#I wish she would have won the appeal but it makes sense that she didn’t want to go through it again

[swugflower]

Saying it once again as the topic is tending again:

I believe Amber Heard. I believe victims.

She did not get justice but at least she fought for the right to tell her story.

[deluluass]

Attention

Since requests are open again, can i request a yan!bokuto developing a crush with one of the other teams' managers during their training camp? 👀             

for: @lady-tokugawa-of-mikawa​. hi bestie 😔 this is late (again), but i hope u like it 😍

Content warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; underage drinking; (slight) sub!Bokuto👀; mild footplay

Three minutes. 

Three minutes and forty-five seconds, to be exact, before the truth came for you like a ball careening towards your blindside: 

  You’re not supposed to be here .

  Granted, the thought had already slinked its way into your brain ever since you’d overheard the coach crying on his phone, his wife on the other side of the line, that if he hadn't groveled and appealed to his college friend’s sense of honor, as he’d sniffled, they wouldn’t have even considered the team ( your team) to be worthy of receiving an invitation to this training camp. 

  Ignoring the worries that came after that was supposed to be easy. It shouldn’t have come at all . It’s irrational and it doesn’t help anyone. What was the point in fretting? Your boys are more than deserving— more than capable in fact —of going toe to toe with some of Tokyo’s best. 

  It’s also a given that those people don’t know anything about your team. You do live in a town half a day’s ride away from the capital. And how could you expect city folk to recognize a team that hails from a place where the cows outnumber the people three to one?

  They’re bound to not know.

  But the needless unease stayed and soon took a life of its own, the weight of it becoming heavier and heavier over the course of the weeks that you waited for that dreaded day, like a hungry beast that you diligently fed with your little what-if’s. 

  What if that place eats us alive?

  What if they make fun of us? 

  What if, despite trying our hardest, all we do is lose? 

  What if these people take a single look at us and think that we’re not good enough?

  What if they’re right?

  The deep chasm on the scoreboard tells you exactly that, plain and without a hint of artifice.

  Shinzen High has already scored five points. 

  Your team is still stuck at zero.

  And the clock continues to tick.

  “Chance ball!” 

  Your captain's voice was feeble against the noise of the ball being passed from one hand to another. 

  Odd, that. 

  Itsuki's not the type to pull his punches. Especially in the middle of a game; always one to use his entire chest when launching back at his enemies with a guttural roar.

  You looked at the players standing on your side of the court— really looked at them, in a way that you should have instead of wasting your time entertaining those doubts— and found nary a trace of your teammates among those too-stiff, too-quiet boys that bore an uncanny resemblance to a bunch of rabbits caught in the headlights.  

  A chuckle erupted from your chest, surprising even you.

  "Something funny?" the coach asked, his glance turning wary when you convulsed in a fit of shrill giggles. 

  "Yeah," you told him, shaking your head. “There is, Coach.”

  From the bored expressions on your opponents’ faces to Shigeru’s (failed) attempt to set for Koyama, all the way to an audience that wasn’t even looking, who were, frankly, much more interested in what's on their phones than what’s in front of them. 

  How can you not find this funny?

  You were worried about... this ? 

  You sighed, your head the clearest that it’s ever been in a long while, and stood from your seat on the bench. 

  The coach called out your name in a harsh whisper. You ignored him, not even bothering to explain yourself. After all, you’ve already spent too much of your energy on the wrong things. 

  And so, in the most polite way that you could, you shouted:

  “Hey! What the fuck is this!”

  Everyone might've gawked; the coach may have pulled you back to the bench with a strength that you didn’t know he possessed. There’s something much more important than being respectable, though. 

  “None of us ever cared about what these assholes think!” you pressed on, staring down at Takami, whose dad never fails to remind him that he’ll waste away his life fooling around with that useless club . “So, why,” you ask with a clear voice, “Why are we starting now?!”

  Of course, just like any of your spur of the moment ideas, that hadn’t ended the way you hoped it would.

  They still lost (they also did in the following game). All of the coaches (including yours and excluding the one from Nekoma High; that one just patted your back) had expressed their disapproval over what you did. You couldn’t regret it, however, no matter how humiliating their rebukes made you feel.

  Because you don’t think you’ve seen any of your teammates look the least bit happy since you set foot into this place. But, now— even with the fact that all they've achieved so far is keep the floors clean with their diving laps— now, they do.

  With that, it seems to you then that this place isn’t so bad, after all.

A day.

  A day and ten hours, approximately, had already passed when Bokuto felt your presence acutely like the stinging red imprint a hurtled ball leaves on his skin. And just like the circumstances that lead to that bloodied, angry marking, you made your existence known with just as much force as a player spiking for the kill. 

  Some of them guffawed, out of disbelief and sheer delight both, because in all the years that they’ve trained together in preparation for the interhigh, they don’t think anyone has ever called them a bunch of “assholes” before.

  They didn’t think much about that new team that arrived too late. So, yeah, Bokuto wanted to laugh, too, just like others. ‘ What a way to make an impression, huh?’ he wanted to say.

  That wasn’t what he said, though. 

  Bokuto wasn’t even able to say anything. 

  He was too busy staring at your mouth, the resoluteness in your lips as if you knew exactly what to say; the way you looked at your teammates, like there was nobody else more astounding, more unbeatable at this game than the boys before you (though, surely, even you can see that they’re far from being any of those things). 

  And yet, there you were, your eyes incandescent; they might as well have been on fire, blazing with so much awe and unshakable faith and it was so clear for everyone to witness and— and Bokuto did not know what to do with it. 

  It was so embarrassing, truth be told. Bokuto may not be the most secretive guy around, but when the others eventually pointed out that he looked scared at the thought of facing them ( you ), he just couldn’t help but sulk.

  “We’re not half the cheerleader she is, Bokuto-san,” Yukie teased him, patting his shoulder as she did, “but rest easy, we’ll try our best to boost morale.”

  He just groaned, immediately locking his legs at a stand still when the others hooted, ‘Look at him! He looks like he’s about to piss himself bouncing his legs like that . ’ Really, what was he supposed to say?

  Because, when he finally faced your team with that net in between and as he felt the ball against his palms when he aimed for a clean hit towards the floor, it’s not even fear that rushes through him. 

  Not even close.

  Beyond the defeated faces, of the exhaustion slathered all over your team’s barks after each point he snatched under their noses, Bokuto saw you looking at him. 

  Just a flicker; a passing peek before that determined gaze settled back on the others. But it was there all the same: the pause in your breath as the ball detonated against your teammate’s frail arms, clutching the edge of the bench with your fingers as if it took everything in you to keep yourself from running towards the court.

  To rush towards him. 

  To— to what ? Exactly? To scream at his face the same way you did earlier? That he's going too rough and hurting your precious friends?

  There’s a part of him that wishes to stop. A strange, alien feeling that he supposes comes from the discomfort at the sight of you so troubled and wound up.

  Oh, but you're just starting to understand! 

  That if there's someone who's truly astounding, unbeatable, and staggeringly brilliant at this game, it's him . And Bokuto wanted to drive that point home like he's never wanted anything else in his entire life. 

  His body stopped feeling like his own by the second set. 

  His legs were too light to be his, like there were coil springs underneath his feet that carried him higher and higher he swore he could brush the roof with his fingertips. 

  There’s a thrumming in his flesh that propelled Bokuto to move faster, to push that ache over the edge until there’s nothing left but the breathless exhilaration of seeing his opponents kiss the ground.

  The air is getting thinner, like he’s scaling towards a mountain top as he sprints towards the other side of the court, long strides eating up the floor, uncaring for the sweat pouring down his cheeks.

  Bokuto was willing to let this thing go on forever and ever and ever , for as long as he feels the searing heat of your eyes on him.

  Until he turned his head in your direction. 

  You were smiling at something a spectator said. 

  He couldn’t hear it, but whatever it was it had pushed you to make a teasing remark to your team.

  A banter ensued.

  The referee blew his whistle as a warning.

  You giggled.

  Why?

  “The ball, Bokuto!”

  Why aren’t you looking? 

  His hands were two weights keeping him down, made heavier by that sinking sensation in his chest.

  When did you stop looking? 

  It was too much, too unbearable that he could cry. The indifferent way you'd removed him from your line of sight was a sucker punch that's not as painful as the shame it leaves him with.

  Were you even looking at all? 

  And he wonders with a shuddering exhale as he finally gathered the strength to raise an arm, Bokuto wonders what would happen if, just this once, he shot the ball towards y— 

  “Bokuto-san.”

  Akaashi was calling out to him.

  “Bokuto-san, we already won."

  The ball within his grasp dropped. 

  Bokuto watched it bounce on the floor until it rolled over to somebody else's waiting palm.

  He took a deep breath— in and then out, repeated it until everything came into sharp focus —and raised his head to squint at the scoreboard.

  22-3

  So they did.

  The other side of the court was already empty, your team assembled to one corner; you were out of sight.

  Everyone started to gather around him.

  They took Bokuto along with their cheers and reprimands and accusations, like a strong current that carried him from the bench to the shower room, laughing as they handed him a towel, having noticed that he’d been too out of it to do anything else but stay half-naked in front of the sink. 

  “Are you alright, Bokuto-san?” he heard Akaashi ask over the teeming excitement surrounding them. 

  Blinking, Bokuto paused from wiping his bare torso as he replied, “Me?”

  Their setter only nodded.

  “Yeah!” Bokuto exclaimed, a tad louder than he ought to. “Yeah, dude! Of course! Never been better!”

  “You were a man possessed," Masaki, still fresh from the shower, suddenly drawled from behind him. 

  “You were... quiet,” Ubugawa’s captain continued, reaching for the toothpaste laid next to Akaashi. “It was unlike you.”

  Bokuto was about to say something, somewhere along the lines of “Really? I didn’t notice” when Daiki made his decision to wring the wet shirt in his hand, brandish it like a belt, and strike Bokuto’s back with it, the impact cutting across the room. 

  “You little..!” Bokuto turned with a snarl, poised and ready to throw the boy over his shoulder.

  “Let it go, let it go,” Daiki chortled, grabbing Bokuto by his damp hair. “That’s for not giving us a warning, alright? Crazy bastard.”

  Daiki shook his head as he walked away. “Never seen the idiot go hard like that,” he mumbled.

  “That’s our ace for ‘ya!” Haruki echoed from his cubicle, to which the others responded with wolfish howls and sharp whistles, completely transforming the shower room into a tiled rainforest. 

  And Bokuto wanted to join along, because although the game still felt like an abrupt, fever dream, he’s well aware that he did something that he’s going to be proud of in the days to come. But somehow— for some unknown, beguiling reason, all he could do was stand there and make himself vulnerable to Kuroo’s antics.

  The Nekoma captain looked at Bokuto through the mirror, clicking his tongue before lamenting about “ those poor country boys ” and their “ ill luck ”.

  “Go easy on us small fries sometimes,” he added. “You were pretty scary back there.”

  Kuroo gave his nape a quick pat before he went for the lockers, leaving Bokuto to stare at his reflection, features obscured by the fog.

  Scary , he said.

  Scary, huh.

  A man possessed.

  Bokuto wonders about its meaning, what coach had meant earlier when he’d jokingly called him a beast. He contemplated what about him had led them to think that way, tried his best to be perceptible of any changes.

  His eyes were the same, although the pupils in the middle were large pools of tar, widened and leaving only the slightest space for the honeyed rim. 

  His hair was the same platinum color and still streaked with the same black lines, although untamed and in a disarray this time, with the strands sticking to his forehead. 

  Although flushed, his face was the same, over all.

  Everything seems to be right where they’re supposed to be.

  Although he’s huffing and puffing, creating more mist to cloud the mirror with. And when he tried to reach for the glass, he realized that his fingers were still trembling. His blood still surging as if his body had never left the court. 

  Then, it struck him.

  Bokuto holds his breath in anticipation, the truth of it right in front of him.

  There’s no monster here. 

  No man possessed either.

  Only a guy who’s helplessly, foolishly in love.

Announcing to an entire room of strangers that one is of the opinion that they're assholes, as it happened, was an effective way of making new friends.

  Of course, there was that awkward day-long explanation that you had to do for Yuki and Kaori and the others. An affair that wasn’t too different from a one-woman press conference that involved you expressing your regrets, revealing that, sometimes, when backed against a wall, you can be an impulsive clown with a glaring lack of filter (like: "No, no..! I didn't think you guys were actually- you know- ass- it just spilled-" and "Ah, geez, this is embarrassing.The heat was getting to me. I didn't mean it, really!" )

  But the girls had been kind enough to let bygones be bygones, assuring you that all they ever felt was a joyous combination of relief and wonder. Ubugawa's manager, Eri, (who'd shook your hand while holding back tears) even told you that seeing another girl in a veritable sausage fest that is the training camp was a miracle in itself. 

  "It was fun, actually," Mako once said when the two of you were assigned to carrot chopping duty. "You gave us something to talk about for a while."

  And even when the novelty of being a bumpkin with the mouth of a sailor soon faded, the bond that quickly bloomed between you and the other managers hadn't.

  It was unexpected, although not unwelcome.

  You couldn't help but laugh at yourself. How silly you'd been: coming into the city expecting a den of wolves and hunters armed to the teeth.

  In the span of two days thoughts of survival were replaced by the confidence that your boys would pull through; by a sense of ease that you didn't need to win all the time and that this place is not a battlefield, but a fertile ground for growth and learning. You didn't need to constantly be on your guard— knuckles up and gearing for a fight, you realized.

  Well — 

  For the most part, at least.

  Serving spoon in one hand and potholder in another, you reluctantly paused from preparing your team’s meal to whisper under your breath. "He's doing it again," you hissed.

  Kaori only gave you a preoccupied “hm?” as she plucked the ladle to fill the plain white ceramic bowls before her. “Who is?” she continued. 

  “Your captain,” you replied, taking care not to let him know that you're on the verge of melting under his not so subtle scrutiny.

  The lovely Fukurodani manager didn’t even miss a beat; without lifting her eyes away from the food, she raised her voice, just loud enough, to address the creature (spying) standing idly by the door. 

  “Say, Bo-kun,” Kaori called out and you watched, amazed, as he coughed out the water that he’s been making a great show of drinking. “Your mama must not have taught you that it's bad to ogle.”

  Bokuto Kotaro, Fukurodani’s ace and captain— a volleyball player that sits atop everybody else in this training camp, whose name is almost always followed by “one of the very best in the country”— quailed as his manager, the Great Kaori Suzumeda, blessed him with a smile veering on beatific. 

  “Oh-who-me?” he prattled, hands pointing at everything and nothing as he choked on his own words. “Didn’t see you there! What’s up! I was just passing by!”

  “In the middle of practice?” Kaori snickered. “ You ?” 

  The boy released a laughter that resonated in the empty cafeteria. 

  She sighed, dropping the ladle, and told him to “Just go, Bokuto.” He obediently complied, thank the gods, but not without an overzealous goodbye to Kaori, as if he’d never see her again when lunch was just half an hour away.

  He didn’t say anything to you. He didn’t need to, anyway. The lingering gaze that he directed towards you was enough.

  “Thank you,” you exhaled once you made sure you’re no longer within his earshot, plopping your head against Kaori’s soft arm.

  Her chuckle fluttered towards you, causing you to smile as she asked, “Is it that bad?”

  You could only nod, both as an affirmation and an effort to shake those golden, hawk-eyes out of your system.

  “I’ll talk to him,” she said after a few seconds of comfortable silence, the firmness in her voice making you stand upright and level with her.

  Common decency tells you that you should say no, to stop her and tell her that she didn’t really have to; that you shouldn’t make a big deal out of this. But, you’d never really been one to listen to what that part of your brain dictates.

  Taking her hand in yours, you gave it a light squeeze, incapable of doing anything else to convey your gratitude with a sob lodged in your throat.

  “He’s not a bad guy, our Bokuto,” Kaori soothed. “And for what it’s worth, he’s never been like this with someone he likes.”

  A grin lit up her face as you snorted, remembering the time someone had finally caught on to Bokuto’s newfound fixation. The uproar that it’d cause in the field when everyone was out enjoying slices of ripe watermelon. The unnecessary and, frankly, embarrassing anger that it’d pulled out of your boys after it's been revealed to the whole world. The infamous blush on Bokuto Kotaro’s face as he desperately tried to deny the accusation. 

  And the cold, spent feeling it left you.

  “Normally, he’d be all over them,” she continued, mimicking his owl-like way of moving, bobbing her head to and fro as she circled around you.

  “Kaori!” you squealed, pushing her playfully by the shoulder. 

  “Bokuto would be like—” Kaori pumped her fists in the air, “ Hey, hey, hey! Talk to me! Talk to me! Compliment me! Love me! ”

  You simply hummed, folding your arms against your chest as you commended her spot-on performance. 

  She didn’t need to tell you all that, though. The guy had a personality so big it’s a miracle how this city contains him. And you’d known from the very beginning that Bokuto Kotaro doesn’t seem like the type to do the whole “pining from a distance” thing. 

  But, they even said that he’s half in love with you already, with the way he follows you with his eyes and flails and stutters and acts like he’s never had a mouth and a pair of hands before whenever he’s around you. And that, somehow, he plays even better than he already does when you’re in the audience ( especially when it’s against your team). 

  You don’t bother to correct them and say that no, this might not be a silly little crush.

  Because you don’t think that anyone but you would understand that there can never be any love nor infatuation in a stare that traps you with its expectations. Even if you did tell them that, you’re the only one who knows what Bokuto’s gaze really makes you feel like: A plaything that he’s been gifted to and was told would sing and dance for him just so he’d stop crying. 

  And you know what temperamental children do with toys that don’t work the way they want it to, don’t you?

  “Trust me.”

  Kaori’s gentle voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

  “He’s just an idiot,” she told you. “You’ve seen him— especially last week!” Kaori’s eyes bulged out, leaning closer to you, both of you gasping at the memory.

  Tears sprung out of your eyes as you laughed harder, your stomach aching when Kaori began to recount the events that had turned the entire training camp on its head, forever planting itself in its history as the worst ordeal it’s ever faced:

  A piece of the wall in the girls’ sleeping room broke off, revealing a large, Lovecraftian nest of cockroaches. 

  “If you’d only seen his face!” Kaori cackled, struggling to finish as she clutched onto you for support. “He burs- bursted into the room only for him to- to-”

  “Pass out when a roach flew to his nose! I know !” you screeched and slapped the table with her, ignoring that you’re almost knocking over the food and chortling until you were close to having a heart attack.

  “Oh- oh , I can’t breathe,” she groaned. Your laughter tapered off into heaving as you fixed her mussed bangs. 

  You smiled. 

  “See,” Kaori finally said, pinching your chin a little. “Bokuto’s a meathead. Just a meathead. Guy can’t get a clue. But he’ll come around once he realizes that he’s being weird.”

  “Yeah,” you murmured, giving her a weak nod. "I'm sure he will."

  You didn't know if you meant to say that with a hint of irony; if that scared farm girl is rearing her ugly head again and pointing a pitchfork at a monster of her own making.

  A monster that, you're convinced, would do something more than just look once you're within its reach.

It wasn't supposed to be this way.

  Bokuto even had it all figured out in his head. C’mon, he's got the looks, doesn't he? And he's not lacking in charm. In fact, he's oozing with it! That's why Bokuto had expected that he had this one in the bag. His game plan was foolproof: 

  Talk to the girl. Get the girl.

  After that, you’d be together for the rest of your lives and your fiery, unrelenting support for that lousy team of yours would never go in vain ever again. Because it’d all be directed to him. All that “ Good job! ” and “ You were amazing back there! ” and “ Don’t be scared! I’ll be right here rooting for you! ” would finally be given to someone who actually deserves it.

  All you had to do was see what he had to offer and baby— oh baby , how you'd love him. No force on Earth could have prevented Bokuto from making you his.

  So it's all the more sobering now that Bokuto’s witnessed that the said force turned out to be him of all people. And what he could actually give you was a few stumbling lines and compliments that didn't even make any sense (“ Y-your face smells nice ” for example)— all (preferably) uttered a few feet away from you. 

  The others teased him for looking like a jilted witch casting a spell on an indifferent lover. “What are you? Speaking in tongues or something? Is the Great Horned Owl that desperate?” they poked at him. He didn’t mind them before, but now he’s not so sure.

  " Tone it down, okay? " Kaori had reminded him again earlier this afternoon. That stern talking-to from their manager was an ice-cold bucket of water that doused what’s left of his optimism. 

  But, tone what down? What , exactly, is left to tone down?

  He couldn’t even talk to you without losing his ability to string coherent words together, let alone get close to you. Eye contact, too, he’d deliberately restrained himself from doing (if only you knew how much this is hurting him!) and not just because he’d been deemed a complete and utter creep. 

  Bokuto couldn’t look you in the eye ever since that incident.

  “ She’s helping the other girls carry their stuff to the other room, I saw them just now ,” Yamamoto had discreetly passed on as soon as he woke up from a terrible concussion. “And if you want to redeem yourself, my friend, after that humiliating performance, you’d better go out there and lend a hand. ”

  Because Yamamoto, being the love expert that he proclaimed he was, told him, “ Look, I feel for you. But it’s simple. You just gotta show her what you’re made of. That you’re a man she can depend upon, ” Bokuto then persevered to follow through.

  Only for him to be met by an empty room with bits of crumbled plaster scattered across the floor. And your bag in the furthest corner just...lying there.

  Maybe you’d forgotten about it. Maybe you were too busy catering to your friends' needs that you'd forgotten about yourself.

  Either way, Bokuto promises that it wasn’t on purpose. 

  Bokuto had good intentions, really! He just wanted to take the bag with him so he could give it to you, is all! It wasn’t his fault that some of your stuff was peeking through the half-opened zipper. It’d already been in that state when he saw it. 

  And- and it’s not his fault that he adores you too much. 

  Bokuto reminds himself as much as he propped his forehead against the bathroom wall, water from the shower pouring against the taut muscles on his back as he wrapped your underwear around his cock. 

  The baby pink fabric, every inch of it soiled now over the days that he's used it, rubbed  against his balls when he began fondling them, his other hand caressing his nipples, rubbing and pinching at the peaks until they stiffened between his calloused fingers.

  His cock grew hard and heavy in his hand as he started pumping into his fist, fucking your soaked panties until precum dripped from slit.

  And with nobody else in the shower room, Bokuto allowed himself to grunt and curse and call out your name, digging his nails into his skin until it stung and made him want to cry.

  "Make me cum, princess," he whined, shutting his eyes to watch you on your knees, fingers between your legs as you looked up at him, never taking your eyes off of him even as you took his cock down your throat.

  "Please, please ," Bokuto groaned,"Please let me cum."

  Here, you don't turn away nor brush him off without even saying anything. Here, you call him your baby and you chuckle as you ask him, " Good boys deserve to cum, don't they? "

  He bit his lip, pressing his cheek against the freezing tile. "Mmhmm, I-I've been-" Bokuto moaned, feeling himself creep closer and closer, the pleasure at the pit of his stomach building, "I've been so fucking good for you."

  The contrast of your pretty little underwear around the thick veins of his cock made his head spin. And as he squeezed his shaft tighter, Bokuto knew that he did, in fact, deserve so much more.

  Because he's endured so much just for you. Now, it's time to get what he's due. 

Scouring high and low for a pair of cotton panties that have seen better days wasn’t how you wished you’d celebrate the last night with your newfound friends. 

  Yuki had advised that you abandon the ratty, old thing (though you did say it wasn't; ratty, that is) and leave it here as a parting gift— a mark of your impact on their lives, if you will— but you’d quickly laughed her off and set out to find it. She was drunk, anyway.

  Although, so were you. If not, then just a tiny, itsy, bitsy, bit tipsy.

  You hiccuped, giggling as the sound echoed through the poorly-lit hallway. The world was spinning beneath you and you prayed that it wasn’t worse for poor Yuki, having chugged half of that horrid concoction. 

  Kaori almost threw her out of the window after that stunt. Mako scoffed at her for being an arrogant ass. The girls who weren’t drinking sat back and chose to enjoy the unfolding chaos (while also being kind enough to be on the lookout).

  And you...well...right now you’re on the verge of breaking down as you make your way to the shower room. 

  Mostly because you’re just realizing that you might never see them again if your team doesn’t survive the Inter High. Partly because you’ve been dumb enough to not notice that you’ve been missing an underwear for a couple of days now. 

  God, it's so ridiculous. You're ridiculous. You're glad that you went on your own and rejected their offer to accompany you. Imagine if they saw you like this:

  Oscillating between sobs and strained laughter while swaying on your feeble legs; the very picture of a lunatic out in the streets in the middle of the night.

  You only hoped that you're not scaring the living daylights out of that guy who probably just went out of the boys' room to pee. Maybe you have already spooked him, with how still he's gotten.

  Cupping your palms around your mouth, you saw fit to save his sanity and cried, "Heyyyy! I'm not- hic - a ghost!" 

  "Oh!" you gasped, raising a pointing finger to shush yourself, "Oh, yeah, sorry, shhh-" 

  He didn't run the other way screaming and crying, which was good, instead he approached you hurriedly, making you squint to get a better look at him.

