#My part of the wager is now fulfilled.

[predatory-predilection]

I am forced to admit that some performances of musical theatre are of a markedly higher quality than some renditions of Shakespeare's works.

[eph-em-era]

hey so i am so so pleased they hired an intimacy coordinator this time around! and you can tell that the actors are much more comfortable too! the intimacy is much much better!!

let's do a lil intimacy breakdown from my knowledge as an IC in training and a director just in general

(this is a long post so it's under the cut)

fact is, there's some awkwardness in the ed/stede s1 kiss, which i am ninety percent sure is due to body placement. i'd wager there was a discussion on set that was like "hey this is a stunning shot, we love what it looks like, let's get the actors in" and they got the actors in and got to the blocking for the kiss and everyone was like "hey this is a bit awkward but we'll muscle through" - cause that awkwardness fits the character arcs.

but it's not actually all that easy turning all the way to one side to kiss someone without moving where your legs are! it's weird! it's an awkward angle! - or more accurately, it's the angle that two people would kiss at if it was a very impulsive, awkward surprise; or if your two lead actors are very good friends faced with playing lovers for the first time and not sure what to feel about that (we've all been there) - there's reticence, but it fits the scene so it's fine.

(Lucius and Pete and Olu and Jim also have moments of intimacy, which for the most part are fine, and I suspect that's a combo of a) their staging is SO MUCH BETTER, b) character choices, c) different directors and d) less of that "OMG WE'RE PLAYING LOVERS NOW" anxiety)

~~onto season 2~~

for the record, intimacy direction isn't just for kissing/sex scenes, ICs can come in for intimacy building exercises and additional blocking, as well as things like nudity, childbirth or any similar sensitive work, but I'm going to be talking mostly about kisses in this. anyway!

Beautiful! Kind, lovely, tender! The backdrop is super nice too. Honestly, the Lucius/Pete stuff has really been so nice all the way along; that's great casting! Especially in S2E5, everything reads as very earnest and space is used very well.

Archie and Jim. Now, we don't have anything to compare it to from S1, but I'm flagging it cause yeah, they definitely have similar staging to Ed/Stede from S1E09. I would say there's a much better range of movement in this one, likely because they're sitting on the floor, braced against the bed, so they can compensate for the weird angle better than E/S could. This might come off as a lil rude but it's also more likely that these two actors are slightly more flexible and can make this staging work better than Taika and Rhys.

Cannot for the LIFE OF ME find a gif of their hug, but they have fantastic chemistry! despite only showing up for like 2/3s of one episode. I've seen people whining about how they absolutely should have kissed - and you know what, I would have liked that too!

however, I suspect that what happened here was that one or both of the actors didn't want to kiss on screen, and voiced their objections to the IC, who found a work around. It was likely not cause of any kind of ill will or homophobia, for the record - sometimes you just don't want to kiss people. Maybe you're sick, maybe you're feeling weird, maybe you're just not in the right headspace, but a kiss might be off the cards that day.

This is behaviour we want to encourage, btw. The goal is to ensure that actors feel comfortable and that the shot isn't be all end all. I've done something very similar, we had 20 mins to get the blocking done and the actors weren't at a point where kissing felt comfy, so we did a kiss on the cheek and a hug.

it is better that the actors are comfortable than your ship is fulfilled.

Hey yknow what I was saying about how ICs aren't just used for blocking, they're used for chemistry building? That's what they've HIT ON HERE. This is genuinely a very lovely kiss. It's deeply appropriate for the characters, and it's private and simple. things get a little more raunchy, and hands start moving, but then it's stopped, for a narrative reason, and the chemistry remains with the hand hold. It's really very nice, well blocked and well performed. the hand placement! the tenderness! it's great. there's none of that s1 reticence, whether that was from characters or actors.

I think the intimacy work, much like the writing and the characterisation is much, much stronger in this season, and that's to the show's benefit. I know we're only halfway through, but I'm thoroughly interested to see where things go in the remaining episodes. I will update this post if anything exciting crops up in the final five.

and this is why you need to hire ICs! they make life easier for actors, directors and crew alike!!

[greenlotusleaf]

“Been getting a little fat, hmm?” I poke at the slight outward curve of your tummy when we have a moment away from prying eyes. You blush. I know your secret. I’m the Ranger, stoic and grim to everyone but you. When we first met, we had a professional rivalry. We were always trying to outdo each other as the party’s scouts and trapfinders. We joked with each other over our near misses, confident in the other’s skills, and kept friendly wagers about how many monsters we could slay in an encounter. Whoever killed the most had free drinks for the night at the tavern. It was your drunken flirting that broke down my barriers. Sometimes I lost on purpose, knowing the state you’d be in. Although you never accused me of it, I think you knew. Then there was the spring. We had stopped to camp in the forest and chanced upon a shrine dedicated to the mother goddess of the old ways. I warned everyone not to drink from the spring. But you didn’t believe me. Our friendly competition got the best of you. You took a long drink from the clear water. It tasted fantastic. Then you start hacking and coughing, everyone looks surprised and concerned. You broke character and laughed big belly laughs at their expressions. “See? It’s just a bunch of superstitious nonsense,” you said. You were from the city. You thought you knew better. Days later with loot in tow, we head to town to rest and relax after a particularly grueling dungeon. It took a lot less beer to get you going this time. You smiled, sat in my lap, whispered in my ear, pouted, rubbed on me. I wanted it, badly, but I knew better. You set an enchantment into motion that had to be seen all the way through. Disappointed by my rejection, you went out with the nearest broad-shouldered farmer like you were possessed. I noticed the changes not long after that. You were eating constantly, everything you could fit in your mouth. You asked for seconds and whined when you couldn’t have thirds. Although, I obliged by giving you half my portions. After weeks your body began to accommodate all the extra food. Your lithe, little frame, so skinny you could practically fit through prison bars, began to plump up. Your clothes grew tight around breasts, hips, and ass first. I did enjoy watching you struggle with straps of your arm and whine when you had to loosen them. Now there’s your belly. Even though it’s still small, at the moment, I can see it get in your way. You’re not as quick as you used to be, and you’ve become very pouty about it. I find myself picking up your slack more and more with each passing day as the primal lifeforce inside you swells. I enjoy teasing you about it too. You’re in denial, but in a week or two, you’ll see. For my part, it’s my responsibility and joy to take care of you, as a practitioner of the old ways. In my dreams, I see you growing into an image of the mother goddess to be worshiped and fed. In my waking life, I have to fulfill these primal visions. They're like base instincts to me. When you come to terms with your new role, I'll take you to the Druid circle so that you can be properly worshiped and enjoy the months to come. Maybe you’ll want to remain as a living goddess for the Druids? Maybe you’ll want to go back to your old life as a rogue? Of course, it’ll be far, far more difficult with the weight and curves you’ll have accumulated.

I don't have the creative energy for a response that would do this justice, but it's way too good to sit unanswered in my inbox any longer. I simply have to share it. Thank you, anon. Delicious.

[the-lonelybarricade]

Queen of Thieves - Chapter 6

Summary: A fulfillment of this kinkmeme prompt. Or; A Canon AU where half fae, con-artist Feyre makes an ill placed bet.

All of my love to @climbthemountain2020 for reading through this chapter and convincing me not to delete everything 😂💕

Read on AO3・QoT Masterlist ・Previous Chapter

-

The terms of a bargain must always be clear.

In Prythian, ambiguity was a weapon, and by the docks of Velaris, the lesser fae knew how to wield it expertly. There, where saltwater seeped through the cracks in the wood, rotting everything from the inside out, gamblers only kept on their feet through careful, precise wording.

At a minimum, each deal should state plainly when it begins and ends. If the terms of a bargain weren’t finite… it could be damning. It could mean a lifetime in service of its terms.

Raised as a merchant’s daughter, Feyre learned at an early age how to word a deal in her favor. But it was the years that came later, when evenings in taverns became routine, where she witnessed the true consequences of ill-worded bargains. Swaggering males who walked through the doors with everything and found themselves indebted beyond coin.

The lacework of ink decorating Feyre’s hand, fingertip to elbow, laid testimony to each wager she’d ever made, the countless times she’d risked her life on a gamble. And won. But perhaps, caught in the arrogance of her triumphs, she’d forgotten her first tavern-goer lesson.

The terms of a bargain must always be clear.

Twenty-four hours of her company, during which the High Lord could do whatever he liked to her, in exchange for ten thousand marks.

A simple enough bargain. Straightforward, finite, measurable. The twenty-four hours had passed, and the ten thousand marks had been conferred. The terms were fulfilled, and hypothetically, Feyre and the High Lord would now be able to go their separate ways.

But—that had not been part of the bargain. If Feyre could go back to amend the terms, she would have added: Twenty-four hours, after which the High Lord was never allowed to see or contact her again.

They’d made no such agreement. Which meant that after the funds had been withdrawn from the account Rhysand created in Feyre’s name, of which he’d doubtlessly been notified, there was nothing stopping the High Lord from waiting outside the modest apartment they rented above a confectioner’s shop in the Palace of Bone and Salt. She’d hoped for somewhere on the Rainbow, but ten thousand marks would only stretch so far, and the two-bedroom apartment that perpetually smelled of burnt sugar was a far improvement from the moldy attic in the tavern.

“He’s back,” Elain said, appearing at her door frame with wide eyes.

Of course he was. This had become his daily routine.

Feyre pried the hatch of her second-story window open, exposing her bedroom—one she no longer needed to share with her sisters—to the dewy morning air, crisp and sweetened by the cooked sugar within the shop below. The High Lord of the Night Court was opposite its storefront, propped against the wall with his hands leisurely tucked into his pockets.

He’d been staring at her window before she’d pushed it open, and when she leaned over the windowsill, his smile stretched wide enough to see his perfectly white teeth.

“Surely a High Lord has more important things to do than stand outside my window?”

“Someone thinks highly of herself,” he said, nodding towards the Cauldron’s Confections sign hanging over the door. “I could be here to provide valuable patronage to my people.”

“Patronage usually occurs inside the shop.”

Rhysand shrugged. “Some find my presence… distracting.”

Feyre snorted under her breath. Distracting didn’t even begin to describe how it felt to be pinned beneath his assessment. Even across the cobblestone pavement and a story below, his power radiated from him, pulsing like an invading heartbeat, threatening to spear beneath her veins and take control. His talons of darkness were nowhere to be seen, but Feyre still double-checked her mental shields just to be sure nothing crawled into her mind while her guard was down.

“I’m waiting out here until the shop quiets down,” he continued.

A moment of silence was all she needed to confirm his lie. The shop did sometimes get busy, particularly at midday, when an influx of voices swept in from the streets and drowned out the movements of the kitchen in the back. Now, the voices in the shop were a low murmur—and if she listened carefully, she could still pick out the crackling flame beneath the oven, the soft sputter of melted chocolate.

“In other words, you’re loitering,” she said.

Outside of his line of vision, she could feel moisture collecting in the hollow between her palm and her death grip on the window ledge. It was a concentrated effort not to fidget, particularly as Rhysand cocked his head like he was weighing the audacity in her tone.

Then he smirked. “And if I am, who’s going to hold me accountable for it?”

There was a challenge in the way he said it—in his eyes, as he studied her, turning over every inch of her expression for all the pieces of information she was unknowingly betraying. His smile was taunting, like that penetrating gaze saw past the veneer she painted over her uncertainty, through the defiance of her tipped chin and narrowed brows, right to the pit of apprehension yawning open in her stomach.

This was a mask she’d worn a thousand times over, night after night in that cramped tavern. She’d faced the scrutiny of males with fewer reservations towards violence, and yet none had ever made her feel so unsteady as the High Lord. But none had ever been as powerful, as capable of killing her with half a thought.

“The press,” she decided, after a moment’s consideration. “I bet I could sell this story for a pretty copper. The High Lord neglects his duties to laze around a sweet shop. Better yet—to stalk a harmless female.”

Stalk. She couldn’t believe she’d said it out loud, and to his face no less. Her boldness was going to get her killed one of these days, but this was the third day in a row that he’d shown up outside her apartment. She didn’t see how else to label it.

Rhys laughed, but with a razor-sharpness that straightened her spine. Shadow unspooled around him, rippling from his form like someone had smeared charcoal along the outline of his portrait.

His voice dragged over her skin, delicate as a lover’s blade. “That sounds a bit sensationalized to my ears.”

The velvet promise in his voice, its underlying violence, raised every hair on her arm. Despite her better judgment, she said, “The best stories usually are.”

He was drifting closer. No longer propped against the wall, but standing in the middle of the street. Citygoers passed by, moving out of their way to avoid him, but he continued staring up at Feyre’s window like he didn’t notice. A great stone parting a river’s current.

“Would you allow me to buy your silence? With dinner, tonight?”

Feyre shook her head and pushed up to her full height. “I’m afraid our bargain gave you the wrong impression, High Lord. I can’t be bought.”

His mouth opened, but she shut the window with exaggerated force before she could hear his response. She hurried into the kitchen, where Nesta and Elain were both sitting at the table with raised brows that said they’d been listening to every word.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” Nesta said. “If you think you have any agency with him, you’re deluding yourself.”

Elain took a long sip of her tea, not meeting Feyre’s eyes. Her silent way of saying she agreed.

They didn’t know the full truth. She let them think the same as everyone else in that tavern—that the High Lord had seen a pretty, half-human novelty and wanted to have his fun for an evening. Feyre hadn’t told them how she met the High Lord in the alleyway, how he’d saved her life and slaughtered his captain. They didn’t know that he’d discovered her daemati ability and that he hadn’t touched her, at least not the way they assumed, during those twenty-four hours she’d been subject to his will.

I have plans for you, Feyre Archeron.

Yes, she was playing a dangerous game, but one she had stumbled into unknowingly. She was in its trenches now, fumbling blindly, and she already knew she was far too deep in shit to find a way out now.

“What was I supposed to do?” Feyre demanded, relying on her temper to disguise the helplessness clawing at her. She wished Nesta could give her an answer. “Let him buy me dinner? I’m sure that would have gone over splendidly.”

Nesta set her teacup on its saucer with enough force to send the porcelain ringing. The sound speared through the room, so sharp it made Feyre’s teeth ache. “You could have kept the window shut and ignored him. You’re only indulging his game by acknowledging him.”

“He’s our High Lord, Nesta.” Feyre flung her arms out in exasperation. “I can’t just ignore him. We’re required by law to pay him our respect.”

