#I liked the way I drew him last time so much that it’s permanent I think

[semischarmed]

River

River was a walking enigma. 

Instagram, TikTok, Facebook- hell, I even tried looking for a yearbook. Nothing. I had nothing on the guy. Like an illusion, he merely appeared, did his work diligently and then promptly vanished. In fact, his most common phrase around the office was a “Sorry, I can’t- busy.” His distance seemed to put some people off. That only made me want him more.

When Chelsea threw a quitting party, he dropped in, chatted for a few minutes and then left without saying goodbye- except to Chelsea. He wasn’t rude by any means. I’ve only ever seen the guy be polite. I personally found it quite hot. His mysteriousness brought an allure about him.

During another quitting party- a dinner for Mark this time, I tried to make conversation, asking him why he was named River. I actually asked the question in a few roundabout ways. Most I ever got was a “just what my parents named me- they thought I’d have brown hair”. I tried to pry for his hobbies, asked what he did for fun and he only responded with a “I watch baseball, go to the gym, watch TV. I guess”, before asking me about mine. The conversation was cordial, and probably a little boring, but I was captivated. This had been the closest I ever sat next to him. 

My breathing quickened, ever so slightly, as I watched his shirt struggle to contain the form within. I traced the vascularity in his hands, the craftsmanship in the sculpt of his neck, the fabric of his shirt stretching taut when he would reach to grab a napkin. There was a full plate of food in front of me but I was only salivating at one thing.

The conditions were not ideal- but what choice did I have? The guy was like a ghost. I laughed a bit at the irony. I sat right across, trying to filter the scents and the sounds of food and camaraderie to focus on him. This would take all my brain power. I steadied my breathing and sharpened my focus, as I continued to answer and ask mundane questions about some work projects we both had. I started my work, mimicking every microexpression, every slight movement. I tailored every word from my mouth- even my delivery to slowly match his. This had to be subtle, of course- I’ve found out the hard way in the past how creepy this process could look in public if done too quickly. 

River’s eyes blinked slower, like a haze was forming in his mind. I followed suit, weaving my slight impersonation in and out of our conversation. Like a pulse, I felt our movements begin to sync. Almost there. Now came the tough part, slowly drawing him out and isolating him without lo-

“C’mon, let’s all get shots- uh… River you ok bro?” Mark asked.

He shook off his daze, surprised at himself before laughing off the weirdness. 

I was pissed the rest of the night, forcing myself to hide the permanent glare I would have worn for Mark. 

As the night drew on, River left early- of course, and I continued on, staying a bit longer to wish Mark well in one final toast for the night. 

That would be the last time in a while I’d be so close to him. The following drought was unbearable. For the next few months, no one quit. No big holidays were coming up, and our office wasn’t much for parties. Instead, I had to satiate myself with glances and the occasional short conversation.

= = = = 

“Does that work for you two?” My boss asked. I nodded readily, eyeing River’s response. Another nod.

Fuck. I practically jumped when the boss said those words. A presentation. A presentation with River. A chance.

I think I deserved an Oscar for my acting in the few weeks after we were both tasked with the presentation. A wrong font here, corrupted save there, a missed chart. I “worked” tirelessly on the presentation with River, making sure to leave enough mistakes and gaps to drag the process out. 

The guy was too polite, and I knew I had to use that against him. I ran the clock, watching the days progress into weeks and his brow furrow as stress deepened. Of course, I had to play my part, acting innocent at every step. A quick “sorry” for every mistake I planted was enough to ease suspicion. I even faked a confession about roommate drama causing my decline in performance. I thanked how private he was in that moment- I lived alone. Ever the hero, River was quick to take on the responsibility- even covering for me on few occasions. I knew I had to get inside this man.

Then came the day before the big presentation.

“I- uh… okay. Maybe we can finish this at my apartment,” He stated, clearly uncomfortable. I held back a moan.

= = = =

“You can set your stuff down there”.

It was a bit boring compared to what I expected. He was definitely put together at work, so it was a bit surprising to see some mess littering his apartment. 

A few posters dotted the walls. Some basketball guy, I guess. An action movie. A generic college banner. His furniture boxy and grey, and the carpets running through the floors were in need of cleaning. Perhaps unsurprisingly, his kitchen was pristine, practically sparkling, aside from a small collection of protein powders and supplements. 

“Uh.. sorry I don’t really have any snacks.”

He sheepishly opened the near-empty fridge and offered me a choice in drink. Some kind of pre-workout beverage and water. I took the water. 

“Okay, I need to head to the gym for a bit. You still have a few slides you wanted to add, right?” A Hoodie-wearing, duffel-toting River asked. I nodded, trying not to look too eager and straining to keep my eyes from staring at his well-defined legs. 

And then, there I was. Alone in River’s apartment. Alone with River’s apartment. I ran to his dirty laundry pile. 

“Mmmphhhh” My eyes rolled back as I took the deepest inhale of my life. These were River’s boxer briefs. The same ones he had just worn. Doused in the scent of a day’s work. It was damp- guess River was a sweaty guy, though the long walk and couple flights of stairs to get to his apartment may have also been culprit. I was paralyzed in bliss, as I took in every note of his natural musk. 

It reverberated deep in my chest as I continued to circulate every ounce of River I could inside me. The underwear was practically glued to my nose and mouth before I finally relented and drew them away, gasping for air. Exquisite. 

My dick jumped at the sight of a single strand of his pubic hair, like flickering flame. A perverse smile planted itself on my face as I gingerly pulled my clothes off. I shivered as the cold, damp fabric that had just touched his bare flesh was now touching mine. I felt his hair on my flesh, now caked in his sweat. The elastic snapped around my waist as I released, a bit tight. My breaths fell shallow, ragged as I sat there basking in his cold embrace.

Next came the tank top. I mentally hit myself for not putting it on first, as it was a significantly less erotic experience. Still, as I slipped my arms through the holes that his once filled, my dick couldn’t help but twitch in approval. 

I ran to his bed, gripped his sheets, and stifled another moan with his pillow. This man had, until today, been a full on mystery to me. And now, here I was- deep in the recesses of his apartment, nestled in the indent on his bed, buried in fabric stained with traces his scent and natural grime. I was drowning in the all aspects of his daily life. It was an intimacy with River previously unheard of and practically a miracle I hadn’t cummed yet. 

The next few moments were sluggish, mind hazy and drunk in pleasure, as I wore my jacket and pants over the River clothes I had already had on me. I mentally thanked myself for wearing tighter clothing earlier today, as I felt them compress River’s undergarments tighter on my flesh. I walked back, sitting on the dining table and pretending to work.

A few minutes later, the door clicked open and a panting River waved. He no longer had a hoodie on and left nothing to imagination. I eyed the feast before me.

I fucking knew it. This kid was ripped. 

I salivated as my eyes followed every contour of the body that would soon be mine. His flesh was flush and glistening with sweat.

“M-must have been some workout,” I mumbled. I couldn’t stop myself from staring.

“Yeah, fucking kicked my ass today,” River said with a short laugh. My dick twitched. River never swore, never gave off a jockish vibe at work, but here he was, beaten tired and unable to contain his natural state behind a facade of politeness. 

My lip quivered when his post-workout scent wafted into my nose. It was divine. True to his name, River had an earthy, deep musk about him. A delayed, almost sour afternote followed, the kind that clings to the nose. It riled me up, knowing this offensive, raw blast of testosterone had been working next to me for the past two years, hidden by layers of work clothes and pleasantries. River was cleaned, masked and sanitized for corporate America. And now I had a private showing to it. I was feral. I wanted-no, needed to be piloting this hunk for myself.

My trance was broken when River dropped to his couch, laughing slightly. This wasn’t his normal laugh- it dropped all pretense and I recoiled out of reflex, thinking back to that same laugh that emanated from the football jocks back in high school. 

A lazy pair of eyes drifted up to meet me. “Sorry bro, just new a few minutes.”

I gulped. This was my chance. No need for precision, no need for focus. River was vulnerable. In any other circumstance, I’d be syncing to his movements, slowly, imperceptibly altering his as he would start following mine. Then I could pull him into my trance, lead him to a safe area as I continued the process. This was different. River served himself up on a platter for me, beaten to near immobility by his workout. No way was I gonna miss this. I stripped quickly, abandoning my original plan.

Without a word, I walked closer to him, grabbing his wrists. 

“W-what are you”. In that instant, i jumped on top of him, allowing my body to follow the contours of his.

He grunted in defiance while I began to grind in pleasure. “Ughhh! Fuck bro. I can’t! I can’t wait. I can’t wait to be River!” 

The process was quick- his drenched, energy drained flesh practically grabbed at mine, drawn by my own energy into itself. It was osmosis. I moaned as I saw the process start, and River’ meaty form encapsulate my own. His arms and legs splayed as he screamed at the intrusion. “What the fuck are you-“ He grunted in pain as he felt our two forms begin to meld. I laughed a perverted laugh, eyeing how deep I was inside him. His lack of energy had been his downfall.

I licked the inside of his head, feeling him shiver and whimper at the intrusion. I whispered venomously. “What am I doing?” I thrusted myself deeper into his muscled form, “I’m becoming River. I’m gonna wear you like a fine red suit.” I felt my facial muscles match his and pulled him into a smile he did not intend to make. “You boring prude. This body was built for sex. You’re starving this poor thing. I bet it’s backed up.” I whined in half-whispers. “Let me take you for a ride.” River moaned in horror, kicking his legs into the sofa in discomfort as his muscled back began to close over me. Possessing the ginger felt like a warm, dank hug. “You feel that?” I teased, this time his voice mimicking mine. He could no longer respond as it had become my mouthpiece. Instead, his head repeatedly slammed the sofa in resistance, forced to wear a smile that was not his own. 

I laughed, feeling our combined chest heave in deep pleasure as I jammed my fingers deep into each bicep. I drilled into each arm, relishing in feeling his muscle fibers slip past me. Power. He shook as he tried in vain to resist my fingers filling into his. Putting on those vascular hands like well-fitted gloves. “Fuck yeah bro… that’s the stuff. Dominate me. Command me. Control my every move. My nerves are itching for their owner. Put this ginger meatsuit on…” I mock in his voice. Tears welled in my eyes, as I felt him continue to slam our slowly merging head into the sofa. I purse our lips before moaning further. “Wear my clothes…” My legs wove into his, twisting and binding into one. “Wear my personality…” the bottom half of our merged face laughs, while my new eyes blink away angered tears. I felt his memories begin to flow and surround mine. His rage and desperation flowed through me. The slamming slowed, coming to a complete halt as a reborn River’s eyes blinked into a lewd, sinful glee. “Wear my life.”

I stood up, piloting my new body towards the mirror. “You’re still in there, aren’t you?” River’s outward defiance no longer showed over his perfect flesh but his mind was a raging storm. “Good.” His body lit in searing pain, sore muscle tendon and fiber forced to flex. I felt the storm calm as he was stunned. I myself winced slightly before my arousal imprinted itself through River’s face. This was my pain now. I could feel every fiber of his musculature tearing and repairing themselves. Building back stronger with the pre-workout mix he had drunken earlier. Building back with me embedded deep inside. Our leg wobbled in pain, before I slapped it back into submission, forcing it to flex. “Fuck yeah, that’s the stuff.”

I roared and patted my new chest and abs. “YEEAAAH!” Just one last piece of me was left. An intentional dessert I had left not internally bonded with River. 

I let his normally stoic face relay the erotic pleasure I felt in wearing this flesh. I then pulled a “serious” face, bringing pained biceps into a flex. “We gotta live up to our name bro… gotta let the river flow”. A greedy tongue licked the dripping sweat hanging off ginger hairs of his armpit. I wanted to savor this. The tangy, salty nectar lingered in our shared tongue before I began to make out with my new reflection. With a grunt, I slammed River’s pelvis into the mirror, groaning as my growing hard-on began to fill into his dick. At first contact, I felt our senses mingle and the cold metal of the mirror. I grunted, trying to reign in the lust. With our linked sensitivity, I could feel my original body’s dick worming itself into my soon to be River-flavored cock. I thrusted my rod up, relishing in the soothing bare metal beneath the perverse cock and cock sleeve combination.

I grabbed at my new rod with one hand, while the other greedily dragged across my new body, feeling every new muscle and crevice and damp piece of the hunk. River thrashed inside me, disgusted at feeling his own flesh violate itself. At watching this new carnal entity that wore his face and name.

“S-someone’s gonna find out. Someone will fix this” He threatened in my mind. 

“No bro… you’re the perfect host. No one at work knows a thing about you”. I cooed in his voice. “When we quit, when I take this thick ginger cock for a joy ride-“ tug “No one…” tug “No one will know.” I groaned as the last of his dick bonded to mine. We were complete. “I’m River now!” I shouted before devolving into whimpers of pleasure as I felt River’s warm seed stream out of me. 

River’s softening, sore wood was forced back into full mast as I eyed the full extent of my- now his- depravity. Not wanting to waste a drop, I smeared my new lotion onto my new flesh, caking in layers of his drying sweat with layers of drying semen. I could only hear gagging in my mind as River was forced to taste his own produce. It’s my body now anyways, why shouldn’t it reek of sex and his natural musk?