  "Koyama?" you whispered, struggling to recognize the tall boy with a sturdy build, his navy blue hoodie casting a shadow on his face. It didn't help that your eyes were doing something funny, as if they were busted camera lenses that went uncontrollably in and out of focus.

  "Good evening, my dear! I daresay you're looking quite bur- burl- blurry tonight."

  You cackled, immediately following your greeting with a slurred apology.

  "Why- Why are you still- um- up?" he asked. And before you could volley him with a question pointing to his weirdly different voice, he brought his head down to sniff at you. "Wait- have you b- are you drunk ?"

  "What! No! Of course not!" You pouted and airily slapped his cheek, drawing a lopsided grin out of you when his skin glowed pink, bright enough to light up the entire place. It was so remarkably adorable that it made you squeal and pinch both cheeks, rocking his face as you did.

  "Look at our big boy!" A sheepish, almost disbelieving chuckle shook his large chest as you resumed your baby talk, your grabby hands bringing his face towards you.  "Who would've thought that our stwong, wowdy ace could bwush wike so? And what's with this siwwy hoodie, huh? Where did you get this, bunnycakes? I've never seen you wear this before!"

  You wondered, also, why and how his jet black hair turned pallidly gray over the few hours you hadn't seen him. You even brushed the mildly damp locks out of his forehead, unsure if they're even real as you tried to right your smudged vision.

  And you wanted to blame it all on the alcohol.

  It's the reason for that dramatic change in his tone and manner of speaking and hair color and...those eyes .

  The very same pair that followed you everywhere, sometimes even in your sleep.

  "You love me, after all," he breathed, the statement a thin sheet of glass that could blow into smithereens at just the wrong response.

  That had been enough to drain the inebriation out of your body. Like being branded, you pulled away from Bokuto with a harsh curse.

  "I- I have to go," you said. "Sorry, I thought you were Ko- my teammate."

  But Bokuto had already laid hold of your arm with no intent of letting go.

  "Stay!" Bokuto called out, repeating it with please and listen despite your outcries, shouting for Kaori and Yuki and Mako and Shigeru and Takami and Coach and Koyoma and anyone, help me, anyone.

  Until he tugged you to his chest, wrapping himself around you and turning his entire body into a concrete prison as he fervently told you, "I love you. I love you so much ever since the first time I saw you and I know, I know you feel the same so if it's the distance that's keeping you from me I can come to you I'll follo-"

  "Nothing's keeping me from jackshit!" you gritted out. "I don't love you! I don't even care about you!"

  He didn't say anything to that. 

  Bokuto had gone quiet. It wasn't only until he nuzzled your neck, pressing his face snugly down the crook, that you decided to kick him with all your strength, breaking yourself free as your heart thundered out of your chest.

  You didn't look back.

  You dashed through the long, endless hallway with the air in your lungs dangerously running low and keeping you from screaming.

  But the remnants of the alcohol were lead that weighed your feet to the ground, betraying you further by morphing your surroundings into a hazy, dizzying scape. You teetered and wobbled, desperate to reach that staircase that will lead you out of this floor, but each step that you took was not fast enough, not nimble enough, as if you’re wading through knee-deep water. 

  And before you know it the monster has caught up and is ready to pounce from right behind you.

  “Get your hands off me!” you wailed as Bokuto heaved you by the waist and carried you over his shoulder. 

  The sudden upending of your world was so nauseating, you didn’t even notice that he’d already taken you to an almost pitch black classroom, its heavy curtains drawn together and the empty chairs and tables pushed to the side. 

  His large, sprawling hand was gripping your ass, your stomach lurching when you felt him caress it. Yet that didn’t deter you from hitting whichever part of him that your knuckles and feet could touch, ignoring the trail of your own spit that dripped on your face as you howled and thrashed and fought to keep yourself together because no one was hearing you.

  What’s left for you, now? Your captor was so strong, much stronger than you, that even when he tripped on his toes, Bokuto was able to catch himself and drop you on the nearest table in just a single breath. 

  “Stop fighting me..!” he panted, holding you down as he knelt before you. “I’m not gonna hurt you! I- ow! Don’t-”

  Bokuto’s grip on your wrists was unbudgeable. So, you didn’t miss the chance to bite him when he covered your mouth with his palm. Teeth chattering, you broke the tough flesh, sunk them sharply until the taste of salt and iron flooded your tongue.

  You expected that it would push him away. Give you the leverage to escape.

  That turned out to be a mistake.

  His honey-gold eyes glinted as he stared deep into yours. Every hair on your body stood on end when the corners of his lips slowly lifted, eyes still fixed on you as he released a bubbly, childlike laughter.

  “I've always wanted to do this to you," he sighed giddily. 

  The helplessness chipped at your insides bit by torturous bit when all you could do was rock the table with your flailing, while Bokuto had already crouched lower— low enough to pull the hem of your thin shorts with his teeth.   

  He watched you weep with a sickening display of dejection, like he's some dog that's been shoved around by his master.

  "Please don't cry," Bokuto whined, peppering soft kisses all over the insides of your thighs then licking off the beads of sweat that covered the goosebumps. 

  You’re not giving up. 

  You couldn’t give up.

  You pushed and gnawed and tore skin that you’re sure every inch of his palm is littered with fresh bruises, but this only seemed to encourage Bokuto, drawing out his drugged out moans as he spat on your clothed cunt, drool leaking down to your folds before he lapped at the wet spot. The moistened fabric scratched and rubbed against your clit to the point of quivering and writhing in his clutch. 

  “Oh, I know , baby,” Bokuto murmured, using the tip of his tongue to flick at the swollen nub. “I’ll make you feel real good soon.”

  Shaking your head, the unwiped tears gathering around your eyelids dropped to his long, calloused fingers. And you wanted to screech, to tell him to go to hell as he swirled his tongue all over your embarrassingly slick hole.

  No, you wanted more than that. 

  You wanted to drive your bare hands into his chest.

  But that’s not what you did, is it?

  When Bokuto finally removed his hand from your mouth, what slipped past your lips wasn’t the sound of a woman ready to kill. Instead, you sounded like a little girl begging to be carried home. And that hadn’t been the part that scared you, really.

  It was the fact that no matter how much you tried to scream, nothing was coming out.

  “L-let me go,” you wheezed, your voice cracking. “Or- or else.”

  “Or else?” Bokuto replied, eliciting a gasp from you as he sniffed your throbbing, wet cunt. “Look at me, princess.”

  “ Look at me ,” he repeated pleadingly, frustration giving his tone a rough edge, as he brought the hand that once suppressed your attempts to call for help to skim past your thigh and stroke the sole of your feet. “Just this once. See me.”

  You kept your eyes closed, even as he kissed your toes and brought it down to his crotch, forcing you to dig your heel into the bulge jutting out. He rocked his hips, gyrating slowly, his cock hardening under your feet, as he whimpered into your leg.

  “Please, please fuck me, please ,” Bokuto mewled. “I’ll do any- anything for you.”

  Profanities rushed out of you, but no one could hear them. Not even you. Perhaps that's why he didn’t flinch when he lugged you down to straddle on his lap.

  “Use me, baby,” he whispered, grinning wide as he snaked his other hand to your back and dug his nails around your nape, laying on his back and taking you with him as he did, your tits crushed to his chest. 

  With your arms dying in his grip, Bokuto easily stripped his pants along with his boxers. Violent trembles wracked your body as he dragged your pussy along his thick shaft, back and forth, your damp panties riding up every time he thrusted upwards.

  His hot breath against your ear sent shivers down your spine as he giggled lowly, “Wanna cum inside you so fucking bad . Will you let me, hm? Please let me.”

  Of course you didn’t want to. It’s not like you’d stop struggling, either. It’s just that Bokuto would never listen to you. Even when he whimpered and babbled, “You don’t want to- fuck, your pussy’s all nice and wet - oh, you don’t want to? That's okay, that’s okay, baby,” Bokuto still slipped his cock inside your underwear.

  It slid past your lips up to your clit. And you’d never hated yourself more in your entire life when all you could do was stay limp and cry as the fat tip finally nudged your twitching hole.

  “No, no, don’t worry, sweetheart,” he whispered, scattering kisses on your neck, “It’s just the head- just the head.”

  As Bokuto groaned and rutted against you, all you wished for, in that moment, was for dawn to peek through the curtains and signal the end of this torment. But, still it went on with Bokuto stretching you open.

  And as he split you in half, you detachedly realized that you were right.

  This place did eat you alive.

[perfectlywingedsilco]

An Invitation: Part Five (Silco x Mel drabble)

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four AO3 Link  

They met on the walled walkway looking out towards the sea.

It was the same place where Jayce had talked with Silco and the free nation of Zaun had been born.

Mel thought it must have a particular place in the statesman’s heart now, when it had been such a hard-won victory for him. And she thought she saw the conqueror’s walk in his gait as he steadily came towards her.

‘It is a beautiful evening,’ she said to him in greeting, just as the rose-hued light of the sunset touched the thin outline of his face.

‘And a beautiful view,’ Silco added without breaking away from her gaze.

Mel realised she was smiling too widely, but she was slow to withdraw it. She wanted to see what the sight of it would invoke in him, and if it would make him tip his own hand.

But the statesman was careful in the way he angled himself slightly away from her, even while his eye held onto her. And she could sense his watchfulness as he waited for her to show her hand first.

‘You must take great pleasure in knowing how history was made here,’ she said while following the way the light played across his features. And she was pleased to see the ridges of his lips curve slightly in a small, proud smile.

‘It seems to be a suitably inspired starting point. The only thing that is missing from that origin story is you, Councillor.’

‘Yes, I wish I could have been there along with Councillor Talis. I understand it was quite the pivotal moment.’

‘It always is, to achieve a dream.’

‘And presumably one that has always been with you,’ Mel suggested. ‘And now you will have to find new dreams, Statesman - dreams that include us, I hope.’

‘Mm. Perhaps,’ Silco conceded with a sly slant to his smile. ‘Although I’d rather not have the rest of your councillors crowding my head when one is enough.’

‘Oh?’ said Mel, feigning ignorance. And the statesman’s smile lengthened.

‘Might I ask which of the councillors haunt your thoughts?’ she asked him while running her eyes over his dark hair. ‘Perhaps we should compare notes. Because some of them have been giving me nightmares.’

‘Then maybe you should include me in your dreams,’ Silco suggested as he shifted his foot slightly to turn himself towards her. ‘I’m sure I could help drive them out to grant you a pleasant sleep.’

Mel bit back a smile at the increased stroke of his swing as he volleyed her own words back at her with easy confidence. It had none of the power of Jayce’s bravado, but all the quiet focus of a man who knew how to hit his mark without fail.

‘Have you thought on what price you would accept for your compliments?’ she asked him. ‘Because I am finding myself quite intrigued to know what else you may have to share with me.’

‘Have you an offer to make me?’ Silco asked as amusement touched his pale eye. And Mel felt a warmth bloom inside her at knowing she could make him smile.

‘Hmm ... Surely the price would depend on the nature of the compliment given,’ she said. ‘And perhaps in this case, the gentleman should go first in showing his hand to the lady?’

‘Is a hand all you wish to see?’ Silco returned, and Mel almost blushed as she laughed.

‘I feel I must ask to see both of your hands, Statesman, as I cannot be sure you are not hiding something from me.’

‘What would I be hiding, Councillor,’ said Silco as he finally took a step towards her, allowing her to catch the scent of cigars and his cologne on the sea breeze. ‘I’ve only ever been transparent with you.’

He was looking at her closely now, with the pupil of his blue eye dilating slightly to draw her deeper into its depths. And Mel thought of how, for a man whom she didn’t think of as handsome, he appealed to every one of her senses in that moment.

‘Would you like me to tell you what I truly think of you, Councillor?’ Silco asked her in a murmur that edged close to getting lost in the sounds of the sea before them.

‘Please.’

He was smiling when he leaned in to hover his lips just beside her ear. And Mel could hear her own pulse racing as she felt the heat from his body faintly whisper over her skin.

‘I think you will have been a dream for many a man,’ he hummed into her ear. ‘But I will make you real.’

[cheekygreenty]

Little Witch - Part 22

The Darkling x Reader

'The General is busy' Ivan stood blocking the door, not letting you through. His red silk kefta stood out like a warning sign in the dead of the hallway and his face a stony expression but you didn't miss the slight tinge of a condescending grimace.

'Ivan move away from the door.'

'The General wished to not be disturbed.'

'Ivan I could eat you for breakfast. Now move for your Deputy.' Whether it was your assertion of dominance, the copious amounts of alcohol in your system, or the firey shadows erupting from your hand, Ivan moved away from the door, defeated. You were done playing nice and done playing the diplomat. You were taking the evening off.

The doors were pushed wide open with a mere flick of your fingers, quickly meeting Aleksander's gaze already set on you. No doubt there was no need for such a dramatic entrance, but as you said, you were taking the evening off, Deputy Y/L/N has retired for the night. Y/N is here to play now and she doesn't fight fair.

There was someone right in front of him, a dirty and ragged First-Army soldier. If it weren't for the soldier's slight bow of the head in your direction, you would've guessed you walked in on a pissing contest.

'Hello Soldier'

'Deputy Y/L/N'

'You know who I am'

'Of course'

You smiled and looked at Aleksander, inspecting his face for any sign of emotion but all you were met with was a clenched jaw. 'The Stag?' A map of Ravka lay open next to him on the table but there was no indication on it of a precise location.

'Mr.Oretsev is bargaining. He won't give up the location if not for a meeting with our Sun-Summoner.' Oretsev. As in Mal Oretsev, Alina's tracker?

'And have you started to vet him? Cause from what I can see you're just standing here.'

His hands balled into fists at his side and he quickly moved past the tracker to you, grabbing your elbow tightly and dragging you out of the room and into the adjacent drawing-room. You shrugged him off just as roughly and shut the doors.

'Is this how you treat your second in command?' You brushed off your kefta, adjusting the sleeves.

'I'm getting really tired of you trying to show me up'

'Well I'm sorry I'm naturally more intimidating than you.'

Y/N and Aleksander were completely different from Deputy Y/L/N and General Kirigan. For as long as you could remember, you both kept work and life separate but now things somehow changed. The dynamics were shifting in nobody's favor. You unknowingly kept prodding for dominance which never happened before. Years ago, you were happy to listen to Aleksander, to do as he said, to go to sleep cuddled into his side having forgotten the workday, to put aside the orders he gave that didn't sit well with you. But now you craved to call the shots and he seemed to notice too.

'What do you want? I really do not have time for this.' He started pacing the room impatiently.

'Oh pray tell what is it that's so pressing? You can't get the location out of him without Alina finding out about the letters. Your lies are going to catch up with you' Didn't I tell you so.

'Can you not even pretend to be helpful?'

'No' You pursed your lips and crossed your arms.

'Have you spoken to the Queen?' He stopped pacing and waited for your answer, obviously eager to hear what the Tsaritsa had to say but despite the heartiness of the situation, you chose to stay quiet.

'No, I didn't.'

'Then do your job Deputy.' With that he swung open the door and walked out, the tension visible around him and palpitating as he strode out of view with Ivan trailing him. There it was, his small yet effective remark to remind you of your place. It was as if overnight he came to the conclusion that you were after his Grisha and was making it known you were just a Deputy and he was Aleksander Morozova, the Black Heretic and it angered you beyond reason.

*****

You found yourself right back next to Zoya with another drink in your hand. Although you felt it hitting you and relaxing all the muscles in your body, your mouth was glued shut when it came to spilling out all your problems for a shoulder to lean on.

'Zoya have you ever been proposed to?' You didn't know why you asked, but it slipped out. You could see her momentarily freeze but she covered it well with a flick of her ebony hair.

'All the time. Have you seen me? But it's always the poor and useless ones. The good ones don't want a weapon, they want a housewife'

'Wise words spoken by an even wiser woman'

'I accept credit where it's given' You both laughed and went back to meaningless conversation. Had you known when you arrived at the Little Palace that the sneering Squaler would become one of your closest friends and trusted soldiers, you would've laughed. She was still vexing and shrewd but behind all the remarks, you saw the true Zoya and you liked her.

She was very guarded, her walls built up so high from years in the Second-Army but sometimes her facade slipped. It would be the faintest look of sorrow on her face or a slight pause in her voice that would catch you off guard, slowly letting you piece together who Zoya really was. You had already come to a conclusion; she was the best damn soldier Ravka had ever seen and no doubt will amount to great things. Her fire burned bright and fervid and that's all it takes to be and do good.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see one of the Inferni twins following an oprichniki with a suspicious gaze. The alcohol might've been enough to dull your senses, but your job was still to protect the Palace and so you hastily excused yourself and followed the two from a distance. No doubt you caught the attention of many people as your gown trailed behind you and drew unnecessary attention. You looked ahead of the Inferni and studied the guard, noticing a limp. Now that you thought of it, you could've sworn the same guard had briefly conversed with a female guard too, one strikingly similar to the silks artist that dangled down next to the stairs. You shot a brief glance toward the staircase and sure enough, the silks were there but they were empty. Intruders.

You pursued the two men, noting their direction toward the chapel but another oprichniki suddenly blocked your way.

'Deputy, The General requests your presence right away.' The guard stood in front of you, the panic so vivid on his face it sobered you up substantially.

'What's the matter?' Your voice was short and annoyed as you watched the blue kefta disappear from your line of sight.

'We caught an intruder trying to escape after murdering Marie. The General thinks it is the conductor' At this you froze and your eyes widened twice their size. You suddenly felt a pang of guilt as Marie's name was mentioned. You were in charge of Marie and Alina, and if you had just done your job tonight instead of being in your head then maybe Marie would've been alive.

'And where was Genya Saffin?'

'She fought him off as much as she could but he fired at her'

'Saints' You were mad now. Not only was this man killing Grisha in their home, but he was the conductor. You had read Nina Zenik's reports about him, but knowing he somehow penetrated the walls of the Palace you had so tirelessly tried to fortify angered you beyond compare. The limping man, the silks artist, now this.

'Was he alone?'

'Seems so, Ivan and Zoya are interrogating him now, they wish for you to accompany them.'

'I'll be down momentarily, but for now come with me.' You nodded him to follow you as you hurried to the chapel not giving him a second to object. The noise of the party fizzled out, no foreign dignitary finding it appealing to pray to the Saints at this hour.

Your joined steps echoed through the golden halls and your heart rate picked up. This evening was turning sideways really quickly, maybe you shouldn't have had all those drinks. Maybe you should've told Aleksander about your predicament. Maybe you should have stayed with Marie instead. So many maybes.

You directed more guards your way as you walked, all of them silently obeying your command and not speaking. If you were right, the whole Palace was compromised and you would need reinforcements.

'You three head that way, I'll take this door.' You pointed down the hallway and turned into the door to your left. The chapel was silent and peaceful. The candles were all lit, begging to be witness to prayer, but the room itself screamed danger.

You listened for a heartbeat, felt the air for a body, but came up empty-handed. Still, you couldn't shake that strange creep of unease. Your feet took you behind the altar and between the pews, where with a gasp and a curse, you found the Inferni's body dead and surrounded in a puddle of his own blood. The gash in his head was obviously made with a knife, but the remnants of the blade were gone.

The rage flew through you like a ghost in a graveyard. A Grisha was murdered in a chapel. It felt like both a personal attack and an attack on all Grisha living in the Little Palace. The Inferni lying dead at your feet was killed in his home, murdered in the home of his Saints. You needed to find Aleksander and tell him. You needed to get the King and Queen out of here even though that would be the last thing you wanted to do.

But as soon as you found Aleksander in the courtyard facing Baghra, that unease turned into outright fear. Aleksander loved his mother, but the way he looked at her right now spoke the opposite of love. He always had doubts about her, always assumed she was scheming but she rarely ever acted. The fear pushed you to assume she definitely did something.

'What is it?' You were shivering, the bottom of your gown ruined now with dry leaves and dirt clinging to it as you made your way to the two. 'What have you done Baghra?' So much has already gone wrong.

She looked at you with a smirk, a smile that yelled in triumph 'I won' but uttered no words. You turned to Aleksander for an explanation. The shivering now chattering your teeth and turning your lips blue.

'Alina is gone, the tracker is dead'

All the air in your lungs vanished as your hands unknowingly went to wrap around the old woman's throat. 'You wretched old witch. How could you do this' Your words dripped in venom so vast it made you wince. She didn't respond to your assault in the slightest, just kept that condescending grin stuck on her lips.

You felt his hands grasping at your arms, roughly pulling you back from his mother and your chokehold. 'Y/N stop it' You didn't care about Alina too much, but purposely doing all of this to pull you and Aleksander off the rails was like a thorn in your side that never got pulled out in 98 years.

'Are you the one who killed the Inferni in the chapel too? Or the one who let intruders into my Palace? Huh? ANSWER ME' You pushed his arms away from you and ignored his questioning look. Baghra still said nothing, just shook her head as if in pity. 'Every time you leave that damn hut you cause nothing but trouble'

Taking a step back and then another, you forced yourself to walk to the dungeons to interrogate the conductor not caring if Aleksander followed you or not. If you didn't leave, you would've surely killed her.

-------

Part 23

Masterlist

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[path-of-my-childhood]

Taylor Swift: Pop Star of the Year

By: Jonathan Dean for The Sunday Times Date: December 27th 2020

Rather than hunker down, the singer put out two albums in 2020 and won over new audiences. She’s the pop star of the year.

Taylor Swift met Paul McCartney in the autumn for a big interview in Rolling Stone. The two would have headlined Glastonbury this summer. Who knows if they will do that next year. Anyway, both recorded albums in lockdown, working from home like the rest of us. When they spoke, though, Swift had a secret. As well as Folklore, released in July, she had a follow-up record in the pipeline — Evermore, which was released this month.

Swift noted that the former Beatle was still so full of joy. “Well, we’re just so lucky, aren’t we?” he said. “We’re really lucky,” Swift replied. “I can’t believe it’s my job.” And she is right. Being a pop star is an extraordinary way to earn the living she does. But rather than accepting luxury and letting this tough year tumble on, Swift is also keenly aware what music means. Sad songs soothe, happy songs make us dance, but as fans of most artists waited for something — anything — this year, this 31-year-old released two albums that broke chart records, were critically adored and introduced her to people who once thought that she wasn’t for them.

“I’m so exhausted!” she said to the American chat show host Jimmy Kimmel, laughing, a few weeks ago, when asked if she had a third new album planned. “I have nothing left.” In addition to Folklore and Evermore, she filmed a TV special and even started rerecording her back catalogue, after a volatile dispute over who owns her work. By October I’d just about cobbled together my first sourdough loaf.

A decade ago Swift moved firmly into the limelight thanks to a squabble with Kanye West entirely of the rapper’s own making. In 2009, when Swift — then a nascent country music star — won the best female video award at the VMAs, West stormed on stage, grabbed her microphone and said that Beyoncé should have won. Swift was 19 — West was 32 — and she looked scared. This wasn’t just about her biggest moment yet being stolen, but also about her position in the pop hierarchy being questioned, very publicly, from the off. She stood there as that man bullied her. Apparently she left the stage in tears.

Years later West released Famous, with its infamous lyric “I feel like me and Taylor might still have sex/ Why? I made that bitch famous.” The alt-folk singer Father John Misty also wrote about sleeping with her. Every time that sort of thing happened, a powerful man in Swift’s industry was reducing a successful, talented, younger female to the level of a sex object. It was back-in-your-box belittling — as it was when a TV host groped her. (She successfully sued him.) While Swift herself would retort to West, as her music became less country, more slick pop, such retorts felt forced and gave the rapper too much of her oxygen. A nod to him on Folklore comes with the “Clowns to the West” line, but it is a sideshow now, not a headline.

Not that Swift’s life is entirely her own. She’s been one of the world’s bestselling female artists for a decade, coupled with curiosities such as a well-orchestrated relationship with Tom Hiddleston that kept her in the spotlight. Like many twentysomethings, Swift spent her youth apolitically, only to receive flak for staying silent during the 2016 US election. This year she endorsed Joe Biden, but what if she had wanted to stay quiet? Would the media have let her? She is under so much scrutiny that, after she made an innocuous hand gesture in a recent TV interview, similar to one women make to draw attention to domestic abuse, this headline ran: “Some people think Taylor Swift is secretly asking for help in her latest interview.”

Like many at the start of the pandemic she felt listless. The world we were used to was a wasteland, and we could only find the energy to watch Normal People. Swift’s ennui, though, was, well, swift. Stuck in LA, she emailed Aaron Dessner of the beloved beardy indie band the National to see if he fancied writing with her. No fool, Dessner said yes and, mere weeks later, the duo — with help from Swift’s regular collaborator Jack Antonoff as well as Justin Vernon, from the beloved beardy indie band Bon Iver — released Folklore. The gang just carried on working and, five months later, gave us Evermore.

Creativity is not on tap. Indeed, this year is not one for judging what others may or not have achieved. However, the silence of many big pop stars is striking because they know that even a single would make someone’s day; distract for a while.