“Oh, because that conversation was brimming with respect.”

Feyre’s temper reared. “If you know so much better than me, what would you do?”

Nesta took a moment to respond, paying the question more consideration than Feyre expected. Once she came to her decision, Nesta tipped her chin and said with quiet steel, “I would have taken his money and bought a ship that would carry us as far away from Velaris as we could get.”

And maybe… maybe that was precisely what Feyre should have done.

-

That night, Feyre dreamt of the sea, churning beneath a low sun that cast its rippling surface into a deep, honey gold. It swirled and swirled until it crashed against a wall of crystal glass and emptied down into her open mouth.

Her throat burned against its invading strength, but it warmed her chest, and she sighed, setting the crystal down on a table.

“I heard your plan for our little recruit epically crashed and burned.”

“Shut up.”

Neither of those voices belonged to her. They were deep and smooth like the golden sea refilling her glass, churning again as a broad, umber hand lifted the cup and swirled its contents.

“Cheer up. I’m sure she’ll come around.”

“Leave me to drink in peace, you bastard.”

If more was said, it was lost to the bottom of the glass and the torrent of golden liquid that washed over her, its current warm as it carried her out to sea, then back to shore. The sun’s touch prickled over her skin, and she thought she heard a soft voice whisper—

Sweet dreams, Feyre.

-

Feyre was being followed.

The unsettling awareness of it skittered down her spine. She stood in line for a bakery on the corner of the Palace of Bone and Salt. It was a busy day at the market, and a glance over her shoulder betrayed only the passerby flitting between stalls.

Eyes of varying jewel and earthen tones swam past, many straying towards the palace’s largest attractions of smoked meats and spun confections. If any attention snagged on Feyre as she scanned the crowd, it was brief and largely accidental—apart from one ash-haired lesser fae, who met her stare and offered an inviting smile. That was a strange, new thing she’d become accustomed to. People treated her differently now that she was wearing handwoven clothes from the Palace of Thread and Jewels and not an oversized tunic she’d won off a sailor’s back.

With her fine sleeves covering the bargains inked onto her skin and her hair down to cover the smooth curve of her ears, Feyre looked just like any other citygoer. No one in the market was paying her any mind, but she couldn’t shake the unease coiling a knot in her gut. With a huff of air, Feyre stepped reluctantly out of line to see if anyone else abandoned their place to follow her. She earned her a few curious glances, but there was little movement aside from the few who shuffled forward to claim her spot.

That was fine. There was more than one place to get bread in the Palace of Bone and Salt, and she ambled in the direction of another stall as though she’d merely caught its scent and found its offer more tantalizing. The line was shorter, which promised the quality of the bread was less appealing, but maybe that meant it was cheaper, too.

“Good morning,” the baker chirped, standing beside her proud display of fresh bread, each wrapped lovingly in twine and wax paper.

There were other delicacies, too. The morning sun glinted off a row of glazed pastries generously dollaped with berries as vibrant as a freshly cut ruby—and nearly as expensive. Between the cost of their new apartment and the clothes they’d purchased last week, there wasn’t enough coin left over from Feyre’s bargain to afford her sweet tooth.

Just as Feyre opened her mouth to order, someone reached over her shoulder, pointing an elegant finger towards the pastries she’d been eying.

“Two of those, please,” said a male voice, deep and churning as a honeyed sea. Feyre stiffened. It had been nearly two weeks since she’d last heard that voice. “And what else were you after, darling? A loaf of bread, I presume.”

She whirled to find a familiar pair of violet eyes, half-lidded with delight. He was standing so close he needed to stare down his nose to meet her eyes.

Feyre bared her teeth at him. “Have you been following me?”

“Good morning to you, too,” he purred, slipping his coin to the baker without even counting how much he was overpaying her.

No wonder all the shopkeepers in Velaris thought so highly of him. Not that she’d been asking, of course. But in the weeks since their bargain, she had been listening more intently. Checking the tabloids if only to ensure her name didn’t end up among them. For all the gossip traded in this city like its own currency, she noticed there had been remarkably little chatter about the High Lord’s bargain with the witch of Velaris. Though if he was aiming for discretion, cornering her in the busy marketplace seemed counterintuitive to that goal.

Feyre crossed her arms. “What do you want?”

“You can be so grouchy in the morning,” he said, clicking his tongue.

The baker handed him a pastry, which he immediately offered to Feyre.

“Here, have something to eat.” When she only stared, he raised a brow. “Do I need to take a bite to prove that I haven’t poisoned it?”

The baker looked affronted by the question, which was the only reason Feyre took the damn thing from him.

“Thanks,” she said, ice dripping from her voice.

Rhys was satisfied enough by her response that he didn’t push further. With a charming smile towards the baker—the kind he flashed like he intended its recipient to begin fawning over him—he accepted the second pastry and handed Feyre a loaf of bread.

Once they were out of earshot, Feyre pushed her uneaten pastry back in his direction. “I don’t want it.”

“No?” Rhys swiped his finger through the jam in the center. It collected at his fingertip, gleaming like a pinprick of blood, and he held it an inch from her lips with a taunting smile. “Not even a taste?”

Taste, something whispered in the back of her mind, urging her to move forward, to dart her tongue across his skin. Perhaps it was a leftover cry from the child who could still remember how sugar melted on the tongue, from a time when her father used to return from his voyages with treats from faraway lands. Feyre leaned back, less from the threat of the High Lord’s fingers and more because she didn’t trust herself not to give into that wild and inexplicable impulse.

“And what will it cost me?” She demanded, stoking her anger to smother that strange ache. “Another day in your service?”

Rhys pulled his hand away. “Just your company,” he said, holding her gaze while he licked his finger clean with a long, exaggerated swipe of his tongue.

She tried not to think of the dream he’d given her on the night of their bargain, how she’d hovered over his mouth, close enough to feel his breath, and what that tongue might have done if she’d let him continue. Tried—and failed miserably.

His eyes sparked like he could see the direction of Feyre’s thoughts, despite how she triple-checked that her shields were still up.

Feyre narrowed her eyes. “My company for how long?”

“Only the time that it takes you to eat the pastry.”

Oh? It was roughly the size of her palm, but Feyre wagered she could still eat it in a single bite if she needed to.

“Fine.” She took a pointedly large bite and said around it, “But you might consider talking fast.”

If he was offended by her bad manners, he did a good job disguising it behind a laugh. “Have you considered that I simply enjoy your company, Feyre?”

She swallowed around the thick bite. “I think you like to check in on your loose ends.”

That prompted a raised brow. “Is that what you think you are?”

“Don’t worry. I’ve left my life of gambling and mind reading behind.”

“And what are you doing now?”

Feyre raised the loaf of bread in her hand. “Shopping.”

“I mean to make money.”

“I haven’t decided yet,” she said with an innocent hum. “But hey, worse comes to worse, I could always get a job at one of the pleasure halls. Do you think you could give me your personal recommendation?”

Rhysand’s pupils flared, and Feyre’s heart jumped into an uneven beat at the darkness she saw flickering there, accompanied by a sideways smile. “I could write you a glowing recommendation, Feyre, but I personally think that’d be a waste of your talents.”

“Oh?” She took another bite of her pastry, meeting his eyes as if to say, your window’s closing. “And what would you have me do instead?”

“You could come work for me.”

There it was.

Pushing him, she crooned, “In your bedroom?”

Rhysand gripped her chin, turning her face towards his. “Is that where you’d like to serve?”

A challenge. An offer. A threat, maybe.

Her nerve was crumbling beneath the full force of his gaze. Those eyes seared straight through her, and though she knew her mental shields were in place, she somehow felt like he could read every thought she’d ever had. Her soul laid bare to him.

She wanted to make him feel equally riled. To waver the control he so carefully laid in place. Maybe that was why she whispered to him, poisonous and sweet, “Maybe I want to sit on your throne instead.”

His fingers tightened. She’d just threatened to steal his crown, and yet he was grinning like a fiend. “That could be arranged.”

Claws raked against her mental shields, and with it, an image flashed: Feyre, with her legs spread over the arms of a dark throne, Rhysand crouched before her, his head buried in her thighs. She flinched, struggling against his hold to escape the vision. His grip was iron-tight, and he only yanked her closer, leaning in until his lips grazed the curve of her ear.

“I have been exceptionally generous with you, Feyre Archeron, and your behavior has been atrocious in return. Is it a bid for my attention, or has someone never bothered to teach you any manners?”

Feyre gritted her teeth. “Some might say it’s part of my charm.”

The back of his throat rumbled. Rhys pulled away just enough to examine her face. His eyes narrowed in on her lips and he swiped his thumb upwards, brushing away a bit of leftover jam, which he then held in front of her mouth. Waiting.

Their eyes met, and he said, “Even I am a man of limited patience, Feyre.”

She parted her lips and he pressed his thumb between them, his remaining fingers holding her firm so she couldn’t pull away. With her cheeks burning, and her eyes boring into his, she pressed her tongue to the pad of his finger and licked away the jam.

“Good girl,” he said, releasing her.

Feyre wiped at her lips like she could erase the humiliation of what she’d just been made to do. With a glare in his direction, she shoved the rest of the pastry in her mouth. Rhysand’s chest was heaving, eyes simmering at her defiance.

All she said was, “Thank you for the food, High Lord.”

Then she stalked off, trying to put as much distance between them as physically possible. Rhysand didn’t pursue—at least not from what she could see glancing over her shoulder. But the oily, uneasy feeling of being followed didn’t relent, no matter how many crowds she weaved through.

Feyre veered another corner before she decided that even if Rhys was following her, it wasn’t as if he didn’t know where she lived. It wasn’t as if she could escape him in his own damn city. With a sigh, she cut across an alley that she knew would take her back to the Palace of Bone and Salt.

She dodged a shopkeeper loading barrels into the back of her store and kitchen staff filling up buckets of water from the outdoor spigots. Their curious stares trailed her as she passed, but it loosened some of her tension to know she wasn’t alone.

Not alone, indeed. Soon, that creeping sensation cracked over her spine with the urgency of a snapping whip. She noticed the shadows lurking in her periphery before she picked up the footsteps, and Feyre whirled, prepared to give him another piece of her mind.

Except it was not Rhysand standing behind her.

Feyre barely registered this information before her body was sent barrelling into the brick wall at her back. The air knocked out of her, and she’d only had a moment to gasp when her assailant grabbed her by the throat, trapping that precious breath beneath his palms.

Black cloth covered the lower half of his face, but his eyes were exposed. Hazel eyes, wild and burning as they narrowed on her, as his gloved fingers tightened against her throat. She clawed and thrashed at his grip, but he met each of her pathetic blows with unflinching strength.

“Please,” she choked.

She speared her magic towards him, only to slam into a mighty wall of cruel, vicious steel.

“You’re close with the High Lord,” he said.

Feyre shook her head.

The cloth over his cheeks shifted, and if she had to guess he was baring his teeth as he snarled, “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not,” she rasped.

His voice was the violent thunder rolling over a midnight sky. “You looked pretty close to me when he had his fingers in your mouth.”

Feyre kicked her legs out, shrieking her exasperation that nothing she was doing had any impact on this cold, ruthless male. She flashed her teeth at him. “And I would have bitten his fingers off for it, if he wasn’t High Lord.”

Something flickered in the male’s eyes, a certain understanding, and his fingers loosened on her throat. Feyre drew in a sharp breath, greedily sucking air back into her lungs.

“You resent him?”

Feyre held her tongue. She didn’t know who this male was, who he might be reporting back to. But her silence said enough.

He let go of her throat entirely. “Well then, how’d you like to make some coin and even your score with the High lord?”

Her interest was piqued. But so was her suspicion.

“Doing what?”

“He has something that belongs to me. Steal it back, and I’ll pay you what it’s worth.”

Feyre cocked her head. “Tell me what I’d need to steal, and I’ll consider it.”

-

Two mornings later, Feyre woke to the sound of fluttering paper, and peeled her eyes open to find a letter resting atop her bedside table.

She knew where it was from, even before she lifted the parchment to her face and found the Night Court insignia stamped at its signature—the same one she found inside Rhysand’s desk drawer. The letter was penned in elegant scrawl, though its content was meaningless to her.

Feyre D-

Feyre Dar-

Feyre Darling,

Im… Ima.. g—

The letter crumpled in her fist. With the Night Court insignia, it looked like an official letter, perhaps even a direct order from the High Lord. Elain would read it for her if she asked, but Feyre didn’t trust Rhysand not to have added something incriminating or absurd.

When she knocked on his door hours later, the letter folded and shoved into her pocket, he opened it with a smile that said he knew she’d be paying him a visit today.

“Feyre,” he purred. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

She crossed her arms. “What does your letter say?”

“That’s for you to find out.”

Feyre tossed him a flat look. “Rhysand.”

“My, what a pleasant sound.” He stepped back into his entryway, gesturing to the hallway beyond. “Would you like to come in? I’d love to tempt my name from your lips a second time.” He craned his head. “Unless there’s another reason why you’ve come?”

She took a deep breath.

“I want to renew our twenty-four hour bargain.”

[jademint2581]

This should be fine, Kai thinks to himself when gathering the necessary ingredients among other groceries at the store. This is nothing more than me fulfilling a task Mr. Chidouin has given me.

This should do.

Back at the house Kai, after he's put away most of what he brought, starts the preparation process. Intending to get the most out of every moment he has left until it's time.

The rich darkness of the espresso swallows up the liqueur. It's as if the liquid is not a blend of two, but a reunion of that which has always been one and the same. In not just colour, but scent as well. The heat of the coffee is still there, but only faintly. Receding. Giving way to the relative coolness of the room. Ceasing. Gone. Kai finds himself feeling up his palms and fingers against the cup, holding onto the warmth as it leaves.

He lets go. This won't do.

Watching the vibrantly orange yolks and sugar combine into the beginnings of a custard is relaxing. The blades spin, the bain marie steams away and the mixture thickens. Bit by bit it thickens over the mild heat. Kai is mesmerized by the gradual change of the consistency, allowing himself to become absorbed into the slowing of time.

It's not the time yet. Not yet.

The creases deepen and the ropes thicken. It's time to get on with it. No matter how much one would like to prolong a moment, time cruelly marches on and the moment before is lost. The moment yet to come drawing nearer than before. The inevitable.

