of precum.

That desiccated third arm of his unfolded from behind him to rise up, grasp at the back of the couch hard enough you could hear the wood of it groan and the jacquard puncture under sharp claws. As he had grown stronger the spectre of that strange additional limb had weakened, faded away, until now it only made itself known in the heights of his hunger or depths of his depravity.

It was nearly violent, how suddenly Viktor canted forward, and you so eager to meet his mouth with yours it became more collision than kiss. He was hot against your mouth, eager in your hands. So easy to lose yourself in him, in how the taste of him filled your mouth, made it water for more, made your tongue burn with a soft fire and the back of your throat thicken.

It was a struggle to draw out the tease, to take your time as you toyed with him, drunk on the air around him, lost in that heavy, cloying lust that thickened blood in your veins and made each motion a slow struggle. You smiled sleepily down at him as you rose to take a straddle of him for the second time that night.

This time, however, you let him in.

Painfully sweet, that delicious slow stretch. Your moans soft things under the echoing deep of his long groan as you worked yourself unhurriedly down upon the straining heat of the curve of his cock, the slow gripping, slick clench of inner walls easing inch by inch to give the thick of him quarter. Oh, so full, so deep when at last you were seated completely, hips just barely rolling a fraction every so often as you railed against the clenching, burning, insistent need to feel him move within, to ride him until your legs gave out and mind broke. Free of every little care save the hot spill of him inside you, wiping away the world and leaving just his embrace. Not yet, not yet.

Under you lean hips lifted, fought the obvious urge to fuck up into you with the straining impatience that you move, already. But still you sat, smiling near drunkenly as you squeezed around him, gasping at the hard little twitch you could feel within that inner grasp, gazing into the narrowed fire of golden eyes before you, reveling in how you could feel his ache, his need singing in the silence strung between you, ready to snap as easily as a strand of saliva caught between mouths after a kiss.

The entrancing shape of Viktor’s mouth curled at one edge as the dawning realization of what you were doing seemed to break over him and he channeled all that hot desire to hammer up into you instead into pitching forward once more to press his face to the bare slash of your sternum.

Arms folded around his head and shoulders in a loose embrace, cheek coming to rest upon the strange soft of his dark hair as you held him, felt him mumble sweetly against your flesh as his own arms finally enfolded you fully, clawed hands shaped dark wings to the planes of your bare shoulder blades. So delicious, to just sit there, full of him, surrounded by him, warm want seeping through veins and skin, soft fire burning flush under cheeks and hot up throat and scalp as you luxuriated in the lapping, licking waves of the building tide of lust rising with every second you refused to stir to motion. Just holding him within and relishing that intense, unspeakable feeling of completion he always offered so eagerly.

It was a sensation that had haunted your waking hours and sleep alike, had you eager to race home at the end of each day, frequently distracted you from your work. How wanting him infiltrated every innocent thought any more, every quiet moment. Had you squirming in your chair at work, pressing thighs together and struggling to keep the small of your back from arching at the sweet, intrusive fantasy of him under you, in you, of just sitting upon him, struggling to focus on what you needed to do as he whispered adoring filth in your ear.

No way to tell him, to find the courage to give voice to those dirty little thoughts… but you could show him.

Viktor’s head tilted and you loosened arms to allow him to gaze up along you, the sharp of his chin still pressed to your sternum and eyes shyly half-lidded as if seeking approval, agreement. It had you smile once more, that so terrifying a creature could be so deeply infatuated with you as to seem wound around your little finger. It was a heady rush, a sweet spice to the illicit thrill of allowing this unearthly monster between your thighs; to let him into your very heart.

And how could you not, with how softly his mouth closed over your own as you tugged him up to catch a lingering kiss from him? With that electric tingling deliciousness of his tongue and its seductive late summer taste of tart crisp apple and bloody, earthy sage, of dripping honeycomb and the briny bite of salt tears.

You kissed him slow and deep, savoring, taking all the time in the world, fingers ghosting along the sharp, long line of his jaw until his arms began to loosen and long fingered hands strayed down along ribs toward the nearly bare curve of your bottom while his tongue painted a wandering, lingering wet lick down the offering of your throat.

You meant to make him stop, but devoid of the distraction of your mouth under his own he went licking at the dark, wine colored lace of that lingerie, tonguing slowly over the pressing peak of one nipple through the thin fabric before nosing the teasing slash of lace aside to close lips over the sensitive sweet bud.

Slow, slow suckle and release, over and over until you were shivering, aching, dragging your own nails down the nape of his elegant neck as the tip of that impossible tongue of his wrapped and spiraled round the singing burn of your flushed nipple, tickling and teasing its stiffness as you moaned long and shudderingly low for him, warmth blossoming, spilling within in slow rivulets.

“W-wait…wait…”

“Wait? Why wait, delicious one?” He murmured, releasing you from his mouth with an obscenely wet little pop that had the depths of your belly clench, had the hot throbbing at your core tighten around him invitingly. He was already headed to uncover the neglected hard nubbed and eager little twin to your hotly colored and glistening wet nipple.

One dark hand slid down between you both, thumb seeking the spread of your sex, unerringly brushing featherlight tease along the swollen ache of your clit, a ghosting caress that had your entire body convulse hard in a gasping little mewl. Calling your bluff, raising the stakes.

“You make me wait. Wait years for you, and now wait all day. Make me worried, so cruel. Little tease.”

Delightful to hear him growl softly at being so denied, no heat in the lovely reverberating, eerie echoing noise of it, only determined frustration and seeping want.

“Wait,” You still insisted breathlessly, writhing over him as his hips dipped only to grind the hard hot length of him up into you, threatening to undo you, threatening to loose that slipping hold he had on his own straining yearning.

Hands pressed to his chest as you struggled to stay still, struggled against the way hips disobeyed you with each new, barely there pass of his thumb grazing your clit. Met resistance as he struggled against that base urge, that all consuming drive, until at last you could feel the shift of him once more mastering that ravenous hunger, feel him give and let you push him back, push him down to sink indolently back in his seat upon the couch.

Gleaming amber eyes gazed up at you tormentingly as that thumb of his began a taut little circle that had you sinking teeth into the plush of your own lower lip, stifling and strangling the breathless whines building up in the back of your throat as you shivered in his lap. His laughter a hissed sibilance, dark and rich as chocolate, soft as satin, licking into your ears as you fought and lost the battle against that first delectable orgasm, head thrown back as the tether snapped and you came undone over him, clenching rush wringing tight at your belly, deep in your core and coursing outward in one pummeling tidal crush of wonderful heat.

“Ahh…there, little peach…” He soothed as he rocked hips beneath the burning complaint of your tensed thighs and bent knees, offering you just a little taste of what you might have if only you’d move for him, give in to the growing urge to ride him to your own destruction. “Isn’t that better? Ah, moje milovaná how you drip for me. Give up, delicious one. I always win your games…”

One hard little buck of his hips drove him up into you as if to make his point for him, leaving you gasping, air whistling soundlessly out of the open oh of your mouth as you clung both to him and the shredding, unraveling rope of your willpower.

Games, yes. You liked playing little games with him, didn’t you? His teasing rocked you backward into a memory of months ago, when you’d been struggling with much needed work to the house and he’d been insistently nipping at your heels, tormenting you with little touches and whispers, pulling you distractingly from the task at hand until you’d given up in an amused huff.

“You want to play, hm?” You’d asked to the empty air, not nearly so bold as you managed to sound, fighting how badly you’d wanted to just strip off paint stained and dust covered work clothes and let him settle between your thighs right there on the dropcloth covered floor.

A stirring in shadows of one dark corner caught your attention as it spilled and spread, gathered and rose to a crouched inky shape undefined save for the features of his face illuminated by the twin lanterns of those brilliant eyes.

Your devil looked stunned, momentarily shocked before those sharp teeth all bared in a gleaming, lopsided curl of a smirk as he came shifting forward, lean shoulders and sharp shoulder blades hunched like a large cat as claws dug into the floor, audibly prickling the fabric of messy dropcloths strewn about. Coiled to spring.

Your own smile spread, grew sprawling until you let out a shriek and turned to sprint off into the house.

There was no sound of footfalls behind you, no huffing breath to match your own as you had skidded through the halls. No quarter to hide here, no place he could not find you, there was only flight and the silent chase from the shadows you could feel stretching out toward you, reaching ephemeral fingers, grasping in your wake.

He got you first in the dining room, massive old unused space bare save for the ancestral table that stretched the length of it. He caught you from behind the door, surging forward in a dark rush of smoke and shade, had you pitching backward onto the table as that pretty face of his shoved hungrily between your thighs, breath cool over the fabric of the pants you wore, the slow dragging swirl of his tongue luxuriating over the denim hiding velvet softness of an inner thigh from his taste and up, inward to lap at the crux of thighs as if even through pants he could taste sodden cotton barely covering glossed lips. You arched in spite of yourself as he pushed the full force of his face hard between your legs.

Only when he paused to moan quietly at the scent of you did you find your moment, shimmied backward over the table to drop off the other side and forced weak-kneed legs to work, to keep up that chase.

Peels of your laughter echoed through the dark halls as you fled, his own deeper in its wake, that otherworldly back and forth reverberation impossible to source, everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Up the taut spiral of stairs you went, through the upstairs rooms only to have him catch you as you tried to escape back downstairs via another winding stairwell, shooting out of the dark to press you face first to the wall as he ground into you, weight pinning you to the wallpaper as he slid a hand between you and the wainscoting to slip fingers down within the waistband of pants, stroking, petting, caressing as you rolled against him, panting. The pinch of his teeth catching at the curve of your shoulder.

“Don’t run, little peach.” He was whispering against your skin, teasing clit through cotton in a way that had you bucking, fruitlessly fighting that delectable pull of how well he’d come to know you, how well he could get you. Teasing tight little circles and metronome rubs against sodden panties and in another minute the coiling, tensing, building weight behind your navel was at the tipping point.

“Ah, ahn, ahhhn…Viktor…”

“Nowhere I can’t find you, milovaná. Say I win, let me feast.” Mouth against your ear, teeth tugging soft at the tender shell. Eyes fought to roll back in your head, but you managed to somehow squeeze out from between him and the wall to nearly tumble down the stairs and spill out into the kitchen.

The door to the basement stood dark and silent against the far wall, and without a second thought you fled for it.

“No!”

Suddenly Viktor was before you in less time than it took to blink, barring the door, back to it and arms spread. Handsome features no longer twisted in delight at your new game, but rather stark in deadly seriousness and… terror?

“Viktor,” It had thrown you, pitched you straight into scolding, as if he were a child, “It’s just a basement.”

You’d been down there before, with the landlord, on the day you agreed to the lease. Nothing bad down there, just dust and piles of old junk from previous owners. Nothing to warrant a reaction like this. Especially from a creature so fearless, so impervious as your sweet devil.

Still, he caught your wrist as you reached insistently for the doorknob, grasp tight around fine bones as he shook his head in mute pleading, the brilliance of eyes widening further.

“No!”

His fear, because that had to be what it was -fear- softened you. And while you tucked that dangerous spike of curiosity away for another time, you could not deny that it was there. One more little mystery about him, one more secret he wouldn’t or couldn’t speak.

“Okay, it’s okay…” The course of your stopped hand in his grip turned, lifted, rose to cup the hollow of one bruise-blue cheek as you lifted on tiptoes to brush the soothing invitation of a kiss to his lips.

“Promise.”

Promise promise promise. It pulled insistently at you, had you rock backward, down onto bare heels as you struggled against the tug of its tide, nodding soundlessly, unaware you were moving, being drawn along by him until you felt the rumbling hum of pleasure emanating from his chest under the splay of your hands. Felt the sweet burn of legs bent too long ease with your rocking.

Viktor’s hand had strayed up, caught a tender grasp of your throat and jaw as your hips had begun to roll, to offer him and you both a bare fraction of sweet movement. One gentle hook clawed fingertip traced tenderly over the give of the edge of your mouth and soft of your cheek with his grasp. His other stayed firm in its grip of your upper thigh, thumb picking up its encouraging little rubs again to your now hypersensitive and slicked little clit.

“Do you give up, little peach?” He was murmuring invitingly, the tone of that slithering, seductive voice insidiously knowing, well aware you’d already teetered across your tipping point. His thumb pressing his point as the tickle of his nail dragged slow across that hot little bundle of nerves, making you tense and struggle not to writhe, struggle to swallow a pleading little whimper of a noise you knew he could feel beneath the palm he had cupped to the column of your throat.