Everyone needed to adjust to working from home, but Swift was one of the only musicians who did and, by eschewing the arena pop of recent albums for something more subdued, organic and folky, she gave the sense that she was letting fans in more than ever. She was at home, like us. This is who she is, and the first single from these sessions was so cosy, it was even called Cardigan.

“I just thought, ‘There are no rules any more,’” she told McCartney. “Because I used to put all these parameters on myself, like, ‘How will this song sound in a stadium?’ If you take away the parameters, what do you make? I guess Folklore.”

Maybe it is tedious, for a deft writer with a career of varied, brilliant songs — Love Story, I Knew You Were Trouble, Blank Space — to find respect from some people only when artists who appeal to middle-aged men start to work with her. On the other hand, pop has never been particularly welcoming to many until it sounds like something you are used to and, with delicate acoustics and gossamer-like piano, Swift’s two new albums recall, sonically, Nick Drake or Kate Bush. Thematically, lyrics seem to come from anywhere. Daphne du Maurier, for one. Even the Lake District and its poets.

Some songs are personal. She is dating British actor Joe Alwyn, and on one track she sings, “I want to give you a child.” Make of that what you will. But these records’ highlights are not about herself, but others. “There was a point,” she told Zane Lowe on Apple Music, “that I had got to as a writer, [where I was only writing] diaristic songs. That felt unsustainable.” Instead, she does what the best writers do and mixes subjective with objective. The Last American Dynasty is a terrific piece of writing about the socialite Rebekah Harkness, who lived in a Rhode Island house that Swift bought and was, by all accounts, a bit scandalous. Swift tells her story almost with envy. Imagine, she seems to say, that freedom.

“In my anxieties,” she said in Rolling Stone, “I can often control how I am as a person and how normal I act. But I cannot control if there are 20 photographers outside in the bushes and if they follow our car and interrupt our lives.”

Then there is Epiphany. The first verse is about her grandfather, who fought in the Second World War; the second about frontline workers in hospitals now. Sung in a high register, it is suitably choral. Marjorie, on Evermore, is even better. It is about her grandmother, an opera singer who died in 2003. “What died didn’t stay dead” is the repeated line, and it is eerie, gorgeous. Swift sings how she thinks Marjorie is singing to her, at which point some vocals from the latter’s recordings waft in. Touching, but the real power is in Swift writing about vague memories of a relative who died when she was young. “I complained the whole way there,” she sings. “I should’ve asked you questions.”

In person she is warm like this, and funny. When Kimmel told her there were far more swearwords on Folklore and Evermore than previous records, she replied: “It’s just been that kind of year.” She is also odder than people realise. In the way pop stars should be. Obsessed by numerology, she wrote, on the eve of her birthday when announcing Evermore: “Ever since I was 13, I’ve been excited about turning 31 because it’s my lucky number backwards.” When I turned 31 I just wished to be 13 again, with all that youth, but then, maybe, she is just joking. “Yes, so until I turn 113 or 131, this will be the highlight of my life,” she said. “The numerology thing? I sort of force it to happen.”

Swift, of course, is far from the first pop star to become public property, or have a close bond with fans. This year, however, she was one of the few to show that such adoration is not one-way. She is, simply, a fan of her fans — from planting secrets in her artwork and lyrics, to recording two albums of new music as a balm for them when real life became too deafening.

“One good thing about music,” sang Bob Marley. “When it hits you, you feel no pain.” The 80.6 million who streamed Folklore on its first day will attest to that idea. So will the four million who bought it. Swift is pop star of the year, no doubt — leaving her peers in her wake, on their sofas, rewatching The Sopranos.

[joaquinwhorres]

The Barest Ounce of Kindness (Klaus Hargreeves)

SUMMARY ››››› Klaus has been asking you to do small favors for him for months now. But brushing his hair? That’s weirder than the rest.

REQUEST ››››› Ooooh if you write for Klaus will you do 36 with him please!!! (36. Helping brush their hair after a shower.) 

WORD COUNT ››››› 2,028

WARNINGS ››››› Comfort, mentions of death

A/N ››››› I struggled a bit with an idea for this one before ultimately landing on the idea of "philia" love (meaning brotherly love, deep friendship). And well, this was born! 

Privacy did not exist within the walls of the Umbrella Academy

Hidden cameras--which were widely known  to exist despite their undisclosed locations--were placed in every room for monitoring. Most of your activities took place under the watchful eye of your father or Pogo. Mom breezed in and out of each room gathering clothes, making beds, shepherding you to wherever you needed to be next. But the worse culprits were your siblings. Luther was bearable, he was too busy shadowing the old man or sneaking around with Allison. When she wasn't with Luther, Allison had taken to snooping through everyone's things. Vanya perpetually hovered outside of each door which was at least a little better than Diego who was constantly hiding around corners to practice for "stealth missions." But the worst culprit by far was Klaus.

He was currently standing in your doorway wearing nothing but a fluffy lavender towel and with a baby blue hand towel piled on top of his head. 

"Will you brush my hair please?" Klaus asked, lip already jutting out in a pout.

You shut your book with a small thmp, because no matter how this conversation played out, Klaus was not going to leave your room until you gave him your full attention. That meant shoulders squared towards him, full eye contact, no finger saving your page, book placed in front of you on the desk. 

"What?" This was an odd request even from Klaus. Klaus who once asked you to tie his wrists together behind his back to see what the tightest he could get out of was. Klaus who once asked you to give him a tramp stamp of Pac-Man with a tattoo gun he procured from who knows where. Klaus who once asked you to watch him as he tripped because he swore he could levitate.

The thing that made this request odd was that it seemed rather...intimate. 

Intimacy did not exist within the walls of the Umbrella Academy either.

Klaus sighed dramatically, brushing past you to flop down onto your bed. "I've just had the shittiest day, and it would mean the world if just one human being showed me the barest ounce of kindness." 

You turned in your desk chair, resting your arms along the back so you could stare at him. He, in turn, was gazing up at the ceiling and the constellations you'd painted up there over the years, expanding your universe beyond the walls of the academy.

"What happened?"

Despite the complete and total lack of privacy, you felt like you never knew what went on with your siblings. Sure, there were the missions and your group trainings and meals and having them barge in on your personal space--but the rest of the time they seemed to slip through the cracks in the floors and disappear into the shadows of the halls. Their presence was felt. Their lives were not.

"Oh just one thing after another, I won't bore you with the details," Klaus dismissed, rolling over to prop his chin up in his hands and look at you expectantly. 

"You just want me to...brush your hair." The request would make more sense if there was some underlying catch. But he just nodded. So you remained still.

Klaus dropped his arms, giving you a more impatient look. "Come on, Y/N, you owe me one." 

"What? Since when?" you protested. You liked to keep your ledgers balanced in the house, and you were fairly certain you owed nothing to no one. In fact, over the past three months, Klaus had put himself more and more in the red with his strange requests.

“Ok, fine, I’ll owe you one,” Klaus relented. 

You paused, working your jaw, and Klaus squealed. Because he knew what that meant. 

It meant he won. Like always. And like always, you wouldn't even bother mentally logging this down as a favor owed.

Klaus clambered up to sit cross legged on your bed, the towel just saving you from having to burn your sheets. And your eyes.

"Do you have a brush?" you asked, raising your eyebrows at Klaus who in turn mirrored the look and gestured at himself in his towel.  

You heaved a sigh, dragging yourself up out of the chair and heading over to your dresser where the Umbrella Academy Personal Care Set lay neatly on top. Your father had seen fit to issue each of you a boar bristle brush, wide tooth comb, and thin pocket comb regardless of your specific hair needs. It had been several arguments and eventually an appeal to Mom just to get different shampoos for the seven of you. Back when it was seven.

You brushed aside the aching, hollowing sadness that grew whenever you thought of the number six and turned to Klaus, hair brush in hand. He had taken the blue towel off his head, leaving his hair sticking out in a multitude of directions. You snorted out a laugh, climbing up into the bed behind him. 

"Start at the ends and work your way up," Klaus instructed, wiggling his shoulders in anticipation as you brought the brush to his hair. 

"I know how to brush hair, Klaus," you deadpanned back. Klaus looked over his shoulder, eyes running over your head, assessing. He raised his eyebrows in a look that read quite clearly If you say so. You smacked him against the head, and he laughed turning back forward. 

"You need to cut your hair," you said, smoothing the brush through the ends of his shoulder length hair. "It looks raggedy." 

"I like it," Klaus dismissed, his voice dreamy already.

"You look like a stray dog." In response Klaus started panting loudly.

You smacked his arm, and since he remained face forward, you allowed yourself a smile as well. "You're so weird." 

"Good, it means I'm not boring," Klaus shrugged. You rolled your eyes, but the smile remained as you worked your way further up his hair. It was rather soothing, and despite the slightly uncomfortable twist in your stomach, it felt...nice to share this moment with Klaus. And because it felt nice, it also felt wrong. A bit like a betrayal.

"This is weird, you know that right? It's weird to brush another person's hair." you said, cringing at yourself slightly for using the word weird again. Because this kind of weird and Klaus' kind of weird were very different. Although, Klaus had brought on this kind of weird, so maybe he was both? 

"You used to love it when Mom brushed your hair," Klaus rebutted.

You shook your head. "That's different, it was Mom." 

"You're greatly overthinking this," Klaus said, turning to give you a significant look. "I wanted to be pampered, and you weren't doing anything."

"I was reading actually."

"A Brief History of Time, yes, how invigorating."

"Actually--"

"Nope."

"It is!"

"No. It's not. You need to get out more if you think that's exciting."

"Don't you want to know how the universe works?”

“Nope. I know how it works."  That statement had been slightly unexpected. You knew Klaus was more astute than he led the rest of the house to believe. You'd picked that up during your past few months of doing favors for Klaus. But the way he said that he knew how the world works...it sounded so matter of fact. Like he really did know the ins and outs of the universe. Like he had decades of knowledge whispered to him from the great beyond.

"Everything...” Klaus paused as he turned to look at you over his shoulder.You withdrew the hairbrush from his hair, looking at him expectantly. “Is fucked.”

You huffed, pushing Klaus forward and he laughed at you. You should have known not to expect anything too profound to leave Klaus. Still, you had hoped that he held some of the answers you'd been looking for.

"Come on, Y/N. You know I'm right," he protested, drawing himself up again and reigning his laughter in. "What else would explain why our daddy dearest is a millionaire and sweet little Vanya has no powers? Good things happen to bad people. Bad things happen to good people. Bad things also happen to bad people, but they're never quite as bad as the bad things that happen to good people. See? It's all fucked."

He was right. 

Because if he was wrong, Ben wouldn't be dead.

You hung your head, shaking it a little, and Klaus took this for the concession that it was. He must have picked up a few things about you over the past few months as well. 

"Cheer up, if it's already fucked it means that we can't fuck it up worse."

"What's even the point though? If it's all fucked?" you asked. "What's the point of anything we do here if good people still die?" 

"The point is finding ways to make it bearable, I guess," Klaus shrugged. "I suggest pot as a starting point." 

You lifted the corner of your mouth in a vague smile, and Klaus turned around completely to face you. You held your hand out as a small shield to block any sights you did not want to see.

"Ben died making the world more bearable," Klaus said, his voice smaller than you'd ever heard it. As if he didn't want anyone else to overhear him being sincere.

You nodded, that hollow sadness echoing throughout your body. These waves came less than they had three months ago, and you no longer found yourself unable to hold in the tears, but it hadn't stopped hurting. You wished it would. You knew that there was an answer sitting two feet in front of you that could help. And yet, you'd never been able to bring yourself to ask it. It hadn't seemed fair to him, and you weren't sure you wanted to know. But here he was, and if there was any time, it was now.

"Klaus," you started. "Can you...is Ben...is he still around?"

Klaus looked out into the room, his eyes focused on the mid distance and you watched as his pensive look slowly pulled into a frown. 

"No," he said, offering a sad half smile. "Our Benny Bopper has gone towards the light. Eternal peace and all that." 

You bent your head, letting go of the breath of hope you'd been holding. "I don't know whether I'm happy for him or mad at him." 

Klaus reached out, placing a hand on your shoulder. "I'd go for mad," he said. "He always was an annoying little shit." 

You laughed. At least you tried to laugh. It broke about halfway through. 

"I know you two were close," Klaus' voice returned to the unusual sincere tone, rubbing a thumb lightly against your shoulder as a means of comfort. You nodded. Ben had been your closest friend in the entire house. He’d come to your room and the two of you would spend your spare time discussing the intricacies of life and dreaming of the day you could run off to Princeton or John Hopkins or any other far away college with a wonderful library. 

You had been kindred spirits.

And now he was just a spirit.

"Yeah," you breathed, looking out in the room, unable to meet Klaus' eyes. "And you guys were partners." 

"Eh, he always liked you more," Klaus dismissed with a wave of his hand. "Besides, you make a pretty good consolation prize." 

"Thanks," you answered flatly. A small silence grew between the two of you as you attempted to reel yourself back in to this moment, sitting on the bed with Klaus. Away from the memories and the wishes. 

You swallowed down the pressure that had built up in your chest and throat and turned back to Klaus. "Do you want me to finish brushing?" 

"I thought you'd never ask," Klaus said, turning back around, and you snorted vaguely aware of how your heart felt a little bit lighter than when he first walked into the room. It always seemed to feel this way after doing Klaus a favor. Maybe he was a pretty good consolation prize too.

[thatshiscigar]

new body — jj maybank

requested by anon: heyy, i was wondering if you could maybe write an imagine where y/n just moved to the obx and is super unfamiliar with the obx and knows no body. and one day she’s sitting on the beach listening to music and jj asks her if she wants to hangout w the pogues and they end up dating and it’s just all fluffy? (lol sorry ik that was long) but love your writing and only do it if you want! mwah🤍

warnings: mild swearing, underaged drinking

wc: 2.9k+

masterlist

[GIF CREDS TO OWNER]

The bright sun beamed down on your warm skin as you laid out on the beach, the sound of the ocean and feeling of the sand in your hands calming your nerves. It was only your first weekend in the Outer Banks, and you hadn’t really gotten out onto the beach yet, due to the moving and unpacking that required your attention. Your family had to make the move from the mainland to the beautiful beaches because of your mother’s promotion with the Thornton’s Family Business. You didn’t know anyone here, but you did know that the Thornton's had a son that was your age, but you don’t really want your first friend to be a stuck up snob who can’t think for himself. You never resonated with the rich lifestyle. The country clubs and yacht clubs didn’t appeal to your sense of adventure and need for liberation. You wanted to get your hands dirty and feel the adrenaline of doing something your parents would never approve of. 

“Heads!” You were pulled out of your relaxation by the loud yell, but only for a second before a volleyball came hurling in your direction, almost coming in contact with your face. You collected the ball in your hands, regaining your composure.

“I’m so sorry, you good?” He sounded scared, and genuinely worried for you, a stranger. 

“Yeah,” you said, handing the volleyball back to him. 

“Thanks, and I’m sorry about that, you can’t take them anywhere,” he said with a fond look, jutting a thumb back to his friends. He lingered for a moment, taking in your new and unfamiliar presence. He had never seen you around before, which made him curious as to what you were doing on the island. He wanted to know more. He didn’t know what this feeling that spread across his chest was, but he liked it, a lot. 

“JJ!” You heard his friends call for him, giving you a name for the boy in front of you. His eyes widened, his face now displaying his realization for how long he had been standing there. It wasn’t long, but it was long enough to make you lightly giggle at his state. He started to walk away, but he didn’t get very far before he turned back to you. 

“Hey, um,” he started, his voice low. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N,” you answered cooly, looking up at him through your eyelashes. 

“Well, Y/N, do you wanna come play volleyball with us? We’re always looking for another player.” He gestured back to his friends, letting you see the four teenagers waiting for him. 

“Sure!” You beamed, excited at the chance to make some new friends. He stuck his hand out to help you up from your spot on the sand, and walked you over to where he and his friends were playing volleyball. He introduced you to his friends, Kiara, Pope, John B, and Sarah, and he introduced them to you. They all said their collective “hello”s and “hi”s and you all got to playing. It was Pope, John B, and Sarah against you, Kie, and JJ. You all played a fair game, and by the time the sun was set, you all decided it was time to call it a day. In the end, you, Kie, and JJ won. You three celebrated, teasingly rubbing it in Pope, John B, and Sarah’s face. Once you all settled down and got ready to leave, JJ walked you to your car. 

“Y’know, I had fun with you today,” he said reflectively, 

“Me too,” you started. You took a breath before you began again. 

“I don’t really know anyone on the island, so it was nice to have someone to spend the afternoon with.” You shot him a smile, silently thanking him for inviting you to play volleyball. 

“Are you here longterm, or are you just visiting?” JJ asked. He had to know before he could let himself fall into these feelings he was developing for you. 

“I’m here longterm.” The statement put JJ’s mind at ease. 

“My mom got a promotion, and it moved us out here.” You finished with a breath. 

“Well,” JJ began as you reached your car. “If you ever need someone to show you around, I would be more than happy to be your guide,” he said with a smirk. 

“I’d like that,” you said with a smile, walking over to the drivers side. 

“Really?” JJ said with surprise, but he quickly played it cool. 

“Uhm, I mean, yeah, that’d be cool, I guess.” JJ looked off into the distance, running a hand through his hair, really trying to sell the cool guy persona. He broke out of it when he heard your laughs. 

“Here,” he handed you his phone. “Put your number in it.” 

“Hmm, very straightforward, I like it,” you teased as you did so, giving it back when you were finished. 

“So, when will I get to see you again?” JJ inclined as you got into your car. You rolled down your window so you could answer.

“Whenever you text me, slick,” you said tauntingly. The car erupted into life and you drove away, leaving the blond boy behind, a smile displayed on his face. 

JJ knew he had to make you his. He had never felt this way about a girl before, especially in such a short amount of time. You made him feel alive. You added so much color to his life in the few hours you were together, and he couldn’t get enough of it. He immediately took out his phone and texted you, excited to see you tomorrow. 

-

You pulled up to the address JJ had texted you the night before, and saw an old shack. It was cute and modest, but it could definitely use some sprucing up. 

“Hello? JJ?” You called as you stepped out of your car. You took a few weary steps towards the front door. Unexpectedly, the door swung open, revealing who you were looking for. 

“Y/N! Welcome to the Chateau!” JJ announced as he walked up to you, arms wide in the air. 

“Hey, JJ,” you chuckled as he swung his arm over your shoulders. You liked the feeling of his arm there, you realized. It made you feel safe, being that close to him. 

He walked you into the small house, seeing everyone you met the day before. You said hi to the room, hearing a chorus of greetings back. The keg sitting on the table in the middle of the room caught your eye. 

“Alright,” John B grabbed everyone’s attention. “Let’s roll.” John B and Pope got the keg as everyone else made their way to the door. 

“Wait, where are we going,” you looked up and asked JJ, still under his arm. 

“The Boneyard,” JJ said cheerfully. “It’s an old beach where we throw our parties.” He could see the stress in your eyes. 

“Don’t worry, it’ll be fun,” he whispered to you, and in a split second decision, he delivered a small kiss to your forehead, attempting to soothe your nerves. He gave you a shy smile, trying to read if he shouldn’t have done that, but he could see that the small action had lifted your weary thoughts. 

You all piled into the old van, and drove off towards the destination, JJ’s still arm over your shoulders. He liked having you close to him, and you liked the feeling of protection JJ provided you with. The Outer Banks was a new environment to you, and now that you had someone on your side, you felt more at ease. 

The party was in full swing now, not that it took that long. People were piling onto the beach, which was littered in old logs and twigs. You were standing with JJ and John B at the keg, taking in the scene before you. There were many drunk teenagers dancing along to the music and drinking their hearts out. You’d never seen anything like it. Sure, you’d been to parties back on the mainland, but none of them looked like this. 

“Hey!” Kie grinned as she walked up to the keg, Sarah by her side. John B filled up their cups, and Sarah grabbed yours from your hand, giving it to John B to fill up as well. 

“C’mon,” Sarah shoved the cup back in your hands. “Let’s go dance,” she hiccuped. She took your hand in hers, and led you out into the crowd. You looked back to JJ and waved, to which he raised his cup, giving you a silent “goodbye, and good luck”. 

You, Kie, and Sarah were in the middle of it all, dancing and sweating like no other, the alcohol aiding in your confidence. Back home, you never would have gone dancing. You were more of a wallflower when it came to parties, but you felt free here, in the Outer Banks. The new surroundings and new friends gave you a newfound sense of liberation. 

The night was winding down, more people going than coming, and you Kie, and Sarah decided it was time to head back to the keg to see your boys. 

“He likes you, y’know,” Kie slurred as she pointed to JJ.

“What?” You asked her, not letting yourself believe what you wanted to. 

“JJ, he won’t shut up about you.” She leaned down on your shoulder, keeping herself balanced, and you hooked your arm around her waist to help her. Your mind was racing, you couldn’t believe what Kie had just told you. Yeah, you liked JJ, but you didn’t think he liked you back. You thought he was just being friendly to the new girl, nothing more.

JJ saw you holding Kie as you made your way to the keg. He saw the way you were gentle with her and made sure she didn’t fall. You took care of her, and JJ couldn’t help but think about you taking care of him. 

“Hey, ready to go?” JJ asked as you walked up, snapping himself out of his thoughts. Pope and John B took Kiara from your grasp. You sighed out a quick ‘yeah’, suddenly feeling a blanket of tiredness lay over your body. JJ took your hand in his, and gave it a light squeeze, smiling down at you. 

“So, how did you like your first party in the Outer Banks?” JJ inquired. You pondered for a moment, deciding to test the waters for yourself. 

“It was good, wish I got to dance with you though,” you lightly taunted, your bottom lip jutting out slightly. A light chuckle came from JJ’s lips, and you noticed a look of adoration in his eyes. He raised your hand up to his lips, and placed a kiss to the back of your hand. He then twirled you around, ever so delicately, like he was afraid he’d break you. He was nervous, he didn’t want to scare you off if you didn’t feel the same way, but when you met him with a wide smile and bright eyes, he knew he was well on his way to making you his. 

-

It had been a few weeks since you had moved to the self proclaimed “Paradise on Earth”, and so far, it had proven its name. JJ had taken you to many spots around town, like The Wreck, the lighthouse, and the Hawks Nest, where he took you to see the stars late one night. But today, he was taking you on the marsh. It didn’t take John B much convincing to let JJ take the HMS Pogue out for the day, as John B saw how JJ looked at you, and he was excited for JJ to finally settle down a bit, and not go after anything with two legs and a heartbeat.

You and JJ had been out on the water for a couple hours now, swimming, fishing, tanning, and talking about anything either could think of. You felt unbelievably comfortable with JJ, even though it was still so new. In the beginning, you felt like a fish out of water, but now, it feels like this is where you belong. You were happy to call the Outer Banks home. 

The sun now was setting, and JJ was driving back to the dock at the Chateau. You were sitting at the bow of the boat, feeling the spray of salt water across your body. Your eyes were glued to the beautiful sunset before you, taking in your new, but homely, surroundings. JJ couldn’t help but look at you. You were so at peace in the Outer Banks, contrasting your nerves from your first Boneyard party. He was glad he was able to help you let go of all fret, and make you feel safe with him, and in your new home. 

JJ knew how he felt about you, he’d never felt this way before, but he knew what it was, and he had been waiting to feel this for some time now. He couldn’t let it sit inside him any longer. 

“Hey, Y/N?” He called from the steering wheel. 

“Yeah?” You turned to face him. 

“You up for one more adventure today?” He asked with a smirk on his face, like he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Your face lit up at the spontaneity, and you stood up from your spot on the boat and grabbed two beers from the cooler, handing one to him. You smiled as you clinked your bottles together. 

“Let’s go,” you said as you took a swig of beer, excited to see where JJ would take you. 

-

“Umm, JJ,” you started as he pulled up to a dock on the beach. “I’ve been to the beach before.”

“I know, I know, just wait,” he muttered as he docked the boat, tying it off. He jumped onto the dock and put his hand out for you to grab, helping you up. He guided you off the small dock and onto the sand, the soft particles slipping into your shoes. You walked for a bit, before JJ abruptly stopped and sat down, patting the spot next to him. 

The sun was almost done setting, a small line painting the horizon with purples and blues, the stars littering the beautiful picture. The waves crashing against the sand filled your ears, and you could taste the salt in the air. You could faintly smell JJ’s cologne from the crook of his neck. It smelled of a woody floral. Your hand was still in his, neither of you wanting to let go. JJ’s thumb moved across your knuckles, memorizing the way they dipped and rose. 

“JJ, what are we doing here.” Your voice was soft, hardly above a whisper. JJ took a moment to respond. He knew what he was about to do, and he wanted to make it as perfect as possible. 

“This is where we first met,” he turned to look at you with a soft smile, one that made your heart melt. The moon was cascading across his face quite impeccably, highlighting all his beautiful features. The soft wind was carding through his hair, messing up his already messed up, though sculpted, blond locks. He looked back to the waves before he continued. 