Mascarpone, vanilla extract, spinning blades. A moment more.

Whipping the cream to stiff peaks. Then fold, fold, fold. Each one a slow, steady step forward to the Hades.

Kai hears himself hum as he dips the savoiardi into the now cold, liqueur-spiked coffee. The tone is off and he repeats the errant part, unintentionally growing closer to being grounded in reality. As his delicate grip fails and a biscuit drops into the cup completely, he jolts back into the present.

He has to fish for the ladyfinger from the cup before it becomes too soaked, which almost has him swearing. Odd. My hands, shaking? Kai wagers it's just because he hasn't eaten for a while. Something about the shoemaker's children going barefoot. He chuckles at his silly negligence, shaking off the jitters as they scale his arms and sides.

Layer by layer, the deep dish becomes full and it's time to set it aside to wait for the moment it's supposed to be served. Kai stows it away in the fridge and closes the door. Now, I shall make the hours count.

Kai occupies himself with the other usual tasks around the house, making sure not to be seen by little Miss Sara once she arrives home with her mother. It's almost quite the entertaining game of dancing in the shadows, paving the way for the Chidouin daughter to have an ordinary day. It takes his mind off of whatever it is that he buries in with the layers of soaked cake and cream.

The hours go by and the kitchen is empty again. It's nearly time. Kai's jaw feels terribly stiff tonight.

Kai digs up the now cool and well-developed dishful of dessert from the fridge. When he dusts the top with some cocoa powder, his throat feels dry.

Supposedly, this kind of dessert is not exactly to Sara's liking, which is... fine, Kai supposes. It's quite alright.

Seems like only Mr. Chidouin himself is going to enjoy this treat prepared by Kai. Only one person to impress.

I sincerely hope you like it, sir. That's what Kai would've said if he could've spoken when he set a small plateful of the delicacy on Mr. Chidouin's desk.

Mr. Chidouin doesn't dismiss Kai. Kai takes this as a sign to stay and hear the verdict.

Mr. Chidouin barely breaks eyecontact as he enjoys the first few spoonfuls. He hums in satisfaction for the taste and texture but most of the sound is drowned out by the rushing of the veins in Kai's head, ringing in his ears.

You make a mean tiramisu, boy. I really like it. Make it again for me sometime, won't you?

Kai makes no face, instead responding with an of course, sir. This is not the time nor place. This is not the time nor place, he chants against the echoing shells of his consciousness.

With these words of acceptance Chidouin casts a warm smile Kai's way and enjoys more of the specially prepared tiramisu. The tiramisu Kai intended to be enjoyed, to be consumed. Kai can't help but lose the sight of where and why he is as he watches Mr. Chidouin so gleefully taking in the entirety of the delicious serving.

Finally the Chidouin Master chuckles and dismisses Kai, not having realised he must do so before Kai would find it appropriate to leave. Kai leaves with a modest bow and makes haste for the washing room. He silently glides through the air, not even feeling his feet on the lovely parquet of his new home.

The laundry ought to be moved into the drier.

In the washroom, Kai is alone. The time he'd dreaded had come and gone. Passed. I passed.

He holds the newly washed, still damp pink sweater of Miss Sara in his trembling hands as it catches his tears. In the silence, he can hear them make a quiet dapping sound upon hitting the fabric.

Oh dear, this won't do... This won't do at all.

[mademoiselle-red]

The wager that Sifeng didn’t quite win 

(a Love and Redemption analysis + headcanons)

In episode 58 of Love and Redemption, Sifeng challenges Bailin to a wager: he bets that Luohou Jidu is not a heartless demon hellbent on destruction. If he loses, he and Luohou Jidu would go to hell and die together. If he wins, Bailin will never appear in Jidu and Xuanji's lives again. At this time, Jidu and Xuanji are sharing one body. No matter whether he loses or wins, by the terms of his wager, Sifeng would remain by Jidu/Xuanji’s side (in death or in life) and Bailin and Jidu/Xuanji’s will never see each other again. 

Later, things seem to turn out exactly as Sifeng hoped: Luohou Jidu is influenced by Xuanji’s feelings and lets go of his desire to destroy the world. Bailin admits that he has lost the wager, and publicly apologizes to Jidu/Xuanji and asks her to kill him.

Xuanji’s soul takes back control over her own body, and following Sifeng’s wishes, she decides to let go of her hatred for Bailin and tells him: “I have no more room in my heart for hatred. I don’t want anything to do with you anymore.”

At this point in the story, Si Feng seems to have completely won the bet.

(In addition, the fact that Xuanji refers to Bailin as "other people” here is also very revealing: she really doesn't care about Bailin anymore. Xuanji has completely let go of her romantic feelings as the God of War and her hatred as Luohu Jidu. She is unwilling to take the life of “other people".)

But as Luohou Jidu had said in a previous episode, he is not Chu Xuanji. Sifeng knows Xuanji very well, but he doesn't truly know Jidu, and Xuanji, as just one small part of him in his ten thousand years of life, doesn't fully understand her other self either. So they both underestimated his fixation on Bailin. The moment Xuanji announced that she will have nothing more to do with Bailin, Jidu separated from her body. From that moment on, it became impossible for them to be one person again, because Jidu refused to get over Bailin. 

Since Xuanji doesn’t want any part in Bailin's life or death, Jidu finally leaves her behind to deal with Bailin on his own. In Luohu Jidu's life, Bai Lin could never be just "other people''. He stole Jidu’s life and forced him to become his. Now his life is forfeit: he now belongs to Jidu just as much as Jidu once belonged to him. 

So I think here, Bailin, who has lost the wager to Sifeng, wins back half the “prize”. Jidu is unwilling to follow Xuanji in fulfilling Sifeng's dying wish. He is unwilling to never see Bailin again. 

At the end of the story, he and Bailin recall the time they spent together, and finally confess to each other how they never forgot the time they spent together and how much they both cherished their bond.

A thousand years ago, all Luohou Jidu wanted was to be able to drink with Bailin every day. A thousand years later, he still cannot let go of their drinking date, the cup of wine that Bailin never drank, and the feelings that Bailin didn’t reciprocate.

Not only does he want Bailin to die, he also wants to die with him. This was when I started shipping this pairing. In most revenge plots, the protagonist kills the enemy who wronged him, and moves on. Why would he accompany Bailin in death and reincarnation if all he sought was revenge? What else does he want from Bailin? 

He cannot forgive Bailin for his betrayal and cruelty, but I think he also couldn't bear to just kill him and never see him again. The thought of Bailin never appearing in his life again is unthinkable. Luohou Jidu refuses the terms of Sifeng’s wager. He will never let Bailin go. 

A thousand years ago, he showed up to a date with his soulmate (actual word used in the drama) with a heart full of warmth and trust, but all he received in return was "betrayal by the one he loved and trusted". His original heart was dug out and sealed, and replaced with crystal heart. 

After a thousand years, when the crystal heart turned into flesh and blood, he left half of it with Xuanji and gave the other half to Sifeng to return his ten lifetimes of love and devotion (after all, this crystal heart grew flesh and blood because of Sifeng). 

So all that is left with Luohou Jidu now is his original heart, the one that was chopped to pieces by Bailin a thousand years ago. It is a heart full of love and hate, all tangled up. But the object of this heart’s love and of it's hate is Bailin, and only Bailin. 

This heart has been waiting for a thousand years for Bailin's reciprocation. And reciprocate he does. Bailin finally drinks his cup of wine, finally acknowledging who they are and who they have been to each other all these years. 

They look into each other’s eyes as they leave together, their gaze affectionate and gentle. 

[dream-meister-translations]

MAIN STORY : CHAPTER 3 PART 15

━

One week later on the anniversary of the boss's death. Early in the morning, just after dawn. All of The Bloody Lady's members had lined up in a row out front of the Primus Club. In their hands were the special guns that shoot Black Fairies, and bags of black powder. MAM : Ten long years we have waited for this day. And now, on the day of his death we will finally fulfill his lifelong dream! Everything is going to plan…Only, I can't seem to find Ymir and Len anywhere…? YMIR : We're here, Mam. MAM : Ah! I hadn't seen you two in such a long time. I'd thought you betrayed me too! LEN : You're the one who betrayed us, you idiot!

YMIR : It's true. We were treated badly by a young man named Testament who is good friends with you Mam. CROW : Our friends were hurt too. Some of 'em can't even move. MAM : Ha! You rats got yourselves caught in a trap, did you? Well, you got what you deserved! NOAH : Rouge would be fine if he stopped drinking. EMMA : (Both Kai and Sion are still working hard to cure the black powder patients… We can't let them hurt anyone else…)

EMMA : Using that gun will have horrible consequences. You will kill many people. Do you realize that? MAM : This is a family decision. Stay out of it, you outsider! EMMA : But this isn't a family decision. You're getting people involved who have nothing to do with this war. MAM : Shut your mouth, you little girl! EMMA : ……… MAM : You have no idea! This regret I feel…This hatred…This black vindictiveness that still consumes me after ten long years! Hate! Hate! Hate! A man killed my husband! Destroyed his dreams! He was betrayed by them! That's why I'm going to kill them all!! EMMA : ………

EMMA : (It's like she's possessed by a black fairy…) There was so much burning hatred radiating off of Mam…My chest tightened painfully. Witnessing such intense negative emotions caused me to flinch away from her. MAM : Let's find and purge the traitor! CAMUS : Wait, Mam! With that, Camus tossed a ruby statue of a woman at Mam's feet. CAMUS : I hereby request a bloody battle with you. MAM : ….!!!

A bloody battle is what they call an official duel within The Bloody Lady. It is said that if an underling battles the boss and wins, they take over as the new boss. If they lose, they die. CAMUS : Mam. You must duel with me for the boss's position. Those are the rules. MAM : ………. EMMA : (Hopefully Mam takes the bait…) BLOODY LADY MEMBER 1 : Where the hell is this coming from!? BLOODY LADY MEMBER 2 : Isn't a bloody battle a bit old fashioned these days? BLOODY LADY MEMBER 3 : Camus is clutchin' at straws. The members merely scoffed at him. Not taking his challenge seriously. However, Mam crossed her arms and narrowed bloodshot eyes in his direction. MAM : A bloody battle… We haven't had one of those in so many years… I'd completely forgotten… CAMUS : It's true, there hasn't been a bloody battle in over ten years. But, when the boss was alive, this tradition was very popular. He loved a good bloody battle.

MAM : But, Camus, you are no longer part of The Bloody Lady. You don't have the right to duel me. All you can do is sulk about the good old days. CAMUS : You are right. My life means nothing anymore. Therefore, I will wager everything I have on it instead. The lives of all the Primus Club members here. MAM : I knew you didn't care about them.

VICTOR : We're all part of the same guild. We agreed to give our lives. We want to protect it. LEN : Nah, I don't care about that. Camus said he was gonna win, so I took his side. Don't act like we're friends. VICTOR : I'm trying to say something profound! LEN : Well I don't wanna hear it, you idiot! SEVEN : ….The…Bloody battle…. MAM : What a group you've put together, Camus. They're all over the place. YMIR : Haha, it's still so weird seeing all of us getting along so well…Know this, even if I die, it's better than being at your beck and call, Mam. MAM : Looking at you, is like looking into a mirror of the past. It makes me sick. CAMUS : ………. MAM : Alright. Fair enough. Len and Ymir are still members of The Bloody Lady. So I shall take you up on your request to bloody battle. And when I win, I'll kill every last one of you! EMMA : (Well, she's on board…)

MAM : How would you like to do this? CAMUS : How about we play this game I used to play with the boss when I was a child? You load one bullet into the chamber of a revolver, spin the cylinder, then place the muzzle against your head and pull the trigger. We will pass the gun around. It's a simple, yet deadly game. MAM : This game is the 18th best game that I've ever played. Are you sure you can do it? CAMUS : …..Of course I can. Perhaps sensing Camus' strong determination, Mam's expression hardened. Becoming more serious. MAM : Show me the gun. Let me check if there are any tricks. CAMUS : Here. Go ahead.

Mam opens the chamber and pulls at the trigger. Inspecting both closely. MAM : A six-shooter. After checking to make sure it's not rigged, Mam loads one bullet into the chamber and spins the cylinder. MAM : The one who shoots first is always the one who requested the game, correct? CAMUS : Indeed. That is the rule the boss made. So it will be me this time. MAM : This is getting exciting. Here. Take it. Lifting the gun to his temple, Camus prepares to take the shot. After a few seconds pass, he still hasn't managed to pull the trigger. CAMUS : ………. EMMA : (Camus…?) MAM : Ahahahaha!! EMMA : Eh…?

MAM : This is why I asked if you were sure you could do it! LEN : The fuck…? YMIR : What the hell is going on? CAMUS : ………. VICTOR : Camus, are you okay? You don't look so good… LEN : Are you crazy!? You gotta be kidding me! Pull the fuckin' trigger! I bet on you 'cause you said you'd win!! Len is screaming at Camus, yet he shows no reaction. His face pale and hands trembling. SEVEN : .....Kukukuku…..

[trrickytickle]

Guitierrez Giggles 🪇

🦅☠️🐾🦅☠️🐾🦅☠️🐾🦅☠️🐾🦅☠️🐾🦅

"Jorge is my favorite kind of filmmaker- the guy who permeates every single aspect of his work with his ideas, his vision, and his hard work." -Guillermo de Toro, about Jorge Guitierrez in the foreword of The Art of The Book Of Life A/N: This is a long awaited collab with @toweroftickles !! this one goes out to his love of obscure weirdos and tickles and lol I just wanted to collab with him. On my part this took me for evsies to finish but it's done and it's our child. Check out his part (it's fuggin GREAT) If you couldn't tell, these fics are based on the wonderful works of Jorge Guitierrez, an artist I admire for his cartoons and passion for Mexican mythology as well as his way of telling action-packed stories filled with emotions. We settled on his stuff because we came to a mutual agreement that his work has a lot of cute lees AND is very creatve, fulfilling both our appreciation for lesser-known lees, art and tickles, ofc

🦅☠️🐾🦅☠️🐾🦅☠️🐾🦅☠️🐾🦅☠️🐾🦅

-The Book of Life- (lee!Xibalba, ler!La Muerte)

There was a certain flow to every day in the Land of the Remembered. Spirits came, tearful reunions happened, and almost every day was like an oxymoron of quiet chaos. The buildings seemed to glow and blend with the nature while skull-shaped hot air balloons and cascading flower petals sailed down from beacons of golden lights onto the infinite fiesta, each winding road and hill leading to increasingly vibrant festivities.