[vanhelsingapologist]

Your blood, my water.

—

Haven’t drawn him in many moons which means I colored a sketch I’ll never finish.

[gay-dorito-dust]

bro a ken x reader where the reader moves to barbieland but she’s got tattoos and he’s got no clue what they are …

The ending to this is absolute arse. Idk what to do.

‘What’s this?’ Ken asked as he gestured to the tattoos you had littered here and there before even more questions followed after. ‘Can they come off? Did someone draw on you like Weird Barbie? If so was it with permanent marker?’ Ken then proceeded to smile, puffing his chest out like a proud bird, ‘I learnt that big word all by myself.’

You chuckled, now realising that ever since you came to BarbieLand there wasn’t a single person in sight who was even remotely as tatted up as you were, and so all of Ken’s random inquiries concerning them made all the more sense. ‘These are called tattoos and no they can’t come off, and I guess you could say that someone ‘drew on me’ but not with a permanent marker pen, but instead a piece of equipment that some might consider a painful process.’ You shrugged. ‘Though that depends on the pain tolerance and the placement of the tattoo.’ The look on Ken’s face was borderline hysterical to you with how wide his eyes became as they trailed over your most recent tattoo as though it’ll jump out and bite him.

‘Did you say painful? Like someone pinching your skin type of painful?’ Ken asked.

‘Hmmm. Think more like being stung a thousand times when in the midst of the outlining of the tattoo, only to then feel like your being scratched repeatedly and all over by a stray cat when they start the shading and or colouring process.’ You told him.

‘So you’re meaning to tell me that you were being hurt!’ Ken cried, retracting his hand away from you as though he was going to cause you more harm, which was something he doesn’t want to have happen. ‘Why would you or anyone ever want to go through that horrible process?!’ He said, voice muffled with his hands clasped over his mouth. You should’ve probably known that Ken would’ve reacted like this but the damage was already done, and yet you couldn’t help but find it sweet when he exemplified concern over your well-being, despite the fact that it was over something as briefly painful as a tattoo.

‘Beauty is pain as they say,’ you began, ‘but I found that once you get your first tattoo, you’ll soon enough want more to add to the collection. Think of it this way, we use tattoos as a way of self expression, some of them can be of something meaningful or something fun and cartoonish and hold no meaning at all other then it looked cool at the time. But I think they quite cool, don’t you Ken?’ The blonde then removed his hands from his mouth, moving himself closer to you as to get a better look at your tattoos in general, just as a smile appeared on his face. ‘They’re so cool.’ He admitted but it was clear he was still a little conflicted about the pain you put yourself through for a tattoo. ‘But they still sound a little frightening.’ He admitted to you with a weak chuckle and you couldn’t do anything but understand and sympathise where he was coming from.

‘Yeah, they can be frightening at first but I promise you Ken, I wasn’t in that much pain for very long, besides I was the one who wanted it done, the tattoo artists were just doing their job.’ You reassured him as you felt his fingers gingerly trace the tattoo, taking in every last detail as he looked at it with a new found perspective. Your tattoos are beautiful to Ken and he’d show appreciation for each and every one by tracing his fingers over it, almost as though he’d ruin the artistry that went into them if he went any harder. He found tattoos fascinating but would probably never get one himself and even if he did, he hoped that this tattoo artist that you talk about could give him a horse portrait, or at least something related to horses at the very least. That would be cool.

[pearlescentmoon-enjoyers]

nosey neighbors warm up doodles from yesterday (the standing ones) and today (the headshots)!

still trying to figure out my markers nonexistent skin tone scale and I feel like I definitely did better w getting closer to bigb's skintone today, but I like the pearl from yesterday more :)

au stuff under the cut !!

alr. so this is an au i've talked about in one of my previous posts. the ground rules are:

people do not remember the games, unless they're winners. after winning, they both retain their memories from the game they won & future games, and the past games.

winners retain the major injuries from the games they've won (such as pearl's frostbite and scarring in this au), but not any massive injuries from other games

typically, these injuries heal over time (such as grian's bruising after the desert duo fight), but for more extensive and permanent injuries ie frostbite don't tend to heal

the watchers are canon in this au

also disclaimer or whatever this isn't shipping the nosey neighbors!! i think they're a great duo as friends and/or mentor-student duo kind of :)

so, pearl wakes up after double life w bad frostbite damage (she didn't lose her fingers bc of that cause um i said so but the lore explanation is probably that it would make her more boring to the watchers). her frostbite made her legs and arms weaker, making it difficult to walk or take care of herself properly.

bigb helps pearl deal with her frostbite and lends her his sweater, since she didn't want to keep her scarlet pearl clothes. in general, bigb assists pearl in adapting to her new injuries, coming up with ways for her to still fight without needing to strain her hands too much, etc.

also bigb is a cat hybrid in this because um. i drew him as a a cat once, and now i cant undo it sorry guys he's furryfied.

there's more to the au (ie more interesting timeline details, especially for secret life), but i'll probably write it out more once i rewatch pearl's last life & limited life, cause i have very little memory of them lol

[otdiaftg]

The King's Men - Chapter Four

Day: Tuesday, January 9th Time: 10:15 PM EST

Andrew sprawled on the couch in the lounge while Kevin went ahead to change out. Neil hesitated, changed his mind and started after Kevin, and changed his mind again. He stood behind the couch, folding his arms across the back of it, and peered down at Andrew. Andrew had one arm folded under his head and the other draped over his eyes to block the light. "One of these days you might as well practice with us," Neil said. He wasn't surprised when Andrew didn't answer, but he refused to give up that easily. "Why'd you even start playing if you weren't willing to practice?" "It was a bigger cage than the alternative." That was one of the things reporters had liked harping about most when Kevin became a permanent fixture at Andrew's side: Kevin was raised at Evermore, surrounded by the best and practically born with a racquet in his hand, whereas Andrew learned Exy while he was locked up in juvie. Neil had a page-long article about it in his notebook. It was crassly titled "The Prince and the Pauper", and its focus was on how doomed their friendship was. The writer thought their attitudes toward Exy too incompatible and their backgrounds too different for them to stay together long. Neil assumed Officer Higgins was the reason Andrew landed in one of the best juvenile facilities in California. It focused on rehabilitation through discipline and empowerment, which meant all of the inmates learned team sports. There wasn't enough room for a full-sized court, but an officer confirmed in an interview they had a half-court on the facility grounds. The best and best-behaved of the would-be Exy athletes went on occasional field trips to the community center and competed with neighborhood teams. Neil didn't blame Andrew for thinking the court was a better place to be than a cell, but he doubted Exy was the only sport the facility offered. Andrew chose Exy for a reason. Neil would assume the aggressive nature of the game appealed to him, but Andrew was a goalkeeper. He got very few opportunities to indulge in mindless violence. He said as much to Andrew and got a faint shrug in response. "The warden assigned it to me," Andrew said. "I couldn't play otherwise." "They thought you'd hurt someone if you were loose on the court?" Neil asked. Andrew didn't answer; Neil took his silence as confirmation. He tried imagining Andrew in any other position but couldn't see it. "I think it's better this way, with you as the last line of defense. You let us run ourselves into the ground and clean up behind us. You play the game like you play life. That's why you're so good at it."

Art used with permission by Ouijacine. Thank you @ouijacine!

[habken]

🥲 I love your art and vibe in general , I was wondering if your ao3 bookmarks are public??? I just feel like you have some BANGER fics to browse through

Thank you ! This is embarrassing lmao I read a lot of fics and I think a have almost 500 public bookmarks 😭 my username on there is just habs if you wanted to browse them, a huge chunk of them are quirk accident stuff

my personal recommendations:

si vis pacem by athenoot - 70k incomplete - john wick reincarnates as deku, it’s so good and also a Very Funny concept to me

the dispatcher by bovie - 18k incomplete - deku’s like a semi omnipent god and also ten years old and also works as a dispathcer for underground heroes! The dedication the author has put into the fic is insane there’s so many maps, the disaster management and just everything is so well thought out and researched it’s honestly really impressive

permanent ink by maxine - 117k complete - it’s a bkdk soulmate fic, you get words on your arm at a certain age, something that your soulmate has said to you that’s important. Bakugou knows it’s deku but doesn’t know how to tell him. It’s bkdk but it also lowkey really made me like bakukami too

vacation by literalpieceoftrash - 10k incomplete - the last update was Awhile ago but I recommend it wholeheartedly anyways. Basically planes trains and automobiles except all for one accidentally kidnaps deku when he steals inko’s rental car and so all might (posing as a civilian) and her are trying to get deku back, and everyone is collectively trying to make their way across the country to get to california for the hero convention (to top it off, it’s also dad for one) 10/10

seeping through by ashenice - 6k complete - I love fics with the one for all holders so much, anything with the quirk haunted tag I will gobble up and this one is super funny. Summary is deku starts developing traits/skills from the past users starting with a shellfish allergy

the fine line (between you and me) by azureflowers - 50k complete - bkdk sharing a body I love bodyswap shenanigans so much and this one was so fun to read ! Little angst, little goofy, deku’s body technically kicks it but,,, it’s fine

cat’s paws on calm water by floating cow - 19k complete - pro hero!deku goes back in time to stop villains from attacking his class, tries to do so wothout being found out but it doesn’t fully go as planned. One of my favourite time travel fics ! I’ve reread it at least once I like it a whole bunch

a bunny and her son by wonhaebunny - 2k complete - this one is topical because of the bunny bakugou stuff I drew, but bakugou’s a big miruko stan and doesn’t know how to act when he meets her it’s just very cute and sweet and deku’s a little shit <3

gingerbread cookies by necroesthe - 14k complete - I originally read this when I was looking for peanut allergy!deku stuff and it’s so sweet I love it a lot. It’s shindeku and summary is deku get too many cavities so his mom (and everyone in 1a) bans him from eating sweets, he finds shinsou making cookies and decides to kick it with him during lunches

[custardcrazy]

Hi there! Idk if you're taking requests but here's one for now:

Ted Logan x reader

Reader works at a music shop (they bond over a love for music or a specific band). Reader doesnt play the guitar. They ask Ted for some pointers and hes all flustered trying to teach her.

you're so wild (and wonderful)

summary: It's not every day that a cute near-stranger offers to teach you guitar. (gn!reader)

wordcount: 5.2k

A/N: uhhh little to no beta so again. correct me if i terrifically fucked up some grammar thing or spelling and i'll be SO SO grateful

tagged: @kurt-nightcrawler

You'd worked at the mom-and-pop record store long enough to get a good feel for the place. 

It wasn't small, but it also wasn't big and shiny like other popular outlets; tucked into a street corner in downtown San Dimas, it wasn't exactly noticeable if you didn't know where to look. Because of that, you mostly encountered the same people -- the lady always wearing cable-knit sweaters, the teenage punk with a pretty gnarly mohawk, and last but not least the middle-aged guy who came in every so often to check if you had any new Beatles records.

(You usually didn't, but it was nice to hear him talk about how his various fishing trips went instead.) 

Sometimes, someone new wandered in now and then, drawn in by the faded sign and various music posters plastered around or on the door. Of course, not all stayed; some just found what they were looking for and left, others got overwhelmed and did the same. It didn't really matter, because most of what you did anyway was sit behind the counter and wait. 

But it wasn't unpleasant in the slightest. The hours were excellent, the pay was good, and you got a discount if you wanted to buy a record for yourself. All in all, it was totally worth the occasional music snob who ranted to you about the newer generation "ruining music" or whatever. You didn't get paid to listen to that. 

Today wasn't too different from any other -- you checked all the deliveries, made sure everything was in order, and double-checked the new arrivals. Then, you found your familiar post by the register, pulling up the familiar battered stool. It did nothing for your poor back, but it was better than standing for sure. 

Your coworker, Alice, arrived a couple minutes after you. She was slight in build with more than a few piercings, always sporting an oversized band tee. You were generally friendly to each other, but since she usually killed time by looking through all the various records and other things on sale, or just straight-up vanished into the back; you didn't get many opportunities to speak to her. Which kind of sucked, because she was ridiculously funny. In a sort-of sarcastic, biting way. 

An hour went by with nothing out of the ordinary. A couple of teenagers came in, and you watched somewhat amusedly as they attempted to pool their money to buy a Pixies record. 

Unfortunately, they had to leave empty-handed. 

You were staring at the wall when the tinny chime of the bell announced a new customer. 

Abruptly, your attention snapped up, and you got a good look at the new arrivals. 

One was around average height, with blonde curls in what looked to be a halfway-mullet and downturned eyes that made him look permanently sleepy. He looked around the store with unconcealed reverence, and it was a little funny -- but you respected it all the same. But it wasn't him that really drew your attention. 

It was the other guy he came in with.

Tall, dark-haired, rather easy on the eyes and dare you say handsome, he carried himself with an easy, loping gait that immediately stuck out to you. It wasn't often you found someone attractive quite like this, and even rarer that you had to pause what you were doing to look. (Even though the fact remained that in this case you were doing pretty much nothing, it still counted.) 