“Y’know, over the past few weeks, I’ve felt... different, and I didn’t know what it was at first, but now, I know.” He gulped down the stone in his throat and looked at you once more, but the smile had disappeared. The once joyful and playful look has been replaced with a hardened and serious one. He squeezed your hand, whether to let you know that you were safe, or to calm himself down, he didn’t know. 

“I like you, Y/N. I’ve liked you ever since I saw you.” His tone was cautious, but wanting. He searched your face for any sign of discomfort or rejection, but all his worries washed away when he saw your lips turn up into the biggest smile he’d ever seen. 

“I like you too, JJ,” you breathed out, tears welling in your eyes. JJ quickly reached up to your face, ready to wipe your tears. You let out a small laugh, loving the current situation. 

“Oh thank god,” JJ muttered to himself as he leaned down to deliver a kiss to your forehead, all his nerves, and yours, long gone. When he pulled away, he saw a rogue tear slip from your beautiful eyes, which he gently wiped away. You looked into each other's eyes for a moment before JJ leaned down to envelop your lips in his. The kiss was perfect. It was soft, yet passionate, filled with everything you and JJ felt for each other. He was careful with you, his arms softly wrapping around your waist, your lips still connected. Your hands found their way to his hair, playing with the stands on the nape of his neck. 

You broke apart for air, overwhelmed with all the positive emotions flowing through you. You rested your forehead against his, wanting to stay as close as possible to him. 

You wanted to stay as close as possible to him for as long as you could. Before that day on the beach, when you first met JJ, the Outer Banks were just a place to you, but now you had something here for you, tying you to the place. The Outer Banks were home now, and all it took was a volleyball almost taking your head off, and a very apologetic blond boy.

taglist: @supremestarkey @lovelymaybankk @blueeyedbesson @whormotional @classywaves @sexytholland @danaerekat @em753 @babyhoneystvles @angelic-boca @milked-down-coffee @dolanfivsosxox @sunwardsss @leekah @http-cherries @void-maybank

[florbelles]

all of G & Y for the queen of new vegas, baby 😈🔥

thank you legend!!

— G. GORGEOUS.

i. what is their most attractive external feature?

it’s not something joss has given a lot of thought; she always understood that she was considered beautiful, and that usually meant she was bait for unsuspecting travelers who would stay at her father’s shack of an inn. the appeal is all in the facial composition, though — she didn’t have clean hair or skin or pre-war clothes, then.

ii. what is the most attractive part of their personality?

she learned early on how to manipulate people by saying the right thing, asking the right questions. dispensing the appropriate amount of approval at the opportune moment, withholding it just long enough to make it feel earned. to someone intimately familiar with how she operates, it’s not necessarily a charming attribute, but it’s what gets her what she needs and what draws people in to begin with

she’s also funny as hell, if your tastes run to the morbid or at the expense of others.

iii. what benefits come with being their friend?

she will not put out a hit on you!

full benefits of all her connections. an act if you want it. resources if you need them. the run of the strip and goodwill in freeside. exemption from getting kicked out of the tops if you’re winning too much ( swank hates this one ).

iv. what parts of them do they like and dislike?

well, she thinks she’s hilarious, thanks. she likes that she’s ruthless and cutthroat; it doesn’t really occur to her that she shouldn’t have to be, she just appreciates that it serves her, that it’s how she survived this long. she likes the way she looks; she’s not vain, but she likes the advantage it gives her. she’s proud of the fact that almost everything she knows is self-taught.

she dislikes that she’s so embittered, that she can’t let anything go. she didn’t really think about it when it was driving her — she’s going to get away from her father, she’s going to find her sisters, she’s going to ( from her perspective ) free new vegas — but when she’s left as a rebel without a cause she just has to sit with it, and she hates that. not enough to talk about it or do anything with it, even with her closest confidants she’ll never feel free to show what she perceives as weakness or vulnerability that way, but still. she wishes it were different, sometimes ( which, perhaps ironically, leaves her even more embittered and usually drives her out of vegas to go wander the wastes before she misdirects it more than she already has; she already slaughtered the strip once, she can’t do it again, it didn’t rid her of her anger last time ).

v. what parts of others do they envy?

relatedly, she envies anyone who is ( comparatively ) without baggage, insofar as that exists in the wastes, less in the sense of what’s happened to them but how they’ve coped with it and processed it. people who can be satisfied with what they have, who don’t have an anger or restlessness that consumes them. she thinks sometimes she would have been happier roaming the wastes all her life, and she envies those who do, to an extent, but that’s a thought she has the luxury to have when she actually has security & companionship for the first time in her life ( which she does not, in fact, walk away from despite technically having the option, so the insincerity of that envy is apparent even to her, if she’s being honest with herself ). is the appeal of the idea partly that benny absolutely abhors it to the point of bumping off others for harboring these potentially dangerous sentiments? yes. almost entirely.

— Y. YOU.

i. how old were you when you created them?

twenty-one. she was older than i was at the time. i now understand she is a fetus.

ii. what inspired you to create them?

unlike some of my other characters, joss was originally purely the result of in-game choices and mechanics. i just wanted a real bitch of a courier, not initially from the perspective of a fleshed out character but in the sense that she would take every chaotic asshole option available. lose to ringo at caravan? shoot him. end up shooting the whole entire bar and being the butcher of goodsprings. get villified by the ncr before even reaching primm. boone won’t speak to her because of this. break into his hotel room. shoot him. kill jeannie anyway because she found the receipts. shoot that guy who won the legion lottery because she thinks it’s an actual lottery and he’s gonna have cash. nope. just open fire on vulpes & company.

i started to develop a loose moral code for her by the time i reached freeside and adjusted my gameplay accordingly, but that is, in fact, her tragic origin story.

iii. were they different when they were first created?

honestly, given the above writeup, not as much as you’d think. obviously she’s different in the sense that character/developmental/background reasons now exist for her behaviors and choices, and a few things have been tweaked accordingly, but those were more additions than revisions to the extremely vague concept that already existed. she’s the same old very evil karma bitch she ever was.

iv. do you enjoy writing them more than other characters?

i don’t know if i would say more, but she’s one of my favorites ( there are obviously other characters i write more frequently now, especially in terms of what actually gets posted to tumblr dot com, but i originally wrote for her a good deal ). in terms of gameplay and early-stage development, yes, by an absolute landslide. her first playthrough is probably to this day the most fun i’ve had in my first runthrough of a game.

v. what’s your favorite thing about them?

exactly her aforementioned origins, actually! she’s a loose canon in every sense, just a real liability, but she is, horrifyingly, running this shit now. she also lets me play with a lot of my favorite tropes ( the femme fatale, the dark messiah, god save us from the queen ).

[ihaveissuesbutthatsokay]

EREMIN URBAN FANTASY (I THINK???) AU!!!

WARNING : strong language, mention of blood, of a missing person, grief and mention of depression

The forest. That's what everyone called it. But It wasn't really a forest. 

Not a normal one, anyway.

There was something inside. Something sinister. Everyone could feel it the moment they entered. You could feel it the moment you entered, the air suddenly getting colder, shivers forming up your skin, and feeling a burning hole behind your head where you swore you could feel something, someone, watching your every step, your every movement, your every breath.

You were known as the boy who seeked freedom. 

 People tried to venture into the forest. Dreaming of exploration, dreaming to see what awaited on the other side of the forest. That's why the town folks would prepare expeditions to go outside. 

 After all, being trapped in a small town with nothing but a wide forest to keep you company, that's not freedom. It was almost as if the forest wanted to keep you tight, too afraid to let go, too afraid to watch you wither away. But you wanted to go away. You hated this small town, this confined space. 

No one came out alive in the forest. 

That's why the town stopped entering the forest altogether. It was too dangerous. Too reckless. But you were the boy who seeked freedom. You wouldn't give up. 

Why do you never give up, goddamnit!

You were reckless, naive, young. You thought the world bended at your own rules. You thought you and your friends, together, would be untouchable. 

I was wrong. 

That's right. You were wrong. 

And that's why you will always hate yourself for dragging your friends into this mess. That's why you wished you weren't the boy who seeked freedom after all. 

----

Armin couldn't sleep. Not that it was something unusual. He could barely sleep these past few years, with school work piling up, finals right around the corner, and generally just life being a complete shithole of a mess. 

He had three unfinished assignments due tomorrow. And it was already 3 am. He couldn't concentrate, couldn't focus. He could feel his eyelids closing up by themselves, his hand loosening up on his pen, his head about to drop on his desk---

He sighed in defeat, and stood up from his chair more violently than it was necessary. 

Coffee. He needed coffee. 

He made a face,just thinking about drinking it.  He hated the bitterness that crap had to offer, the sensation of his tongue being burned while he tried to chug it into one go, as he wanted to be done with it. 

He hated it, but he needed it. 

The caffeine kept him awake. 

Mikasa would always chide him about this. At how unhealthy of a coping mechanism it was, to rely on a substance to keep him awake. 

He still remembers how two years ago,  exactly 4 months after the incident, how she would constantly tell him to stop drinking that burned bean water, probably very worried at the lack of sleep Armin clearly was not getting. 

“You don't even like it.” She would frown. 

 Armin would laugh at the name Mikasa used to describe the coffee, avoiding the last statement.  “Since when did you start calling it like that?” 

Mikasa would frown again, knowing what he was doing. She didn't push him though. instead, she would just shake her head. 

“Sleep.” She would say very seriously, while giving him a sideway glance. “You need sleep.” 

Armin would look at her dead in the eyes, at the dark circles surrounding them, at the way she kept her body, the way her skin didn't have the same glow it used to have, her face hollower and emptier than it usually looked. 

“So do you.” He would softly whisper in return. She would just shrug, and the conversation would always hit a dead end there. “Besides,” he would add,  after a moment of silence, “I do like coffee. Now.” 

“Oh.” She would say. Not convinced. 

“Yeah.” He would answer. Trying to make the lie sound convincing. To whom, he didn't know. Mikasa or himself? Perhaps both. 

“Okay.” She would respond. “That's good.” She would grip her red scarf thighter, a gesture Armin noticed she would always do when she was nervous, sad or upset,  and from that,   Armin knew that she didn't believe him at all. But neither of them  commented on it. It was a comforting lie. 

Now as he was standing alone in his small kitchen, still sleep deprived, not listening to Mikasa’s advice, with  a cup of boiling hot coffee in his hand, moonlight reflecting on his windows, a single tear slipped down his eye.  It trailed all down his cheek, slowly, until it plopped into the drink he was holding with shaky hands. 

He missed him. A lot. God, he missed him so much. 

 He missed his smile, his eyes, his laugh, his everything. The way he would scream in excitement, the way he would always run at the high, high hill, always fist pumping into the air when he thought he won, only to get disappointed when he realized Mikasa was just letting him win on purpose.He missed the way he would get excited when his mom would bake him a new cake, the way he would always bring Armin a piece  afterwards, eager to see his reactions while eating it. 

“So?” He would ask, more close to a demand than a question, his tone full of youth excitement. “Do you like it?” 

“Yeah!” He said, surprising himself. Not that Eren's mom was a bad cook, not at all. But the cake flavor was coffee, and he never saw the appeal to this grown ups drink. Strangely, however, he really enjoyed this one. Thinking back at it, maybe he was just forcing himself to like it, cause he wanted to see the boy smile widen. Maybe he just wanted to love everything Eren offered him. Maybe he was just a delusional kid with a crush. Who knows. It was too late to dwell on it now.  

“Your mom is an awesome cook.” Armin commented, licking some frosting off his hands. 

The boy gloated in pride. “She said she will help me learn how to bake if I behave.” 

“I thought you weren't allowed to bake anymore,” Armin said, still chewing on the cake. “Last time we baked at your house, it was a bit of a disaster.” It wasn't as big of a disaster as they made it out to be. But they were childrens, and everything seemed a bigger deal than it was. 

He huffed in response. “That wasn't my fault! It was the oven's fault…” he murmured. Armin laughed. “I dont think your mom agrees with that.” 

The other boy shoved him playfully. “How was I supposed to know I can't just  bake coffee beans?” 

Armin sighed. “I told you it wasn't a good idea. You never listen.” 

“Whatever.” He said, plopping his legs on Armin’s lap. 

“Hey!” Armin yelped, the boy's dirty feets almost getting into Armins plate. “I'm still eating here.” 

Eren laughed. After a bit, Armin joined in. 

They laughed, and laughed, and laughed. 

Armin's laugh never quite sounded the same after he was gone. 

Neither did Mikasa’s for that matter. Probably the others too, but he lost contact with them, so he couldn't say for sure. They still all went to the same school, sure, but it was almost as if they were complete strangers, everyone collectively ignoring each other, in a desperate attempt to forget the incident. The only person he still talked to was Mikasa. And she, too, sometimes seemed so far away, like a mirage ready to dissolve right under his fingertips. 

Armin was about to take a sip from his coffee. More like chugging it down in one go, but he froze right as the cup touched his lips. 

His hands started to tremble, from fear or cold, he couldn't distinguish. Despite the heat of the beverage in his hand, he suddenly felt really cold. His arms shivered, his hands turning white as he clenched to his cup as if it could give him a sense of support. By gripping it too hard, some coffee splashed onto his hands, and he let out a hiss of pain. He put the coffee on the table, careful  not to spill anymore. 

 He started feeling feverish, his head becoming a dizzying mess. He put a hand on the counter, for support. He felt like an invisible force was pushing his lungs, pushing until he couldn't breath, until he was coughing, and coughing, he needed air, he desperately needed air, but it was as if whatever was making him feel likethis, hated air, hated it with a burning passion, and it wanted to make Armin hate air as much as it did. 

Armin felt like fainting. He probably was about to faint. He didn't know how it happened, but suddenly he was kneeling on the ground, 

This is it. He thought miserably. I am going to die, today, alone, without even knowing if he is still alive, leaving Eren behind, leaving Mikasa behind, leaving everyone behind, because im  a failure, and, and, and---

And then it stopped. His lungs could breathe again. He gasped, desperately trying to inhale as much air as possible, the burning in chest slowly fading away, even if  his head still felt like someone was smashing a rock onto it. 

But he could finally breathe again, and he could feel his pulse. He wasn't dead. He was alive. That's what mattered. He took another shaky breath, and used the chairs and the counter as support to stand up again. His legs were still shaking though, so instead of standing up, he opted to sit on the chair. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Those were the only thoughts going through his head, as he tried to sip his coffee again. That sensation, that feeling. There was no mistake. It was just like the incident two years ago, the same burning sensation, the same desperation to just give up, to do anything, anything, just so the pain could stop, the envy of being able to breathe---

“Ymir.” 

The cup shattered on the ground, a sharp sound echoing through the empty hallways, coffee spilling everywhere. Armin didn't even notice. He was frozen in place, hand still raised, eyes still looking in front of him. 

That voice. He couldn't make sense of anything. Except : That voice. 

That voice. I know that voice. I would know that voice everywhere. 

He turned around so quickly his chair went flying to the ground, glass splintering his bare feet from where the glass shattered. His eyes widened, tears spilling out of his ocean blue eyes like fountains. 

“Eren?” He whispered. He took a step forward, hand reaching out, trying to touch him, hug him, kiss him, just feel him under his touch but---

His hands went right through him, as if...as if he wasn't real. A look of hurt and confusion shadowed Armin's face. “Ymir.” The man in front of him said again. He sounded monotone, no emotions, no feelings, no nothing. His face didn't seem like an open book anymore, his eyes not gleaming with millions' adventure. 

 “You have to find Ymir.” 

“Eren.” That's all Armin could muster to utter, his voice shaking, his lips trembling. Was this a sick joke of his brain? The sleep deprivation finally kicking in? Making him almost pass out, and now hallucinate his missing-but-much-more-likely-his-long-lost-dead-best-friend?

“Listen to me, you have to listen to me, you need to find Ymir, or else, or else, or else.” He kept repeating the same sentence, as if he was a broken recorder. He closed his eyes, opened them again, closed them again. Armin took a step backwards. His mind was starting to creep him out. 

“Eren, is that really you, please tell me I'm not hallucinating you.” He needed to ask, even if it was probably all fake, all his mind–

“Or else.” He closed his eyes again, muttered some stuff.

“Or else?” Armin whispered. “Eren, talk to me, please.” 

“Ymir. Find. Ymir.” 

With that, Eren started to fade again.

“Wait, no!” Armin didn't want him to leave, not right after he finally got to see him again. He didn't care this might all be his head. He didn't care this might all have to do with what happened three years ago, he didn't care, he just wanted his best friend back, he just wanted to be able to laugh and mess around, and talk about the future as if they both had a clue, he just wanted Eren back. 

In his desperate attempt to reach him, Armin slipped on the spilled coffee; he could feel blood oozing from his feets, now from his hands, a stinging pain forming all around his skin. He didn't care, didn't notice. He struggled to get up again, and when he slipped again, he decided to crawl, not caring about the glass shatters on the floor, not caring about the pain, the stiffness of the floor, the red blood mixing with the brown coffee, he didn't care, he just needed to reach him, try again to touch him, maybe he imagined him fading under his touch, maybe it was a trick of the light, maybe he truly did come back, maybe, maybe, just maybe---

“Dont.�� He whispered, more like a mix between a sob and a beg. “Don't go.” 

“Armin–?” He sounded surprised, shocked, relieved, happy, nothing like the creepy expression and monotone voice he had before when he was muttering all those things, the same name over and over again, what was it again---he couldn't remember in the moment, the only thing in his mind was that he recognized him, he saw him and he knew who he was, and he said his name so gentle, so quietly, as if he was uttering a precious thing he didn't want to break–

“Eren.” Armin said, reaching his arms out, knowing, just knowing, he would reach his arm to, and they would hold hands, and everything would be fine again, he would have his best friend back–

But just as suddenly as he appeared, he disappeared. 

And Armin couldn't do anything but curl up on the ground and cry, and cry, until his mind encircled him into a deep, unwanted sleep. 

[corkcitylibraries]

Cork in Verse | Ana Spehar interviews Jim Crickard

Cork in Verse is a series of interviews by Ana Spehar with Cork Poets. This week Ana interviews Jim Crickard.

Jim Crickard’s poetry is camp, entertaining work that explores culture, sexuality and identity with a hint of colour. In 2020 he was invited to represent Cork in the Cork-Coventry Twin City Exchange, which was moved online due to pandemic. In 2019 he was selected by Poetry Ireland for the inaugural Versify series and performed to a sold out show at Dublin Fringe Festival. He came second in the 2019 All Ireland Poetry Slam Final (and is working through his feelings about it with a therapist). In 2018, he won the Cuirt Spoken Word Platform and was awarded a slot to perform at Electric Picnic. In 2020 his poetry was broadcasted on RTE Arena. A poem he wrote was shortlisted in the 2018 O'Bheal International Five Words Competition, and his work has been published in Automatic Pilot, A New Ulster, and Contemporary Poetry.  

When did you start writing?

I started writing when was 16. I had just come out of the closet, my older brother Shane (20) died the same year in a road traffic accident. Looking back, I think I needed space for expression. I started out with a journal before sleep. It was playful, private, and helped organise my thoughts. I’d draw a little picture at the end of each entry. I acted a bit like Virginia Woolf, with a high-neck collar, writing solemnly by candle light. When people write diaries, I think they secretly fantasise them being found and read by the masses.  

When I was introduced to poetry in my Leaving Cert, I found it to be a bit stiff and flowery with poets like Keats, which had some appeal, but when we moved on to Adrienne Rich and Eavan Boland I was a lot more inspired. It was seeing people use the art form to represent women and give voice to minorities, and how they both textured their work with the confessional. I started writing my own poetry at the end of my journal entries but kept it secret. After a few years, and my first break-up, I started sharing online on a site called AllPoetry. It was great because there were little competitions between users and when I won a few of them I felt brave enough to share my work on Facebook. A few people were kind, but most were indifferent. 

When I started going to O’Bheal in Cork, though, I really felt like writing could have a future for me. Writing and performing alongside other writers really makes it a lot more gratifying and instils the self-belief you need to keep going.  

Could you tell us more about your creative process?

I’m always on the lookout for something to play with and tease out until it’s a poem. I write with the intention of making people laugh when they hear me perform. Unfortunately, ideas rarely happen when I’m walking around day-dreaming. I mostly need to sit down and write to find the idea or follow whatever I’ve got on my mind. One of my favourite poems that I’ve written takes a hen party in a gay bar and expands it into a series of images and scenarios that delight me and make me laugh. If it makes me laugh, then I trust that it’ll make a crowd of people laugh. I didn’t start out with that idea of the hen party though, I was trying to write a rather embarrassing romantic poem set in a gay bar, it was for a guy I was briefly dating. Suddenly there was a hen party in the corner. They abducted me with their willy-straws and novelty-glasses, and I followed their embarrassing moments and social faux-pas as they ran around, interloping and ruining the sacred queer-space. I was much more interested in them than the romantic poem I set out to write. I suppose it’s important to trust where the poem is going and let it reveal itself. If I ignored them and focused on the poem I was trying to write then I’d have missed out. 

How does the creative process of writing affect your mood?

I’m elated when it comes together. I love when I get into a flow and my fingers are typing as fast as they can and what I’m writing is surprising me. That doesn’t always happen though, it can be slow and boring and the cursor can be blinking in front of me waiting for me to write something. 

How often do you write? Do you write every day?

I wish I wrote every day. I’ve heard multiple sources say that that’s the best way to approach it, and I would definitely believe it. I have had periods where I wrote a new poem every week, possibly more than one. I have also had long periods of not expressing anything on the page. The latter feels depressing and I feel my life passing me by. It is this dread I feel that I’m losing precious time to grow and improve as a writer. I rationalise it by reminding myself that I need to work full-time, clean my apartment, cook dinner, which is all true. I also excuse myself by saying that I need to relax and watch some TV or listen to a podcast. I think that writing is the purest of me-time and I’d like to transform my relationship with it.  

Can you tell us more about Venus Envy?  

I have been known to dress in drag from time to time... I performed as Venus for Pride in O’Bheal. Afterwards I went to The Crane Lane with all of the poets. It was interesting being a drag queen out of context in another bar... People wanted to talk to me, some random stranger touched me as they passed by, and someone confided in me with something they had not mentioned before. There’s a strange power to being in drag. It’s like being a shaman, a eunuch, a jester, who is on the outside looking in. You can say things that you daren’t dream of otherwise, and people love you for it. If I had the time and money to do it more often I would. Drag will always have a special place in my heart, and on my right arm is a tattoo-portrait of Panti Bliss, the Queen of Ireland. I’ve thought about putting more drag queens beside her, but it would be like Mount Rushmore of Drag on my arm. Who knows, maybe I will.  

‘Hen Party in The George’  

Be careful around the corners, don’t make eye-contact at the bar, 

watch out for the mom, she’s on safari, in search of exotic birds. 

For a parrot to echo her punchlines, 

or maybe a cockatoo, 

she’s prowling around the cocktail lounge, 

she’s looking for me and you. 

The mother of the bride uses her lazy-eye  

to her advantage,

she edges into a group of faces with meandering conversation. 

Now blocking their exit, unsure 

who she’s addressing, 

on about her gay hairdresser, how great 

he is with the scissors. 

“I’ve never had a problem with the gays now myself” she says, 

pausing to sip from a pink plastic penis, 

pausing for praise.

And one by one, the gays fly south, 

migrating to the bar, 

to the dance floor, to South-Africa if necessary. 

“Snobs” she calls em -

“them gays can be awful touchy.” 

All her Christmases at once 

when the black crow drag queen

stalking her long legs across the stage, 

seven foot tall, in a silver crown of feathers refracting light off the disco-ball.

“Jesus” she says, stealing the

microphone:  “you’re looking better than me” 

“I should feckin hope so” the drag queen says “you’re twice me bleedin’ age!” 

Slowly, slowly, the hen party has pissed off all of the George... 

Abandoning punctured plastic husbands all over the stage. 

Flashing so many cameras it feels like E.T.’s family has landed.

A gathering parliament of lesbians  encircles the hens,

a murder of goth gays come down from their perch 

I wonder if they’ve seen Hitchcock’s movie, ‘The Birds…’ 

by Jim Crickard

Sex in the Housing Crisis  

We are the generation of born-again virgins 

headboards disturb housemates on shift work,

Air-traffic controllers should be included in rent  

to coordinate times to get the ride

Landlords can afford to support our sex-lives 

and change carpets once in a while 

We are the generation of born-again virgins  

Like ships in the night, we work to survive,

but we are no thirty year old cargo boats…

anchored in the harbour, waiting for labour,

we are Ferrari red speed boats    

with miles to go before we sleep,   

miles to go before we sleep.  

We are the generation of born again virgins 

Nothing kills the mood like mildew 

home-sense is built on the backs of millennials 

fumigating probate houses 

converted into one-beds 

with constellations of mould 

and half their salary paid  

to make out on an old couch  

facing a microwave

We are the generation of born again virgins 

If you’re living with parents you can forget it 

unless you can face breaking their trust   

and explain condoms in the toilet-drain. 

