#and I'm thoroughly enjoying all the light we cannot see

[ambersky0319]

Me? Actually really enjoying a book I'm reading in English? Pretty likely apparently!

[yinyuedijun]

ZERO-SUM GAME

It’s different with Aventurine. You like being his luxury hand watch. You like being his elegant knife, his liar’s dice, his pretty poker chip. You want to be his object—the object of his affections, something he can parade around just like his expensive suits and his beautiful jewellery and his ostentatious furs. Look at me, he uses them to say. Look at what I own. Look at what I own despite this code on my neck. Look at what I've won despite my eyes and my blood. (Or: Aventurine wins you in a game of poker. He decides to cash out his prize right then and there—to enjoy you on the card table, laid out among all the chips and cards.)

8.6k words of psychological issues, explicit smut, and deranged characterization. aventurine tops, reader bottoms. public sex, voyeurism from strangers, piv, oral (reader receiving), fingering with gloves on, creampie. mild dubcon but the reader is ultimately into it. afab gn reader, they are playing a fem-coded role for an espionage assignment (dress, heels, makeup). themes of objectification. discussion of slavery and sa during slavery (not explicit). dead dove do not eat, mdni.

You are in the grandest casino of Kinyoshi Moon Colony, and Aventurine is running your latest husband into life-ruining debt.

You aren’t cut up about it. If your marriage (or concubinage, rather) were genuine, you'd maybe be annoyed about the loss of capital. But as it is, this relationship is an assignment from the IPC—one of the longest and most excruciatingly boring yet. Fortunately for you, Aventurine’s presence tonight means that you've finally gathered enough intel for Diamond’s needs. It is time for the IPC to terminate your latest contract, and Aventurine is here to collect you.

Which is a little funny, given your relationship. It is strange sitting across from your boyfriend, draped over another man and thoroughly ignoring him. You’re entirely focused on fawning over your husband instead—laughing into his ear, lighting his pipe and filling his whiskey glass, and oh, Mister Li, you're so funny, you're so clever, I think you should go all in!—but Aventurine doesn't react. He only smiles at the two of you, like he isn't bothered by the sight.

This is, of course, an act: when you came home from your last marriage (assignment), he'd made sure to pleasure you so thoroughly that you forgot all about your ex-husband (mark). Aventurine did not openly admit to any kind of jealousy at the time, but you could tell he hadn't been keen on letting another man touch you. He usually isn't too keen about anyone touching any of his things, in fact. Despite appearances, he always abhors the thought of losing anything important.

But any fears he might have are concealed right now. They’re always concealed. Hidden by the expensive suit, the countless stacks of chips, the golden walls and high-vaulted ceilings of the Venetian Zhijin, Masked by his generous gifts, his easy laughter, his careless frivolity. You can see right through his gilded smile. The rest of the table cannot.

They are all intrigued when Aventurine asks, a playful lilt in his voice, “How about we make this game a little more interesting, gentleman?”

The other players at the table consider him. The other plus-ones—concubines, courtesans, gigolos, and so on—look at him with calculated expressions of cursory interest. You do so as well, but only for a moment. Your gaze quickly returns to Mister Li’s face—your husband is meant to be your true focus, after all, not the game. You are not a player at this table, but an accessory. Closer to an expensive watch than a human being.

Some business magnate from the Triangulum Galaxy leans back and raises a brow. “I'm listening,” he says. You watch a bead of sweat travel down your husband’s neck.

“How about we up the ante,” Aventurine says, his voice light, “but instead of betting more money this time, we bet our dates?”

You think, in other star systems, other worlds, such a suggestion would invite riot. But Kinyoshi Colony being what it is, and the Venetian being the establishment that it is, the other players at the table only laugh. Nearly half of them deal in the trade of human beings anyway—this is nothing novel for them.

“Well,” one of them says, “it’s not like winning more money’s gonna make a difference to any of us.” A round of chuckling. He turns to his date—some noblewoman from Jarilo-IV who seems greatly out of her depth—and says, “What do you think, love? How do you feel about being part of my wager?”

She doesn't like it. She clearly doesn't like it, and she also clearly doesn't know how to say it. Were you not on the clock, you might intervene. Maybe. As it is, though, all you can do is observe quietly. All the power in this gambit lies with Aventurine. Even when surrounded by men who manipulate the wealth of entire cities, planets, galaxies—he remains in full control.

“There’s never any shame in folding,” he says, magnanimous. Then he looks your husband in the eye, smiling conspiratorially. “But I know there are some of us who aren't afraid to take risks.”

Li laughs. “You’re right about that, Mister Aventurine.” He gives you a fond smile. And of course he does—you’re his last shot at winning back all his losses for the night. “I think you'd make a pretty little chip, don't you?”

Although Mister Li is clearly less distressed at the thought of betting you than he was at the thought of betting his company just last round, you notice, out of the corner of your eye, a muscle in Aventurine’s neck twitching. It’s very, very subtle, and he'd have never let himself do it if the table’s attention were on him, but he did it. Perhaps it was involuntary. Your mouth curls.

“Sure, darling.” You try not to sound too giddy. “I’ll be whatever you like.”

Ordinarily, you wouldn't be so happy about this farce. This is, put plainly, a stupid way to extract you from your mission. Were the cards in anyone else’s hands, your husband could win and you might be stuck with him for another several weeks, at least—assuming that you aren't discovered and killed first. Or you could go home with another man and be subjected to the kind of things that men do when they trade human beings, and you don't think the IPC would care too much if you were. You are an asset before you are a person, after all. At this table, you are closer to an expensive watch than a human being—and at the Company, you are an overpriced knife.

But to Aventurine, you're a chip in one of his games, and you don't mind that so much. Men who only know wealth will throw around their riches thoughtlessly, but men who have endured poverty will hold onto them tightly—desperately. Aventurine takes care of his luxury watches, his elegant knives, his liar’s dice. His capital. And he never loses anything. He always comes to collect. You trust him to collect you, even with this stupid plan, so you are calm as you watch the dealer shuffle the cards.

The table makes their bets. Most of the players go all-in. A couple fold, perhaps feeling some degree of concern for their partners, but it's more likely that they just have shit hands. A lot of the ones who continue playing have shit hands anyway. Your husband doesn't do too badly—a straight flush. He seems confident.

Then Aventurine lays out his cards. Ten. Joker. Queen. King. Ace.

All hearts.

You have to take a sip of your whiskey to stop yourself from laughing.

Aventurine, himself, has the grace not to look too smug about the outcome. Or maybe it's very unremarkable for him, all these winnings being pushed over to him—poker chips and human beings. Some of the other dates are clearly anxious as they move toward him (they are expected to be loyal to their husbands), and some are clearly excited (they are expected to be frivolous, hedonistic playthings). He humours them all, for a little while. Puts on the usual show as they crowd around him, charms them because it'll be good for business partnerships in case any of their husbands care even a little bit about them. You'd do the same in his shoes. But in your current ones (six-inch heels, black leather, red bottoms, luxury), all you can do is seat yourself on the card table and light up a cigarette. Waiting.

Aventurine eventually sends them all off. All I wanted was to get to know you, he says cheerfully, which is probably not a lie. After they leave, he asks the dealer to close the table and go on break. Turn a blind eye. You raise a brow when they obey him.

How interesting.

You're still enjoying your cigarette by the time he turns to you. You flash him a smile, one of the ones that you use for work. His expression doesn't change, but his thumb brushes against one of his many rings—switching off your synesthesia beacons for some privacy—and he leans back to study you. You know he's admiring you, but it could be mistaken for a leer.

“Well, well,” he says, “If it isn’t the esteemed concubine of Li Fengzhi.”

“The esteemed fifth concubine,” you correct. He hums, looking surprised.

“I thought you were the fourth. Did I misremember?”

“No, just misinformed. He took another concubine right before I arrived on Kinyoshi. He acquired a sixth just last week. Turns out he picks up paramours like they’re strays.”

“How inconvenient.”

“It made no difference to me,” you dismiss. “I’m his favourite anyway, but I’m sure you knew that already.”

“I’d have had to be blind not to notice it. You have the man wrapped around your finger.” Aventurine leans back, studying you as you smoke on your perch. “But before we continue—why don’t you come a little closer, esteemed Fifth Concubine?”

You make a face. “That title doesn’t sound as nearly as flattering in Avgin dialect as it does in Zhijinese,” you note, though you get off the table anyway. You don’t go very far, electing to seat yourself on his lap, your arms draping around his shoulders. The feathers of his jacket tickle at your bare shoulders; the satin of his gloves glide down the skin of your thighs before settling on your calves. “Since you’ve won my company for the night, though,” you sigh, “I suppose I can humour you, Mister Aventurine.”

“Lucky me.” He leans in, his breath sweeping the shell of your ear. His fragrance surrounds you, your body warming at the familiar scent of ambergris and vanilla. You realize, all of a sudden, how much you missed it. You have to stop yourself from pressing your face into his neck and melting—it would be a dead giveaway for your identity and also too revealing of your feelings. Aventurine might be endeared by it, but he might also find it disconcerting. He often needs to be tricked into intimacy.

He does enjoy being wanted though, and he can obviously tell that you want him. He pulls you closer, one of his hands giving your thigh a generous squeeze. It makes you throw your head back in a laugh, exposing the soft skin of your throat. You aren't surprised when he takes the opportunity to kiss it, his lips gentle against your pulse.

“You’re being very forward,” you tease him. “Did you miss me?”

“I’m just trying to be careful,” he defends himself between kisses, his breath warm on your skin. “We should try to conceal our mouths as much as possible. No one can intercept our synesthesia beacons, but someone could still read our lips.”

You give him a funny look. “We’re the only two speakers of Avgin in the known universe. Who could, other than ourselves, could read our—mmph…”

Aventurine has caught the rest of your sentence with his mouth. He’s hungry and wanting for you, the heat of his lips overwhelming. Your tongue is as practised as his, but you find yourself too distracted by your thrill to focus, your kiss wet and eager. Messy. Unprofessional.

You’ve never kissed any of your husbands like this. You’ve never kissed any of your other owners like this. You feel dazed when he pulls away.

You compose yourself. “So you did miss me.”

He smiles. “Guilty as charged.” A gloved hand rests on your face, satin tracing your lips. “How could I not? You’ve been away from the house for so long.”

Your eyes narrow. There’s no idiom for this in Avgin, so you flip briefly to Interastral Standard: “Pot, kettle, black. You leave home all the time.” You smack away the hand at your waist, petty. He looks amused. “And you almost always die.”

He switches out his smile for a pout. “Don’t tell me you’re still mad about last time.”

“You nearly got yourself blasted with atomics, so yes, I’m still mad at you.”

Now he’s frowning. “Am I going back to sleeping on the couch when you come back?”

“Yes,” you say. His deepening frown is meant to be read as a joke, but you know better. Deciding to throw him a bone, you lean in, whispering playfully into his ear: “You can still fuck me on it though.”

Aventurine hums, as if considering. His hands traverse your sides as he contemplates your suggestion. You move to straddle him, your thighs squeezed around his hips. When you grind against him, you can feel how much he wants you despite his composure, his control—his length straining in his pants, pressed against the silk covering your core.

“I don’t think I can wait long enough to fuck you on the couch,” he says, voice teasing.

“No?” You hum as his hands travel upward, feeling every inch of you. “The ship on the way home, then?”

“We don’t leave until tomorrow. Do you really think I can wait that long?”

You don't expect to feel the warmth of his hands on your chest. Your breath hitches when he starts palming your tits through your dress, neon eyes admiring the curve of them. One of his thumbs skims over the peak of your breast, and his mouth curls when your nipple hardens. “No bra? That's convenient.”

“I—” You squirm in his grip, whining. It just makes you grind against his lap more, your cunt moving against his slacks. A wave of heat runs through your lower half, and you clench around nothing. You can see people from a nearby table glancing at you, doing double takes. You can feel their lingering gazes on you, and you know Aventurine can too.

“I—are you going to”—your voice shakes as he pinches your nipple, as his other hand moves to squeeze your ass instead. Your dress is short—designed for easy access—and his fingertips easily skim the underside of its skirt. You wonder if he’s going to pull it up. You wonder if he's going to go even further than that.

But that would be an absurd thing to do in the middle of the busiest casino in the colony, which also happens to be the busiest trade hub in its star system. It would be absurd even for the two of you. Nevermind the reactions of the other players in the room—the staff here would immediately blacklist you, and so would every other gambling house in Kinyoshi.

You try to calm yourself. “Are you—ah—going to take me upstairs?”

He's fully kneading your breasts now. You can feel your clit throbbing, your body responding to his rough and unrepentant touch. “Hm… I don't think I want to.” Aventurine’s voice drops. His smile takes on a distinctly wicked quality. “I think I'll take you right here.”

“But we’ll get kicked out,” you whine. Even as you protest though, you're panting and moving your hips now. Grabbing at his arms, rutting against him like you're in heat. His fingers hook around the thin straps of your dress, pull them down your shoulders, already starting to indulge despite your reservations. You bend into his touch.

“Kicked out? By who? The staff?” He smiles, as always. “I own the place now. I don't think they'll be giving me trouble.”

“Y—you what?” For a moment, you're too shocked to keep up the wanton show. “You do? Since when?”

“Since last night.” He thumbs one of the straps that's fallen halfway down your arms. The rest of your dress threatens to come down with it. “Technically it's the IPC who acquired it—or, well, their shell company did—but I'm their designated representative here. I signed the contract.”

“The IPC isn’t going to be upset that you're fucking a concubine, who's not even your concubine, on their new property?”

Aventurine shrugs. “They know the kind of establishment the Venetian is. People gamble with humans here all the time, you know, so this has definitely happened before. The IPC definitely expects it to happen again. And besides”—he returns his attention to your dress, starting to slip the fabric down your shoulders—“I'm just cashing out my winnings. I'm sure they wouldn't deny a gambler his vices. That'd be bad business.”

You want to say more, but then he tugs, suddenly exposing you. You’re bare in front of him—in front of everyone. You can feel eyes on you. Heat curls in your gut as he grabs your tits again, his satin gloves smooth across your skin, and your nipples pebble beneath them. “Hm… much better.”

“But…” You bite your lip, glancing around. There are so many people watching now—so many voyeurs, who've forgotten about their games and their slots. Though there are a greater number of people who are continuing as usual, studying their hands, smoking their cigarettes, unperturbed. All regulars and VIPs, you know from your intelligence.

Aventurine pauses as you catalogue the room, raising a brow. Probably he's surprised at your sudden modesty; you usually have none when his touch is involved.

“Of course,” he adds, “if you'd rather enjoy the suite upstairs…”

“No—I don’t mind staying down here… it's just that I’ve never…”

Your voice trails off. Your eyes traverse the space again. There are people who’ve fully thrown their cards down, greedily drinking in the sight of you instead. Even some of the dealers are watching between hands, glancing at you instead of watching for cheaters. Like this is public entertainment, like you're a show.

Aventurine tilts his head.

“You've never had sex with an audience?” he guesses. He sounds surprised—perplexed. You don't know why. You know he knows it's a stupid question. You know he knows the answer.

You had sex in front of people all the time before you met him. You did it for the exact reasons that he’s almost certainly done the same. To this table of business magnates, you are closer to an expensive watch than a human being; to the IPC, you are more like an overpriced knife; to this gambling hall, you're an interesting sideshow.

To your captors who fucked you in public, you guess you were something like a toy.

The thought sitting in your mouth is this: you've never had sex with an audience and enjoyed it. It was painful—not painful for the heart or the mind or anything else sentimental, but painful like it felt you were a fish being gutted open by a knife. And even beyond that physical pain, you simply didn't enjoy being passed around. You didn't like being owned by those people. You didn't like being an object for their entertainment, a spectacle to be consumed.

But it's different with Aventurine. You like being his luxury hand watch. You like being his elegant knife, his liar’s dice, his pretty poker chip. You like being his plaything, spread for his viewing whenever he wants. You want to be his object—the object of his affections, something he can parade around just like his expensive suits and his beautiful jewellery and his ostentatious furs. Look at me, he uses them to say. Look at what I own. Look at what I own despite this commodity code on my neck. Look at what I've won despite my eyes and my blood.

You want him to own you too. You want him to show everyone that he won you, that he bought you, that you're his possession now. That he, and he alone, is free to treat you like a toy.

You're getting wetter just thinking about it.

“Nevermind,” you whisper. “Let's do it.”

His smile widens ever so slightly. Slyer than usual.

“Good,” he says. He guides you into standing. “Let’s get you settled then.”

You're seated back on the card table. The cigarette is forgotten in the ashtray next to you. Aventurine takes the time to straighten out your dress, lifting the straps back up and affording you some modesty—before he gently lays you out.

You look up at him as you're spread in front of him, laid out next to his royal flush and winnings. Like you're another chip in his stacks, the most expensive one. He puts a hand beneath your leg, drapes it over his shoulder. He takes the opportunity to kiss your calf, his lips delicate.