It took all of your effort to remain seated and wait for him -- well, them, to approach. 

Thankfully, it didn't take too long. After maybe a minute or two, the newcomers looked at each other. For whatever reason, you waited with extreme anticipation. 

Then they grinned. "Excellent." 

You were a bit taken aback at the way they said it in perfect unison, but didn't get the chance to dwell on it; they were heading towards you, and you had to put on your customer-ready smile. 

Though it didn't escape your notice that it came easier than usual. 

"Hey," you said, hoping you didn't sound strained, "can I help you with anything?" 

"Hi," replied Blond Guy. "Yeah, me and my esteemed colleague here would like to know if that two-for-one sign that is looking most ragged still applies." He gestured to the back, where all the various memorabilia and tee shirts were -- stuff that usually wasn't popular amongst customers, and were mostly things that the owners found in the depths of their attic. His "colleague" nodded in agreement, hair flopping around a little. 

You mirrored the nod, but with less shoulder movement. "Yeah, it goes for basically anything, since everything over there is under ten bucks." Pausing briefly, you added, "unless you try to get a tee shirt for the price of a guitar pick. Then, no." 

That earned another nod from Tall Guy. "OK, that makes sense. Thanks, dude." 

He grinned, and his smile was bright enough to rival the sun; you were momentarily blinded, but were able to smile back. "No problem. Just ask me if you need anything else." 

When the two boys turned away to inspect the goods, you heaved an internal sigh of relief. 

And for once, it wasn't because the customers were being annoying. 

You put in the bare minimum in pretending to not be staring; only glancing for a split second at the pages of your battered magazine that served as time-killing material before looking back up. But, seriously, even if you were doing a poor job, neither of the guys seemed to notice. They were pretty engrossed in examining a couple Garfield mugs. 

After that, they actually moved on to the records -- lingering near Hendrix but not dwelling long on Herb Albert, and then making their way through the racks from there. It was a personal hobby of yours to guess what a customer would buy from their appearance and demeanor alone. But you'd been too …  preoccupied to think of it, and you assumed it'd be considered cheating to take a stab at it now. 

Eventually, they returned to your counter, and you looked up at their approach. As if you hadn't been watching intently out of your peripherals. 

A single record was set in front of you, and you put down your magazine. 

"Just this one?" Peering down at it, you quickly recognized the album cover: More Songs About Buildings and Food, by Talking Heads. "Oh, good choice." 

"You really think so?" Asked the taller boy, and it was a little overwhelming with how much he was focused on you. It didn't seem like he was doing it on purpose, though. "I liked '77 a lot, but I'm not sure if David Byrne's delivery'll go well in this album. His voice is pretty distinctive, dude." 

"Trust me," you grinned, "it's good. You won't regret giving it a listen." 

Flipping the record over to peer briefly at the back, you put it back down. "That'll be $6.95." 

It took a bit of frantic searching on their part, but eventually, you slid a couple crumpled bills into the register and gave them back a nickel in change. 

For a moment, your hand just hovered awkwardly in the air, the coin in your palm. The boys exchanged glances, as if daring the other to take it. But, finally, the shorter of the two grabbed it, shoving it into the pocket of his jeans. 

"What're you gonna use that for? A Tootsie Roll?" Grinning, the dark-haired guy looked proud of his joke. 

You didn't miss how he glanced over at you, to check your reaction; completely unphased by how his friend shot him a near-murderous look. 

"Shut up, Ted, you wanted it too!" 

Unfortunately, you didn't catch the blonde's name, as they were already walking away from you, record in tow. The small bell chimed once more. For a moment, you just looked at the door, the store feeling empty again. 

At least you had a name to attach to his face. 

… But it was kind of embarrassing, how you didn't even think of asking him. Maybe you wouldn't even see him again. 

Sighing, you picked back up your extremely entertaining reading material, attempting to bury your shame with a poorly-written article about a celebrity's affair. 

The rest of the day was pretty boring, to say the least. Only a couple more customers came in, but at least you made a decent amount of sales. Alice emerged from the back a couple times to put a couple ancient-looking movie posters on the walls -- you recognized Barbarella and Yellow Submarine. 

"Don't get run over," was Alice's way of saying goodbye to you, as you grabbed your stuff and headed home just after six. 

You stayed up a bit later than usual, but it didn't matter, since you had to be at the record store at around eleven or so. And it wasn't like you got lunch rushes or anything that you absolutely had to be there to handle. 

To be honest, it was barely annoying when that Ted kept popping into your mind; nobody could blame you, after all. It was rare that anybody you encountered at work was someone who legitimately had the power to capture your attention. So you entertained the feeling, right up until you arrived back at work the next day. 

Sitting down at the counter with a purpose after doing the usual routine, you rummaged around for another crappy magazine.  Now you were going to be professional and level-headed. 

And that was what you did for an hour or so. Professional stuff, like helping out a confused-looking older woman find an Elvis record, or shooing away a group of what looked to be ten-to-eleven-year-olds who tried in vain to barter for the junk that was already considerably cheaper than everything else in the store.

Everything was going well. 

Until, of course, the bell dinged again, and you just had to look up on instinct. 

They were back. 

This time, the shorter guy was wearing a backwards cap (bright red) with his blonde curls poking out the front. You appreciated that for a moment, and then, of course, your gaze slid over to him. Worn-out Megadeth shirt and all. 

To your mild surprise, he met your gaze almost instantaneously. And then he was jogging -- well, practically bounding over. 

"Dude!" He exclaimed, once he was directly in front of you. "You were so right. That album was truly heart-stirring." 

It took you a moment to recall which album he was talking about. When you did, though, you didn't hesitate to return his once-again blinding smile. "Yeah, told you so. You should totally listen to more Talking Heads, if you liked the album that much." Unlike last time, Ted's friend was hanging back, but you were curious anyway, and gestured in the blonde's direction. "Did he listen to it, too?" 

"Oh, Bill?" Nodding vigorously, Ted's grin didn't fade. "Yeah, he thought it was pretty good. But he didn't like it as much as I did." 

"At least he still liked it." You shrugged. "I mean, you were the one who bought it, right?" 

Ted glanced off to the side. "Well, I was the one who decided to buy it." He ducked his head a little. "Uh, we pooled our money, though." 

"Oh, okay." 

There was a bit of an awkward silence, before you spoke up again. "... Is there anything specific you're looking for today?" 

"Oh!" At that, Ted perked up. "Yeah, actually. I was gonna ask if there were any other Talking Heads albums here, besides, y'know, the ones I've already listened to." Quickly, he added, "uh, and by that I mean '77 and More Songs About Buildings and Food." 

"Sure, I remember." You put down your reading material, before getting off the stool and coming out from behind the counter. "Let's take a look." 

He followed behind you as you made your way to the T shelf, and stood next to you as you thumbed through the records. 

(If you concentrated just hard enough, you could feel how he was only inches away.) 

It didn't take long to find what you were looking for, thankfully. Feeling victorious, you pulled out Remain in Light. And right behind that was Fear of Music. It kind of sucked that Speaking in Tongues wasn't nearby, but if you got lucky, maybe you could find it in the countless decaying cardboard boxes in the back. 

"There," you announced, "here. This is good stuff, I think." You showed the album to Ted, and he leaned a little closer in order to get a better look. 

"It might be kind of a weird listen for some people, but it's good in my opinion. Some of the songs are kind of similar to hip-hop, and they even use elements of African music -- it's pretty cool." When you offered it to him, he took it; he handled it as if it was a delicate piece of treasure, flipping it over to read over the song titles. 

"Rad," he said, after a few moments of deep concentration. "Thanks." 

"No problem." 

You found yourself smiling along with him. "Need anything else?" 

"I think I'm okay for now." His shoulders bobbed when he nodded, you noticed. "I'm gonna look at the other albums over here for a sec, I think." 

"Sounds good. I'll be over there if you need me." 

After you turned your back to walk back to the counter, you didn't catch how he looked up -- before glancing back at the records. Once you were seated once again, the only thing you saw was how engrossed Ted was in finding what he was after. Or maybe he was just examining the album art; who knew for certain? 

It was a little while later when Bill traipsed over to Ted, and they quietly conferred. Their very hushed discussion ended pretty fast, and before you knew it, they were in front of you, and the album you'd shown Ted was placed in front of you. 

"Just this one?" You wondered if they were going to keep buying singular records. "Same as yesterday. $6.95, please." 

Again, it took a bit for the money to be collected from their pockets, but again, there was a nickel left in change. 

You didn't miss how Ted gave Bill a smug look as he reached over to take the coin from you.

Ted's fingertips were callused as your hands brushed, and 

chocolate brown eyes met yours, and 

"Do you play an instrument?" You blurted, and then winced. "Sorry, that was -- " 

" -- Actually, yeah!" 

But before you could apologize, Ted cut you off. If he was thrown off-guard by your oddly-placed question, he didn't show it; if anything, he actually looked happy that you'd asked. 

"I play guitar!" Proudly, he continued, "so does Bill! Which is great, because we can learn all the tough songs together." The previous brief animosity over the nickel completely disappeared as they exchanged glowing looks. "It is most productive." 

"Oh." Briefly, you were still caught between guilt and embarrassment, but you recovered quickly. "Oh! That's neat, actually. Guitar's a cool instrument."  

Bill seemed to take your praise in stride, but Ted -- he suddenly avoided eye contact. You carried on, though. "I've kind of always wanted to learn, but I've never really committed." Giggling semi-awkwardly, you shrugged. "Oh well, I guess. Maybe someday, right? Actually buying a guitar might be kinda hard, though. I've fooled around on a couple, but never owned one." 

"That is totally understandable," nodded Bill solemnly, "it does take a decent amount of cash and time to be able to learn any instrument." 

"Exactly," you agreed. Smiling, you nodded slightly in return. "Have a nice day, guys." 

Suddenly, Ted's attention was back on you with an intensity. You looked at him -- did he have a question about the album? -- but no, he was practically radiating nervous energy, almost looking like a deer caught in headlights. You watched as his Adam's apple bobbed; he seemed to be steeling himself. 

Before you could ask if he was okay, though -- 

"I could -- " he cleared his throat, "I could, uh, teach you a bit of guitar. If you wanna." 

What?

"What?" You and Bill said, at the same time. 

"I mean, I'm not, like, prodigy material, but… " Ted's face was gradually appearing pinker by the second. "I know some stuff, at least." 

Ignoring Bill's extremely concerning look directed at his friend, you genuinely considered his offer. 

This was actually a prime-time opportunity. 

It wasn't every day that cute boys just fell out of the sky (well, walked through the door of the record store) and offered to give you free guitar lessons. Sure, it was true that you barely knew him -- but if you said no, would you even get the chance to get to know him? Probably not. You couldn't tell if he was the type of guy to back off if you said no to something like this; and that was a little scary. 

He was shuffling a little, and looked pretty nervous by the time you came to a conclusion. 

"Yeah," you affirmed. 

"That'd be nice." 

If anything, Bill looked more surprised than Ted; who, after a moment or two, seemingly remembered his ability to speak. 

"Wait, really?" Ted's face displayed open shock, before fading beautifully into joy. 

"Killer, dude." 

-- 

Turns out the bookmark you'd been using also worked pretty well as a means for Ted to scribble down his (and Bill's, apparently) address. His handwriting was a couple steps up from basically illegible, but considering that you'd noticed his hand shaking, you'd take what you could get. You had a sneaking suspicion that, even on a good day, writing wasn't his strong suit. 

The apartment building wasn't too far from your own home, thankfully. 

You were only a bit nervous when standing in front of the door. Waiting for either Bill or Ted to answer it. 

It turned out to be the latter, who looked partially disheveled as he opened the door for you, stepping aside. 

"Sorry. It's a bit of a mess, dude," he said, sounding sheepish, "uh, but trust me, it's usually way worse." 

Stepping inside, you looked around -- it wasn't the worst place you'd seen, to be honest, and it had a sense of familiarity radiating from all the stickers stuck on basically every surface, and posters, pictures, and other memorabilia everywhere. Most of the posters were of bands you recognized. 

"It's fine," you replied, as he shut the door behind you. "Is Bill home?" 

"No, he went out," came Ted's answer. "Dunno where, though. He just gave me a sorta squinty look and left." 

"Oh." 

An awkward beat, before Ted picked up the thread of conversation; thin as it was. 

"C'mon, you can sit down on the couch or wherever. I'll go get the guitars." He smiled at you. "There's probably, like, cereal in the kitchen if you want something." And with that, he practically bolted into the next room. 

Doing as he said, you made a place for yourself on the green couch, trying not to knock off any of the pillow and whatnot piled onto the surface. Not that you thought Ted would mind or anything, judging by the semi-cluttered state of the apartment -- but you didn't want to be a rude houseguest, especially during the first time he'd invited you over. 

Ted returned pretty quickly, though, carrying two guitars. One was beige, the other black and red. 