We must not forget about our parents sex-lives 

afraid their carefully considered bed springs

will be heard by their thirty somethings 

Let’s give the government hell for 

this inter-generational dry spell! 

by Jim Crickard

[snkpolls]

SnK Episode 70 Poll Results (for Manga Readers)

The poll closed with 170 responses. Thank you to everyone who participated!

Please note that these are the results for the Manga Readers’ poll. If you wish to see the results for the Anime Only Watchers’ poll, click here.

--

RATE THE EPISODE 167 responses

This episode received good ratings, though it wasn’t as hype as previous episodes have been. We presume this is likely due to the primary focus on Gabi and Falco over the Survey Corps/Warriors. Overall, though, the episode was solid for most respondents. 

Beautiful😍✨

MAPPAGOAT 

Its pretty good

Alright for what it was.

WHICH OF THE FOLLOWING GABI AND FALCO MOMENTS WAS YOUR FAVORITE? 167 responses

The majority of the most favored Gabi/Falco moments from the episode were in the second half, starting with Gabi’s unfortunate encounter with the horse with 29.9% of the vote. Behind that is Kaya and Gabi’s argument about why Kaya’s mom had to die with 27.5% of the vote. At 21.6%, Kaya remembering Sasha was favored and at 13.2% was Kaya taking Gabi and Falco to her old home. 

Gabi's character is so real. LOVED her and Kaya's argument; the va's went all out & it made me cry

Why do ask us what our favorite Gabi/Falco moment was without the option "I don't have one?" Falco's cool and all but Gabi's story has literally been nothing but a drag to me from start to finish

Would have chosen the horse thing for my favorite moment but went with Kaya remembering Sasha instead. At this point so close to the end of the manga I'd rather focus more on moments with characters I enjoy than obsessing with a character I utterly despise having some misfortune (to put it mildly)

WHICH OF THE FOLLOWING MOMENTS FOCUSING ON OTHER CHARACTERS WAS YOUR FAVORITE? 168 responses

This pie chart was a bit more colorful than the previous one, with the largest piece going to Mikasa’s headache with her flashback to the night Eren saved her (26.2%). Behind that moment, 16.7% most enjoyed Hange confronting Floch and Co. about their involvement in leaking information about Eren, 16.1% favored seeing Hange remembering Sannes’ warning. 14.9% liked seeing Mikasa and Louise’s brief conversation in the dungeon and 13.1% liked the moment with Magath and the Warriors discussing their retaliation. 

GIVE HANGE A BREAK </3

WHICH FLASHBACK HAD THE MOST EMOTIONAL IMPACT FOR YOU? 169 responses

Nearly half of respondents were most touched by the moment at the end of the episode where Kaya talks about Sasha saving her and says she wishes to become a person like her. 29.6% got most emotional over seeing the flashback to the night Eren saved Mikasa, and 18.3% were most impacted by Hange remembering Sannes’ warning.

RATE JEAN’S OUTFIT 169 responses

Jean doesn’t do anything in this episode really, but he sure did come dressed in, erm, a unique outfit. Overall most people were neutral or felt that he needs to up his fashion game. Although 34.3% altogether ranked on the higher end, feeling he’s a total fashion icon. We’re questioning the legitimacy of these claims or whether they were just being sarcastic for the fun of it. lol

WHO WERE YOU MORE EXCITED ABOUT TO SEE SHIRTLESS? 159 responses

Eren thirst won out on this question, with 70.4% being most excited to see his half naked body in the previous episode. Though Reiner stans came through for him in their support of his shirtless moment this week with nearly 30% of the vote (and commentary).

Poundtown

More half naked Reiner thx

My only disappointment is that the shirtless reiner scene wasn't longer.

WOULD YOU LIKE TO HAVE AN EXCUSE TO TALK TO YELENA? 169 responses

When asked if respondents would like an excuse to have a conversation with our chaotic bae Yelena, 40.2% said they would absolutely love a reason to talk to her. 29% aren’t sure if they would want to or not, while 16.6% were a solid “no.” 14.2% didn’t care about this question. 

Yelena is hot

AS ALWAYS, WE’RE GONNA ABOUT CUTS. MAPPA LEFT OUT FALCO’S THOUGHTS ABOUT IT NOT BEING THE RIGHT TIME TO TELL GABI HE DELIVERED EREN’S LETTERS. THOUGHTS? 165 responses

There was a brief moment in the manga after Gabi’s misfortune with the horse where Falco thinks to himself about how he’s not yet ready to tell Gabi about his involvement in Eren’s attack on Liberio. 35.8% had completely forgotten this was a thing at all, while 24.2% felt it would have been a nice thing to keep, although ultimately unneeded. 20.6% feel it wasn’t a big deal since he tells her later anyway, and 9.7% feel that this thought of his will come up at a later time. 

I honestly forgot about it but it would have been really cool to see his thoughts in a better way, if that makes sense.

MAPPA ALSO CUT THE BEGINNING OF PIXIS AND YELENA’S CONVERSATION WHERE HE ASKS HER ABOUT HER CELL, TO WHICH SHE RESPONDS IT WOULD HAVE A BETTER VIEW WITHOUT THE BARS. THOUGHTS? 165 responses

Though a small detail, a few lines were cut from Pixis and Yelena’s conversation as well. 42.4% feel that it was unneeded and feel ok with the cut. 23% thought it wasn’t necessary to begin with, and 20.6% had completely forgotten about this as well. A handful didn’t care or feel saddened by less Yelena content. 

Maybe the actress wouldn’t come in to say one line l idk

I knew something was missing

HOW DOES IT FEEL GETTING TO RELIVE GABI’S EARLY CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT AGAIN? 167 responses

We get to reexperience Gabi’s evolution from a perpetuator of Marleyan propaganda to someone who learns to “understand Reiner’s feelings” and see that those she was taught to hate are just like her. 25.1% of respondents feel unbothered by her initial resistance to see things any other way as they know where her arc is headed. 22.2% were never annoyed by this facet of her character to begin with and are totally enjoying the ride. 15% love her but can’t help but feel frustrated by these early moments of her development. 13.8% have always felt annoyed by her character and so their feelings remain unchanged, and 10.8% simply stated that they had forgotten just how annoyed they felt by her at all in the early portion of this arc. 

It's annoying AF but looking back/knowing what I know now makes me more empathetic to her storyline. She still annoying AF rn, though.

Back then I was just antsy to get back to the other plot lines. But I’m enjoying this a LOT more this time around.

It's a mix of painful and Gabi I love you but you need sense knocked into you, ya know?

Always hated her, always will, nothing the anime does changes my hatred of her

To quote Eren, "I always hated you".

I feel bad for her, she doesn't deserve this

She’s so annoying but I found Eren just as annoying in the beginning and I grew into loving the character. The get the reasons for her character but boy yams really made her so fucking annoying

Gabi Braun Must Die

HOW DO YOU THINK GABI’S BELIEFS WOULD HAVE DEVELOPED HAD SHE BEEN THE ONE TO MEET EREN INSTEAD OF FALCO? 168 responses

The majority has spoken. 54.8% feel that if Gabi had been the one to encounter Eren at the hospital, her views would have mostly remained the same, as opposed to Falco who was probably a better person to put into that role narratively speaking. 24.4% don’t want to say for sure as there is no way we will ever know, and 14.3% feel that she would have had her views altered to a slight degree, but would still not have been as empathetic to Eren as Falco was.

DID KAYA TALKING ABOUT WANTING TO BE LIKE SASHA HAVE MORE EMOTIONAL IMPACT ON YOU WHEN INITIALLY READING IT IN THE MANGA, OR IN THE ANIME? 168 responses

Overall, the anime had a profound effect on the emotions of the audience. 36.9% state that they were equally impacted in both mediums, though if a side was chosen, 32.7% felt that the anime made the scene more impactful, versus only 19% who thought that Isayama nailed it better in the manga. Only 11.3% were unaffected by this scene in either medium.

PORCO AND PIECK GOT ADDED DIALOGUE IN THE ENDING SCENE, ARGUING THAT THEY MUST RETRIEVE GABI AND FALCO DUE TO THEM BEING VALUABLE WARRIOR CANDIDATES, AND THAT IT WOULD TAKE YEARS TO RETRAIN A NEW BATCH. WHAT DID YOU THINK OF THIS INCLUSION? 167 responses

MAPPA included dialogue of Porco and Pieck vouching for saving Gabi and Falco ASAP, arguing that they should get them for the sake of the warrior program and that losing their talent would be a blow, and it would take ages to train up new warrior candidates. This is most likely just their excuse to appeal to Magath while wanting to save Gabi and Falco because they care about them. 41.9% felt that their commentary added more depth to the situation and the urgency to retaliate against Paradis and get Gabi and Falco back. 28.1% were simply content to get more content of them. 18% weren’t super excited about it, just stating that it was alright, while 9.6% just felt “meh” about the addition. 

I like how they all piled on about the need to take immediate action

I want to say I enjoyed it and it added depth but thinking about it longer makes it sound like they only care about rescuing them only because their valuable warrior candidates. Like, it makes it seem like they don't actually care that much about them, even if I know that's not the case. LOL 

Any extra scene with Pieck is much appreciated!!

made me sad that they only see them as soldiers and not kids that need saving.

WHICH MOMENT FROM THE PREVIEW ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO? 165 responses

The vast majority (65.5%) of manga readers are most excited to see Zackley blowing up in the anime (bye bye, poop machine!). At a distant second was seeing Eren his cell at 22.4%. Only 7.3% are looking forward to seeing Mikasa and Armin pleading with Zackley to see Eren, and Yelena and Pixis got minimal love. 

My memory is not working well, did Wit showed Zackleys poop machine or was it supposed to be shown in the next episode?

WE GOT CONFIRMATION THAT EPISODE 16 OF THIS SEASON IS GOING TO END ON CHAPTER 116. THOUGHTS? 159 responses

The plurality of respondents (42.8%) seemed a bit disappointed, but had no problem accepting this cliffhanger. 27% seemed rather displeased, but nonetheless were also understanding of MAPPA’s decision. In contrast, 10.7% looked back to the Promotional Video (which had content from up 122) and expressed their PAIN. 8.2% actually wanted the season to end on this cliffhanger, so they were rather pleased instead. We also received a lot of write-ins.  

There absolutely needs to be season part 2, i don't accept any early endings

I am... not sure yet.

As long as it means less cut content lmao

Don't really care much where it's gonna end. I just hope the pacing is good.

i read it ages ago idek which chapter 116 is

I want people to stop complaining about the trailer “lying to them”.  Also my anime only gf is going to be very frustrated with where episode 16 ends.

I thought it would end with 122 according to the preview and it would have been, IMO one of the best cliff hanger ever since all the logic of the plot turns around with revelation about Eren path shenangians. However, I think it's really fine since it allowed MAPPA to take its time to show us the story without making to much choices or compromise. It also means longer s4 part2 if there's one.

I dare you to stop at chapter 114 and fluster up all Levi fans

I am going to die waiting for Paths. 

I need to recheck chapter 116 I forgot about almost everything happened after ema encounter in 112 :D

I don't care as long as they all cover it eventually.

Chapter 119 would have been a better end, but well, I'm gradually learning to lower my expectations for this season

I just roll with whatever they give me xD only fearing Hange's farewell </3

:((((

both 122 and 116 are okay for me tbh

It's all fine to me

Someone explain this whole "ending on chapter 116" thing please

It should've been 117 :/

I was hoping for 119, but I get why they picked 116

WHAT ARE YOU MOST HOPING FOR AS A CONTINUATION? 169 responses

In a nearly unanimous vote, the large majority of respondents feel that the series is best wrapped up with a “part 2” of the final season over the potential for MAPPA to conclude things as a movie (or as movies). Hopefully we’ll have an answer from MAPPA on this front at the end of this run. :)

Another season or movie series works as long as they keep to the source material

I’m happy with either. 

I really really reeeeeeally hope it's not movies. I do not want movies! It would take literal years for fans outside of Japan to get a proper conclusion to the series. Last time people waited years for a season so many people stopped caring, moved on and the popularity took a huge hit it never recovered from. I'm worried that due to Demon Slayer's success they're gonna get greedy but SNK movies wouldn't even make a fraction of what Demon Slayer made. That series is a behemoth over there, it's insane. And I love SNK but Evangelion it is not, and people aren't going to wait and will lose interest. Just please, NO MOVIES!

Final Season Part 2 BUT with lots of time to adapt it

part two but don't call it part two XD.... let's stay in a hiatus for an anime season or 2. or more i don't care , i hope they have enough time to make the amazing job they are doing right now :) 

Series Spin-Off after Final Season Part 2 !!

A movie would be super sick but unrealistic

Whatever MAPPA decides is best

ADDITIONAL THOUGHTS ON THE EPISODE?

The scenery is a 10/10

gabi braun and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad island vacation. 

Gabi sucks

All hail the Eldian Empire

I thought it was overall really good and funny because of the scenes where falco and gabi were just arguing,, it didn’t have much blood and all but I still really liked it!

I never noticed this in the manga, but seeing gabi constantly almost give them away and falco anxiously making up excuses felt like watching reiner and bert again 😂 

Gabbbiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!!!!! Kaya MVP btw.

Bless MAPPA for delivering on the shirtless scenes after we got robbed in Season 3. lol :p But seriously, this episode's scenery was gorgeous.

It was like the calm before the storm that's about to come with the next episode. Episode 71 will be when everything starts to violently turn

people should understand Gabi's character even more

I think Falco was very cute the whole time

Gabi beating that guard was way more brutal in the anime, but the scene of her slapping Lisa's hand away was badly done here.

It was a bit boring, but it was needed for character development

One thing I noticed about this episode is how heavily it featured female characters being influenced by other female characters/female characters in general (Louise and Mikasa; Kaya and Sasha; Kaya and Gabi; arguably Hange depending on how you identify them) which was a nice reminder that of the fact that AOT isn't one of those shows that falls heavily in the 'one token girl' dynamic. Isayama worked to include a wide variety of female characters with very differing outlooks, which clash occasionally, without it ever being about romance. 

Like most of this season (except episodes 1 and 7 maybe), I appreciate Mappa's work but that's all. I'm sad, disappointed, and I guess it's a good thing this season will end on chapter 116. Let's hope they will have enough time to adapt Part 2 and make it legendary, because this first part is good at best. Also, I totally forgot how annoying Gabi was back then. I really like her now, but geez, she was awful this episode.

Felt good to see Gabi get horsebite all over again. Can't wait to see how MAPPA extends Nicolo punching her lol

cool episode, i’m looking forward to seeing more of gabi’s development in the future episodes :))

The horror of mikasa's newly resignified memory... PERFECT. i was fearing they would use wit's romanticized scene... which worked just fine in the first season BUT NOT NOW! because the whole connotation of the memory is different. ALSO! the scenery was insane! 

Horse for President!

Damn, MAPPA's killing it on the scenery this episode. I really enjoyed the animation as well as the plot and voice acting.

In spite of the animation quality I had to give it an obligatory 1 because it was a Gabi episode, and anything involving Gabi automatically decreases the overall quality of the story

WHERE DO YOU PRIMARILY DISCUSS THE SERIES? 156 responses

Thank you again to everyone who participated!

[bush-viper-cutie]

“The Final Match” || YEAR 3 – Ch.32 (HP au)

                              Chapter List

<-- Last Chapter                          Next Chapter -->

Day posted: 12/1/2020

Word count: 4, 201

Relationship: EVENTUAL severus X oc (slow burn)

Rating: E for everyone

Warnings: none

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A/N: This is my first fan fic I’m writing mainly as a way to practice. This is a retelling of the hp books with an inserted character. Although most every character will be written about, this is mostly for the pro snape fandom. Please do not fear, although this is a severus x oc story, it is an incredibly slow burn as I do not intend for them to get together at all until after the final book events. Chapters will be posted twice a week.

This derivative work follows the events of the Harry Potter books by Jk Rowling and is intended as a fun way to practice my writing. Thank you for reading :D

 Hello! Sorry I didn’t post for a few weeks! I needed to take a break and deal with some mental health stuff but I feel much better :D I hope everyone’s been ok! Also I will be going back to the normal twice a week schedule so yay :D enjoy the chapter!

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Easter break had been the most tiring holiday Heather had ever experienced. Practice twice a day, essay after essay, having to pay attention to Ron and Harry and not seem exhausted by their presence, and even help Neville avoid a nervous collapse. As absolutely worn out as Heather felt, it was nothing compared to Hermione.

Mid break she had stopped responding to them all together, focusing only on her essays and studying. She was so off her usual self she didn’t even want them wandering around the library when they needed to look up books. ‘I need to stretch my legs anyways,’ she claimed and would go fetch whatever book they needed so long as they stayed put.

Hermione was so stressed she was constantly on the verge of tears, especially after coming back empty handed, unable to find the book Ron wanted.

“It’s alright, Hermione, Really.” Ron looked around uncomfortably. “I’ll just… read Harry’s book upside down. I’ve gotten good after three years of potions exams.”

While Hermione studied and during any time either Harry or Heather was at Quidditch practice, Ron read and gathered as much as he could for Buckbeak’s appeal. He took out books like ‘Fowl or Foul? A Study on Hippogriff Brutality’ and ‘The Handbook of Hippogriff Psychology’ and was so engrossed in it that Heather wondered why he didn’t put that much energy and effort into their normal essays. Ron seemed as hardworking as Hermione in those instances, except he was much more willing to call it quits when he’d had enough.

By the end of the Holidays, several of the Slytherins had done exactly what Marcus had told them to do and gone out and earned points any ways they could. Slytherin was ahead of Gryffindor for the House Cup by two-hundred points. Now if Gryffindor won the match, they’d either tie bare minimum or would have to work as hard as possible to earn over fifty points to beat Slytherin in the House Cup.

The Quidditch Cup however, was much more difficult. Marcus had sat the whole team down in the locker rooms and explained how tricky this match would be with Harry’s advantage. If no one scored any points at all and Harry caught the snitch within seconds, then Slytherin would lose the match but tie with Gryffindor and no one would earn the Quidditch Cup.

“So Bletchley, don’t let them score at ANY cost.” Marcus turned his intense eyes on Heather and Graham. “Potter, Montague. We’re plan b. By the end of the match we NEED to have scored at least one-hundred-and-fifty points to stay in the lead for House Cup. We’ll each aim for five scores each.”

Heather nodded and looked at Draco who was leaning against the lockers, sulking. All break long he’d tasked Crabbe and Goyle with getting into a fight with Harry but they hadn’t succeeded yet. Harry was constantly surrounded by his Quidditch team as often as possible ever since he’d told Wood what she had said.

“’Cept we won’t need that when I catch the Snitch.” Draco crossed his arms.

Marcus nodded. “Potter won’t be attempting to catch the Snitch until the Gryffindors have earned enough points if they’re smart. All you’ll have to do is catch it before he does – and I’ve no doubt he’ll do his best to stop you, though the Gryffindors aren’t the physical type so that’ll be easy.”

Draco kept his brows furrowed and glared at the nearest bench. There was more than just the Cups riding on this match. Heather knew Draco was still upset over the mud-throwing incident and Harry was even more furious with him after the fact of Buckbeak’s trial. Their rivalry was at its peak for the year, and it had even bled into her and Draco’s friendship.

It was weird to call it a friendship, considering she was supposed to hate him but there were the odd conversations with him that she enjoyed, and he never left her out like Pansy did, glad to talk to her about himself and how great his family is all the time. Now that he felt he was losing to Harry though, he could hardly look at her for very long without scowling at her. She was a Potter after all.

As the week went on, all Professors seemed to be assigning less and less homework on account of the match Saturday. It seemed like the whole school was anticipating the match and Slytherins and Gryffindors most of all. Scuffles broke out in the corridors, hexes and jinx were thrown during breakfast and lunch, and all the Gryffindors gathered around Harry constantly to keep him safe while all the Slytherins seemed to want to be tripping and elbowing him.

It was Friday night and Heather paced the dungeon corridors trying to keep her anxiety under control. She braided and re-braided her hair as she walked, holding her breath, counting to five, and letting it out. Five goals. That was all she needed to score. Just five. It seemed like a lot suddenly. All of Slytherin would be angry and Marcus would be furious if she didn’t do her part.

She headed back to the common room and sat on a cushion by the door and observed everyone talking about the match tomorrow. Marcus, Miles, and Graham were talking to a few girls and on the other side of the room Peregrine and Lucian were smacking hexed curtain puffs they’d ripped out. Draco was of course surrounded by his usual crowd by his favorite desk. Pansy was talking on and on to the group of third years but Draco just sat there, shaking his leg.

The common room door opened and she looked up to see it was Snape. He stepped inside and closed the door. He was searching the room and quickly spotted Marcus. “Flint.” His voice was low and yet everyone in the room seemed to recognize it immediately. Everyone hushed and turned to look at their Head of House. “I suggest you get your team to bed at once. I don’t intend on giving up the Quidditch Cup over a bunch of drowsy brats with no sense for time.” It seemed even Snape could sense how difficult the match would be.

Heather could smell the tangy scent of pickled tree oysters coming off his black trousers and the unmistakable smell of the penetratingly sweet base liquid used for almost all potions they brewed. She stayed seated in her spot as her team gathered their things and went into the dormitories. She wasn’t ready to go to bed with her anxious thoughts, and certainly not by Snape’s command.

She pulled her legs up to her chest and cursed to herself. Her movement had caught Snape’s attention out of the corner of his eyes. He glared down at her but she refused to look into his cold black eyes. She could feel her hair stand on end and finally gave in, standing up and marching to the girl’s dormitory, slamming the door hard before huffing and marching to her dorm.

She changed and fell back on her pillow, wishing she could have stayed downstairs and just ignored Snape. It would’ve been at least a small victory for her against him. Her eyelids began to close and she let them. If she were Harry, she’d just make potions incredibly annoying for him to get him back for bad mouthing her father. She could ask about the difference between Horn of Plenty and Trumpet of the Dead and whether they were less or more reactive than Black Chanterelle – which are of course all the same mushroom which would annoy him extra.

She fell asleep thinking about making her toad even more mossy on purpose next lesson instead of finally de-mossifying him and woke from a dream about replacing all of Snape’s Bladder Campions in jars with actual tiny bladders. Heather sat up and looked at the clock, seeing it was the perfect time to get up and shower before heading down for breakfast.

She got dressed in her Quidditch robes and headed out of the common room towards the Great Hall.

“Heather!”

Heather turned around and searched for Harry as he whispered her name again. She spotted his red robes hiding behind a column and walked down to him.

“Harry? What is it?”

He crossed his arms and bit his finger. He shook his head and sighed. “Alright. I know it’ll sound crazy… I think I saw Crookshanks walking with the Grim last night.”

Heather frowned.

“Listen!” Harry looked around and sighed again. “I woke up from a nightmare about the match and got up to get some water and I looked out the window and saw Crookshanks followed by the Grim and he was leading the Grim around the side of the castle!”

Heather tilted her head. “So… Hermione’s cat is friends with your Grim? Harry, the Grim isn’t an actual animal. It’s a sign. I saw the Grim in the clouds and Professor Trelawney sees it in leaves and mist and floating dust clumps… Are you sure you really saw it?”

Harry rubbed his neck and shook his head. “I tried getting Ron to see it too but he fell back asleep too fast.”

Heather placed her hand on Harry’s shoulder. “It’s just the match nerves. Or maybe you know deep down Slytherin’s going to win,” she teased.

“You wish.” Harry smiled and pushed away from the wall, stepping out from the column. “Maybe it was just a dog or something from Hogsmeade.”

Wood came out from the Great Hall and called Harry down to him.

“Good luck,” Harry said and quickly punched her arm before jogging over to Wood.

Harry entered the Great Hall to enormous applause, leaving her standing alone in the empty Entrance Hall. She really hoped she was right about it not being the Grim. She took a deep breath and entered after him.

She could see three out of the four tables were wearing as much red as possible. Hufflepuffs had on red hats and small twirling red signs while Ravenclaws held scarfs in their hands ready to swing in the air. Gryffindors were all wearing red shirts, red sweaters, red trousers, red socks, and red hair clips – it was a sea of red that looked to bleed onto the other tables.

She sat at the center of her Slytherin table with the team and picked up some toast and a few small links of sausage. Was she hungry? Was she starving? It felt like the butterflies in her stomach turned to rocks every so often. It was the hardest meal she’d ever had, having to watch the stone cold face of her captain as he glared at the rest of the school behind her, and even Draco looked sickly pale next to him.

Heather kicked Draco under the table making him jump. “We’re going to win and you’re going to catch the Snitch, alright? Harry’s not even going to try until they earn enough points and Bletchley won’t let them score any. You’ll have enough time.”

Draco nodded and took a bite of his toast, getting jam on the corners of his mouth. “I’m catching the Snitch first thing.” He nodded again as if cementing the idea in his head.

Heather relaxed a bit after some color returned to Draco’s face. The cheering had gotten too loud to ignore now and Pansy started cheering for the team, looking around at others and glaring at them until they joined in with her. Soon the Slytherin tables were thumping their fists on the table, filling the air with bangs and the slight clatter of metal forks bouncing off glass plates. It did a good job of drowning out the cheers for Gryffindor.