You glance at the tables around you. You watch the business owners and politicians as they watch Aventurine. You watch them as they watch your boyfriend pepper kisses up your leg, unless he's settling in between them. Your thighs spread easily for him, and you don't resist as he hikes up your skirt.

Then he frowns.

“I’ve never seen these panties before.”

“They’re new,” you relay.

“From your husband?”

“Yup.”

“I see.”

You can't see his face, but he sounds distinctly displeased. You expect him to complain, to say they're not expensive enough or not designer enough or just plain ugly.

You don't expect him to tear them right off.

“Aventurine?!”

You're so surprised you sit up, just in time to see him throw tatters of silk to the floor.

“What?” He looks up at you, expression unbothered, almost mild. “It wasn't your colour.”

Your mouth opens. “But it was still very nice!”

“I'll buy you nicer ones later. I’ll buy you a whole drawer of nicer ones later, when we’re done here.”

He looks down again, humming. Your cheeks flush as he spreads your legs again, baring your glistening sex to him—this time completely bare. Satin glides along the inside of your thighs, and your breath hitches when he reaches their apex. You feel the light touch of a finger along your opening, and you feel your body responding, tightening around nothing.

“Tell me,” he says, “What else did your husband do with you?”

His voice is casual, almost disinterested, but you know Aventurine is listening carefully.

“Not much,” you answer truthfully. “I haven't cum in months, you know.”

“Oh?” He sounds surprised. “You don't have sex with him?”

“No. He's fucked me a lot. It”—you whimper, pausing when you feel his fingers spreading you open, fluttering hole and swollen clit exposed to him—“it just wasn't very good.”

“Then”—you feel a thumb press against your clit, and you swallow—“he never touched you here?”

“N-no.”

“Stupid of him.” He’s drawing slow, lazy circles into the bud now, making you squirm on the table. You press yourself eagerly toward his familiar touch, having desperately missed it for months. Aventurine, perhaps sensing your neediness, asks, “And you didn't touch yourself?”

“He didn't let me,” you whine, and now he's frowning at you.

“I knew I should have gotten you out of there sooner,” he says, and you have to bite back a laugh. Aventurine’s mouth curls at the sound, and he leans in to place a kiss on your thigh. “But that’s fine. I'll make it up to you now.”

Aventurine kisses are soft and precise. They pepper a path up your thigh while his fingers continue to play lazily with your clit. You want—need—to feel something inside you, but he doesn't oblige. His fingers merely run along your entrance, teasing your dripping pussy with luxury satin, and that's all they do, even as your hips buck needily toward him.

He pauses for just a moment. When you look at him, you see him staring at you—at the brand on your inner thigh, the commodity code that your captors left on you, branding you as a product to be used and sold.

His voice is almost soft when he asks, “And what did your husband say when he saw this?”

“He never did,” you reply. “He always fucked me from behind. And he never went down on me.” You pause, thinking about the way he spoke of his business. Of his trade partners. Of what your captors had done to your home when you told him about it, feigning intimacy only to be matched in cruelty. You think about the way he fucked you, how it felt to be gutted open on his expensive, silk sheets.

None of it matters to you, really. This is behaviour that you’ve long accepted, that your body always anticipates. But you always like to offer Aventurine intimacy, whether real or feigned, whether he returns it equally or responds with undeserved cruelty: “I think it wouldn't have bothered him if he had noticed it.”

You can't see Aventurine’s eyes, but you can feel his reaction when he places a chaste kiss on your product code.

“I should have gotten you out of there sooner,” he repeats. Then he pauses. “Maybe I shouldn't have let you go at all.”

“I didn't mind,” you say. You aren't lying. “You gave me up for a reason.”

He stands. Cups your face with a palm, luxuriant fabric and gold rings pressed against your skin. Sometimes he's given up the aventurine stone temporarily for assignments, parting with it in elaborate gambles that he always manages to win. The way he’s touching you now reminds you of the way he holds the gem whenever it returns to his hand.

“Well,” he says, “I’m sorry it took so long to get you back.”

Aventurine tilts your chin up for a kiss. You meet it eagerly, and it's so tender in its familiarity that every memory of your husband fades. There's only Aventurine, and his gentle mouth, and the way his hands slide your dress down again, how he palms your breasts again. How he teases one nipple with his expensive rings until you're moaning into his mouth. How his other hand travels down until his gloved hand is cupping your heat. You drag your hips against his touch, desperately seeking some kind of friction, your wetness drenching the cloth. Your cunt clenches around nothing, your body aching to be filled by him, aching in a way that it does for no one else.

It’s one of the most addictive feelings you've ever known.

Aventurine only stops touching you so he can push away all the chips, clearing space on the table. He ignores the cacophony as countless stacks fall over, not sparing the plastic coins a single glance. Like you're the only prize that matters to him, even though the sum of his winnings come out to more than you ever were worth.

He lays you out on the table again, flat on your back, exposed, before kissing a path down your body—your neck, your breasts, your stomach, between your thighs. He deigns to give your product code one more kiss, his lips so gentle that it makes you tremble—and then he finally puts his mouth on you. He licks a hot stripe from your dripping pussy up to the crest of your sex, and your eyes close in bliss.

If you felt any uncertainty before this, it's completely gone now. Your hands ghost over your tits, playing with them as Aventurine’s tongue plays with you. He sucks on your neglected clit, fingers squeezing your thighs, keeping you spread open and still for him. He presses in, lets you drag your cunt over his greedy mouth and grind your clit against his face. Heat and pressure coil tight in your belly as he pleasures you, your body flushing with the kind of bliss only Aventurine can give you. You’re so lost in it that you almost don’t notice how quiet the rest of the hall has gotten, the cacophony of chatter and slot machines oddly subdued—almost missing. In their absence, the obscene noises that Aventurine is drawing from your mouth and body are louder than they should be.

The pleasure in your belly is just starting to swell when he pulls away. You give him a pleading look as he leans over you, but before you can start begging for more, you feel his fingers press against your heat. He watches you with keen eyes as he starts rubbing your pussy, maybe enjoying the desperate noises you make at his touch. You buck your hips, moaning as your clit and entrance grind against the fabric of his gloves, seeking friction. You’re empty, aching, desperate to be filled, but you think you can finish like this, just by rutting against his satin fingers—

Aventurine withdraws his hand, and you whine.

“No,” you beg, “please, please keep going, I was getting close—”

He raises a brow, feigning surprise. “Keep going?” He brings up his hand, shows you his gloves. The satin is soaked, shiny and stained with your slick. “I don't think I should. Look at what a mess you’ve made of my gloves.” Aventurine hums, frowning. “These are designer, you know. And limited—there are only 95 pairs of these in the whole universe. And you're ruining them.”

“I'm sorry,” you say, mind so fogged with lust that you can't even return his teasing. “I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you, I'll do anything, just—just let me cum—”

“Anything?” His smile is sly.

“Anything.”

“Well. I suppose if you help me clean this up, I wouldn't mind rewarding you with more.”

You don't need to ask what he means by that. When he holds out his hand to you, runs a finger along your lips, you obediently open your mouth for him. Your tongue slides along the wet satin, only making his glove messier—but he seems not to mind. He merely watches intently as your tongue cleans his fingers, taking in the obscene image of you hungrily lapping your own slick off the expensive fabric.

He lets you ruin his glove thoroughly before finally drawing back, peeling it off.

“I'm not sure that did any good,” he says, frowning. “I’ll probably need to buy a new pair. But”—he pulls away, and you feel him settle between your legs again, his hands spreading them. “I'll still reward you for the effort.”

Aventurine is quick about getting his mouth back on you. His tongue is hot on your skin, expertly teasing your clit. You feel his fingers running along your entrance again, growing sticky with his need. He laughs when you press your hips toward his hand, desperate to be filled.

Then he's pressing his bare fingers into your heat, and your back is arching off the table.

The moan you let out is obscene. It only gets worse when his fingers curl, making the pressure in your belly even heavier. Utterly shameless, you beg for him as he fucks you with his fingers: Aventurine, please, please, I need more, please, I'm so close, I'm so close.

As if taking pity on you, his mouth finds your clit again, his fingers pressing into your sweet spot at the same time. And he doesn't let up, pushing into it even when you think you can't take anymore—tongue swirling against your overstimulated bud, fingers making you gush uncontrollably. You practically sob when you cum, a noise of desperation that echoes in the gambling hall.

His smile looks a little fonder than usual—or maybe just entertained—as he stands again and leans over you. You taste your own release in a messy, open-mouthed kiss, and he strokes your face when he pulls away.

“So good for me,” he praises. “Are you going to let me do more?”

You nod eagerly. “Whatever you like,” you say, all sense of shame gone from your body, “and however you want.”

Aventurine’s mouth curls. “Your husband fucked you from behind, right? Why don't you bend over for me, then? Let's show him how he should have been doing it.”

You see the diamond pupils of Aventurine’s eyes glance off to the side, where, sure enough, your husband is spectating with some of his business partners. You force yourself to turn away before you can smile, hiding your expression from the other men. You’re not meant to derive any real pleasure from any of this, let alone pleasure of the vindictive kind. Your relationship with Aventurine is supposedly nothing but a gambler and his newly won, human plaything. It would be suspicious if you appeared to be anything else.

You slink off the table in a distinctly performative way, and Aventurine plays equally into the show—probably an act as familiar to him as it is to you. He guides you into turning around, your eyes falling on the scattered cards on the tabletop, the casino’s eyes falling on you. His hands waste no time in pulling down your dress and reaching around to knead your breasts, in full view of the rest of the gambling hall. You're only vaguely aware of your audience now, registering the interested, hungry stares, but not really caring. You're too focused on the way that Aventurine is tugging and twisting at your nipples, at how he’s pressed up against your ass, his cock straining through his pants. You grind needily against him, whining.

Aventurine kisses your shoulder. “Poor thing. You've been neglected for so long, haven't you?” His hands retreat, and you hear the sound of a zipper being undone. Then your skirt’s being pushed up and you're being bent over, your dripping pussy fully presented to him. When you feel the press of his cockhead against your entrance, you desperately try to push yourself back onto him. But he doesn't allow you to—only running the tip along your wet folds, still sticky from your release, while he stills you with a gentle touch on your hip.

You make a pathetic, desperate noise. Aventurine chuckles, though there’s now a breathy quality to his voice.

“Be patient,” he chides. “I'll take care of you.”

You know he will. He always takes care of you, in a way that no one else ever has. Even when he gambles your life for some mission, even when he can barely afford you the barest hints of intimacy, even when he displays your body to an audience of slave traders and murderers—he always takes care of you. Even if you are only a knife or a wristwatch or a chip in one of his games, he still treats you like you're worth holding onto.

Aventurine finally moves. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel his cock sliding into you. Usually he needs to be careful after your long missions away from him, knowing you'll be tense. He understands that your body always anticipates being in pain after being touched by other people. But he has you so worked up right now—still dripping from your release, still pliant from his fingers, still eager to please him before the crowd—that your cunt easily swallows his length. The stretch is pure bliss, pleasure unfurling in your body as you're filled up properly for the first time in months. He's just as affected as you, breath shaking as he bottoms out.

“Fuck,” he breathes—laughs. “Nearly forgot how good this feels.” He pauses, his breathing slowing—almost stopping each time you squeeze around him. You turn back, throwing him a pleading glance, and he meets it with an endeared smile. “Eager today, aren't you?” He hums, a hand sliding along your waist. “You really do need to be properly fucked.”

He's stalling. Trying to give you a moment to adjust, but you don't need it. “Yes,” you encourage him. Aching for the press of his cock against your walls, you grind against him, and you hear a strangled groan as you force him to move inside you. “Please, Aventurine—please, please fuck me, I need it so badly—”

He hums, both hands grabbing your hips, his fingers sinking into you. “Well. Since you asked so nicely.”

The first thrust has your eyes going wide, your hands reaching for the card table as you’re forced to bend over. You spread our palms next to the mess of heart cards and shiny tokens, bracing yourself for the way your body’s about to be used. He doesn't give you time to breathe after, each stroke filling you deep and fast. The rest of the gambling hall grows very, very quiet as Aventurine fucks you, and suddenly all you can hear is the appreciative murmur of the crowd, clink of ice cubes in aged whiskey, the noisy flick of lighters as more patrons opt to pause their games and enjoy the show. You hear the shattering of all the stacks beside you, hundreds of thousands of dollars in chips fall over beside you, tokens clinking as they roll across the tabletop. But all of that is soon drowned out by the wet noise of your pussy being fucked open, the squelch of your slick around his cock. You moan each time he bottoms out, eager to be filled.

When you feel his cock press into your sweet spot, your moans quickly turn into cries.

You hear something like a breathy laugh from Aventurine. Your body always reveals itself so easily to him, and you know he enjoys it. He hits that spot again and again, builds an agonizing tension in your body with every thrust of his hips. It has your pussy gushing around him, your thighs growing wet and sticky with your need.

Just when it feels like you can't take anymore, he reaches down and presses his fingers against your throbbing clit. Your knees buckle as he toys with you, chest heaving against the table as he sets a brutal pace. You're—overwhelmed, mind going hazy as you're fucked mercilessly. So far gone, you can hardly register the disgruntled expression of your husband, the hungry gazes of his companions, the way that other players are starting to shift in their seats, palming themselves at the sight of your pussy being split open. There's only the tight coil in your gut, the chips between your fingers as you grab uselessly for something to ground you, the cock that's filling you over and over and over—and oh fuck, you’re going to cum, you're really going to cum after being won in a game, from having your pussy used like a sleeve, from being watched by men who will never own you no matter how many times they trade you, no matter how many times they fuck you, no matter how many times they pass you around, because you'll only ever belong to Aventurine—

Your orgasm crashes through your body, and you sob.

It's a broken, blissed out noise. Your pussy is equally shameless, gushing as you pulse around Aventurine’s cock. You go limp as he fucks you through your orgasm, uncaring about the mess you're making. He only groans as you squirt all over him, hips stuttering as he reaches his own peak—spilling himself inside you, pumping you full. Aventurine’s body slumps over yours as rides out his high, his face pressing into your shoulder. You find the wherewithal to shift yourself, just enough to your lips against the tattoo on his neck. He looks at you for a fleeting moment, the blue ring of his eyes electric on you, before capture your mouth in a desperate, messy kiss.

The two of you stay there for a long moment, panting into each other. Then Aventurine collects himself, remembers how to talk: “Fuck.”

You piece yourself together just as easily. Maybe even faster. Smiling into his mouth, you ask, “Enjoy yourself?”

“Clearly.” Aventurine presses his lips into your neck, lingering only briefly. “Can you walk?”

“I think so.”

Aventurine takes his time with moving, as if basking in the afterglow—or bragging in it. But he does rise, eventually. Pulls out slowly, making you shudder. He helps you to your feet, lets you hold onto him for support. His spend drips down your thighs as you right yourself, messy and hot on your skin. You can feel it sliding down your legs as you walk, braced against Aventurine as he guides you in the long walk toward the elevator. It slips all the way down to your calves, to your expensive heels, even onto the marble floor.

You're fairly certain that it's not an accident when Aventurine flips up your skirt as you pass your ex-husband. At the very least, it isn't a mistake when you stumble in that same moment, bending over and giving him a good look at your well-used pussy, now overfilled with your boyfriend’s cum. You don't stop to look at him, but you know he must be red-faced, displeased—aware that he’s been humiliated. Beaten by a Stoneheart, concubine stolen by Sigonian, one of his favourite possessions claimed by a former slave. You'd laugh if you could.

You can't help but kiss Aventurine while the two of you wait for the elevator, a smile glowing into his lips.

It's absurd, but a staff member approaches the two of you as you indulge in one another. Aventurine pulls away as you’re approached, looking mildly annoyed as he switches on his synesthesia beacon.

“Sir,” the staff says, “you’ve left your other winnings at the table.”

Even in his post-orgasm bliss, Aventurine responds promptly. “I’ll cash it all,” he says. “Send the money to my room. I'm not coming back tomorrow.”

“Very well. And the terms of the… human resource exchange that just happened?”

Aventurine’s jaw clicks. It's quiet, but surprising. You watch him carefully.

“We didn't bet contracts,” he says. “This is a concubine, not a slave. But tell Mister Li I'll buy them anyway. I'll pay whatever price he wants, which I’d wager is the company that he gambled and lost to me. Maybe suggest that to him.”

“Of course,” the staff member replies, bowing. Despite the first-rate service, Aventurine looks like he can't get out of there sooner enough as he guides you into the elevator. You give him a curious look as the door closes.

“You're going to give up a multiplanetary corporation just for this?” you ask.

“Not entirely. The IPC was planning to acquire it anyway. It'll be ours again in a few months.” He stares at your reflections in the mirror, his strange eyes lingering on your dishevelled form. “We’ll put your intel to good use,” he adds, and although Jade or Diamond or any of your real bosses would say this with a smile and reward you with a bonus, Aventurine’s expression is unreadable.