"You can take Bill's," he said, offering the latter guitar to you. "He won't mind, I think. Unless you break it or something." 

"That's not … really comforting." Taking the guitar, you placed it in your lap. "Now I'm nervous." 

"Oh. Sorry, dude." He sat down next to you, his own instrument placed on his leg in a position that looked much more comfortable. "I mean, if you did break it, it'd be most calamitous." Seeing your expression, he rushed to add, "but I trust you not to! Since you work in a record store and all." 

"That's a good point." Looking at him, you hoped you didn't appear too lost, and you adjusted the way you held your guitar to mimic him. 

"So, uh." Ted didn't seem to notice. "You wanna learn a couple basic chords? It's gonna be a bit weird at first, but you'll get used to it pretty quick." 

"Alright." 

"Stellar." Rolling his shoulders, he grinned. "Here's an A major chord." He demonstrated the finger position, and then strummed his guitar -- it looked easy enough, but still took a couple tries for you to put your hand in the right spot for it to sound right. Eventually, though, you got it, and Ted beamed. 

"That's it. Probably the easiest chord. Wanna move on?" 

"Sure," you said, "how long will it take to get used to the strings? They're a little tough to keep down." 

"Don't press too hard, it'll kill the quality." Ted adjusted himself in his seat, but didn't take his eyes off you. "If you play regularly, you'll get calluses in no time. Don't worry." 

"I hope so." You unconsciously mirrored his movement, but weren't able to hold eye contact for as long as him, and dropped your gaze to the guitar in your hands. There were a couple small scratches here and there, which was comforting; because if it could survive a few dings and scrapes, it could survive your amateurish playing. 

"I know so, dude." Ted was completely relaxed. " 'Kay, moving on -- C major chord, right? Also pretty easy." He repositioned his fingers, and strummed once more. 

Again, after some trial and error, and maybe a little help, you caught on. Ted looked pleased. "See, you got it! You're learning way quicker than I did." 

You weren't sure if it was empty praise or not, but judging from how blunt he'd been so far, you doubted it. And it wasn't like you weren't going to take the compliment -- not with how it brought a supremely light feeling into your chest. 

Ted had you practice going between the chords a couple times, to get used to switching finger positions. It was awkward, to say the least, but not outright difficult or challenging. You supposed that, with enough practice, it'd get way less fiddly. 

"What's next?" You asked, after that. "More chords?" 

"You got it!" He'd been demonstrating how to switch positions efficiently, and you tried not to focus on how his fingers easily reached across the fretboard with little to no effort. "Next, we've got the G major chord. Three fingers again." 

It was the same process as before, you thought. However, this time, you just couldn't get it right; his fingers and hand were positioned in a way that made it difficult to tell which frets he was pressing. A little frustrated, you tried for the fifth time, and yet. No dice. 

Ted didn't seem too bothered, but he sounded empathetic when he spoke up. "Oh. Lemme help, dude." 

If you were expecting anything in particular, it probably wouldn't have been him reaching over to move your ring finger onto the correct fret, and then nudge your index finger over a little. 

Your heart did a traitorous little skip. 

His hands were warm. 

"... There." Even he looked bashful as he pulled back. "Uh. That should be good now." 

It took you a moment to breathe a "thanks." 

Wonderfully, and finally, you got it right. The chord was a little shaky, but you reveled in your triumph. 

There was something thick in the air, 

but it quickly dissipated as Ted cracked another smile. "See? You got it!" 

"Yeah," was all you could muster. 

"Let's go between those three for now," he said, mercifully not picking up on your current state of mind. "I think that's a good spot to kinda review, right?" Flicking back his head to get his bangs out of his face, he continued. "I'm not going too fast, right? I'm not, like, a professional music teacher or anything, so…" 

At last, you recovered your ability to find words. "No, you're fine. The chords aren't too hard to remember, anyway." 

"Right," agreed Ted, "then, can you play the A major one again?" 

That was easy enough. You got C major right rather quickly too, much to Ted's delight. And you even remembered how to shift between the two positions in a way that didn't result in uncomfortable finger-twisting. Your fingertips were steadily growing sorer, indented by the strings, but you tried not to focus on it; you'd get used to that later. 

However, when you got back to the G major chord… You tried once. Nope. Once more? Couldn't get it. 

Third time could be the charm. 

No dice. Your guitar emitted a sound similar to that of a severely out-of-tune violin. 

"That one trip you up again, dude?" Ted frowned, but it wasn't in a disappointed way at all. More like the sympathy from earlier -- and he sounded a bit guilty, but you didn't know why. 

"I swear it's not on purpose," you grumbled, "sorry." 

" 'S fine, really." His frown melted into that same easy smile. "I get it. Imagine how long it took for me to get that one right. I didn't have a teacher at all." 

Your mind abruptly conjured up an image of Ted, just as frustrated as you were, sitting on the same couch. Struggling to learn the chords you'd gotten in mere minutes. Maybe Bill and him struggled together, when they were both unfamiliar with guitars. Like you were now. 

It was kind of a funny image. You were wondering if it was rude to think so; it probably was, right? 

But your train of thought was quickly interrupted. 

As Ted moved over. 

Closer than the last time. 

"I have a trick that helped when I first learned the G chord," he began, "uh, you just gotta remember that your middle and ring finger are on the same row, right? And the pointer is just up there." He made a couple hand gestures that didn't really help with the explanation. You understood what he meant, however… 

"Where's the pointer finger supposed to go, again?" You asked, a little embarrassed that you'd already forgotten the correct hand position. 

Ted opened his mouth to say something. His brow furrowed as he hesitated, before apparently giving up on trying to detail it with words. Gingerly, he placed his own guitar the side. 

"Just -- here. Hang on." 

Your heart swooped as he reached out again, and -- 

he was so gentle in how he guided your hand to the correct spot, before carefully nudging your fingertips onto the frets, pressing them ever so slightly onto them. 

It took him a moment to speak, and when he did, he hadn't removed his hand from on top of yours yet. He was turned entirely to face you, having been so focused on his task of helping you that he hadn't noticed -- until now. 

"Uh," he said, before clearing his throat. "So, see? Middle and ring on the same row, like I said." 

His voice was quieter. "And … pointer to the side. There." 

You risked a glance up at his face. 

It was a brilliant pink. 

But he still hadn't moved away. 

Every single nerve in your body felt like they were migrating to where your skin met his. 

"... There?" 

You echoed.

Ted finally seemed to snap back to reality -- pulling his hand back, nearly scrambling backwards on the couch, almost bumping his guitar off it in the process, with how he bounced back on the cushions in his rush to get out of your personal space. 

"Yeah!" He blurted as he did so. Face scarlet. Hand flying up to scratch at the back of his neck.

"That -- that should be good." 

And now he was avoiding eye contact. 

"Okay," you replied eloquently, mentally kicking yourself afterward. 

You had to admit, there was a little bit of suspense before you finally strummed your guitar. 

And as if from the heavens above, the correct notes finally rang out, just as Ted had demonstrated earlier. 

"There!" You declared, and couldn't help your sigh of relief. "I think I'll remember it next time." 

It took Ted a second to respond, but when he did, he'd recovered, and was grinning; even if he was still a little pink. 

"... See!" He dropped his hand back to his lap to join the other. "The same goes for other tough stuff in music. If you're having trouble, just try to find a pattern." Sagely, he nodded. "Even if it takes you a while to find the pattern, it'll be most gratifying in the end. Makes it way easier to remember stuff." 

"Yeah, thanks." You loosened your grip on your guitar. "Actually, that helps a lot. Should we go back to reviewing all the chords again?" 

Ted reached back to grab his own instrument, before flicking back his head to get his bangs out of his face. 

"Let's do it, dude." 

-- 

It was about an hour and a half later when your fingertips really started to get sore; even after said hour and a half was interspersed with several breaks, in which your very helpful teacher showed you a couple records from his own collection. And played a couple songs from said couple records. 

Most of the songs were from the albums you'd chosen for him. 

However, when it came to continuing to practice guitar, half of you wanted to bravely persist, and the other half wanted to stop. Though it was inevitably Ted that made the decision. 

"I said it'd take time for you to get calluses, but you shouldn't push yourself too hard," he said, after you winced for maybe the third time. "It hurts, right? And that sucks, that was exactly what it felt like for me during the first, like, few weeks or so." Idly, he pushed back a lock of his hair which had migrated into his face. "I think we could stop for now." 

"Yeah, okay." You put down your guitar. "You're right. I should head home to eat, anyway." 

"Right," he replied. 

There was an awkward beat, before you finally stood up. Ted followed suit.

"Yeah," you repeated, not being able to stop the smile that tugged at the corner of your mouth. "Thanks. Really, it was really sweet of you to offer to teach me a bit of guitar. I only mentioned it in passing, too." 

His hand was back on the back of his neck as he walked the short distance with you to the entrance. "It's nothing," he deflected, but his expression said it all. "I'm just glad that I didn't turn out to be a horrific teacher, or something." 

"No, you were fine!" Giving him another 'thanks' as he opened the door for you, you stepped out of the apartment. "I'm just glad that I wasn't a horrific student." 

Turning to face him, you inclined your head, speaking before he could object.

"Bye. And thanks -- " 

"-- you wanna do this again?" 

It seemed even he was surprised at the question, taking into account how his face reddened. Once again. "Uh," he added, "I mean, it was fun. To hang out and teach you a couple chords. It'd be nice to hang out again." His tone was wavering. Stilted, almost. "Yeah."

It was cute. 

"Sure," you answered without missing a beat. "Give me your number and I'll call when I get home." 

His answering grin was powerful enough to power a thousand solar panels. 

You probably broke a speed limit heading home, to say the least. 

[darktapufifi]

Felt silly so I decided to write up some lore/info for Billy :)

Space Riders AU (made by @onyxonline)

SillyBilly (Formerly; The Laughing Priest) - Average critter height - He/Any

(I haven't had time to draw my boy so have some temporary gacha versions)

In order:

Off duty uniform

On duty uniform

Underwater uniform

Casual outfit

Sleepwear

Gala events

Have I thought of their powers yet? Nah

will i eventually come up with something perfect and make it cannon permanently? Probably

SillyBilly's history below (its long)

For the longest time, as far back as they can remember, Billy was under the Prototype's control. He was a high bishop in his ranks, always successful on his outings to conquer and convert and spread the word of his god and the promised 'Joyous Heaven', spreading the 'Joy' and red smoke across many planets. He did this all because, at some point, he had grown reliant on the smoke and lost his sense of self; what he knew before of his life was gone, just a subservient pawn for the Prototype. His reign as the 'Laughing Priest' lasted years, with many outside of the cult referring to him as the 'Devil Priest' due to his horns and mannerisms when confronted; his twisted humor and malicious intentions for any Space Rider that drew near were normal for them; however, there was something odd about him: he would never kill.

Unfortunately, it was never meant to last, as one day a Space Riders unit managed to apprehend him and take him back into custody. He was devastated that he lost, stripped of his mask and the red smoke he so desperately needed and locked up for his crimes and for his own safety, as it was clear to everyone around them at that time that they were not of sound mind. He was given help, against his will at first, constantly preaching on about the Prototype and suffering through the withdrawals of the red smoke, but eventually breaking free of the cult mindset, though ultimately being left with nothing, no memories, no past, just his name and his charm—something from his past that reminded him far too much of his time spent under the Prototype's control.

Over the course of a few years, he grew to know himself better, showing improvement and growth, to the point where he openly expressed his desire to help others stuck in the situation he was in, actively wanting to redeem himself for his actions and to right the wrongs in his life. Doing his best despite the prejudice or fear he might face, especially from those who know of his past. He works harder than most and puts in effort above and beyond what is required for every task he does, even if he doesn't take breaks on top of that. He manages to always wear a smile while doing work and to keep a goofy and considerate personality about him, no matter the situation. He is an asset to any crew he joins, keeping the mood high and the tension low. Once the Prototype's pawn, he is now a loyal knight to the Space Riders.

 

Though that's not to say there aren't any lasting effects of his past, when going out on missions, he always has to wear his mask no matter what, as any consumption (inhalation, etc.) would not end well. Despite what many may think, his humor is a way to cope with them, naturally incorporating it into his personality without a second thought. He also suffers from insomnia due to nightmares of his past, which leads him to be an avid coffee drinker, not letting on to anyone about his situation or how he's doing; only a very select few know of his conditions, especially those of the medical staff that worked on his case, and he likes to keep it that way.

(Also additionally, SillyBilly from the past in his Laughing Priest fit for those who read this far <3)

(all of this additional info is being posted to SillyBilly's UnVale page as well)

[oblivious-idiot]

Marker Mayhem

Lockwood and Co Appreciation Week: Day One - Favourite Main Trio Character Summary: You find Lockwood asleep in the living room from waiting up for you but your delirious state gets a bit carried away with your permanent marker.

