#all animals were carefully handled and released

[seabeck]

Twas early for the ferry and we have a very low tide today so I petted some sea life

[healingheartdogs]

Gotta wash your face and hands after eating

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP: Immunity system

Danny gets confused for Tim Drake when he stop for gas in Gotham on his way to visit Dan. His clone had set up shop- a literary comic book shop- in Metropolis.

Danny was going for the weekend to help him run the red dot sale and also spend time with his Clone turned older brother.

Dan after being released from his prison and getting a Core Cleanse in the FarFrozen ectoplasm iced pools, had mellowed out greatly.

It turns out Dan had gone mad after suffering a dip in contaminated ectoplasm. He called it "Pit Madness" and Clockwork assured him it was a real medical condition

Much like getting bitten by a rabies-infected animal, Dan's condition was not his fault despite turning him violent.

After the Big Reveal with his parents - who took the news surprisingly well- Team Phantom introduced Elle and Dan to them.

The two clones had been quickly made official Fentons and now Danny had an older brother and a young sister.

Elle lived at home with Danny and his parents, but Jazz and Dan moved out after high school graduation. Danny was thinking of moving in with Dan to go to college.

He wasn't sure, but he still had a whole year to decide.

Danny found a gas station within his GPS map and stopped at the closest one. There weren't a lot of people around, so he assumed that was a slow day.

He was not aware the locals avoided the area due to the danger of feuding gangs. He was also unaware that while pumping the gas, a Scarecrow goon was watching him.

That goon knew his boss had been getting a bit bored with his experiments, and he knew it wouldn't be long before his boss turned on his employees to relieve his boredom.

He was just starting to sweat, thinking he would be the new genuine pig until Tim Drake himself rolled out of a beat up car in the bad part of town.

He practically gift-wrapped himself for Scarecrow! The goon grins, creeping up behind the distracted young man.

One of the employees' inside the gas station had clocked Tim Drake too and had been staring at him - how could he not when Tim was a Bi icon?- and sees the moment the goon covers the boy's mouth with a clotch and yank him into a van that speeds away.

For a moment, the employee only gawked after the speeding vehicle, too shook to do anything as it disappears around a corner.

He scrambles for his phone to call 911. He prays that his slow reaction does not cost Drake's life.

(His call's transcript pings on Oracle's program designed to pick up the civilian names of the Bats if ever used in the emergency hotlines)

Sadly it is hours before the Bats have even an idea of where Tim (actually Danny) was taken to.

Danny wakes up in a warehouse, strapped to a table. He only had a brief moment of thinking his worst fear was coming true ,his parents, were going to rip him apart molecular by molecular, despite it being two years since they learn.

Thankfully a man dressed in a ridiculous Halloween costume steps into the light and he knows it's not his parents.

"Lovely expression Mr. Drake. Let's see how lovely that fear truly is," the man says in a raspy voice, holding up a needle. He stabs Danny with it and the boy blanches as the hot liquid enters his blood stream.

A minute goes by.

Two.

Three.

"Ugh was that supposed to do something?" He questioned, moving around his restraints to check his chances of escape without outing himself as Phantom.

The camera pointing at him limits his options.

The man dressed as Scarecrow lets out a gleeful cackle. He doesn't answer Danny, instead turning to the door- from where Danny can lift his head, it looks like he's in a basement of some kind- and shouts, "Bring me experiment six two six!"

A bulky man comes in carrying a tray of tubes. Danny watches as Scarecrow carefully selects a tube and pours it into another needle. "Lets see how you handle this"

The answer is Danny handles it very well. In fact he takes all seven tubes without a single reaction. Honestly it's the needle that's a real bother.

Scarecrow is both impressed and slightly insulted by the end of it. "How did a simpleton chloroform work on you but not my brilliant science!?"

Danny squints at him. "I would call this many things but never science, let alone brilliant, you fruitloop."

He gets knocked out again for his cheek with a new chloroform rag.

He wakes to the same made leaning over him again, but this time, there is also a clown in purple. Danny can only stare as the clown cackles.

"I think you're losing your special touch if Tim Drake is immune to your Fear Gas." The clown says, and Danny wonders if a costume convention exists in town.

Danny is happy to see that besides being knocked out and tied him down they haven't really done anything to him. "Who are you supposed to be?"

The clown face spams before a wide, mad grin breaks across his face. If Danny were to look of the definition of madness in a dictionary he knows this guy would be the example for it.

"I'm just a simple chum who wants to see the world laugh," The clown tells him, holding a squirt flower in Danny's face. "Let's see that smile!"

Danny squeaks as the liquid splashes in his face, some going up his nose. He coughs while the two men stare intensely at him.

After a moment Danny gets himself under control. "Ugh what was that? Is smell nasty"

The clown face freezes, rage bleeding into his eyes as the scarecrow one scoffs "seem you are also losing your touch, chum"

"No no no. Our little friend just needs a higher dosage! I'll have him laughing in no time!"

He doesn't. After a gas tank full of that nasty-smelling stuff is forced onto his face, and five different needles stabbed into his arm the clown is forced to admit Danny is immune.

They still call him "Mr. Drake" even though Danny tells them between needles that's not his name.

After hours of attempting to get a reaction out of him- both by clown and scarecrow- , Danny is knocked out again by the little rag.

When he comes two three people stand over him. The two from before, though clown now looks murderous and scarecrow politely interested, and a women in green with leaves splat across her outfit.

So Danny got kidnapped by a Scarecrow, a clown, and a nymph? Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke.

The gas mask is forced back onto his face and another Danny struggles he can do nothing as he is forced to breath in a new gas.

The woman watches his reaction with a keen eye before nodding "He should be pretty far gone now"

Scarecrow shakes his head. "There isn't a single reaction. He isn't affected by your pheromones."

The woman scoffs, leaning over Danny and fluttering her eyelashes "You're going to kill dear old dad for me"

Danny glares at her. "Like hell, I will."

His voice is muffled by the mask but they hear him and the woman actually looks shocked "He might need a higher dosage "

"By all means, give it a try. Neither Joker or I saw a difference in Mr.Drake even after adjusting his intake."

"How is that possible?"

"Maybe because you all suck!"

The clown slams his hands on the table. "I am one of the best chemists in the world, brat!"

"And the ugliest!"

Danny doesn't see the knife until it's pressed repeatedly into his left leg. He screams around his mask as the Clown spits and swears at him.

The other two only watch, neither seemingly bothered by the man stabbing a teenager.

Then the knife is plunged into his stomach, and he screams as the world almost whites out in agony.

Danny, blinks the white hot pain, and is just barely thinking of going ghost when the door bursts open and a group of people wearing more costumes pour in.

A man dressed as a Bat flings the clown away with an outraged cry. Danny can't see where the clown lands, but he hears fighting all around him.

A boy in a hood and mask appears in his line of sight. There is a worried frown on his face as he quickly picks at the locks keeping Danny down "Do not worry, Drake, we are here."

Danny finally gives in to the pain, running to blissful darkness as a man in a red helmet lifts him off the bed and makes a run for the door.

The kid provided cover for them.

[pastanest]

Spencer Reid x she/her!reader

A/N: why is it so difficult to find high quality post-prison reid fbi vest gifs like I thought we were all sluts out here but Ig not

gif creds: @imagining-in-the-margins

Duality Of Man

Spencer Reid had never really considered himself to be a reckless man. He had always been a calculated, well thought out, methodical follower of the rules, for fear of being ridiculed further for breaking societal rules beyond the ones he couldn���t help via his neurodivergence. He enjoyed rules. Learning the rules of people, of their behavior, and of various board games that challenged his intellect, were some of his favorite pastimes, actually.

Spencer also would not have regarded himself as a particularly possessive or territorial person, prior to spending three months behind bars. They isolated him, kept him locked in a space with people that wanted him dead, like an animal raised in captivity being thrown into a cage of wild lions. Having nothing of his own changed the way in which Spencer viewed the world around him, once he was allowed to step back into it.

Yours had been the first face he had seen when he had set foot beyond the prison walls on the day of his release, and the moment he felt you return to his embrace, in a gesture the two of you had engaged in countless times, a form of physical contact that he was most comfortable sharing with you; Spencer felt that something was different. In a way that he didn’t quite understand, you were his, beyond the platonic confines he had previously forced over his own feelings for you. He was not overbearing and had never overstepped your boundaries, but he was more outwardly protective of you than anyone else.

It had only presented itself in small gestures and words: moving to stand slightly in front of you in any kind of tense situation to act as your human shield, checking in with you at every stage of the cases you worked together, prioritizing your safety over his, and, naturally being the first one to object when you volunteered to go undercover to seduce an unsub into revealing information.

“Absolutely not.” Spencer had uttered from where he sat beside you at the round table, shaking his head.

And you had rolled your eyes at him. “I’ll be fine, Spence, I can handle myself.”

He couldn’t argue with that, he had seen you stare down men twice your size on several occasions, which always made him smirk. Still, Spencer could not hide the sick feeling that twisted in his gut at the thought of you going undercover, and being in danger.

As he had often found, the feeling in Spencer’s gut had been right. The unsub had been clever enough to deduce that you were a deliberate victim, not one of happenstance, and as such, he took you to a second location, which he had not done with his previous victims.

Given it was not his usual mode of operation and he had acted on instinct, the unsub’s play was an amateur move; comparable to what Spencer was certain Gideon thought in their first chess games together, so many years prior. As clever as the ubsub had been in figuring out you were not who you said you were, he was not intelligent enough to outsmart the one man army of Doctor Spencer Reid when fuelled by a fire that he had never felt burning in him before. It took less than a day for the team of profilers to find the warehouse you were being kept in, and less than a minute for Spencer to completely disregard their carefully orchestrated plan to rescue an FBI agent with the regulated SWAT team.

He didn’t need a team behind him for this.

He would handle this bastard himself.

With a kick that Spencer was sure Derek Morgan would be proud of, the door to the warehouse was made obsolete. Gun and torch raised, Spencer stalked the dark warehouse, checking dusty room after dusty room, eagle eyes scanning every corner, until a figure dared step out of the shadows in front of him. Anyone foolish enough to make themselves a physical blockade that kept Spencer from getting to you was a waste of oxygen.

“So, you’re the one she’s convinced is coming to save her.” The unsub taunted, chuckling darkly as he raised his arms out to his side cockily. “C’mon then, show me what you’ve got. No weapons, just you and me, man to man.”

As if to prove the authenticity of his own words, he discarded his usual weapon of choice, the blade clattering against the warehouse floor.

Spencer eyed him like a wild lion in a cage, and he almost smirked at the irony, but kept his expression calm and collected. He glanced at the doorway of the dark room they stood in, knowing that protocols would advise him to call for assistance, to make the arrest with as little physical harm as possible. But when Spencer’s eyes gravitated back to the subject who was now very much known to him, his target was in his sights.

An icy glare stayed fixed on the man that took you as the sound of a torch and gun hitting the ground echoed through the otherwise empty room. The air was thick as Spencer unclipped his FBI bulletproof vest and tossed that to the ground, too. And with no sense of urgency, he popped the cufflinks of his shirt and rolled his long sleeves up to his elbows.

An invitation to beat the life out of someone that took you? Hurt you? It must be Christmas.

Spencer’s expression was unmoving, and he didn’t say a word. Finally, after a childhood spent as a victim of merciless bullying and a portion of his adulthood fearing the judgment and cruelty of others, Spencer Reid was confident in his ability to end a physical confrontation with his own two fists.

In three large strides, he was face to face with the egotist, who swung at him, pathetically, and predictably enough for Spencer to not only swerve out of the way, but reciprocate the gesture tenfold. A solid right hook spun the idiot’s jaw and sent him stumbling, but Spencer was far from finished. He stalked over to him and in a matter of steps, had grabbed his target by his shirt collar and forced him against the wall. The fool was still reeling from Spencer’s punch, a dazed look in his eyes and blood dripping from his split lip.

“Did you touch her?”

Spencer’s words were eerily quiet, barely above a whisper, but in the silence of the warehouse they reverberated against every wall. He had a feeling that he already knew the answer, but he needed to hear it, he had to be sure his next actions would be justified.

His vision clearing, the man fool enough to take you smirked up at Spencer.

“(Y/N) looks real pretty when she cries, doesn’t she?”

He chose to answer Spencer’s question with a rhetorical question that immediately decided his fate.

In a fraction of a second, Spencer threw his target to the ground and pounced on him, vision clouded with red as he landed punch after punch, until the ground looked just as red to everybody else. If three months in prison had taught Spencer Reid anything, it wasn’t just how to fight, it was how to fight dirty.