“What's on your mind?” you ask, fingers brushing against his hand. “You’re worried about something.”

Aventurine blinks, and it takes him a moment to recover.

“Nothing. Just hoping we didn't give our relationship away just now.” He cups your face with a hand, guides you into looking at his smile. A deflection. “I might have gotten carried away.”

You lean into his touch, eyes playful: a performance. As if he's some stranger that you're servicing, a captor being entertained; as if you're a plaything about to be used. As if you expect to be treated like the disposable commodity that your husband just gambled away.

“I wouldn't worry,” you reassure him. “I'm sure after the show we put on, it'll be clear to anyone that you're only keeping me around for sex.”

It's very, very subtle, but a muscle in Aventurine's neck twitches. He'd never allow it in a game of cards, never before the IPC, never before the prying eyes of slavers and killers—but he allows it in front of you. He always unwittingly bares himself to you, even as he swallows his discomfort before adopting his usual, vulpine expression. You don't think anyone else would notice what lies beneath the gilded surface of his smile, his liar’s eyes. You don't think anyone else would notice his tells, his vulnerabilities, his quiet fear of loss.

After all, there is no one else in this universe who knows how to trick him into intimacy.

Winning has always come with a certain emptiness for Aventurine. Gambling is, after all, a zero sum game. He plays a royal flush and people lose their homes. Winner takes all. He survives the fighting pits, his blade dripping red with the lives of other slaves. Winner takes all. He runs from the stench of blood and burning flesh, praying for thunder and rain loud enough to drown the screams of his dying kin. Winner takes all.

He alone survives. He alone enjoys his riches. Ever since the Avgin died, he has always been by himself. There is no amount of coin nor credit that will ever change this.

Here is another unyielding fact that hollows any win: that no matter how many credits he collects, he will always be a chip himself. He will always be a plastic token worth sixty coppers. Gambling is a zero-sum game, and ever since the day he was chained, Aventurine has been the pool of riches divided among winners. He has always been the commodity being traded between hands. He has always been the prize to be cashed out and used. Even now, with all this money and power, it will never be him who comes to collect: it will always be the IPC. Winner takes all.

Such is his fate. Luck is always on his side, but he has always had the losing hand against destiny. No matter how many times he wins, there is nothing that will ever truly belong to him.

But then he met you.

Then he met you, and now his luck does not always feel like such a cruel or empty thing. Now the zero-sum game has meaning. He hedges his bets in the market and buys out a planet, and acquires you along with the shares. Winner takes all. He gambles his life against a nuclear power and comes out on top, and the IPC allows him to keep you by his side. Winner takes all. He plays a royal flush and wins at a table of slave traders, and he gets to fuck you until you can't think of any cock but his own. Winner takes all.

Gambling is a zero-sum game, and when you're the reward, Aventurine wouldn't have it any other way. He’ll never share you with anyone. He'll never sell you to anyone.

He’ll never lose you to anyone.

Sometimes it surprises him, this attachment he feels to you. He doesn't quite understand it, but he thinks it mostly just has to do with how good it feels to fuck you. Much like gambling, Aventurine has never enjoyed sex until you came along. Sex for him has always felt like a humiliation, like being gutted open as a captive animal, like being won and passed around in the grand hall of some gaudy casino.

Which is, in fact, another thing he never thought he'd enjoy: having sex in the Venetian Zhijin before an audience of revolting men. He'd resented having to do it as a slave, but he’d enjoyed doing it with you as a Stoneheart. He'd even do it again if he could—take you over and over again on that card table, fill you up with his cum. Spread your cunt in front of everyone, so they could see for themselves that you were now his. Winner takes all.

Winning doesn't feel empty when you're his reward. Sex doesn't either. Because Aventurine isn't a chip or an animal or a commodity when he fucks you—he's a player. Someone with a seat at the table, as just as wealthy and powerful as the slave traders around him. Someone who’s allowed to own something—really own something.

Really allowed to own you.

Aventurine owns you. When he fucks you, he is a player at the table, and you are the prize he gets to keep. And no matter how you feel about him and how you act toward him—this is all the two of you will ever be. He knows this. He knows that you know it too.

So sometimes he can't fathom it, the way he treats you in bed. The way he always kisses your commodity code when he sees it, the way he allows you to kiss his own. The way he always thinks about pleasuring you until you're drunk on his cock, so addicted to him that you’ll never want to be touched by anyone else. The way he always likes how your body feels when it's being shaped by his hands. How different it feels from being forced to touch other people.

How badly you make him want something that he's always hated.

And this is what he understands least of all: how he doesn't like to hear you say aloud the true nature of your relationship. How he doesn't like it when you accept this reality and say, you're only keeping me around for sex.

It hollows him out when he hears it. A bitter feeling swells in his throat, and he forces himself to swallow.

Aventurine keeps his face neutral as he enters the suite with you. As soon as the door is shut, you pull him close—close enough for him to see the blurred lines of your lipstick, smudged from his mouth; close enough to see the white diamond necklace on your neck, a collar for a concubine; close enough to see the finger-shaped discolorations on your throat, poorly hidden by your foundation.

Close enough to see all the things done to your body by others—all the things you didn't choose for yourself.

“How do you want to have me next?” Your fingertip traces his lips. “On the bed? In the shower?” Your eyes are playful. “Maybe against the window?”

Aventurine’s hand cups your cheek, gold rings pressed against your skin. His hold is delicate, more careful than with anything else he's ever handled—any of his watches, his furs, his jewellery. Even more than with the aventurine stone.

“I want to kiss you,” he says.

You blink.

“Kiss me?” Your brow ticks up, but then your face lights up in supposed understanding. “Okay. You can kiss me. And then?”

“And then I'll keep kissing you.”

You tilt your head, not understanding. “Really?”

“What? Is that off-limits now?” He leans in, expression playful. “Don't tell me I've got to go back downstairs and win back permission to kiss you from your husband.”

Before you can say anything else—ask anything else, perceive anything else—he presses his mouth to yours. Your eyes widen for only a moment before falling shut, your arms wrapping around his neck. Your lips part for him, and he delights in the noise you make as he deepens the kiss.

He did lie, in a way. The two of you do end up fucking again—this time in bed, your mouth gasping into his as you fall apart for him, wet and needy around his cock. You're so warm around him, so pliable beneath him, so desperate when possessed by him. He knows that he could keep going, that he could do anything to you, that you'd be eager to let him use you however he wants.

But all he does afterward is kiss you.

This is yet another act that he never thought he'd enjoy. Kissing has always felt like a chore or a power play or a manipulation. It has always come with a certain emptiness—just like gambling, just like sex. And then he met you, and now it no longer feels so hollow. Because when he wins bets for the IPC, he feels like a poker chip in one of their games, but when he’s fucking you, he feels like a player at the table. And sometimes, when he kisses you—when he holds you close, when you come down from your high and press your face into the crook of his neck and in the vulnerable haze of your bliss, tell him, I missed you—

—he finally feels like a human being.

end notes: christ alive I have never written anything so horny glddjsksjs. I apologize for both my mid smut writing and deranged characterization 💔

initially this was supposed to be brainless pwp about aventurine eating you out on a poker table but I kept asking myself “why the hell did aventurine gamble for human beings and why are these two insane enough to be fucking in a casino tho lol”, and thus a coherent narrative was born from my shameless lust for this guy! but please also don't take the story too seriously because this is a dumb smut piece first and foremost and I mostly wrote it with my clit 😔✌️

that being said, if you are curious about the subject matter that I covered – here's an afterword expanding on my intentions with the themes.

[erinlindsayy]

professor || carol danvers

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ . ┊ You're Carol's designated note taker, and usually the one teaching her a few things. What happens when you give her the wrong set of notes?

➺  warnings: dirty talk, spanking, edging, violent use of straps, carol danvers tops (but I fully believe she's a switch now), umm... general unholiness, bratting, etc.

✧   a/n: surprise... I'm back... more content coming soon... I promise I've got a val/carol/r fic coming soon, but this popped into my head and I couldn't resist... JOCK COLLEGE CAROL, OK? JOCK RUGBY COLLEGE CAROL.

↬ like this work? let me know! comments help encourage writers to write more and let them know that you liked what they wrote :)

★ requests are open–I write for a number of fandoms! just ask :)

☆ comments + reblogs are greatly appreciated ☆

“Can any of you attempt to discern meaning from this week’s assigned reading? Why might I have selected this particular work for you all?” asks Professor Valkyrie, starting class for the day. Your hand immediately raises, and she nods in your direction. 

“Well, was not Beckett’s entire point to find meaning in the absence of conventional meaning?” 

Professor Valkyrie, nods. 

‘Interesting thought,” she says. “Care to elaborate?”

“Well,” you begin. “Beckett created a landscape for us that is so alien and foreign, and unlike what we know. The play does not include any symbolic elements, and it does not really go anywhere. You might try to make meaning out of the carrot that Didi and Gogo share, or the leaves appearing on the tree, but they literally mean nothing. At the end of the play--we, as well as Vladimir and Estragon, are all still waiting for Godot. So, in a sense, there is no meaning, but perhaps there is meaning in the fact that there is no intended meaning.” 

“Good,” replies Professor Valkyrie. “As always, a carefully articulated and thoroughly crafted response. Excellent work as usual.” 

You smile politely, and fall back into your seat as Professor Valkyrie continues to lecture about Samuel Beckett and the wonderful nature and reality of Waiting for Godot. 

Meanwhile, you’ve jotted at the top of your notes, in big bold letters ‘I hate this play!’ 

After all, the ability to just to understand and converse about a work of literature does not mean that one has to enjoy it. 

After class, you’re stopped, as usual, by the one and only  Carol Danvers. Resident jock, captain of the division one team, aspiring pilot, rumored sex god extrodinare, Carol Danvers. She’s quite the legend around campus, but not exactly for her work ethic as it pertains to academic pursuits, which are... lacking, to put it politely. 

“Do you have my notes for me,” she asks, holding her hand out. “I need to at least act like I’m going to study tonight, right?” 

You roll your eyes. “Carol, why do you ask for my notes if you never use them? You do realize that mere possession of the notes will not translate into you understanding the material, yes? You have to actually read them in order for the information to enter your head.” 

Your reply is snarky, short and snappy, but you’re fed up with Carol at this point. She asks you for notes in all the classes you share together (which, granted, is not many,) but never seems to read them or take any of her classes very seriously. Carol narrows her eyes at the response. 

“I’ll just sleep on them? Os--” 

You cut her off, finishing her sentence. 

“--mosis does not apply, Carol. You know that. You cannot absorb the material through the pores of your skin. Read the notes, and actually try for once, or stop bothering me. I could be taking notes for myself, rather than focusing on summarizing all of the lectures so that you can stuff them into your bag, never to see the light of day again. Don’t ask me for notes again unless you’re ready to be serious.” 

With that, you hastily pull out a few papers from your bag, not bothering to double check if they were the correct ones or not. You shove the papers into Carol’s and turn away sharply, not bothering to look back. Granted, you were headed in the completely wrong direction, but you weren’t about to give Carol the satisfaction of seeing your face again. 

Of course, Carol knows that you hardly need notes for your own purposes. Summarizing the lectures for her provides you with the information you need to keep your own mind sharp, with years of literary study and reading filling in the blanks to broader context for you. But still, you love to hassle her. Carol does feel guilty occasionally, knowing how much work you put into the notes you take for her. They’re always organized, and you write important little tidbits down in the margins. She always glances at them, but can never bring herself to actually study the notes. 

Tonight is different. Carol is inspired, reenergized by your scathing talk. She sits down at her desk, and finally pulls out the notes you gave her. She reads the first line, and laughs to herself. 

These definitely weren’t the notes she meant to give me, she thinks to herself. 

_______________________________________________________________________

You’re startled out of your evening study session by a loud ding from your phone. Normally, you wouldn’t check your phone in the middle of studying, but you’re intrigued. 

Your jaw drops slightly when you notice that the text is from Carol. 

8:57 hey. I’ve got a question about the notes

You’re shocked. Carol actually... read the notes? 

9:00 Shoot for it. How can I help? 

9:01 Well. The notes weren’t really on Waiting for Godot

9:04 Oh. Did I give you a repeat copy of last weeks’?

9:05 Well, I wouldn’t exactly say that they’re standard academic notes

You roll your eyes at her comment, typing out a harsh response before deleting it and sending a far more cordial reply. 

9:06 Oh? 

9:07 Well, for starters, I don’t think that Waiting for Godot has anything to do with sex. 

Attached to her text is a picture of your recent exploration of the things that turned you on, or as you aptly named it “An empirical study of the things that make me wet.” 

You’d never meant for anyone to see it, ever. It was purely a list of the things that you desperately wanted to try, things you enjoyed watching and reading, various things that interested you. 

You’d written the list mostly as a joke, as a way to get the ideas out of your head. You wondered how it even found your way into your backpack, and you’re ready to curl up into a ball and cry when Carol texts you again. 

9:13 I could help you, you know

9:14 I have a few things that I could teach you

9:15 What do you say we make a deal? 

You swallow thickly, intrigued. 

9:17 What sort of deal? 

9:19 You teach me literature. 

9:21 I’ll fulfill your deepest fantasies. (And take you out on a date ;) )

You blink slowly, unable to process the words appearing on your screen. A date? Lessons in sex? It all seems to be far too much to handle, and you’re not sure if Carol is serious. The prospect is alluring, however, and you can’t help but admit that you’ve had the tiniest (largest) of crushes on Carol ever since you saw her in that signature leather jacket of hers, kicking her legs up against the desk in front of her, even if your feelings were against your better judgment. You knew she was aware of this fact, and the way you were always angry around him for some odd reason. 

9:24 If this is a joke, it isn’t funny, Carol. 

9:30 I’ll pick you up at 7 tomorrow. Be ready. We’re getting pasta.  

__________________________________________________________________________

“So. You want to be a pilot, but now you’re here playing rugby and studying literature?”

Carol shrugs. 

“My best friend Maria and I were supposed to enlist together, but some shit happened and he needed me to stick around. I’ve always been good at rugby even though my dad hated that I played sports, and so I stuck around here. Got a full scholarship for rugby, and put the dream of flying aside. The academy will always be there. It’s not what I wanted, but it’s what Maria needed. I couldn’t just leave her when she needed me most.” 

You smile softly at Carol, shocked by her sudden display of emotion. She’s clearly conflicted, and her eyes drift up to the sky, staring wistfully at the dimming horizon. 

“I think that’s very brave of you, Carol. You’re a really good friend,” you say, reaching out to place a hand atop hers in a sudden burst of confidence. The evening had been oddly pleasant, and conversation flowed between the two of you. Granted, Carol was still somewhat of an egotistical jerk, but she was obviously emotionally conflicted, and she had sacrificed her biggest dream to help her closest friend when she needed it most.  

Carol looks down at your hand, tensing up for a second before flipping her palm to meet yours and giving your hand a quick squeeze. 

“I’m alright, ok? I don’t want you worrying about me.” 

You nod. Carol smiles, and moves to stand up. 

“What do you say we get out of here, and head back to my place? Maybe watch a movie?” 

You smile, nodding at Carol. “I’d like that a lot,” you whisper. “I’d like that.” 

Carol holds her hand out to you, helping you up out of your chair. You move to pull your hand out of hers, assuming she meant to just assist you up, but she holds on firmly as the two of you walk back to her vintage red Mustang. 

The drive back to her apartment is filled with throwbacks from the 90s, widows open and hair wild. You’re both singing the words of the songs obnoxiously, relishing in the sweet freedom of the open night. 

When you finally reach her apartment, your eyes are bright and your hair is messy. You look over at Carol, messy hair strewn about. You begin to laugh uncontrollably, with Carol joining shortly after upon seeing your own windblown look. 

When the laughter finally succeeds, you look over at Carol to find her gazing at you intently. You laugh apprehensively, but Carol’s gaze does not falter.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re beautiful,” she asks. 

You nod your head slowly. “Not really, no.” 

“But you had a boyfriend?” 

You nod. “It wasn’t really the best of situations. I’ve since come to many realizations about myself since then.” 

Carol smiles. “Well, then I guess I’ll just have to tell you as many times as I possibly can to make up for the lack of times you’ve been told that.” 

“Carol, I don’t even know how to respond to that,” you sputter out. 

“So don’t.” 

Carol leans in over the middle of the car, hesitantly pressing her lips against yours in a tender kiss. You’re surprised at first, but you lean into the kiss, melting against her mouth. Your hands tangle in her already messy hair, and you smile against her lips. The kiss intensifies as your hands begin to roam down Carol’s back, fingers itching to explore. She pulls her hands off of you, smiling softly. 

“Let’s head inside, Princess. We can have a lot more fun in my bedroom than we ever will out here.” 