AN: This is for day one of the Lockwood and Co Appreciation Week! Lockwood is probably my favourite character but only by a smidge haha. I love how he can be so protective of George and Lucy while also being a reckless dickhead lol. Pairings: Anthony Lockwood x Reader

Word count: 800~

Warnings: just some fluff and hysterical laughter

When arriving back home to 35 Portland Row it was late in the evening and way past curfew. You'd spent the past few days up north visiting your family but you train back to London was delayed, meaning you got home much later than expected. You made sure to enter the house as quietly as you could so you wouldn't wake any of your housemates, knowing they all could do with as much undisturbed rest as possible.

Once you had taken all your stuff back up to your room and gotten changed you headed back downstairs to make yourself a cup of tea, only to notice the living room light dimly glowing from underneath the door. Slowly opening the door, your tired eyes fell upon the sleeping body of your best friend - and crush, Anthony Lockwood. His body had slightly slid down in his armchair, a magazine sprawled across his chest which he'd clearly tried to read to keep himself awake, drool starting to form on the edge of his mouth. You couldn't help but quietly giggle at his sleepy state and you decided that you should probably get him up to bed. But first you had another idea in mind.

You scoured the kitchen draws until you came across what you were looking for, a permanent marker. He was going to absolutely hate you for this but you were starting to get delirious from your long day that you simply didn't care, it was going to be too funny. Plus, when were you going to get another chance like this again? Lockwood looked like he never slept so it was probably unlikely.

Creeping back into the living room where Lockwood was softly snoring in his chair, you uncapped the pen in your hands with a mischievous grin on your lips. Suppressing your laughter, you slowly and softly drew on Lockwood's face - first just an intricate moustache, but then you moved on to horns and other squiggles around his eyes and chin. What's more, Lockwood smarted to smile when you drew around his lips and temple, which made your face so red from holding in your sniggers. Once you were happy with your completed work you stepped out of the room to get yourself a drink of water and let yourself breathe steady, letting your face turn back to a normal colour.

It was getting late and you realised it was probably due time to wake Lockwood up so he could get some actual rest. "Hey Anthony, it's time to go to bed" you say to him softly as you stroked his hair, making him slowly wake up as he stretched out his arms, looking at you once he opened his eyes. "Oh you're back, thank goodness I was getting worried..." he looked around the dark room and then back to your face "what time is it?" giving you a puzzled look. "Way past your bedtime, come on let's go upstairs" you say as you pull him up from his chair. You lead Lockwood upstairs into his room, guiding him to his bed and away from his mirror so he didn't have time to see the drawings on his face.

The next morning you were in the kitchen with George and Lucy before Lockwood had woken up, but the next thing you heard was Lockwood's voice shouting from within his room "whAT THE-" and then rapid footsteps racing down the stairs. George and Lucy exchanged confused glances while you remembered what happened last night. Suddenly Lockwood swung the kitchen door open, still wearing his clothes from the night before and his face covered in slightly smudged pen "Alright, which one of you three did this!?" his voice mildly angry, breaking halfway through his sentence, eyes darting between the three of you in the room.

George and Lucy both broke down into laughter as soon as Lockwood came in the room "oh I thought it was something serious" Lucy said through snorted laughter, "it suits you quite well actually, really brings out your eyes" George adds in with a smirk. You were trying so hard to not laugh, your artwork looking so much more funny the day after, but because of your suppressed laughter Lockwood shot you a look "it was you.." "I'm sorry, I was really tired, I don't even remember doing it" you held up your hands in defence, laughter escaping your lips. "You don't remember!? Y/n look at my face!" he said, clearly in disbelief "I waited up for you to come home, I was worried, and this is what I get in return??" Lockwood continued, but you couldn't meet his eyes, you couldn't take him seriously looking like that. "I- I'm sorry" you force out amongst your hysterical giggles "I'll help you clean up, I promise" "I would bloody well hope so." Lockwood finally heaved out, finally letting himself laugh about the whole situation.

[andreal831]

Do you think there is anything Klaus could’ve possibly done to make Elijah never able to forgive him? I’m talking like Elijah never even wants to be in the same room as him for the rest of his life.

I definitely think there are a few things he could do.

Now this is hard because these really gets into the difference between TVD Elijah and TO Elijah. While, yes, they are supposed to be the same characters and we can talk about the organic changes that could have led to the difference in the characters, I think we all agree there are some massive differences.

The very first time we see Elijah, he is ready to kill Klaus and only stops when Klaus says he lied. Elijah would never have forgiven Klaus for killing their siblings. He not only never wanted to be in the same room with Klaus but he wanted to remove Klaus from the face of the Earth. We needed more of this Elijah in TO.

To Elijah, and all of their siblings, they could forgive for most things. After all, they were the only people they had. Even when other people became immortal, they were not as immortal as the Mikaelsons. They were cursed to live forever while other immortals could die a little easier. They were forced to forgive each other for all of the pain and torment since everyone else would die and they would be all that was remaining.

That being said, when Klaus took away his siblings permanently, Elijah not only planned to kill Klaus but he hunted Klaus down for 60 years to do so. It wasn't just a rash decision he made in the heat of the moment. It was a methodical, detailed plan.

As much as I want to say Elijah would never forgive Klaus for harming Hayley, his track record is not on my side. We do see him at the beginning of Season 3 struggling to even be around Klaus after what he did to Gia and Hayley, only returning to the compound because Hayley asked him to. However, he ends up forgiving Klaus within a few months. I wish he would have stayed angrier longer. If their lives hadn't been in jeopardy, I think he would have, but he had to prioritize saving his family. Also if they had been unable to fix Hayley's curse, I could see the hostility lasting. Elijah would play nice for Klaus but never forgive him and likely move out as soon as Hope was old enough/sent off to school.

I do think a little bit of TVD Elijah was left in TO Elijah, and a lot of it shifts to Hope. In Season 2, when Klaus is pretending to go off the rails, Elijah hardly hesitates to help dagger him. If Klaus had done something to harm Hope or risk her life, Elijah would never forgive him. I could see him wanting to kill him as he had after he thought Klaus killed their siblings.

It's sad it does take Klaus going to the absolute extreme before he gets this way.

I wish we could have seen more of Elijah's reactions after Celeste's death. I headcanon that Elijah was incredibly depressed after her death but he was also very lonely. We know that her death happens about the same time Klaus took in Marcel. So not only did he lose Celeste but Klaus forced him away from Marcel. I would have loved to see what Elijah threw himself into to deal with this loneliness. I think this is what drew him back to his family, and potentially Rebekah. Like I said, he had eternity ahead of him and Celeste was already gone, if he never forgave Klaus, he was looking at being alone forever.

There are very few things that would make Elijah give up on Klaus, but we did see it a couple of times in the show. Really it comes down to permanent damage to their family, more specifically Rebekah and Hope. And maybe Hayley.

Thanks for the ask!

[night-chant]

Temporary Trouble, Permanent Promise (MLQC One-Shot)

Hello hello greetings it’s me :) Thank you @krishastumblernow​ for this request! I hope you like it!! It is really refreshing and fun talking about MLQC and Lucien with you :))) He is such an interesting love interest (To this day, I still have no idea what goes on in his mind lool)

Featuring: Lucien x afab reader

Word Count: 3103

Summary: Lucien observed that you were in deep thought again, lost in your own world. Fortunately, he had methods to bring you back into his arms and to ensure that nothing would steal you away from him again.

Warnings: 18+ (minors do not interact please! I beg)

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The late afternoon sky was clear and beautiful but why was your mind not feeling the same way?

Last week, Anna and Kiki were snooping into your love life for the umpteenth time ever since they had spotted your frequent visits to the university carrying pastries that they craved so badly. 

“I knew the gardenia bouquet was from Professor Lucien!” Kiki squealed at the occupied vase on your desk. 

You sighed. “Anna, please tell me you don’t take part in office gossip too.”

She managed a sheepish smile. “But how has he been treating you? You've been together for almost a year now. How many dates have you gone on?”

With your mysterious boyfriend, a coincidental encounter often ended up as one. It was kind of hard to link a number with that. Wait, why were you even entertaining Anna’s question?

“What is this, an interrogation?” you asked in a huff, hoping they did not catch the waver in your voice. “It doesn’t matter. We haven’t really gone on one for a while now.”

Anna contemplated that scrap of information. “That makes sense. It is students’ midterm season afterall and who knows what sort of complicated research he could be working on? It was so hard to even arrange a time for him to be our consultant for the next show.”

Kiki pinched your cheek as you wrung a magazine tightly. “Don’t worry! He made time to send flowers for you. I’m sure another date will be set or I’m gonna make sure of it! Maybe some sort of amusement park, the beach or maybe Netflix and chill---”

You bonked her head with the rolled-up magazine. “I thought I gave you enough proposals to draft up to keep you busy, Kiki!”

Anna hastily steered Kiki away before the list could become more inappropriate for a workplace environment. 

“Fine! Fine! Just make sure he is not dating his work instead!” Kiki called back, her last words echoing in your mind.

***

The click of silverware broke the trance and brought you back to the cafe where you sat across from your boyfriend in a secluded table at the corner away from the lively chatter.

“It seems like you have stirred your drink into a little caffeinated whirlpool,” Lucien said, amusement evident across his lips.

Instantly, you dropped the slim spoon, spilling droplets of lukewarm coffee over your fingers. “Ah! Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

“First at my lecture and now here. What am I going to do with my silly girl?” Feigning a helpless sigh, Lucien gestured for your hand. His dark bangs hung low as he concentrated on patting a napkin across your skin. 

You scowled. “You mean your 8 o’clock lecture.”

“Hm, perhaps I need to resort to other methods that will keep your eyes on me.” He brought your hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly, silencing your grumbling. Lucien’s sensual purple eyes did not break contact with yours as his tongue swiped over the last drop of coffee on your skin.

You drew your hand away before anyone nearby would notice. “H-Hey!”

Lucien let out a chuckle with his smiling eyes. He would snatch every single opportunity he got just to see your face burn pink. It didn’t help how easy it was for him either. No matter how much you prepared for his sudden attacks, he would always manage to surprise you, whether it was when he prepared dinner with you or when he laid beside you in bed. 

Just like the sly fox he was. 

Lucien adjusted the sleeves of his dress shirt before leaning forward. “Well, now that I have your undivided attention, why don’t you tell me what is on your mind, Kris?”

Despite his ever-attentive nature, you weren’t afraid to try to escape, undiscovered. “Nothing worth noting,” you simply said, fidgeting with strands of your hair under his scrutiny. 

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? I would not consider it ‘nothing’ if it stole your attention from me --- not once but twice today.”

If he stared a moment longer, you might’ve caved in. His dark overcoat hung over his chair but it easily reminded you of his long white lab coat, of his status as a professor, neuroscientist---heck, even as a consultant. They all reminded you of his duties, responsibilities and surely as a result, the inevitable workload. 

Instead, you grabbed your cup and downed the last of your coffee as you hastily shrugged into your coat. “I-It really doesn’t matter. Let’s go home.” 

Studying your every move, Lucien let you put his coat over him and drag him out of the cafe in silence.

***

The bright red and orange leaves swirled through the cool breeze down the streets of Loveland City. The calling geese soared across the sunset toward the direction of the south. The scenery did its best to distract you but it was too late.

Suddenly, a warm hand held yours and you looked up at Lucien, whose eyes were unreadable. You two stopped walking in the middle of the vacant walkway by the river, barely able to hear the calls of the geese that were now so far away so quickly.

“Something is troubling your mind,” Lucien insisted, reaching for your other hand, shielding them both from the frigid air. “I can’t help but seek the answers to your worries.” He managed a tender smile. “Your scowl is endearing but I prefer your lovely smile the most.”

His quiet, pleading eyes were going to be the death of you. You couldn’t help but smile the smile he cherished above all. It encapsulated the innocence that he would do anything to preserve from the crooked world. He was patient, caring, and intelligent. Maybe, just maybe, it would be unreasonable to turn away from his offer of support.

“I’ve been just thinking . . .” you began but trailed off, fidgeting with his hands that were much larger than you own.

“An awful lot, unfortunately.” 

You held your gaze with his. “Y-You’re not dating your work, are you?”

For a long moment, Lucien did not speak. The breeze was tousling his stubbornly straight hair, rustling his long coat, and rippling the waves of the river. His eyes narrowed as he analyzed your expression as if it was a complex thesis.

Then he let out a soft laugh. 

“So you’ve been scowling all day and lost in your thoughts all because you convinced yourself that I am unfaithful to my dear girlfriend?”

Sheepishly, you rubbed your arm. “Now that you phrased it like that, it really does sound silly.” When he tried to suppress his chuckle, you pouted. “Okay, now you’re making fun of me.”

You were about to turn away, but he caught your wrist. 

“Now, now, there’s no need to turn from me. I still need you so.”

“No, you don’t. You need your work more,” you said but you couldn’t stop the small smile forming when he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind. 

He buried his face into the crook of your neck, nudging your scarf aside with his chin until his lips had access to your bare skin. You giggled against his insistent kisses, squirming from the cold.