He only stopped when the physical barrier sputtered for breath, and that was only because Spencer didn’t want to get thrown back into a cell. Catching his breath, Spencer lifted his gaze and scanned the room around him again.

“Spencer?!”

And he was stood, his rage an afterthought as he followed the weak sound of your voice, your call to him. In a sea of voices, Spencer could pinpoint yours in an instant. Having heard commotion, you had assumed it was him, coming to your rescue, like you always knew he would.

He found you in the next room, bruised and bloody, tied to a chair and covered in torn clothes with cuts beneath them that reassured Spencer the blood dripping from his knuckles was beyond worth it.

The look in his eyes was so soft as he ran to you and crouched in front of you, kissing your forehead as he tore the ropes from you with no regard for the burns he may get on his already bloody hands.

Finally free, you collapsed into Spencer’s arms, and he released the breath he’d been holding since you’d been taken, closing his eyes as he held you tightly against him, standing up and helping you to your feet in turn. The weight of the trauma you carried made your legs shake beneath you, but Spencer was there to hold you steady, he would always be there. He held your face in his hands and gave you the softest smile you’d ever seen, his thumbs ever so gently caressing your cheeks.

It took you a second to come to terms with your surroundings and your rescue, but as soon as you had, your eyes widened and you took Spencer’s hands in yours.

“You’re hurt.” You murmured, tears shining in your eyes as you held his bloody knuckles with such tenderness, he was surprised he could feel it after the aggression his hands had just been subjected to, but he would always be able to feel you.

Spencer almost chuckled in disbelief as you - in your beaten, bloody and traumatized state - became upset over a little blood on his hands. Well, maybe it was more than a little…

“Adrenaline, (Y/N), I can’t feel a thing.” Spencer reassured you in a soft voice, holding your face in his hands again and placing the lightest kiss on your nose. “But we need to get you to a doctor.”

The moment he said it, the rest of the team filtered into the room, having passed the sputtering suspect and Spencer’s discarded bulletproof vest on their way.

The look on Emily’s face told Spencer he would have several unpleasant reports to fill out regarding how he’d handled this case, but when he stared into your eyes and saw the stars in them, he knew he’d do it all again a hundred times if you were waiting on the other side for him.

[ravencincaide]

A caring gesture 

Summary: “Okay, imagine it's Valentine day, and somehow dazai forget it was today (yes this smartass actually forget about it). But you did him the most incredible surprise when he gets back”

Pairing: reader x Dazai

Requested by: @avocate-assia-dazai Thank you so much for participating in Raven's special and sending me this request.

Warnings: Light cursing, Dazai fluff.

Hope you enjoy~

Dazai hated abroad missions; leaving early in the morning and coming home sometime in the wee hours of the night.  His body ached, bruised and beaten while his mind remained foggy, the lack of sleep and the jetlag that came with being awake for over forty eight hours. 

Ahh if only sleep deprivation could grant him the sweet release of death, then Dazai would never utter another complaint. Or maybe precious relief from this plagued life would appear just as his body finally made contact with the all-too welcoming couch of the ADA- the perfect place to slack the remainder of his shift before he could bounce away to your apartment. Yes, just another two steps- one step and Dazai flung his body onto the familiar couch, salvaged its sweet fragrance, soft cushions, fluffy blanket and red velvet material– wait why was it red? 

Instantly Dazai was up on his feet. 

His eyes narrowed as he stared down at the thing which replaced his all too familiar resting spot. Not only was this couch larger and covered in red velvet covers but it was filled with several fluffy blankets in white and pink. The precious space held several heart shaped pillows and on the armrest was a card yet-to-be-placed inside its matching envelope. Happy Valentines Day it said on the front of it, Valentines- Dazai’s eyes widened in realization and frustration as he ran a bandaged hand over his face. Of course, how could he have forgotten? You were talking about it just before he left for the mission, making plans for- for today. Hearing the door to the ADA open Dazai rubbed tiredly at his eyes; the sound of your click clack shoes made a part of him want to hide while another part of him dreaded seeing you. Tiredness washed over him like pulsating headache- hurting him almost as much as the difficult conversation he was expecting to have with you. 

In his experience women did not handle missed valentines well. Surely you’d be no exception, 

“ Oh you’re back early ‘samu” you sounded almost awkward as you came closer and closer to him. Instead of wrapping your arms around him however you stopped a few paces away and let out a low disappointed sigh “ Damn and here I had hoped dinner would arrive before you got back” 

Your words made Dazai’s head snap up and turn to face you, only to see you holding a stack of paperwork in your hands. His paperwork. Which you carefully placed on the couch side table before taking a seat. 

The action made Dazai frown, unsure whether he was seeing the situation correctly. “ Belladonna?” he asked cautiously as he watched you sorting the papers, a concentrated frown on your lips. 

“ hmmm? Sorry, you’ll have to wait a little for dinner. BUT I think it will be here in an hour or so,do you wanna get some rest in the meantime?” he watched, the way you looked up and him a small reassuring smile before going back to the task at hand. 

Cautiously, like a wild animal Dazai inched closer before taking a seat beside you. Careful fingers trailed from your shoulder down your arm. His expression guarded “ It’s Valentine's day today” 

“ I know” you reply picking your next words carefully “ I also know you’ve just returned from abroad so I thought our grand plans could wait until the weekend when–” You didn’t get to finish your sentence as Dazai’s arms snaked around you before pulling you down with him into a lying position. Long legs intertwined with yours, face buried in the crook of your neck. His hold around you was tight, somehow more clingy than usual.

“ Thank you, Bella” Dazai whispered in a rare sign of vulnerable affection, “ Now stay like this while I sleep, I’ll make it up to you later.. please?” and all you could do was nod, not daring to shift in case you disturbed your already half-asleep lover. 

This was not how you two had planned to spend your Valentines together, but judging by Dazai’s actions he didn’t mind the change of plans too much. And neither did you. 

Author note: Happy Valentines day! I hope this request fullfilled your expectations. Stay tuned for the next update in another four hours.

Hope you enjoyed 🩷

Like this work and want more? Check out Raven's Masterlist

©ravencincaide 2024. Do not copy/repost/translate or spread my work(s) without my explicit permission. If you see any of my work(s) reposted/copied anywhere else without my consent, please inform me!

[kurosstuff]

EWPWLSJA I HAVE TO MAKE IT BEFORE THE EVENT CLOSES 🍯

*ahem* hello, how are you?

Lute x bottom!reader with nsfw prompts 3 and 4? (If you could fit prompt 1 that'd be ideal but i don't want to be too complicated)

Congratulations on your followers!!!!

HELP HI- I'm good♡ how are you~?

I hope you enjoy these fics♡♡

Warning(s): slight? Dirty talk? Maybe idk. Smut, gn reader but afab(so female parts), making out

Not sure ir you didnt want it a gn or a female reader so- I'll do gn♡

Also I wanted to do something a bit fun? The ending is up to you- thought it'd be a fun idea?

Lute x gn!reader

Sweet gentle kisses.

That's all that started this- just a gentle kiss to Lutes lips, not even aware of the sudden switch in her. How she grabbed you roughly pinning you to her bed practically growling against your lips. Getting lost in the kisses you both shared. How your tounges battled one another- Lute smug groaning for winning the "competition" each time.

Didn't take long for her hips to grind against yours, bucking into you- humping you like an animal. Dragging a deep moan from your lips as she finally pulled away to allow you to breath air before moving to nip- bite, marking up your neck roughly. Claiming you in a physical sense. To warn off others.

Your hers

"Fuck~" you gasped out breathlessly, feeling hot yet cold somehow. Glancing down at your front face, burning harder. When did your shirt come off? Almost bare for her greedy eyes to scan over "d-dont just stare~" you stuttered out feeling shy under her hungry gaze making her hum

Leaning close, biting at your chest undoing your pants for her- after getting the go ahead. "You look so good spread out like this for me dove~ good enough to devore whole ~" she purred, kissing your bruised lips, "which~? That's what I'm gonna do~" she growled out rubbing you gently, panting heavily

Gently pushing her finger in relishing in the groan- the squeak in your voice - as you shakily held her shoulders, clinging to her tightly "gonna make you feel so fucking good~" pushing one finger fully into you pumping slowly "make you break under me in the best way possible~"

Not even a second later, she added a second kissing the tears welling in your eyes "it's too much~" you whined gasping our feeling her add a third "wait~ lute~ too- too many~ can't handle three~" you choked out but spread your legs more for her feeling her pound into you rougher "wait~ please slow~ stop~?"

Humming, she stopped her movements at that rubbing your waist, watching you carefully, knowing if you truly wanted her to stop? You'd say your safe word. Which, She always looks out for everytime your intimate. No matter what

"You were just crying for my attention, sweetheart~ now your begging me to stop? you sure that's what you want~?" She smirked out cooing at how you tried to rut back into her hand "go on. Tell me pretty Dove~ or? Should I stop. And leave you like this so painfully turned on wanting.. no begging for that release~?" Lute purred out, humming softly

"No~" you choked out sobbing, looking up at her shakily, making her hum roughly watching your every reaction.

"That's My good pet~" she growled out, purring against your neck, relishing in those cries you let out. How you sobbed for her. How you cried begging her for more. "Oh dove~ I'll give you my all~" she purred out, kissing you deeply pounding rougher into you listening to your cries for her

"Oh~ right there~? Please~?" You sobbed out once she found your sweet spot humming she easily shifted pounded into that spot roughly smirking at the sobs escaping your throat "oh- oh god lute im~ I'm gonna~" you gasped out making her hum pounding rougher

"Go on. Cum for me dove ~"

At that? You clawed her shoulders, accidently squeezing your eyes shut, sobbing out cumming all over her hand- slumping onto her bed shaking moaning watching her wings expand smug at how hard you came from her

"That's my good pet~" purring out kissing a deep bite on your neck, humming out softly "maybe.. maybe I should court you properly?" Gently cleaning you up thinking aloud

Gasping softly, "My lute~, you want to take me on as a lover? Your mate?" You panted out breathlessly, watching hee stop in thought before nodding.

"Yeah. I do. I want you as a mate~ so? What do you say? Can I court you?' She hummed out watching you carefully

[soulntes]

ONE : SOMNOPHILIA <3

ROMANCING PANDORA EVENT

MILES QUARITCH X INGYEN

life in the forest of pandora is one of a kind. living among the beauty and nature, full of life and uniqueness.

for miles, pandora gave him all of that.

a life in the forest with beauty that he can wake up to every morning everyday. the woman of his dreams. her eyes holding all the stars and her lips tempting to kiss every single second without taking a single breath. lost in the touch of her skin.

her smile when he makes her laugh at his stupid remarks and jokes he comes up with. her hair in a rich smell of the flora she rubs herself with when she bathes in the waters. her skin decorated in fine blue stripes and bioluminescent shining stars than the sun when enjoy watching the night sky.

the warmth of her skin touching his when they mate. her tail wrapped around his as he thrusts faster and harder into her so he can hear her moans against his ear. her face rubbing against his in such a precious intimacy. the kisses she gives when they're both close to their climax and her hands holding his face tenderly.

ma miles. she whispers the closer they get when he's moving his hips feverishly of the overwhelming feeling in his stomach and his heartbeat accelerating when she's making him feel so good, so hot, and so....

miles pants and grunts from looking at her below him with a lustful and loving expression that he couldn't handle in keeping it in anymore. he wants her every time and every day.

ingyen. he mutters with his lips agape, letting out moans and noises for her to hear and hips stuttering with every movement he gives her.

ingyen. again and again with desperation in his voice to release all of him into her.

ingyen. one more time and she can feel all that he offers.

miles awakes from his slumber in an instant when he felt his release with a low grunt escaping as he arches his back. after the intense climax, he gathers his thoughts a few minutes realizing it was a sex dream. a heck of a good one that it felt real.

ever since he met ingyen, the dreams have circulated his mind but it became more frequent when he mated with her. this woman was in every bit of his life and mind that he's so obsessed with her.

he wipes the sweat off of his face while taking deep breaths and looks down at his cock with cum leaking out. it was still hard and twitching.

miles curses under his breath and sees his ingyen sleeping peacefully, cuddling him with her head resting on his arm and back turned.

her intoxicating smell and body in front of him while he was horny and driven crazy that he wants to wake her to help him out but he doesn't want to bother her.

just by looking at her, he wants to devour her and ravish her the way she needs to be. clouded by lust and love that he removes her tweng off carefully, slowly lifting her leg up to discard it aside and scoots his cock in between her legs. his cock twitches at the mere touch of her pussy, dripping in with precum. holding her hip with one hand and the arm she was resting on, he brought her closer to his chest and starts to move hips hips slowly.

a moan escapes his lips at the feeling of her folds, wetting his hard cock that he started to get bold and moves a little faster and squelching sounds were heard in their privacy of their spot on date night.

he bites his lower lip when his hips pull back and pushes between her thighs so that the tip rubs her clit. it felt so good. so addicting of having her asleep while he was rutting his desires and lust that it wasn't enough to alleviate.

a few minutes passed, he was moving against her but he had enough of rubbing his cock on her pussy.

he raised her leg again and placed it on his, grabbed his hard cock with his hand and jerked it off a bit to lubricate well enough to enter her easily. his lips were plastering kisses on her neck and his tongue tracing her skin with his eyes roll back.

miles was a wild animal for ingyen.

his heavy pants and breathing almost made ingyen wake up but she kept sleeping and rubbed her face in his arm which got his heart thumping.

miles waited a few seconds until he felt her sigh and fell asleep again. slowly he put the tip in her folds and inside her pussy, letting out a low grunt when his cock twitched inside.