It was time for both teams to head out and Heather stood with her team and walked down, high fiving every stuck out hand from the Slytherin tables. She looked left and saw the Gryffindors were doing the same. Harry was walking down the other side of the Gryffindor table closest to the Ravenclaws when he stopped momentarily next to the Ravenclaw Seeker, Cho Chang, and went red. As they left the Great Hall Heather tried catching Harry’s eyes but it was no use, Wood was talking his ear off.

Heather grabbed her broom with Draco and they both entered the locker rooms, ready for whatever talk Marcus had in store for them.

Marcus paced the small space between the walls and stopped as they joined the rest of the team. “Win,” he said firmly. “Just win. By any means.”

“And just like that our nerves are gone,” Miles scoffed.

Marcus pulled him up by the collar and shook him. “What nerves? We’re Slytherins. We’ve been winning the Quidditch Cup for almost a decade. And no Potter will ruin that.”

Heather swallowed, feeling like he was also kind of talking about her.

Draco lifted his broom handle towards the team and yelled “No Potter can ruin that!”

The team smacked their broom handles against Draco’s and Heather had no choice but to join. She supposed she could consider this motivational somehow?

Marcus led them out onto the field where they took their spots. The whole school was cheering and making noise on the stands and although there were waves and waves of red, the Slytherins did their best to cover as much space with deep green and bright silver. In the front row behind the Slytherin goal post sat Snape wearing green like everyone else around him. He had on a grim smile and looked to Professor McGonagall who laughed and gestured to the stands of students waving ‘LIONS FOR THE CUP’ and ‘GO GRYFFINDOR’ flags.

“ON THE GRYFFINDOR TEAM,” Lee Jordan started his commentating, “WE HAVE POTTER, BELL, JOHNSON, SPINNET, WEASLEY, WEASLEY, AND WOOD – THE BEST TEAM CAPTAIN ON THE BEST HOGWARTS QUIDDITCH TEAM WE’VE SEEN IN A GOOD FEW YEARS – ”

His comments were drowned out by ‘boos’ from the Slytherins sitting not too far from him.

“AND ON THE SLYTHERIN TEAM IS CAPTAIN FLINT AND IT SEEMS HIS MAIN STRATEGY THIS YEAR WAS MAKING SURE THERE WAS MORE SIZE THAN SKILL ON THE TEAM – ”

Even Heather booed with the Slytherins at that. She and Draco were the smallest on the team for certain, but at least Graham and Miles had some skill too, even if they were enormous. Marcus, Lucian, and Peregrine however, they could do with less aggressive plays.

“BY SIZE THERE IS ALSO MONTAGUE, BOLE, DERRICK, BLETCHLEY, POTTER, AND MALFOY.”

Heather looked over at Draco to see him close his mouth and hide his look of shock. He glanced at her briefly and scowled, making her hold in a laugh.

The morning was fairly bright and there were no winds at all, making it perfect conditions for an intense final match. The Gryffindors mirrored their positions on the other side of the half-line and she gave Harry a tiny thumbs up which he matched for a split second. Madam Hooch came out with the ball-chest under her arm and set it down, ready to unlock on her whistle.

Heather gripped her broom hard, feeling her palms already sweaty and kicked off hard at the loud shrill of the whistle blow. Fourteen brooms rose in the air and darted into positions as Marcus and Wood fought for the Quaffle.

“GRYFFINDOR IN POSSESSION – QUAFFLE TAKEN BY SPINNET HEADING STRAIGHT FOR THE SLYTHERIN GOALPOSTS – LOOKING GOOD ALICIA! ARGH! NO – QUAFFLE INTERCEPTED BY MONTAGUE AS HE TEARS UP THE FIELD AND – WHAM! GOOD ARM THERE GEORGE. QUAFFLE CAUGHT BY JOHNSON AS SHE TAKES IT ALL THE WAY BACK – SWERVES AROUND POTTER – DUCK! OHH – OH! SHE SCORES!”

The Gryffindor fans filled the field with whistles and cheers as they waved red flags and scarfs in the air. Miles avoided looking towards Marcus but Heather gave him a thumbs up, he nodded his head as the Quaffle was recovered.

Heather gasped as Marcus smashed into Angelina Johnson, nearly knocking her off her broom.

“Didn’t see her!” Marcus yelled to the booing crowd of scarlet below. “Sorry!”

Heather rolled her eyes at him and gasped again as Fred’s Beater’s club flew through the air and smacked Marcus on the back of his head, making him smash his nose on his broom handle causing a nose bleed.

Madam Hooch flew up between them and blew her whistle. “Penalty shot to Gryffindor for an unprovoked attack on their Chaser! Penalty shot to Slytherin for deliberate damage to THEIR Chaser!” Before they could argue Madam Hooch blew her whistle again and Johnson flew forward to take penalty, eyeing Marcus with immense loathing.

“JOHNSON TAKES THE SHOT AND – SCORE! SHE’S BEATEN THE KEEPER YET AGAIN. TWENTY-ZERO TO GRYFFINDOR, FIRST TWO POINTS MADE BY ANGELINA JOHNSON.”

Marcus flew forward with the Quaffle under his arm and aimed at the Gryffindor goalposts where Wood sat ready on his broom.

“FLINT TAKES THE SHOT AND – WOOD’S SAVED IT! HE’S SAVED IT! THAT’S STILL TWENTY-ZERO WITH THE BEST HOGWARTS TEAM STILL IN THE LEAD!”

Heather groaned and felt the little butterflies in her stomach all drop dead and turn to boulders. The Gryffindors were much closer to getting the necessary points they needed to win both cups and allow for Harry to catch the Snitch. Draco flew by quickly, desperately searching for the Snitch as Harry trailed him meters behind – a distance afforded to him by the firebolt.

Heather nodded at Marcus and took her position again as the Quaffle was recovered and put back into play.

“GRYFFINDOR IN POSSESSION – NO – SLYTHERIN IN – NO BACK IN GRYFFINDOR POSSESSION AND ITS WITH BELL AS SHE STREAKS UP THE FIELD – THAT WAS DELIBERATE!”

Graham had swooped down and grabbed hold of Katie Bell’s head instead of the Quaffle, making her drop it in an attempt to dislodge her head from under his arm.

Madam Hooch flew back up and yelled at him before awarding Gryffindor another penalty which Katie gladly took.

“THIRTY-ZERO! THAT’S RIGHT, KEEP CHEATING YOU DIRTY – ”

“MR. JORDAN, IF YOU CAN’T COMMENTATE AS UNBIASED AS POSSIBLE – ”

“JUST SAYIN’ IT HOW IT IS PROFESSOR – ”

While the game was stalled on Lee Jordan and Professor McGonagall’s arguments, Heather flew over to Marcus and Graham. “Drop the whole ‘win by any means’! We’re losing! Stick to the plays!”

Marcus glared at her but nodded. “We’ll take those points back. Stick to the plays.”

Graham nodded and they split up, taking their positions around Marcus like they normally did. The game was back on and as they wrestled with Gryffindor for the possession of the Quaffle, Heather spotted Derrick and Bole closing in on a speeding Harry just as he pulled up out of the way and they collided against each other.

“HA HA! SOMEONE GET DERRICK AND BOLE AN ICE PACK, THEY SEEM TO HAVE FORGOTTEN WHY THE FIREBOLT’S THE BEST BROOM ON THE MARKET!”

Graham had barely grazed the Quaffle when Johnson intercepted.

“GRYFFINDOR IN POSSESSION – MONTAGUE FLYING ALONSIDE JOHNSON – MONTAGUE IN POSSESSION! OH NO FLYING TOWARDS THE GRYFFINDOR GOALPOSTS – BELL AND SPINNET CLOSING IN ON HIM! – FLINT IN POSSESSION NOW – NO STOP IT WOOD! – ARGH! SLYTHERIN SCORES.”

The Slytherins behind the Slytherin goalposts erupted with cheers. Lee Jordan swore and Professor McGonagall tried tugging the magical megaphone away.

“SORRY! WON’T HAPPEN AGAIN! – THIRTY-TEN, GRYFFINDOR STILL IN THE LEAD BUT SLYTHERIN HAS POSSESSION AGAIN – ”

The tide was turning now that they were more focused on plays and not cheating. Heather followed close beneath Flint and on cue caught his dropped Quaffle and scored the second points for Slytherin. Wood pounded on his handle and the Slytherins cheered again.

“THIRTY-TWENTY, COME ON GRYFFINDORS DON’T LET THEM CATCH UP!”

Four of five goals down, she just needed five goals total to reach her own goal. That was the plan. She zoomed forward and cut off Spinnet, sending her diving down to avoid collision, freeing up space for Marcus to throw to Graham. Graham shot forward with the Quaffle in hot pursuit by Bell and Johnson and just as he aimed to throw into the goalposts, Bell snatched it from his hand and made her way across the field. Gryffindor scored freely for the last time that match.

It was forty-twenty and now even Heather felt the same angry fire behind Marcus and Graham’s eyes. Marcus scored, and then Graham, and just after Heather had rammed into Johnson to stop her from cutting between Marcus’s throw, Heather caught the Quaffle and scored for Slytherin once again.

Forty-fifty and Slytherins were in the lead now. Bell was on Heather’s tail from then on as she shadowed Marcus to his right. A Bludger nearly knocked him off his broom but Graham saved it and scored again. Fred and George were now focusing their efforts on Marcus as Lucian and Peregrine aimed for them.

Heather looped on her broom to lose Bell momentarily to help pass the Quaffle to Graham again as Marcus dodged two Bludgers, and he scored again. On and on it went cleanly until the score was forty to one-hundred and Heather had scored her five goals. Then Lucian hit Alicia Spinnet with his club, stopping her from taking possession and George elbowed him in the face.

Madam Hooch gave each team a penalty shot and Miles finally blocked it. Wood didn’t let Marcus score. Bell attempted to score and while Fred and George were distracted trying to help block Graham and Heather from closing in on her, Peregrine and Lucian aimed the Bludgers at Wood, giving Gryffindor two more penalty shots. Miles saved one and the score became fifty to one-hundred. Wood climbed back over his broom and clutched his stomach.

Slytherin quickly took the points back. Heather scored twice more after Flint scored twice and Graham scored once.

“SLYTHERIN IS AT A HUNDRED POINT LEAD… WHERE’S THAT SNITCH!”

The game was dragging on and Harry and Draco were now searching the skies and ground for the Snitch. Draco kept on Harry’s tail as best he could as they circled the Quiditch pitch once, twice – Harry dashed forward and reached out for the golden speck twenty feet in front.

Draco sped after him, managing to cut the distance on a quick turn as the Snitch flew away from them. Harry had the Snitch inches from his fingers when Draco jumped forward and caught the tail of Harry’s broom in his hands, dragging him back.

Harry swung a fist at Draco’s face but couldn’t reach. Harry turned back and slowed, realizing the Snitch had disappeared from view.

“CHEATER! CHEATING! YOU FILTHY CHEATING SLYTHERIN – !” Lee was dancing out of McGonagall’s grasp.

“Penalty!” Madam Hooch yelled.

Spinnet took the shot and was blocked by Miles who was still laughing at Draco’s penalty. Heather felt her team was newly invigorated by Draco’s desperate ‘by any means’ tactics.

The game was back on and Johnson had the Quaffle. Heather and the other Chasers flew after her, closing in at once when Harry cut through them like a red bullet, making them all scatter to avoid falling off their brooms and allowing her to score.

“Harry!” Heather yelled and quickly noticed Draco across the field streaking up towards a tiny shiny speck.

Harry noticed and tore after Draco, closing the field-wide distance within seconds. Heather watched, frozen in place, as Draco closed in on the Snitch. Marcus took this chance to score once more as everyone’s attention was on the Seekers.

Draco’s fingers were stretched, arm fully extended as he leaned forward on his broom. His blond hair whipping back as he cut through the air.

Harry had reached Draco and was now urging his broom to go faster as he stretched out his arm towards the Snitch.

They were both inches away from it, closing in – Harry threw himself forward, knocking Draco’s arm out of the way and caught the Snitch in one cupped swoop of his hand.

“HARRY POTTER’S CAUGHT THE SNITCH! THAT’S TWO-HUNDRED POINTS TO ONE-HUNDRED-AND-SIXTY! GRYFFINDOR WINS!”

The crowd erupted with cheers and the field below filled with red and gold as everyone touched down. Heather walked up to Marcus who was fuming but surprisingly remained calm. He clenched his fist and looked at all of them as they gathered around him quietly.

“We won the cup. That’s all that matters. They needed at least a fifty-point lead before Potter caught the Snitch.” Marcus looked at Draco and nodded. “Good try, Malfoy.”

Draco looked like he could murder anyone who looked at him the wrong way. He nodded and headed towards the broom shed, shoving and pushing any and all Gryffindors in his way.

The Gryffindor crowd was lifting Harry on their shoulders, satisfied with the win and victory over Slytherins and Draco. Heather trailed behind the crowd not wanting to bump into Ron or Hermione. Although the cup was still and would remain in the safety of Snape’s office, the loss against Gryffindor was felt among all Slytherins.

Draco almost had it, inches away, seconds away, but was doomed to lose against Harry’s firebolt.

Was everyone doomed to lose against Harry?

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

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[unluckyadept]

Character Journal Entry: Felix

{July 16th, 2021T}

[Felix did not return to his letter drafts right away when his shift ended the next day. Instead, he sat alone, holding onto his iconic mask.

He wanted to express his thoughts, but one thing had become clear over time: he truly had to provide the context, or else it just wouldn’t make sense. His streak of Mars in particular.

He was no longer all that concerned about being fiery. He had plenty of enemies who were out to kill him, people who wanted to inflict great suffering in every imaginable way; he truly didn’t have the patience anymore to grovel. He would never be in complete agreement with his close friends—but that was just the way of the world. 

He looked up with unseeing eyes, his mind caught in the weight of the past and the gravity of the present.

It was like he had mentioned in one of his previous drafts: this was the true end. He could feel it. He could feel it in his very soul; Lalivero was safe in the eye of the storm, but the only way through these troubles was through the squalls that besieged them. There was no turning back.

Either they would break free from the violent tempest, unhindered as they made for shore in a clear sunrise…

…or they would be dashed upon the rocks and drown.]

+=+=+=+

"{Keep your spirits up, lad. Too much for you to do to be dwelling in darkness.}"

+=+=+=+

[He closed his eyes and surrendered a silent sigh.]

({What was it that Sir Glenn said? Something about not… not resenting the lamentation at wishing to reclaim what was lost.})

[He rubbed a hand against his face, still dwelling in a deep mental cloud.

One of the things that had always bothered him in the past was his lasting sense of pain, and the weight that suffering had chained to his heart. He had worried that the way it haunted him would drive others away; they would surely find deep discomfort if he were more vocal about what was on his mind during these times. After all… he hadn’t known anyone else who would broach such topics to him, let alone on a frequent basis.

But he still hurt. Oh, he still hurt. These wounds ran deep… and when they ached, the scars were filled with blinding fire.

Such matters had been weighing more heavily in his heart for over a year and a half now. For the pain was no longer of the decades past, but of the living present.

And the reminder of this was enough to make it harder to breathe again, from stress alone—

It was a silent cry of a suffering soul as his heart protested the crushing, suffocating clutches of sorrowful despair.

His grip on the mask tightened, and he curled the hand pressed against his face into a clenched fist.

His adoptive grandfather would not want him to be held back like this, let alone falter in his faith in his convictions.]

+=+=+=+=+

“{There is good in everything that happens. Sometimes you have to spend a little bit more time looking for it, and sometimes it doesn’t reveal itself immediately. But there’s always good in everything that happens.}”

+=+=+=+=+

[He could feel tears building at the memory of the man’s reassuring confidence.]

+=+=+=+=+

“{It may not reveal itself immediately, and even in the most dire circumstances, if you just wait, if you just remain open to things, the good in it will reveal itself.}”

+=+=+=+=+

[He tried to shake it off, but the tears remained poised as he remembered snatches of what the great Ranger had taught him.]

+=+=+=+=+

“{If disaster is coming our way, we don’t just sit there and endure it. We come up with ways to avoid it, to beat it back, to overcome it, but we don’t just sit there and accept it.}”

+=+=+=+=+

[He gritted his teeth against the sense of loss, still (futilely, and he knew it) fighting back tears.]

+=+=+=+=+

“{But I don’t believe our darkest days are ahead of us. I never have. [You] have been asking, ‘You’ve always told us you’d tell us when it’s time to panic. Is it time?’ It’s never time to panic, [Earth-son].}”

+=+=+=+=+

[He let the mask fall into his lap so he could press both hands against his face, instinctively holding his breath as a result of the crushing void of loss.]

+=+=+=+=+

“{It’s never, ever gonna be time to give up on our [people]. It will never be time to give up on the [dedication to build dreams].}”

+=+=+=+=+

[It was all he could do to seek comfort in the words again in this dark time.]

+=+=+=+=+

“{It will never be time to give up on yourself.}”

+=+=+=+=+

[For all the thrill of victory at having lasted this long in open war against the Tolbi regime—and particularly the importance of having disrupted the flow of supplies from their capital city to the troops in Northern Gondowan—

It was still all so overwhelming.]

[After the pretense was discarded last autumn, their enemy seizing the opportunity to use cowardly tactics in an attempt to overwhelm them at lightning speed—

After he was taken prisoner and not one of them would even consider speaking to him as a fellow human being…

…eventually, in the “end”, he had fallen into despair.

They had done everything they possibly could to prevent it… and it had been cruelly subverted by hateful Pride. He had sought to treat even his tormentors with respect—and he had, as best he could!—and to appeal to basic human decency, for the chance to learn what mattered to them… and they wouldn’t even deign to speak any more beyond their brutal contempt of blinding Pride.

If all his power had not been enough—if they had brought their full strength against the enemy and only barely survived—there, in those moments as he lay dying, and in those days after he was brought back… he couldn’t help but wonder, at first.

He had asked himself: with all that in mind, could he really trust that they would be able to overcome such deep-rooted tyranny?]

+=+=+=+=+

“{Trust me.}”

+=+=+=+=+

[It had taken a very long time for him to begin to recover.

And just as he was starting to do so…

…he received the news that he would hear such words of encouragement… no more.

Not again within this world would he be able to turn to the man who had been like a second father to him—the one person who had never doubted his ability to thrive and succeed, despite his background, despite his temperament… despite everything that would have otherwise long since overwhelmed his will to keep struggling and clawing his way through the darkness.

There had been long periods of time where the only things that kept him from succumbing to insane levels of agony—the only reasons he had stayed his hand, even as he looked into the abyss with a desire to embrace it—the only reasons he had even bothered to continue were: the obligations of duty to toil until relieved from his role in this life… and that man’s unshaken certainty that he was capable enough to overcome the noose of shadows and walk in the sunlight of hard-earned dreams.

And now…]

({I just want to hear your voice again, one more time! Even… even though I know what you would say.})

[He understood, now, why Mikhail had never asked him to use the Tomegathericon to allow him to speak to his late wife. He had once thought that strange, in the back of his mind—it had stood out, at least. Clearly, the man suffered deeply from her loss, and yearned for her presence. Why should he then willfully avoid any means of contacting her? And why had she not visited, the way other spirits had?

Now he knew. He understood.

As much as this hurt, he knew that his Proxan grandfather had been ferried across the river into the sea of Light—and he did not now have the heart to even ask to recall him back into these days of sorrow.

He’d been close enough to such an experience himself to properly appreciate it—after such an exhausting journey, it was a relief to be free of such burdens of responsibility.

Such burdens were for the living to carry.

For him to carry.

For him to Live.]

({We stand upon a spearhead of fire. The first to fall shall be engulfed in crushing irons, such as to prevent them from rising up again for generations. We are so close to breaking the stranglehold they have on the region once and for all…! If only we can outlast their corrosive and hateful Hubris.})

[He pulled his hands away from his face, curling one closed and placing his other hand over it, his eyes closed in weariness and focus.]

({So it is that the task falls to us, as your generation takes the road to dawn. You have raised us upright in virtue to take on this load, and lead the charge against the darkness that we might yet have self-controlled destinies for ourselves and our children.})

[The tears had dried, now, and he opened his eyes, staring off into nothing.

They had been victorious, but word had reached him of the forces rallying for another massive charge. He needed to entrust some of the others to take command of the area, to keep up the pressure on their enemy so that they would not be able to slip through again unnoticed.

They had won another battle, but the war was far from over. At this rate, it would be over a year before anything definitive happened—unless things escalated AGAIN, wildly out of control.

Felix sighed, taking hold of his mask once more.]

({If they have their way, then I know what shall happen. We’ve seen this song and dance before—we know how the story ends.})

[Such things had happened to the people of Garoh, after all.]

[He remembered Maha telling him about such matters.

And he had been warned by others, too—

They would punish him for refusing to submit, if they found him. And they would make much more of an effort to ensure he would not escape their ultimate answer to his “offensive” existence.]

({This is why I have to succeed, Grandfather. Oh, Iris, I beg of you to petition our grievances! The immortal soul is too fierce to be contained in a mortal body, and yet this is the only Life we have ever known. We must defend the right to achieve our destiny, no matter how atrociously the darkness assaults us; we can never obtain paradise in such a divided world, but we are called to pursue our inner fire that we may be at peace with what we have earned.})

[…He was too tired to think much more.

Perhaps it would be best if he just went home for the night—out in the Wilderness—to get some proper sleep.]

[bjy-on-ao3]

Omg, i just read your dionysus fic, over indulgence, and holy shit, it was amazing! I really liked how you characterised him, and reader too, i just dont know what to say other than i absolutely loved it! I'd love to see more hades content! Maybe with Ares this time? He is always so smug, and somehow can be both very intimidating while staying super polite.... Im howwible with prompts, but maybe one where reader is a priestess of athena and somehow catches ares's attention?

I hope you don’t mind stuff rough.  I hope this satisfies your want for Ares, Anon!

In the game, Athena and Ares don’t seem to really like each other all that much, so I figured any priest/priestesses or disciples of her would have been warned about him. It also made sense for me that many of those people would double as great warriors/soldiers skilled at defense, but also in battle overall.If you’re looking for something warm and soft, please turn back. I really can’t see Ares in a gentle light, and this fic will contain blood/bloodplay, biting, bruising, and Ares getting a kick of out it all. Dubcon only because Reader agrees to the conditions of Ares being able to take what he wants if they lose. (As usual, you can find the AO3 version of all my uploads [and some things I don’t post here to tumblr] via my Masterlist blog page.)

Tags/Warnings Biting, Blood, Bloodplay, Combat, Creampie, Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader Insert, Sadism, Shameless Smut, Vaginal Sex, Violent Sex

Summary Reader - priestess and champion of Athena and fresh off becoming victor of a tournament held in honor of the gods - has an encounter with the most bloodthirsty god of them all: Impressed, Ares offers them a boon should they best him in combat - though if they lose, Ares may take what he sees fit.

Fic Friday

Shieldmaiden (F! Reader/Ares)

The day had been a long and arduous one, filled to bursting with adrenaline and quick-thinking. Oft enough, your days were composed of training or ceremonies, or helping those who sought aid from the temple to Athena you served. But dawn that morning had heralded the start of a tournament lasting till Helios drove the sun beneath the horizon once more. In a way, those who fell quickly were rewarded with a reprieve from the constant bouts, as even though the humiliation of defeat burdened them.

Even on the heels of victory, by the time the battles had concluded, you were tired and sore, marred with minor bruises and a few nicks and scrapes. It was nothing that a good night’s sleep and some poultices wouldn’t solve, though. ‘All worth the honor of winning such a tournament’ you told yourself. Unlike some combatants, you hadn’t killed an opponent, seeking to shed the least blood possible. Your efficiency had no room for excess. But no amount of hard-won praise and self-satisfaction could change that you were looking forward to curling up and resting until the sun rose on a new day.

Traipsing back to the temple in the glowing purple and red twilight, however, a voice caught your attention. “I must say, your performance today was quite impressive.”

To your credit, you didn’t jump or flinch away, becoming stock still and turning slowly toward the source of the voice. “Who’s there? Whom do I have privilege of impressing?” You asked cautiously, unable to strip all the irritation from your tone. You had patience remaining, though you were loath to chat with someone over your victory when you would much rather be in your bed.

Your eyes landed on a tall figure you somehow hadn’t noticed before - a man - stance regal and straight. Something about the posture gave off a sense of nonchalance as well. Clad in armor of ivory and gold, accented with long shards of black and the eerie glaring face of a beast on the chest plate, he radiated an aura of menace, accompanied by a bloodlust so tangible you could almost taste it on your tongue, hot and bitter. Eyes like smoldering coals plucked from a roaring hearth stared at you intently.. Combined with the simper spread over his lips, you couldn’t suppress the chill that raced up your spine.