You nod your head, eagerly anticipating the next steps. 

When you reach her apartment, he leads you past the kitchen, flipping on various light switches as she heads through the living room, finally reaching her bedroom. It’s surprisingly neat, with framed photos of her and a woman that you guessed was her friend Maria. There’s a small pin shaped like a sort of star resting atop her desk, with a framed photo of an adorable orange kitten. Her bed is neatly made, and the room is incredibly put together. 

“You like it, huh?” 

You jump, startled by Carol’s voice. 

“Yeah. Um, it’s very nice,” you reply. “Super neat.” 

Carol laughs. 

“Yeah, for all my disorganization at school, I do like to keep my apartment pretty tidy.” 

Carol walks over to her desk and picks up your list. 

“I think this belongs to you, my darling. We don’t have to do anything with it, or even speak of it again should you so wish that to be the case.” 

You bite your lip, considering your options. 

“Were you really serious, Carol?” 

Your heart is beating fast, and your palms are beginning to grow clammy. 

She laughs. 

“Of course I was serious, Princess. Why would I offer if I wasn’t?” 

You look down, mumbling your answer out. 

“I didn’t really think someone like you would ever be interested in someone like me, honestly.” 

Carol laughs, walking over to you. She gently tilts your chin up, meeting your eyes. 

“Hey. You’re smart, you’re beautiful, and you drive me up a wall when you’re yelling at me to fucking finally read your notes, as you so kindly put it in your own words. Of course I would be interested in a girl like you. You’re incredible.” 

She kisses you softly, slipping hers hands underneath your sweater. Breaking away for a second, she whispers to stop her if anything is too much. Green for go, she says. Red for stop. 

Her hands roam up your body, making their way up to your neck. She gently squeezes at the column of your throat, whispering in your ear. 

“I noticed you had this on your list, Princess. I did read your notes this time, and I did study up. I know all the things that could make you tick. And yet, I still want to hear you tell me what you want. You want me to choke you? Squeeze your throat till you’re begging me to stop?” 

“Yes, please,” you moan out. 

“Then use your words, Princess. Mmm... and what else should we do today? What other things from your little list do you want to try? I know you don’t want to start off simple... You even said so yourself. Tell me with your words, Princess. Tell me what you want.” 

You gasp, head tipping back as Carol’s hands resume their exploration of your body. 

“Cat got your tongue, Princess? Normally you’re so vocal during class... Why change now?” 

You moan again, unable to speak properly as Carol’s fingers find your nipples, gently pinching. He pinches harder when you are unable to answer her question. 

Moving hers hand to cup your jaw, he harshly tilts your face to look at him. 

“Answer me, Princess. I’m growing impatient and I don’t have all day. Normally you’re so quick to answer. What a shame.” 

“Put me in my place, please,” you gasp out, voice breaking. “I want you to edge me and spank me and punish me and tell me what a naughty little girl I’ve been, touching myself to the thought of you. I want to eat you out while I’m forced to touch myself, unable to cum without your permission. I want you to choke me as you pound me into the mattress with your cock, reminding me of my place. I want to be your good little girl, moaning only your name as you show me who I belong to.” 

Carol smirks. 

“I’ll be honest—I always knew you had a thing for me. You weren’t exactly discreet. The secret is, I had a thing for you too. I wasn’t expecting you to write about me in your notes, though. And I definitely wasn’t expecting you to write something like that ever. Our little teacher’s pet, our good little girl, the smartest girl in class—and such filthy thoughts! Didn’t take me long to figure out who the mysterious blonde figure was. You wrote some pretty explicit stuff in there, Princess. You’re such a filthy little whore... So many dirty thoughts! Imagine if those notes had fallen into the wrong hands...” 

Carol’s hands dip to the edge of your sweater, swiftly pulling it off of your body. She cocks an eyebrow at you upon seeing the lacy navy blue bodysuit underneath that you’d specifically selected for tonight. 

“Did you wear this just for me?” 

You nod. 

“Good girl. I like the way you think. Now, take off those pants for me. While you’re at it, get rid of that lacey little thing. It’s pretty, but you’re prettier.” 

You obey her quickly, shedding every stitch of clothing from your body. You’re trembling with excitement and anticipation, and you’re nervous as Carol’s eyes rake up and down your body. 

“Stunning,” she says, never taking her eyes off of your body. “You’re absolutely perfect. I can’t wait to teach you how to be a good little slut for me... you’re such a good learner. Wonder if that translates in the bedroom?” 

You groan, rolling your eyes. “Why don’t you shut up and find out already?” 

Carol laughs condescendingly. 

“You sure you want to mouth off like that, Princess?” 

You nod. “You seem to be all talk right now, and no action.” 

Carol growls. “We can change that. I don’t tolerate brats around here. Brats get punished. If you’re a good girl, you get rewarded. Which is it going to be tonight, Princess. I need an answer.” 

You roll your eyes without even thinking. “Just fuck me already, Carol.” 

Carol tangles her hand in your hair, pulling your head back. “I told you that brats get punished. It looks like you've selected the brat role tonight. Get on your fucking hands and knees. I’m not going to ask you a second time.” 

You quickly obey, scrambling onto your hands and knees. You wiggle your ass slightly, but Carol firmly holds it in place. 

“Stop. Now, since this is your first time, I’m going to take it easy on you. We are only going to do ten, but mark my words, if you pull this sort of bratting on me again, I can and will increase that number. Now, I want you to count.”

The first strike comes faster than you were expecting, but it does not hurt as much as you thought it would. 

“One,” you gasp out.

Carol strikes again, harder this time. 

“Two,” you gasp out again.

He continues, hitting a bit harder each time, and your ass is red by the finish. 

“Good girl,” she whispers in the shell of your ear. “You took your first punishment so well for me—it is almost like you were made to do this...” 

She ghosts her fingers lightly over your neck, drifting down to your collarbone before moving her hands to gently massage the soft tissue of your breasts. 

With a gentle slap to your aching ass, she gives you a new set of instructions. 

“Now. For our next lesson, you’re going to suck me off. The better you do, the less edges I’ll give you tonight. I hope you’ve been studying, Princess. Either that, or you just better wish that this comes naturally for you.” 

Carol swiftly pulls her pants and boxers down and throws her shirt to the side, revealing her toned abs and muscled back. You can see her muscles ripple as she stretches her arms above her head to take her shirt off. Your jaw goes slightly slack at the sight of her perfect nude figure.

“Close your mouth, Princess. You’ll catch flies.” 

You blush. “Sorry, Carol. You’re just so beautiful.” 

Carol winks. “I can tell, Princess. Your eyes haven’t left my torso.” 

You giggle, but quickly stop when Carol moves directly in front of you. 

“Test time, Princess. Hope you’ve studied. But, if you haven’t, I’ll allow for retakes. Think of this one as a pretext, if you will. How much do I need to teach you when it comes to this particular subject?” 

You moan at her words, mouth salivating. You’re desperate to touch her, to run your tongue over her strap. Carol leans down to press a quick kiss upon your lips, immediately guiding your face to her strap after. You’re unsure of what to do at first, the feeling foreign upon your tongue. Eventually, you begin to find your rhythm, head bobbing as you introduce a hand to match your rhythm. You continue your tiny kitten licks, timing them with the thrust of your fingers. Carol is silent for the most part, but every so often she breaks her stoic silence with a loud moan or gasp when you hit a particularly sensitive spot against her body. You grind against the pillow that Carol has placed between your legs, annoyed with the lack of friction you got, but thankful to have anything at all. Your tongue continues its way along Carol’s strap, body quivering with pleasure. 

It isn’t long before she’s moaning continuously.

After all, you have always been a very quick learner. 

Carol pulls away, and you whimper at the loss of contact. She messily kisses you, groaning at the taste of herself on your tongue. 

“For your first time, that was surprisingly good.”

You beam in satisfaction.

“However, I’m still going to edge you at least five times.”

You whimper. 

“But Carol—“

“No buts, pretty girl. It’s for your own pleasure, alright? It’s good to practice delayed gratification. Now, get over there on the back of the bed for me. Spread those legs as wide as you can. I want that dripping cunt of yours on display.”

You move off of your pillow, following her instructions. Carol walks over to you, hovering over you on the bed as she cages your body with her arms. 

“I want to hear every moan you make,” she growls. “Don’t hold back on me, Princess.” 

You nod. 

“Yes, Carol.” 

Carol smiles and strokes a single finger through your dripping folds. You shudder. The feeling of her soft fingertips against your throbbing core is heavenly, and you’re unable to hide from the breathless moan that escapes your mouth. 

Carol continues to slide her fingers through the folds of your cunt, relishing in the puffy texture as she explores. Her fingers trace small circles here and there, dipping into your soaking hole when she feels like doing so, pinching your clit, edging you into oblivion. 

You ask her to cum numerous times, but she always pulls away. Finally, she pulls away for the last time. 

“You can cum this time, Princess. But I want to cum on my cock for me like a good little slut, alright? I want you to scream my name for me. Let the whole world know you’re mine now.” 

You nod, moaning at her filthy words. She carefully lines up with you and thrusts in quickly, giving you a chance to adjust to the size and foreign feeling of the cock inside of you. 

When you nod at her, she begins to thrust her hips at an ungodly pace, hitting that perfect spot inside of you that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head. She moves one hand to your clit, rubbing tight little circles over the throbbing organ, and her other hand moves to your throat, lightly pressing down. She’s pushing you into the mattress, firmly grinning the column of your neck as her hips thrust faster and faster. 

“You like it when I choke you? When your brain starts to go a little bit foggy and you can’t tell if it’s from the sex or lack of air? You like it when I tell you what a good little slut you are, taking my cock like such a good little Princess, showing how well you learn and how well you take instruction?”

“Yes,” you manage to gasp out in between moans. “Please, fuck me harder.” 

Although it seemed humanly impossible, Carol managed to fuck you harder. The relentless snap of her hips grew faster, thrusts hitting further and further inside of you each time. The hand rubbing your clit runs faster, harder, and just before you’re about to rip over the edge, Carol whispers in your ear. 

“Cum  for me, Princess. Cum like the good little girl you are.” 

You scream out in ecstasy as you tip over the edge, collapsing against the mattress. Carol pulls out, falling into bed next to you, wrapping her arms around you as she presses kisses to your neck and collarbone, drifting up to your forehead. 

“You did so well, Princess. You’re such a good learner. Looks like you’re just as good in here as you are in a classroom.” 

You smile. 

“I try my best. Honestly, that’s all I can ever do.”

Carol smiles. 

“A good attitude to have. Now, let’s go get you cleaned up.”

A few snacks, some water, and one blissful shower later, you’re dressed in Carol’s old sweatpants and sweatshirt as you climb into bed beside him. She’d invited you to stay the night, and you hadn’t been able to resist. Carol flips the lights off, pressing a delicate, featherlight kiss to your forehead. 

As you lay in bed however, you remember an important fact. 

“I still have to teach you all of literature,” you mumble. 

Carol laughs softly. 

“And I have many things to teach you still, darling. But for now, sleep.”

You smile, closing your eyes as you feel Carol’s grip on you grow stronger. 

Literature could wait until tomorrow.

[lizardboiii]

At The Tone ┃ DCU

Barry Allen x Spider-Woman!Reader

┃ Summary: Sometimes bad things happen to good people - and that’s where the Justice League comes in. Too bad you weren’t interested.

“Think I forgot how to be happy Something I'm not, but something I can be" Billie Eilish, "What Was I Made For?"

│cw: SFW, alcohol abuse, unhealthy coping mechanisms, grief, hurt/comfort, violent themes

│wc: 3.9k

│chapters: One shot

│notes: This fic has been sitting unfinished (with 2k words!!) in my drafts for a WHILE. randomly decided it needed to see the light of day ig. was gonna make it nsfw but i low key hate it and just wanted too move on oops. enjoy <3

・❥・

│One Shot: At The Tone

You have five new messages.

“Good afternoon, Spider-Woman this is Cla-”

You heard a throat clear.

“It’s Superman. I see you still aren’t picking up any of the team’s calls,” He swallowed thickly, “I understand your recent loss was… hard. Something none of us would have wished for anybody.”

You could feel the tension in his voice.

“Please take all the time you need. The league is more than capable of taking care of New York in your absence for the time being.”

The sound of a pen clicking disrupted the message every so often, “But at least give us some indication you're alive…and well. The team cares about you,” He chuckled warmly, “Even “Mr. I Work Alone” Batman himself.”

His laugh dropped abruptly with a soft sigh, “Call me back when you can.”

Beep

You crawled out of bed slowly, dragging your duvet behind you like a cloak. The plush cotton laid heavy on your shoulders. You wondered if this was how Big Blue felt every morning - the weight of knowing everything depending on him once he bore his iconic red cape. 

You knew what that weight felt like, and you knew what it felt like to have it all come crashing down.

You have four new messages 

“How’s it hanging, Spidy? Haha, you get it?” A dramatic sigh escaped the machine, “Sorry, poor timing.”

He took a moment to regroup, “It's Green Lantern, just calling to check in. Headquarters has been depressing without you. I mean even Martian Manhunter is down in the dumps. It's a total bummer.”

Another sigh, “Listen you don't have to call me back if you don’t want to, but at least let Flash know you're still alive. He needs you more than he lets on.”

Beep

You groaned at the shrill ring of the answering machine. The outdated tech was too cherished to be discarded but the pulsing headaches you received from it almost outweighed the fond memories of Aunt May.

Thoroughly woken up, you entered your kitchenette. Your eyes shifted between the week old coffee pot on your stove to the half empty Hennessy bottle next to it. 

Maybe this time you would make the right choice. A sober evening is a good evening. However, the battle was always rigged to begin with and the winner already predetermined.

The Hennessy felt burdensome in your hand as you took a long swig. It burned violently down your throat, eating at your skin, before finally settling warmly in your stomach. Though you hated to admit it, it satisfied you more than any pot of coffee could.

Staggering to your couch, courtesy of one of New York’s finest sidewalks, you flopped down. The cushions were well used and musty. But who were you to pass up a free couch?

You have three new messages

“Spider-Woman.”

There was a lengthy pause.

“Your recent inactivity has caused some concerns regarding your whereabouts. The league seems to be having a hard time focusing on missions with your absence.”

Bats’ uncertainty leaked through the phone as he thought of his next sentence, “You have my condolences, Webs. However, the league cannot continue to work with this distraction. Please report to the Hall of Justice immediately.”

He hesitated, “We are worried.”

Beep

An involuntary snort escaped you. Bats’ attempt at comfort was interesting to say the least. He was surprisingly awkward for a leader of the Justice League. Though you supposed dark and brooding was his brand.

You have two new message

“Greetings, Spider-Woman, Wonder Woman speaking.”

You could hear muffled arguing in the background.

“Batman may have been a bit…straightforward in that last voicemail,” She attempted a fake laugh, “Please do not mind his bluntness, he is merely just as concerned as the rest of us. In his own way at least.”

A loud slam made her curse under her breath.

“I apologize I must go, the “children” are fighting again. Don’t hesitate to call back. See you soon, Webs.”

Beep

Lifting the liquor to your lips, your brows creased when only a drop hit your tongue. Out already?

You let out an exaggerated sigh before placing the empty bottle on your coffee table. A quick glance at your barren pantry told you everything you needed to know. You’d have to go out and get some more. You felt your face scrunch. That means you have to go out in public.

You weighed your options. 

You could stay inside and continue to peacefully hide from the world, but you're guaranteed to sober up eventually.

Or you could make a quick trip to the convenience store down the road and pray the minimum wage employee can’t smell the alcohol on you from a mile away. 

You hummed thoughtfully. Though, now that you think about it, there’s a off chance you might run into the supe that’s covering your city for the time being. Then again, there’s a very high chance it’s not someone from the Justice League, a member from The Team at best. 

Massaging your forehead, you tried to remember the last time a Justice League member took a leave of absence. A blonde goatee flashed in your mind.

That’s right. Green Arrow was out for a while when he got busted up pretty bad. His protégé, Speedy, ended up babysitting Star City in his absence. You bit your lip. 

But you didn’t have one of those anymore.

You have one new message

“Hey Webs! Sent me to voicemail again, huh?”

An awkward laugh made the machine crackle.

“Just calling to check up on you. How are you doing? Feeling alright? Just say the word and I can grab you anything from anywhere. I mean literally anywhere. They don’t call me the fastest man alive for nothing!”

You could practically hear the large smile embedded on his face.

A large sigh passed through the speaker, “It’s been a month now. The team misses you…I miss you. A lot actually.”

He paused.

“Just call me back alright? I need to know if you're okay.”

Beep

Your hand paused over your front door handle. Flash’s deep voice was like a siren's call, beckoning you in. 

What you’d give to turn around. What you'd do to call him back. It took everything in you to force yourself away from his voice.

Your best friend. 

Your confidant. 

Your everything. 