"fuck." miles muttered placing his head on hers to rub his scent and face onto hers and embraces her around her neck and the other arm around her waist as he started going in and out of her pussy.

he tried keeping his sounds to himself but it was impossible since the tightness around him had his head spinning in unholy thoughts and consumed by her presence and scent.

she's all he needs. she's all he wants. she's all of him.

driving his hips with every thrust had him close to his climax and he looked at her sleeping face and thrust a little hard each second that felt she wasn't waking. it was all too much but not enough for him to stop.

a whimper left his lips when he hit her spot that he loved to thrust into and grips her waist not too tight and moves his hips faster that his tail curls around hers. he kisses her cheek and grabs one of her breasts in his hand, "yawne....yawne....yawne.." he repeated in a whisper, keeping his hips at a steady movement and feeling he was coming soon.

this moment where he fucks her during her sleep gave him an intense pleasure and small dominance over her body with a submissive state. her pussy was too good to not put his cock in.

miles felt his cock twitching nonstop when she squeezed around him tighter and tighter, making him thrust harder as he fondled her breast and tilted her head towards him to kiss his lips.

ingyen slowly woke up after feeling her mate's cock in her that she started to moan against his lips when he kissed her. her hand travels down to her clit and begins to rub quickly to climax along with miles.

miles finally lets out louder moans and grunts and thrusts faster and harder into her, shoving his tongue into her mouth and swirls around her tongue. ingyen opens her eyes a little to see his lustful eyes looking directly at her and speeds up her fingers that her juices were starting to squirt.

the male na'vi felt her squirting that at this moment is to release all of his cum into her, "ingyen....ingyen....ma ingyen....cum with me..."

as soon he whispered those words into her mouth that she came and he thrust one last time and came into her sweet, wet pussy and moaned into her mouth. he held her tightly against his chest and grips her breasts tighter at the intense moment until he let out the last drop of his cum.

after both mates climaxed and relaxed under the night sky in each other's embrace and his cock in her pussy, ingyen slowly takes it out and turns around to look at him, "ma miles, you could've woken me up." she left pecks on his chest and his neck and rubs her face against his to feel his comfort.

he purrs returning her affection by rubbing his face against hers back, "you looked so gorgeous sleeping and so tempting that i had to have you in your sleep."

ingyen slightly chuckled and hugs her mate close and miles runs his hand through her hair as he kisses her tenderly.

this was one hell of a date for both of them.

TAGS

@eywaite

[dreaming-medium]

Animals Without Direction

Chapter Nineteen - Dance Lessons

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Masterlist

Your entrance to the throne room is entirely different today than it was yesterday. This time you’re walking in on your own two feet; albeit a tad bit painfully. But, it gets better by the minute.

Seungmin walked next to you. Both of you kept up light conversation on your way in. He asked questions about the front lines, everyone’s wellbeing.

It surprised you how many questions he asked about Jeongin; you had no idea how close the two were.

As per usual, Chan and Minho were at the back of the throne room. Both of them are talking about the war and different things they had planned.

When you limped into their view, they stopped talking. Chan stood up from his throne quickly.

“Y/N!” he exclaims. “What are you doing out of bed? You need to be resting.”

You scoff and roll your eyes with a smirk. “Attempting to keep me in bed would be the same as it would with you, my lord.”

Minho smirks and chuckles lightly, his hands clasped behind his back.

“She is correct about that one,” Seungmin mutters under his breath.

Chan sucks his teeth and meets you halfway across the room. His hands hover all along your body, trying to place them somewhere. He wants so badly to help you, hold your arm to help you walk, check the bandage underneath your pants to see if it needs to be changed.

But instead, he settles for grabbing your shoulder lightly.

“How are you doing today?” he asks gently.

“Fine, my lord.” You look down at your leg. “It is a little sore, but nothing I cannot handle. I have felt worse.”

Chan clicks his tongue. “Your Elven blood works fast.”

Hearing him say that still sends a chill through your body. The rebuttal sits on the tip of your tongue, but you swallow it. For the first time in your life, you just let a comment like that roll off your back.

“Thanks to Felix, it is only a typical stab wound.”

The grip on your shoulder tightens a bit. A cocktail of emotions fly over Chan’s face, you’re not able to read all of them. His facial muscles twitch so much with each one.

You clear your throat and look down at the floor.

“Any news of the front lines?”

Chan releases your shoulder reluctantly, his hand dropping at his sides. He shakes his head once before turning to walk back up to his throne.

Minho is the one that speaks up. “Aye, our armies successfully captured Fort Burnside.”

You and Seungmin walk up towards the throne together. 

Yes, you’re thrilled that Miroh has claimed another victory. But, why does it feel so bittersweet? What are you all missing?

“Why do you seem so upset by that?” Minho asks you.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by you that his question seems genuine. There’s no venom or passive aggressiveness to it. 

“Forgive me if I do not seem as mirthful as I should be given the victory.” You pause, looking down at the floor. “It is just… This all seems too easy.”

When you look back up at Minho and Chan, they’re both listening intently to your words.

“I began to grow suspicious after the victory at Bonereach Blockade. It was not until my journey home with Jisung that I realized we have not seen a single soldier from the Mercy Division.”

Chan’s eyes widen and he sits back in his throne.

“I believe Erbus is plotting something. They are lying in wait until our guard is down.”

Seungmin shifts next to you. “Is the Mercy Division the ones who–”

“Yes.” Chan cuts him off. “Yes, they are.”

Chan moves around on his throne and rests both of his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped in between.

“Not a single one has been at these battles?”

“Nay, not that I have seen, my lord.”

He nods a few times, looking around the room in thought. Minho watches the side of his face carefully for any reaction. He’s probably able to read him like a book at this point.

“It seems you are not alone in your suspicions, Minho,” he speaks to his advisor without looking at him.

Chan’s eyes shift to Seungmin. “Do you think that Inuin’s ambassador will have any correspondence about this?”

“Hard to be certain, but most likely. If Inuin is planning any sort of alliance with Erbus, this is how we will find out.”

The Jarl’s eyes flicker to your face for a moment before he looks back at Seungmin. His head cocks to the side a bit in a nervous twitch.

“I just do not believe that–”

“Chan, it is the only way, and you know it.” Seungmin interrupts him.

“She only just got back.”

This grabs your attention right away.

Chan continues, “The circumstances have changed due to the injury. I strongly believe that she should not carry out this mission with you.”

Once again, do they not realize you’re right there? You’re having flashbacks to your first visit to the throne room.

With one eyebrow cocked up, you raise your hand a bit and grab all three men’s attention. “Hello? I am right here?”

Chan shifts around once more. His nerves are making him too fidgety to stay still in one place for too long.

“Apologies, Y/N.” he says quickly. “I am simply… apprehensive about the mission that we had called you back to Miroh for given your current state.”

“I spent a better part of the day informing our Jarl that nothing will keep you here, injured or not.” Seungmin doesn’t look at you when he says this, he keeps eye contact with Chan.

You roll your eyes. “I can speak on my own behalf.” Crossing your arms over your chest, you look off to the side. “I would also very much appreciate it if I was told what this mission was. You have been alluding to it since before my departure a month ago.”

Seungmin and Chan stare at each other for a few more moments. If looks could kill there would be a double homicide in the room.

Neither of them answer you. 

Minho scoffs and grabs your attention. “You know of Inuin’s ambassador’s masquerade ball, correct?”

“Aye.”

“You are to attend the ball with our rogue and assist in pickpocketing the key off of the ambassador so that Seungmin can sneak up to his office and steal whatever correspondence he can find.” 

You raise an eyebrow and eye Minho suspiciously. “And how am I supposed to do this? I am no thief.”

“Nay, but you are a woman with a high appeal.”

The compliment goes right to your head and your heart stutters in your chest. Your cheeks suddenly grow hot and you can’t keep Minho’s gaze. 

Foot to foot, you shift your weight and clear your throat. 

“And?” you ask, voice a bit strained from the embarrassment of receiving a direct complement.

“ And , a man can become quite distracted when dancing with a beautiful woman.”

Your jaw drops a bit and you look at him with wide eyes. Then you look over at Chan, who has since broken his venomous focus with his rogue.

He rubs his hands together nervously, tongue coming out to lick his lips. “You can refuse.”

“It is the only way we can get those papers, Chan!” Seungmin’s voice is the loudest you’ve ever heard it. 

This man has never raised his voice once in your presence. Your head snaps over to look at him; his lip is pulled in a sneer and his eyebrows furrowed.

“I worked for weeks to get an invitation to this ball! Y/N says she is fine, the masquerade is not for another week, giving us plenty of time for preparation and travel.” His arms move about wildly to emphasize his point. “We will not get another chance like this one to get ahead on anything!”

Chan’s head twitches to the side and he sucks his teeth. His fingers pick at the skin on one of his hands.

“This war is bigger than you, Bang Chan. It’s bigger than anything. And you are apprehensive over something meaningless.”

Angrier and angrier, Chan’s expression pulls. Nevertheless, Seungmin keeps going. “It is only dancing! Do not sacrifice a military advantage simple because you harbor–”

“Enough!” Chan snaps suddenly. His voice booms out through the stone room.

Your entire body reacts; you physically flinch away from his bellow. Your shoulders come up by your ears and slump forward. 

Chan clenches his jaw so tight you see the muscles move around on the side of his face. The veins in his neck pop a bit. Seungmin remains still and silent.

A few silent moments pass. 

The Jarl looks down at his hands, collecting his thoughts. A long, heavy exhale leaves his nose before he looks up right at you.

His expression is still unreadable. But his eyebrows twitch like they want to pull together in pain. 

“Y/N,” he addresses you thickly. His throat bobs.

“Yes, my lord?” you reply weakly.

“ If you choose to complete this quest, you would be taught the ceremonial Dove Waltz. It is a tradition at formal Inuin events. During the dance, every man dances with every woman twice. You would need to successfully pickpocket the ambassador during one of these turns with him.”

A dance? You would need to learn a dance and pickpocket skills? In a week ?

Licking his lips again, Chan punches one of his hands into another while leaning back on his throne. His eyes leave yours for a moment as he looks around the room, then back to you.

“But it is entirely up to you and how you feel.” His eyes glance down at your leg quickly.

A soft ‘huh’ leaves your lips in disbelief. Tonguing your cheek, you fidget with your shirt sleeve for a moment. Then, you crack each knuckle on both hands.

“How simple is the dance?” you ask first.

“Extremely. Children learn it.” Seungmin answers immediately.

“And how easy is pickpocketing?”

Seungmin snorts. “Extremely. Children learn it.”

You can’t help but laugh and shake your head in disbelief. Glancing up at Seungmin, you raise an eyebrow at him.

“And would you be teaching me to dance?”

Before he can respond, another voice calls your attention.

“Nay,” Minho smirks. “That would be me.”

----------------------------------------------

“I did not even know that the Keep had a ballroom.” you say looking around the vast space. The ceilings are high and several chandeliers line it. Beautiful paintings cover the wall, it's a shame that they’re covered in a thick layer of dust.

“We do not typically use it,” Minho answers you.

When you had passed by in the past, you just thought it was a dusty, unused room in the back of the Keep. 

“When was the last time Miroh hosted a ball?”

Minho thinks for a moment, “I was a youngling when the last event was here.”

The door to the ballroom closes behind the two of you. 