“Although I admit I have been busier than usual,” he mused, “it was to ensure that my weekend is free. My weekends are always reserved for you. I will make time for you no matter what.” He turned you around, the last rays of sunlight gleaming against his deep purple gaze. “However, I can’t read your mind, so you will have to let me know what your heart desires from me.” He leaned close to your ear. “And I will provide whatever way I can.”

You blinked, your senses sharpened at his soothing voice and determined devotion. When you didn’t respond, Lucien caressed your hands again. “Ah, it seems like I have not convinced my silly girl.” Before you could protest, he pulled you along, resuming the interrupted stroll down the waterway. “What shall I ever do with you?”

***

There were wonderful perks of dating your next-door neighbour. It almost felt like you were living together, judging by how often you visited each other for simple domestic reasons. You would drop by to water Lucien’s plants, especially since he had convinced you that they grew vibrantly whenever you were around. He would invite you over for dinner after you two went grocery shopping the day before. Sometimes, you two would share coffee on separate balconies, both leaning on the railing, subconsciously, trying to be close even in the early morning.

Tonight, Lucien triumphed as he proposed to invite you over before you could offer the same yourself. I will beat him next time, you promised to yourself as he motioned you inside. You removed your thick coat, deeply sighing into the comforting warmth of Lucien’s apartment, the scent of cinnamon and lavender wafted to you. You started wandering down the hallway, failing to notice how he was locking the door and flipping the latch over the door frame with his eyes trained on your figure, as if the great big fox finally cornered the oblivious rabbit. 

“I left some lettuce in your fridge yesterday,” you mused as you stretched your arms over your head, realizing how stiff you had gotten because of the filming sessions lately. “Maybe we can start with that for dinner. Mm, what goes well with lettuce?” No answer. “Lucien?”

Unfortunately, your momentarily raised arms left you vulnerable as a strong pair of arms wrapped around your waist. Lucien pressed his nose along the side of your neck, inhaling your sweet scent. This did not seem to be the same Lucien as the one at the walkway. This time, a lingering presence of possession hovered in the air. 

“Wait, Lucien??” You tried to squirm out of his grasp, but it was futile against his strength. He always wore that flowing lab coat, making you forget how much muscle was hidden from plain sight. Although your heart was racing, his warmth was soothing as if determined to alleviate the initial panic. “W-What are you doing?”

You could feel Lucien hum against your exposed skin. His soft hair brushing your cheek as his hands began drifting upwards. “I have drawn my conclusions,” he murmured in your ear. “I know what I shall do with you.”

Lucien’s voice was too close to your sensitive ear. He tightened his embrace when you weakly struggled again. “Are you trying to run away from me? After your accusation of my unfaithfulness?” He sighed. “You are truly cruel.”

“I-Is that what this is all about? I wasn’t! That was not what I meant to do!” you protested as you looked over your shoulder, only to find his amused smile and darkening eyes.

You pouted, frustrated you still fell for it. “Hey, you’re just teasing me! Again!” You were about to call him some creative names but his lips met yours, silencing your train of thought in an instant. 

Little did you know that you had always managed to turn such a tranquil professor into a competitive madman with your unintentional provocations. You still thought he was just teasing you even when his hands were all over your body, from tracing your collarbone to squeezing your inner thighs? He’d make sure you retract your words. As every second passed, the gentleness of the kiss slowly but surely became more passionate and dominating, revealing his inner desire. 

You were beginning to feel light-headed and tugged at his sleeve, hoping to take a very much needed breath of air. However, Lucien was insistent that you learn your lesson for doubting the true extent of his love for you, as nothing was more of a priority than his own queen. He yearned for your lips more than he ever yearned for air. His greedy hands craved to feel you more intimately than your clothes were allowing him.

By the time you were able to successfully push his broad shoulders away to breathe, you realized your back was not pressed against his chest anymore, but on a soft comforter instead. Lucien had discarded his overcoat long ago and he was loosening his tie. The blue moonlight streaming through the translucent curtains emphasized his defined biceps and abdomen as he threw his dress shirt behind him.

Lucien was towering over you on his bed, his arms at both sides of your face and his knee between your thighs. Slowly, he stroked your silky hair from your face. His distinct scent surrounded you, overwhelming your senses as it engulfed your own.

Feeling self-conscious, you tried to turn your head to the side to break the intense stare but his slender index finger halted your meek attempt. 

“There’s no need to be shy anymore,” Lucien murmured. “It is just the two of us.” The lightning of frustration had long vanished from your veins. Your heartbeat echoed in your ears, praying to survive his abundant hunger for you. 

Yet your thighs pressed against his leg, your body was instinctively willing to appease his demands.

Lucien ran his lips across your neck, his soft breath fanning over your sensitive skin. “I love you so much, more than anything,” he whispered. “Why won’t you believe me? What must I do to convince such a stubborn heart?”

You made a feeble attempt to pull your sweater off but to no avail with the position you found yourself in, trapped in your boyfriend’s possessive grasp.

“I don’t hear an answer.” Delight creeped into his voice. “I can’t read minds, silly. Tell me what you desire.”

You couldn’t help but let out a whimper, not knowing you ignited a darker desire deep within Lucien. He was being so unfair. With your glossy eyes and small pout, you said, “Please, help me, Professor. It feels too warm.”

One second, your body felt stuffy in thick cotton. The next second, cool air rushed over your chest and stomach. You gasped, almost missing the sound of ripping from your sweater. Hasty fingers pulled your long skirt and tights off, leaving them to pool below your dangling feet. Lucien pressed his toned chest over yours, shielding you from the autumn chill before it could rob your body of warmth.

“Is that all?” he prompted as you squirmed for any sort of friction but he remained still, awaiting your words.

You whined as you clawed your straps off your shoulders. “It’s still too hot, please, take it all off.”

“As you wish.”

Lucien kissed your shoulder as he unclipped and slipped your bra off, caressing your chest, a bit rougher than expected. You whined again and he couldn’t help but chuckle at your impatience. Yanking your undergarment away, he was about to give you another hungry kiss, but you put your palm over his firm chest. His eyes darkened at your sudden refusal yet his smile indicated he was very much entertained by your trembling movements.

“And what else must I do to win your affections, my dear?” Lucien asked, his steady tone almost couldn’t hide his wild instincts to ravish you completely. Then, he felt your thighs shifting against his dress pants. He let out a chuckle. The ringing of his brass buckle and rustling as he removed the rest of his clothes felt much louder in his usually silent bedroom. 

As Lucien was slowly pushing himself in you, you hummed with pleasure. “Faster, Lucien,” you pleaded. Despite the contrasting size difference, you didn’t care. You wanted all of him now. Your welcoming arms felt so inviting as he was pulled right on top of you suddenly, eliciting a groan from him due to your tightness. You let out a moan as you felt the friction you craved from his steady thrusts.

As Lucien marked you with multiple lovebites over your throat and chest, your fingers ran through his hair, dishevelling it into something that was sin to professionalism. He was panting, his pale complexion becoming rosy as you kept moaning his name, desperate for his full attention.

Satisfied with the dozen marks, he gave you a passionate kiss, his lustful tongue meeting yours. As you sucked on his in such a shy yet nevertheless seductive way, his thrusts against you grew more erratic.

“Ah Lucien~” you mewled, clawing your dainty nails deep into his broad back while your limp legs jolted around with his every thrust. “P-Please more~”

Your constant pleads seemed to paint you into the insatiable one but his quickening, deep thrusts said otherwise. Lucien could not break the kiss and his unyielding embrace around you.

Suddenly, the inevitable tension within you grew impossibly tight until you reached your high, eyes slowly unfocusing. Your raw moans for Lucien were muffled by his deep, eager kisses as he continued thrusting in, extending the euphoric feeling. 

With your remaining strength, you wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist before you rocked yourself against him. A deep rumble arose from his chest. You broke the kiss (much to his dismay) before you pressed your lips against his ear: “I love you so very much, Lucien.”

The gentle sincerity and the purity of your sweet voice squeezed his pounding heart, driving him over the edge. He groaned against the crook of your neck as you felt the thick and warm sensation deep in your core. Slowly, it started to trickle down your thighs as well. 

Neither of you moved from your position as you both gathered your laboured breaths finally. You combed your fingers through Lucien’s hair and he nuzzled against your neck, scattering butterfly kisses across your marked skin. 

“I love you more than you will ever know,” your boyfriend murmured, more to himself. He never told you how deep he had fallen for you. He never registered emotions that were this strong in nature before he had met you again after so many years apart. It felt like he fell into an endless abyss, in the realm of the unknown yet there was a sense of comfort indescribable every time you smiled at him.

You pressed your lips onto his forehead to break his trance before craning over to check the clock. “Are you hungry yet? There is still some time to make a quick dinn---Ah, Lucien!”

Before you could get far, his hand pinned your wrists over your head on the mattress. “Yes,” he said, leering at your confused state. “As a matter of fact, I am still very hungry for someone.” Before you could retort against his unreasonableness, he nipped at your ear. “I have reserved my entire weekend to prove my devotion for you, remember? I don’t want to waste any of it until I have thoroughly convinced you with my evidence.”

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Please take my offer of the second smut I’ve written -- I hope you enjoyed it :))

Masterlist

[ghostsy]

Wax Wings in the Moonlight

WARNINGS: yandere, stalking, kidnapping, possessiveness, mentions of abuse, slight misogyny, delusion, nsfw, noncon

read at your own discretion.

yandere ! HAWKS X READER

Icarus was an idiot.

A boy with wax wings who loved the Sun so much, he let it burst him to flames. He also resented the constant comparison. He wasn’t a boy with wax wings; his feathers were sharp and crimson, cut like knives, and drew blood at the slightest touch. And he certainly wasn’t chasing after any Sun.

He’d earned his place, spent his life in the shadows and the black, giving his blood, sweat, and tears to serve a world that worshiped pretty wax boys and girls that shined in the Sun.

He wasn’t one of them. He never would be, but he could pretend. He’d run his hands through golden tresses, and give his pretty wax smiles, so that they would feel safe and good and warm in the light.

He was fine being the one to watch like a man in the Moon, surveying the night, so that come morning the Sun could shine. He’d found a sort of peace in it. The night was cold and dark and cruel, but the night was honest. The night was his.

The Sun shone like a spotlight, and as the puppet on the stage, he could do nothing but dance for an audience so insatiable, they were only driven away by the darkening sky. Only to come back the next day for a show they had seen a million times before.

He liked to fantasize about what would happen should the Sun forget to rise one day. Would he be free? Could he unfurl his wings, permanently stained with the blood of the monsters in the night, and fly to the Moon? The Moon didn’t burn; the Moon didn’t blind; the Moon didn’t lie. He quite liked the Moon.

But it was a fool’s dream. Like the little wax boy who thought he could touch the Sun. So he’d play his part, if only to live in the dream that the freedom of the night provided. He was fine being alone. He liked being alone. Until one day, he didn’t.

He’d met many like her; he was sure. Pretty little girls who ran from the Sun because the light was too bright, too blinding, too fake. They were always his favorite, at least for a night.

After all, hawks liked to play with their food, but once it was caught, once it had been devoured? Well, what use were there for bones picked free of flesh he’d already tasted? He plastered on a golden smile.

Now, he wasn’t used to rejection, but his ego could take the way her eyes narrowed, lips twisting in a way that could only be seen as bitter mistrust. He liked pretty little things, sure, but he also liked easy little things. He could take it. The seedy bar was filled with prey, who, while not as sweet, would surely sate his appetite. But then she said something,

“You smile like the Sun.”

His face was half turned away from her, already scouring for his next victim, but his eyebrows quirked in amusement, smile turning sharp and deadly. Got her. He turned to welcome his meal for the night, tongue flicking across razor sharp canines. But then,

“I hate it.” 

He blinked, eyes owlish and wide. And then he laughed. Loud and unreserved, his hand came to clutch his stomach; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been caught off guard like this. He kind of liked it. 

He opened his mouth to respond; he thought to say something quick and witty back at her. If she wouldn’t spread her legs and warm his bed, she could at least stay and talk with him for a while. It was only fair.

But as he lowered his face back to hers, he caught sight of the mischievous smile that played at her lips, and all thought fled from his brain, blood rushing to color his cheeks. It was a lopsided grin that sparkled under the warm lights of the tavern. Like a Crescent Moon, he thought. He liked it.

“Would you like me to show you my real smile?”

He didn’t know why he was being so blunt, but he felt naked under the glow of her eyes. He wanted to test a theory; how much could she really see him?

“No.”

“No? Why’s that?”

“I don’t believe you have one.” 

He’d always known that the night was cruel, that the night was honest; everything was laid bare beneath the glimmer of the Moon.

Icarus really was an idiot. To chase the Sun, when the Moon was so much more raw, so much more beautiful. 

The Moon was in the shape of a woman, and her hips swayed from side to side as she walked away from him, a shimmering silhouette drowned out in the inkinesss of the black sky. He really did love the night.

He didn’t think he’d see her again, though he cherished the memory of her for weeks after their brief meeting. The sparkle of her smile, and the sway of her hips had provided him ample entertainment when he was left alone with only his thoughts and hands to satisfy. 