Something in your gut twisted uncomfortably, and you resisted the urge to put a few more paces between the two of you. Even if it hadn’t been for the myriad weapons crossed over his back, or the impressive armor, the man would have seemed someone to be cautious around, someone you shouldn’t trust. Everything put together set you on high alert instantly, the instinct of fight or flight rising in your chest like a bird taking wing. Something primal shrieked at you that, for once, flight might be the preferred choice.

“You fight rather viciously for one under my dear sister’s wing,” the man mused, his tone light, but formal.

“I asked before - who are you?” you pressed again, not interested in mincing words. You didn’t like how easily he spoke to you or offhandedly disparaged your goddess.

“Oh, no hesitation to be found. Perhaps Athena neglected to impart all of her wisdom to you after all.” you bristled at the insult, taking a deep breath and trying to relieve some of the tension coursing through you. “I am Ares, and I desired to see the prowess of my sister’s little owl before my own eyes.”

‘Little owl?’ the nickname distracted you at first, thinking to the tiny owls often depicted accompanying your Lady, but you shook your head and dismissed the thought. You hadn’t the time to concern yourself with foolish nicknames. “Lord Ares? Well, I have no desire to see you, my Lord,” you said. With the revelation of his identity, you felt even more uneasy. Ares, god of war and death, who was said to bask in the bloodshed and chaos of man. Athena had been certain her followers knew well of her violent half-brother. “I may not have all of my Lady’s knowledge, but I am wise enough to keep my distance from you and the needless death that follows in your wake.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, wary of each word and wondering if he might take offense from your rejection. From the tales told, the Olympians never took well to being ignored or spurned, but to indulge in the company of a god like Ares was no more appealing a choice. The look on Ares’ face remained pleasant, the corners of his lips set in a smug smile, and he let out a quick puff of laughter that would have been pleasant, had it not come from him.

“What a pity. Although I do not believe that choice is yours to make, little owl,” he began, closing some distance between you. You followed his movements intently, concerned he might draw one of the swords from his back and set upon you with every step closer. “Surely you do not think yourself beyond the bidding of one god solely because you serve another?”

Your hands clenched and unclenched nervously at your sides as you considered his words. Ares was right, of course. Being a priestess of Athena did not grant you any protection from other gods - not unless she interfered directly. And that kind of divine intervention was a rarity. You avoided his question and changed the subject, though you doubted he would be redirected so easily. The God of War was no fool.

“What do you really want? I’ve little time for games, my Lord.”

“I wish to see your technique for myself. Show me how that passion and diligence fares against a foe more than mortal,” he elaborated.

The blood in your veins ran cold upon his admission and your heart thudded so hard you wondered if it was audible from where he stood. Battling a god was firmly on the side of things you wished never to do. “If you think I’m dull enough that I would willingly engage the God of War, then you insult me, my Lord,” you said stiffly, trying to suppress your trepidation from worming into your voice and failing.

“What is it I hear beneath your bold tone? I trust one of my dear sister’s bold little priestesses, one of her champions, even, is not afraid of all things?” Ares taunted smoothly. From the way his self-assured smile twitched upward, barely, you knew he was enjoying your reaction.

“Fear and caution are not the same thing,” you denied fiercely.

“True enough, but it is not caution what gives you pause. If it puts you at ease, little owl, I will not take your life.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you scrutinized him intensely, finding no sign of whether he was lying or being genuine. All you found in those bloody eyes and stony face was cold calculation and an insatiable lust for violence. “Why should I believe you?” you asked, face twisting suspiciously.

“Because, beloved by my sister or not, if I so desired to kill you, I would have done so the instant you denied my invitation and spoke to me so disrespectfully.” He talked of ending you so casually it made you shudder, and you cursed yourself for it immediately.

It seemed you had little choice but to indulge Ares in whatever game he had in mind. “And if I agree - what is the benefit to me?” Ares had promised he wouldn’t kill you, but you saw no other purpose to fight him. You still weren’t sure he wouldn’t just kill you, despite his promise.

“Is serving one of the gods not benefit enough for you? What a greedy little owl my sister has found.” Again, Ares taunted you. You wondered if he was trying to make you angry enough to divest your caution and sabotage your battle prowess.

“That’s not an answer,” you spat back. God or not, you were tiring of whatever he was doing.

Fortunately, Ares cut to the chase. “Very well, best me and you shall have whatever boon of me you wish.”

“And if I lose?”

“Then, I shall take from you what I decide most fitting.:

“But not my life,” you added, still skeptical.

“You have my word,” Ares insisted. “Besides, would it not be such a waste to douse a promising ember when it could kindled and made to burn all around it?” he added in afterthought and once again the implications of his words unsettled you. “Now, I trust we are done with these tedious negotiations, hm?” he prompted.

Steeling yourself and willing away the stiffness and fear bubbling in your chest, you nodded. Ares had decided what the outcome of the discussion would be before he first spoke. There was nothing more to be said - at least not with words. Eyes trained on the intimidating figure of the God of War, you retrieved the shield and blade slung over your shoulders. You brandished them both, falling into the stance you were trained to use.

Across from you - hardly half a dozen feet off - Ares drew a weapon of his own. The sight of the curved blade incited your fear once more. The black blade was a ghastly thing, wickedly sharp and emanating a thick, billowing red haze the color of viscera. It was unmistakably a weapon befitting a god, and it made something deep inside you want to turn tail and run. But you knew running would be fruitless - all it would earn you was a head-sized loss of weight between your shoulders.

 At once, the both of you moved slowly, following a wide circle, two shadowy beasts in the fading dusk searching for weaknesses and flaws. All of your training and wisdom told you to wait, let Ares come to you and make the first move. But you weren’t sure your reactive way of fighting would hold up against someone of his calibre. As Ares had implied, he was no mortal, and you could only imagine the horrible strength and skill behind his blade.

Ares shattered the heavy stillness abruptly, darting forward and making a low arcing swing up toward you. There was no hesitation behind the blow and you had the feeling if you hadn’t stopped it with your blade, his falcata would have carved a clean line into your torso. Ares may have promised not to kill you, but he wasn’t above grievously injuring you. He gave you little time to think on his intentions, however, another strike quickly following when you knocked his sword aside.

You caught that swing as well, on your shield this time, and your arm stung from the force that rang through it. Blow after blow rained down on you, forcing you on the defensive almost constantly, and even then, many near misses made you tense and wide-eyed. Eventually, you found some rhythm to his assault, and Ares even paused, granting you a scant few seconds to breathe and think. Still, you needed to analyze what you learned quickly - your enduring method of fighting wouldn’t suit well against his relentless onslaught. You had fought aggressive attackers in the past, but their strength and ferocity paled compared to Ares.

Eyes flashing to and fro, following the tuck and arc of his weapon, at the same time searching for openings, you readied to strike. You would need to be swift, perfect in your timing, and hold back nothing if you wanted any hope of breaching his flurry of blows. You took your chance when his fuming blade glanced off your shield at just the right angle to slide away, instead of adding more to the numbness in your shield arm. Dipping down, you swept your own blade under his arm and up. The metal scraped past one of his pauldrons and up, and your eyes shot wider when the tip of the blade reached out towards Ares’ face.

A swift kick pushed you back, leaving you winded, and you looked back up quickly. Ares was standing in place, a small distance away, but close enough to observe small details. His blade upheld in one hand, smoking menacingly, he lifted his free hand to his cheek, brushing away the slick of blood oozing from a diagonal cut across his cheek.Your heart fell at the sight of how little damage you had done. After all that time, you had given him what was barely more than what a mortal mine might suffer from a shaving accident. It was an ill omen when you were so used to your blade striking true and dispatching opponents in only a few strokes.

“Oh, what a splendid surprise.” Your blood may as well have turned to ice. Not at Ares’ words, but his tone.

Beneath the refined and formal speech, something almost excited could be heard. You had the sudden dreadful feeling that indulging the God of War’s little game had been a terrible mistake - even if  there was no other choice. Excitement was a chilling thing to hear from a being who adored violence and death. You had expected anger, perhaps, or bitterness that a mortal had drawn blood against him. Perhaps it shouldn’t have been a shock he liked to bleed as much as he liked to bleed others.

“Perhaps I underestimated you, little owl. Such skill seems wasted protecting others, do you not think so?” Ares asked, the hint of excitement vanished.

An indignation bubbled up beneath your dread, understanding Ares had meant your talents better suited to bloody slaughter and resenting that notion. You bristled, snapping back at him. “If I agreed, I would have served from the start, wouldn’t I?”

Ares ignored your response, as if he hadn’t heard. “I have seen more than enough, little owl. Our duel shall come to an end now,” he declared confidently. Again resentment and terror warred with one another within you.

When Ares bolted forward again, you barely thrust out your sword in time and turned his strike aside. The eerie cloud emanating from the blade seemed to have increased, tendrils of it whipping about, framing Ares ominously and obscuring your vision here and there.  He didn’t stop at a single blow, striking out again and again as before, but with much more strength behind the attacks. The thought that your weapon and shield or arms might shatter from the force if things kept up flitted through your mind, distracting you for the barest moment.

Ares’ blade flashed forward, and your shield was thrust away, spinning through the air before crashing down and clattering to the ground. In a lightning quick motion, before you could bring your blade in to force his falcata away, the edge was leveled to your throat. You fell deathly still, the icy blade faintly touching your skin. One false move or a twitch of Ares’ wrist and all would be done.

The war god moved closer, grabbing your sword hand cruelly and twisting your blade from your fist. The hand that had disarmed you snapped to your head, grabbing a fistful of hair at the root and making you hiss. He drew your head back and the painful pinch of his blade scarcely cutting your skin made your pulse quicken. A warm trickle crept down your skin. Held between Ares’ hand and his blade, you dared not even breathe too deeply, so close were you to both.

Burning crimson watched you keenly, blazing with triumph and thet still unquenchable lust for blood. The blood you seeping from the shallow cut on your throat encouraged that bloodlust to greater heights rather than sate it. The thought made the space between you and the god feel heavy, airless.

“You fought magnificently, little owl. A far greater challenge even than I had foreseen,” Ares praised, not bothering to draw his weapon back. The tension hanging in the air, in fact, seemed thoroughly amusing to him, alluring even. You gathered all the resolve you possessed, fighting to glare defiantly at him. There was no room to show weakness. “How lovely that look suits you. Fearful, yet masked in defiance, even in the very face of death,” he drawled. You wondered if the god enjoyed his own voice as much as he enjoyed bloodshedl. “Do you believe me a liar?” Ares asked coolly after a moment of unsettling silence.

“I-” you opened your mouth intending to disagree, to ensure him you believed him - even if you didn’t trust him in the slightest -, but something stopped you. “Yes.” As the word escaped, you cursed yourself.

To your surprise, Ares’ proud smile grew. “Such an unwise thing to say,” he mused, “Are you trying to provoke me, now, little owl?” he asked nonchalantly, applying the scantest amount more pressure to his haze billowing blade. You winced, but quickly corrected your expression until your focus was on Ares once more. “No matter, our duel is over. Now comes time to take what I deem ample compensation for my victory.” At last, Ares drew back and took his falcata with him, and you could breathe again.

The start of a cold sweat broke out on your skin, and you felt clammy, except for the hot, sticky trickle drying on your neck. You swallowed thickly, willing your tongue to obey you, and spoke again after a moment of recovery. “So, what do you want? Out with it.” you pressed, perhaps too demandingly for one whom had been in your previous position. Yet with the blade no longer threatening to carve your throat open, you couldn’t help the annoyance and unease that crept into you.

“Tread carefully, little owl. I spared you before,” Ares reminded you casually, though the sharp warning edge suffused his words. He would take your insolence only so far. “Continue to disrespect me and I shall take your words as invitation to grant you a most painful end.” He paused, slipping his dark blade back where it belonged, before turning to you. “As the spoils of my victory, this ought to suffice.”

In an instant, so quick you had no time to wonder what had come over him, Ares was upon you again. His hand, having previously disengaged when he took his weapon away, returned, entangling itself in your hair again and forcing you to remain still. Before you knew it, Ares stepped uncomfortably close, bowing his head and slashing his lips across yours in a kiss that was neither delicate nor considerate. It was a kiss fueled by strength, full of teeth and heat that left you in a stupor.

Ares didn’t bother with the tedious task of coaxing your lips open with his tongue, choosing to bite down viciously, and blood oozed out to meet him. It slicked his teeth and tongue and your mouth fell open in a gasp of pain, and Ares thrust his tongue into your mouth.  It swept along your teeth for a moment, before wrapping around your own and fighting it into submission. A heady metallic taste washed over you as you futilely tried to win the war of flesh. Blood. Your blood. Mixed with the coppery flavor was something more subtle, spicy and earthy at once.

When Ares relented and pulled away, you strove for breath, the taste of him and your blood lingering in your mouth. But he had only begun, giving you little time to recover. You had long enough to question why you had kissed him back - or had you been trying to fight him off? - before he jerked your head back and inclined his faced further. His lips, hot and the barest bit sticky, met the curve of your throat. He swept down your skin, leaving angry bite marks and blotches in his wake, until he was nestled against the juncture of your neck and shoulder, unprotected by armor and bared by your tunic.

He bit down again. Harder than before, and his teeth sank into you, another rush of blood welling up.You couldn’t control the pained cry that burst from your lips. You were used to injuries from training or battle, yet hardly in such sensitive places, and almost never from someone’s teeth. It burned when Ares lapped greedily at the wound and you hissed. His free hand had curled behind you at some time you hadn’t noticed, pressing you forward, the unyielding planes of his chest plate and pauldrons digging into you uncomfortable.

A new sensation was blossoming beneath the pain, one that should have been utterly foreign and unthinkable, given the brutality Ares was treating you with. Maybe it was the burning, hungry expression in Ares' eyes as he looked up from your skin, lips tinged red. Or maybe it was the crushing embrace he held you trapped in. Or maybe the way he held you utterly compliant and vulnerable in his grasp. Or maybe it was all of those things combined that made heat fill you from your core and pool between your legs. A dangerous, confused lust was rising - one it would have been wiser to reject.

“Such splendid sounds, little owl,” Ares said, his voice lower, a wild delight tinging it. “I desire to hear more. Do not disappoint me.”

With a rough push, your feet left the ground, and you tumbled backward away from Ares’ grip, too startled and dazed from the confounding feeling brewing in your belly and the painful throbbing in your lip and shoulder to catch yourself in time. You grimaced when you met the ground, making to prop yourself up. But Ares followed you, shoving you down completely and pinning you there. Again, his armor prodded uncomfortably at you. Past the pleated leather folds attached to the armor torso, something still distinctly hard, but much warmer prodded at you as well.

When large hands groped at your tunic -  somehow both callous and perfect - some degree of sense insisted you stop him. But others argued with it. They insisted there was no point, this was the spoils Ares chose to claim. You wouldn’t be able to stop him if you tried. One devilish voice even craved more. Your internal debate crashed to a halt when Ares jerked your tunic down, the faint sound of fabric ripping lost to you. His lips fell upon your skin again where the fabric fell away, biting and sucking like he was trying to devour you. Many of them stung, not all as harsh as the bite to your shoulder, but several more drawing blood or leaving the areas soon to bruise, painting your skin in garish colors.

More pained sounds left your lips, gasps and whimpers and groans, though mixing more steadily into them were noises that belied some twisted pleasure. A hiss that became a moan. A gasp that turned into something breathy and thick. Something was stirring more and more hotly within you, transforming pain into a muted pleasure and adding fuel to the embers smoldering between your legs and in your belly.

Ares’ hands were as greedy as his lips, groping and kneading unmarred skin, roughly grabbing at your chest, pinching your nipples and making you cry out pitifully. Before long, he had covered your torso, shoulders, and neck in darkening bruises and blood, teeth marks and scrapes. Pulling away until he was looming over you like an ominous shadow, you could still make out the satisfied look languidly spread across his lips. His eyes seemed even more fiery, near crazed, as if he were high on your blood and pain.

“Such a careful, focused beast in the heat of battle. Now look at you, little owl, stained and trembling,” he purred, and his tongue trailed over his lips, cleaning the crimson staining them. “How beautiful a sight. The color suits you well.” He grabbed at your tunic some more, gathering the bottom around your waist, meeting the neckline he had pushed down. “As fragile and easy to see through as glass. Ought I shatter you like it, then?” Ares asked, greedily taking in the even larger expanse of flesh revealed to him. You wondered if he meant to litter the rest of you in similar marks.

Your lips parted, and you didn’t speak for a second, waiting for the mental gears to  turn. Your only choice was the illusion of it, so you may as well as pretend your answer meant something. “Break me as you please, Lord Ares,” you told him, surprised to hear how your voice sounded. Strain and breathy, and the realization strengthened the heat and wetness at your center you couldn’t deny, likely plain to Ares’ eyes with your tunic no longer guarding it.

“How bold a choice of words, little owl.” Ares sounded pleased, possibly having expected you to retort defiantly, or have no words at all. Yet you had indulged his words instead. He trailed a thick finger gingerly over your throat, tracing over your racing pulse. “It would thrill me so to watch the life bleed from you.” You believed him completely. There was no denying in different circumstances Ares would revel in your death. “Alas, I shall have to make do sheathing a different blade within your supple flesh.”

A hint of excited impatience shone through as Ares sat back on his knees, leaving you to lie waiting in the dirt for what he would do next. With an iron grip, he grabbed your thighs, lifting them both off the ground and splaying them over his pauldrons, on either side of the crossed blades on his back. The cold touch of his armor on your overheated, abused skin made you shudder, and you watched as he lifted the lappets of the armor.  

Your eyes lingered on what had thrust against you from behind layers of leather before, and you swallowed nervously. Ares was endowed impressively and in the embrace of a gentle lover that might promise a minor discomfort, but pleasure overall. Ares had shown no intention to treat you gently though - the ache and throb from the aftermath of his attention reinforced that - and you were under no illusion he was going to change that.

The new hesitation must have shown in your expression, a dangerous thrill creeping onto Ares’ own face as he brought the head of his cock to your folds. You thanked the stars that his brutal attentions had somehow elicited a perverse hunger from you, soaking your core. Though you imagined he would have fucked you raw whether or not you were wet. In fact, he might have enjoyed it more that way. Fortunately, his dick slipped slickly between your lips, gathering some of your wetness and pushing against your slit.

Ares didn’t take his time entering you, nor savor the moment, bucking his hips forward and splitting your cunt wide. You arched your back stiffly and hissed, both at the awful burn from the way his cock stretched you and the surprising satisfaction from the overwhelming fullness. You drew deep breaths, trying to adjust to the thick intrusion, fighting the pathetic whines that threatened to spill out.

Ares didn’t give you time to adjust to his size, rutting harshly against you, calloused hands digging roughly into your thighs. He leaned forward, bending you nearly in half, far enough a tendril of his silvery white hair brushed against your stomach, making your skin jump. The stretch ached to be sure - it would have even if Ares had been more thoughtful - but caught up in whatever perverse mood electrified the moment, there was pleasure bleeding into the pain.

Pleasure from the way he filled you so completely, creating a delicious friction that made your gut heat and tense. Pleasure from the rough slant of his hips against yours and his balls slapping your ass. Pleasure from the renewed vigor and sting of his lips and teeth attacking your neglected skin once more. It was agonizing and mindnumbing and enjoyable in a way you couldn’t have had any hope of explaining, at least not in a right sense of mind.

Each hard rock of his hips and searing puff of breath against your skin wore away at what little pride you retained, if you could claim to have any scrap left, looking such a mess. You might regret the memory later, but in the heat of the moment, there was no time for regrets or second thoughts. There was only room to try and enjoy what Ares had claimed as his reward.

As your dignity shattered and disintegrated like dust, the heat of your body and between your thighs grew, until you cried out into the air, the pleasure finally rising high enough to meet the pain and break loose from your throat between whines and winces. One loud cry that twisted and broke from another especially vicious bite must have gotten to Ares, eliciting an answering sound that was deep and primal.

Continuing to pound into your cunt, Ares looked up from his savagery of your skin, eyes glittering with amsement and lust of multiple kinds. His hot breath rolled over your bruised chest and his silky words rumbled over you. “You ought to thank me for my mercy,” he growled, and amidst the pain and pleasure you laughed to yourself. Mercy for a war god amounted simply to not killing you it seemed, even if the alternative was marking your body viciously and claiming it for himself. “Go on, then, little owl,” he compelled you, puncutating his words with a harder buck of his hips that left made you shout.

You opened your mouth, at first only pants and huffs and whimpers broke away. You gathered the words on your tongue he demanded of you. “Th-thank...aah...thank you, Lord Ares!” you cried out, surprisingly yourself. “Thank you f-for sparing me.”

He seemed satisfied with you pitiful answer, shaky and broken as it was, though he remained close to your skin. His pace grew stronger, faster, and he drew his tongue over some of the more bloody marks he’d left behind, coating his tongue again in your essence. His eyes swept hotly over his handiwork, bordering on frenzied. “Is it not such a wondrous feeling, to break bleed so, little owl?”

The smooth, husky tone of his voice, though it spoke such sick words - words you would have rejected in another setting - drove your own fervor higher, the molten spring of tension in your abdomen coming to the edge of its breaking point. You responded without hesitation, mind bent only on the promised releasen. “Yes, yes, my Lord!”

No more words fell between the two of you then, only the primal symphony of moans, grunts, groans, and gasps, enough to be heard by any soul unfortunate enough to be passing nearby. You hadn’t thought Ares’ thrusts could become any crueler, but as he chased and neared his own release, they did, until each thrust stung, hurting almost more than they pleased. His hands still clenched around your thighs and you could only imagine the intensity of the bruises that would be left behind - perhaps even worse than the many peppering your neck and chest and torso.

Despite the pain, your cunt squeezed around him, fluttering erratically as you danced on that edge so, so close. Until at last, it burst. But not before Ares finished with a sound so dark and heavy and alluring it could be called inhuman. Your walls embraced him even tighter as his cum filled you to overflowing, hot and wet, and you screamed and cried into the darkness of evening that had taken over.

When all was still at last, youtruly began to feel the extent of the damage Ares had done. He didn’t remain atop you much longer, not seeming to need to catch his breath, and when he pulled out of you, you shuddered, feeling sore and empty. Already tired before Ares had sought you out, and even more so after your combat, you were completely and utterly exhausted. Lying there, each pound of your heart making the bites and bruises pound along with it, you wondered if passing out in the dirt was a viable option.

Ares didn’t concern himself with your thoughts, however, or whatever it was you intended to do now that he was finished with you - for now at least. He just looked down at you, tucking himself back beneath the lappets of his armor and looking no worse for the wear. “Farewell, little owl. Do take care. And consider what I have said,” he began. “Your talents ought be used for something far more satisfying.”

You didn’t answer, letting your eyelids slide closed for a minute. When you opened them again, you were alone and the air was still and silent. You begrudgingly sat up, preparing to tackle the ordeal of standing and making the rest of your way home and to your bed. You wondered how you were going to explain your state to your fellows the following day.

[miraculouslycool]

Rae Rewatches Miraculous Ladybug

Season 1: Dark Cupid

Rose is me about love when I'm reading fanfics

Max is me about love in real life

I wish I had Adrien's photographic memory Part 2

But maybe he was listening cause he's a romantic sap

I love how happy Marinette looks that Adrien didn't get caught

Why....is Nathaniel carrying a whiteboard down the stairs? How did he not get caught?

Son no!! Your poem is beautiful!

Adrien only signed that poster to shut Chloe up

That poem is the cheesiest thing ever

I love it.

"There are plenty of girls with dark hair and blue eyes" Oh Kagami.....(okay maybe not the blue eyes part but still)

How did Tikki pinch Marinette she has no fingers lmao

Kim and Max's friendship is amazing! Love that he did all that high level research just to help him out. What a bro.

"Love is like a baseball game, right? You have a strategy or you'll strike out, if you aim right, you'll hit it out of the ballparks! SCORE!"

Why does that actually make sense

"What a lovely metaphor!" "Meta-who?" Kim you himbo

So, Max knew it was Chloe and still did it?? What a bro.

Marikim friendship. Warms the heart

I like how invested Max is in Kim's love life

I mean, Alya is advising Marinette and he's just looking after Kim with that dopey smile

The Chronicles of the Unsigned Note continues

I really wish sometimes the show would stop treating Adrien as a prize to be won among girls. Actually more the fandom than the show

"Uh she's not crying enough" skjskslals

'Cher Adrien' is a good way to start

Dorkasaurus

Alya is such a good friend

"Don't forget to sign it!"

"So she's got eyes, arms, legs, big deal!"

Adrien looks so done

Plagg's baby voice lmao

I love the contrasts between Marinette and Adrien!! Marinette confesses indirectly through a letter, and Adrien just wants to straight up spit it out.

"Ugh, gross! You're making me lose my appetite!" *Swallows cheese* "Almost"

"Bill it to Daddykins, I mean uh, Mr. Bourgeois"

This episode has the funniest dialogue I swear

Chloe never hung up the call, so that poor assistant over the phone probably heard Kim's public humiliation

That was just plain cruel

*skips Hawkmoth monologue*

"Day of love and Day of fools" I'm pretty sure the day of fools falls on Gabriel's birthday

*skips two more Hawkmoth monologues*

Candy apples, nice foreshadowing!