All the answer he required.

Hands fell away, and then the delicious stretched feeling of him within you was gone, as gone as the body beneath your straddle was. Only to have arms enfold you from behind, to be lifted, moved, weightless until you felt the warmth of the fireplace licking at your face, felt the soft itch of the ancient oriental carpet beneath your bare skin. On your stomach and no recollection of how you got there, Viktor caged over you, on his knees, dark head dipping as his face came pushing, shoved into the bare expanse of skin between the space of shoulder blades.

One elegantly long clawed hand caged the nape of your neck, kept you pinned as your own arms folded up alongside your head where Viktor kept you shoved to the floor, fingers digging into the old fibres of the carpet as he lavished you, mouth making a slow map of bare skin, lifting goosebumps as lips grazed, teeth pinched tenderly, as the sweet damp of his tongue tasted and toyed along the hollow trench of your spine.

This was worship, this was holy. Here in the dark, flickering flames lighting orange, dancing behind closed eyelids as you succumbed, welcomed that tender monster to make a meal of you any way he wished. Managing to get knees under you one by one, you pressed hips up, pushed the invitation of backside up against the beast caging you in, and felt the desiccated dry grip of that third arm come grabbing, gripping tightly at the plush curve of your bottom.

Slowly, unhurriedly, your lovely devil made his way down the expanse of your back, the grip of his hand leaving the nape of your neck as both hands instead took a grasp of the backs of your thighs taut enough to dent and dimple the yielding give of tender, generous flesh. That terrifying third hand slid from its own grip, dry scrape of nails raising little lines of hot fire where they scraped across skin. It caught the lace that barely covered the cleft of your bottom, grabbed hold and dragged the scant remaining protection of it aside, leaving you fully bare to the humid wash of Viktor’s breath.

Hips pressed up mindlessly, your train of thought long gone off the rails as you sank into the delicious release of inhibition, worry or shame, enveloped in the intoxicant of your sweet devil and unconscious to all save the cloyingly sweet sensations of his caress.

You could have luxuriated in it forever, floated lost within it… right up until his hands slid upward, shaped to the pretty curve of your ass, thumbs pressed to the crease where thighs and bottom met, and prised cheeks apart. The sudden wash of vulnerability had your stomach flip, had your lungs sucking a sharp breath as you felt the sinking grip of his teeth mark the inner, tender curve of one cheek, heard him murmur delight at the soft squeak it earned him.

Oh but then, then came that endless, dragging tease of his tongue. Warm and soft as it traced down that exposed cleft, rolling and slowly roiling in its wet warmth as it passed and pressed against the puckered give of your asshole. It had you gasp, had every line of you tense and shiver as he licked, toyed against that tautness.

“Would you give me this, little one?” He teased in obvious eagerness, either oblivious to your mortification or else delighting in it, “Let me have every inch of you, every sweet part?”

Heat flooded cheeks to rival that rolling off the licking flames of the fireplace you lay before, and protest died small deaths on your lips, mumbled into nothings as his tongue pressed, licked and pushed at you.

This was not a liberty you’d ever offered anyone, and not one of your former partners had ever even asked. It had your jaw clenching, teeth whining in their crush and grit together as he strayed lower, slicked along and slowly licked across your entrance to gather the dripping wet left behind from the first release he’d so sweetly offered you. Ah but that relief did not last long, not with how he strayed back up, redolent with your own heat and lubrication, to slowly, slowly slide that tongue of his within the gradual, easing give of your ass.

“Don- don’t… ah!!”

Foreign, filthy, incredibly vulnerable and above all intensely arousing, you squirmed on your knees before him. Panting, gasping each time he withdrew only to press in further, you were dying by inches, aching below where his attentions had focused, clenching hungrily around nothing as his tongue pressed more and more deeply into you. Electrifying and confusing, it had you keening quietly with each coiling slow, slippery thrust.

You wanted to demure, wanted to beg him to stop, to not… but oh.

Hot wet curling, licking pressure deep within had you moaning soft encouragement instead, had you digging fingernails into the carpet and pressing back against him. Debased and uncaring, drunk on him, for him. Begging him to do whatever he wished, however he wished, as you felt your tightness open, yield and give to the thick glistening push of his tongue.

Beneath you rough carpet teased ticklishly at the sensitive, achingly proud points of stiff nipples, the scant lace of that bodysuit long since gone awry to leave both breasts mashed bare to the floor as you writhed and rocked face down on your knees, positively oozing down your thighs for him as he ignored the eager enticement of your hungry sex in favor of tormenting you in this mortifying, gloriously debauched new way.

Horror and delight mingled until you could not untangle one from the other, until you were pleading his name, practically shouting it between stuttered, strangled moans. But he would not stop, not until bones had nearly gone to water and you were scrabbling at the carpet beneath you, hovering interminably on the verge of cumming around nothing at all. Until it would have taken just a breath of his blown over the throbbing want of your clit to send you over, or even the merciful press of a single finger within you to give you something, anything else to end this wonderful, mind-melting agony.

Only then did you feel him withdraw, and let your entire body go limp, bottom still ignominiously in the air, huffing breath and groaning softly at denial of your own release.

Not for long.

Arms came gathering, lifting. Easing you onto your side. Head found a pillow against the bend of his arm as Viktor curled himself along the back of you. Warmth at your back as inviting as the heat from the fireplace was at your front, rolling licking flames washing in soft lapping waves as you melted back against Viktor with a begging little hum.

No need.

Gathered close, he nuzzled into the spill of your hair, pressed his mouth to the ticklish little nook behind one ear. Over hip and thigh his free hand came stroking a soothing little caress before gripping, raising your top leg, prickling of claws under the crook of your bent knee.

Just enough to give him space to slot himself home once again.

There had been many times, since that first night, when he’d taken you so hard you felt sure he’d break you in half. When he’d left you so fucked out and wonderfully bruised in his hungry and enthusiastic hedonism that even standing the following day was a sweetly painful reminder of just how thoroughly he’d made you his own. You craved it, if you were being honest, reveled in the times he lost all control and the whole world dialed down to the raw need you each felt. No art or grace in it, nothing but a mindless drive to be as deeply, viciously connected as two desperate creatures could get.

This, however, was not one of those times.

No, this was slow, the way he pressed and slid teasingly between your thighs, cock slicking along wet folds as you could feel your entrance clench with each slow thrusting pass that failed to fill you, that slid right by. That cruelly adoring monster nuzzling kisses to the rising curve of your shoulder not satisfied until your hips were rocking, bucking, trying anything to have him inside you once more.

Only after you’d practically come to tears with denial did that terrible, beautiful creature of yours finally relent, pressing, easing at the throb of your entrance. No words for that delicious, hard ridged way the head of his cock spread you as he sank into you unhurriedly, had eyes rolling back in your head as you tensed outward like a strung bow from crown to the small of your back. Lids shut tight, blotting out all the world save for him, the heat of him spreading, filling, finally.

“Are we done playing, beloved…?”

That silken, beguiling echo came slipping into your ear in all its undoing glory, ruining consciousness, leaving nothing but sodden, heavy want in its wake. His third hand slid over your side, cupped up the softness of a breast as you shuddered at the horrifying sandpaper and twig feel of clawed finger and thumb pinching one tender nipple, prickling at singing skin with a twisting little tease that thrilled through you in peals of painful pleasure.

“Yes…yes!” You choked on it, near drooling, tears leaking from the tight clench of shut eyes to run hotly over the bridge of nose and drip onto the pillow made of his folded arm.

Tender, slow. Utterly unhurried in how he took you, hips rolling with a small snap at each end as you wormed and pressed to him, letting you suffer sweetly for your sins as he fucked you slow as he liked, reveling in your undoing as the stringing bliss of each slow built orgasm came one by one by one. Until you were little more than a shivering mess, core trembling and hands gone to weak shaking as he fucked you lovingly through each little ruination, letting you milk at him with each frantic little release, giving you no rest as he rocked into you, kept you keening softly to accompaniment with the deliciously obscene wet sound of your coupling.

Enthralling, every time, the way he felt both too much and not enough all at once. How he turned you into a base and greedy little thing, like beneath it all you were just that yearning, just your hunger and desire and nothing else. Distilled down to his.

The focus of each lewd, unraveling little thought; the way he dragged against you within, the way he pressed almost painfully at the zenith of every thrust against cervix, how the deafening pulse of your own blood in your ears sang his name, ran hot and thick in a soft choral thrumming just for him.

Yours, your own. Your making and undoing. The dark stain of your soul and shadowed hollows of every chamber of your heart.

Your beautiful, exquisite horror.

One hand had lifted, reached back to grab a fistfull of his hair, had him laughing softly as he suckled and bit at the red flushed curve of your ear. It felt like hours, like ages, before he finally shoved his face hard into the hollow of throat and shoulder, until he succumbed, growling softly punctuated with quiet clicking, eerie delight as hips lost their gentle rhythm, became almost slovenly frantic in their last few thrusts before he buried himself deep in one final hard drive.

Impossible to ever become used to that sensation; to the unspeakable lush heat of his release spilling out as it overfilled you, at the sweet little swell within and tautly obscene stretch you could literally feel. To the elation, the searing fire of the commingled slurry of yearning and satisfaction that quadrupled as he came within you, the way it kindled every last ounce of you, inundating and overwhelming, wiping away everything save that writhing, wringing, blinding ecstasy that spun out slow deaths in trailing, pinwheeling sparks coursing out the length of limbs, simmering to nothingness at the tips of clenched fingers and curled toes.

He was speaking, but you could not make out the words, drowning as you were, slipping into the dark, warm waters as oblivion folded around you, the incomprehensible tenor of his voice trailing after you into the welcoming maw of unconsciousness.

No idea what time it was when wakefulness found you again.

The confusion of disorientation reached you first. No fire, no rough old carpet or hard floor under your skin. The sensation of warm, soft sheets and the give of mattress, the scent of your own pillow under your cheek flooded in slowly. Your own bed. Freed of the tickle of lace or constriction of lingerie, skin bare and smoothly clean, save for a slight lingering stickiness between the sweet throb of gently swollen, used folds.

The darkness of the bedroom was absolute, the silence heavy. At your back was a soundless rumble, and the lovely circle of long limbs tangled around you had you smile sleepily as you sank back into relaxation, fingertips tracing over the open sprawled palm of one elegant hand, up along forearm in a caress that had Viktor stirring at your back, unfitting himself until you could roll onto your back and he could settle over you, the weight of him pinning you gently to the mattress. Head tilted back into the pillow to allow the lazy trail of kisses down the offering of your throat.

The delicious warmth of blankets left you as Viktor reared up, soft glow of golden eyes opening in the dark as he began to sink back down, between the spread of thighs that opened for him in silent invitation.

Somewhere down below in the dark of the house came the soft tinkling of shattering glass.

Viktor was caged back over you in a heartbeat, before you’d even half registered the noise from the depths of the house below you. The torpor of sleep fled sharply as his clawed grip scooped under you possessively, as the air in the bedroom grew thick, chill and viscerally rife with brittle rage.

“Viktor?” Sleep-thick voice strained a whisper.

“Sssshh.” The hushing noise escaped him, not soothing nor calming, but like the escape of steam between sharp teeth. “Stay here. Hide.”

“What?!” Heart hammered hard against the cage of ribs as your hands tightened their grip upon his shoulders, fear sharpening the edge of confusion to a knifepoint.

“Do not leave this room.” The hateful focus of brilliant eyes upon the closed door of the room shifted, dragged attention back to the bewilderment of your features. Felt the backs of his fingers graze your cheeks before hands took a firm hold.

“Listen to me, sweet one. Stay. Hide… Now.”

And the next instant he was gone.

You could hear heavy footfalls on the stairs, and an unfamiliar familiar voice calling, too muffled to distinguish individual words. Still, it struck you to action, obeying the simple directions Viktor had left you with. No closets, no room in the large bureau either. No time to make it to the bathroom and nowhere in there to really hide either. Up off the bed, dragging the comforter along, you wrapped up in it and dove beneath the bed to tuck up in a huddle, pressed shivering to one corner near the wall, praying to be mistaken for a pile of discarded bedclothes should the owner of that voice make his way into the room.