As always, La Muerte was keeping a watchful eye on her realm through her castle, smiling down at whom she considered the veterans of the living world- until she had noticed the intoxicating black smoke-cloud before her eyes which exploded into glowing green. Black tar spilled over her colorful floors, growing into a slender disproportionate figure with gleaming red eyes. Immediately, she froze wearily, recognizing the crimson skulls. As alluring as they were, La Muerte could only stand tortured as the blight on her realm- and love of her life poofed up before her. And she knew exactly what he was here for.

“Ugh, Xibalba.” she growled. What silly thing is it that you want this time?“ The mild mannered goddess walked closer to him, looking at him with her all-too-familiar glare of anger, the tone of her voice soft with a sarcastic lilt.

"Amor, please, please, just-”

“That’s right. You’re here to take your widdle wager back, isn’t that right, Balbito?” Shushing him by placing her finger on across his face of tar, her tone shifted into that of a degrading one, which, even still, was just as sweet as the sugar she was spun from.

The god circled the goddess, leaning into her. “Come on, I- I mean consider it! You ever think about how lonely it is down there? I’ll even stop toying with the mortals!” La Muerte scowled. “Ay ay ay, Xibalba… You’ll never stop toying with the mortals! How am I supposed to hand over the Land of the Remmebered to you if you keep on making silly wagers and empty promises?” Xibalba fake-sniffed. “A-at the very least I’d hope for some company, my dear..” That last word was accompanied by a carress to La Muerte’s face, resulting in a loud and clear slap. “Oof! That was uncalled for!”

“Oh bub-but, sweet Xibalba..” Her hand slowly found its way lower, crawling from his chin down to his torso. “You lost. And now…” She eventually settled into a pause near his stomach area, a long bony finger stroking over Xibalba’s middle. The god of the Forgotten stood dead in his tracks, swallowing and looking up at his love in both fear and excitement.

“Mi amor…”

However, this display of intimacy was as usual, not what it semed. Her fast fingers strummed along his neck, exploiting a sensitive spot from their days together. “..You are paying the price!” La Muerte continued, picking up the pace, her small, sweet hands gliding and digging into his ribs and down to his sides, applying just the right amount of pressure every time, all while looking smugly into the eyes of the ex-lover.

“Aw, ticklish little Balby~ How did I ever forget about this?”

“Kkgh- I don’t know.. UuAHAHA- maybe it was becahause you left me to -pff- rohohot in the wasteland of the dead- ack!” The tar god tittered, sputtering and coughing as his wife’s evil teasing drove him mad, though the barrier of his reactions was barely being broken.- that is, until La Muerte dug her skilled fingers into his wings. Ugh, why did it have to be there.. Still, Xibalba perservered, small raspy giggles cracking like bones while tar-like teeth grinded apprehensively all while his beloved’s careful and gentle strokes were making him suffer softly. Deep down, however it was something they both missed. They both enjoyed the intimacy and control which came with, but the couple was much too prideful to let their guard down.

“Amor, what beautiful wings you have… It’s a shame they’re such a weak point. Aw, how embarrasing.. Isn’t that right, you two?” His pair of wings thrashed rapidly, as if answering her question with delight. Xibalba swallowed a laugh.

Stopflappingstopflappingstop flappingstopflapping….. His mind repeated like it was a mantra of sorts while flailing around, trying to look away out of embarrasment when all La Muerte could do was just tease and coo and look lovingly into his eyes. Even she was lost in this juvenile game, her fingers playing him like some sort of living tar tuba, combing through his wings and viciously stroking his plumage, occasionally in circular motions, counting each feather like it was serious buisness. “It’s like I say every time. Tar and feathers… always stick.” La Muerte smirked, her gentle movements turning into crazed strokes inside the crooks of his wings- which was the tipping point for Xibalba.

“MuehehehertitA-HA-HA!! S-SPARE ME!!” he roared while the goddess sat over his back in her dress of marigolds. “Well, think of it this way, Balby. You came to me in the first place. This is what you deserve, no?” His reaction was her drive while she resumed, now using one of her diabolically small fingers to slide up and down along his neck in rapid motion, while sensually plucking a feather down from his wings to trace along his back. Oh no.

“And that was for EVER wanting to trade lands with me in the first place!” Xibalba's skeletal pupils' flashed a startled expression, while La Muerte was having the time of her life, her fingers shifting and poking and sliding while he writhed.

“Go on, apologize. Say you will rule the Land of the Forgotten, and that is final.”

“I will noho- nehehAHAHAHAH-NEVER do thahahat!”

No matter how this went, it would still be equally as rewarding both ways. Either he answers and gives up his pride, or she gets to continue with the evil tickles.

“Come on, I’ve seen you say worse things with that dirty mouth you have, you..” she crooned.

“Go on. Say. It. Say you-”

“Ah-HAH-i-hi will r-ruhuhule…”

“Yes?” The tickling halted, her fingers stilling to hear what he had to say.

“I, Xibalba will rule the Land of…”

“The Land of the what?” La Muerte spat, looking directly at her love.

“The Land of the Remembered.” Xibalba smiled smugly, looking up at La Muerte in a taunting fashion as she did him.

Total silence followed.

“XIII-BAAALBAAAAA!!!” And as if it was out of nowhere, the sweet goddess exploded out of sour temperament, pinning him down once again and targeting his sweet spots in what would later turn to more ways than one. He was going to be there a while.

-El Tigre (lee!Manny (/El Tigre) +Frida, ler!Zoe(/Black Cuervo)

After kicking some sweet Mustache Mafia tail below the smoky orange heights of the Miracle City volcano, (this time without the help of Raul, sentient mustache compadre) valiant young hero El Tigre shifted back to regular-old kid Manny Rivera while his sidekick Frida Suarez was still, well, Frida. They wandered around the city streets relishing in their victory, casually passing robbed jewelry stores, charred buildings and multiple previous crime scenes like it was just a regular afternoon (which it was, in Miracle City).

“And El Tigre’s done it again! The good old facial hair fling. Works every time, I tell ya!” He held his fist out only to be greeted with a swift punch on the top of his head.

“Um, hell-o, forgetting someone?!” Frida scoffed.

“AWCH!!- Yeah, yeah, you fought good, sorry.. or whatever. So.. what now? We check if El Oso’s robbing the bank for the millionth time?” Manny suggested.

“Psh, nawww! I’ve got a way better idea..”

“Play at the arcade 'till our wallets give out?” he retorted.

“Yeah, what else?” Both kids ran straight towards the pillar-like building, making it halfway up the stairs when as if it was out of nowhere, a fast but recognizable flurry of gold-streaked twilight and darkness scraped through the skies, causing the two to look upwards. There was a screech, and a loud, dramatic thud, and swooping down came a familliar raven-haired raven shrouded in the shadows, or better known as-

“It’s Black Cuervo!” Frida yelled. “You know what to do, Manny!”

“You betcha!” Spinning his belt, Manny proclaimed-

“El Tigre!”

“Well, well, if it isn’t my good friends; the hairy brown fuzzball and El Tigre. I knew I’d catch you at one of your usual haunts.” the raven villain crowed.

“Hey! You’ll never win!” yelled Frida.

“And neither will that nasty flock of yours!” the hero followed up.

“You have foiled my many evil plans, tore my heart into pieces, and now you insult mi familia!? Well, unfortunately for you two, I happen to have a secret weapon!” Raising her fist into the air, the “weapon” placed itself atop Black Cuervo’s upper lip. There it was. A silky, coifed golden-blonde mustache. “This baby’ll keep you busy while we steal that pretty little belt of yours. I’d like you brats to meet Juan. The mafia hooked me up in exchange for the small-small price of the El Tigre belt. So what’ll it be?” To the gothic villan’s dissapointment, the two stood there blankly and then promptly bursting into hollers of loud laughter as they rolled and banged their fists on the floor, practically crying. “L-look’s like you’ve -pfft- got a little something on your FACE! Bwahaha-ha- I’m sorry, just.. too funny, man!” Frida was practically dying, chortling over the hilarious and mildly horrifying sight.

“What’re you even going to do? Throw bird poop at me with your manly mustache, Black Chavo?” El Tigre quipped, flicking the fiend’s fake facial hair.

“W-whatever, stupid Tigre! You wouldn’t want to know what he’s capable of… nor would you want to call me.” the villian pleaded with faux-innocence.

“Bird poop or not, I’ll conquer anything I throw at you!” Lifting his arm up and pointing towards the sky, he proclaimed; “This, I SWEAR-AAIIIEEEK!!” Tendrils of hair reached to swiftly swipe over the hero’s sides, interrupting his catchphrase by making him leap up to the air. Eventually, both strands formed into claws, ghosting over his sides while his eyes darted to observe the situation. With no time to escape, the bristly claws started swiping up and down, feeling silky yet effectively sharp. As they tickled tauntingly, Black Cuervo held the hero up just above the air, rendering him unable to do anything but kick and thrash like a fish out of water while she didn’t have to move a muscle, watching the object of her unwilling affection suffer.

“What’s wrong, Tigre? Don’t like your tummy scratched? Why don’t you just surrender then?”

“Nahehe- I’ll nehehever! You knohow it!” He flushed at the teasing which only made him struggle more.

“Y'know, I’ll let you go if you call me..” the raven girl proposed with a bat of her eyelashes.

“Nohot in a mihihillion lifetimes!” El Tigre spat back.

“Fine, whatever then, stupid Tigre.” The claws split off into multiple smaller, somehow more devious featherlike tendrils, squeeezing and poking around at his ribs and armpits. “Let him go now, you mustached meanie!” Frida chirped in anger while charging at the villian, whipping her goggles around like a lasso and smacking the raven girl atop the nose, causing Black Cuervo to drop the superhero previously in her clutches, which she retaliated by scooping Frida’s arms into a coifed coil, the other part of the mustache waggling and diving directly in front of her torso.

Any last words, Suarez? Think you’re so amazing, trying to take him away from me…“

"You plain stink!” Frida’s face flushed, yelling out in humiliation. “Thanks for the compliment. Now sic’ em, Juan!” The mustache bobbed up and down in agreement and brushed against her torso, locked directly on her stomach as it transformed into a feather-esque shape, swirling around in figure-eights.

“AHYA-HYAHYAHYA!! A-A little heheheHEEEELP, please!??!”

“On it, Frida!” El Tigre jumped triumphantly towards his trapped friend, only to be interrupted by a flying, mustache-administered-tickled-Frida-punch, slamming him against his sidekick slightly, knocking him to the floor while he was scooped up into the sinister arms of Black Cuervo, whom he attempted to kick in the face only to be grasped by the ankle by the mustache while his sidekick still struggled within the Cuervo’s coils. “Plea-hease! Muh- Make it stahahahap!” she yelled. “Make it stop? Do you think I’m the kind of person who’d make it stop? Big news, niña! I’m evil capital E!”

“Oh I’ll make it stop, alright! El Tigre jumped out from behind both girls, his claws unsheathed. Within the noise of laughter, he announced. "Oy, Cuervo. I’ll have to admit, blonde’s a pretty good look on you!”

The gothic girl flushed pink. “R- really? Thanks, Tigre! You’re the best! Say, why don’t you-”

K-SHING!

While Black Cuervo was in a giddy lovestruck daze, El Tigre had managed to cut Frida free from her clutches.

“Finally! I’m fuh-free!” Frida panted. “Que!?” Black Cuervo exclaimed. “You must pay for this. I will not stand for betrayal! Ven-”

RRRRRRRRRR-RIP!! Within the heat of confrontation, Frida had ripped Juan off of the Cuervo’s face. “On three, two, one…” she counted down, a particularly mean smile stretching across her cheeks. “yyyYEEEEE-OOOOOWCH!” As the villain yelled, Manny and Frida fist-pumped, walking away from the scene with satisfaction.

“That was absolute torture!” the goggled girl yelled, wiping a tear. “But seeing you get it… well, it was kinda funny.” she smirked. “C'mon, lemme tickle you, muchacho! It’ll be hi-LARIOUS! Puhprettyplease?”

“I don’t even wanna talk about it.” He grumbled. “However…” His frown shifted into an evil, almost sharp grin. “There is something you can help with.” “Is it what I think it is?” Frida gave a knowing smirk, wriggling her fingers as if it was like a signal. “On, three, two, one.. Get her!” She yelled, the duo running straight at the exhausted raven girl, thirsty for revenge.

“Wait, no no no no no- Ahahahaieee!! Stop! Stop that!”

-Maya and the Three- (lee!Zatz, ler!Acat)

The gods respected- more so tolerated Lord Mictlan and Lady Micte's iron fist over the Underworld.

Between causing terror in mortal kingdoms and lands, bringing upon the two forces that ruled theirs- war and death, there were times when they weren't needed by the god of war, but any fleeting moment would be soon interrupted with his summons. The tension was always thicker than the hot air that flowed through the realm.