A large fireplace was lit in the wall, different scones along the stone were alight with flames of their own. The light gleamed off of the cobwebs collecting in the corner.

“Why did we need to come in here?” you ask, glancing around the dank room.

Minho left your side and walked over to an apparatus that sat on the wall. It was about chest height and covered in a dusty, white sheet. 

“Miroh only owns one of these,” he grabs the sheet and pulls it off the instrument carefully. 

It looked like a cabinet with a horn on top. The brass curled around and got wider as the opening of the horn got bigger. A large crank sat on the side of the main body of the thing. 

“What is that?” you ask, eyeing it from a distance.

Minho behind winding the crank over and over again. Several clicks are heard inside the cabinet. While he’s cranking it, he fiddles with something on top.

He continues to ignore your question while he cranks the contraption.

You take a few steps closer to him, watching closely.

Minho stops cranking it and once he lets go, music begins to flow out of the horn opening. It sounds tinny and farther away than any live music you’ve ever heard. Your eyebrows furrowed together and you cock your head to the side.

“I am guessing the mercenary has never seen a crank music player.”

“Nay.”

Minho only smirks and steps closer to you. 

The music begins to play. It’s a slower waltz tempo, the music sounds smooth, each note flows into the next.

“Now, as Seungmin stated earlier, this dance is rather simple– children learn it.” He stops right in front of you, his head tilted down to look into your eyes. “We only have a week for you to learn it.”

“Do you believe it will take me a week to learn a mere waltz?” 

“Nay, I think it will take you a week to be able to pickpocket me while dancing this waltz.” His eyes scan you up and down. “Now, arms up.”

Both of Minho’s hands grasp at your own. He keeps your right one outstretched to the side and places your left on his shoulder.

Both of you maintain eye contact, something glints in his eye and you can’t quite put your finger on what it is.

“The steps are simple, Y/N.” His voice dips down to a lower register. The hand in yours tightens and grips you snugly. His other hand goes down and rests on your waist. “The man always leads, which means he steps forward first, you will step back. Left foot.”

Minho steps his left foot towards you and leads your body backwards, you step back with your back.

“Now, to the side.” He shifts both your bodies to the side. “Shift your weight a bit, now you step forward and to the side. It’s just a simple box that you’re stepping in.”

Your steps are a bit choppy, but you still do the steps nonetheless.

“Perfect, now we do this over and over while going in a giant circle for a bit.”

Without stopping, Minho leads you over and over again through the grand room. The music playing loudly from the player against the wall. 

After a few steps, you look down at the floor at your two clumsy feet. Minho quickly lets go of your waist to grip your chin.

“Eyes on me, mercenary.” he says lowly. Your jaw clenches and you keep his eye contact.

His hand returns to your waist. In a fluid movement, while he’s stepping forward, he pulls your body flush against yours.

Chest to chest, hip to hip, the two of you twirl around the ballroom. 

His lips are pressed into a line, that mysterious light in his eyes doesn’t leave. It only amplifies in the candle light.

Minho smells of a clean musk; like pine and bergamot. 

Since your return to Miroh yesterday, he hasn’t looked at you with venom or hatred once. What changed?

“This is not so bad,” you whisper, holding his searing eye contact. 

“This is only the main step of the dance.” Minho smirks and squeezes your hand once. “Are you ready for the next?”

You roll your eyes, “Aye.”

He stops in place.

“After four box steps, the man will twirl you out.” Minho’s hands move and he pushes your waist to encourage you to spin out. “And then he will bring you back in.”

When you spin back in, he does not come chest to chest with you, no. Minho’s entire front is pressed against your back. 

His breath is hot against your neck.

“Hold your arms like this,” he whispers in your ear. A shiver tears up your spine. 

Minho grabs your wrists and crosses your arms over your chest and has your palms facing out to both sides. His own arms wrap around your body to hold his hands like yours are against two mirrors. 

“Lean to the side,” Minho’s voice has a slight rasp to it as he’s murmuring into your ear. He pushes you slightly to the left, while he leans to the right. 

His face is right next to yours, your noses almost brushing together. 

You can’t look into his eyes, you can only stare at his perfectly plush lips. They’re slightly wet, he must’ve just licked them. They part for a split second and you can feel the shaky exhale come out of his lips and fan over yours.

“Come back to center,” he whispers and both your bodies return back to the position they were in. 

Minho grabs your right wrist, “Bring this arm up and around like this.” He brings your arm up and around the back of your head to stretch out to the right again. “Turn to me.”

Your bodies turn and meet again in the waltz hold. This time, Minho holds you even closer than before. 

“Got it?” he whispers to you, eyes searching yours. All you’re able to do at the moment is nod.

Your stomach is doing flips from his warm grasp, from the way his entire body is pressed flush against yours. All you can think about is Minho.

“One last step before you change partners.”

Minho’s hand wraps tighter around your lower back. 

“Dip back,” he hushed.

You lean back slowly, his hand remains strong and firm on your back. HIs body follows yours a bit as you bend backwards. Your chin falls back to expose your neck even more.

The hand you have up his bicep tenses.

Minho’s grip on your hand tightens even more and due to your sensitive hearing, you can hear him take a deep breath and then gulp.

When he exhales, it fans out along your neck. Goosebumps raise all along your arms.

He holds you in this dip for much longer than you think is necessary. Minho’s entire body is hovering over yours, his strong arms keeping you up as you bend backwards in the most graceful way you can imagine. 

“Then, you’ll come back up.” His voice is thicker.

Slowly, as if not to jar you, he brings your body back up to his. Once more, you’re chest to chest, nose to nose.

His hand doesn’t return to your waist, it stays on your lower back, fingers splayed out to keep you as close as possible. 

Your breathing intermingles. His scent surrounds you with his arms.

It was the closest you’ve been to Minho without a snarky word or dirty look thrown from one person to the other. 

The fabric of his thin tunic feels soft under your fingertips.

You’re unable to meet his eyes once more, you’re looking down at the collar of his shirt. 

Minho’s nose bumps into yours lightly and your breath hitches.

His lips are so warm you can practically feel them on yours. 

He gulps.

The music continues to play.

The hand in yours twitches.

His heart slams against his ribcage just like yours.

“Then what?” you murmur. Minho hesitates.

“Then,” he rasps, “you twirl away to the next partner.” A pause. “And the dance starts all over again.”

He makes no move to step away from you. The grip he has on your entire body is unwavering, if anything, it’s tighter. 

The music swirls in the air. 

“Y/N,” he whispers. His lips barely move when he says it. 

You look up at him.

His skin is so flawless in the dim candlelight. There’s a pink tinge to his cheeks that stretches all the way to his ears. His eyebrows are pulled together like he’s in deep thought, lips are pursed.

Minho clenches his jaw and licks his lips. He opens his mouth to say something and immediately closes it again. 

“Yes, Minho?” you ask quietly. 

His face twists a bit more, his eyes dart down to your lips and then back up to your eyes. His hand in yours feels a bit clammy.

“Y/N, I–”

The door opening behind you causes Minho to jump away from you a bit.

“How is it going in here?” Seungmin calls across the room.

“We only just finished going over each of the steps.” Minho answers, clearing his throat.

“Am I able to see it?”

“Aye, you’ll be one of her partners after all.” There’s a distinct tone change when Minho responds to Seungmin. If you didn’t know any better, you would say that Minho was jealous– again.

Minho reluctantly breaks away from you and struts over to the music box.

Seungmin stands along the outer edge of the dancefloor. “I will be ready to take your place as your next partner, my fair lady.” he says with a mock bow.

You scoff and roll your eyes. Your heart is still racing from your intimate moment with Minho.

The advisor cranks the music box again and resets the top of the music. He stalks back over to you. 

“Now, let us try the whole thing from the top.”

Minho nods his head in time with the music a few more times. You feel him go to take his first step forward, so you step back and to the side, like you practiced. He leads the two of you around the floor, completing four waltz box steps.

He twirls you out, then back in.

Your hands press together, your bodies lean to the side. When you look over at him, it takes so much willpower to stare into his eyes and not down at his lips.

With your bodies returning to center, you turn out and come back to the waltz position. Minho’s hand slides around and he dips you back.

The dip is quicker this time. But, you don’t miss the cool blow of air he pushes out over your exposed neck.

When he brings you back up, he assists you with spinning to the side and you’re stopped by Seungmin taking a hold of your body in the same way that Minho had.

His grasp feels different.

No less pleasant by any means. Just different.

His warm chocolate eyes stare down at you with a proud look to them.

“Excellent!” he praises you and you flush. “Now, you just need to be able to pickpocket the ambassador while you do so.”

[fandomcaseymix]

The Beast Inside Comes To Help

Sorry for any mistakes, English isn't my native language, haha)

Enjoy!

------------

Darkness.

It was the first thing Wheeljack saw when he opened his optics. There was nothing to see around, and it was impossible to tell which was up and which was down. A thought flashed through Wrecker's processor that he was levitating in space. However, this assumption was immediately refuted: his pedes felt a firm ground under them, allowing the white mech to stand up steadily.

Strange. Where was he? What kind of place was this?

Puzzled, Wheeljack lifted his servo to rub his neck cables and froze dumbfounded. Something was wrong, but what exactly? Why does his frame feel different?

Slowly lowering his servo, the Wrecker stared dumbfounded at what he saw in front of him. His own hands, white with red stripes. No claws. No spiked appendages on the forearms. No fangs in his intake. Wheeljack began frantically touching his body, still not believing in what he saw.

There was nothing. Everything that made him a predacon was gone.

Did that mean he was back to his old self?

Smiling dazedly, Wheeljack covered his faceplate with a servo and lifted his helm up. Then he laughed loudly. At first, his short nervous giggles escaped from his throat, then his quiet laugh turned into the laughter of a maniac released from a madhouse. The Wrecker couldn't believe what he was seeing in front of him. He couldn't believe that what he saw was real, that he wasn't a mutilated mech turned into a predacon. Is this really a nightmare, too real to be true? Maybe it was just a hallucination, and now he is lying on the platform on Nemesis? What if he blacked out, exhausted by the tortures of the Decepticons who wanted to find out where the rest of the Autobots were?

Well, they made a little mistake with the choice of an autobot informant. Not to mention that they seriously missed. Although, even if Wheeljack knew where his comrades were, like slag he would have told them.

Damn that one-eyed lunatic who thought he could break him and turn him against his own fraction. May all the Decepticons who killed his comrades fall into the Pits.

Then a sudden rumble like the roar of a wild animal sounded in the dead silence, causing Wheeljack to freeze. He immediately unsheathed his katanas, ready to defend himself from... whatever it was. The "ground" shook, and the Wrecker recognized someone's heavy footsteps, apparently sharp claws grated, and something clicked a little higher up. The white mech pursed his lips, suppressing the fear that showed its ugly head for a second, and put his weapon at the ready.

The footsteps approached, the darkness suddenly opened up, and a beast that had long been considered extinct appeared in front of Wheeljack. A huge white predacon was rushing towards him, menacingly flashing its amber-yellow optics. A spiked tail with thick gray and gold quills curved behind it like a white snake, and gray-golden bird wings with bright red feathers moved on a mighty snow-white back.

Wheeljack gripped his katanas’ handles tightly. Letting the monster get as close as possible, he avoided the blow. Dodging, the Wrecker slashed at the beast's muzzle with all his might, hitting somewhere in the eye.

As soon as the blade of the katana touched the beast’s body, his processor exploded in pain. The mech screamed in surprise and, dropping his weapon, he put his servo to his left optic. The cybertronian felt as if he himself had been hit on the faceplate, deliberately aiming at his organ of sight. A painful growl was heard at the same time as his scream, accompanied by the crash of a fallen body and the screech of metal. Wheeljack sucked air through tightly clenched dentures into the vent systems, trying to endure the pain, and carefully removed his servo covered with energon. Blue. So he's an ordinary Cybertronian. Or not?

What just happened?!

"Slag, that hurts," Wheeljack hissed softly and, blinking, stared at his internal fluid in confusion. "What the..."

His optic was intact. The soft metal of the front plate was the only thing that was damaged, but the pain did not decrease. It was also surprising that the wound that was supposed to appear on the predacon's muzzle somehow ended up on his faceplate.

Slag, the Wrecker thought dejectedly, getting to his feet and picking up his weapon. This is not a dream. This is a slagging nightmare.

The fallen beast rose to its feet again. It turned to Wheeljack and with an angry growl ran towards him again intending to kill him. The white mech froze, trying to figure out how to deal with a leviathan twice his size. His swords and grenades are unlikely to help him, on the contrary, they will only make things worse. He didn't want to repeat the experience with the optical sensor at all. So Wheeljack decided to resort to a really crazy method. Once was enough for him to understand the futility of fighting.