You have zero new messages

・❥・

You weaved through the bustling sidewalk with a slight wobble, managing to dodge a third of the people you almost crashed into. Night was quickly approaching. That meant the streets were only going to get busier. 

More people = More crime = More superheroes.

Fumbling into a dimly lit alley, you avoided Main Street completely. It was too risky. Even in your civilian disguise there was no guarantee your voice wouldn’t be recognized - mainly by your teammates but especially by… Flash.

You recalled how often you sought each other out in the Hall of Justice. Whether it was meddling in the business of others, or simply enjoying the company of one another.

His hand always seemed to find its way to the small of your back. Gently resting. While his thumb delicately circled the thin fabric of your suit. 

He leaned in closer than he should. The dull smell of his cologne inevitably picked up by your heightened senses. 

It wasn't how friends should behave - but that's all you ever were. Friends.

Thwack!

You slammed yourself against one of the side walls in surprise, extinguishing your mind of complex thoughts. Creeping closer, you cursed in your head when harsh thumps and muffled grunting filled the air. 

“Where’s my money, Huey?”

Crack!

“I-I don’t know! Please!”

Whack!

You recognized the tell-tale sound of blood splattering against the ground, akin to paint splashing. The sound made you nauseous. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you thought of your next move. 

Now, on any normal occasion you’d swing in all heroic and save the day. But today was different. You were different. 

Excuses flooded your brain as you tried to explain to yourself why you felt little desire to help the abused man. 

Your suit was at home crammed somewhere in between an ugly Christmas sweater and a latex bodysuit you practically begged Cat Woman not to give you. 

Even if you had the energy, you were still considered MIA to the league. You’d basically be spoon feeding them your location. 

Your internal dilemma didn’t last long as the pummeling swiftly came to an end. Peaking around the corner, you watched the assistants retreat into an adjacent alley. They moved lazily. Clearly they didn’t expect to be caught.

You could still catch them.

You found yourself making an internal description. Two Caucasian males both wearing black beanies and disgustingly outdated puffer jackets. The taller one sported purple and green. While the shorter preferred yellow. 

Your foot shifted before you felt yourself hesitate. Maybe you shouldn’t. They’d probably be caught soon enough anyways. 

If anything, the supe covering your city would swoop in and haul their asses to the local jail. Especially when you called an ambulance for the man who was passed out on the ground. It would put this area on tonight's map. You sighed and finally allowed yourself to relax. 

This was fine. 

Everything was fine. 

Shifting your eyes to the ground, you located the poor soul who suffered the attack. His breathing was ragged and wet. You were quick to put two fingers on his neck, checking for a pulse. A wave of relief crashed through you when you felt a steady beating.

Pulling out your phone, you immediately dialed 911 and requested an ambulance, anonymously of course. You stayed with the man until you could hear loud sirens growing closer. Your sign to leave. 

Exiting the alleyway, you reached the small convenience store in record time. The adrenaline in your system was starting to make quick work of the alcohol in your bloodstream. 

You could feel your senses beginning to come back. Eyes clearer. Ears sharper. You could practically hear the heartbeats of everyone in the store. 

Groaning at your misfortune, you beelined for the alcohol section in the back. My god was it beautiful. Itching to return home, you grabbed a random bottle that had the highest percentage. Taste didn’t matter. Only the effect.

Glancing at your selection you choked on your own spit. 30 dollars?? The glass bottle was swiftly put back as you grabbed the cheapest one you could find. Tucking the Shitty K under your arm, you turned to walk to the register.

“PUT YOUR FUCKING HANDS UP, OLD MAN.”

You froze. Extending your neck out, you caught a glimpse of the register. 

Purple, green, and yellow.

You had to be fucking kidding.

You watched as the two assailants from the alley held the elderly cashier at gunpoint. His form shook like a leaf. 

“Please! Just take the money and leave!”

You caught his eyes as he begged for his life. Tear filled and shaking. You could have prevented this. If you would have just stopped them when you had the chance none of this would have happened.

You could have saved the man in the alley. Saved the poor cashier.

You could have saved Uncle Ben too. 

Your eyes watered. Fucking pathetic mistake. What the hell were you doing? You weren’t a teenager anymore. You were a grown adult who should have learned from your mistakes by now.

Shifting your eyes from the vodka to him, you pressed your lips in a thin line. You didn’t know what hurt more. The fact that you were repeating past mistakes or the fact that you wanted to take the more expensive alcohol and leave unnoticed.

When did you become this? 

No wonder you let Spider-Girl die.

You needed a drink. Desperately.

Abruptly, a whiplash of red and yellow snatched you from your daydream. The streaking shape blew over the newspaper stand before spinning around the starstruck perpetrators. You knew those McDonald's colors from anywhere. 

Kid Flash.

Like any speedster, he removed the gun in milliseconds before tying up the confused robbers. They stood no chance against the meta-human.

Dusting off his hands, Kid Flash smiled smugly at the dumbfounded duo, “Guns aren’t currency, you know?”

The man in yellow thrashed violently, “What the hell-Kid Flash!? Why are you in New York? Spidey taking a break or something?”

You cringed.

Kid Flash’s boyish voice laughed awkwardly, “Something like that.”

You need to get out of here. Now.

Slowly backing into the aisle, you clenched your teeth when your elbow hit the shelf. The bottles tinked in a symphony, altering everyone in the store of your presence. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Instantly, you snatched your coat hood and covered your face and hair. Staring into the grime covered tiles, you prayed Kid Flash wouldn’t think too much of it.

“Hello?”

Of course. The one time he’s actually thorough.

“Are you alright?”

Bright yellow boots came into your vision as you tried to conceal yourself further. You hunched into yourself with clenched fists. Mistaking your actions for something else, Kid Flash placed a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, hey it’s okay! You don’t have to be sacred!”

You bite into your lip eager to escape the conversation, “I’m not. Please let go.”

Kid Flash laughed, sounding a little too similar to Flash in your opinion. Removing his hand from your shoulder, he stood next to you with his hands on his hips. 

“Then why are you hiding?” A red glove entered your vision. It was headed straight for your hood.

You slapped his hand away, “Didn’t your parents tell you not to talk to strangers.”

He shrugged, “That rule doesn’t really apply to superheroes.”

You couldn’t contain the breathy laugh that left your throat. You hate to admit it but you actually really missed the kid. 

However, you failed to realize your mistake. If anyone knew your laugh it was Kid Flash. You spent way too much time around him and Flash for him not too.

There was a long pause. 

“…Webs?”

You flinched hard, “Wrong person.” You internally cursed at yourself for the obvious slur in your voice.

“Are you drunk?”

“…No.”

His hand grabbed your upper arm tightly, “Where have you been? Are you okay?”

You gently pulled against his hold, attempting to break free without force, “I’m fine.”

“No you aren’t,” Kid Flash raised his hand to his ear piece, “Just let me notify Flash-”

“NO!”

Your arm flew up to the communicator without thought. Taking advantage of his surprise, you were able to snatch the high tech earpiece from his loosen grip.

“Hey!” 

Kid Flash grabbed at you. His lanky limbs attempting to reclaim his lost device, “Let go!”

“You let go!” You shoved his face away with the palm of your hand. 

Kid Flash merely continued to grab at the air around you, “Never!”

If this was any other situation you would have laughed. The pair of you looked like children fighting over the last dessert.  

However, this wasn't just any situation. This situation involved Flash. 

“Listen to your elders you brat!” Finally, after a well fought struggle, you managed to hold the device out of arm's reach. A much needed success after the month you've had- 

“Webs?”

You halted in your tracks.

The small communicator in your hand blinked on and off, identifying an unstable signal. 

“Webs is that you?” Flash was urgent, “Wait there! I'm coming-”

You crushed the device in your hand. Terrified.

Small fragments engraved themselves into your skin, dotting your hand red. What have you done? 

“Batman’s gonna kill you for that, you know?” Kid Flash laughed in an attempt to lighten the mood. 

You frowned, uninterested in entertaining him. Kid Flash merely smiled awkwardly. It was evident the boy was taken aback by your unusually serious demeanor. 

The thought didn't take up much space in your mind. You could only think of one thing. When would Flash decide to appear out of thin air?

As if conjuring the hero, a red bolt flew through the mostly empty convenience store. The glass doors shook from the force. While newspapers scattered through the air, Vogue landed atop the cashier's head. 

Though he moved faster than the speed of light, he stood before you still. Unmoving. It was as if you might fade away if he got too close. 

“Webs,” His voice was laced with reverence. 

Your mouth went dry, “Flash.”

The tension between the two of you was thick enough to cut with a knife, suffocating you. Maybe this was how Flash planned to get back at you for ignoring him. Slowly killing you with hypoxia. A metaphorical death pertaining to how he felt during your absence. 

“Woah, this just got really awkward.” 

Kid Flash’s voice suddenly reminded you of his presence. He swayed uncomfortably. Trapped between you and Flash.

The younger male pointed his thumbs at the door, “Should I leave…or?”

“Yes.” 

Startled at your synchronous voices, Kid Flash quickly shuffled toward the door, “Alright. See you later?”

Flash nodded his head in response, ushering his protégé away. Kid Flash couldn't leave fast enough. Magazines, once again disturbed, twirled around the ground from where he left.

You stared at the loose paper. Preferring the sight of perfume ads then whatever expression Flash held. From the corner of your eye you should see him shift. He moved with unease. Your mouth curled slightly. He never was able to stop moving for long. 

“Webs, I-”

You cut him off, “I’m sorry.”

Flash furrowed his brows in confusion, “You don’t need to apologize. It's not your fault.”

“But it is,” You clenched your teeth in frustration, “It's always been my fault.”

The taller male crossed the space between you hesitantly. You flinched when he placed his large hands on your shoulders, completely engulfing them. 

“It wasn't your fault, Webs. Nobody could have known.”

“I could have saved her,” you finally met his gaze, “I was right there.”

You saw his eyes widen slightly, clearly used to your masked form more than your real face. 

Your name spilled from his lips. 

Not just Webs - your name.

You took a shaky breath, “Barry.”

The name was foreign on your tongue. You had tried to keep your personal life separate from hero work. Though that only lasted a year. Barry managed to weasel his way into your home life before you knew it.

You wouldn't have it any other way.

Barry’s hands slid from your shoulders down to your hands, caressing them softly. “Believe me when I say this,” He took a deep breath, “I’ve been in your position before. We all have.”

Breaking eye contact, your stare bore into the wall of cheap booze, “I know.”

“And I know,” He cupped your cheek, “That drinking away your problems won’t help. It only makes it worse.”

You bit your lip, “I just want to forget.”

“I know. God, I know. I want to go back and change that day every time I open my eyes,” He placed his head in the crook of your neck, “But I've been down that road before. And it's not sustainable.”

Your eyes felt hot, your throat dry, “I don’t know what to do.”

Barry pulled your smaller frame into his arms, “No one does.”

You sunk into his embrace, inhaling his scent.

“Let me take you home, Webs.”

“Okay.”

・❥・

You held tightly onto Barry, arms circling his neck, as he brought you home. You had barely enough time to blink before you were standing in front of your apartment’s door.

Barry hesitantly let you down from his hold. Though his arm stayed wrapped around your waist for support. You gave him a gentle smile as a thank you. 

Unlocking your door, you were immediately reminded of the state of your apartment. Dirty laundry and loose items scattered the floor. 

Shame crept up your neck. The uncaring attitude towards your humble abode seemingly disappeared.

Barry entered slowly, taking in the messy state. His eyes were quickly drawn to the empty bottles strewn about your floor. Unsurprisingly, he began to pick one up. Then another. And another. You snapped when he started to replace your trash bag.

“Barry.”

His head whipped toward you, only focusing on you.

“That's enough,” You tried grabbing the bag from him, “You don’t need to.”

Barry held onto the plastic tightly, “I want to.”

You shook your head, “It's my mess. Leave it.”

“No.”

You jolted in surprise at his commanding tone, “Why?”

He tossed the bag to the side, “Why?” 

Laughing dryly, he shook his head, “Why not? Why wouldn't I take care of you?”

You averted your gaze, “I don’t need you to take care of me.”

“But you do,” his voice was imbued with desperation, “If you didn’t, I wouldn't have spent a month doing everything in my power to find you!”

Your face felt hot, “I didn't ask you too!”

Barry closed in the space between you, “You didn't have too!”

You weren't sure when the tears began to pour down your cheeks, “I never wanted you too! I just want to be alone! Why can’t you let me be?”

“Because I can't let you be!” Barry’s hand slammed down on your tiny island counter, “You're all I think about! From the moment I wake up to the time I go to sleep, all I know is you. I would rather you hate me for the rest of my life just to see you for a moment than ever ignore you.”

You felt like a deer in headlights, “What?”

“That day when Spider-Girl died,” He gripped the counter, slightly cracking it under the force, “I felt like I lost a piece of you too. And I could bear it.”

You felt like you lost your breath when Barry met your gaze again. His eyes were laced with anguish. Bloodshot rims already forming.

“I know you're hurting. I know what I am experiencing is nothing compared to what you are going through,” He searched your eyes, “But I'm in love with you! And I have been for as long as I can remember.” 

The start of a cry made his voice waver, “And this is definitely poor timing for a confession, but I can’t lose you-”

You weren't exactly sure which one of your muscles was still intact enough for you to move. However, the feeling of plush lips against your own thwarted any other thought.

Barry stood rigid for a moment. Hands clenched at his sides. Then, he dominated the kiss like his life depended on it. His hands held onto your waist tightly, before slowly making their way to your face. You couldn't remember the last time you felt this happy.

Pulling away, you took shallow breaths, “I love you.”

Barry smiled and swiped a loose teardrop from your cheek, “I love you too.”

The warm moment didn't last long. Your mind was quick to remind you that there was a reason Barry had to confess in a messy studio apartment rather than someplace special. That reason was because you were broken.

You pressed you mouth into a thin line, “Do you still want me even if-”

“I want you no matter what,” Barry didn’t allow you to get another word in, “We can go through this together.”

He placed a soft kiss on your forehead, “You're not alone, Webs. You never were.”

You swallowed hard, “Together?”

"Together."

・❥・

[matchabelly]

So I literally just returned to this site last week to follow a person who shall not be named for GO3 updates (worst timing ever ik) and maybe what I'm about to say is a hot take and super long-winded but I need to get it off my chest here since no one in my personal life is as emotionally invested in this as I am. I have been an obsessed fan for almost two decades, but one thing I will not be doing is defending a powerful individual who by their own admission abused said power and is now trying to gaslight the victims. From what I've read these past few days, it seems their inappropriate behavior has been an open secret for some time now. I will no longer support their work. I am thoroughly disgusted and these allegations paint this person's every past word/action in a new, manipulative, and disturbing light for me. That being said, while I will actively be both avoiding any new content from this individual and trying to find ways to "read another book," I cannot overstate the profound effect their work has had on my life and identity. Humans are fallible and complicated. Art is transcendent. Once it is given to the universe it changes into something that is special and unique only to the beholder. It is OKAY to continue enjoying and identifying with art made by a problematic creator, as long as you are able to enjoy it with a critical eye and do not in any way support or promote the individual responsible. And for the love of Someone, do not blame the victims. Here is where things might get spicy but I'm gonna say it anyways. I hope Good Omens 3, The Sandman, and all this individual's other projects get cancelled. Or, at least the person in question is removed from them altogether, since the other artists who have worked tirelessly to bring these works to life should not have to be punished unless they were in some way culpable or privy to these incidents before the news broke. Victims getting justice and a sex offender facing the consequences of their actions is more important to me than getting another season of a TV show, even if it's one I'm obsessed with and adore. Sadly, I don't think the person who did this will be facing justice at all. They are financially and socially powerful enough for this to get swept under the rug. If the mixed responses I have seen across various platforms is anything to go by, their legions of impressionable fans are already prepared to defend them to the death. Wrong hill to die on, folks. All I can hope is that everyone does not let themselves be manipulated by this grown adult who made the wrong choice to violate consent when they clearly know better. Just remember that even though the news didn't come out until this week, this individual didn't try playing the neurodivergence card until after the most recently reported incident occurred. Whatever they are, it does not excuse them of responsibility for what they've done. They are a dangerous, narcissistic, manipulative person and that is their own fault. They do not need you to defend them, they need to recognize they are the problem, face justice, and get help, hopefully while fading into obscurity for the rest of time. I hope that all the hurting people in the fandom out there can find solace in whatever way they see fit, and if that includes continuing to enjoy the art (seriously, though, pirate it instead) that is okay. We are all deeply affected by these events and how you cope is up to you. But lastly, and most importantly, I hope the victims of these awful crimes can move forward from the trauma this has undoubtedly caused, and that the cruel, misogynistic hand of the internet can leave them alone so they can heal. Can't believe I have to say this in 2024, but blaming the victim is NEVER OKAY even if the perpetrator is someone you like.

[onskepa]

Hiii,I got a request.