Today was one of those days. Zatz, the prince of bats arrived at the throne room with a dark flurry of his subjects behind him. Lord Mictlan had required him over on Luna Island to speak with the Wizard Council, in search of the Gran Brujo lest they declare divine war. Said prince groaned, marching up to his tall, twisted throne while fire boomed in the background. With Lord Mictlan's yell, the bats dissipated and flew off into the corners of his triangular abode. "Stand before me, Prince of Bats." The God of War's voice had an irritated sibilance about it. A chill spread down Zatz's back as he kneeled- Lord Mictlan was unpredictable as he was tactical. At any moment his life could end in a puddle of liquid gold. Lord Mictlan snarled. "Your last success was in vain. I'm losing faith in you to bring him over- dead or alive." There was an assertive metalic stomp which never failed to make Zatz's blood run cold and with that he walked away- only to be greeted with a tilt to the chin and a kiss to the forehead- by Acat, the goddess of tattoos- and his on-and-off girlfriend. Zatz sighed. "Look, Acat- you don't have to come with me." "My poor, poor, principe.. There, there, Acat will take care of it for you.." Ending the sentence off with a sultry chuckle, every step Zatz took out of the palace, she followed along. Inked designs flowed along her body from her head to her arms to her back, all with a meaning and a purpose. Zatz shrugged off her flirty demeanor in disinterest, brandishing his macuahuitl. "Come ooooon, let me come with you, guapo.." she chuckled evily, circling around the prince. "I bet my snakes could send that bobo flying!" "No, Acat." Zatz's voice echoed through the daunting castle hallways. Acat inched closer towards the prince, a finger slowly running up his torso. "You know I don't take no for an answer, right, Zatz?" The prince flinched, stifling a small smile. "Besides, I know how to make you crack, mi principe.." She followed the sentence up with a sadistic laugh, and her boyfriend stood still as a stone. "Y-you are not doing that again." "Oh yes, yes, yes I AM!" The tattoo sleeve on Acat's hand glowed purple, squirreling under Zatz's thick armor. "You better show me a smile, chulo.." The slithering snaky chain squirmed at his sides, teasing them with slow and methodical drums playing him as if he were a piano. He couldn't crack- no, no matter what. His teeth clenched, and he squeezed his left eye shut in a feeble attempt at resistance. "Trying not to laugh, are we, corazon?" the tattoo goddess cooed. "G-raah-UGH! This isn't fair!" Acat's hands squirmed their way into Zatz's armpits, causing them to slam shut on impact. When they zeroed in on that spot, he loudly swallowed, exhaling with laughter. In response to that, the claws danced across his hollows eagerly, eventually eliciting loud, bellowing laughter. "Grrr.. Ahahack!- Acahahat! Nohot the claws, you know this- aha-HA-ha!" Zatz growled, a kicking, loud puddle on the floor just from mere gentle scratches. Acat giggled, taking great enjoyment in knowing the power she had over her boyfriend. "Well then, how about the snakes?" Suddenly, the designs on her skin shifted and the metalic fingers which wormed inside Zatz's armpits turned into quetzalcoatl-like faces which were eager to give his tummy a tongue-bath. "Hehehehaha.. Now then, bring me along, will you?" Acat coyly teased, her snakes lapping away at Zatz's midsection. "You see, I can do anything you want me to.. even break the ever so brooding bat prince~" There was no response. Only loud laughter. Acat smiled to herself. "I'll take that as a yes, mi principe..." The snakelike creatures shifted their focus, the chains now coiling around his calves. Zatz gulped, while his bulky boots being stripped off, feet placed on Acat's lap. "And a little extra convincing.." Acat drew her usual smoke-and-mirrors tactics in exchange for her painted fingernails, which she teasingly wiggled at Zatz before they skittered all the way across both feet.

"Grr-rahahaha! Me hace cosquilahahas!" Zatz snarled. His legs kicked at her face to no avail as Acat's right hand turned back to a claw-tipped chain to wrap his ankles up in. He writhed, he squirmed and he yelled, cursing and thrashing, but never admitting defeat. "*pant* Aha-ha-lright, fine! You can cohome with me!" Zatz heaved, exhausted and tingly from Acat's loving persuasions. The chains gave out, and she lent a cold hand to him as he stood up. "That was easy, wasn't it? Mmmmw-uah!" Acat gave an unreciprocated kiss as Zatz flushed a slight rose. It was about to be a long, long trip to Luna Island.

[mengyao]

3, 5, 6, 22!

3: What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need?

my problem is that i can always be arsed to write all the set-up and context and this is how i get into Pickles (all my wips get out of hand.) i'm sure there's something though… OH i know. it's the ling wen/pei ming/shi wudu fic of my dreams, which involves escalating bets/wagers and culminates in a sleazy threesome but they all have feelings about it but the feelings are complex and unnameable. they are not in love but they love each other but also they don't. but they do. you know.

to get the vibe i want, it couldn't just be pwp though. like i would want this to be a trojan horse of emotionally dense 3 tumours character study. but also funny, because they're comedians to me. minimum 5k of buildup necessary, and in order to do that and have it be good i would have to Get A Degree In Pei Ming And Ling Wen And Shi Wudu and tbh the reason i don't write more poly ships is that having to canon review to get two characters' voices down is enough work as it is… you expect me to do more than that……………….

5: What character that you’re writing do you most identify with?

i've flippantly posted about this before but i do feel like i have an elevated level of insight into the nhs + nmj dynamic due to the circumstances of my dad's health issues/head injury/death lmao. i would never do all of that though <3

6: What character do you have the most fun writing?

nie huaisang is the obvious answer (assigned comic relief at birth. a font of earnest sadstuck. deserves to go to prison. the swiss army knife of blorbos.) but shi qingxuan is edging up there. i thought my beefleaf sex pollen fic was going to be 3k but it ended up 8k because sqx as a pov character just kept going and going and going and i was having a GREAT time. i used to shy away from writing characters who are talky and have big personalities because i felt like whatever i wrote would turn out feeling fake and/or annoying, or that it would be more obvious if my characterization was off than if the character was more subdued… i guess i'm just more self-confident now?

more than just being extroverted and chatty, i think what's sooo fun and novel to me about shi qingxuan is that they're such a doer. after primarily writing cerebral repressos for the past 15 years it's so refreshing to write a character whose reaction to most situations is to follow their instinct… they keep the plot moving! never a dull moment!

22: Do you reread your old works? How do you feel about them?

ah ha ha ha ha yeah no i reread stuff i wrote in the last ~2 years allll the time. i know what i like! and if it already existed up to spec i wouldn't have written it! there's definitely stuff i find cringe and parts i skim if i'm not happy with them but overall i spend a lot of time on my own ao3 page......

///

you also asked about foowd extras... i still find writing + sharing these kind of mortifying because despite bravado about my trans fanfiction brand, part of my brain is still like "okay but NOW it's cringe because NOW it's not 'suicidal closeted trans character is depressed and makes bad choices' but 'comparably emotionally stable character is a known transgender and has some good things happen to her' so everyone will point and laugh over your SELF INDULGENT WISH FULFILLMENT!!!1!1!!1" because the particular brainworm i find very difficult to remove re: residual shame over writing trans fic is the idea of anything you write being automatically discounted as personal projection basically on par with readerfic rather than coming from being genuinely interested in the canon character(s). and wanting to write about nice things happening to fictional trans people being like, THE WORST MOST CRINGE thing you could ever do. but i persisteth.

it's funny because i WOULDN'T even say they are just fluffy wish fulfillment stuff... the four "chapters" i'm planning on posting have a bit of an emotional arc, and what interested me enough to write them out instead of just leaving them as comfy eyelid movies were questions like "now that it's actually happening, how WOULD nhs actually feel about the prospect of not only stepping down from sect leadership but uprooting her entire life to go join another sect," with the idea that, if that were to actually happen rather than stay an escapist fantasy, she'd probably feel... pretty conflicted about it! it would be weird (even if ultimately worth it)!

so there's that. and then there's the fact that the entire original fic largely sprung out of ideas about sangcheng eventually being in a long-term relationship that looked a certain way, and then reverse engineering the interpersonal arc that would be needed to get them there (and that becoming the main fic.) foowd proper ends when they've only just even actually "become a couple," and you don't get to see much of that... so i wanted to chuck at least SOME of what i imagine about straight married sangcheng's day to day life into the world. (not that it's even at that point yet LMAO. EVENTUALLY!!!) if for no other reason than that there's a strong chance that sometime i'll reference something from the extended foowd lore in casual conversation forgetting that no one has any idea what i'm talking about because it does not exist anywhere except my brain

[cathygeha]

REVIEW

Kissing the Highland Twin by Amy Jarecki

The MacGalloways 4

 Not sure why memories of The Patty Duke Show popped up as I read this story, but they did. Perhaps it is the twin-lookalike thing even though Patty and her cousin were identical and not siblings. Perhaps it was their age that kept me from thinking first of the movie The Parent Trap. For whatever reason…I enjoyed both the show and movie and this book, too.

 A game of chess, a wager, and twins swapping places is a setup for disaster and we know that going in but just how the disaster will play out and how all will be resolved is what this story is all about. Twins can look alike, might be able to play the part of one another for a limited period of time, would more than likely want to support one another, but when a woman and love enter the situation…hmm…

 Philip is serious, reserved, horse-mad, a numbers guy, and probably will change a LOT if/when he finally truly falls in love. I do wonder what type of woman will appeal to him. Perhaps a horse-made female but then again, I am sure we will find out in his book when it is written.

 Andrew is outgoing, a people pleaser, observant, and social. He truly ‘sees’ Eugenia and begins to fall for her even though he is trying to just play the part of his brother for a few days. The two brothers are close but perhaps not as close as they could be…I would like to know more about them and what their lives were like before this story begins.

 Eugenia is quiet, tries to avoid confrontation, is undervalued by her mother and younger sister, and has dreams that she hopes to fulfill. She is unsure of Philip’s desire to marry and is setting up options for herself…just in case. I admired her for her willingness to step out on her own but wonder if she too readily made her move and might have benefited by a bit of talking before walking.

 The disaster created by stepping into his brother’s shoes is eventually resolved and a happy ending is achieved, but the brothers are both put through a bit of trouble before everything turns out right for the happy couple.

 Thank you to NetGalley, Oliver Heber Books, and the author for the ARC – this is my honest review.

 4-5 Stars

      BLURB

 When Lord Andrew MacGalloway agrees to attend a house party, posing as his twin, he does so with good intentions. After all, it wouldn’t be fair to his brother’s fiancé if he did not assume his twin’s mantle. Though an inconvenience, he fully intends to make the event pleasant for Miss Eugenia Radcliffe, engaging her in idle chat, long, chaperoned walks, and dancing the appropriate number of waltzes. Except carefully laid plans when one is impersonating his brother tend to go awry, especially given identical twins are not exact replicas of one another. When Eugenia discovers Andrew is not the man to whom she is betrothed, she is humiliated and distraught. Prior to arriving at the party, she suspected her fiancé would not honor his promise of marriage, and now she has proof. With no other choice, Eugenia renounces the engagement. Unable to remain in Scotland a moment longer, she flees. Andrew feels dreadful for this untoward turn of events and races after the lass, determined to save her from ruin. But does the resolute beauty want to be rescued by the dashing Highlander, or might she have other adventures in mind?

[baileye]

however much you may attempt to live in the moment, your knowledge of your actions in the past and your projections of what might happen in the future are always part of that present moment. As Rosamond Lehmann writes in her novel of that name, the present is like a note in music—given meaning only by its context, by its place within a sequence of sounds that together create the melody.      

When I’m dancing—really dancing—a three-and-a-half-minute song can fill my entire mental horizon, blocking the views of the past and its regrets and the future and its fears as effectively as a black-out curtain. Great dancing is like entering another dimension, a sealed-off space. It’s an experience of Csikszentmihalyian flow, of being completely enthralled by the action itself, by the doing, without any regard to progress, teleology or results. It’s like inhabiting a shell-world, with a god at its heart—like the planet that Iain M. Banks so beautifully describes in his novel, Matter. It’s an onion—more pungent with every torn-off layer. There’s no forward motion: just down, down, down, deeper and deeper in.

And yet this same obsessive focus on the near, the now, the present can also be a self-destructive spiral. It’s the same myopic impulse that keeps a gambling addict at the slot machine in a pair of adult nappies, reaching out blindly for drinks and junk food from time to time and otherwise as laser-focused on pressing that button as a rat in a Skinner box. The same impulse led eighteenth-century dandies to wager away their estates in a single delirious night.  

I’ve always found it difficult to strike a balance between the distant view and the near one, between looking towards and preparing for the future—a future that, after all, I can’t predict and that may scupper my plans and make my efforts obsolete—and focusing on the near at hand, the enjoyment of this moment, here and now. And, however I strike that balance, there’s always the danger that I might allow my guesses about the future to devalue the present and vice versa. When I look at my own life with a future-focused eye, I see a woman of 53, unhappily single, with a precarious income and without property or a pension plan—surely, heading for disaster. But when I focus back in on the present, I find myself writing this in my cozy bedroom in a cheerful, rambling old Victorian house on the edge of a forest, which I share with old friends, after spending the morning doing fulfilling and enjoyable work. How can we, then, switch focal lengths effectively: look through the near-sighted pane at the present moment, without recklessly disregarding future consequences and then through the far-sighted area of glass at the future, without becoming an ascetic, a workaholic or a compulsive worrier?

In his book, Blueprint: The Evolutionary Origins of a Good Society, Nicholas Christakis recommends a dual vision of our fellow human beings (he has talked to me about this in more detail here). There is value in the close-up view of individuals and in the zoomed-out, astronaut’s view of humanity as a species on our blue-green home. (The trouble is when we regard people from an intermediate distance and see only groups, factions, nations and parties.) What’s valuable, it seems to me, when looking at at our own lives and when looking at other people is the ability to keep shifting focus: to revel in the intricate detail we can make out from nearby without losing sight of the far-off whole.