He folded his swords behind his back, closed his eyes tightly and knelt down, humbly bowing his head. There was a surprised growl, then claws gnashed, and the beast fell silent, stopping right in front of the Autobot. It blew a stream of heated air over the white mech, hissing at him in displeasure, and began to sniff him. Wheeljack carefully opened his optics, slightly squinting his damaged "eye", and stared ahead of him in a daze.

It wasn't just someone's optics staring at him. He was looking at himself.

Once yellow optics became blue, the same as his own. The beast in front of him, the predacon, looked at him with anger, rage and... fear. The same fear that the animals having been mistreated usually look with. There was even a hidden hatred for the offenders and a desire to revenge for all the evil that had been done to it.

Wheeljack shook his helm furiously, staring at the predacon in disbelief. How?.. What was that? How could he feel someone else's emotions? It wasn't a simple assumption about how someone who was treated like a monster and who was feared might feel. He seemed to be experiencing the same emotions himself, as if he were a monster himself.

A guess shot through his processor. This predacon in front of him is him. He is the monster.

Somewhere in the distance, a muffled female voice could be heard shouting someone's name.

Bulkhead!

Then there was a loud scream with a screech that Wheeljack instantly recognized.

Predaking.

Miko! Find shelter!

Miko and Bulkhead... They are... here? Then where was the Wrecker himself? And why was he out?!

"Grr..."

Wheeljack blinked and returned his attention to the predacon, who slightly tilted his head, showing a nasty dent on the left side of his muzzle. The Wrecker grimaced a little. Right. Predaking threw him off with his tail. Yeah, that was very painful. The white mech cautiously stood up to his full height and raised his hands in a peaceful manner, showing his non-hostility.

"Hey, Buddy," he said to the predacon. The beast hissed in displeasure. "Okay, okay, I get it, you don't like "Buddy". What kind of name would you like?"

The white predacon hissed again in displeasure and shook its head. Its blue optics looked at him reproachfully.

"Yeah, right. Now’s not the time for giving names," Wheeljack guessed and grinned nervously. "Huh. I'm talking to a predacon. Looks like I’ve Iost my mind. "

The predacon let out a rumble, shaking its head negatively. The Wrecker chuckled again. No, he's not crazy. Okay, maybe he's a little crazy, because he always rushed headfirst into battle, not caring that he might not survive. A monkey with a grenade, as that guy, Agent Fowler, once put it. He was offended, of course, but in a way it was true.

"Okay, okay, I'm not crazy, " Wheeljack gave up, letting out a chuckle.

Miko's voice rang out again, full of genuine horror.

Bulkhead!

Run, Miko! Hide! Bulkhead shouted back.

I’m not leaving you, Bulk!

Miko, I’m supposed to protect you, not the other way around!

Wheeljack clenched his dentas. He couldn't remember exactly if there had been any reaction to his appearance from his friends. The Wrecker didn't want to admit it, but... He was afraid. He was afraid that the other Autobots, including Bulkhead, would not recognize him, exposing him to the fate of an outcast. To some extent, Wheeljack was not afraid to be alone, after all, he had been plowing the expanses of space for a long time on his trusty Starhammer. But now, without his Jackhammer, he wasn’t very happy about this outcome.

The predacon approached Wheeljack and cocked its head to the side. It purred lowly, attracting the Wrecker’s attention. The white mech turned to the beast, distracting himself from his sad thoughts. The corners of his lips twitched.

"Well, big guy, looks like you and I are stuck here together, " he chuckled. The beast let out a long howl and poked its muzzle into the Wrecker’s chestplate. To his surprise, Wheeljack understood what the predacon wanted to tell him. "You want to... work together?"

The beast growled again with a nod.

"You are giving me your strength and returning me full control over my body?" The Wrecker raised his optical ridges in surprise, once again amazed that he understood something from this inarticulate speech. "Deal!"

The predacon leaned its head forward, allowing Wheeljack to touch it. Hesitantly, the mech raised his servo and put his hand on the dark gray muzzle.

"Remind me to give you a name, okay, big guy?"

The predacon growled in agreement, nodding slightly so that the white mech's hand would not leave its nose. The beast and the Cybertronian simultaneously closed their optics, trusting each other with their lives.

---

His blue optics snapped open. His whole body trembled, and the internal systems began to disperse the frenzied heat, making its way along the neck cables to his mouth. His fire was bursting out, crackling with displeasure. His energon was seething with rage and a desire for revenge.

Keep talking, keep laughing

One day you'll wish you hadn't...

They wanted to make a monster out of him to eliminate the Autobots. To kill his comrades. His friends. His family. Well, the Decepticons brought his wrath upon themselves by daring to hurt the ones he cares about. And they all will pay for it.

All the people want fire, fire...

His paws abruptly lifted his body, the large boulders flew apart, freeing his wings. Wheeljack shook his head and fixed his sharp gaze in the direction of the fight. The fire in his energon began to boil with renewed vigor at the sight of Predaking.

Maybe it's time they meet their dragon.

And his bright turquoise blast from his mouth hit exactly its target. The face of an Autobot Hunter.

------------------------

Man, sometimes I hate my inspiration. If it hits it won't leave alone until I write the idea down or draw it. But, honestly, it wasworth the effort, hehe)

Of Flesh And Steel AU rightfully belongs to @sugarand-everythingnice

Hope you like it)))

[miitarashi]

Hello! Good evening! So… can you please please please please make more stories with tintin?!!! I recently just wanted tintin 3d again and have gotten more obsessed with him!😍 maybe one with reader has a nightmare and Tintin heard her (note: could you make them neighbors?) and almost breaks the door done thinking she was in danger. Once finding out that it was a nightmare he comforts her and stays the night to help her. If you can’t I would understand🥲 thank you!

AAHHHH THIS IDEA IS SO CUTE DAYUM-

And i get obsessed with him in the same way lol. I undestand you my dear unknow person.

I just had to do it as soon i see your request,i hope i made justice for your ask and thank you for requesting!

Reader - [Name] (Female)

Warnings: cuteness. Too much,cardiac people be aware.

Prompt - Tintin helps you after a nightmare.

The sound of the tapwriter finally stopped after what seems like hours.

He look up at the clock. 1:00am. He had lost track of the time so easily.

He lean his back on the chair,scretching with an silent groan. His hand brushing against his face in a attempt to help him be just awake enough to get up and walk for his bedroom to have a proper night of sleep. Getting up from the chair,Milu shift a bit and lift his head up to look at his owner with a little sleepy face coming closer in weak steps.

"Sorry Milu,i overworked a bit."

Tintin bend down to give the dog a light caress soon getting up and walking out of his office.

His eyes were tired from writing too much,basically dragged his body across the living room floor to the bathroom so he could take a good shower and finally have the much-desired rest,but he heard something.

A scream.

Suddenly he was on the alert. His senses paid attention to everything with focus as adrenaline was released in his body causing him to act quickly running for the door and openning it.

The scream come from the door right in front of his,he knew the voice. The new neighbor who moved in four months ago. An real kind and somewhat chaotic young girl,the type who randomly start talking about some interesting butterfly fact just because she find out and really liked it,knowing too much regarding at odd things.

The ginger-haired boy notice an certain interest on her personality. For him it was funny and unpredictable,she aways find a way to surprise him,even helpped with a mistery by knowing things refering to an particular ancient tribe. Why? Neither him know,but was more than thankful for it,since then,Tintin said for her to ask anything to pay for the help,but in a kind way,she denied with an smile.

But now was the moment.

As soon he open it,he knocked on her door calling out your name. For not getting an fast response,mind racing by all of the possibilites,even more when almost everytime something happened with persons around him,he needed to act quick.

Banging one last time,he was ready to break in by hitting the door with his shoulder,but in a second thought,he turned the handle realizing that the door was open and quickly entered the apartament. Before calling out your name again,he looked at the couch seeing you sleeping there,still with eyes closed shifting and trembling.

He let a long and relieved sigh,thanking gods that you wasn't in a real danger and walked over you holding your arms carefully to make you stay still.

"[Name],wake up. It's just a nightmare..."

In a soft tone,he speak trying to not scary you even more,he shake you a bit. Moving around some more,your eyes suddenly snap open,your first and instintictive thought was cover your head and cring in place trying to protect yourself while shaking in fear.

Tintin just leave your arms,kneeled down in front of you.

"[Name]...?"

He call. His voice in an whisper,his moviments was careful seems like he was trying not scare away a little animal. You take your hands out of your head,sitting up on the couch,your eyes focused on the floor,vision blurry because of the little tears forming under your eyes,quivering like you didn't get hold on reality yet.

"[Name]..."

Two hands reach your face. Calmly and gently holding your cheeks lifting your head so you could finally meet his eyes. The feeling of his touch drag you back slowly as you vision become less blurry.

"[Name]...look at me ok? You're safe..it wasn't real,just a nightmare"

He's voice and expression kind as possible,hands still on your face moving up just enough for his thumbs wipe the tears. Your eyes focused on his own.

"Breath for me [Name],it's ok..."

You nod,taking deep breaths slowly feeling your heart beat coming back to normal. Your own hands going to hold his as you finally calm down after one of the worst nightmare you had in a long time.

"Better...?" - you nod again.

"Great. I'm very thankful you're ok"

When he was about to take his hand away,you hold him. In a little shaky and weak manner.

"...please...just..." - you hear an low 'shh'.

"As much you need...don't worry"

You let a long breath,less shaky after one or two minutes. Since then he didn't move his hands away just when you move it to hold above your thighs,being silent until you manage to speak again in a more steady voice.

"..thank you Mr Tintin i-"

"[Name],don't need to call me mister" - he chuckle quietly.

"Sorry,but...thank you...really mr-...Tintin"

He shake his head slightly getting up and sitting next to you on the couch still holding your hands keeping an kind smile on his face.

"Being honest,i'm the one grateful. When i hear your scream i thought you was in danger,i almost break in"

He chuckle again at his own words,a small smile appeared on your lips along with a short sigh.

"Good you didn't made it...Mrs Finch would freak out maybe.."

"Yes,i'm glad too"

Again,a brief silent between both of you. His presence was oddly enough to make you feel calm,his hand passing a good sensation of security. So much that the quiet atmosphere was comfortable,not awkaward,just good.

"The nightmare..." - he begin in a low tone.

"I..don't.."

"That's ok,don't talk if you don't want to" - you nodded.

You knew he eventually would leave,Tintin already helped so he didn't have to be there anymore but you was still afraid. Fearful to close your eyes and go back to the same nightmare, you knew it was a childish thought but inevitable, however you remembered something. When you helped him with his work on a mystery, the journalist insisted on repaying you in some way, but you refused. Who knew you would end up having to use his offer proposed before.

Squeezing his hand lightly, you caught his attention making him look at you who stared back with some shame in your eyes and a slight blush on the cheeks.

"Mr- i mean...Tintin..you..remember about your offer..? to pay for my help on that case you get..." - he nodded.

"can you...stay...?"

You probably sound like a kid asking for his parents to sleep with them,and it wasn't too much wrong but you couldn't deny the fear on your mind,he bring a good comfort and you just wanted it next to you,at least for now. But,the ginger-haired boy on your right side just looked kindly at you.

"Gladly"

You smiled,relieved and still a bit embarrassed,but soon,you come closer in a silent request to hug him motioning with your arms. He agreed with a head shake and you hugged him from his right side resting your head on Tintin's shoulder.

And he didn't move,only to return the hug with one arm settling a comfortable silent on the environment of your dark apartament at more than 1:37am. He was still tired since he overworked on his new article,so eventually,when you fall asleep he was right behind you sleeping with his head on top of yours enjoying your company as well finally getting his deserved rest with you in his arms and a little smile on the lips...

___________________________________________

A/N: i'm just here to thank you again for the request and i already started other ones,but i keep procrastinating and i hate it. I wanna write but my brain say no 😭. Maybe i write his personality better on this one??? I really hope so lol.

[blubberquark]

The Dark Arts

As a beginner programmer, you should know that eval() is evil, that you should never copy and paste code in cases when you could just put that code in a function and call that function from both places, that you should use a real debugger instead of printing out values, and that you should not use raw sockets in Python.

Sometimes I see beginners who do not yet understand why you can’t just use eval() or sockets - or eval() together with sockets, even - pretend to be more experienced so the greybeards on IRC will explain to them, only to come back a couple of days later with a bug that should have been really obvious if they were really as experienced as they claimed. Topics like eval() are not closely guarded secrets that the greybeards want to keep to themselves, they are much more like actual literally esoteric knowledge, knowledge that is accessible only to those who have been initiated.