“Lovie…? Where you at little lovie?” That voice, clearer now in the hallway, coming closer. “Come on out, sweetheart. I just wanna talk. Really did a number on the ol’ hand earlier. Think you could make it up to me? Ya know a man works with his hands…how am I s’posed to…”

Even under the suffocating swaddling of the comforter the sudden, oppressive darkness flooded in, black upon black, blotting out any semblance of light and squeezing air from lungs like the slow wringing twist of a wet cloth.

Out in the hall the footsteps had stopped.

“What… what the fu-”

There was a scrabbling, a scrambling, a sound of frantic, blind fear followed by the deafening rush of wind and wings and a thousand gaping, gasping maws sucking all remnants of air left behind, starving sharp teeth clacking in a cacophony ivory chorus.

And then the screaming began.

Once, when you were little, you’d seen a rabbit chased by a cat. You’d watched the brown streak of it with the orange tabby hot on its tail, and a second later when they were out of sight you’d heard the shrill scream of the rabbit. The terrified pitch of it ear-splitting in its intensity with a primal, gripping panic that verged on the most intrinsic of fear made audible.

Not since that unfortunate rabbit had you witnessed a sound so alarming, so horrified; the noise of a creature come face to face with its death and begging that it were not so.

No matter how tightly you shoved the soft thickness of the comforter to your ears, no matter how hard your hands pressed the cotton batting fabric of it over either side of your head, nothing could blot out that revolting, blood chilling sound.

Time ground to a halt. It was still ringing in your ears, still as shattering and sickening as when it started. Was it coming from you, or around you? Where did you begin and the sound end? And huddled, shivering, horrified in your dark little bundle of blankets, jammed as far up under the bed as you could get, you waited, shoulder and hip bone and elbows aching against the press of the hard floor.

A hand closed on your ankle, grip tight, and pulled.

Only then did the spell break, did you realize the sounds had stopped as your own terrified shriek burst from your throat. Hands scabbling hot panic as you were dragged from beneath the bed.

“Malá broskvička, sshhh… shhh…”

No one there but Viktor, crouched long limbed beside the bed, unwrapping you hurriedly from the bundle of blankets, cradling you up, hands soothing, calming, cupping your face, drawing you in, smoothing tenderly along arms and back, cradling the nape of your neck as you pitched forward into his arms, clinging tightly, trying to quell the shaking of your own limbs with how tight you gripped him. Heart a jackhammer in your chest, like that terrified rabbit of memory had got caught beneath your ribs and was frantically trying to kick itself free.

“Viktor! What…what happened, what was that?!”

He would not answer for a long time, simply gathering you to him, cooing wordlessly or else in that language you did not understand. Smoothing your hair, kissing and thumbing away hot tracks of tears you hadn’t even realized you’d shed. Until the pair of you lay upon the floor, in the crumpled mess of comforter and your panic had subsided into a bone-tired exhaustion and the knotted fear in your stomach faded to a vague nausea, until the tension had eased to a dull ache behind your eyes.

“Viktor?” You pressed again, cuddled close, fingertips trembling in little aftershocks as you touched his chin, traced the shape of his mouth. Whatever had happened had pulled the curtains from the windows, left them hanging in tattered shreds so that the silver moonlight streamed in, offering a thin, blue cast illumination to the shape of the beautiful horror cradled up against you.

“He meant to hurt you.” He murmured. “I told you.”

Told you told you told you. Blood drained from your face as you watched a sad little smile turn one edge of Viktor’s mouth under your fingers. Tried to shove aside and silence the thoughts that flooded in of what might have happened, had you been alone, truly alone in that great house.

“I will never let anyone harm you, my sweet one.”

The words were darkly reassuring, dripping horrifying promise as he turned his face from under your touch to press a kiss cool as the first frost to your forehead. One clawed hand slid from its gentle grip of your hip to span the slight swell of your lower stomach and your frantic heart stopped dead in your chest, world pitching violently on its axis at his next words.

“...Either of you.”

#viktor x reader #incubus viktor #monster viktor #viktor arcane #viktor fic #arcane fic #viktor au #arcane au #viktorxreader #viktor arcane x reader #viktor arcane x you #arcane viktor #mdni

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saniaeart · 9 months

Text

Inked on my back

#SoulmateAU Zosan fanfiction (available on AO3 here)

In a world where almost half the population had a soulmate tattoo, Sanji shouldn't have been surprised to see a mark on every one of his nakamas. The black heart on the back of Luffy's right hand was one of the most discreet tattoos he'd ever seen. He much preferred, however, the delicate blue feather on his beloved Nami's forearm. He had noticed all of this without really broaching the subject. Events with Krieg had not allowed them to dwell on such details... But when he had finally embarked with the little crew of the strawhat... He knew that the marks of their destinies would be evoked. The subject always came up when it was obvious that everyone around the table had a soulmate, somewhere in this world. When the fateful question fell, he'd answered what he'd always believed, despite the phantom sensation between his shoulder blades... "I don't have a soul mate." It was a poor lie, one he'd adopted from an early age... If his mother, such a gentle mother, had taught him with tenderness that the mark that adorned his back was a blessing... His father's words had had far more impact. "No one will ever want you. You're worthless."

"You don't deserve this." No, he probably didn't deserve to live next to his other half. Even if he had to admit bitterly that fate had decided otherwise through no fault of his own. At first, he hadn't really paid attention. He hadn't made the connection... In fact, part of him had sunk into a latent denial that prevented him from realizing what was right under his nose. But one evening, he had to face the facts... The sword had been placed delicately against a wall while its owner sipped a glass of sake. Out of the corner of his eye, Sanji had watched the blade and inhaled with a certain lack of confidence. Unwittingly, he felt his hand reach for the hilt of the sword. His fingers brushed the familiar black patterns on a white background... Heart pounding, he felt a strange wave run through him as his back suddenly itched. The white sword at the center of his shoulder blades was nauseatingly similar. He decided with a wave of his hand that it could only be a coincidence. But that hadn't counted his luck...

A few snacks on a tray after perfect service to his beloved Nami, Sanji had instinctively made his way to the idiot swordsman. Just because he was stupidly insufferable didn't mean he couldn't be fed. What he hadn't counted on, however, was a sight far too upsetting for his taste. Working out in the warm sunshine, Zoro had shamelessly removed his top and lifted his weights, leaving his half-naked body for all to see. While he'd been spared his first thoughts of the all-too-imposing bulging muscles, he couldn't help but notice that terrible spot of color... A saturated, dark blue... A coelacanth sat at the base of Zoro's loins. As rare and unique as the sea... As intriguing as it was frightening. Forgetting to breathe, Sanji seemed to pale for a moment as the marimo's attention turned to him.

"Cook."

His gaze met his rival's, who was breathing softly after an effort. He saw only curiosity mixed with the slightest hint of annoyance until he seemed to notice what Sanji was wearing. The bold man grinned, putting down his weights. He had recognized the particular shape of the onigiris waiting patiently on their tray. Coming to his senses, the chef simply set down the snacks next to the swordsman and left without a word. The doubts he'd managed to bury suddenly rose to the surface and nearly suffocated him. He was no fool... He was carrying Wado on his back... And Zoro was carrying one of the rarest creatures in the oceans...

"All Blue."

Barely whispered, he hadn't recognized his trembling voice as he locked himself in his kitchen to regain control over his train of thought. A scar on the back is a swordsman's shame. How ironic. It had taken the representation of his entire being to betray the swordsman's trust before they'd even met. This mark, this location was proof that he didn't deserve Zoro. That he didn't deserve to exist... He was a mere plague, a stain on the immaculate back of a courageous swordsman, far from a coward. He was neither his equal, nor what that idiot marimo deserved.

Of course, the subject had not failed to come up again for the umpteenth evening over a good meal he'd worked hard to make for all his nakamas.

"That's a funny fish on your back, Zoro," Luffy had said, leaning towards the swarthy swordsman's skin.

"It's true I've never seen such a specimen. It's... peculiar."

Nami's words had caused Zoro to roll his eyes as he sipped his glass of sake. Sanji squinted and smacked his skull to avoid showing disrespect to his princess. Words were exchanged, the tone rising under the general exasperation and laughter of their captain. This had helped change the subject, but Sanji was always short of luck when it came to this sort of thing... And that idiot marimo hadn't missed a beat.

"I don't give a damn about the fish. It's just a silly tattoo."

Sanji's heart had clenched in spite of himself as he inhaled a puff of his cigarette. The rest of the evening had been quiet, and it was back in his kitchen to clean up that he felt himself getting heavier. Zoro was a man of action, a man of proof and determination. He wasn't one to let the world decide for him... So it was obvious that he attached no importance to evidences that a destiny was in reserve for him. He had decided long ago that he would be the best swordsman in the world... Just as Luffy would be king of the pirates. And as surprising as it was, Sanji believed in them. He knew they would become the best... As much as he believed that one day he'd find All Blue. Whether this was naivety or stubbornness, it didn't matter. It was a certainty, that's all. A far more beautiful certainty than the universal offer of a soulmate... At least, he was trying to convince himself.

Hiding his mark wasn't all that complicated for the cook. He wore suits all the time and bathed alone at the end of the day after his kitchen was perfectly tidy. What's more, his nakama didn't seem to question what he'd told them about his lack of a soul mate. No one made the connection for lack of knowledge... Until Robin joined the crew. The woman was beautiful, intelligent. And it was this that failed him for the umpteenth day.

"What a beautiful coelacanth you have there, Zoro-san."

"A beautiful what?"

Sanji had pursed his lips when he heard the young woman's words. In the end, this was hardly surprising, Robin was a great reader and an inexhaustible source of knowledge in her own.

"A coelacanth, a rare fish."

A true living fossil that lived in very few places. Who was the very representation of All blue... That Sanji was the only one to understand... Until now. Robin's intense, unspoken gaze landed on him. A shiver of anxiety ran through his body, but he had, by some miracle, managed not to panic. He trusted the young woman... She would keep silent, no matter what she thought she knew or didn't know. He knew it... He believed it. He hoped so.

It was during yet another quiet, warm evening that Sanji's gaze fell once more on Wado. He had learned her name some time ago, but had never mentioned it or questioned the swordsman. Not for lack of trying. But he'd never had the chance... Or at least, taken it. Tonight was nothing special, but he couldn't help asking in a low, uncertain voice.

"Where did she come from...?"

If Zoro had been surprised by the question, he hadn't let on, simply resting his gaze on the cook. The swordsman remained silent for some time, until Sanji thought he hadn't said the words out loud after all. Zoro was not a talkative man. Least of all about his past... Least of all with himself. Just as he was about to turn away, his stomach twisted with disappointment, the marimo answered softly.

"It was my first soulmate's weapon."

The revelation hit Sanji in the stomach. Zoro had used a term that was far from harmless. He who had been clear up to now, proclaiming that he didn't believe in universal destiny but in his own decisions...

"First...?"

He couldn't help asking, his voice surprisingly calm even though he felt his whole body shaking discreetly.

"Yeah. I know what the tattoo on my back means and the fact that you all believe it, but... Kuina was my soul mate no matter what the world has to say."

"Where is she today ?"

"She's dead."

A new burden weighed down his gut. How could he compete with the memory of a dead woman...? How could he compete with yet another swordswoman who, to be sure, had all the esteem in the world Zoro could muster for anyone...? His face must have betrayed some thought, Zoro sighing as he rolled his eyes.

"I don't need your condolences, I mourned long ago."

But the cook couldn't manage to mourn his ironic fate... And cruel. It was too hard. Beyond the things he, a poor cook, didn't deserve, Zoro deserved so much. He deserved the love and rivalry of a young woman equal to him. He deserved the strength of an adversary as strong and courageous as him... Not a failure like himself. Not a coward who, from their first evidence of curiosity to get to know him better, had lied to his crew... To his nakamas, whom he now loved so dearly.

Thriller bark had been a pure nightmare. He would never forget that vision of horror. Zoro, standing in the middle of that pile of blood...

"Nothing happened", he had said.