So one of the dynamics I'm really interested in seeing in the next movie is the one between Neytiri and Spider.

So the plot would be something like they go to gather some herb that can only be found in a small crevice,so Mo’at asks Spider to retrieve it for her. Since everyone is occupied and the plant is far from the village, Mo’at asks Neytiri to take him there, and after a small argument of being against it, she does.

Only for some reason, they swap species (maybe some plant is at fault for that), like Neytiri turns human and Spider turns na’vi, but only them and no one else.

They go and hide in a shack that's close to them ( or somewhere)  so no one sees them, so they spend the day together, and they have a heart to heart conversation.

They have a newfound understanding of each other after all of this, and while not on super amicable terms yet, they start getting there.

When they wake up the next day they have changed back (Neytiri consoling Spider a bit cause he had everything he wanted just for a bit, but he also is happy for her at the same time)

Helloooooooo cutie patootie~!! Honestly this is a really cool idea to explore thoroughly. Now I know everyone has their own personal opnnions of how their relationship can go, or alternatives. BUT! This will be my version of how I think if might go. Hopfully this is yours and everyones satisfaction~!!

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

New body, fresh eyes

[cover made by meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!]

Another calm day at the relatively peaceful day in the Omatikaya forest. People doing their duties to the village, or relaxing and enjoying the beautiful day. It was tranquil, calm, and everyone can tell it will be a good day. Mo’at certainly does. There was not much to do on this bright day. So she decided to go out and collect some herbs as she is running low on some. 

So getting her baskets and needed tools, she makes her way through the village. Everyone she passes greets her with respect and joy. She likes seeing her people be in high spirits, it brings her mind at peace. 

“You are doing it wrong!”

“Kiri taught me! So I know I am doing it right!” 

“You are better off with those demons!” 

“Too bad! I'm here to stay!” 

Now if only mo’at can say the same for her inner family. 

“Can you two stop arguing for 5 minutes?” Jake asks as he groans in frustration. Lately neytiri and spider have been at each other's throats. More than usual. Rubbing his eyes, it's too damn early to deal with it. Don't get Jake wrong, he loves neytiri very much. So much, but at times her dislike for spider can be a bit much, even for him. 

And it is clear as day, everyone else is also getting tired too. 

“I'm literally just existing!” Spider shouts his excuse, waving his arms around as if to prove his point. 

Neytiri hisses and rolls her eyes. 

Mo’at sees this and joins Jake's side. Both share the same feelings of this ongoing dispute. This has to stop before it escalates even more. 

Mo’at doesn't hate the boy, she tolerates him and doesn't mind his presence. Would often welcome him to a light meal or show him some healing methods should he get hurt somewhere in the forest. 

Looking down at her basket, mo’at got an idea. 

So while neytiri and spider go for a round who knows how many of arguing, mo’at whispers in jake’s ear of her idea. And the more he listens, the more he is willing to comply.

“You cannot be serious! Both of you!” Neytiri shouts in anger. 

“Baby, you know I love you with all my heart and soul, but believe me, this is a good idea,” Jake says with his arms crossed, his stance showing he isnt going to back down. Mo’at stands beside him, her glare not changing. 

“She is going to end my life if we do this,” Spider says in a panicked/worried tone. He really doesn't want to do this, especially with neytiri. 

“Hush, it won't be a terrible experience. All you both have to do is go to the upper saves to collect the white shell flowers. I need you spider to go since you are small enough to enter, and neytiri I need you to make sure he comes to and back safely” mo’at instructs. 

But before either neytiri or spider begin to protest, Jake held his hand up as to silence them.

“It is decided, there is no way out of this. That is final”

Oh what could go wrong?

“Keep up!” Neytiri angrily demands, spider grunts as his feet are starting to sore. Ever since they left the village, Neytiri has been demanding him non-stop, telling him to hurry up, to not be slow or some animal will end him. Purposely walking faster and climbing on near impossible spots. Purposely making spider struggle more than he usually does. 

“I'm trying!” he shouts back as he climbs over a very big root. He hasn't felt this tired since race climbing with the other na’vi boys. And that was a long while ago. And to make things not so appealing, they are not even halfway to the destination. 

“Is this what uncle means by final destination…?” he thinks. 

If that is true, may Eywa grant him mercy and join her in the afterlife.

“Are you done being dramatic?” Neytiri asks suddenly, interrupting his thoughts. 

She stood not far from him, clearly not amused. 

Quickly spider catches up to her, “nothing, how far are we?” he asks, “too far” neytiri asks annoyed. Inwardly sighing, he catches up, as fast he can't. This will be a long walk for sure.

“We are here” 

What felt like forever they finally made it to the upper caves. It really wasn't that far from the hallelujah mountains but it takes a bit to get to a really specific area. And that specific area was no easy task. But what matters now is they made it.

“Hurry up, get in!” Neytiri once again hisses and impatiently shoves spider in the small cave. Spider was quick to duck his head down so as to not hit himself against the rocky entrance. The baskets landed near his feet, so he grabbed them without a word. Going a bit deeper, he sees the beautiful glowing green flowers. 

According to what mo’at said, they needed to be very careful as the flowers can only function in the dark. Any beam of light hitting them and its over. So neytiri shoves some special baskets that are weaved very tightly and no light can get past it. 

But also….

“How many did the tsahik say to get?” spider asks to neytiri. The na’vi in question paused for a moment. Did her mother specify how much to get? Little or a lot? Damn. 

“Enough to fill the baskets” she said in a snappy tone. 

“Yes ma’am…” so spider gets onto it. As he gently plucks the flowers, a bit of the nectar escaped from the bud and leaked onto his hands. Smearing his fingers a bit, it was sticky yet warm at the same time. Made his hands glow a bit. 

“What is taking so long!? Hurry it up in there! We won't make it back before dark!” neytiri screeches. Her time with spider grows increasingly thin. She just wanted to get it done and over with. Being near him makes neytiri’s skin prickle and shudder. 

“Puny demon…” she mutters under her breath. Looking down, the roots that connect the small cave to the base aren't that thick. Her blade is sharp enough to cut them. If she manages to grab the baskets, she can cut the roots and spider can be stuck in the air. Forever maybe….

“Ok I think this is enough” spider comments to himself. Collecting the baskets, he triple checks they are sealed very tightly and slings them over his back. “I need a bath after this…” looking down at his glowing hands, and some parts of his body, the nectar was all over him. Spider did try to not have any flower leak as he plucked them but it was inevitable. 

“I'm coming!” he shouts, letting the echos reach neytiri’s ears as he makes his way to the exit of the cave. And just as he was about to come out, the sudden reach for the baskets surprised him. “Give them to me” neytiri demons, her eyes glaring daggers at him. Harshly she tried to yank them out of her grasp but spider was pulling back. Scared of whatever her motive is. 

“Stop! You are going to rip the baskets!!” he warns her but it has fallen on deaf ears. The na’vi was pulling them so hard, he worried the weaving will become undone, so using the still wet nectar, he smeared it all over neytiri’s face. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?” she yells. Tring to get the nectar out of her eyes while holding onto spider, she was losing balance. 

“No no no!!” 

Without warning, both began to fall from the small cave. Flying down fast, yells of panic and fear. They fell down to the forest, only to be hitting the flat grounds and instantly being knocked out.

Neytiri awoke to a burning, unbearable pain coursing through her body. Mostly at her throat. She can't break, why can't she breathe? It hurts so much! Her vision was blurry but even trying to open her eyes, she felt a slight stinging to them. She needed air and fast! Looking at her surroundings, she saw spider’s mask laying on the floor, maybe that could help? 

Crawling towards it, feeling the strength in her body weaken by the second. Quickly putting it on, she took deep breaths, calming her heart. 

After a few minutes, her full consciousness became present. Why did Neytiri need the boy’s mask? How was it that it fit her face? 

Looking down at her hands, her body, her hair, she screamed her soul out. 

Spider woke up startled, looking around to find the source of the blood curdling scream. He turned to see a human woman. She was panicking while looking down at her body. He had never seen her before but he couldn't leave her to her madness. 

“Hey hey, it's ok, it's ok, is your mask broken?” he suddenly asks while raising his hands but he noticed something…….

His hands were blue…his arms, legs, body, touching his ears, they were pointy. Was he….?

“Spider?!” the human woman called out to him, but hearing neytiri’s voice….?

“Neytiri….?” he calls out, she nodded. 

Both now silent, taking in each other’s appearance…..

Neytiri is human. And spider is na’vi. 

“Oh my Eywa….”

“OH MY EYWA!! OH MY-I THINK I'M GONNA THROW UP!!” spider says in his midst of panic. It is like he can't seem to fully comprehend what is happening. Here he is, standing at 10 '12 ft tall, with a tail, four fingers, and blue all over. 

“Please don't '' neytiri who isn't far from him begs. She was rocking back and forth trying to understand what happened. Her skin is deep tan, dark tones, her hair now wavy and standing at a good 5’7 ft tall. No tail, 5 fingers, round ears, and no stripes. Even she is trying not to vomit. 

Trying to be the adult between them, she gets up but notices something. She is naked, her na’vi clothing is too big for her. 

“Look…we must find some proper garments……and find shelter soon. It is getting dark” she says. 

Spider stops his mid life crises and listens to her. Looking down, he sees her point.

“Woa, this is incredible!” spider shouts in great glee! He can smell everything! He can see better, climb higher, run faster! He felt invincible at the moment. This is what he always dreamed of, always hoped to be. A true na’vi. No more silly mask, no more sleeping in the labs, no more risking his life to simple foods in the wilderness. He felt free. 

Neytiri on the other hand felt stuck. The mask was itchy, it was uncomfortable. She doesn't have the same amount of strength. Everything was too big or too high, climbing was hard, running even harder. Gets tired easily, and can't even enjoy her favorite fruit anymore! Is this what it is like for humans? Always tired? Danger everywhere? Is this what felt like being trapped?

“Don't you think maybe this could be something from Eywa?” spider asks, rather a bit tired but wondering behind their current situation. “Is she punishing us…?” He wonders more. Neytiri, who was sitting across from him, the fire pit in the middle of their small shelter. She narrows her eyes, the light of the fire reflecting in her eyes. 

“Don't be so ridiculous, why would she punish me? I have done nothing wrong” she replies in a rather stand-offish way. If spider still had his eyebrows, he would raise them.

Did nothing wrong?” he repeats but more as a question. 

He starts to count with his fingers, “you insult me, you belittle me, you bully me! You HATE me! When all I have done is try to live my life”. 

Neytiri glares at him, if she could hiss, she would. 

“You dare come to my home, my village, my FAMILY! Dressing as if you were one of us!” 

“I am now,” he smirks. 

“Bah!” she scoffs, “whatever this is, don't think it will be forever!” 

“But what if it is? What if this is our new life? Me na’vi, you human?” spider questions. If it is true, he could life as a omatikaya. He could spend more time with kiri, lo’ak, spend more time and be one with the village. He could-

“Then I wouldn't be with my family….” neytiri whispers…..the horror crawling into her mind. If she is forever human, that means she would have to be with the other humans…away from her mate, away from her children! To be away from her home is wrong. To not be able to hunt or share a simple kiss would risk her life. This is like a cage in her own body. And to rely on the stupid mask…no she couldn't. 

“Neytiri…..why do you hate me…?” spider asks, bringing back the topic. 

Not making eye contact, rather staring at the fire, she slowly responds. 

“I dont hate you….I hate what you resemble…..that demon. That man. He took everything from me. When I see you, I see him. That is all I see. And I cannot look past him. I fear you would follow his trail. Resume what he could not finish. End me, ending my family. I cant…I belittle you, I say many things to you. I should not. I am aware. Yet my anger, my hate, my terrors. They overcome my vision. What I am supposed to see a child, all I can see is the darkness of my nights” 

Silence follows. The sparks of the fire filling it in. 

Neytiri’s words settled in spider’s mind.

“I always admired you…” spider suddenly spoke. 

He didn't look up, rather looking down at his hands. Busy creating something. 

“I always admired how strong you are. Despite losing everything…you remain strong, tough, fearless. And I always liked that. I liked how despite being hurt, you continue to fight. A mighty warrior is all I see. Yet you are a good mom. How you treat your kids….I always wanted a mom who can cuddle me, hold me, love me….I'm not saying I see you as a mother. But you are the closest thing to it. I am also scared of you…but I get mad. So mad that you treat me worse than all of the humans combined. All I ever wanted was just you to acknowledge me. That was all I ever wanted…” 

Neytiri didn't say anything. She only looks down at her hands. What can she say? Nothing, her answer was nothing. 

Sun rose and both were awake. Seeing that their new bodies are still there, they remain in the small shelter. 

“Ack!” neytiri groans in pain, she was trying to open a shell of a fruit but is struggling. 

“Need some help?” spider offers. 

“Im fine” neytiri snaps, not wanting to be bothered. So spider shrugs. But as he turned, he hissed in pain. Looking behind him, seems he stepped on his tail. Again. This will be taking some time to get used to. 

“OW!” 

“Ok let me show you” spider interjects neytiri. Though she is protesting, spider ignores that. “Here, with your small fingers you have to twist the top, not the bottom. It is easier and won't hurt” he instructs. Neytiri doesn't say anything, but does how he showed her. And the shell opened, showing the ripe fruit inside. She smiled in relief. She was so hungry. 

“Oh by the way, you cant eat that” spider says before she could take a bit. Raising an eyebrow, she questions him “and why not? I have always eatin this fruit”. 

“Yes, but you are human now. This fruit is not safe for humans. Eat if and you will have a bad reaction to it. Dont even test it, its not fun”..

So neytiri puts the fruit down. 

Damn.

“You are walking like a human,” neytiri points out. Spider tripped, again. Over his tail. Again. 

“If you still wish to keep your tail intact, dont drag on your legs behind, and dont mindlessly sway your tail side to side like some beast. Have proper manners” she goes on to say. 

Spider huffs, and getting up he follows her instructions. “You are na’vi now, so walk like one”. 

Carefully correcting his stand and pose, he tries again. “Hey look, I am-OW!” 

“What did I say?! You utter fool!”

“You pull the scales like this” neytiri instructs spider in how to removes the scales of some fishes they caught at a nearby river. Using her large blade, spider carefully does as she is teaching him. And as he does, neytiri was grinding some spices she managed to collect during their walk. 

“Add more of the red bark” spider comments. 

“Why?” 

“Because for the sake of your taste buds, it makes the fish meat be easier to consume” 

Back and forth, all day. Spider and neytiri help each other in getting used of their new bodies. New habits had to be learned, new styles and methods that can benefit the other. And all the while there was no yelling or harsh name calling. Things felt..ease. At peace. But for how long can this happen? Forever? 

Night came once again, and after a full meal, spider and neytiri rested. Spider taking in his hands, admiring his dots decorating his body. 

Neytiri does the same for her hair. 

“Here…..for you” spider whispers a bit shyly. He hands neytiri what looked like a headband. It was weaven together well. The weaving of the omatikaya. Beads embedded well with the blue hue. It was soft and the material looked to be well made. 

“Thank you….” she whispers. Putting it on, it fitted her perfectly. Of course not that she would admit. 

“Here….” this time neytiri hands spider tenbeads, four reds and two yellows. “Do what you like with them” she says. Spider gripped on the beads tightly. They felt nice and smooth on his palm. Seemed to be well carved and of good quality too. 

“Thank you…” he smiles. Cherishing his gift from her. Really the only act of kindless she has displayed to him. And by eywa he will keep it as a core memory until his last breathe. 

However, despite the gift exchange, there is still that looming worry. 

“It seems….this will be our new life now….me human, and you na’vi” neytiri says, sadness coating her words. 

“I now know it is not easy….to be human. I now know what challenges you must go throug spider….your struggles have ended….and now I will struggle but…..I accept. IF this is my new body forever…I accept” 

There. 

She admits it, neytiri finally admits it. 

Spider should feel happy, but he isnt. 

“As I accept…..being na’vi. Thanks to you, I now know it is not fully easy being na’vi either. So much noises…my tail, I love my tail but it has a mind of its own. But I accept I will be na’vi but…..it doesnt seem fair….” he says. 

Neytiri blinks, confused. 

“How is it not fair? You finally get to have the life you long desire” 

The boy bods, “Yes but…what if…the price to pay to life this life….the life I always wanted….comes at the cost of you? Arent you worried? Scared? You won't get to be with your family as much anymore. Having to eat shitty food, being indoors with all the technology you hate. It almost doesnt seem fair…” 

That is true…if neytiri must, she would be limited to all she has. 

“Nothing is really fair spider….but as you said…..if this is Eywa punishing….me. Then, I accept me punishment. My freedom in trade for yours…” 

Spider shook his head, “no, no that is not how it would end. I will gladly give up my na’vi body. I would go back to being human. I would give it all up, for you. You are a mother to 4 kids neytiri, they need you. They need you more than I need this body. IF Eywa can hear me, hear me now. I would gladly pay the price. My na’vi for neytiri’s humanity. I would!” 