[logos-of-experience-and-truth]

Podcast Transcript: Season 1) Episode 10 Fertile Soil

Podcast Transcript: Fertile Soil

Welcome back to experiencing the Logos of truth and knowledge. This will be the final episode of this deep dive into many different aspects of the mysteries of Christ, and yet, still in my mind it is just an introduction. There are reasons for this especially if you're a beginner in the search for truth and wisdom from the mysteries of this, the mystic walking upon the narrow path of the Christ.  Though many of the things I've spoken about are deep dives into many of these metaphysical and highly interesting questions there are many other topics I've only brushed upon in relation to the first mystical experience I described as the Ascension to the Temple of the Father.  The specific reason for this is I didn't want to explain everything learned and gained from this experience since it did occur seventeen years after the very first Awakening experience.  And my plan is to unfold how much of a noob I was in regard to these mysteries at the onset of that experience and how knowledge of everything that had occurred was given and or fulfilled in the Ascension to the Temple experience and then brought to further depth and fruition over the next few months until my next set of mystical experiences. Speaking about all of this in this manner is bringing up what I want to talk about in this final episode since I've had several days now to think about it.  I think this episode will feel and sound much different than the previous ones and even as I outline and picture myself speaking inside of my mind, it seems a weird way to end the series of talks but then in another way, perhaps it won't be. So, I had an incredibly lively, rich and energetic ping-pong back and forth conversation with my wife regarding the previous episode, while I was in the maybe. . .I don’t know. . . second draft stage of outlining it and had simply struck up a conversation with her if she knew about Pascal's Wager or not. She said she'd never heard of it and then I spoke about it in relation to the search for the true self and that the true self is what is made in the image of Christ and basically everything I spoke about in the previous episode, though since it was still in the second draft stage and was kind of like the journal entry I read you and was pretty much still raw in my mind and not as filtered or thought out prior to when I step to the mic and start talking. So, when I say energetic conversation that's obviously a nice way of saying borderline argument, or at least that's what I kept asking myself if this was an argument or not.  But really, she was just deeply questioning what I was talking about and deeply imagining herself listening to my podcast and what she would have thought to herself had she heard some of the things I had just said to you. Now, this is somewhat unfair on both her part and my part as well since she hasn't listened to any of these podcasts since they're not complete yet.  So where you dear listener may have heard me speak for over six hours and built up the concept of the true self ingrained with my logic and dipped within the mysteries and most importantly, have heard me with as much compassion address that I understand how hard it is to see some of these truths at least if one is suffering, or in a state of suffering and that the words or ideas may not be words or ideas one is ready to hear. I'm pretty sure I juxtaposed this with the parable of the sower and the seeds, that the seeds have to land on good soil, or they get eaten by birds or choked by thorns.  If there's an underlying purpose of my speaking of these mysteries is to help others understand how to make their mind fertile soil for those seeds of truth from the Christ to take root since as I'm stating clearly throughout, there is a process of this: the dying to oneself in order to be spiritually reborn in Christ.  That's literally the purpose of meditation and contemplation and the various spiritual exercises.  Sure, on the surface, it's to feel temporarily good, temporarily to clear one's mind for instance if one's mind is overwhelmed.  But the goal of it is to enact lasting change.  Like I said, in regard to the Lenten season when it finally got me to actually change instead of only change from between Ash Wednesday until Easter.  There'd been a decade of Lent’s between that with only the temporary change when the seeds had fallen on dry soil and the birds either swallowed them up or they were choked by the thorns. So, it's not like I don't understand where she was coming from or what she was trying to express regarding how she felt hearing what I was talking about.  So, I will try to explain and expand on this since in my mind I'm brainstorming these types of things and writing these things out and speaking them into a microphone, uploading them, podcasting them for a target market just like any business would try to define their target market.  But even though what I speak about is very specific to the mystical understandings of the mysteries of Christ, it also revolves around Catholicism, Christianity, along with many other orbiting topics like history, science, theology, philosophy, etc. I'm aware that more than just my target market would potentially be interested in what I have to speak about.  But she spoke about her own target market, her own idea of a specific person wanting to listen to what I have to say for whatever reason they may have and being either upset or frustrated or giving up before even starting is the only way I could see it, due to specific and yet obvious facts regarding everything I've spoken about, many of which I've already mentioned but will still be worth mentioning further I think because what she said struck me to my core of course since she's my wife. As a devout Catholic, as well as having earned a master's degree in medical science, she understood everything I spoke about regarding the neurological topics I've discussed along with the philosophical and theological conclusions I've come to and have been speaking about with you dear listeners, along with how she'd probably word it: the weird and bizarre things I speak about that seem to sound almost biblical and have caught her off guard on a couple of occasions.  Though I speak to her about these things and even though her jaw dropped when I showed her the depth of the symbol for this, the mystical experience, which honestly, I've shared only the crust of the pizza so far with you listeners; she's still sort of on edge regarding that which I speak about since she isn't sure what it means.  I don't know what further purposes God has to all of this either, I just know what I've seen and understood and that I'm supposed to talk about it and not just ponder it to myself any further or solely rely on writing it down, which was as I've kind of stated my modus operandi for over a decade. So she understood the comparison that finding your true self is also finding God and it agitated her because in her mind, picturing both herself now: working twelve hour shifts in an understaffed urgent care that continues to fail to provide PPE gear during this pandemic along with homeschooling two children under six years old, as well as picturing herself long ago as a single mother rushing to drop off her daughter at school in the morning, commuting to work, then desperate to get through traffic to pick up her daughter before the after school daycare starts adding dollars to every minute past 6pm with their weird entire business model almost revolving around how much money they can suck out of a parent with that daily roulette of how Southern California traffic will destroy a single parent on this day or that. So, in her mind her question was, “How on Earth is somebody that is barely able to survive their day, swamped in the hustle and bustle, the daily grind of work in life, how is somebody in this state of life even able to ask themselves or question within their hearts regarding their true self?  How on earth is somebody like this supposed to find God if their true self is what is made in the image of God?” A very deep question, comment, remark in my opinion, and one that caught me off guard to be honest, since again, I have the person in my mind I'm speaking to while she had her idea of herself along with other swamped individuals in mind as people listening to these strange and bizarre yet always logical words that I speak. Read the full article

[yandere-sins]

My Name

Horrortober Day 6: Time “How long has it been?”  

Oh man, first Xiao piece and I??? Really enjoyed it???? When will he come home, I’m desperate for my lovely boy ;;

Warnings: Yandere, Twisted Thoughts, Fighting/Death of monsters, Planning of Kidnapping Characters: Xiao x Reader

How long has it been?

It felt like Xiao waited forever for you to call him. He would have loved to deny that he waited for it… but he did. Ever since he told you to call when you needed him, he had been waiting—hoping!— you would, rather sooner than later. If only he could get a good look at you again, he would feel prepared enough to face his duties again. You were the beacon of light in his life, no matter how harsh he spoke to you or faked disliking you. Your job wasn’t any more dangerous than any other in this world, making you travel back and forth cities to sell your merchandise there. You needed someone who could help you if things went downhill. 

You needed Xiao. 

His fingers were still tingling from the feeling of your body as he held you. Even when you squirmed and flinched in his arms as he defeated the monsters bothering you, you were warm and soft, and you smelled like dirt- But the good kind! Xiao didn’t know how else to describe it. You’ve been on the road for a long time, showers weren’t your priority probably, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind. You were perfect just as you were.

And finally, you called. Or rather, screamed into the disappearing sun on the horizon, for Xiao to come and save you. You fulfilled the promise to ask for his help any time, and he fulfilled his by coming to your rescue. No matter how weak he felt, how much he wanted to vomit at the sight of more and more foes arriving. With you, weakly as you were, leaning into his chest, avoiding your eyes from the death and fight, he would have defeated armies of Hilichurls if necessary. All while holding you, never letting go of his precious sun. 

The toll on his body was tremendous, his breathing ragged. Still, standing in the middle of disappearing corpses, Xiao was victorious. For you. For both of you. He turned his head to look at you, the disheveled hair slick with sweat out of fear and flight instinct. You weren’t made for the outdoors; not as long as they were cruel and dangerous. You wouldn’t have come out of this attack unscathed if not for him. 

Letting go of his weapon, he petted over your head, pushing it down and combing out some leaves. He knew he was rough around the edges, unfit for gentle comfort. But if he could help your shivering to wane, he would have tried anything. You once showed kindness to him; he had to repay it. 

Helping you towards a big stone out in the open, you two were stumbling over your feet while you grew wary, looking up and realizing there was no fight anymore. But Xiao wasn’t about to let you go, much less leave you alone right away. He’d stay. It’s been too long, and the temptation to be close to you too big.

Making you sit down, you folded like a sack of potatoes before regaining some composure. You were fidgeting with your ripped sleeves, avoiding looking up at the dark matter rising to the sky from the dead Hilichurls. Instead, you looked at him, studied him, his hair, expression, the hands that tried to desperately be gentle as they searched for wounds on your body. Xiao didn’t mind. You could stare as much as you wanted at him as long as he didn’t have to respond to it. Silently, he was begging you to look more at him. Just… a little more. Look at him as if he was your hero.

Edgy, you called him after bothering him at the balcony of the Wangshu Inn. No one allowed you to be there; Xiao didn’t want to have company that night. But you couldn’t sleep, and sitting on the roof appeared to be a better alternative than turning in your bed to you. He told you he hated your presence, and you laughed, saying it was fine. Fine. How could it be fine? You told him about your business and your family even though he never asked, and then you asked about him and his past. He… he had been weak. That night, he had fought and conquered and been incredibly weak afterwards. So he told you, and you laughed again, telling him how edgy he was before leaving him behind, confused and irritated by your words.

The next day, you brought Almond Tofu and left him a note, thanking him for sticking with you and be honest.

He didn’t forget about you ever since.

Even Xiao felt stupid for seeing you off when your stay ended. He had no business meddling with you or anyone in your world, but now that he finally saw you again, he was furious for letting you go. What he should have done was hold you back, make you stay longer. But when you thanked him for offering his help, smiling at him so kindly, he let go of your arm, and gone you were. Only to end up battered and bruised, just like he feared.

“How long has it been?” he asked, dragging his finger over a bruise that wasn’t fresh anymore. It was at least two or three days old, yet, no tint lighter than as if it happened just now. Instantly, his throat was clogged with guilt. And though his question wasn’t about the bruise, you answered honestly, confirming the two days he assumed.

“I meant, how long has it been since someone called for me,” he corrected himself in a mumble, a question you were in no place to answer. Years. Decades. So long, he didn’t remember the last time. But now, you did. You. The person he wanted to answer to. Only, he was too late anyway—he couldn’t protect you either.

“You need to be treated,” he worried with a stern face. Anger flitted over his features as you shook your head, wiping away the tears of panic you had produced. “What I need is to get to Mondstadt,” you argued. Thick-headed. Stubborn. A thick-headed, stubborn, weak human, that’s what you were. That’s what you were supposed to be, but his heart throbbed painfully as he cursed you in his mind. Not even his body wanted to think badly about you, much less Xiao himself.

“No,” he denied your idea firmly, placing his arm around your shoulder and hooking the other under your knees. There it was again, that tingling sensation that overcame him when he touched you. You were squirming some more against his actions before you tensed in pain. Bruises would heal. Cuts would close. But if there was something internally, something Xiao could not see, then he didn’t know how to help you. It was him who was pathetic, still knowing nothing about the humans he was protecting silently from the shadows. He was pathetic because he denied getting close to them, fearing they’d make him weak.

And he had been right. You made him weak. Weak in the knees, weak in his head. Gone was his keen mind and tough body. Now there was only the invested, curious, worrying Xiao. Xiao at his worst, and he hated himself for it. Seeing you hurt and in pain made him want to be strong even more. So he could protect you when you would call his name. But he wasn’t sure if you would after he already let you down.

Xiao knew everything about the lands around you. He knew where the closest doctor was, and he’d get you to them and then… then what?

Gnawing at his lip as he waited for you to get better, he stood there in silence, clothed in the darkness of the room you were offered to rest that night. There had to be something he could do. Something only he could do for you. He didn’t have the leisure of traveling like you, and he wasn’t a human that could join you easily either. But he was strong if you didn’t warp his head into the miserable state he found himself around you. He could protect you, but how would he do it?

There needed to be a plan soon. The sun was rising, the day promising to be beautiful for travels. And you would want to go. Because as wondrous and loveable as you were, you were also stubborn and weak. Duty-bound, like him. But both of you couldn’t share this trait, not when he wanted to keep you from danger instead of making you rush headfirst into it. One of you had to compromise, and as the sun was setting, Xiao realized something else.

If he was strong, and you were not. He, an important Adeptus, and you, another human between so many, then you needed to be put back into your place. A place of safety. Somewhere close to him. It was a stretch to assume other Adepti would help him, but they could create realms. Safe realms he could carry with him. Even if he didn’t know how to wager with them, much less address the issue, he knew they played a vital part in the role of keeping you safe. He was almost jealous.

Xiao looked back at you sleeping soundly, your chest falling and rising under the blanket. Bandages were all over your body. The doctor made sure you knew the risk you had taken, traveling alone and vulnerable and enduring injuries you should have gotten checked up. You were careless and ignorant to the dangers of the world, even though, deep inside you, Xiao imagined you were just as scared as anyone else. It would be nice, right? If he could take this fear from you. Keep you safe and sound and with him at all times. He’d do you a favor.

A future without worries and fear, the dream of so many of your kind.

Stepping up to your bedside, he reached out to your forehead, remaining still as you furrowed your brows when you noticed his warmth, but then you relaxed again. Maybe you knew it was him. Maybe, deep down in your dreams, it was him who made you feel safe right now. Xiao wished he was. Still, he disappointed you, but he wouldn’t do it again. He’d make sure that you wouldn’t have to be in pain and scared anymore. For you, and only you, he’d do it.

Letting his hand slip down your face, his fingertips brushed over your cheek and to your lips, his touch lingering a second too long to be appropriate. Flinching away, he scolded himself for touching you there, pink flushing his cheeks as he shook his head. He was busy; there were preparations to be made.

Leaving behind Mora, he had no use for, and a note to the doctor, he told them to keep you as long as they could. Knowing where you were would make his life easier, even though he wouldn’t leave a stone unturned and a monster alive if he had to search for you. There were no lengths he wouldn’t have taken for you. The thought scared him because he didn’t know how to handle this feeling that burned inside of him at the mere thought of you. But it scared him even more to see you like last night, and he wasn’t sure his heart could take it if it happened again.

No, he couldn’t let it happen again.

How long had it been since someone called his name? One night. The next time you’d call for him, how would it sound? Sweet? Affectionate? Thankful? Praising him for his work and dedication for you, accepting his snide remarks, and laughing at him again with that kind voice of yours? He couldn’t know it yet. But with a jump in his step, he would have never thought it could be the complete opposite.

Angry. Scared. Horrified.

[whatanoof]

Playing to Win

My dear Kitty, of course I have the time. I'm just a little slow fulfilling the requests:/ But thank you for making this request, it made my heart go :)

Rating: Teen Pairing: Cal Kestis x Reader Word Count: ~2k Warnings: half a swear word, sex mentions but in a very practical distant way?, cantankerous and sassy Greez A/N: A request by @marvelassassin221b. Absolutely loved writing this. It starts out pretty fluffy, then blends into a little more of the found family shenanigan dynamic in order to work in both of the dialogue prompts.

To be fair, having a peaceful reading session back in your room on the Mantis only invited trouble to interrupt it. Trouble being a certain Jedi whisper-shouting your name through the doorway. “Guess what?”

A grin leaps to your face involuntarily, and you look up from your book to regard the red-headed Jedi. “What?”

He smiles and plops onto the bunk next to you, shaking the mattress. BD beeps a greeting, and you pat the little droid’s head in acknowledgment. Cal pokes your arm. “Guess.”

You tilt your chin to look at him. “The sun is pink now.” He shakes his head. You turn your attention back to your book. “The bogling finally got into Greez’s terrarium.”

“Nope.” He pops the ‘p’. “You would have heard the yelling if that did happen.”