Sanji hadn't believed it, but it hadn't mattered. What had terrified him wasn't the marimo's stupid sacrifice per se... No. What he hadn't been able to digest was his own cowardice, which could, after one last heartbeat, have become eternal. If Zoro had died... He would never have been able to rid himself of this latent guilt. Of the morbid silence he always kept about that white blade in his back. If this event had terrified him to the depths of his being, time had relegated it to the rank of a belated nightmare... An unforgettable memory. Everything had been bearable again. Until Kuma. The loss of every nakama had been unbearable. The sudden disappearance. The silence after the impact. Nothing could have prepared him for what fate had reserved for them. A destiny he had never questioned, despite his doubts and fears. A fate he had finally accepted after many long months. If he couldn't let go of his cowardice... He couldn't let go of this all too powerful feeling either. This love for his crew. For Zoro. For their dreams. That he considered himself weak was no longer truly important. What mattered was what the people around him on this particular island could give him. Strength. Technique. And perhaps, a little courage...

"You're not a cowardly man, Sanji. Don't let your demons convince you otherwise."

Ivankov had been a listening ear after he'd abandoned silence. Never had he imposed. Never yet had he reproached him for his actions. But his words, always straightforward, as sharp as the blades of his soul mate, struck him without fail.

"Perhaps there's a world out there where those patches of color embedded in our skin are just images for children. False promises made by a fate-maker with a sick sense of humor. But it's not ours, and you know it."

Yes, he knew. Today even more than yesterday. And tomorrow, probably even more than now. His silence had been a real burden from the start. More than he cared to admit. It had been a personal battle into which he had thrown himself body and soul. Investing his energy in lies, fear and cowardice. Luffy, his Nakamas... let alone his other half, Zoro, didn't deserve his behavior. He knew he was weak, despite Ivankov's indispensable help. Despite Zeff and his benevolence hidden beneath his leg kicks. And if he didn't deserve the love of his crew. From that idiot marimo... They deserved more than his dishonesty. They deserved his dedication, his cooking, his love... They deserved the truth.

"I have a soul mate."

From the corner of his now one and only eye, Zoro gazed at the cook with perplexity. He wasn't going to question his words, understanding the latent lie that had persisted over time. He simply accepted the confession under the starry sky of a calm night and mistakenly thought that would be all. Yet his silence seemed progressively inappropriate. He knew Sanji was romantic. Perhaps he was stupidly insufferable towards women, but he knew how to read beyond that. He wasn't stupid. He knew the cook. He'd learned with time, with virulent exchanges and kicks. He hadn't ignored the insistent glances when he didn't think he was being seen. He'd simply chalked them up to a particular eccentricity. He'd accepted the silences, the strange unspoken words he sometimes couldn't shake off. Zoro wasn't stupid, no. So he understood from Sanji's slumped shoulders and pale gaze that his silence would only hurt.

"Have you met them ?"

"Yes."

The answer came as no surprise, but the tone was far more so. Sanji sounded devastated. Confused. Resigned. It was a mixture of ridiculous feelings that might have annoyed him if he hadn't had so much patience after two years away from his nakamas.

"What's the problem ?"

"I don't think he likes me."

"He ?"

He caught the laughing sigh Sanji let out. There was nothing funny about it though. But he couldn't help it. Sanji was a lady's man. So he had every right to be surprised to discover that the second half the world had decided to give Sanji was a man. Ironic. Even a little cruel. This was why he couldn't stand the idea of destiny itself... He felt trapped and hated having his free will taken away from him. Not to mention the terrible mistake the world had made in giving him a so-called soulmate who wasn't Kuina. He had chosen and preferred to live with the death of one of his halves on his conscience. It was simpler, truer.

"And you, do you love him?"

The obvious question seemed to surprise the cook, who smiled ruefully.

"Yes."

"That's not bad."

For a moment, he thought his answer would make Sanji explode, who suddenly stared at him with annoyance and confusion.

"Not bad ?"

"Yeah. Who can say they don't know how to love, eh ? You love him, that's good. Destiny or not, you feel something and that's all that matters."

This time, the cook seemed bewildered by his words. Perhaps he had been too frank, but if he knew Sanji to be sensitive, he also knew him to be strong and mature enough to bear his answers. This was what he had always appreciated in him. Beyond the nauseating but tender words towards women, beyond the cries against his person, Sanji was a powerful man who could be counted on. In battle and at sea. As cook and rival. He was his equal, his nakama. He loved him, in his own way. All the more reason why he didn't mince his words.

Sanji didn't reply and seemed content to leave the swordsman's living space, shaken. Zoro didn't know if the conversation had ended positively, but he trusted his words. The cook deserved to love far more than he deserved to be loved. The ability to love others was not something trivial. It was something powerful and important. Zoro didn't usually let on, but he considered love a pillar in his life. He had loved Kuina and still did. It was this bond, this deep love, that guided him on his path to excellence. Love was a source of motivation above all sources of worry. Protecting his nakamas didn't require so much effort, because it was now inscribed in him. It was an obviousness that glided over him and enabled him to slice through the air with his blades.

It was what had enabled him to survive Mihawk's training. The distance. While he knew that most of his crew hadn't endured the seperation, he wasn't outdone. Silent nights gazing up at the starry sky, the last thing he shared with his nakamas, had sometimes been hard to bear. He'd been the first to come back to life when he felt Luffy's familiar arms wrap around him in loyal enthusiasm for his captain. He'd been the first to smile defiantly when he saw the cook's indescribable gaze land on him, on his newly scarred body, on his now missing eye. He had seen the pain... Relief in that azure-blue gaze. He'd been proud of it without really paying attention.

But Sanji didn't seem to share his vision of things. His gazes were vague, barely curious, full of desperate melancholy. He'd stopped counting them after a few weeks, but couldn't resign himself to ignoring them. With each passing day, the cook seemed to become an increasingly complex enigma. He found it hard to grasp some of his gestures, which were too disinterested to be real. Some of his looks, some of his words. He didn't know what had prompted Sanji to make this confession about his soulmate. He wouldn't complain, content in the knowledge that the cook had enough confidence in him to confess something that didn't really concern him... But which, somewhere, must have been important to this idiot romantic.

"I have a soul mate and i don't want to talk about it."

Everyone around the table had had a particular reaction to the sudden confession. Luffy had simply stopped eating, with a curious look on his face. Nami raised her eyebrows. Usopp, discreet as ever, found himself with his mouth wide open. Chopper had swallowed his glass of water noisily, then made himself very small. Brook hadn't had a chance to show his emotions through his skeleton, but his head turned entirely towards the cook meant enough. Franky, too, had opened his mouth in surprise, his eyes full of emotion, probably happy and confused for Sanji. Robin had been the only one who hadn't seemed surprised, and this had annoyed him to no end. Had Sanji confided in the woman before him ? Beyond that, why had he, perhaps the only one, been taken into his confidence long before the rest of the crew ? He would have thought that if anyone should have been told, it would have been their captain.

If a multitude of questions hung in the air, Luffy was the one who decided to spare his cook by begging for more food. The rest of the meal was dynamic as usual, thanks to the enthusiasm of their idiot but loyal captain. This left Zoro deep in thought. He hadn't pushed his vague curiosity, but had to admit the absurdity of the situation. Sanji, probably the most ecoeurously romantic man he knew, didn't want to talk about the second half the world had reserved for him. He knew that the cook was in love, and if he knew nothing about the poor chosen one in question, he wondered why Sanji was still lonely. Insufferable as he was, he was still a strong, capable, multi-talented man with, he had to admit, the face of an angel. Even his eyebrows had a certain charm. So, once again, he asked himself... What was the problem ?

That evening, as he gazed out over the calm sea, his hand on Wado's pommel, Zoro felt a strange wave of emotion wash over him... As his back radiated warmth.

Despite all the injuries he'd sustained over time and despite Chopper's intrusive and obligatory good care, Sanji had managed to keep his back a secret until now. No one knew, no one had any real proof beyond improbable suspicions. Obviously, since their return to their boat, since the separation, the bonds between each member of the crew had grown stronger. The slightest injury was painstakingly taken seriously, and the slightest health doubt drove their poor doctor mad. The latter had become intransigent... He exuded a childlike strength that was beyond question. So it came as no surprise that he was the first to discover the white blade embellishing the pallor of his back. The little reindeer had breathed in his surprise and only had to observe the tattoo for a brief moment before raising his emotion-filled gaze to the cook. Sanji had sighed, his gaze tender and sorry. No words had been exchanged, Chopper respecting his wish to remain silent. He had been very grateful... And thought again of his devotion as he grasped that dangerous blade out of the corner of his eye.

Chopper was in danger. He had seen the assailant slice through the air towards his nakama. The latter had no room to maneuver, no instincts to awaken, clueless of the situation. He didn't see the ennemy. He didn't see the look of panic on Sanji's face as he realized the vision of death he was about to witness. Chopper's name escaped his tense lips, his voice breaking in a terrifying echo. He was afraid of not being fast enough. He was afraid of death. Not his own, but that of one of his nakamas. Nakamas he loved. Whom he had a duty to protect. Phantom tears formed at the corners of his eyes as he lunged forward in an uncontrollable rush. He wouldn't make it.

"Sanji!"

The familiar voice rolling around his rarely uttered first name made him shudder with apprehension and satisfaction. A quick glance in the direction of the swordman told him what was about to happen. His body moved instinctively as he caught the glint of Wado reflecting the sky. His hands, immaculate, scarless, rose until he felt an electric shiver run down his fingers. Wado's handle took its place between his hands as his muscles tensed in action. Instinctively, without a thought, Sanji blocked the attacking blade and sent it waltzing back with a distorted metallic sound. A wave of what he thought was adrenalin coursed through his body as his back burned. Wado radiated between his fingers, imposing an invisible pressure that made him take a step back, taking his place... Back to back with his soulmate who had joined him.

His body trembling and his breath short, he felt all the energy of the sword in his hand. Of the heavy significance of this loan... Of the abrupt, indisputable trust that Zoro had shared with him by throwing him the last testimonial of his first soulmate. Of Kuina. Of his dreams.

"You knew..." he said in a trembling voice.

"I hoped."

He hoped..? How could he hope for such a thing? Who was he to deserve such hope? Zoro didn't deserve a failure like him. He didn't deserve to settle for a poor cook like him...! It was ridiculous.

"Show me" he'd told him in a confident voice once the fight was over.

Zoro's gaze, intense and far too calm, pierced him as his body lost all composure. He felt his outstretched arms gradually fall, Wado still in hand. In a slow, timeless gesture, he gradually turned around... Giving his back to Zoro. The swordman accepted the offer without a word, the sound of a blade slicing through the air reaching his ears. With a simple, masterful gesture, he had cut away the shirt that obstructed his view. Soon, the white reflection of his sword of life was offered to him. Wado Ichimonji, enthroned between Sanji's shoulder blades. He wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't felt the call of his best blade. If he hadn't understood the ease with which the cook had held it in his hands. Let her not consider him her only master... She hadn't been mistaken. She'd recognized his other half... His soul mate.

"You didn't say anything."

It wasn't a question, a simple remark without animosity or reproach. Yet Zoro had every reason to be angry with him. He wished he'd yelled at him, that he'd tried to cut off every last strand of his hair... But the swordman was awfully calm, his arms resting on the boat's railing. The day, tiring and too hot for his liking, was gradually cooling off as the sun set. The last rays were reaching them, reflecting nicely on Zoro's golden earrings. They had instinctively found themselves side by side, unable to say a word for many minutes. Sanji was afraid. He didn't dare say anything... Didn't dare imagine anything. After all, he deserved nothing. None of what Zoro's intense gaze forced upon him when it landed on him.

"You already had a soulmate." he murmured.

"You deserved better." he added.

"I couldn't replace her," he admitted.

"Bullshit."

His voice was sharp, his eyes crinkled with displeasure.

"Who are you to decide what I deserve ? Who are you to denigrate my second half soul hm ? Are you an idiot ?"

Sanji was about to retort, confused, but Zoro wouldn't let him.

"I don't know where you're getting all this merit bullshit from, but damn it, cook. Sanji. Of course I deserve you. Of course I hoped. I'm not an idiot and you know it! That fish there. On my back."

"On your back, Zoro. An indelible mark spoiling the immaculateness of your swordman's back. A scar in the back is a swordman sh-"

"This fish is not a scar ! This fucking fish is you !"

"And I'm ruining your back !"

"Of course not! You own it ! You protect it ! With this fish, you're always with me. You have my back, literally ! You're my shadow, you complete me, cook. And not just for this soul-mate thing ! You've been doing it since we met. You've been doing it since the beginning. Without knowing. I can count on you. Everyone can count on you, okay, but me ? Yeah right. It's like you didn't see us fight against our enemies."