This time, I am trying something different. Instead of explaining why you shouldn’t use those things unless you know what you are doing, I will give you the exceptions. This knowledge will be next to useless unless you have been initiated in the art of software engineering, unless you could already have arrived at the same conclusion on your own.

You have been warned.

Print Debugging

I tried to debug a platformer with break points. Super annoying. Instead I use print, I draw boxes on the screen, I have an in-game log console, I have a button I can hold to show more debug info. It varies from game to game.

Debugging movement is not even about bugs, but about game feel.

eval()

I use eval() in my yarn.py library. It’s something like YarnSpinner, which is something like Twine, but for dialogue trees and multiple choice text embedded in games, not for whole games that are just text. Since it doesn’t use it to run code that was sent over the wire, but code that is part of data files that come with your application, it’s reasonably safe to do this. Statements like <<if $EXPR >> and <<print $EXPR >> will evaluate $EXPR in the scope of the yarn.py session, so that they have access to local variables. The statement <<run $PROG >> will execute $PROG with exec().

I thought about having statements like <<set $VAR to $VALUE>> and to store variables in a dictionary. But why bother? After all this, I’d have my own interpreter for a language that’s worse than Python, so I might as well use eval() and exec().

Adding convenient functionality to yarn.py, like the ability to query a node that has been visited, is only a matter of implementing a function in Python and adding it to the interpreter scope in eval(). Instead of adding a special case to the evaluator to handle visited nodes, I have added a visited dictionary to the interpreter scope, and so users can write <<if visited[”StartNode”]>>.

Copy+Paste

I copied and pasted code in a game of mine that lets you save and view replays. In addition to keeping the the gameplay code under source control, for every major revision of the game I copied the gameplay code into a new file. This way, I can import the appropriate gameplay module for a replay file, and run that.

Gameplay code is decoupled from input handling or rendering. Those actually get updated with every new release.

If I had substantial code sharing between versions, I would need to carefully add conditionals each time I made a change. And if I didn’t have old versions of the gameplay code at all, characters would just miss jumps, get stuck in the ceiling, or otherwise come out of sync with the original gameplay as I tweak the physics of movement.

Good thing I have the animations decoupled from the gameplay, or I’d need to version those too.

Raw Sockets

In my multiplayer real-time strategy game I used raw sockets. Every frame, the game receives UDP packets and updates data structures that keep track of received network communication. Then it sends UDP packets back. As long as a packet goes unacknowledged, it is sent again and again on every subsequent frame.

There were no problems with partial data, because I used UDP packets, which either arrive whole or not at all. There were no problems with buffering and de-syncing, because if no packets were received, the game loop would just continue and try again next frame. Packets didn’t have sequence numbers, but they had time stamps and frame numbers.

This form of networking does not require rollback, client-side prediction, async, or a separate thread, but it does introduce a small, fixed amount of lag. With good networking conditions (wired Ethernet LAN), the lag can be as low as a single frame.

pickle

Just kidding! You should never use pickle.

[promethea-silk]

Blackened Feathers Falling Down

Rage. 

Pure frenzied fury coursed through her veins as Cordelia swiftly made her way through the hallways of the Gray estate to find her quarters. Many household staff took notice of her exasperation, making attempts to inquire on her wellbeing; she ignored them. Every face she passed was a blur, forms fading into shadows that gave way to smoke in her peripherals as she disregarded their mere presence, the sounds of their voices were warbled and far away in her ears. Soft clicking of her heels on the carpeted stone echoed her trajectory, the ensemble created by the joining of the fabrics she adorned swishing with her movements. 

Upon reaching her room, the door was swung open with force and subsequently closed with the same. A sensation continued to rise in her core, something akin to an alchemical reaction as it burned and fumed within until it reached her chest and she could no longer keep it at bay, pacing the length of her room before coming to a halt in the center. A scream. A wail. The anthem of a banshee released from her, that feeling of rage finally having a moment to not be bottled up. How dare he put his hands on her. That foul beast of man belongs in the stables with his animals. 

Cordelia’s mind raced with thought of revenge or something of the like, her feet gathering motion yet again to return to her pacing. If she had known the younger brother would have caused so much aggravation, the woman likely would have simply waited out her husband’s timely death and dealt business in other ways. No, her actions would not be regretted, she was steadfast in the decisions made and set in her ways. This newly growing nuisance would be handled the same as any other.

Finally, her steps slowled, bringing her to the large vanity nestled in the corner of her room. Lowering herself to the bench, Cordelia forcefully looked at her reflection in the mirror. Disheveled, out of sorts. Her typically elegant updo was now half falling over her shoulders from having removed one of the large pins that held the strands up. Leaning closer and over the vanity itself, she tilted her head to the side just so that she would notice the red mark still stinging the skin of her cheek and the darkness rising around her right eye. Swallowing hard, her chin lifted now as her hands moved to unclasp the choker around her neck. Indentation marks blemished the skin that rested beneath it, she knew that a bruise would be in its place by the next morning. 

The lace choker was set aside with the rest of her jewelry as she searched for one larger in size that would be her attempts at hiding the residual ghost of Damien’s fingers around her neck. Of course, this would only hide a portion of the bruise considering the size of the man’s hands, but it would do. Once the necklace was gently set in place around her neck, she reached for a small tin to set before her. Delicate fingers worked to open the container, removing a round puff that she brought very carefully to her face to blot on a bit of powder to desaturate the darkening red and purple on the right side of her face. Frustration grew as the attempt was mostly futile and the makeup puff was tossed to the vanity with fervor. 

An undetermined amount of time passed and Cordelia sat in front of the mirror. Staring. Knocks to her door for check ins, maids calling her to dinner, and still she simply sat. Gazing into an unrecognizable and contorted version of herself. She had gone through every option of pain she wished to inflict on Damien Gray in her mind, playing the scene over and over from the hours prior. And yet, at the end of it all as day succumbed to the day, Cordelia gray lifted from her seat and went about her normal evening routine only to quietly crawl into her bed and fall asleep without a worry left in sight and unconcerned.

Peace.

[ Mentions : @damien-gray-ffxiv ]

@sanguinecourt-ffxiv

[foli-vora]

sotn: 5

masterlist | series masterlist

Summary: Signs!AU. It started off in the most bizarre of ways. Crop circles. You mean the bother of cleaning up someone’s stupid prank? But then the lights come—hundreds, thousands—floating menacingly above the cities. The panic starts to settle in. Full summary here…

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Word count: just over 3.9k

Warnings: swearing, angst, talk of character deaths, a character death i hate myself for, vague descriptions of a dead body, violence/injury to an animal, thriller/horror, a feisty alien, graphic violence, blood/gore

A/N: Finally here! A short epilogue to follow. Originally was going to just shove it all in one chapter but I enjoy the drama lmao. Enjoy!

PREVIOUS

The dark drowns your vision when you snap awake, your body startling sharply in a panic as your mind struggles to rid the heavy hang of sleep.

For a minute you don’t know where you are, completely lost in the overwhelming pitch black, but your body seemingly knows instinctively to be on high alert. With each passing second spent in silence and the soft notes of dust filling your nose, your eyes start to adjust, picking out the very faint outline and shadows of things within your basement.

A click of a torch sounds beside you and your eyes immediately dart to it, finding Frankie’s tired features softly illuminated by the warmth of light. 

“I wanted to save the battery,” he explains quietly, and your ears pick up on the scrape of his boots as he adjusts his position.

Your eyes fall to Chip cradled carefully in his arms, and it’s then that your brain finally fully catches up.

Frankie watches your face crease in worry and the way you scramble onto your knees to shuffle the short distance to him. Your hands tangle in the soft fur, thankfully finding Chip still warm and his chest heaving softly against your palm in a steady rhythm.

He shifts in Frankie’s arms at your touch, his heavy eyes slowly opening and coming in to focus on you. The soft thud of his tail against the ground has a small smile twisting your lips as you coo a gentle greeting, accepting the lap of tongue against your cheek with a hoarse chuckle that catches in your throat.

“He’s okay,” Frankie mutters, releasing an arm from around Chip to welcome you into his side. You curl into him, taking half the weight of Chip and resting your head on Frankie’s shoulder. “The bleeding has gone down, but it hasn’t stopped. He needs stitches.”

“Do we have nothing down here?”

“No, I’ve gone through it all.”

“There’s closure strips in the first aid box...”

…in the kitchen.

Frankie shifts, knowing exactly where the bright blue storage box was kept in the top cupboard above the stove, only a few steps from the top of the basement stairs. So close, and yet so far. It was too much of a risk. He’d have to open the door, make it to the top of the stairs and into the kitchen… but then what if they’re still up there?

What if they overpower him and get down the stairs before he’s able to yell out, before you’re able to even close the door? It would be his fault if anything happened to you.

Your eyes fall on the door and the chair still shoved harshly up under the handle, your thoughts going in much the same direction as Frankie’s. Chip rests heavily in your arms as they tighten around him, your face falling to press into his fur and lips forming the quiet apologies falling from your throat.

He snuggles further into your hold, almost as if he knew.

—

Time seemingly passes at a glacial pace. There were no clocks in the basement, no windows to show where the sun hangs in the sky, or even if it had been long replaced by the moon. The torch remains off to conserve the remaining charge in the batteries, and though it still unnerves you, the dark becomes slightly more bearable as the hours go by.

Frankie paces

And paces.

And paces.

He refuses to sit for long periods of time. He walks the walls of the room, he presses an ear up to the door, he checks that the coal chute is still blocked. He does anything to keep his mind busy, refusing to rest in fear that they’ll somehow sense his lax in defences and strike. 

Occasionally you get him to stop.

You reach a hand out when you hear his feet close by, fingers grabbing at whatever you could touch, bringing him to a stop and making him lower to the ground with you. You relish in the feel of his arms around you, the chapped lips that drag along your cheek and mould against yours, seeking comfort in those small moments of devotion.

You doze in and out beside Chip, the stress and anxiety built over the last few weeks giving way to an exhaustion you’re weak to fight. Frankie says it’s also your adrenaline crashing after the attack. Whatever the reason, you spend more time asleep than awake, and you decide you prefer it compared to listening to anything beyond the comfort of the basement.

After however much time passes, you wake to find the torch on, the end clamped in Frankie’s mouth as he shines it down to his hands where he tinkers with a radio. He pulls at wires, he messes with buttons, his frown deepens and smoothes, and then deepens again. You watch him in fond admiration, knowing how he loathed to sit and do nothing, and then static cuts through the silence.

You jump with the sudden harsh sound of it, but smile when Frankie gives a satisfied grunt in victory.

“What are you doing over there, Mr Fix-it?” You ask quietly, your smile widening when his eyes fly up to meet yours.

He grins around the torch, plucking it from his mouth and glancing back at the device, carefully turning the knob until the static is barely a whisper.

“Got bored,” he mutters with a guilty smile. “It’s our old camping one. I thought it was dead but I guess I’m just that good.”

You can’t help but laugh, and it’s a blissful relief to feel the trickle of genuine happiness after the trials of the last however long.

“It’s those good hands of yours.”

He throws you a wink, his tired features creasing with the effort of it. “You know it.”

“Frankie? Come and rest.”

“No, I—”

“Come and rest. We’re safe here.”

You expect him to fight back, to refuse and go back to his pacing, but then he nods, coming over to sit next to you and sitting the radio beside him. You wonder about the radio, about what he’s expecting–or hoping–to hear over the channels, but you ultimately decide to leave it, content to let Frankie hang on to whatever hope he had if it meant him getting even five minutes of rest.

He fades fast.

The moment his head meets your shoulder, his breathing deepens and his body loses its tension. You enjoy his slow, even breathing, pressing a soft kiss to his hairline and murmuring a soft I love you before resting your own head atop of his, quickly losing your own battle and fading into dreams.

—

He almost thinks he’s still dreaming.

Music.

It’s fucking music. 

He jolts awake, hands immediately flying to check you and Chip are still beside him before his attention is drawn to the radio. He doesn’t want to believe it. It can’t be real. Maybe he fought exhaustion for too long and now had to deal with hallucinations—

You stir quietly, “What is that?”

Maybe not a hallucination then.

“Music,” he breathes in confusion, refusing to touch the radio should it knock the antenna out of range.