He didn’t believe in God, or fate, or wax winged fantasies. But damn if it wasn’t tempting when he caught sight of her, legs swinging off a too tall building, cigarette resting between what were undoubtedly soft lips.

He floated down with his blood red wings, and too bright smile, landing on the ledge beside her. She blew out a cloud of smoke in greeting, eyes trained forward--no, upward--glittering in the moonlight.

“You smile like the Moon. I love it.”

Cheesy, but he was sure it would get his point across. After all, it was almost like she had wanted him to find her, alone and vulnerable under the night sky, the sky he owned. She took another long drag of her cigarette, sighing out the smoke.

“Did you know that hawks are blind at night?”

She still wasn’t looking at him, almost as if she didn’t really believe he was there, like he was simply a figment of her imagination passing by in the night. Instead, her eyes scanned the stars. He found himself thinking that they belonged among them. He opened his mouth to respond, but she wasn’t quite finished,

“I think you’ve been dancing around in the night too long. Birdie should fly along home to his pretty blue sky, lest he want the shadows to swallow him whole.”

She spoke in riddles, like a long forgotten goddess come down to earth as an act of grace for creatures too small and too unworthy to truly know her, to truly understand. He realized that he’d gotten it wrong; she hadn’t run from the Sun. She was a creature born in the black of the night. The starlit sky was her home. 

This was fine. He was fine being unworthy. He could play the game; he was good at games, and a game with a goddess of the night was a game all the same.

“Hawks are predators, don’t you know? The shadows can try, but I’ve got my claws hooked to the Moon.”

“And where exactly do you plan on taking this Moon you’ve supposedly trapped in your claws?”

He couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his lips. The words that left her, poetry though they may be, revealed to him an altogether new, fascinating discovery. She could see right through him. He loved it. And, dare he say, a touch of morbid curiosity tinted her speech?

“Wherever she may want to go. After all, I’m nothing if not a generous suitor.”

“Tell me. How many suitors do you think the Moon had before men realized they couldn’t bring her down to Earth to fuck, and breed like cattle?”

There was finally an inch of emotion in her voice. Irritation colored the pretty words, and he found his smile growing. How humanizing it was. For a goddess to feel in the same way her creations did. The Moon may be cruel, but it was always honest. Whether or not it wanted to be.

“I assure you, I have no intention of stealing the Moon from her sky.” 

She looked at him now, but her eyes were sharp and cold. She’d dipped her toes in the pond of human insanity, and she’d grown bored with it, it seemed.

“I don’t believe you.”

She let her lit cigarette fall, eyes following the small glow as it disappeared into the inky black of the night. And then she stood, stretching her arms above her head. He caught a peek of lace as her shirt lifted, and swallowed as he felt his face heat.

And then she turned, back to the ledge of the roof, and smiled a smile too bitter for her pretty face. Where was that sparkling, lopsided, Crescent Moon grin? And then she leaned back, and fell.

He was on his feet quicker than he realized, blood red wings quick to puff out, and dive. But she was gone, melted into the tar of the starlit sky. How cruel the Moon was. To mock him, to prove just how out of reach she really was.

He wasn’t losing this game. The Moon was pretty, and the Moon was smart. But the Moon was not untouchable. And he had wings. He could fly. Fuck you, Icarus. His wings weren’t made of wax. 

He wouldn’t burn.

It was a while before he found her again, though not for a lack of trying. He’d done some digging as they played this game of cat and mouse. Hawks may be blind in the night, but spend enough time in the darkness, and the monsters you meet are sure to become your friends.

She lived in a place too run down, and too dangerous to be called a home. Though, with her ability to slip in and out of reach at the drop of a hat, she’d managed.

It was a fitting power, he thought. Many had tried to bring the Moon to Earth before, but she slipped through their fingers too easily. After all, she was a million miles away. That was fine. His wings were sharp and his wings were strong. He could fly a million miles, if she so pleased.

Though, she didn’t seem pleased to find him wandering underneath the same streetlights one night. She looked unimpressed when he assured her it was a simple coincidence. The Moon was smart. But she didn’t make an effort to disappear into the pitch black of the night; she must have wanted him to find her. 

How many times would she make him chase her? Did she think he’d grow tired? Hawks, as unwelcome as they seemed to be in the night sky, mated for life. And the Moon was immortal. He had the stamina.

“Icarus seems to be getting too close to the Sun, Birdie.”

He liked the pet name, but the comparison grated his nerves. But the Moon liked the peace, and the Moon liked the quiet. He wouldn’t disturb her; it was her night, after all. He huffed out a laugh too polished, but she chose to spare him the criticism.

“How lucky for me that the Moon seems to be hiding it from view.”

“If wax wings burn in the sunlight, what do you suppose happens to them in the moonlight?”

“Wax wings only exist in Greek tragedies, little Moon. I’m afraid reality is far less poetic.”

There was a beat of silence, an unreadable emotion crossed her face.

“How disappointing.”

She reached a finger forward, and a ripple danced through the inky night. She was done entertaining him for the night.

“What do you mean?”

He wanted to keep her there a while longer. He just needed to fly a bit closer, and he’d be there; he just barely started to feel the Moon’s glow; he didn’t want to lose it so quickly.

“It seems that hawks are blind in more ways than one.”

Her eyes, that shone like the brightest of stars, dimmed. A far away look washed over her face, seemingly entranced with galaxies far beyond their reach.

“Only those who read the story got to see Icarus fall. Only they got to understand. He didn’t. He just died.”

And she was gone.

He stayed under the streetlights for a while longer feeling strangely hollow, be it from her words, or her absence, he didn’t know.

No. The Moon was honest, but she wasn’t all knowing. She couldn’t see everything from where she hung in the sky. And his wings let him see the world.

Okay. He was done with this game. It was time to steal the Moon from her sky. The Moon was honest. The night was honest. He never said he was honest. But he didn’t want to burn; he needed a plan.

He loved the night, but he was loved in the daylight. Who would have known his role on the sunlit stage would do him any good? He’d too easily found the perfect little collar to trap his Moon. She wouldn’t be slipping away from him anytime soon.

He was ripping the Moon from the sky. She would surely leave a hole among the stars in her absence. He felt his chest bubble in manic glee.

Good. The night was his. The Moon was his. He’d worked so hard. He let the strings of his fate puppet him all his life. Wasn’t he entitled to some reward?

And she was the most lovely of prizes.

There was rarely a time she went to sleep before the sun started to peek through the horizon. He had to be quick, lest he want those pretty wax boys and girls who patrolled the daylight to catch him. To steal his Moon.

He hadn’t realized how careless she was, dancing with abandon under the multicolored lights of the bar, leaving her drink unattended at a corner table. Nevermind that, it was lucky for him. No matter how annoying it was to see her friends buzzing around her like moths to her flame. They served as a fine distraction. He’d have her to himself soon enough. Maybe he could make her dance for him.

He would have scolded her for the ease at which the monsters that go bump in the night would be able to climb through her window, but he supposed he was one of those monsters now. That was fine. He’d be a monster if it meant he could hold the Moon in his hands, and know that he was the only one allowed to feel her glow.

The silver collar reminded him of a wedding band as it clicked around her neck. How lucky for him she hadn’t noticed the unnatural bubbles that fizzed her drink not even an hour ago. Her head fell against his chest as he lifted her into his arms. Is this what it felt like to touch the Moon?

Okay, Icarus. He acquiesced. He understood. The feeling of her skin, soft as cotton, sent shivers down his spine. The peaceful look on her sleeping face only reinforced what he had already known. She was a Goddess. Blood red feathers puffed in excitement, and something a little more feral.

The golden glow that began to creep into the sky shook him from his thoughts. Wax wings couldn’t have carried him across the sky as quickly as he had been able to soar home. Wax wings wouldn’t have allowed him to cradle the Moon in his arms like the most precious of possessions, and spirit her away from that sky she loved so much.

But he supposed she hadn’t been entirely wrong as he set her down on satin sheets, that pretty wedding ring collar around her neck. Maybe the shadows of the night had swallowed him whole. That was fine. 

He’d been able to drag her with him into the abyss. She would have to share her moonlight with him now, lest she want to stumble blind and dumb through the dark the rest of her immortal life.

He knew she wasn’t really immortal, but the knowledge that she’d shine only for him until her last breath made him feel like forever was at his fingertips.

He sat, deep in thought, at the edge of the bed, eyes glued to his Moon. He wondered, when she opened those starlit eyes of hers, and found herself brought down to Earth, would she cry pretty, shooting star tears? Or would she look upon him with grateful awe, that he had been the one to finally touch her? To catch her.

And then, remembering her words, a more sadistic thought. He hadn’t brought her down to Earth to fuck and breed like cattle. He really hadn’t. Or not just to fuck and breed like cattle. His lips split in an insatiable grin, tongue flicking out to lick across too sharp fangs. That was simply a welcome bonus.

He’d never had anything to call his own his entire life. All the little wax boys and girls got to play in the Sun. They’d been able to enjoy the light. He’d never understood. The light had held him hostage, and used him to do its dirty work because it was too afraid of the dark to do it on its own. Fine. But if he had to be a slave to the light, he’d revel in the darkness.

He had the moonlight to guide him now.

He was surprised to find that there was a darkness that frightened even the Moon. But the pale horror that painted her face as she gazed upon him, hands clawing at the silver present at her neck could only be explained as suffocating fear.

"Don't be scared, little Moon. You'll be alright down here on Earth. Right here with me, where you belong."

He couldn’t wait to unwrap his present. But as he shed his clothes, and crept forward, and an ocean of tears fell from her glowing eyes, he found himself the slightest bit disappointed. He’d really hoped she’d be thanking him. She should be thanking him.

A spark of irritation lit in his chest. He’d played her game. And he’d won. It was only fair that he collected his prize. He’d flown so far to touch the Moon. The least she could do is lay back, and let his fingers explore.

Oh well. What was one more game?

He captured her hands in his claws, trapping beating fists in pretty silver bracelets laced to the bed frame. Shooting star tears streaked her cheeks as he shoved her into satin sheets. He brushed the wetness from her cheeks, but the rivers that streamed from her eyes were endless.

He felt like gloating to Gods that didn’t exist as he ripped at the pretty white lace that decorated her skin. Pretty white lace. The Moon really was pure, really was untouched.

Well, until now. Suck it, Icarus.

He crammed that pretty white lace that he’d dragged down her legs into her mouth. Screams didn’t suit the Moon’s pretty voice. Where had her riddles gone? He wrenched her thighs apart, and let his eyes explore. His claws slid down, sinking into plush skin, and his head dove between her legs. 

Thank you for the meal. The taste of her on his tongue was like nothing he’d ever known before. Ambrosia. She really was a Goddess.

His tongue explored inside her, and played with that pretty jewel between her legs until she began to tremble. She twisted, spitting the pretty lace out of her mouth, and with a voice breathy and shaking,

“Please.”

Like he said, he was nothing if not a generous suitor. He spelled his name with his tongue across her lower lips, and kissed at her sensitive bud.

Her thighs quivered, hands straining against those silver bracelets, as the most beautiful of moans left her mouth. Her back arched in a way that reminded him of that ethereal Crescent Moon.

He leaned back, wiping the dew from the wolfish grin on his face. He freed her hands, wanting to feel her sacred fingers roam his unworthy skin. Never mind how they pushed and scratched and hit, begging with each new mark they painted on his skin.

After all, where could the Moon go now that the sky was out of reach? He positioned himself at the heaven’s gate his tongue had just barely peeked through.

“You’ve been floating all on your own in the sky too long, little Moon. It seems the shadows have swallowed you.”

And he shoved himself inside.

Fuck.

He finally understood why men went to war, why men died for just a taste of elysium. He vaguely registered the broken pleas and cries that came from her lips, but he payed no mind to the words. The sounds that left her sent pleasure-filled shivers down his spine.

He thrust inside her with wild abandon as she bleated and whimpered, and knew that he had touched perfection. His wings, strong and sharp and bloody, were nothing but wax imitations to the real, raw beauty of the Moon.

He was no different than the little wax boy who thought he could touch the Sun. But this little wax boy had caught the Moon.

Pretty hands came to clutch at crimson feathers, fingers digging in to grasp on to some sense of reality. He realized he could answer her question now. As she tore the feathers from him in terrified, pleasured frenzy, he knew. 

Wax wings didn’t burn in the moonlight.

They bled.

[good-beanswrites]

oooh, for the drabble prompts may I request Books or Night? with whatever characters speak to you for this one <3 thank you!!

Ahh thank you pal! :D I went with Books for Mahiru and Mikoto (I mean it takes place at night but idk if that counts lol)

From this ask game

Mahiru read a lot of books. She read a lot at her university. She read a lot on her own time. She could recall endless romance novels in which the knight in shining armor came to rescue his lover from her dark, musty dungeon cell. The thing was, she couldn't think of a single one in which the fair maiden had killed him before he got the chance.

She huddled in the back of her cell. Her headache had been a permanent one the last few days; Shidou wasn't sure when he'd have more painkillers for her. She didn't mind. It wasn't her head that hurt the most.