Sanji didn't know what to say. Zoro seemed to accept everything with ridiculous lightness. He felt miserable... Far from deserving of this trust, these deliciously painful compliments. Pulling himself up from the railing, the swordman turned to face Sanji, planting his gaze in his own.

"You love me, I know it. You can't fight it. And you won't because if you do, i swear to gods i don't believe in...! I will slice you in half to recover what's mine. You."

Tears rolled silently down his faces as Zoro raised his hands to his cheeks, a serious look on his face.

"I love you, you stupid cook. I will take you as you will take me. Because that's what it is. Destiny or not."

Deserved or not. He will take him. Because if he didn't believe in his luck, in this suddenly radiant destiny... He believed in Zoro. It was far enough. For now.

#one piece #zosan #zoro roronoa #sanji vinsmoke #black leg sanji #zoro x sanji #soulmate au #soulmate #fanfiction #archive on our own #saniaeart #my art #illustration

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scientia-rex · 5 months

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Hi Dr. Kristophine!

So I'm in nursing school and something one of my instructors said about obesity really bothered me and IK you're a doctor who Actually Knows about weight as it pertains to health so I wanted to see if you'd weigh in (pun not intended)

She said, in reference to cancer risk factors,

"poor nutrition, especially one that is high in saturated fats, increases your risk for obesity which increases your risk for cancer... Physical activity, again obesity is a risk factor for multiple disease processes, cancer being one of them... So being immobile increases your risk for obesity which increases your risk for certain cancers."

When I heard that in our lecture vids, to me it seemed like she was using the wrong variables to connect poor diet and lack of exercise to cancer

[disclaimer: this instructor is dangerously incompetent, often wrong in her lectures, no one ever does well on her exams because she doesn't teach properly, and my other instructors for that class are accumulating evidence to get her removed from that position] so I don't take much of what she says as legit, but I'd like to know WHY its illegitimate, if it is

If you don't feel like addressing this all yourself, I'd also appreciate you throwing some resources at me to read

What she’s doing is looking at a set of interconnected variables and assuming a causal relationship. This is dangerous—I would cover why, but I don’t teach psych stats labs anymore—and what she should probably be saying instead is that being sick tends to go with being fat, rather than that being fat causes being sick. To the best of my knowledge, no one has proposed a clear pathway by which being fat would lead to cancer. Now, fat tissue does make estrogen, which raises risk for some cancers—but lowers it for others, and protects bone density, so it’s always a personalized discussion in patients I’m looking at putting on estradiol.

Now, there are definitely dangerous things you can do with diet. Trans fatty acids are more likely to lead to vascular health problems than good old fashioned natural butter. But “diet—>fat—>cancer” is just bullshit, and if any of my beloved haters out there want to produce high-quality and compelling evidence to the contrary, go right ahead.

#the attending dr. kristophine

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portal-geist · 1 year

Text

...Oh, Hello! Oh, excuse me..

Ahem, hello, hello~? Ah, there we are. It'll be a disaster if my prized mic lost it's saturation... Let's get to our beloved protagonists day now shall we? This is...

𝒩𝒶𝓇𝓇𝒶𝓉𝑜𝓇 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝓍 𝒲𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒟𝒶𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔

Ah, such very nice wheather, isn't it? The warm morning sunshine, the silky wind caressing the fresh grass... Such a wonderful day for such a wonderful Neighborhood.

Oh! It seems your friend has been waiting for you!

"Welcome home, neighbor!~"

Wally Darling waved, excited to see you again.

"So friend, I've been having some thoughts lately, and I need your help! Sally and I have been wanting to make a play that is completely original! But we are stuck on ideas..."

Oh, no!

"Oh! How about we go around the Neighborhood, to find some ~inspiration~!"

As Wally's hands sparkle, We followed our little friend to look around the neighborhood.

First was Juilie Joyful's lushous garden!

Hm?

It seems that Wally has found something! It was a little snail in a buckett, with a top hat that looked out curiously.

Wally eyed the snail and waved his hand.

"Hello, small neighbor! Do you have any ideas on our play?"

Wally asked the little snail, though there was no answer. The little gentlemen continued to spin in the buckett slowly. Wally shook his head.

"Hm, cricles are nice but I don't think it'll be fit or our play... Let's look somewhere else!"

Leaving the small and slow neighbor behind, we travelled over to Poppy's Barn.

"Found anything Neighbor? Oh!-"

Wally looked up to see a bird has stopped on his blue hair.

The little bird looked around cluelessly as to where they had stood.

"Hello new Neighbor! Do you have any ideas for our play?"

Wally gazed upon the feathery friend. They chirped a few tunes before fluttering into the sky, Wally taken aback from it's sudden moves.

"Ah, of course! Singing! Oh wait... what kind of song?"

Moving along the groove and Walking along the sidewalk, Wally put a hand on his chin in a inquiring manner. He gazed upon a mailbox, then a colourful poster, to then snap his fingers as a ding-dong of an idea popped up.

It seems that our friendly friend has an idea.

"I know someone who can help us!"

Oh? Well you better catch up neighbor, hohoh!

.......

...

...Wait a small moment, is this not-

DING-DONG

Such timing as always... It seems that I have a guest today hm? Or shall I say... I'm the guest.

"I shall be there in a moment neighbor."

As expected, it was our friend Wally who was at the door. It has been a while since I've been on stage so please do forgive my appearance... Oh who am I saying, I look outstanding 24/7!

"Why hello and hello there Wally Darling."

"Why hello and hello there, Narrator."

Wally gave a soft smile glee to see me. I smiled back down at the little neighbor, tilting a nonexistent hat in a polite manner.

"I figure you are in need of something. Let us go inside shall we? I hope you are up for some tea."

I welcomed my neighbor, quietly closing the door as they walked in my residence. The smell of freshly toasted waffles was flooding my house, it was a kind, pleasing smell.

Eating on the job? Oh, please... I'm the narrator! You haven't heard me chew have you? That'll be ridiculous.

I moved away some scripts that was on the table.

"I hope you are comfy. Go on while I go fetch the toast's."

I said.

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

"An original idea for a play I see?"

I asked Wally as I set down his plate.

"Mhm. Me and Sally want to put on something new, we don't want to follow Jullie's picture books again..."

Wally looked at his food for a moment, eyeing me while doing so to which I returned an understanding smile and began to think while closing my eyes.

"Hmm... well, all of the plays you both put on are amazing! I can't possibly think of something that can top that."

I said opening one eye to check my friend. He was looking around the living room.

There were many filed with papers and different kinds of litereture inside walls of cabinets. He read a few the were next to him.

My scripts are a little bit silly, or that's at least what I've heard from the people around me. I constantly repeat words and phrases when explaining little actions between the neighborhood, it just adds to their charm I think.

I thought of a charming thought for the charming Wally and his play.

"...How about a love story?"

I suggested.

"A love story?"

"A love story."

I put a finger up in a sly manner. Wally titled his head, eyeing me puzzled.

"Love? Is it when a princess gets saved by a prince from a monster?"

Wally was thinking back on one of his older plays.

I looked at our friend while thinking of something to say.

"Hmm... Well love isn't only that, Wally. In fact, love can be anything and everywhere! All you have to do is hear, touch, and feel it."

Wally perked up with curiousity.

"How do I see it?"

The room felt eery.

I giggled as I stretched my arm to the closet in the back. When opened,it was completely black as if there was nothing. However, when I reached in, a small ukulele came out in my hand as I sat it on my lap.

"Let me show you one love I had."

I smiled as I began to play.

youtube

~,~, ~,~, ~~~...

"We were playing in the sand~"

~,~, ~,~, ~~~...

"And you found a little band~"

~,~, ~,~, ~~~...

"You, told me you, fell in love with it, hadn't gone as I planned~..."

I made a small pouting face, as if I was bummed in the moment.

"When you had a bid adeu-"

"Oooooh-, ooooh, oooooooh~"

Wally joined in, singing afterwards. I was surprised, though smiled loveingly as I continued.

"Said you'd never love anew~"

"Oooooh-, ooooh, oooooooh~"

"I~ wondered if, I~ could hold it and-"

"-fall in love with it too~"

I looked out of the window. Jullie was skipping along the flowers, Barnaby was trying to cheer Eddie up and help him pick up the papers he dropped, Frank was sneeking behind Howdy who was carrying a box of baked goods.

The warm smell of the sun and the cheerful voices, combined with a bitter yet sweet melody.

I breathed in.

"You told me to- buy a pony, but~ all I wanted was-"

I booped where I'd assume Wally's nose was playfully yet loveingly.

"You~"

~,~,~,~,~~~~~~~

"....Hmmm-mmm-mm, mm, hmmm-"

"Ooooooh-"

Suddenly, colours of the outside started to fade.

"-ooooooh, oooooh~"

"....Hmmm-mmm-mm, mm, hmmm-"

Flowers wiltering.

"Oooooh-, oooooooh, ooooooh~"

The fields becoming empty and hollow.

Black and white.

"Hmmm-, mm-mm-mm, mm-mm-mm~"

"Ooooh, ooooh, ooooh~"

Yet here was something left.

One singular colour, an arouma was standing near the empty, creaking, swingset.

"Hmmm-, mm-mm-mm, mm-mm-mm~"

"Ooooh, ooooh, ooooh~"

It was...

"Ooooooh, oooooh, ooooooooooohhhh~"

The last few plucks on the string as I smiled contently.

I opened my eyes to see Wally watching with full interest.

His black, colour absorbing eyes was watching every move, sound, and expression I made.

It was nice. Instead of me watching over others, it was someone else watching me.

I settled down my Uke, to which Wally noticed and clapped.

"You have a wonderful voice Narrator."

"Thank you Wally, I loved your support."

I winked at Wally, which he returned.

It was a silly little gag I'd do to show my grattitude.

"This song is something speacial to me, a speacial someone."

"So, does that give any ideas, friend?"

I asked the creative neighbor.

His thoughts wandered back to the snail, bird, and song. He kept on thinking until a DING-DONG of an idea popped up.

It seems that our friendly friend has an idea.

"I know! A bird and snail meeting on a rainyday, under an apple tree. What a good idea!"

Wally snapped his fingers proudly, as if a lightbulb popped up, or it may just be me being blind in my own way.

A rush of relief fell upon me, happy that I was able to help. I began placing the empty plates of waffles and cups of teas like a tower.

"I understand now, Narrator. Love isn't only one giant explosion of events, but can also be small aspects of our days!"

If that is your conclusion, than I shall not interfear.

"Well you better hurry along then, friend. Sally must be excited to hear it."

Smiling, I motioned to Wally saying that he is welcome to leave when nessicary.

Wally did my wink gag one more time as he thanked me at the door.

"Thank you Narrator for your wisdom and polite voice from the sky. I hope you can join the play's audience not from the sky, but from the seats like everyone else!"

He shook my hand greatfully which I shook back.

"I'll voice what I can do, Wally Darling. Have a wonderous neighborhood!"

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

"Thank you neighbor for joining me on our search for ideas! I'll be waiting with home at the neighborhood. See you all~"

...Nom, (Despite cold, these waffles are pretty good, hmmm..) hm, oh, OH- Ahem.

That was a bit embaressing for me, ahah, I am not very used to talking about my own story.

Though, it was a nice little change if I do say so myself.

It has seems that Wally's day has come to an end, and welcoming to the next.

Well then neighbor, we'll be eager to hear from you again, farewell~!

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

Oh silly Wally... Do you think you're the only one who sees?

Since when did you have a voice? Little puppet....

(A/N)

Apologies if this was out of character but hope you enjoyed!

I will take requests and asks for this Au if you like.

The reader design is just my interpretation. However, I try not to describe the reader much as possible, so yeah. (Though I do think they are more of a puppet than human.)

I am planning on continuing creating episodes of the Narrator reader depending on how many people would want to see more so please do let me know!

I really love colourful and playful world settings and characters simular to welcome home, therefore I wanted to touch the creaion a bit. Of course as long as I am allowed to, creators have boundaries afterall!

Have a wonderful day, evening, and night, fellow listeners...

#welcome home #wally darling #x reader #gender neutral reader #wally darling x you #Wally darling x reader #Narrator reader #Puppet show #Fanart #Puppet reader #Youtube #tally hall #Portal Geist #welcome home x reader #welcome home x you

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songofsoma · 1 month

Text

under the light of her moon

pairing: dame aylin x isobel thorm words: 1,243

read it on ao3

Isobel watched as the curls of steam filtered into the night air off the surface of the hot spring. She could see their reflection on the water’s surface, though obscured as Aylin’s languid movements sent ripples across it.