“Fair enough.” You turn the page. “Merrin brought back a tooka.”

“No. Though I’d love a family cat.”

You snap the book closed with an exasperated sigh. “Just tell me. I’m right at the good part.”

Cal’s hand lands firmly on your thigh, and you shoot him a look. “Sorry, did that hurt?” He moves his hand, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Apparently they all have a bet that we will end up together.”

You blink, and for exactly five seconds you manage to keep a straight face. Cal snickers and you wheeze rather unattractively and the entire facade crumbles. Then you’re both laughing like there’s no tomorrow, the sounds of happy glee echoing off of the tinny Mantis walls.

Cal snorts, “Can you imagine--” He points between you two, face flushed and gasping for breath, “--them thinking--?”

“I know!” You feel tears pooling at the corners of your eye, “I can’t believe they’re betting on something like this! Wait--” You grab his thigh firmly, and his hand covers yours and the giggles suddenly stop. “What are they betting for? And where did you hear this?”

“BD overheard Greez and Cere discussing the terms in the cockpit. Apparently, Greez doesn’t have enough credits to contribute to the pot.” BD fwoops cheerfully from Cal’s shoulder, bumping its head affectionately against Cal’s cheekbone. “Oh you’re right BD, I forgot about that. Cere thinks he’s just being cheap, because Merrin made the payment in universal credits and she was a Nightsister until a month ago.” BD-1 shwoops again, “And Greez is totally just being cheap because BD saw his account the last time Greez checked to see if he had enough to buy Meiloorun fruit--”

“That can’t be legal.” You raise an eyebrow at the tiny droid. BD-1 bobs its head in the other direction and refuses to look at you, so you flick its leg gently before turning back to Cal. “All three of them are in on it?”

“Yep. All betting that we’re going to get together. Cere thinks it’s going to take a week, Greez two, and Merrin wins for anything after two weeks.” Cal counts the contestants off on his fingers, but you can’t help but furrow your brow as you listen to the different wagers.

“So…” You bite your bottom lip.

“So…” Cal props his chin on your shoulder, looking up at you with questioning eyes. Then his face splits into a wide grin. “They’re all wrong.”

You smile again, so wide that it hurts your face because Cal pushes forward and catches your lips with his so sweetly that it makes your heart hurt too. Your hands come up to play with his hair, and you turn your body towards his so that the angle doesn’t make your neck hurt as much.

Cal had asked you out two months ago, and then asked you to be his girlfriend the next day. Well rather, he’d stuttered out something about going stargazing together on Bogano then kissed you at midnight with a request that you could do this together again. You’d taken it(correctly) to mean that he wanted a relationship.

Honestly? You were surprised that the two of you hadn't been found out yet by the others. Of course, there was no touching or PDA in front of the crew, and you both limited your affection to when it was just the two of you. But still, you caught Cal staring at you more than once, and you often find yourself watching his training with a dopey grin on your face. It feels like you are being so much more obvious than you apparently are.

“Imagine all of those credits just going to waste.” You muse quietly when Cal pulls away.

“Yeah. It’s a shame that no one is going to collect.”

An idea occurs to you, “Not with that mindset…”

Cal sits up, “What are you thinking?”

---

On a very serious note: gaslighting is not right. It is manipulative and wrong and you should not be using smooth talking and powers of persuasion to demean others. That being said, Cere is the perfect choice to gaslight the other two in exchange for a cut of the credits.

The plan is going to take place at the next team mealtime, which conveniently enough is the next day. The key here is making the “getting together” smooth enough that they don’t question it, but rough enough to not look rehearsed considering just how hopeless Cal is at flirting. Cal was confused when you chose Cere as the benefactor of your scheming, but after you explained that Merrin ate your leftovers the week before and you just don’t want Greez to win, he agreed wholeheartedly.

So all there is to do is convincingly set up the scenario. Cere cooks that night, two dishes actually, one from Dathomir and the other from Lateron. Minor manipulation, to get the other two in a good mood before you steal the credits right from under them and ruin their night. Maybe you’re a little too competitive?

“Cere, this is delicious.” Greez mumbles through a full mouth of an incredibly spicy and fragrant Lateron dish, whose name was pronounced correctly at the beginning of the meal by Cere and Greez.

“Thank you. Cordova left a recipe book for me. Eccentric as he was, there are some of his quirks that I end up appreciating more each day.” Cere catches your eye and smirks. You smile back. It’s go time.

“So. Greez.” Cal props an arm on the back of the pilot’s chair and leans in comically close to the Latero’s face, which is pinching in annoyance before your very eyes. “Cere tells me you were quite the charmer in your younger days.”

Greez scoffs, “Younger days! I’m young right now! And what do you mean by ‘were’?”

Cal shrugs innocently, glancing at you for a split second, “Don’t shoot the messenger, Greez.” The pilot whirls on Cere in the next second, but Cal interrupts him quickly, “So you're saying that you still have the charm?”

Greez pauses, then slowly turns back to face Cal, “Why do you ask?” His eyes are narrowed in suspicion, darting between you and Cal with something like… worry?

Cal shrugs again, “Might be thinking about how to ask a girl ou--”

“No!” Greez and Merrin chorus in harmony, then freeze when they realize what they’d just done. Their expressions are distinctly panicked and you stifle a laugh. Silence rings through the ship, and Greez coughs sheepishly, “I mean, I may or may not have the skills to pick up a girl. Picked up quite a few in my time.”

“Using what? Pickup lines?” Cal smiles.

“As a matter of fact, yes.” Greez sniffs.

“What are those?” Merrin chimes in with a puzzled frown.

“Pickup lines? They’re sentences that people use to ask one another out on a date.”

“To begin courting rituals?”

“Yes, I guess you could call it that.” Cere rubs her chin thoughtfully. “What was it like back on Dathomir?”

“Dathomirian courting rituals? Very few of the Nightsisters would actually be eligible to reproduce and court. The ceremony included Zabrak males being brought before the eligible Nightsister, and her court choosing the one that they believe will strengthen the breeding line.” Merrin’s face is shockingly blank as she gives the description. “Much time and consideration goes into the ritual and choosing. Afterwards, they copulate and produce children to carry on the Nightbrother and Nightsister lines.”

An uncomfortable silence stretches into the kitchen. Food drops off of Cal’s fork halfway to his open mouth, his eyes fixed on Merrin in shock. The only one who’s not fazed is Greez, who huffs out a single phrase in between bites of food. “What, that’s it?”

You hiss at him, “Greez!”

He raises his two arms that are not involved in stuffing his face, “What? That stuff sounds simple. Love? Kriffing complicated. It’s why I use pickup lines. All of the implications of attraction without the pressure of real words.” You stare in amazement. The old man is actually serious as the grave about something so silly as a pickup line.

Merrin scoffs, “Please, I cannot bring myself to believe that people could begin courting with so much as a single sentence.”

“Is that a challenge?” Greez asks. “There are plenty of amazing pickup lines in my arsenal that could land a girl on the floor.”

“Yeah? Prove it.”

“Okay, okay, okay. Here’s one I heard came from the great Marino Pomona herself.” Greez cracks his knuckles. “Do you know what’s on the menu for tonight’s dinner?” He slaps the table and raises his arms to cross behind his head. “Me. N-U.”

There’s a moment of intense tension where everyone sans Greez locks eyes with the same expression on your faces. Then you all burst into giggles. Cal chokes on his food and has to take a drink of water while he coughs all over the table. Merrin laughs more modestly, one hand covering her mouth as her entire face crinkles with humor. Even Cere gives a wry smile at the poor attempt.

“That was awful, Greez!” Cal snorts through a chuckle, face flushed red as he slaps the table.

“Fine, you try! Can’t be better than mine, kid.” You send Cal a look. It’s go time.

Cal smiles reassuringly back at you, then leans over and brushes a lock of hair off of your forehead. “Your hair was in your face. Thought I should move it so I could see you better.”

Greez hoots, “That’s terrible! It’s barely flirting, just awkwardly moving hair out of her face!”

“I don’t know, I kinda liked it.” You shoot Cal a little grin, and he smiles back. “Are you doing anything tonight?”

Cal hums as he pretends to think about it. “Just saving the galaxy, nothing too big.”

“Nice. Do you want to go out? We can go stargazing or something.”

”Sounds like a plan.” You both turn back to the rest of the crew. Cere is smiling like the cat who got the cream, and Greez and Merrin’s jaws are hanging open in surprised disbelief and disappointment.

“Did we just… lose?” Merrin asks wondrously.

Cere throws her money bag on the table. “Pay up.”

“Wait, the terms of the bet were that they would get together, and so far, all I’ve seen is evidence of a first date.” Greez’s arms are crossed tightly over his chest, the lower pair waving in the air almost of their own accord, like infuriated tendrils.

Merrin nods from her corner, “Right, maybe the date is going to take place next week! Or even the week afte--”

“No, when I said ‘get together’, I meant that I was betting on when they would fu--”

“Greez!” You, Merrin, and Cere all yell at the same time, drowning out the end of the last word and effectively shielding a very confused looking Cal from the enraged Latero.

“Greez, I can’t believe you would bet on something like that, I am very disappointed in you.” Cere’s furious tirade scorches your ears, and the words aren’t even directed at you. The Latero in question looks very unrepentant.

“Hey hey, I play to win--”

You can’t help but smile as the two bicker, the rest of dinner dissolving into heated arguments and the occasional edible projectile. It’s a chaotic family to be sure, but it’s the one you found. You know that Cere will end up getting the credits, she always gets her way. You and Cal can collect your shares later.

After all, you play to win.

Taglist: @marvelassassin221b, @my-awakened-ghost, @katethecrazy

Join my taglist here!

[stargazingthenightaway]

See Something You Like? Part 2

Pairing: Rebels Rex x Reader

Word Count: 2.7K

Warning: NSFW 18+ Sexual tension, yearning, dirty thoughts, praise kink, size kink, Dom!Rex, slight predator/prey vibes

A/N:  Ahhhh! Thank you for all your lovely comments! ILYSM 💖 💖 🥰 🥰 Just a heads up, it might be a couple weeks before I get the next chapter up. Report card season is here, and I need to get those sorted. Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist.  

Fuck.

Your heart stutters as you bolt upright, frantically wishing the panic away. The heat from your face alone could give the twin suns of Tatooine a run for their credits as  mortification sinks low in your chest. It’s a struggle to keep your breathing even, outwardly trying to appear calm when all you want to do is sink into the floor and disappear. Of all the times to be caught fantasizing about riding this man’s face! It was like your depraved thoughts had summoned him, taunting you with the object of your fantasies, dangling him just out of your reach. Look but don’t touch. 

You haven’t turned around yet, and judging by the silence, you can tell Rex is still waiting expectantly for your answer. Kriff, how were you to answer that. You can guess how well telling him the truth would go “Interrupting? Oh no sir, I was just imagining how you’d sound as you hold me down and make me cum on your tongue.” Pfft, you’d be written up for inappropriate conduct and get a one-way ticket to the Hoth base. Try getting yourself off when your fingers are stuck under your armpits trying to stay warm. Bye-bye happy times.

As these thoughts are going rabid fire through your head you don’t notice Rex has leaned up against the wall by the door, giving you a slow once-over, lingering on your ass and appreciating the way the fabric clings in all the right places. Lifting his eyes up he can see the flush making its way up the back of your neck. Rex chuckles quietly to himself, too quietly for you to hear, as he takes in your reaction to being caught bent in half, for anyone passing by to see. But lucky him, he got to see that tantalizing sight of you, face down-ass up, groaning quietly like you needed a good fuck. Rex had to hold himself back when you’d uttered “Fuuuuck me” in such a wrecked tone, wanting to fulfil your plea and fuck you like you asked, like you needed. If he played his cards right he’d be able to hear so many more of your sweet sounds, and they’d be all for him. 

Finally deciding to just get through this conversation as quickly as possible, you turn around and feel your knees go weak. Maker save you. The sight that greets you is like something from the holo novels that you keep hidden under your bed. Rex had decided to forgo his cuirass and spaulder, showing off his black undershirt, which left his arms on full display. All that beautiful, unobstructed muscle led down to his vambraces, fitted snuggly against his wrists. His hands were resting low on the holster belt slung around his hips while his legs were crossed over at the ankles. He looked deceptively at ease except for the way his eyes were focused on you. All sultry, and brooding and hungry. You can’t help but feel caught in his gaze and there’s a fleeting thought that if you were to run Rex would give chase until he had hunted you down, snared in the cage of his arms. That mental image makes your lower belly clench in anticipation, already eager to be caught.

You’re brought back to the present when Rex raises a questioning brow your way, still waiting for you answer, though he’s more amused by your reaction judging by the smile tugging on the corner of his lips. 

Frantically shaking your head, the answer you’ve been looking for finally shoves its way past your throat. “No Sir, no interruption at all.” You notice one of his hands twitch by his sides before going still again.

Rex tilts his head to the side, “Are you sure?” His eyes are tracking your movements, looking for any little tells that could help bring you closer to him. “You sounded pretty desperate there, cyar’ika.”

If only he knew. You try to send what looks like a reassuring smile his way “Absolutely! I was just lost in thought.”

He pushes himself off the wall, intrigued. “Now what could have caused your thoughts to stray?” He stalks closer, and for each step he takes, you take a step back. It’s not long until your back is pressed against the shelf and he’s standing in front of you.

The way he looks at you sends thrums of pleasure through your veins, his proximity sending your senses into high alert. You catch a whiff of his cologne, a subtle spice that has you leaning into him, only for you to quickly jerk back.

Nonono! Abort! Abort! In a sad effort to avoid the real reason for your wandering mind and to prevent your body from utterly betraying you and jumping Rex where he stood, you throw out the first excuse you could come up with.

“My friend Ria dared me to beat her high score on this particular sim,” you wave blindly behind you, “and I have until tonight to win.” You mentally cringe and are already planning on how to apologize to Ria. While she’s a sucker for drama, Ria prefers to hear about it then to live it. She dislikes being pulled into your schemes, especially recently, with your ideas of avoiding a certain Captain while you try to control your libido. 

Rex crosses his arms over his chest, shirt pulled tight across his biceps, and just making himself look bigger. Your eyes flicker down and back up to his face, trying not to get distracted.

“What are the stakes?” He asks

“Huh?” Is your eloquently response. Why was he still interested in this? Your answer was supposed to be enough that he’d let you scurry away, but here he was asking for more. 