Hands clawed at her chest. She'd read so much at her university, and even the most unhappy endings weren't quite like this. There was always a message, a meaning to it all. Her thoughts returned to the classroom, when she drew out little charts and diagrams plotting out books. There always came a turning point. There always came a moment where everything became clear, even if it didn't improve. So, where was hers? When would this all make sense?

In the middle of her desperate search for a pattern amid everything that had happened to her -- everything that had happened because of her -- a knock echoed off her cell door.

"Come in..."

She was surprised when Mikoto swung it open. He gave her a slightly awkward, "hey."

Mahiru flinched as he tossed something her way. She barely caught an apple in her hands.

"You didn't show for dinner."

"T-thank you." She was slowly growing accustom to the new Mikoto that had started appearing around the prison. Now that had been a story-worthy twist. "Sorry to make you worry. My head was hurting, I just wanted to rest in here."

He nodded. "Yeah, I get that."

Whether it was the brief kinship she felt remembering how he'd been complaining of constant headaches, or the fluttering in her chest from the thoughtful gift he'd brought after noticing her absence, or even just a lapse in judgement due to her injured brain, she blurted, "can I ask you something?"

"Hm? Shoot."

She hoped what she was about to say wasn't ridiculous to him. She looked down at the apple.

"I... keep thinking of my favorite books. In all of them, the hero comes in to save the day just in time. But my hero... he... I mean, I..." She didn't need to explain it to him. Her smile filled with sorrow. "Between that and what happened with Kotoko... I'm realizing that no one is coming to save me. You and Amane, you don't seem as worried about it. How do you still have hope that someone's going to help?"

After an agonizing moment in which she was sure he was going to laugh, Mikoto crossed the room to her. He knelt on her bed. His expression radiated an intensity she wasn't used to seeing on him. He took her by the shoulders. His grip wasn't painful, but it was unshakable. His voice, too, came out commanding, and not cruel.

"Listen to me. No one's coming for you. You're right. No one else is going to help you get out of here. That's why you need to do it. I know it's not easy, but you can't just roll over and let this place walk all over you. The only one who will always be there to save you, is you. You need to be the hero, okay?"

She stared at him with round eyes. It wasn't the answer she'd been expecting. Or maybe, it wasn't the answer she'd wanted. She spoke with instinctual protests.

"But, but --! I'm not strong, or smart like the others. What can I even do for myself?"

Mikoto held her gaze, and she began to understand. "It's just like the stories. You do anything you can. You do everything you can."

[swanmaids]

For the kiss prompts, I'd be very curious to see what you'd do with 40 or 41 for Elwing/Earendil! Could be one or the other, or a combination of both, your choice! Only if you want to of course, and thank you so much!!

- @olorinestel

41. because the world is saved

you should also check out @meadowlarkx 's interpretation of the same prompt if you haven't already!

~

Her husband shone.

Now bathed permanently in the terrible light of the silmaril, Eärendil glowed day and night with the final remnant of the light of the trees, and after several years in the Blessed Realm Elwing had thought herself accustomed to it, as much as one could grow accustomed to anything in this strange fairy realm. But then Eärendil had been called upon to sail the skies back to ravaged Beleriand once more, and in the time in between, Elwing had forgotten.

Eärendil was an Elf who was a Man, but hallowed by the jewel he looked like neither. He radiated light from the inside out.

The Eärendil who stepped down onto the gangplank as Vingilot docked in the haven where their tower stood had changed further since before he had left Aman. New silvery scars stood out against his skin, and he moved slowly.

But when he at last stood before her and their eyes met, the look on his face was the same as it ever was. It was the same look he had worn each and every time, at Sirion and at Elwing's Isle of Seabirds, when they were reunited after every voyage. I missed you. It's so good to see you. Thank you for waiting for me.

After so much time together, they did not really need words. He fell into her arms silently, and she held him there for many long moments, one hand stroking over his hair the way one might soothe a child.

"The war?" she said eventually.

Of course, she knew that it was ended. The birds had told her as much several days ago, and she had heard the celebrations of the elves on Tol Eressëa proper even from her tower, though she had no inclination to join with them. But somehow, she needed to hear it from him - and she thought that he might need to tell her.

"Over," he said simply, into her neck.

"The dragon?"

"Fish food."

She snorted a laugh, and at the same time felt her eyes begin to well up. How strange it all was - their wish from so long ago granted. The price it had cost them, never to be repaid. She thought of Sirion under the waves. Twin bodies kicking in the waters of her womb.

The thought of peace made Elwing picture walking across a rotted jetty over water. It felt fragile, untrustworthy. After all, she had never known it.

"It's over," she repeated, because she did not know what else to say.

"It's over," he said once more, "and I love you."

Elwing loved him too. She told him so.

Their love had ever been an anchor in an uncertain world. In this new, strange peace, it would be so again. They held on to one another for another long moment before Eärendil drew back, and she held his silmaril-lit face in her hands, and he pressed his salt-chapped lips against hers.

They kissed in the unhurried way of lifelong best friends and lovers, as the waves rolled onto the shores and the seabirds swirled above them, and the First age ended and a new age began.

[deathofpeaceofmiiind]

high infidelity | twenty four

Lord save me, my drug is my baby I'll be using for the rest of my life

*Ellie’s POV*

I woke up the next morning, almost forgetting I was in California until the sun warmed up my face through the blinds. Noah was sound asleep beside me, he looked so beautiful. Last night was so unforgettable and if it was possible, it made me love him more. I crawled out of bed, grabbing a pair of Noah’s joggers and shirts before heading outside. I was dying to try out that egg chair.

“Oh, good morning.” I damn near jumped out my skin when I saw Jesse sitting at the kitchen island with another guy, I was assuming it was a band member but I wasn’t sure. Thanking god I wore pants, I bashfully smiled at them as they stared at me. How do I get out of this situation?

“Um, Hi…Noah didn’t say you’d be home.” “Well someone pulled the fire alarm at Clint’s so we didn’t have much of a choice but to come back here. I figured you two would be done fucking by now.” Jesse smirked before taking a sip of his coffee. “This is Clint by the way, our other guitarist.” I squinted as I looked him up and down, “aren’t you in Baby Metal?” “Was” Clint said, introducing me to his deep voice. Seriously why is every man in Noah’s universe so damn attractive? “I’m permanently a part of Erra now.” “Congratulations.” I replied as I fiddled with the strings on my joggers. “I’ll be outside if Noah is looking for me.”

I shook my head as I walked outside, that could not have gone worse. I plunked down in the egg chair, letting it swing slightly as enjoyed the view in front of me. If Liam and I could move down here, I would in a heartbeat, it just wouldn’t be fair to keep him away from my Dad and Tyler. Noah had a book called The heart of Darkness on his coffee table, it intrigued me so I decided to read it while I waited for him to wake up. “Morning.” I drew my attention away from the book and saw Noah standing there, it made my heart flutter like it always does. He was in a white tank top and a pair of joggers, his hands held two cups of coffee as he walked over to me. As he passed me my cup of coffee, he kissed me gently. He paused for a moment, smiled and kissed me again. “What?” “Nothing.” He replied. “I thought I was still dreaming, last night was amazing.” “It really was.” I agreed as I took a sip of my coffee, smiling because he always knew how I liked it. “Call me crazy but I feel more connected to you than before.” “I feel it too, Ellie.” He says he looks over at me from his chair. “Thank you for being so gentle and making last night so easy for me.” “Anything for you, Noah.” I happily replied as I drank my coffee. We both sat in comfortable silence, drinking our coffees. I continued to read Noah’s book as he sat on his laptop replying to emails. I could used to mornings like this. “Hey guys, I made breakfast if you’re interested.” Jessie offered as he poked his head outside. “We’ll be in soon.” Noah replied, he came over to my chair, taking my coffee out of my hands before kissing me deeply. “Sorry I guess I’m still a little riled up from last night. I’d fuck you on this coffee table if Jesse wasn’t here.”

“Noah Sebastian, keep it yourself.” I joked as I got up and walked inside, not before gently brushing my hand over his erection. He just rolled his eyes at me as we went inside. Jesse made waffles, eggs and bacon for us, along with mimosas. I had three by the time we were done breakfast and I was starting to feel it. I pretended to be interested in Jesse’s conversation but in reality I was rubbing my hand over Noah’s dick, sending him cheeky stares the more I did it. I could tell it was driving him crazy as I felt his pre-cum seeping through his bottoms. “My room. Now.” He growled in my ear. I excused myself as headed towards his room. He wasn’t far behind me and I felt him grab me and forcefully push me onto his bed. I liked this new side of him that was coming out, it was so fiery and it made me throb like nothing else. “You’re such a bad fucking girl, you know that?” “Am I?” I replied cockily. I could see where his pre-cum stain was and I ran my thumb over it, bringing it up my mouth and licking it. “I don’t think you know what I do to bad girls.” He replied through gritted teeth. His hands gripped me, rolling me onto my stomach. He ripped my pants off, pulling my hips up so I was on all fours. “Is that all you got?” “Look in the mirror” he demanded, I definitely hit a nerve but I didn’t care. He dropped his pants too, spitting on his hand and rubbing it over his erection. He grabbed my hair and wrapped it around his hand, pulling lightly. “You’re gonna see what I do.”

Our eyes stayed locked on each other through the mirror as he began to slowly fuck me, each pump making my body shutter. My head wanted to go down but Noah would tug on my hair to lift my head up again. “I’ll say when you can look away” 

He finally let go of my hair as he picked up the pace, making my body squirm in every direction. His hand grabbed my neck and forced my face into his pillow. Noah’s moans and sighs echoed through the room and it was music to my ears as he fucked me with such force. I gripped so hard on his bed frame as I began to orgasm all over him that three of my nails broke off in the process. Noah wasn’t too far behind me as he picked up the pace again, pulling out as I felt his hot cum spill all over my back. “See, this is why you need to listen.” He whispered before kissing my temple.

[bunbeeplays]

The Lemon Legacy: Generation 1, Chapter 18 - When You're Here, You're Family

Practice goes well for Let Them Eat Cake, and their temp singer Ophelia, so the three decide to get a late night drink at the nearby restaurant, Taste of Tartosa. It’s the best restaurant in town, and the go-to caterer for weddings hosted at La Coppia Serena.

Ophelia: So Hilary’s parents own this place?

Drew: Yeah, she runs the catering side, the rest of the wedding stuff is all Hector.

Ophelia: Why's she do other planning things with him then?

Moses: I think she tries to lighten his load since he's always out doing business stuff

Drew: Hey, Xander!

Xander: Well if it isn’t my two favorite patrons! Oh? And a third future favorite patron, it seems. Xander Pappas, future master mixologist at your service! What can I get you, beautiful?

Ophelia: I see that flirty moodlet, bub. I’m spoken for, but I’d love a Buffalo Wing Tea.

Xander: Can’t blame a guy for trying! One BWT, and the usual for these two.

Moses: Eh, don’t be too flattered, sweetheart. He’s all flirty moodlets but no romantic interactions.

Xander: I like to have fun with my customers, sue me! I’m here to make sure people are having a good time, I’d never take advantage of that. 

Drew: at the last wedding he worked, the Sim of Honor complained because he DIDNT try to woohoo her. 

Ophelia: Oh, you work for the Laurents too?

Xander: Yeah, Hilary and I go way back. She’s like a sister to me.

Drew: Stop being a jerk, dude! She just met you, how would she know?

Moses: Has anyone ever told you Hilary’s maiden name is Pappas?

Ophelia: Oh, you’re Hilary’s brother?

Xander: To her great annoyance. But I make a mean Tang and Zing for her wedding guests so she tolerates me. Here’s both your drinks and… Where are my manners? You basically know my life story and I don’t even know your name.

Ophelia: It's Ophelia Lemon. Nice to meet you, Xander Pappas, future master mixologist.

Xander: Ophelia Lemon, what a name! One BWT coming right up, Lemon Cake.

Moses: Tell him if you don't like nicknames and he'll stop. Or cry. Worked with my boyfriend when he called him Slim.

Xander: You’re the singer for Pizzazz’s wedding, right? From Hil’s ranting, you might be a contender for permanent singer if Tiff keeps pissing her off. 

Ophelia: They haven’t even told me there’s an open position. I probably still wouldn’t know if Tiff had any damn chill at all.

Xander: I don’t get why Hector keeps her around. She’s good at violin but so is her second in command Anaya. Hell, with a little more practice, my niece could be as good and she’s still a teen.

Ophelia: I guess he sees something in her. He saw something in me and here I am.

Xander: Hey, that place could use a breath of fresh air like you. How’s the drink?

Ophelia: it’s great. Last time I had one of these, a rampaging werewolf was killing the vibe too much for me to enjoy it. What do I owe you?

Xander: It’s on the house. Can’t charge my third favorite patron for her first drink, can I?

Ophelia: Wow, I moved up the ranks quickly.

Moses: I thought your parents told you to stop giving out free drinks.

Xander: What are they gonna do, fire me? Harvestfest would be awkward.