The night air was startlingly cold compared to the heat of the hot spring. They had discovered it on their travels to a rumored Selûnite outpost and had decided to set up camp on its banks.

It had been Aylin’s idea to undress and enjoy what nature had to offer. Judging by the way her lips curled, Isobel could sense the underlying motivation for her suggestion. It was confirmed when her eyes were alight like silver flames as she shed her robes.

When they waded into the water, Aylin curled an arm around her, pulling her in close. She led them further into the spring until it was Aylin keeping her head above water as Isobel could no longer touch the ground.

She curled her legs around Aylin’s middle and wound her arms around her neck as Aylin nuzzled her face into her hair.

“I thought you said you wanted to wash,” Isobel mused, the tips of her fingers tracing through the hair at the nape of her lover’s neck.

“I do, I want to enjoy you first,” she murmured, her nose dragging a soft line across her cheek before she kissed her temple. “Even when I have you near, I still find myself missing you terribly. It’s as if I shut my eyes and death has stolen you from me once more.”

Isobel clutched her tighter. “The one good thing my father did was bring me back to you,” she whispered, her throat tightening with the threat of emotions bubbling back to the surface. “You will never be taken from me again, Aylin.”

Her mind soured at the thoughts of what a century had done to Aylin. While she had been within the peaceful nothing of death, her beloved had been caged and murdered by Sharrans. And by her father’s doing. That was what sickened her the most.

Absent-mindedly, her hand caressed over her shoulders and down her back to feel the scars the Dark Justiciars had left behind. She pulled back in Aylin’s arms to gaze at her. The woman’s expression was soft and seemingly at peace. Isobel knew she’d never truly admit the true torment that plagued her mind. But she knew.

She knew that at night, Aylin could be restless, her head rolling from side to side as sweat glistened on her brow and she muttered broken words. Isobel would stroke her cheek or pull her into her embrace and the nightmares would ease.

Isobel would take care of her, whether Aylin asked for it or not.

“Come,” she prompted, wading Aylin toward the shallower waters. “Let me wash your hair.”

Aylin allowed herself to be guided to where the soaps had been laid out.

She began by undoing the braids Aylin had, carefully setting aside each tie so they could be collected and stored away for later. She’d made a habit of helping her style her hair when it needed to be redone. Still, she loved it when it was loose like this, framing her pale skin with silken moonlight.

Isobel smiled at her adoringly as she ran her fingers through the blonde strands, smoothing away the tangles from the road. Aylin practically melted at the touch and pressed her head into her palm.

“Turn around, beloved,” Isobel said as she picked up a soap bar. “Now wet your hair, please.”

Aylin did as instructed, sinking into the water and leaning back to submerge the back of her head. She peered up as Isobel as she did, allowing Isobel to steal a quick peck on her lips.

When she rose again, Isobel had lathered the soap on her palms and began to massage it into her hair which had been saturated into a dark blonde. Her fingers pressed against Aylin’s scalp as she washed her hair and it extracted a lovely, low groan from her.

“You are too good to me,” Aylin said, head tipping back into her ministrations.

Isobel smiled softly, continuing to work the sweet-scented soap through her hair. She had picked up the necessities from the city before they departed camp. She had splurged a few extra gold on an extra bar of soap that smelt of rosehip and bergamot. Now as the fragrance permeated the air, she was glad she did. It was calming in a way.

She prompted Aylin to let her head fall back into the water and Isobel began to rinse the soap from her hair. The water around them smelled of the fragrance as suds created a halo around Aylin’s head.

Her eyes were closed and her breathing was even. If Isobel hadn’t known better, she would assume Aylin had fallen asleep. But when they fluttered open at the feeling of her gaze, Aylin smiled, she was just at peace finally.

Eventually, she rose and caught Isobel in an embrace once more. It was hard for the woman to keep her hands to herself, not that Isobel minded.

“I could spend the rest of my days like this,” Aylin said as their foreheads pressed together.

“In a hot spring?” Isobel teased.

It drew a chuckle. “So long as if it were what my darling desired.”

She traced the lines of muscles adorning her shoulders. “She sounds very lucky, this darling.”

Aylin hummed her disagreement. “I would have to argue that I am the lucky one.” Finally, she closed the space between them and kissed her tenderly.

Isobel had never realized she could miss something in death. She didn’t remember her time not anchored to the earth, but still, her heart ached for all the years they had been apart. She missed it terribly now for the century she could not.

After they had both felt cleaner and their hands and feet began to prune, they lay on a fur hide near a fire Aylin had built. The coolness of the night air had resolved them to dress, much to Aylin’s displeasure.

Isobel ran her fingers through Aylin’s damp hair as her head lay against her breast, and both their eyes turned to the starry sky above.

“Do you think she can feel that I’m free?” Aylin asked suddenly, still gazing upward.

“Hm?”

“My mother. Do you think she knows I’m no longer her sister’s tool?”

Isobel looked down to see Aylin’s features turn fretful. “I’m sure she does. Why do you ask, my love?”

“I just thought that there might be some sign or I may even hear something from her.” She shook her head, finally turning her face away from her mother’s face in the sky. “But there’s been nothing.”

She pondered this. Even she, a cleric of Selûne, didn’t have an answer. “I’m sure she knows. I know she’s watching. She loves you, Aylin.”

Aylin nodded and turned on her side, nestling into Isobel. The woman was far larger than she was but always found a way to curl into her to be held. “I am just happy to exist beneath the light of her moon once more,” she murmured finally.

As Isobel lay next to the crackling fire with her lover tucked snuggly in her arms, she felt the truth of that statement for herself for she had risen from the dead to be loved by Aylin once more.

#everyone say thank u finn (githling) for making me finally write them #dame aylin #isobel thorm #aylin x isobel #moonangel #bg3 #dame aylin x isobel #baldur's gate #my writing #baldurs gate 3

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the-marshals-wife · 1 year

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Hey i was wondering if you could please write a fluff Wrecker x reader where he is being a big baby as Tech is trying to patch up one of his wounds and reader is trying everything to keep him calm and not freaked out

Good Medicine (Wrecker x Reader)

A/N: Absolutely. I'll never be mad about getting to write this precious man child. Wrecker is dangerously close to becoming my second favorite Bad Batcher, after Tech of course. (Sorry for the insane delay responding to this. There were many physical and mental health challenges for me in 2022.)

Description: Wrecker x Fem!Reader (also Tech is present as comic relief lol)

Rating: General audiences, hurt+comfort fluff

Warnings: A Star Wars swear, mentions of blood and stiches

Setting: Up to you (literally, because I only wrote three characters, you decide were the rest of the babes are)

Word count: 1,024

Gif credit: user kamino-coruscant

Even from across the ship, you can see the anger on Hunter's face as he leans against the wall, gritting his teeth. If Wrecker screamed one more time, you worried that the sergeant was going make good on his jokes about the airlock and put his languishing brother out of his misery.

Tech continues his beleaguered attempts at bargaining for stitches, gauze and bacta in hand, "If you do not stop moving about, I will never get this wound dressed."

"It hurts!" Wrecker wails, pulling away further.

"Considering the size of the shrapnel I removed and the damage you sustained, I would be concerned if it didn't," Tech scoffs.

"It hurt less before you took it out," Wrecker argues, temper flaring, "I don't want stitches. I'll be fine!"

You bounce your leg, watching the chaos escalate from the co-pilots seat. Moments before, you'd helped remove Wrecker's gnarled leg armor, and the sight of blood soaking through his blacks was still fresh in your thoughts. You weren't sure why it was bothering you. Wrecker had experienced his fair share of battle damage. One look at him and anyone would know he was not an average man, let alone a typical clone. You were pretty sure he even enjoyed receiving some his scars if for no other reason than to be able to brag about surviving something others couldn't. However, this wasn't just a cauterized burn from a stray blaster bolt. This was a bloody, messy injury to someone you'd truly come to care for. That made it different.

You push the awful image from your mind as Hunter approaches.

"Y/N, maybe you could talk to him. He's calmer when you're around," he sighs, slumping into the seat beside you, "Quieter, anyway."

"Are you sure? I don't want to get in Tech's way," you start to object.

Tech wastes no time in interjecting, "I assure you, Y/N, any assistance you can provide will not hinder in my work whatsoever."

"Please," Hunter agrees, pinching the bridge of his nose, "He shrieks like a kriffin' gundark."

"I heard that!" Wrecker calls out before turning his attention back to Tech, "Don't you come anywhere near me with a needle. I don't like needles!"

Tech mutters something about preventing infection as Wrecker leans as far away as his injured leg will allow. You can't help but smile a little over the fuss he was making. It may be giving your squadmates a headache, but in a strange way, it was comforting for you to hear Wrecker carry on. It meant he was going to be alright. And with that relief came an idea.

You sprint back to Wrecker's bunk, and return seconds later with your arms behind your back.

"Oh Wrecker, I've got something for you," you say, very obviously hiding something.

His focus is on you instantly, "What? What have you got?"

"Something to make you feel better," you chuckle at his excitement. You stretch your arms out and reveal the tooka doll.

"My Lula!" he exclaims as you place the beloved plush in his hands, "She does make me feel better!"

Tech gives you a subtle nod. Your distraction is working.

You kneel next to Wrecker's seat, trying not to look at the saturated crimson bandages in the tray beside you. "You know Tech has to stitch your leg up now, right?"

"Yeah, I know," Wrecker groaned, accepting his fate, "I just hate stitches."

"Yeah, I do too. If it will help, you can hold my hand until it's over," you offer, smiling.

He looks up with wide eyes, "Really?"

"Do you wish you have your hand broken?" Tech questions, pushing up his goggles.

You give a him an unamused glance, then turn back to Wrecker, "Of course you can."

He grins as you place your hand into his much larger open palm.

"Alright, 'Doc'," he says with a renewed confidence, "Do your worst."

As Tech begins the procedure, your gaze drifts towards the patient. It occurs to you that you've never been this close to Wrecker before. You also realize have taken his size and strength for granted as you see that his massive fingers envelop your entire hand. Yet despite his great size and power, he is incredibly gentle. He flinches and tenses up as part of his leg is quite literally pulled back together, but he doesn't squeeze your hand or cause you pain. The man you'd seen rip apart droids with his bare hands was now cradling yours. In fact, the shouting had stopped altogether. Hunter was right: Wrecker was calm around you. Lula in his lap couldn't have hurt, either.

"Finished," Tech announces.

"That's it?" Wrecker asks, genuinely surprised. "Huh. Thought it'd hurt more than that."

"See? You did great! I knew you would," you applaud.

Tech rolls his eyes, gathering up the refuse and closing the med kit. "Next time, we shall begin with hand clasping."

The fatigued clone goes to join Hunter in the cockpit, leaving you and Wrecker alone for a moment.

He hasn't let go of your hand yet, and your heart skips as he meets your gaze. "Thanks for being here with me, Y/N. It means a lot, you know?"

"You're welcome, Wrecker. I'm just glad you're alright," you reply, worry slipping through in your voice, "I hate that you're hurting."

"Aw, it'll take a lot more than a little piece of metal to keep me down," he assures, his tone softer than ever, "Besides, I can't feel a thing now."

He gives your hand a small squeeze. You feel heat rushing in your face as you desperately hold back a grin.

"Well, just in case," you begin, getting back on your feet. You lean over and kiss his cheek, "To keep the pain away."

Mouth agape, his face turns red. You stifle a giggle, and his shock quickly turns to triumph as he gives you smirk.

"Now that you mention it, I think the bacta might be wearing off..." he teases.

You chuckle and lightly punch his shoulder. "Rest up, solider."

He laughs, leaning back in his seat with his arms behind his head. "Yes, ma'am."

#bad batch imagine #wrecker x reader #wrecker imagine #star wars imagine #wrecker x you #star wars #the bad batch #my writing #request

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happinessismusic · 3 months

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Gwen Stefani and Blake Shelton aren't waiting to start their Super Bowl snack planning.

Stefani will be headlining a pregame show ahead of Super Bowl LVIII in partnership with TikTok and the NFL on Feb. 11, and she tells PEOPLE she and Shelton “are already discussing the food” for their special Super Bowl Sunday.