By the bounds of all reality, the shell flowers from the forgotten baskets bursted out, and went straight towards them.

“I see them, look” mo’at smiles as she sees spider and neytiri coming to them. Jake sees as well, and smiles “I was starting to get worried”. 

And what a sight to hold on to. Spider and neytiri? Talking peacefully? Not screaming or yelling? 

“It seems it worked” jake comments. Mo’at nods, “of course, great mother always knows the right solution to any matter”

PHEW! This one took me a bit, wanted to get all the right words and emotions just right. But I am once again proud how it turned out! Thank you cutie for requesting this! Until next time! See ya!

[mamaskullz]

~Mommy~

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

┊┋ Pairing:Marko x black!fem reader

┊┋ The Queen of The Damned/The Lost Boys AU

┊┋ Notes: the reader is a vampire, the

┊┋daughter of Akasha

┊┋ Tw: light graphic, lewd dream

┊┋Content:18+ MDNI, mature content:

┊┋sex with minimal plot, unprotected sex, oral

┊┋(m and f receiving)

┊┋choking, spitting, cunnilings

┊┋cowgirl, riding, Nipple sucking, handjob

┊┋ mentioned “mommy” "goddess" "baby boy"

┊┋ praises, blood kink, light degradation, begging

┊┋ fdom, mdom/msub, masturbation

┊┋ no.1

┊┋ Sequel to An Unforgettable Night part 2

┊┋ ~Enjoy~ checkout my masterlist

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

After the meeting with you at the boardwalk, the boys commenced strategizing on their journey back to the cave, contemplating the next encounter with you. Each one of them longed to catch another glimpse of you, a stunning goddess unlike any they had ever seen before.

"She is a powerful woman, one we should not take lightly.", David said informing the boys while getting ready for their slumber. "She is so beautiful.", The rest of the boys nod when Paul mentions your beauty, they are obsessed with the way you looked, and your blood made them yearn for more. They all discuss their plans for you, there are plenty of plans on what they want to do with such a beauty, they all discuss how they are going to enjoy you once they have you, they make sure to plan it out carefully and thoroughly, they all cannot wait.

Marko pondered upon the encounter, his mind fixated on the elusive words whispered in his ear. The sun began to ascend, signaling the boys to retreat and seek shelter from the penetrating light. Taking advantage of their flight capabilities, they assumed a bat-like position, hanging upside down within the safety of a cave. As Marko dangled, his thoughts consumed him, intensifying his yearning for you - your essence, your physical presence. His mouth watered, and he found himself muttering incoherently as he gradually succumbed to slumber, under the influence of your manipulative powers, within the realm of his dreams.

In Marko's Dream

As Marko soared through the darkened skies, he became aware of a familiar voice calling out his name, urging him to find its source. The beckoning sound resonated deeply within him, captivating his senses. Your voice, in particular, possessed an enchanting allure that he found impossible to resist. Determined to reach you, Marko pushed himself to his limits, propelling through the air with unparalleled speed. His heart pounded in his chest, fueled by a surge of adrenaline, as he raced towards the origin of your captivating call.

Flying closer to the sound of you , your voice sounds more and more irresistible, more and more seductive. He sees you up on the balcony as the weather clears up for him to see you, he sees you in his most desireful dream. In this dream he can't wait to get to you. Marko is flying so fast and so quick to get to you, he wants to fly through the windows and to be in your arms. Marko's desire is so strong he wants to hold you and to kiss you.

Landing on his feet on the balcony he couldn't see you as he calls out for you. "Anippe! Anippe! I'm here! Where are You!", He calls for you beckon before you speak again. "Marko~ Come Here Marko~", Hearing you as it was coming from inside, Marko couldn't see what from inside not realizing his feet was walking towards the darkness that was coming from the inside, looking around for you only to be met with hands behind him wrapping your arms around his torso making him turn around towards you now coming face to face with you.

Upon catching sight of your countenance, Marko instantly recognized that he had entered a state of bliss. Your impeccable beauty captivated him to the point where he couldn't divert his gaze, and he found himself completely entranced by the allure within your eyes. This was the ultimate longing he had fervently sought after.

Embracing him, you enveloped him with a sense of overwhelming emotion, as if your hug was the epitome of intimacy. Your exquisite allure and irresistible charm left him utterly infatuated. Marko's heart raced uncontrollably, unable to resist being captivated by your beauty, as if it were comparable to that of a goddess.

While playfully denying Marko the opportunity to kiss you, you persistently whispered, asking him, "Do you long for my presence?" The tantalizing words escaped your lips as you teased and enticed him, leaving him yearning to taste your essence.

While playfully denying Marko the opportunity to kiss you, you persistently whispered, asking him, "Do you long for my presence?" You tantalizingly teased and taunted him, brushing your lips against each other's, as he yearned to taste your kiss. In a seductive tone, you inquired, "Do you crave my affection?"

"You don't know how very much I desire you; you are so gorgeous and irresistible. Your beauty makes me hunger for you, like your blood is calling me to feast in your sweetness." Marko is overwhelmed by his intense desire for you; your stunning appearance and irresistible charm captivate him completely. Your beauty ignites a deep longing within him, as if your essence beckons him to indulge in your delightful presence. He can hardly contain his excitement; he yearns to savor every moment with you, to embrace and relish in your essence. The mere thought of your alluring sweetness drives him to the brink of madness.

"Then beg for it, it's that simple", Speak softly to him and gently request it, as it is a straightforward matter. As you do so, let your hand slide into his pants, feeling the lingering hardness that you aroused when you first encountered each other at the boardwalk. Begin to caress and stimulate him.

"Please, *please* let me taste your sweet blood, I need to feed on you, I need to consume you, your beauty has driven me insane.", Marko pleaded desperately, urging you to grant him the privilege of savoring your exquisite blood. The insatiable desire to consume you overwhelmed him, as your captivating beauty had driven him to the brink of madness. With your hand caressing him incessantly, his longing intensified to an unbearable level. The intensity of your touch clouded his thoughts, rendering him incapable of rational thinking. His sole fixation became the insatiable craving to feast upon you, as his hunger had completely consumed him. He yearned to possess you, to have you entirely for himself.

As a smirk graces your face, you draw closer and share an ardent, tender kiss with him. The sound of his gentle moans fills the air as your lips meet, while you delicately caress his arousal through his trousers. Transitioning from his lips to his neck, you give his manhood a gentle squeeze, skillfully stroking it to ensure he feels each and every touch. Marko whispers, "Please, take care of me," causing a delightful shiver to run down your spine. Smirking, you relish in the power he has bestowed upon you and take pleasure in sinking your teeth into his neck, savoring the exquisite taste of his blood.

Marko's transformation from Dominant to Submissive was unexpected, but it turns out he had always harbored secret desires to be submissive, particularly to Paul. However, since his encounter with you, he has discovered a newfound willingness to be dominated by you. As you increase the intensity of your strokes on his cock, Marko's head tilts back, his cries of pleasure filling the air and gratifying your senses. "You're such a well-behaved boy," you praise him, while maintaining a steady rhythm, feeling his throbbing member glide against your fingertips.

"Please take care. Please take care of your Good-boys cock.", Marko, as he expresses his desires towards you. His warm breath on your neck carries the enticing scent of your blood, tempting him to come closer. Slowly, he opens his mouth, retracting his fangs to taste your blood. However, he is abruptly stopped by a firm grip on his cock, causing him to cry out in pain. As a small punishment, you release your hold on him, leaving him in a state of arousal. With a commanding tone, you question his eagerness, reminding him that he is not permitted to taste you without permission. He responds in a whimpering manner, confessing his desire to taste you like David did. He pleads for your forgiveness, expressing his remorse. The pleas escape his mouth, accompanied by various sounds of desperation. As you gaze at him with desire, you push him onto the bed.

Marko reclines on the bed, captivated by your enchanting allure as if time slowed down. He observes your hair gracefully swaying, while your reaches up to untie the strings on your dress, causing the delicate spaghetti straps to slip off your shoulders, unveiling your alluring figure with tantalizingly rigid nipples. This sight leaves Marko breathless, in awe of your stunning physique. As your dress gracefully descends, revealing more of your body, he cannot contain his anticipation any longer. However, before he can proceed, you gently place your hand on his face, urging him to pause and tilting his head back to meet your gaze…

"Did i give you. Permission? Slut~", with the lips that fell upon turning Marko on with the name calling quickly sulking looking at the temple of your body feeling the smooth skin with his cold hands, restraining himself to obey but was tempted to disobey just to see what you might do. "I'm sorry Mommy, I just want to taste you.

"I am amazed by my mommy's extraordinary beauty, charm, and allure". A gentle touch of our noses creates an enchanting sensation, with a soft whimper escaping him. This intimate gesture heightens the sexual tension, instinctively causing me to squeeze my own breasts. As this moment progresses, I find myself completely immersed in the feeling of his mouth opening, as his warm, moist tongue glides over my stomach, gradually moving upwards towards my belly button.

You relished the sensation of Marko's wet kisses on your stomach, knowing that your arousal was mounting. You watched in delight as he lavished your body with adoration, like a goddess deserving worship. Marko cast an upward glance, smirking at your evident enjoyment. As your hand slipped lower, it grazed over your belly button, sending a cascade of blood down your thigh. The sight had Marko drooling, spurred on by your words of invitation, 'Taste it. Taste what your need desired.' With your hip pressed against his, he held you close, enraptured by your seduction. "Mommy," he whispered before greedily consuming the spilled blood, leaving not a single drop to stain, and smearing it across his face.

Imagine tasting how sweet your blood was, getting messy with blood on the bed when you were both naked, covered in blood, with his blood smeared on your lips, and with your smile on your face and his, Marko leaned close to kiss your neck with the mixture of blood both on your bodies. You're so beautiful, mommy, I want more, could you please let me have more? " The Pleads, The Seduction, The Temptation, The Desire are all there for the taking.

"Indulge, Mother, my little one," he seductively requested, observing the excited smile forming on his face. He proceeded to passionately kiss your neck, maintaining the intimate connection between his lips and your skin. Moving downwards, he left moist kisses on your collarbones and ventured towards the space between your breasts, lavishing attention on your bosom and nibbling on your hardened nipples. The sensation of his lips on your body caused you to shudder, experiencing a pleasurable sensation that made your toes curl. As he continued to suck on your breasts, he gradually made his way down your body until he reached your waist. "Oh, Mother," Marko murmured in between kissing your thighs and inner thighs, "You are truly magnificent, absolutely delectable, Mother. I have never encountered a woman as enchanting and captivating as you, Mother~" His semi-whispered words threatened to weaken your resolve, but you knew you wouldn't easily succumb.

He began by kissing around your intimate area, slowly making his way back to where he started. His focus shifted towards your clitoris, giving it the attention, it deserved as he gently licked it. With his hands gripping your thighs, he held you down, ensuring you couldn't escape his grasp. His tongue flicked skillfully on your sensitive spot, while you watched him intently, captivated by the beautiful sight unfolding before you. The sensation of his wet tongue on your most intimate area sent pleasurable tingles throughout your body, causing you to squirm in delight. However, as the intensity grew, you started to feel weakened by his overpowering strength. He then shifted his attention, moving from your clitoris to your folds, exploring every inch with his tongue. The taste of your arousal was evident as he savored your juices, indicating just how aroused you were from the passionate encounter. "You're so incredibly wet for me, Mommy," he teased, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. Maintaining eye contact with you, he never broke the connection as he continued to pleasure you, thrusting his tongue inside your wetness with a hint of aggression.

He continues to explore the patterns in your intimate area, and as a result, your moans become increasingly louder. The sensation of his sharp nails tearing the sheets doesn't bother you as you are fully absorbed in the pleasure he is providing. With your back arched and your legs held down, you feel a sudden sharp twist in your stomach accompanied by tingling sensations, indicating that you are nearing climax. "Baby boy, I'm almost there. Mommy is close," you warn Marko, which only further excites him and intensifies his desire to pleasure your wet and tight area. He begins to adopt a more assertive and aggressive approach, increasing the speed of his movements. Unable to contain yourself any longer, you reach your limit and start squirting uncontrollably. The sound of his moans resonating within you only serves to heighten your pleasure, causing you to become overstimulated. As you reach down to grip his messy golden curls, your toes curl in response to the mounting sensations. Your legs tremble, covered in a sheen of sweat, as you struggle to catch your breath. Marko, with heavy breaths, then proceeds to clean up the remnants of your enjoyment, relishing in the taste of your sweet and sticky essence. Looking at you with a contented smile, he remarks, "You taste absolutely delicious, mommy~". Leaning in, he gently kisses you, allowing you to taste yourself on his lips and tongue.

Marko inquired, "May I please engage in sexual intercourse with you, Mommy?" You responded, "Certainly, for being such a devoted individual to me, you may engage in intercourse with me in any manner you desire." After catching your breath, Marko reached down and firmly grasped his penis, stroking it vigorously to ensure it was coated with your natural lubrication. Moaning with pleasure, he expressed his desire, "Could you guide me inside you, Mommy? I yearn to experience the sensation of penetrating your sweet, wet, and tight vagina." As you listened to his passionate words, you looked up at him with a mischievous smile, gripping his penis tightly with your hand and causing your nails to dig into his skin, resulting in a slight bleeding. This sensation brought him immense pleasure. Leading the way, you guided him towards the entrance, aligning his penis with your vagina.

After positioning him, you gently guide him in, feeling the pressure as his member enters your intimate space. Your toes curl from a mix of pain and pleasure, and Marko observes as his length disappears inside you. The grip of your walls around his cock causes him to wince and moan. As he fills you completely, you can't help but feel the enormity of his size, stretching you to your limits. Allowing you a moment to adjust, Marko gazes into your eyes, captivated by the intensity of the moment, and leans down to share a passionate kiss. His hips begin to move involuntarily as he can no longer contain his desire. With a whisper in your ear, he expresses his longing for you, relishing in the tightness of your pussy that nearly milks his throbbing member.

"Oh Fuck~ Thats it Babyboy start off slow~ Never knew a sloppy pathetic bloodlust whore bitch would be such a good fucktoy~", It is astonishing how derogatory words can unknowingly enhance the pleasure, as you gradually increase your pace. Your expressions of enjoyment intensify as you firmly hold onto the bed sheets, unable to resist moaning his name while he reciprocates with yours. "I am completely devoted to you, my dear. Oh my! Oh my!" The sounds of pleasure engulf you as your partner's passion-filled words fill your mouth, now leading towards another sensation as his thrusting continues.

As it was apparent that both of you were thoroughly enjoying yourselves, he lifted you up in his arms while you held onto his neck tightly, expressing your pleasure through moans that resonated in his ear. "My dear, you feel so incredible on me that I may reach climax," he cautioned you, making you aware of his growing intensity, which mirrored your own. Sensing the imminent release approaching, a knot formed in your stomach. Marko began thrusting vigorously, causing your breasts to bounce as he caressed one of them and proceeded to suck on it, all while the moist sounds of your intimate connection resonated. "My love, I'm reaching my peak soon," he warned. "I am too, my darling," you replied, embracing the intensity of the moment.

As they were both on the verge of climax, entangled in a passionate and intense encounter, consuming each other's blood and mingling it with their sweat, Marko was abruptly awakened by Dwayne. "Hey, wake up!" Dwayne shook him vigorously, as the night sky loomed outside. Marko stirred, feeling a dampness in his pants, and instinctively reached down to investigate. He clenched his fist, hearing the sounds of disappointment before he let out a sigh. "Gentlemen! We have a special evening ahead. Let us make the most of it!" With David's encouragement and the enthusiastic howls of Paul and Dwayne, a flushed Marko checked his pants after changing his underwear, yearning for you after experiencing the dream that felt all too real.

But don't worry you two will meet again surely...

~A/n~ Deftones will be played in the part two but I hope you enjoyed the sequel, I’m not good at making intimate scenes but I practice from time to time.

[melancholia-ennui]

So one thing that seems to get overlooked in a lot of the discussions around the current state state of D&D, the OGL changes, etc., is why it's D&D 5e that accrued such an mass following - not Pathfinder 2e, not previous versions of D&D, not any other OGL game.

Part of it is, of course, brand recognition. Part of it is "right place, right time" for the nostalgia cycle. But imo there's more to it than that.

At least to me, 5e seems to hit a surprisingly good sweet-spot between a bunch of conflicting trends in TTRPGs.

It's crunchy enough that you can optimise and build around cool combos and synergies if you want to, but also,

It's rules-light enough that it's very easy to pick up and learn for new players and GMs.

The balancing is robust enough that it mostly feels fair and yet flexible enough that it's easy to mod with homebrew content without breaking anything (as long as you understand the basics of bounded accuracy and action economy).