He carefully reaches forward, fumbling with the device before turning the volume dial and smiling when the music loudens. It’s some classical shit—definitely not his taste, but god he’d listen to it for the rest of his life if it meant what he hoped it meant. 

You listen to the orchestra, letting it settle in your ears and flow along your body in calming waves. It’s beautiful. The instruments sound practically angelic in the inky darkness of the basement.

“Are there any other channels working?”

He grabs the radio, moving it to his lap and letting the music wash softly over him before finding another channel. His laugh is breathless and full of disbelief as another channel clicks into range, a male voice crackling through the speakers and declaring an end to the invasion.

For a moment you think you heard wrong. The words don’t settle in your mind. How could it be the end? Just like that? It’s not. It couldn’t be.

Stories come through of various assaults and attacks, first witness accounts of people being dragged away and seemingly disappearing without a trace. Your heart breaks with the longer you listen, the death and missing count rising by the second, but you can’t stop, hanging on every word the host says. 

It’s the end. It’s over. 

Tears start to build along your lash line, and you don’t know whether it’s from confusion, grief or the solace suddenly flooding your system. You start to shake, reaching a hand for Frankie’s in the dark. His fingers tighten around yours. 

“We made it.”

–

“Are you ready?” Frankie mutters over his shoulder.

You swallow the sudden wave of uncertainty, your fingers curling into the cotton of Frankie’s shirt before replying with a quiet, “I’m ready.”

He pulls harshly at the chair until it comes free from below the handle, placing it softly to the side before opening the door. He does it slowly, the muscles along his shoulders tensing should he need to slam it shut in a hurry, but nothing happens.

The light from the top of the staircase shines down the steps and bathes you in bright rays of sunlight when he finally opens the door fully. You stay pressed into his back, your stomach twisting into uncomfortable knots as your eyes follow the horrific claw marks scratched into the walls.

“Stay close.”

Each stair groans under your weight with every careful step. You strain your ears to pick up on any potential movement in the kitchen, but silence remains hanging over the space.

Destruction waits for you.

What was once your kitchen with each item neatly stored in its rightful space, now lays in ruin. Plates had been smashed, cupboards had been torn through, the chairs were thrown across the floor and your table had been upturned, but what stood out most was the wood panelling that had been torn from across the window, giving you a view of the outside world.

The light jingle of Chip’s contact tag follows you up the stairs and into the kitchen when you take your first steps out into the room. He stays behind you as Frankie steps quietly through the room and into the lounge, eagle eyes studying every corner of the room for anything still lurking or out of the ordinary.

“They’re gone.” You mutter, ignoring the stray bits of various panelling torn from windows and discarded on the floor, stepping carefully over tossed furniture and smashed picture frames.

Frankie stays vigilant, insistent on checking each and every room before relaxing fully.

You shadow him the entire way, refusing to let him do it alone. Chip’s lounging on the couch when you walk back in, his tail hitting the cushions at your reappearance. Frankie settles down with the first aid kit, and you usher Chip into your lap while Frankie cuts away his fur, cleaning his wound and applying closure strips.

It feels painfully ordinary, like you hadn’t just lived through hell.

With a firm order to lay down and not move, Chip resituates himself and heaves a long sigh, his eyes fluttering closed from your soft strokes down his nose.

The sound of Frankie pulling and heaving  at the remaining pieces covering the front door with his discarded hammer captures your attention, and you immediately follow him out the house and relish in the sunlight that warms your skin.

Arms wind around your torso as Frankie’s face presses into your neck, his lips pressing kisses to the skin of your throat as a laugh bubbles from your lips.

“I can’t believe it,” you murmur in astonishment. “We’re okay. We actually made it.”

Frankie shares your disbelief, his own gaze rolling across the yard and towards the house before nuzzling back into the curve of your shoulder. He breathes you in, taking in the steady movement of your chest, the beat of your pulse against his cheek.

You’re safe. You’re alive. Everything was over. Just like that.

Your hands run along his arms, your lashes brushing against your cheeks as your eyes close to fully enjoy the sun after so long in the dark, cold basement. You spin in his arms, looping your hands around his neck and dragging him in for a kiss, pouring every bit of affection and relief into the press of your lips. He returns it just as eagerly, his large hand cupping the back of your head and keeping you pressed tightly against him.

“I love you,” he mutters into your mouth, “so fucking much.”

“I love you.”

The moment is shattered the minute you break from each other. You both turn to assess the damage to the yard and house, prepared to find a fair amount of damage and destruction, but nothing prepares you for the legs sprawled out across the lawn from just behind the porch. You recognise the suit instantly, and the air leaves your lungs like you’d just been struck.

Harry—

A hand locks around your wrist before you can take a single step forward, and you pull harshly at it, your face morphing into vicious glare when Frankie’s hold merely tightens. He wins the struggle, winding his arms around your torso and grunting angrily in your ear, dragging you a few paces away.

You may have missed it in your desperation to get to him, but Frankie wasn’t blind to the blood staining the once green blades of grass.

“Stop, just—please, just stop for a second and fucking think about this! Is this how you want to remember him? Huh?! You want to see what they’ve done to him? You want that in your mind for the rest of your life?”

You weaken in his arms, tears building along your lash line.

“N-no,”

Frankie weakens at your weak tone, pressing a long apologetic kiss to your forehead. You bury into his hold, the tears that break free sliding along the skin of his throat. He holds you until you’re able to swallow any further tears, pulling away and keeping your gaze purposefully away from where Harry lays.

“Do you—shall I… shall I get a sheet or something?”

His hand cups your face, smoothing the wetness away from your cheek with a soft stroke of his thumb. “Yeah. I’ll be here, alright?”

You nod, finally breaking completely from his hold and making your way back into the house.

The image haunts you with every step, your mind conjuring scenes of Harry up against them, so small and frail, yet standing stubbornly strong and fighting until the last second. You want to believe that it was quick, that he didn’t feel any pain during his last moments, but a small part of you knows it wasn’t.

They weren’t here to make friends, and if Frankie didn’t want you seeing his body, he probably suffered with whatever horrific things they did to him. He died fighting to give you both a chance. He died for you.

Sobs build in your chest but you battle them down, instead focusing on the task at hand and  finding the linen cupboard through blurry eyes, grabbing the first folded sheet your hand comes in contact with.

Cradling it to your chest, you pause on your way past the couch, fingers curling through Chip’s fur and giving him a soft scratch behind his ear, bending to press a kiss to the space between his eyes. He stays asleep, weaker than his usual bouncy self, but you take comfort in knowing his injury was now sealed and hopefully on the mend.

You straighten, eyes briefly passing over the mirror mounted on the far wall as you turn and catching the silhouette of someone standing in the middle of the room, practically only metres away from where you stand over Chip, but it’s too late to stop moving. You’ve already turned and you wished you hadn’t.

Ice falls to the pit of your stomach, curling along your muscles and freezing you completely in place. Your eyes dare not move away, your gaze staying locked with the fiercely hostile blackened eyes from across the small space between you.

It’s horrifyingly tall.

That fucking clicking.

It makes you sick.

The odd chirping feels unnatural to your ears, acid bile rising in your throat the longer it makes noises, either talking to itself or any others left behind in the house. But you had checked everywhere; Frankie had checked, there’d been nothing in any of the rooms—

The creature shifts its weight, its long limbs moving as it slightly crouches almost into an attack stance, eyes narrowing in on you and you force yourself to stay in place despite every instinct in your body screaming at you to fucking run. Did it want the thrill of a chase? Did it know Frankie was outside? Had it already gotten to him?

You swallow the fear tugging at your throat, a tremble building in your hands with the longer it stares you down.

A rush of heavy relief washes through your body when you hear the creak of porch steps, somewhere in your mind knowing it was Frankie from hearing him come and go throughout your time living in the house. You want to yell out, to tell him to stop or run or something, but your mouth can’t form the words.

You watch him from your peripheral, hands clutching the sheet tighter as he comes into view. He stops in the doorway, the colour washing from his face when he comes upon the scene. He goes to step forward, to rush in between you and that thing, but the creature senses his thoughts and takes a threatening step closer to you, almost daring him to see if he could make it to you before it could.

Frankie knows he couldn’t. It’s too close to you. It would have you before he even gets halfway. He stays in place, tight muscle rolling over his jaw as he tries to come up with a plan, mind running wild with possibilities.

A sudden growl breaks the silence, and in the next second Chip is up and jumping from the couch, clamping his jaw unforgivingly around the creature's arm until his fur soaks with its black blood. It reels back in shock, a furious hiss falling from its mouth as it fights Chip’s weight hanging from its limb, eventually shaking him free and throwing him across the room. 

You watch him hit the wall and slump on the floor, a cry breaking from your chest. “Chip!”

The sudden distraction from you is the small window Frankie needed and he moves immediately, wrapping a hand around Benny’s old baseball bat sitting by the door and rushing the creature, swinging and landing a harsh hit to its head.

It falls immediately from the assault, rearing back onto its knees to hit back at him, but another whack of the bat has it falling completely to the floor. 

The wet strike and crunch of bone fills the room with every rage filled swing of the bat and Frankie doesn’t stop. Not when its blood starts to flick up and spray his face, not when it’s clear the thing is fucking dead with its mangled corpse laying still on the floor. He feels every bit of anger, fear, worry, grief…

Eventually exhaustion weighs heavy in his arms, and the bat drops with a thud onto the rug. His chest heaves as his dark eyes take in the horrific mess in the middle of his lounge room floor, before your shaky voice pries through the darkness hanging in his mind. His gaze flies up to find you, huddled on the floor and softly swaying a limp Chip in your hold.

“You’re such a good boy, such a good boy. Can you hear me, baby? It’s okay, mama’s here. You did so good. Look at me, Chip. Chippy? Chippy please, look at me—”

—

He comes in the late afternoon, when the sun hangs just above the horizon, bathing the farm in soft hues of orange.

Frankie had moved Harry closer to the house, wrapping him in the sheet and stepping away to let you manoeuvre a pillow under his head in an attempt to give Harry some comfort and dignity. You try to ignore the small patches of blood soaking into the fabric. Frankie stays close as you whisper your goodbyes, stepping in when he hears the tremble in your voice and sinking down next to you, letting a few tears escape his own eyes as you cry.

You both stay there for a long while, reminiscing on memories shared with your neighbour  and keeping him company until the sound of tyres crunching over gravel fills the air. Your attention flies to the truck that pulls to a stop besides Frankie’s in a billow of soft grey dust.

Will steps out of the vehicle, his left arm held against his chest by a makeshift sling from an old tshirt and a noticeable limp as he steps around to close the door. Both you and Frankie smile, elated that he was here and safe and made it through whatever hell he faced, but Will doesn’t return it.

The atmosphere changes, and Frankie takes a small step forward, the smile slowly slipping from his face with every quiet second that passes. There’s no other noise. No one else opens a door and slides from the truck. There’s no one else in the truck.

You take a moment to look at Will, eyes skimming over the bags under his eyes, the shadow of grief hanging heavy in his features. The silence is deafening.

Frankie swallows.

“… Benny?”

Will’s steel expression falters. 

The jagged breath Frankie releases cuts through the silence, and then he’s moving, feet heavy as they advance towards his friend, his arms winding tightly around Will as quiet cries carry through the air.

“I’m glad you made it, man.” Will mutters after a few moments, voice rough.

“What happened?”

“When we got there—we thought we’d made it. We got in the truck, made it to the lake… y’know how they were saying they didn’t like water… but they just came out of nowhere—we had no time.” Will pulls away, scraping his free hand over his face in exhaustion. “We took some of them down, but they got ma. Benny just fucking lost it. You should’ve seen it, Fish. They were taking everyone.”

An ache starts to build in Frankie’s chest. He’d only heard a small sample of the horrific accounts of various attacks and abductions across the country on the broken radio before leaving the basement, but to hear the pain in Will’s voice hit somewhere deep in his chest. He was thankful you decided to stay home and away from any potentially major attacks.

“Benny went down trying to get a kid. There was a girl… she was still in the car, her parents were dead. He saw them go for her and just went for it. I tried—” Will’s voice shakes, his expression crumbling, “I fucking tried to get to him, man, but by the time I got there, he—”

“You did what you could.” Frankie murmurs. “Benny would kill you if he saw you blaming yourself.”

A pained smile pulls at Will’s lips, “I know.”