It's really about that and the drinks and how are we going to indulge? And I said to [Blake], I was like, 'Why are we even having this conversation? You know that I'm going to blow it in the first 15 minutes. I'm going to blow through the seven-layer dip and I'm not going to be able to fit anything else in my stomach, and I'm going to be so mad the rest of the day,’” Stefani says with a laugh.

Las Vegas’s Allegiant Stadium is home to this year’s Super Bowl, and Stefani says she'll be playing a "50-minute set" filled with all of her “uptempo songs” to help hype the audience up for the big game between the Kansas City Chiefs and the San Francisco 49ers.

Post-performance, she’ll presumably get to eat and enjoy the game.

“For us, it's all about how do you make it the most saturated Super Bowl food? Iconic Super Bowl food? Because [Blake] was like, 'Oh, should we do this?' And I'm like, 'No, that's not Super Bowl.' You have to do it right!” she says.

In addition to her live streamed performance, Stefani says TikTok will come in handy on game day thanks to its plethora of searchable recipes (so that all watch parties have more to offer than just her beloved seven-layer dip, that is).

“Talk about TikTok, there's so many great recipes out there and it's going to be fun to see what people come with," she says. "We all inspire each other now with all that, so it's very exciting.”

And, Super Bowl party menu aside, Stefani says she is getting some extra credit at home for her pregame performance, too.

“It becomes more and more exciting as I am surrounded by boys, and they are football boys, including my husband. And we got fantasy football. I mean, every morning they just sit there and talk about football. It's unbelievable," she says. "It's very big in my house, so it makes me feel very like, ‘Guess what?’” she says with a laugh. “I get to brag to my boys, which is all you want.”

#gwen stefani #blake shelton #shefani

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jedipoodoo · 6 months

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Changes (Sergeant Hunter x OC, Werewolf AU)

So...More Werewolf AU anyone??? A little inspired by @giganonyx, taking place on the tail end of the latest chapter for The Night is Bleakest Beneath a Full Moon, and featuring my beloved Saachi. Happy Halloween, all!

Notes: blood, mentioned eating people (is it cannibalism if you're a werewolf? I'll tag it just in case), distressed Hunter, literal wet dog Hunter my beloved, I highly reccomend reading gig's fic first.

Tech pointed them in the direction of the lake and helped Saachi collect a couple rags and a towel from what remained of the Marauder's scant supplies. She gave Hunter a ration bar to eat as they walked, but it was hard to eat when his stomach was bubbling like some witch's cauldron, his pants were threatening to slip down at any moment, and he had to lean on Saachi for fear that he might trip over a wrong step. When they reached the muddy shore of the lake, Saachi had Hunter sit on a rock half submerged in the water, and the ration bar nearly slipped from his grasp.

"Hold on to that, just don't eat more than you feel you can," Saachi pressed the back of her wrist to Hunter's forehead for a brief moment. It was slightly warm, but it was no longer an alarming temperature. She set the towel on his lap to stay dry, and soaked a rag in the lake water. It was no Republic med wing, but it would have to do.

After wringing out the excess water, she dabbed at the skin around Hunter's mouth, trying to get rid of the sheer amount of blood that covered him.

She was a surgeon, she was hardly squeamish, but there was so much of it. It shocked her more than sickened her, to think that Hunter had eaten a person.

No, not Hunter, she thought to herself, whatever that... Thing was that Hunter had become.

Hunter pressed his lips closed as rivers of rusty red dripped down his face, dripping off his chin and into the lake water.

"So," Hunter's voice creaked like a door that hadn't been used in ages, "What happened last night?"

Saachi bit her lip. What did happen last night?

"Well...you weren't yourself," That was an understatement. But how was she supposed to describe it?

"Saachi, I honestly can't remember anything after we set up camp last night, but I just threw up a gallon of blood and a handful of body parts. I don't think much else could surprise me."

"Really?" Saachi dared, "Well, you grew hair all over your body, you grew claws on your hands and feet, and you grew taller than wrecker and completely trashed your clothes."

Hunter said nothing.

"Then, Tech had me take Omega to shelter in what's left of the ship while I'm fairly sure you turned into the same kind of wolf creature that attacked you the other day, and you then proceeded to rip off Echo's leg and beat Tech with it. Then, you got into a wrestling match with Wrecker where you would have won had Omega not escaped the ship to find out what was going on. Then you almost tried to eat her, except Tech shot you a couple times and that made you angry and you almost ate him, but then Omega jumped in between you two and almost gave me my third heart attack of the night."

Hunter was silent. Saachi dipped her rag in the water, trying to scrub out as much of the blood as she could against the rock. She wrung out the excess water and dabbed at his cheek again. The beautiful, golden hue of his sun-kissed skin began to peek through the trails of dark red.

Hunter didn't say a word. Saachi sighed, and leaned in, gently pressing her lips to Hunter's forehead.

"It's gonna be okay, Hunt," She whispered, and she could feel him nodding, ever so slightly, under her touch.

When she finished with his face, Saachi made her way down to his neck and shoulders. Whenever the rag became too saturated, she'd rinse it off in the lake water again.

"You should eat some of that," She nudged his hand with the ration bar and took a step back to let him move freely for a moment.

Hunter stared at the ration bar for a moment, and Saachi wondered if he had heard even heard her, but then he took the tiniest bite.

Almost immediately he spit it out, coughing at the taste.

Saachi stumbled backwards at his violent reaction, sending water splashing everywhere.

"Sorry," Hunter kept coughing, "It just... It tastes rancid."

Saachi took the ration bar, turning it over in her hands. It looked perfectly fine for a ration bar, if a little stale, but the expiration date was only a couple weeks ago. No different from their usual meals.

Saachi hazarded a bite herself, and it tasted perfectly normal to her. Had Hunter's transformation altered his already augmented sense of taste?

Hunter slid off the rock and into the water, scooping handfuls of water into his mouth. Saachi tried to stop him and offer her canteen of clean(er) water, but Hunter drank the lakewater with a feverish desire, unbothered by whatever lived in it, or the fact that half the wreckage of the Marauder was partially submerged in the center of the lake.

Once he drank his full he all but crawled out of the lake, collapsing face first in the dirt at the water's edge, breathing heavily.

Saachi cradled his head in her hands, pulling him into her lap so that he could breathe easily. The blood that painted his upper body was now covered with mud, mixed with leaves and twigs. It was getting all over her clothes now, but she hardly cared, not when Hunter was clinging to her like this.

"I have... I have no idea what's happening to me," Hunter gasped, tears eeking out the corners of his eyes.

"That's okay," Saachi murmured. She pulled him closer, lifting him up and resting his head against her shoulder. Hunter's hand dug into her shirt, and his nails felt sharp against her skin. Saachi ignored it, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his hair.

"I'll help you figure it out," she whispered, "I promise."

#lizart writes #sergeant hunter x oc #tbb hunter x oc #my ocs #saachi gunder #werewolf au #werewolf hunter #happy halloween #the bad batch oc #blood #blood tw #cannibalism tw

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aeide-thea · 4 months

Text

tagged by @aldieb! thx for thinking of me, these little questionnaires are like. a cute little blast from tumblr's more interactive past :)

last song: i was going to have to give a sad little answer here about how i don't listen to music nearly enough anymore (never mind sing) and it's very definitely a reflection of my depression, but then i entirely out of nowhere and very urgently was like 'wait actually i have to listen to gordon lightfoot's "song for a winter's night" right now' so then i dashed off and did that and now that's the answer:

if i could know within my heart that you were lonely too i would be happy just to hold the hands i love on this winter night with you…

favorite color: oof so so many!! colors are so important. the signature one has gotta be a really highlighter-vivid chartreuse (🎾), but i do also really love me a good marigold orange? not to mention vermilion, or ochre, or moss green, or really saturated cobalt, or shades of rust or russet…

last movie/show: shetland bbc, which is a quiet well-acted murder mystery series set in a very beautiful very remote landscape. soothing if you like the british isles and can bear to entertain the fantasy of a decent policeman, at least for an hour or so at a time. also i admit to enjoying douglas henshall's face.

sweet/spicy/savory: all the best things are savory and also spicy! like. the jamaican curried chicken i grew up with. indian curries. malaysian laksa my beloved. can you tell i like curry. :D

relationship status: sidebar but this is such an amatonormative question lol. like why are we societally expected to look at 'relationship' and infer 'romantic.' also it seems like a weird outlier given that all the other qs are low-stakes little softballs abt yr tastes. however. extremely single! sometimes i'm sad about it because i miss sexual intimacy and i'm too shy to pursue that with strangers? but honestly most of the time i'm just as glad, because i don't actually know how to love people romantically without making a whole self-abnegating religion of it, so i'm not really convinced that dating was ever really all that good for me, on the whole…

last thing i googled: i use duckduckgo now, and you should too! :) having said that: 'yoal boat.' which is a very beautiful traditional style of shetland boat—apparently descended from a norwegian model?—that the islanders used to use for fishing, and then for storage draw up onto the land into these little prepared hollows called noosts (they have marinas now), which like. obviously i think is the most charming word imaginable. a cozy little noost for a lovely little boat! 🪺

current obsession(s): yoals aside, i guess the thing that best fits this category is that sometime in the last year or so i turned into Merino Guy??? like. even my boxer briefs are merino now (well, a merino-tencel blend) and like. it's so good, guys. comfy in a startlingly wide range of temps, helps me lessen my contribution to the microplastics problem, somehow even makes for reasonable athletic wear in the right weights and cuts: what's not to like. anyway brb, gotta go print out my 'NOT 🐑ISH ABOUT MERINO' bumper sticker. :D

tag 9 people: oof idk, do this if you'd enjoy it and ignore it if you wouldn't? gonna make like west and pull some names from my activity feed: @e-b-reads, @ghostofasecretary, @leatherbookmark, @nathanielthecurious, @obstinatecondolement, @papavera, @quailfang, @tisiphoness, @youcanthandelthetruth

#mundanities #memes

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diezmil10000 · 9 months

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Hi hi, hope you're doing well!! Wanted to ask if you could explain how you pick colours! They're always so appealing to look at... (If you could also explain how you pick blush colours it'd be great! I never manage to pick good ones, no matter how hard I try :'))

hi anon, i'm doing fine!! it's summer right now where i live and that's healing all my problems (⁠◡⁠ ⁠ω⁠ ⁠◡⁠)

i have recorded the process of some of my drawings and everything is posted in my youtube channel (in twitter too), so i'll drop the link here and try my best to explain the coloring part to you. the short answer is that none of the colors you see in my drawings are similar to those i initially picked.

i try to keep my lineart loose but i pay attention to the outlines so i can quickly select the outer parts, invert the selection and fill it with the bucket tool. my base colors are all 100% opaque and i don't use any fancy brushes here.

as to how i pick colors, i never use the color picker tool, i eyeball everything. that's important for me because i tend to make all of them warmer: the greens are dark yellows, the pinks are light reds, and everything that's close to blue is very desaturated. i do this even for drawings that turn out much different later, unless i have a very specific vibe in mind from the beginning. i also never use pure whites for anything, and if something is black i make it part of the lineart.

then i always color my lineart!! there's no trick to that, the layer is in normal mode and i just paint it with a darker color than what's below it. i usually add the shadows and highlights at this stage of the drawing too. you're going to kill me for this but shade with gray set in color burn or linear burn (never multiply). i just don't want to think about color variety at this stage because it makes things more difficult for later. sometimes i add textures and some basic color correction here (curves, color balance, layers set in overlay, etc.) but i mostly leave that for the next part.

as to how i choose blush colors, i usually pick the base color and move it towards the saturated end of the color wheel, and a bit more pink. sometimes i add a multiply layer and airbrush hot red over the base colors at low opacity. coloring the lineart with hot colors surrounding the blush areas helps a lot too :)

i also almost always duplicate the lineart, blur it and set it in linear burn (i paint this layer in a light gray). this adds a lot of depth to the drawing, especially if later combined with the bloom effect.

the key to why the colors in my art pop so much is that i don't enjoy drawing as much as i enjoy postprocessing pictures 😂🤣😅👌✌️👍 once i'm satisfied with the "base" colors i merge everything except the background, open a new canvas and go crazy with filters and textures. that's why i use ibispaint X even if i do the lineart elsewhere (krita), and even if it works a bit wonky with big canvases.

i do something different for each drawing here, so first i'm going to explain my reasoning so that you understand my process: i used to have a problem of using very strong colors that overshadowed my beloved lineart into which i had put a lot of effort, so my goal nowadays is to make everything look less contrasted without losing the visual impact of saturated colors. that way the lineart remains a strong point and not just a way to separate one color from another.

what i usually do is duplicate the new merged layer, set it to exclusion mode, add a gradient map and play with the opacity. then i duplicate that and do the same thing with another gradient or another blending mode. i tend to add like 3-6 layers of bullshit over my drawings, including textures and other filters like "bloom" or "sharpen". i understand everything that's going on there but i don't think too deeply about it, i just pick whatever looks best.

for the final touches i always pull up the saturation and contrast (since a lot of it gets lost in the process), and i usually have to manually change some colors (ibispaint X has a filter to do that) or tweak the curves. then i add chromatic aberration, noise set to overlay and little polka dots set to linear dodge.

here are some comparisons of the before and after of recent drawings. the 1st one is very subtle, but you can clearly see how much warmth and depth it gains it gets after all the postprocessing. the 2nd one is so different that i understand why you're curious about how i pick colors. i don't think i can replicate that look just from picking nice colors, there's a lot more going on!! the 3rd one personally feels like it had potential lost (i liked the yellow highlights), but the colors were too strong and all over the place, so the finished result looks more intimate and calm and i like it a lot more.

thank you for the interest anon, i'm very happy that you like the way i color things and i hope i have explained myself. good luck with your own journey!!