“What happens if you lose your bet?” Rex patiently rephrases his question, looking like there was no where else he’d rather be at this moment. He enjoys how flustered you’re getting, especially when your eyes stray down his torso before rushing back to his face. 

Your hands flutter by your sides. “Oh, um,” you flounder, not thinking he’d press this hard for answers, “well, there wasn’t anything specific, just that I’d have to do something for her, however and whenever, she asks” Nailed it! “Sort of an IOU kinda thing.” You mentally give yourself a pat on the back. Surely he’d let you go now.

Rex rubs his hand along his chin, humming to himself as a grin starts to form on his face. This was the opening he was hoping for! He thinks it’s cute how you’ve started to relax, thinking you’re safe, that he’ll let you go. But he’s far from finished with you, not by a long shot. If he has his way this conversation will continue far into tomorrow morning, and every morning for as long as you will have him. His eyes find yours and you see a triumphant glint that causes your breath to hitch.

“So what you’re telling me is that she gets to do anything she wants to you, however she wants, when she wins” He practically purrs out the last part, a deep rumble coming from his chest. 

You don’t know why but the way he says that, paired with the smouldering look he’s giving you, sends a shiver all the way through your core. When he puts it like that it sounds like some sort of dirty rendezvous, in all the best ways. Something he said suddenly catches up to you and you narrow your eyes at him.

“What do you mean when she wins?” You step closer, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Do you think I can’t beat her score?!” Of all the nerve!

Rex looks down at the finger smushed into his chest then back up to you. Such a spitfire! He adores how innocent you look when you’re flustered, the rosiness of your cheeks and your fluttering hands, but this. Well, this version of you gets his blood singing, ready to prove he’s a worthy opponent for you. Indignation lights a spark in your eyes, and coupled with your battle ready stance to throw hands, has his cock ready to stand at attention. Rex knows he just needs to push just a little bit more to get you just where he wants.

He wraps his hand around yours, and moves it away from his chest. While furious, you still have enough coherency to feel how his palm completely engulfs your fist. Stars, is he this big all over? You almost miss how his thumb starts rubbing soothingly along your hand. “It may just be the soldier in me, but in order to beat a high score you actually need to shoot the targets in front of you, not just stare at them cyare.”

Force take you, he had been watching you longer than you thought! Your face burns in embarrassment and you make a move to take your hand back. Rex tightens his grip to prevent you from moving away and pulls you close enough that you can feel the heat from his body. You try and salvage some of your dignity. 

“That was a minor blip,” you mumble to his chest before looking up, staring defiantly into his eyes before you spit out “I bet I could hit more targets than you with my eyes closed.” 

There’s a strange gleam in Rex’s eyes when he hears your challenge, posture alert as he straightens up. “Oh ya?” The same challenging tone is in his voice. “You think you can take me on mesh’la? Let’s put a little wager on it.”

It’s too late to back down now, so you think for a moment before tossing out your wager. “Alright, if I win, you take me on your next mission with the Ghost.” 

Rex nods along, almost too quickly, as he agrees to your side of the wager. The gleam in his eyes is still there as he casually tosses out what he wants “I’ll take the same bet as your friend mesh’la. I get to do anything I want to you, however I want.”

Fuck you sideways in an X-wing. There’s no way Rex could possibly mean it like that, but with the way he’s looking at you right now, like the tooka that got the cream, you can’t help but wonder.

You afraid that if you speak now, all that will come out of your mouth will be an undignified squeak, so you settle for nodding your head.

Bingo. Rex’s grin turns downright feral. “Perfect, it’s settled.” He abruptly turns you so that you’re facing the shooting range. “If you win, you get a mission,” Rex places the blaster in your hands, “and when I win, I get you.” The all to myself goes unspoken, but you can feel it hanging in the air between the two of you.

You swallow the lump in your throat before replying, “If you win. I’m confident I can beat you.”

“We’ll see.” He takes a couple steps back. You’re about to turn around to ask him what he’s doing when he orders “Eyes forward, and get into position” and you hasten to obey.

You can feel a new flush start to crawl up your neck and you fight it down. Now was not the time to think about what other kinds of positions Rex wanted you to take. Of how he’d sound ordering you to suck his cock, or to keep your hands to yourself as he fucked you slow and deep, or how you can give him just one more. Stars, you desperately need to cum or get your head in the game, and since you can’t get to you bunk right now, the game it is.

You take your previous stance and settle in position. Rex is so quiet that you can’t help but quip coyly back at him “See something you like, Sir?”

The sound of your voice brings Rex back to the present, having found himself enjoying how quickly you moved to obey his order a little too much, needing to readjust himself. Your saucy little ‘Sir’ makes his hands clench by his sides, the leather of his gloves creaking slightly. Brat, he thinks fondly.

Looking at your stance, he decides it’s not quite right for what he has in mind. He hums, “Maybe, once I get your stance to my liking.” His boots barely make any sounds as he moves forward. “For one, it’s too wide.” Rex comes up behind you, moulding his body to your back, hands on your hips. You let out a little eep, hoping he didn’t hear. “You need to bring your feet in” and proceeds to bracket your legs with his own, using his feet to nudge yours closer to your centre. “You should feel snug in your position.”

Oh, I’m feeling snug alright. Rex had maneuvered you in such a way that you were pressed right up against his groin, hips nestles between his legs. There’s a dull throb building between your legs when you feel him push in, moving your hips to the side and you can feel him. It wouldn’t take much effort to grind back against him, create enough friction that he would have to bend you over and fill you up. You yelp as there’s a pinch to the sensitive skin on your side.

Rex lightly scolds you “Pay attention. If you want to beat me you need to listen to what I tell you.”

“Yes Sir” you automatically reply. There’s a subtle shift behind you before Rex takes one of his hand and covers your eyes. “Don’t have any blindfolds handy, so my hands will have to do.” He says gruffly, his voice a tad deeper.

Before you can ask if everything’s alright, you hear him hit the start button and you’re shooting as best you can. There are still too many thunks from misses for your liking, but you are confident enough that you can pull ahead. When you’ve finished, you turn to hand the blaster to Rex, moving past him to reset the simulation. When that’s done you lean against the wall. You try to relieve some of the pressure between your legs by clenching your thighs together, but it’s not nearly enough, so you suffer in silence. As you watch Rex get into position you decide to have a little fun with him. You wait until he closes his eyes to start the simulation. Just as he’s about to shoot you ask “Do you want me to help get you into position, just like you did for me?” Your question catches him unaware and you hear a thunk sound out. A small laugh escapes your lips. “Losing your touch old man?” You tease, a smirk kissing the side of your mouth. “I didn’t think you’d take what I gave you so easily.” You mimic his words from earlier. 

Rex whips his head around to look at you, mouth open in surprise before he closes it in a thin line. “Oh cyar’ika, you shouldn’t have done that.” Rex tsks, shaking his head. “Here I was, thinking that I’d go easy on you, only winning by a couple more shots, but if that’s the way you want to play it.” He trails off as he extends his arm out in front of him before turning his body to face you, away from the targets. You can feel the smirk start to fade from your face and reappear on Rex’s. “I guess I’ll just have to show you that your place is under me,” and proceeds to shoot. Each shot making a ting sound. Every. Single. One. All without breaking eye contact with you. When he’s finished he motions for you to look at the score board. A perfect score.

You turn back to Rex as he puts the safety back on the blaster. “So, uh, congrats. You win.” You say quietly, realizing how quickly your plan backfired. 

Rex looks far too please with himself. “Of course.”

You haven’t moved from your spot by the wall and Rex strides over, victory in his eyes. You don’t see as your looking at your boots. When he’s close enough he gently takes your chin between his finger and thumb, bringing your gaze to his.

“Don’t you know mesh’la? I always win.”

To be continued. 

Taglist: @samrubio @justanotherstarwarswhore @bvcketfvcker

[makeste]

A theory I have seen is that Fuyumi wants the family back so desperately, because she and Toya experienced the better Endeavor, where everything was alright. My guess is that after his decent into abuse its stopped being like a normal family and Natsuo and Shoto never experienced a normal family. But that is just a therory

okay so speaking as someone who grew up with an abusive and neglectful parent (though in my case it was my mom rather than my dad)... it’s complicated. there are a lot of emotions there. I think one of the things Horikoshi has really excelled at with the whole Todoroki plot is the way that he’s used the four siblings to show the different ways that children respond to parental abuse. and I can say from personal experience that all of them are valid. not just the bitterness, anger, and resentment that Touya, Natsuo, and Shouto have all shown at times, but also that intense (but tentative, almost wishful-thinking) longing to just have a normal family that we see from Fuyumi. speaking again from experience, that last one isn’t an outlier at all. in fact, in my case, I’d say that was honestly the strongest feeling out of all of them, and it even fueled a lot of the other three emotions. btw just a heads up I’m gonna delve into some personal stuff here briefly, so yeah. I won’t put details, but if anyone wants an abuse trigger warning added to the post or anything like that, just let me know.

so the thing is, even during my angriest times, if some magic wish-granting genie had poofed in and told the child me, “’sup, I’m here to solve all of your family problems, just tell me what you want me to do,” I wouldn’t have wanted them to take my mom away and lock her up somewhere and make her suffer or anything like that. honestly, even during the worst of it, the thing I wanted more than anything else was just to have a normal family. my mom had a lot of untreated mental health issues, and it was basically a situation where you never knew which version of her you were going to get on any given day. so there were times when she was a kind and loving mother who took care of me and my siblings. and there were a great many more times when she was temperamental and erratic, and we all (my dad included) basically just walked on eggshells around her and did our best to lay low and try not to bother her because even little things might set her off, and we never knew how she was going to react. and my dad worked a lot, and my sibs and I were homeschooled for reasons which I’m not gonna get into because this post is already veering off on too many tangents, but anyway so the short of it is that my sibs and I grew up in this unstable environment and ended up more or less raising ourselves. and I resented my mom a lot for that, growing up, and I still do honestly.

now a lot’s happened since then, and she’s gotten some help, and my siblings and I are all adults now and we’re more or less good, even though we all took a certain amount of Psychic Damage along the way and we’re each still dealing with that. and we each have different relationships with our mom now, and a couple of my sibs are even fairly close to her. but for my part, I pretty much have no relationship with her at all outside of seeing her a few times a year at family get-togethers and the like. the thing is, even though my mom did eventually (after a LOT of false starts and struggles and heartache) get some help, she’s never really shown remorse for what my siblings and I went through because of her. she’s never taken responsibility for any of it. she blames a lot of other people, and will go on long rants about all of the terrible things that have happened to her and all of the horrible ways people have treated her (some of which is true, and some of which very much is not). but there’s never even the slightest acknowledgement of any of the things she herself has done to hurt others. she either passes the blame or just pretends it never happened. 

and honestly, it sucks. even now, there’s little to no real desire to change on her part. she’s gotten therapy and meds now, and so emotionally she’s much more stable than when we were kids, but one of the unfortunate results is that it’s all the more clear now that a lot of her behavior never had anything to do with her mental illness at all. she just didn’t care at all about how she was hurting others; or at the very least, didn’t care to face it. and that’s just how it is.

anyway, so I’m sorry to keep breaking away and telling you guys my own life story lol. but the point I’m trying to get at here is that I actually relate to Fuyumi so much, though. what I wanted more than anything was for my mom to care, and to say she was sorry, and for me to be able to believe that and to trust her, and for her to actually change. that was it.

and so for me, here’s the biggest difference between the Endeavor situation, and my own and so many others. the difference is that unlike people in real life, we know Endeavor is actually remorseful for what he’s done. we know it for certain because we’ve seen it for ourselves, from his own point of view. the manga actually lets us get inside his head and shows us that he really is sincere, that he really is sorry, and that he really is trying to change. and that’s something that’s impossible to get in real life. that certainty that the person really means it, that they’re genuinely remorseful and committed to making amends.

and for me, that’s fucking wish fulfillment right there. for the abusive parent to finally realize the error of their ways and be sorry and try to do right by their kids. I fucking wanted that. hell, I still want it, even though I’ve made my peace with things the way that they are. that chance to somehow heal the broken relationship, and have your parent genuinely try their best to be a real parent to you, even if it’s years after the fact? shit. I’d take that in a heartbeat.

and so when it comes to Fuyumi and her attempts to get her family to reconcile and experience a few normal things, I f feel that. I really do. because when you’re growing up in that type of situation, normal is all that you want. and I don’t think it’s anything that requires an explanation on her part, because it’s not actually an unusual reaction at all. it’s natural. it’s the most natural thing in the world. honestly it’s annoying that fandom sometimes tries to shame her for having those feelings. like honestly, fuck that. because the thing is, I’d wager that almost every kid who grew up with an abusive parent has at some time or other felt the exact same way.

and that includes Touya, Natsuo, and Shouto as well. literally the only difference between them and Fuyumi is that they feel that Endeavor’s change of heart is simply coming too late. it’s not that they don’t want their family back, just like she does; it’s that from their point of view, it’s something they can’t get back. for Fuyumi, that dream of having a normal family is something she’s still seeking. for Natsuo and Touya, that dream of having a normal family is something that was destroyed. something that Endeavor killed. something they’re in mourning of. and so Touya wants revenge for it, and Natsuo is trying to pick himself up and move past it. and meanwhile Shouto is caught somewhere in the middle of all of those reactions, because he’s still trying to decide whether or not he can ever bring himself to trust his father again. he’s somewhere in between his brothers’ mourning and his sister’s hopefulness. sort of a Schrodinger type of deal lol.

but anyway, the point I’m trying to make here is that all four siblings are really experiencing the same thing, just in different ways. Fuyu may be the one arranging family dinners and the like, but that same longing to be part of a normal family is at the core of Natsuo, Shouto, and even Touya’s behavior as well. Natsuo’s hurt and resentment, and Touya’s spite and bitterness, come from being denied the thing they want. and Fuyu’s shaky attempts at reconciliation come from her desire to still obtain it somehow. but at the end of the day they’re the exact same feelings. and they all come from the same place.

anyways, hopefully that makes some kind of sense. basically, everyone is valid. Fuyu is valid, Natsu and Shouto are valid, and Touya is murdery which isn’t cool, but his feelings are still valid too nonetheless. hugs and therapy for the Todoroki children in 2021, Horikoshi. please and thank you.