—

Tags. (some still aren’t working i’m sorry)

Everything Pedro tag list: @maievdenoir, @javier-pena​, @lv7867, @dihra-vesa, @doin-stuff, @radiowallet, @the-queen-of-fools, @januarystears, @missminkylove, @beskarprincessjenny, @mswarriorbabe80, @danidrabbles, @sergeantbannerbarnes, @lestradeslover, @amneris21, @eri16, @absurdthirst, @hnt-escape, @acourtofsnakes, @ezrasbirdie, @mstgsmy, @lovesbiggerthanpride, @coaaster, @sherala007, @kelseyxyeslek, @greeneyedblondie44, @wyn-n-tonic, @you-got-me-starry-eyed, @shirks-all-responsibilities, @withasideofmeg, @harriedandharassed, @andruxx, @buckybarneshairpullingkink, @spideysimpossiblegirl​, @prostitute-robot-from-the-future, @tanzthompson​, @mad-girl-without-a-box​, @hope-for-the-best-98​, @fangirl-316​, @christina-loves​, @jediknight122​, @hallway5​, @xoxabs88xox​, @nicolethered​, @churchill356​, @massivecolorspygiant​, @just-here-for-the-moment​, @gracie7209​, @pinkie289​, @lavenderluna10​, @goodgriefitsawildworld​, @h-hxgirl​, @juletheghoul​, @punkerthanpascal​, @itswanktime​, @karolydulin​, @pedrostories​, @fabilei, @ghostwiththemostbitch​, @omlwhatamidoinghere​, @cannedsoupsucks​, @chaoticemz​, @hows-my-hair​, @alexxavicry​, @cran-berry-vodka, @deadhumourist​, @mandocrasis​, @thisshipwillsail316​, @toxicfrankenstein​, @hotchlover​, @ew-erin​, @mishasminion360​, @jitterbugs927​, @penelopeimp​, @woodland-mist​, @pedro-pastel​, @spaceserialkiller, @adriiibell​, @1andthesame​, @elegantduckturtle​, @captain-jebi​, @magpie-to-the-morning​, @sharkbait77​, @sleep-tight1​, @musings-of-a-rose​, @karlawithacapitalk​, @woomen23​, @frasmotic​, @songsformonkeys​, @loonymagizoologist​,

Frankie Morales tag list: @a-reader-and-a-writer, @sanfransolomitatm, @pedrohoe04, @evyiione, @stardust-galaxies, @xjsteph, @androah, @wildmoonflower, @naughtynecromancer, @quica-quica-quica, @stevenmylove, @lawfulgranola, @notagamersdey, @fuckoffbard, @yt-adriana, @dins-cyare, @clydesducktape,

[giriduck]

I’m not referring to rhe “he don’t cate about the timeline article” I mean the “No Comment” article when he was asked about an OoT remake. It’s on gameinformer and twitter, and I think i might be skeptical bit time

Ah! I have a several thoughts on this!

(Disclaimer: I do not work for Nintendo and this is all speculation.)

Given Aonuma’s high profile in games, “no comment” is really all he could say in that situation. If they were considering an OoT remake, HD re-release, anime series, etc. in the indeterminate future, he couldn’t hint to it in an ad hoc interview question and certainly wouldn’t announce anything outside of a larger, Nintendo-driven marketing reveal. Given the interest in the topic, anything other than a hard “no” could easily be interpreted by the fandom and game media as a “maybe yes” (hence all the speculation around the “no comment” response itself). If they are not planning on making anything OoT related at this time (or even if it’s not on any future long term release roadmap), they also wouldn’t want to commit to a hard “no” there, either.

My guess is that if they were to “remake” OoT, it’d be like all of the other Mario and Zelda HD remakes: “upres it” to significantly higher detail and frame rate, modify the controls to make sense on Switch, and don’t change the content at all (other than adding additional graphical details—like what can be found in the delta between the original N64 OoT release the later 3DS re-release).

The “upres” of an older game is a massive undertaking. The OoT 3D port came out in 2011. For the sake of accuracy and feel, they might be able to rebuild / extend the engine they used on the 3DS to run on Switch, but that would likely be extremely difficult. Or maybe they could recreate the entire game in an already Switch-compatible engine (perhaps the Skyward Sword HD or BotW tech), but then it would be difficult to capture the core gameplay experience. Perhaps they could just start from scratch, but that’s even more expensive. No matter what they run it on, they’ll have to reproduce all the assets. Because OoT is such a beloved game—and there is precedent here with WW HD, etc.—they would likely choose to closely and carefully recreate the style of the original game, vs. drastically changing the art, sound, etc.

Regarding the narrative content, as others have mentioned, the game is 25 years old and from a less inclusive era, so aspects have not aged well. If there were edits made, it would perhaps be to modify those rougher spots, but likely not be a drastic rewrite.

To quote Husband, “There are very low odds they’d go the Final Fantasy VII Remake route” and retcon / change a bunch, especially since Nintendo already has such a strong HD re-release precedent. Because it would essentially be a port at that point, it would likely be given to another company to handle as the first-party TotK team moves on (if they haven’t already) to their next big project.

I have no idea what Aonuma’s role entails at Nintendo, but at the very most he would be part of the greenlight process to have another studio work on a re-release of OoT, and would likely not have any creative nor directorial influence on the game itself (there even are several interviews in which Omega Force described having very little oversight from the BotW team as they worked on AoC). So if folks are worried about him taking the game in a different direction, if he’s even still in a creative position at Nintendo, he will undoubtedly mostly focus on the Next Big New Title. But it sounds like maybe he’s moved to the more corporate / franchise level now, in which case he will not be in the weeds on creative direction much at all.

In the end, if Nintendo did decide to tackle the heavy lift of delivering a new generation of OoT to players (including getting it running on the Switch, redoing the art and audio, and making then localizing specific string changes, etc.), the end result probably won’t be different enough to risk undermining the long-established OoT lore nor impact the game’s place in the hearts of the fandom.

If anything, it could be a great chance for returning and newer players to experience this chapter of the older lore at >20fps.

[emma-what-son]

Long gone are the days when I didn’t research my favorite celebrities. One such favorite was Emma Watson, who was announced as the new muse and ambassador for Prada on August 18th, after asking on their Instagram stories ‘’who is she?’’ as if we didn’t see her the last 20 years, she is not a newbie.

My first thought was ‘’wait, Prada was rated by Goodonyouapp as Not Good Enough, so the perfume must be shady as well’’ and I was right. Prada’s fragrances are not cruelty-free, not even the latest release called Paradoxe, as in they could be tested on animals such as bunnies whether directly by the brand or indirectly by suppliers or third-party, they even sell in mainland China, where such tests are still required by law.

Emma Watson and Prada wanted to come across as sustainable in the new behind the scenes video. Yet, only the 100ml bottle of the perfume is refillable. Ethically all available 30 and 50ml bottles should also be refillable in Prada stores. They failed to explain what exactly is sustainable about Emma’s self-image campaign advert, which barely featured the perfume(Paradoxe) she was expected to sell/promote.

Three photos of Emma leaked already, which is surprising to me, even the behind the scenes video was not posted by official accounts which showed lack of professionalism handling the campaign. Emma Watson did fire her Prosper PR team after she received backlash over black squares posted on her Instagram account. She must have thought she has the last word when she posted black squares recently, on the same Instagram account.

All so called luxury brands want to be perceived as sophisticated, expensive, yet testing on animals is an unnecessary practice, they could have easily said a firm ‘’NO’’ to selling their products where such practices are still required, but one can guess business and profits are above the ‘’do not harm’’ principle. If they wanted to be sustainable they would have taken action in that direction. This is another example of greenwashing enabled by celebrity hype. Is it really luxury if animals are slaughtered for a perfume?

Emma herself is not an (eco)activist as she flew during the pandemic for leisure, feminist(slut-shamed women at 17 and was named in the Panama Papers with an off-shore company among many other unethical things) or anything close to sustainable(she is mostly papped shopping for fast fashion for which there’s plenty of photographic evidence, never for a book, music or art supplies).

I wonder what happened to ”we have so much power to change the world just by being careful in what we buy”(February 2019 on Goodonyou) and ”I have committed to only purchasing and wearing brands that are rated ‘It’s A Start’  or above, as I want to be able to support brands moving in the right direction.”(Vogue UK 2020) as most of her sartorial choices were rated Not Good Enough by the same company she endorsed(search a brand here).

Lack of a PR team means that news of her relationship with Brandon Green(son of Arcadia Group owner P. Green) overshadowed the news of her Prada collaboration, this relationship alone shows where her priorities are. A paradox – so the name of the fragrance fits Emma like a glove. She even has a diva reputation for being rude, dismissive to fans as young as 6 years old, to journalists since she was 11, to everyone from film crews, film extras, restaurant and festival staff to her own drivers to whom she had a tendency to yell at, a snob in public(from people who met her in Oxford, Headington School, Oxford Uni, Brown Uni, HP premieres, out and about etc.).

She clearly chose prestige and money over values. The Female Lead was right to advise young people to choose a role model carefully because Emma is clearly the opposite of one. Her image was built by her former PR teams and perpetuated by the media(which we know is an illusion). I’m not falling for greenwashing enabled by celebrity hype anymore. Thanks to the internet for enabling me to get better informed!

---

Okay, serious question: Does this person read Sam or my blog? Or do they just do their own research, because everything this person says has been mentioned on this blog.

They're being pretty harsh, but they're not exactly wrong. They're right in saying that the ad focused more on her than on the perfume. And then there's the fact that the perfume isn't cruelty free! The bottle being refillable doesn't really seem that great after learning this.

And is it true that the 30ml and 50ml bottles can't be refilled? I just thought that people could just buy the 100ml bottle and fill them gradually.

[appears]

25th Anniversary: Zettai Shinka Kakumei Zenya

Because anime used to be an ultra-niche hobby in America, there are only a few that I had access to back in the 90s and early 00s. VHS tapes with subtitled episodes were expensive, about $25-30 for a tape with four episodes, so anything I bought had to be researched very carefully to make sure that I would be getting something good. The ones I did end up buying and liking became formative to my development as a fan of Japanese popular music, as it was through the music of shows like Sailor Moon, Fushigi Yuugi and Magic Knight Rayearth that led me to artists like Ayumi Hamasaki, X Japan, and T.M.Revolution. Shoujo Kakumei Utena, or Revolutionary Girl Utena, was another one.

If you were a fan of Sailor Moon, as I was, Utena would inevitably crop up in a list of recommendations, though in hindsight, besides director Kunihiko Ikuhara, the two have very little in common. Both fall under the mahou shoujo, or magical girl, umbrella but Utena's execution and influences are pleasantly unconventional, from its plot line to its eccentric, game-changing soundtrack. While anime like Cardcaptor Sakura and Wedding Peach employed regular, time-tested music for its score, themes, and image songs, the Utena team hired psychedelic rocker and musical innovator J.A. Seazer who catapulted the sound of this unique world to singular heights. When it came out, nothing sounded like the music from Utena, and its first soundtrack, Shoujo Kakumei Utena Zettai Shinka Kakumei Zenya, or The Eve of the Absolute Evolution Revolution, illustrates the variety of styles and breathtaking depth to come in subsequent collections.

The album, released July 24, 1997, is the first original soundtrack from the anime and collects music from the series's first arc. The music reflects the show's (relatively) lightest arc, from its iconic titular opening and closing themes, sung by 90s seiyuu-queen Masami Okui, and Luca Yumi respectively, to its orchestral cues, through to its duel choruses. Three distinct genres make up the whole of the soundtrack and remain stark in their differences, yet all work together to comprise the bits and pieces of the show. There's the commercial piece, the one that will draw in casual listeners with a fun, chart-topping single; the cues, composed by Shinkichi Mitsumune, which set the theme and tone, drawing from French Baroque and Classical styles that characterize the visual world of the anime with its 18th century aristocratic influences (or at least, the kind popularized in anime like VERSAILLES no Bara), including its music, making for a world bright with dainty string quartets; and the duel choruses, a wholly imaginative space where J.A. Seazer combined opera and hard rock to soundtrack the eerie, bizarre world of Ohtori Academy's constant handling and mishandling of its Rose Bride. It’s the music that really brought this world to life, enchanting its look and feel, while distinguishing Utena from other anime. As a growing fan of the Baroque and Classical French era, including its music, this music just clicked with me when I discovered it in grade school -- totally worth the $30 I spent on a VHS from Suncoast with 4 random, somewhere-in-the-middle-of-the-series-so-I-had-no-idea-what-was-going-on episodes on it!

The soundtrack for the movie re-telling, Adolescence Mokushiroku (Adolescence Rush), is another essential collection from this series, though there were several more soundtracks released from this series and its several story arcs comprised of cool, strange, genre-defying sounds. This one is still the most important. You can find more information about this album here.