#ask #anon #art explanations

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dickmedowndc · 2 years

Text

Artist's Muse - Bart Allen x Artistic!Reader

Word Count: 1,898

Summary: Reader is drawing outside, minding their own business at first. But inspiration is not coming so easily today – until someone catches your eye. Though he is sitting a few feet away from you, he appears to be relaxed as he lays back relaxed, talking with his friends every so often. Struck by the desire to draw, you find the sketch on the page looking more and more like him, too engrossed in the art to realize that you have been caught.

Note: Have I seen this prompt done about a hundred times over with all kinds of characters across all kinds of fandom? Yep, and now you’re getting my spin on it!

…★…

Your fingers were gripped tight around your pencil, face set into a scowl. You wanted to draw. You knew you did. But nothing was sparking your interest. You had come to the park in an attempt to find a muse. But as you tried to sketch the landscape, the trees, children playing, or the birds hopping about, you found that nothing was working. The lines on the page were not as you wanted them to look. Like they refused to connect. The images both in your line of sight and in your head failed to translate onto the paper. You were ready to call it a day and head home, frustrated still that you could not drag yourself out of your slump. Art block had been your closest companion for weeks now, and it had you ready to toss your beloved sketchbook out the window.

Instead, you closed your eyes, looking up at the sky and taking a deep breath. Maybe, if you could just take a few moments, you could at least enjoy what was left of the day now that the sun was setting. There was no sense in wasting what remained of the daylight and going back home upset. Finally opening your eyes, you reach for your water bottle to take a sip, glancing at the area surrounding you.

Most of the people left were teenagers, or other young adults. Parents were beginning to round their children up to usher them back off home, older couples seemed content to call it a day and walked back to wherever they had parked. A few groups of younger individuals seemed ready to part ways for the day and you could see them wave each other off. Some evening joggers were beginning to arrive, and you could spot a few individuals that you recognized as regulars. However, just a few feet in front of you, to your right and past the tree, you noticed a group of friends you had not seen earlier in the day.

You wish you could say you knew when they had arrived, but you had been deeply engrossed in your vain attempts at art, and had blocked out the surrounding world. The group seemed to keep your attention, laughing loudly at a joke one of them made, though you were too far away to hear anything else. Interested, willing to try your hand once more at art, you position yourself to see them a bit better without grabbing their attention, your back now against the tree.

Initially you only notice three of them, until they glance down and you realize a younger man is laying on the grass, eyes closed and arms tucked behind his head. While he never moves from his spot, you can see his mouth moving and hear the uproar of laughter that follows. He seems pleased with their response and you can just make out a smile on his face as well.

Your breath catches for a moment and you find yourself far more enamored with him than his friends. Your original idea had been to draw the blonde girl – an attempt at catching her mirth, and their friends had their backs turned to you for the most part. Instead, you could feel yourself flipping the page to something cleaner, still looking at the guy laying down.

The lighting was just right, vibrant hues of gold, orange, and pink saturated the sky, with clouds scattering across and lit up in the evening light. He seemed to be laying almost perfectly underneath the horizon, a brilliant halo of color around him. But the contrast of the sky and the deep green of the grass he was laying on was beautiful enough, and you could not help but admit he was attractive as well. Only half aware of your surroundings you glanced down, making sure you had brought plenty of colored pencils. While you may not have enough time to color, you wanted to try.

Finally feeling the rush of creativity, you looked back down, beginning to sketch him out. You notice, absently, that you are not including his friends in this, but cannot bring yourself to correct it. He is in your peripheral enough to see his entire body, unobscured by his friends. Every so often you need to look up, and you thank whatever deity above that he seems content enough to not move. Still in the same position every time. Absently, you thank them a second time that his friends seem too caught up with themselves to notice you studying their auburn-haired friend as you try to get his features right on your sketch.

And while the looks you keep sending his way are not enough to catch their attention, unbeknownst to you, your murmuring is heard by one of them. Though he is sure you don’t realize you are doing it, he risks a glance. You are far too busy looking at Bart to realize you have been noticed and he turns to the speedster. “Looks like you have an admirer,” he quips. At Kon’s words, both Tim and Cassie stop as well, looking up to where you are still furiously scribbling.

“I noticed.” The smug drawl in his voice has them all snickering again before the group manages to compose themselves once more.

“How long?” It is Cassie who speaks this time, gazing down at her friend.

“They started drawing me a while ago,” he shrugs, but otherwise Bart does not move. “I’m gonna go ask to see it when they stop.”

It is then that you finally look up again, only to see a grin on his face while he is looking at his friend. His eyes are open as well, but you cannot see what color they are from where you sit. You linger on that thought more than you would care to admit. But just as quickly he returns to the same relaxed pose that he had been in for the extent of your drawing and you finish the last of the details you need.

The sun was too far down now – and the colors has since faded. Stars were beginning to dance above the park. As many as could be seen from the city at least. Taking another look at your art, you put away your pencil, satisfied with the way your work had come out. Your unknowing muse had been not only fun to draw, but had been an amazing model. Though you almost felt guilty for not asking you pushed it aside. It seemed that nobody had noticed you looking up at him, so hopefully your glances had been fast enough.

Instead, you gathered your supplies together. Packing away extra pencils, colored pencils, liners, a notebook, and various other items that you had opted to bring with you for your day to the park. Caught up in double checking you had everything, you turn to grab your sketchbook, only to jump in the process. You send up a silent prayer that you did not shriek. But you still blink at the man sitting in front of you.

The same guy you had just been drawing. In the back of your mind, your brain helpfully supplies that his eyes are golden, as you had been wondering only a few minutes ago.

Just over his shoulder you can see his friends laughing, and judging from the satisfied look on his face you must have been caught. Sheepishly, you turn back to look at him. “Uh, hello.”

“Hey,” you can see him glance to your sketchbook before looking back at you. He pauses for a moment before his smile is right back. “Can I see how it came out?”

“Oh, uh, well – it was just some sketches from around the park.” Maybe you can bluff your way out of it, too embarrassed to let him see the drawing you had done of him.

“Oh, is that why you kept looking over at me?” There is no malice in his tone, and he seems all too amused with the situation.

“You saw me?” Though it seems like the answer should be obvious, you still hear the question slip past your lips.

“Pretty early on, yeah,” the smile he has is far too smug but it is obvious enough he is trying not to laugh as well, “why do you think I was staying so still?”

Finally, you let out a sigh, knowing there is no way to pretend you had not been drawing him for the last – well, however long it had been. You needed to check your phone to see the time eventually. Rather than do that, you pick your sketchbook back up, flipping through the pages until you reach the one with him on it. It is not a small doodle, not by any means, and it takes up the entire page. Shyly, you hand the book over to him, which he gently takes, seeming eager to catch a look at the final product.

“Woah.” He spares a glance up at you before going back to looking at the drawing. “This is good. This is really good.”

“Thank you.”

“So, this is how you see me?” His tone is teasing, and you can feel yourself flushing at it.

“I thought it was pretty true to life, actually.”

It seems to be his turn to be embarrassed, and you can see his own cheeks coloring. Just slightly. But it does not seem to deter him. “Well, maybe I could give you my number and we could talk about it?”

“Like, over lunch?” You ask, almost surprised by how hopeful you sound.

“Just us.”

Instead of answering him, you hand your phone over, after unlocking it and opening it to a new contact page. It takes him no time at all to input his name before he glances back at his friends.

“I think I may need to head back over though. But lunch?”

“It’s a date,” you chime.

“Okay, good.” If anyone was to ask, you would swear his eyes light up as he says that.

Hugging your sketchbook to your chest you wave goodbye and turn, heading to leave. Walking out, you fish your phone out of your pocket. You could wait until you get home to text him, but realize instead that you never gave him your name. Glancing forward to make sure nobody is in front of you, you open your phone to find his contact, laughing when you realize he has set himself as ‘Park Muse’ instead of his name.

Hey, this is Y/n btw

Hi! Do u like my name?

Park muse?

You can figure out what it really is at lunch

Well, I'm free tomorrow if you are?

That works for me. Do you know the café on 6th street?

Korner Stone Kafe?

Yeah! Meet there at 1? If that works for u

I’ll see you at 1

Despite making it home in one piece, you find yourself distracted messaging Bart for the rest of the night. One of his friends had gotten a hold of his phone and slipped up on his name within 15 minutes of you messaging him. A fact which had you laughing. Excited for the next day, you did eventually tell him goodnight before attempting to get some sleep – knowing you would be seeing him in only a few hours.

#bart allen #bart allen x reader #impulse x reader #dc x reader #bart allen x you #bart allen x y/n #impulse x you #impulse x y/n #young justice #young just us #core four #dc oneshot #dc x y/n #dc x you #nicole writes #artistic!reader

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dimpledpran · 1 year

Text

2022 brought a lot of incredible moments. But it did give almost an equal amount of highs and lows. So glad that it is over, and here’s to hoping that 2023 brings nothing but the best. Thank you to everyone who has made this past year more bearable for me. Whether you are someone I’ve talked to on here, made content that I enjoyed seeing on my dash, or reblogged stuff from me with wonderful commentary, thank you for making my time on this godforsaken beloved website more fun!

Since life has been getting busy, it has been harder to keep track of content and I am sure I have missed so many creations lately. And so, I am also jumping on the bandwagon to have a tracking tag. I will be tracking #lightmiup (light me up). It is kinda a play on my name, and with the meaning since my name means light. So feel free to use that to tag me in your creations.

Will reblog: ~ Asian media (series and movies). Mostly BLs, but not entirely limited to that. ~Preferably stuff that I have watched, but I am also open to more recs ~ Asian artists (mostly CQL cast, Ohm, Nanon, Jeff Satur, Indian personalities) ~ Countries: Thailand, India, China, South Korea, Japan, Taiwan, Singapore

Will not reblog: ~ reposts, whitewashed content, brownfaced content, discourse

With that, I am also going to take a month off from Tumblr. Shall spend January introspecting and planning out my goals for the year. My blog will be going down memory lane, and will run on queue with my fave posts from 2022, and if I get tagged in stuff. Though I might pop in a few times with some 10YT sets if the feels get a bit too much.

Here are my top 10 series/movies I watched in 2022 (starts from tomorrow) and Fave Creations (MDZS/CQL Faves , Bad Buddy Faves, Other Faves) in the mean time.

Wishing everyone a wonderful 2023 filled with lots of love, joy, peace, positivity, success and good health! 💙

Take care and see yall around! Mimi :)

Tagging a few people to spread the word : @aheartfullofjolllly @carloslouwho @eohachu @fangrui @gege @highwarlockkareena @i-got-the-feels @isvisomewhere @kaajukatli @lan-xichens @liyazaki @machikeita @manhasetardis @nanons @nongnaos @nyx4 @oswlld @phukaoapologist @rinielle @talays-portkey @seawherethesunsets @yibo-wang @yilinglaozu

#not sure how well the tracking tag will work but giving it a go #once again thank you to everyone and happy new year!!#mine #2022 recap

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