"Since when did she start texting us?" Since when do you have Chloe's number?

"What a witch!" One letter away from disaster

Marinette is a mood

But she also needs to stop transforming behind benches

Why does Chloe need a 24k toilet

Sabrina can lift people that easily?

Just between you and me she should have been given a miraculous

You know, I think it's very important to note that Kim isn't upset that Chloe rejected him or isn't pursuing him, just that she humiliated him. Nice job.

Always so dramatic Gabriel

How did Dark Cupid not see her? He's literally up in the air!

THE LADYNOIR TENSION IS REAL

SHE DIDN'T EVEN TRY TO STOP HIM OR TELL HIM THAT AN AKUMA IS AROUND

HE ALWAYS HUGS HER WHEN HE PROTECTS HER

Okay they could have chosen a better word than 'loathe'

Dumbmoth is at it again, just grab his ring, it's right there

Does he have to shoulder his stick like that, it's not appealing except when his son does it

"Everyone would love to get their hands on it!" Wtf Chloe don't leave your gold out on the streets

I love how she dragged Chloe out lmaooo

See, shouldering of staffs is only appealing when Adrien does it

"Because hate conquers all!" That's not what you said this morning

I LOVE HOW HER MIND IMMEDIATELY GOES FROM TRUE LOVE TO KISSING HIM

SHE DOESN'T EVEN CONSIDER THE POSSIBILITY OF YOU KNOW, THAT SHE DOESN'T 'LOVE' HIM??

I SEE RIGHT THROUGH YOU LADYBUG

And this is before Glaciator??! Canonically isn't she supposed to not know that he loves her?

"Come on, kitty, just a peck!" "GET BACK YOU SAVAGE"

Why are Chloe's meltdowns the funniest thing ever

"Don't worry, I'm not looking forward to it either." MHHHMMMHMMM

Bug-eyes

So Dark Cupid's arrows make someone the opposite of who they are, so Chat casually talking about how murdering someone with Cataclysm would be like is the equivalent of his normal self being terrified of his power's consequences if someone were to abuse it.

Why are they just standing there?

That was too close

Did she just bounce on the top of his head?

The lucky charm is pretty straightforward this time too

Don't ever pause in between the time when Chat Noir pins Ladybug to the ground

"Finally I'll find out who you are, Ladybug!" His spelled version is doing things that he would never do if he were in his right mind

I REMEMBER BEING TORN BETWEEN SCREAMING ABOUT THE KISS AND WONDERING HOW THIS IS IN A KIDS SHOW

Also I don't think anyone was expecting a kiss this early in the show

Ladybug: "Just a peck!" Also Ladybug: *makes out with him for 10 seconds*

He's still under the influence of the akuma (his lips are still black) and yet he just melts into her

SHE SMILED AT HIM AFTER SHE PULLED AWAY

*replays kiss 100 times* okay I'm done

*replays it one more time* SHE HELD IT FOR SO LONG

The Dark Cupid kiss is still my favourite

He got out of her space the minute the spell wore off, otherwise she wouldn't have been able to pick him up seconds later

How did he not cataclysm his chest?

I love how quickly he caught onto her plan despite having been spelled for the better part of the battle

How is he not more suspicious about her talking about kissing?

Damn it, I wish she told him, Prime Queen is too far away!

"Even with all this hate everywhere, love still wins!" YEAH YOU JUST BROKE A CURSE WITH TRUE LOVE'S KISS,HUN.

I need to stop over analysing

Adrien the Disney Princess

Why did Plagg chose to throw that specific one at Adrien?

Connect the dots, Adrien; you threw your poem away at school, in your CLASS'S bin, so someone in your class has a crush on you! God Chat Blanc is so so far awaaayy

"Anyone who writes as sickeningly sweet as you must be your soulmate" I dare you to watch this and not claim that Marinette and Adrien are made for each other.

He's so dramatic my god

The Chronicles of the Unsigned Note continues.

[madlymiho]

Hi there! If I may, could I please request a smuty/nsfw scenario for Law and Zoro and a fem!reader(who is part of the straw hats)?(mutual crushes since before timeskip)maybe taking place after dressrosa,where the 3 of them are left alone on the Thousand Sunny while the rest of the crew leave. The 3 of them play strip poker with alcohol consumption to keep themselves entertained, leading to lingering glances and them having a threesome? Thanks!

Hello there!

YOU!! YOUUUU!!! You made me write the most SINFUL scenario ever and OH BOY I liked it!!! Thank you for this, I REALLY enjoy writing this smutty gem ❤️❤️ Hope you will enjoy 🔥

Words : 4385

Warning : Heavy NSFW ; M/M/F

Zoro x Law scenario : Poker Night (read after the cut)

You would never believe how things are pretty slow and terrible when there is nothing to do on the Sunny. At least, that what Law and Zoro start to think, after four days without any news from the rest of the Straw Hat. Usually, they would have been there to join them during their exploration sessions, always adventurous and impatient when it comes to discover something new. But after the events of Dressrosa, both of them felt slightly tired after so many fights and deadly encounters in the New World. From Punk Hazard to the kingdom of Doflamingo, they didn’t have enough time to rest and heal, and after some long talks on the matter with the others, they have decided to stay on the Sunny, delighted by the sweet company of one of the Straw Hat girl. Problem is… This girl is somehow really particular for the both of them. Zoro is the first one who has developed an odd and improbable crush on her, since the first day when she became a member of their family, two years before they had to separate the crew for their intense training around the world. Two years since he’s obsessed with this girl, and the way she seems always inevitably around him. But there’s something else. During the events of Sabaody, Law encountered her for the first time as well, and despite his usual cold and distant feeling, he couldn’t help but felt that little wrench inside his belly, convincing him that she was probably different from any other girl in this world. 

Four days. Fours days that they gaze at her and her appealing body, sometimes lied on the deck to tan her skin, while she doesn’t seem to notice any of them. She usually doesn’t really mind them, occupied with her everyday activities as she has always done before when everyone was on the boat to share their regular lives. The only moments when the three of them are somehow talking happen when dusk falls on the Sunny, and they gather in the kitchen to share their dinner. It’s the only time of the day where the three of them are on the same schedule, and usually, she even offers to cook something for them, genuinely hoping that it would free their tongues, and bring some warm and friendly atmosphere, like there’s always been on the ship.

Conversation doesn’t come smoothly, though, and despite her best efforts to hold one with both Zoro and Law, they’d rather groan and eat their dishes silently than trying to offer her a real and long answer. She seems a little bit disappointed by their behaviors, and soon enough, it even starts to get under her skin, unamused by their motonone speechs and their everlasting silence. She knows that they both have their habits as well, but since they are only the three of them for the moment, and that it might be the perfect occasion to know each other a little bit more, she decides to act. 

“Guys, have you ever played poker before?” She innocently requests, putting down her rice ball once she’s done eating it. 

Law raises a curious eyebrow, and Zoro impatiently takes a swallow on his bottle of sake, glaring at her as if she has insulted him. Eventually, Law sighs and nods. 

“We used to have some poker party nights on the sub, back in the days.” 

She seems positively happy with this revelation, scratching the wood of the table with her nail, unconsciously. 

“Oh, it sounds good…,” She says in a long sigh. “I thought that perhaps we should play this game tonight!” 

Zoro puts the bottle down on the table and slightly tilts his head as he perfectly recognizes that little spark of mischief inside her eyes. He’s not really sure that he wants to spend the entire evening gazing at her body, but he clearly can’t help but feel a bit intrigued by her proposition. He finally takes a look on Law’s face, and it seems that the captain of the Heart Pirates isn’t particularly reluctant to the idea to have some fun for the night. Zoro eventually stands back up, under the desperate and irritated look of her crush.

“You don’t want to play?” She snaps, not even trying to hide her disappointment. 

“I do, but we’re going to do it in the pirate way,” Zoro answers lazily, walking behind the kitchen bar to catch an entire case of fresh sake. “We’re going to drink!” 

“Seriously, you didn’t have enough?” Law comments, yet he can’t help but smirks as Zoro slams the bottles on the table. 

“I don’t party without something to drink, Trao.” Zoro snaps, a grin blooming at the corner of his lips. 

They both look back at her, and somehow feel deeply enchanted by her radiant features, and the real feeling of happiness creating spreaded on her complexion. She excitingly stands up and rushes to her room, coming back with a deck of cards, ready to distribute them and start their poker night. 

After a few rounds, and some bitter defeats for her, and perhaps because they are already drunk, they decide to spice the game. Zoro, who feels definitely too hot inside the kitchen of the Sunny-go, offers that they should add another rule, and  take off one of their cloth anytime they would lose a hand. And soon enough, since she’s definitely not the best player around the table, she ends up only wearing her tiny short and her bra, trying her best to focus on her cards, absolutely far from noticing that the two of them are now strongly gazing at her. The temperature inside the room is slightly warmer than before, and lazy drops of sweat keep rolling down her neck, to find their way inside her boobs, as a silent invitation for the two men to watch attentively her body. The boys are fascinated by this show, and without even sharing a single word, they both understand that they are expecting something steamier tonight. 

“Ah! I won!” She yells, clearly dizzy and more than tipsy, slamming her cards on the table in front of their exposed hands. “Look!” 

Law smirks, shaking his head, while Zoro taps her cards with some mischievous eyes. 

“Idiot, you didn’t win. Look Trao’s hand, he has a color run. You can’t defeat that.” 

“What?” 

She gasps, throwing a deadly stare at Law’s smirking face while she suddenly remembers that she barely wears anything at the moment. She pinches her lips together, still utterly tipsy, her eyes slightly looking at the void sometimes, but trying her best to show that she’s not particularly enthusiastic about taking off something else. 

“You still have your pants and your shirts on, how fair is this?” She pouts, crossing her arms around her breasts, offering them a beautiful vision on her round cleavage. 

“The short goes off.” Zoro points with his finger, taking the last swallow from his bottle of sake. “And quickly!” 

“You won’t defend me?” She snaps to Law, trying to find an ally in this conspiration. 

Law shrugs, his everlasting mysterious smirk floating on his lips.

“I think Zoro is right, Name-ya. Rules are the rules.” 

She rolls her eyes, slightly amused by their hungry stare, while she finally understands that they are up to something else. She’s not an ignorant, nor an idiot, and she perfectly recognizes when men have this spark of desire for her in the back of their irises. And at the moment, none of them are able to hide their profound and real wish to possess her tonight. Perhaps because of the booze and that she’s tipsy enough to cross her boundaries, she doesn’t feel like she would turn them down. On the contrary, she even senses this particular sensation blooming inside her lower abdomen, as she stares at them, her eyes travelling from their lips to their torso, imagining their outlined muscles under their clothes. She somehow craves their stare on her, and since they are naughty boys and that they clearly try to have their way with her tonight, she decides to follow their silly game, and see if they would handle her teasing, now that she’s ready to play by their rules. Slowly, she sighs and stands back up, unbuckling her short to slide it down on her thighs, taking her time to make them watch. Once she perfectly notices the shade of red on Zoro’s cheeks, and the shifty eyes of Law, she proudly smiles and get back on her chair, crossing her legs and squeezing her breasts together, before she eventually takes the cards back and shuffles them to get ready for another round. 

“Are you for real, boys?” She eventually asks after a moment, feeling their intense gaze on the curves of her booty and breasts. “I’m literally naked, and none of you have the balls to make a move?” 

Their reactions are much more spontaneous than she would have thought. Zoro immediately gasps and slams his bottle on the table, irritated and excited, while Law frowns and seems weirdly appealed by her sentence. 

“I said what I said.” She continues as she shrugs, putting her back against the backrest of the chair, throwing the cards on the table to make them understand that she doesn’t want to play anymore. “Seems like pirates are only brave when it comes to fight these days.” She adds, lifting her eyes to look at the both of them. 

Zoro, who clearly can’t believe what he’s hearing, doesn’t even notice that Law is raising his finger in the air and softly calls for his room. He widens his only valid eye when she suddenly disappears from her chair, replaces by one of the card on the table, as she’s now seating on Law’s lap. She didn’t see that coming, and since she thought that they wouldn’t make any move, way too cowards to actually follow her silly teasing game, she’s the one who feels her cheeks burning strongly, her body flushed against Law’s. The Surgeon of Death slowly circles her waist, while he  evilly smirks, his breathing skimming the tender skin of her neck. 

“Oï, you can’t do that!” Zoro protests, finally spotting her on his lap, watching closely every of his gestures. 

Law shrugs, somehow reinforcing his grip on her waist, daring Zoro to make a move. 

“I don’t mind to share,” Law lazily states, his fingers skimming her arm, causing her to quiver on his legs. “But for that, you must be brave enough to join the fight, Zoro-ya.” 

Before Zoro can actually answer, Law quickly catches her chin between his fingers and leans his mouth with hers to steal a hungry and messy kiss from her inviting lips. She’s first almost shocked by the boldness of the raven-haired man, but soon enough, she closes her eyes and melts under his touch, opening her mouth to find his tongue and caress it. Law slides his hands down on her rear, to fervently squeeze it while their breathing get heavier. Law smiles under her lips, proud to feel that she wants him tonight, even if there is a man in the room who’s ready to challenge him. 

“Ah…,” she suddenly gasps, parting her mouth from Law’s while she bites her bottom lip. 

Law lifts his chin and notices that Zoro has moved, and is more than ready to enter the game as well. Standing behind her back, his mouth is travelling on her neck, sometimes biting her flesh to leave violet and golden circles all the way down to her collarbone. Law appreciates this erotic vision, his eyes crossing the hungry stare of the green-haired man, before he takes a look on her blushed face. 

“Do you want this, Name-ya?” Law whispers, his fingers skimming her torso to eventually cup her breast and gently massages it. “We can stop. Both of us, or one of us. It’s entirely up to you.” 

“Tell us what you want,” Zoro growls with his broken voice, his tongue now playing with her earlobe. “We can easily get rid off him,”

“Don’t try me, Zoro-ya, I can always room her back on my lap…” Law groans, glaring at the sword man with dark eyes. 

“I want the both of you…” She manages to answer, her fingers grasping Zoro’s hair, her other digits fondling Law’s goatee. “Don’t stop, idiots…” 

It’s enough to settle a new pace between the three of them. As soon as she expresses her agreement to continue this odd and improbable night, Law immediately pushes aside her bra and leans forwards to catch her nipple between his teeth, torturing the sweet and sensitive nub with some expert and slow gestures. She breathes heavily, her mind boiling because of Law’s sharp teeth, but also the way Zoro decides to bite and suck on her neck. He eventually invites her to turn her head, and as Law’s fingers are now pressed against her damp core, her moans are swallowed by Zoro’s mouth, which kisses her vividly. She doesn’t know how to act, unable to make a single movement now that the both of them are occupied to please her body. Soon enough, Law withdraws his head and catches her chin, forcing Zoro and her to stop their sloppy kiss, perfectly serene and comfortable in front of the deadly stare of the marimo, who clearly feels frustrated to leave her mouth. 

“Why don’t you suck his cock while I take care of you down there?” Law proposes, smirking in front of the more than accepting eyes of his partner in crime. “Are you okay with this, Name-ya?” 

She freezes, quivering from her head to her toes as she understands things are to get really spicy, before she eventually nods. Law stands back up and invites her to follow his lead, moving the chair in the middle of the room so they can have some proper space. He pushes on her shoulders, ordering her to kneel on the chair, her hands holding the backrest, as he points at Zoro his place, ordering him to stand right in front of her. In this position, her booty is up in the air and perfectly adjusted for whatever Law wants to do next. She lifts her chin up, gazing at Zoro’s excited face, and with his approval, she immediately starts to unbuckle his pants and slide it on the ground, exposing his proud and hard arousal in front of her lips. She gently circles the base, impressed by the size and the thickness of his manhood, ready to take things further, as she feels Law’s fingers near her entrance. 

“Be nice to him, Name-ya. Suck him good, but suck him gently.” 

“She’ll be a good girl, Trao. Right, Name?” Zoro grins, fondling her hair before he catches a handful of her locks and invites her to come closer. “Watch out with those teeth.” 

Zoro softly pushes on his hips, his cock filling her mouth, at first with only the head, and then almost entirely, careful and slow, so she can adjusts to his size. She escorts his movements, her hand fondling his balls, then circling his length to jerk him off, while she starts to bob her head, her tongue rolling from the head of his length, to the middle of it. Zoro loudly sighs, closing his eyes, his fingers grasping her hair to have a proper grip on her and finds the perfect rhythm to make her feel at ease. But as he starts to settle a slow and easy pace, he feels that her tongue is now rolling erratically around his length, and Zoro notices that Law has started to play with her as well. Kneeled behind her back, he has slid her thong aside to put his mouth against her offered core and patiently lick on it. His laps are slow, but urgent, and he knows exactly where to roll the flat of his wet muscle to make her quiver on her legs. She moans loudly, taking more of Zoro inside her mouth, feeling that Law is now pushing one digit inside of her, curling it to prepare her already wet core. 

“Oh fuck…,” Zoro hums, his head falling backwards while she increases her pace, groaning hard against his cock. 

Drops of saliva starts to fall on the ground, while she gags a few times, now deepthroating him expertidly, settling a powerful and steady pace as she never stops to pump on his cock with her thin fingers. Law licks her even harder, focus on sucking that swollen nub of her, deliciously watching her core twitching under his ministrations, to the point that she’s about to reach her first and powerful orgasm. Zoro thrusts hard inside her mouth, ignoring her gag reflexes and her eyes full of tears, unable to stop his movements as he holds her hair strongly, his eyes gazing at her arched back, and her sweet cavity swallowing him.

“Fuck…I’m gonna cum…,” Zoro growls, somehow warning Law to hurry up with his tongue on her clit. “Fuck, Name, I’m sorry…,” 

He tries to hold it for a moment, but her warm tongue sliding down on his cock, mixed with her everlasting and desperate moans, are enough to send him at the seventh heaven. He snarls, gripping a handful of her hair almost violently while he pushes his hips forwards and loads into the depth of her mouth, sweating and panting, his breath erratic. At that moment, Law perfectly twists his finger and laps her clit, finally offering her that powerful orgasm she is eager to reach. She clenches one of her hand on the top of the chair, moaning so hard that it fills the room with a delicious and lusty music they both enjoy to hear. She hollows her cheeks, swallowing every drop of Zoro’s salty cum, until he eventually pulls his cock out of her mouth, a string of cum still hanging at her tongue. He caresses her blushed and dizzy face, a proud smile blooming at the corner of his lips. However, as he notices that Law is standing back on his feet, he loses his smile, and watches carefully what would be the doctor next moves, as if he wants to protect his territory from an enemy. Law smirks, then waves his fingers to invite Zoro to come closer. 

“Do you want to taste her, Zoro-ya?” 

Zoro breathes heavily, first a bit unsure about this sudden proposition. But too excited to refuse the lovely meal, he nods, as Law finishes to get rid of his pants, leaning his cock against her entrance. Zoro bends over her body, his mouth skimming Law’s for a moment, a bit hesitant, to eventually taste her pussy right on the doctor lips, as the raven-haired man starts to penetrate her. The boys’ tongues meet and fight for dominance, as Law smirks to feel that primal violence emanating from the sword man. She moans furiously, awaking Zoro’s cock for a second round, while he vividly continues to kiss Law in order to share her sweet and tasty juice, until the both of them repulses the other one with a violent gesture, their deepest instincts telling them that they prefer to have some fun with the girl below. 

“Don’t take too long…,” Zoro whispers angrily, as if Law is taking the advantage in this challenge to make her feel good. 

“Are you in a hurry, Zoro-ya?” 

“Fuck, Law… Please harder!” She suddenly snaps, straightening up to catch Zoro’s chest and bite his pectoral slightly hungrily, digging her teeth inside his skin. “More!” 

Law immediately starts to increase his pace, pounding so hard inside of her that her legs are quivering on the chair. He knows that it’s not the best position to feel him properly, so without any warning, he moves her body to slam her belly against the kitchen table while he barely controls his movements. After having licking her clit, and her core, he feels at the edge of finishing in a long and intense burst. He slaps her rear, taking her strongly, Zoro’s presence behind him as a sweet reminder that the green-haired man is not entirely done as well. He hears some fleshy sounds coming from Zoro’s cock, and he only imagines that his friend is stroking himself to get ready for the last round. 

“You like this, Name-ya?” 

“Ye…Yeah!” 

“You want his cock, now?” 

She tries to turn her head between Law’s thrusts, noticing that Zoro is fully ready to take her intensely. She eventually nods, and Law immediately pulls his cock out, skirting her body so he can seat on the table, placing her head between his legs. Zoro immediately comes, leaning himself behind her back, and enters her soaked pussy with one powerful thrust. She gasps, not entirely ready to take his thick cock at the moment, but immediately forgets it when Law gently brushes her hair, and offers him his own length to suck. 

“Come on, good girl,” Law purrs, pushing her head down on his cock, glowing with her own juice. “Show me how good you are with a dick in your mouth…,” 

“She’s fucking tight…” Zoro comments in a loud and primal growls, ravishing her core with some dominant thrusts, throwing her body forwards everytime he pushes his hips, slapping his balls against the roundness of her ass. 

“I think that she moans harder when you take her this way, Zoro-ya…,” Law smirks, tucking her hair behind her ear so she can start to blow him. “But I’ll make her sing even harder.” 

“You can always try, Trao, but for the moment, she only moans because of my dick.”

Law raises an eyebrow, and immediately invites her to lower her lips and finally blow him. Without any hesitation, and utterly excited because of Zoro’s thrusts, she presses her lips all the way down his thin and long cock, her hands reaching for his base while she hollows her cheeks and rolls her tongue on his flesh. Law heavily sighs, pinching his lips together, as he puts his elbow on the table to find a better angle to penetrate her mouth. Zoro increases his thrusts, groaning like a beast, his fingers strongly maintaining her body in this particular position, where he can ravage her core with every movement of his hips. She gags a few times, tears and sweat covering her messy face, her eyes looking for Law’s pleasured features. The doctor hums when their eyes meet, pushing his hips forwards as he slowly imposes his own rhythm. 

“You should see her face right now Zoro-ya,” Law snarls, rolling his fingers around her locks to have a proper look on her face. “She’s so good with my cock in her mouth…”

“You should feel her core, Trao,” Zoro teases back, his voice husky and broken, a bit out of breath as he keeps slamming hard against her butt. “She’s gorgeous when I take her this way.” 

“But she’s too quiet…,” Law teases, now thrusting inside of her mouth, hearing the tiny sounds of her moans muffled inside her throat. “Perhaps she needs your fingers.”

She looks desperate, a mess under their ministrations, but willing to have another orgasm coming from Zoro’s hand. The sword man nods and immediately slides his digits between her legs, finding her sweet and swollen nub, already twitching when he presses one finger on it. He smiles, and looks back at Law, both of them on the same page, increasing their pace once again, feeling at the edge of reaching their end. She moans desperately, her legs quivering hard as Zoro thrusts with all of his strength, pushing her body forwards so she can deepthroat Law at the same time. She takes the both of them so bravely, not even asking for a break, her mind and body on fire, ravaged. 

“That’s it…,” Law whispers, holding her head to help her bob it on his length. “Keep going Name-ya, you’re so good… Keep crying like this…”

Zoro closes his eyes, rubbing his fingers so quickly against her nub that she’s barely able to maintain her position, groaning and moaning so hard that she must be heard even in the islands near the ship. Law smirks, then groans, his head falling backwards while she intensifies her blowjob, encouraged by Zoro’s fingers and cock, until she eventually cries into a powerful orgasm, her hand taking a steady and intense pace on Law’s cock to help him finish as well. Zoro pinches his lips together, his fingers back on her butt, spreading the cheeks to have the best view possible, before he eventually thrusts one more time and loads deep inside of her core with a raw and primal grunt. Law follows his path, his cum bursting out of his cock to meet the back of her throat, where Zoro has already soiled her once. The three of them ride out their orgasms with a few movements, until they eventually stop and catch their breaths. Zoro gently pats her sweaty back, pressing burning kisses on the curves of her hips, helping her to stand back up while he pulls out his length, rolling a possessive arm against her waist. Law sighs, and stands back up, immediately reaching for her neck, skimming with appetite her warm skin. 

“You were so good, Name-ya,” Law whispers, challenging Zoro with his sweet and tender voice. “Did you like it?”

She hums, and nods, too tired and soiled to actually answer properly. Zoro clicks his tongue, his one eye staring at Law, reluctant to share an aftercare moment between the three of them. But in front of the devilish stare of the doctor, Zoro starts to smirk, his lips travelling down on her neck, his hand already cupping her sensitive breast. 

“Not now…,” she groans, pushing the two of them away. “I need a shower first.”

She catches her clothes on the floor and starts to leave the room, perfectly feeling that the sexual atmosphere isn’t entirely gone. She looks over her shoulder, offering them a sweet but playful smirk, her eyes calling for something else. 

“I think we all need a shower.” She innocently drops, before she leaves the kitchen room, hearing their footsteps following her lead.