It's got enough of a default setting that you can just pick up and play without needing to build a whole world of your own, but also,

It's setting-agnostic and genre-agnostic enough that you can easily world build your own settings, as long as you're happy for it to be high magic and use the D&D-style magic system.

For all the "just try another system" posts I've seen - and for all the other RPGs I've played - I'm yet to find another system that works so damn well as both an entry point to the hobby and as a fairly robust "default", in the sense that while in many cases there will be some RPG that's better suited for a particular game, it's very rarely the case that there's any kind of game you simply cannot play in 5e without a little tinkering under the hood.

I adored playing Pathfinder 2e, but the simple truth is that I played in two campaigns for the better part of 2 years and I still don't feel like I have a strong grasp on all of the rules and tags and nuances of the system, and it's so thoroughly balanced that I never felt confident doing any homebrew for it because I was worried I would accidentally break something. (I also have more fundamental issues with the play feel of the game - I dislike action economies that punish movement, and I also dislike the way that a lot of the feats and magic items seem to amount to minor "number get bigger" rather than being able to do something new - but these are more personal judgment issues and there are also many points that I feel Pathfinder 2e gets more right than 5e, and you can actually see a lot of those in the bits that WotC is shamelessly stealing for OneD&D.) I would absolutely recommend PF2e to experienced players looking to try something different, but I would never put it in front of a new player who'd never touched TTRPGs before.

On the other end, there are plenty of systems that could work as good introductions to the hobby, even ones with a lot of brand recognition - your Call of Cthulhu, your Vampire: The Masquerade, etc. - but most of these are so thoroughly embedded in their setting and/or genre that they just do not have that capacity to work as a robust default, as a system you can pick up if you're not sure which system would be best for your game and you're feeling too lazy to check (or too broke to buy new books!). They're also fairly limited to being played by people who enjoy the particular genre they are designed for, and that can also just reduce their general mass appeal.

So it's not as simple as "try another game" - while it's very true that there are players and GMs who suffer unnecessarily trying to cram their game into D&D rules when another system would work better, and it's very true that you'll get more out of the hobby in the long run if your do diversify your systems, it's equally true that 5e serves a very particular niche which no other system has managed to satisfy to the same degree.

Which brings us back to the OGL

and one thing that I think a lot of people seem to be missing in the #OpenD&D campaign: any victory we get here is only a temporary concession.

Hasbro is a big international company deeply embedded in neoliberal capitalism. It wants da money. It's primary prerogative is constant growth - a constant increase in profit. D&D - TTRPGs generally - are not good profit making machines. It is entirely possible with D&D for one person to buy three books and then run weekly sessions with a group of six people for four years without ever giving another penny to Hasbro.

From a corporate perspective, this is a Bad Thing™. From a player perspective, it is a Good Thing™.

We already knew before the OGL 1.1 announcement and leak that Hasbro were worrying about D&D being "under-monetized". The move to make D&D more "monetized" would partially mean expanding into new media forms - more books, more toys, more TV shows and movies - but it also means finding more ways to wring money out of the player base.

Given the company's clear focus on D&D Beyond, it seems likely to me that the main direction for this will be a move towards increasing amounts of subscription-only content, which everyone who wants to use the content will need to individually pay for (as they also see DMs being the main people who pay for content as a "problem" to be "solved"), likely associated with attempts to suppress alternatives - e.g. one of the OneD&D announcements seems to be an attempt to push their own VTT, which in part explains why VTTs are specifically targetted in the proposed OGL 1.1.

All that said, it seems very likely that OneD&D is being set up to be much more player-hostile than 5e was.

Through this lens, it's pretty clear that part of the point of the OGL 1.1 changes is to try and force a captive audience. The one thing which would absolutely sink WotC/Hasbro's plans for an increasingly hostile but increasingly profitable D&D space would be someone doing a Pathfinder to 5e - that is, creating an alternative system that has all of the merits of 5e, potentially with a number of improvements, but is provided without the constant profiteering and hostile environment created by WotC/Hasbro's monetization policies. The changes to the OGL are an attempt to pre-emptively prevent any such alternative.

As such,

even if we get the OGL 1.1 decision reversed in the short term, we should expect WotC/Hasbro to try and pull the exact same BS down the line.

It could be months - a revised OGL 1.1 that claims it fixes the complaints people had but doesn't. It could be a year. It could be several years. But they will try and pull this again, for one very simple reason: the popular backlash to this decision may prove that people hate it, but it also proves that for a lot of people, they don't have anywhere else to go.

If people felt like there was a viable alternative to 5e, they would've just jumped ship on mass the moment the OGL 1.1 was leaked - and sure, a lot of people did that, but a lot more people didn't. So while the player base are showing an excellent display of solidarity in face of WotC/Hasbro, they're also half-acknowledging that they do have us just a little bit cornered. We're stuck in this room together.

So what can we do?

Well, signing the #OpenDND open letter and making a fuss about the OGL 1.1 changes is a good start.

However, even if we win the fight over the OGL 1.1, this is only a temporary victory - and we need to start looking to build a serious alternative structure to take power back from WotC/Hasbro.

The smallest way to do this is to avoid using the OGL if you can - get proper legal advice on this, but from what I can tell, a lot more of the 5e system would fall under noncopyrightable material than the OGL/SRD lets on. One lawyer even went as far as to say the original OGL actually gives up rights to material you could've potentially used. If you're making third party content and it only uses noncopyrightable material from 5e, simply release it without the OGL, and then WotC will be unable to pull the rug out from under you.

Of course, the ideal would be for someone to do a Pathfinder and release an alternative to 5e - something which is largely compatible with 5e and third party 5e materiesl, which captures the main merits of 5e (as outlined above), but which is released under a Creative Commons or similar open license, something which irrevocably guarantees the rights of third party content creators far more robustly than the OGL ever did.

This would require walking a fine line - Pathfinder, after all, is an OGL system, so if you were hoping to circumvent the OGL entirely you'd have to work a lot harder to make sure your system only overlapped with 5e/OneD&D in its noncopyrightable material. And that's in addition to the actual difficulty of, y'know, building an entire new TTRPG system from the ground up (or at least from a little above the ground).

But in the long run, creating a really open alternative to D&D - one which was a genuinely community collaborative effort, and which was guaranteed for third party creators under a robust and reliable license... well, it would be an absolute game-changer. (Especially if you could get the content creators and third party authors who've really driven the 5e boom on board, though that in itself is a whole other issue!)

I am aware that Kobold Press are already talking about creating a new system which they describe as "available, open, and subscription-free" (see here), and that could be one direction to keep an eye on in this regard. That said, while I will be keeping my fungal feelers pointed at that project, I would warn that any D&D alternative developed by a corporation and not released under a sufficiently robust open license could easily run into the exact same problems a decade down the line - or worse, be bought out by WotC/Hasbro and folded into the same hellscape that D&D is becoming.

All told, the response of the wider D&D and TTRPG community to these proposed OGL 1.1 changes has been very encouraging, but I feel like our sights are still too narrow - and if we want to avoid this becoming a perpetual war of attrition between WotC/Hasbro and the fans, we really need to be willing to think bigger, and consider more drastic measures to guarantee the future of our favourite game.

[neo-contemporaryfailure]

A chest cold tests Olive and Jack's relationship; Jack thinks about his time with Mary.

JACK is half awake, laying face down, in bed. Olive, across the room, is pulling on a wrap dress over a leotard. 

JACK

Why are you here?

OLIVE

I've been thinking of taking a ballet class. I'm getting a bit rusty. But I enjoy our mornings in the studio much more. So imagine my surprise when I get there this morning and you aren't there-

JACK

But why are you here?

OLIVE

God forbid I see my husband in the morning. Just wanted to make sure you're alive.

JACK 

I'd never kill myself without telling you.

OLIVE

Gentleman. I wanted this dress and I wanted my shoes that match. I have a bag that goes with it at my place, I'm not sure why this dress never made it over.

JACK

Why are they here?

OLIVE

I spend too much time with you. 

JACK 

A woman's place is in her apartment. 

OLIVE 

Yet another thing we agree on. 

She looks at him with genuine affection. Disgusting (and she knows it.)  She sits next to him and messes with his hair. He half rolls over and swats her away. 

OLIVE 

(Thoroughly entertained)

Do you want me to pick you up a bottle of NyQuil? You look like shit.

JACK

No. That garbage isn't good for you.

OLIVE picks up a bottle of pills off the nightstand, she reads the label.

OLIVE

You're right. Secobarbital is all you ever need. 

She opens the drawer and puts the pill bottle in it. Among others.

OLIVE

Okay, my lord. Whose kneecaps do I have to break for getting you sick? Was it Maurice? 

JACK

I think it was the kid’s brat. Children are disgusting. 

OLIVE 

Well that's unfortunate. I have a “no killing children” rule. Guess avenging you will have to wait 12 more years.  See you at the studio tomorrow morning?

JACK gives a thumbs up. OLIVE leaves.

JACK'S MIND. Or maybe the past.

A huge stage. People around him.  Jack is 18 years old. 

Bright  lights. The ensemble is singing.

He is dancing, and has been for at this point, 7 minutes straight. 

The number changes into a waltz. He waltzes with Mary. Her eyes are serious. 

She is whisked off stage. 

The number changes again, into the culmination of the show, something big and serious that makes the audience want to stay. JACK keeps dancing, now doing tap. 

It's so aggressive. 

He continues, and continues, and continues, then, in one final moment, sticks the landing to thunderous applause. Lights go down, the curtain falls. He cannot breathe. One of the ensemble members helps him off stage.

MARY

(quiet)

I need you not to look like you're trying so hard. It's distracting.

JACK nods. He loosens his collar.

JACK

I'm trying.

MARY furrows her brow.

MARY 

Get some fresh air. You're turning purple.

Back to now.

JACK is taking a cold shower because he's a freak. His eyes are closed.

The living room. JACK enters.

OLIVE is on the sofa. She's reading a book. Her ankle is wrapped in an bandage and resting up on the arm of the sofa.

JACK

What happened?

OLIVE looks up.

OLIVE

I fucked the landing right before intermission. Greg dropped me a half moment too early and my ankle rolled and I fell flat on my face.

JACK

Why didn't you call? I would've gone down there and yelled at you.

OLIVE 

I did. You didn't answer. But I managed the second act. I'll probably be fine tomorrow, if I rest it tonight, which I'm doing and that's why I'm here instead of going all the way out to my place. Sorry if you had a flu-orgy planned tonight.

JACK shrugs and goes into the other room.

BACK in Jack's mind.

Another day from the same show as before. Something has changed, a costume or an orchestration, it's been a few days.

We are at the beginning of the tap segment. Jack is working so hard and everyone can tell it. He looks younger than he is. 

Suddenly, he stumbles, he stops dancing. He steps back.

The ensemble doesn't know what's going on, but they keep working. 

JACK gets back to it, but he's all messed up. He keeps trying. 

MARY, watching him from off stage, is confused.

He can't do it. 

He can't do any of it. He stops dancing again, he stumbles back. He falls over. The audience laughs.

MARY gestures for someone to grab him, then zips out and finishes the number herself, so casually.

A few moments later. JACK sits. Behind him is one of the ensemble members, who is sorta propping him up. So nice.

MARY enters. Everyone speaks in whispers.

MARY

Extra long intermission, I got us 10 more minutes. 

She kneels in front of Jack. She barely looks real. She looks like she's going to say something. Mary is not the type of person who can obscure frustration on her face.

MARY

We need to give him something to– does anyone have some- shoot what's it- dexedrine? Get him some of those, he'll be good to go.

Everyone looks at her like she's insane.

Back to now!

Olive is way too close to Jack. She is sitting  on his chest, staring into his soul. Jack shoves her away as he snaps back into the real world. They're in the bedroom.

OLIVE

You weren't breathing.

JACK

Yes I was.

OLIVE

I came in here and you weren't breathing. What'd you take?

JACK

Liv, I have a chest cold. I'm not shooting up heroin.

OLIVE

Heroin no. Mixing barbiturates with whatever the fuck your dealer is calling coke–

JACK

Jesus Christ. Fuck off.

OLIVE

You're freaking me out, Jack. 

JACK sits up, he's disoriented for a moment. He looks for a pack of cigarettes.

JACK

 Fucking hysterical.

Jack finds his cigarettes. Yippee. He lights one. 

OLIVE

I'm calling them and telling them to send the understudy– Don't smoke. Don't smoke, Jack, come on. 

JACK

Make me.

She grabs the cigarette. She puts it out. 

OLIVE

Let's go sit outside.

They sit on the balcony. It's mid morning. Jack has his hands over his eyes. Olive is stretching.

JACK 

How's your ankle?

OLIVE

I didn't know you had the capability to remember something from two whole days ago. Impressive. It's fine, thank you. You're so kind and considerate.

JACK

City air is making me feel worse.

OLIVE

Do I need to bring you to the seaside for your delicate constitution? Are you wasting away from consumption?

Jack doesn't get it.

JACK

I don't think so.

OLIVE

You look like a corpse.

JACK

When you were sitting on my chest, my first thought was, “I can't breathe.” My second thought was, “this bitch needs to lose 10 pounds.” No wonder Greg dropped you.

OLIVE

I cannot wait to take everything from you in the divorce.

Jack stands up. Woozy, a bit, he goes back inside. Olive follows.

JACK

Go do the show, Liv. I'll be mad if you don't…

Jack's mind again. Somewhere, Jack isn't focused on where, he is sitting. Mary is sitting up close to him. She's all he notices.

MARY

Jack. Look at me. I'm not saying this to hurt you. I'm not mad at you. I want you to understand that this show needs to go forward.

JACK 

I can do it.

MARY

Buddy, kiddo, you can't. You've made it clear that you can't pull it off. Not for 8 shows a week. I can't have you nearly dying every intermission. 

JACK

I can do it. I have the skills–

MARY

And you have the talent and you have the chutzpah, I know. But Jack, I built that number around how you can move, just because you can move that way doesn't mean you should.

JACK 

(As hurt as humanly possible)

You don't think I can do it.

MARY

You can't. You tried and you couldn't pull it off. You're not meant to do it. 

JACK

But I'm ruining your show.

MARY

Bert and I already found someone to replace you. Nothing is ruined. You just can't do it. There are all sorts of things in life that you just have to fail at. And you failed at it, Jack. Okay? Everyone fails all the time. It's a part of life.

JACK

Mary, let me try again. Please. Mary.

MARY

It's been 4 days, Jack. The- the show has to go on. Okay? You know that.

JACK 

You asked me to do this show and I have to do it for you, Mary.

Mary looks so overwhelmed by this pathetic loser.

MARY

You're gonna break my heart, Jack. You're going to make me cry. Don't do that. Just tell me it's okay. I know you know that it's for the best if I fire you.

JACK

I don't want you to fire me because I can do it. This show is important, Mary, I can't ruin it.

MARY

Jack, you're going to ruin it if you keep trying to play this role. You can't do it. You don't have the tenacity, you don't have the endurance, you have asthma. You need to be the one who decides that this is not the best option for you as a person.

JACK

I don't care if it is. I can do it and I'm going to do it, until I can't.

MARY

Jack. You are at the can't. Now, you can either let me fire you or force me to. And you force me to, it's going to hurt me a lot. I don't want to send you back to New York upset with you. I need you to tell me you'll be okay if I replace you.

Ouch. Mary touches his face and looks him in the eyes. Maybe there's love, or maybe it's just frustration. 

MARY

Say it, please.

JACK

Okay.

Mary hugs him.

MARY

You're fired.

She pulls away. She looks at him. She's very serious but she's not honest.

MARY

This show means less to me than your life, Jack. You understand that?

Jack nods.

MARY

Okay. So you're going to go back to New York, you're going to my place, you're going to recover, and then when we're in New York, you're going to come back and help me finish up the choreography, you understand that? There's always room for you, Jack. There's always going to be a place. It's just not opposite me.

Back to now.

Jack and Olive sit in the living room. It's a few hours later. Olive is reading a book, half resting on him. How embarrassing, enjoying being with a person. Cringe.

Olive adjusts and looks at him. He is a bit startled to see her.

OLIVE

What?

JACK

I forgot you were still here.

OLIVE 

You were mumbling in your sleep.

JACK

I was thinking about Mary.

OLIVE 

You know I saw her at the the ballet once. As a little girl. I thought she was so beautiful.

JACK

She was. Did I tell you that she fired me?

OLIVE

You have. And to that, I say that, when you and I did the Sunshine number the first time you kept adjusting my legs so I'd stop overextending even though it looked better. 

JACK

Mary didn't believe in limitations. She wanted more of everything. 

OLIVE

Viability, Jack. The perfect dancer only exists in science fiction. The viable dancer is in the room.

Olive adjusts again, this time sitting closer to him. He puts his arms around her and closes his eyes.

[copiousloverofcopia]

❄️ Another Ghristmas Letter from Papa Primo complete! 🎄

Thank you so much my sweet @grace-the-writing-ace for letting me write this for you!! I'm sure Primo and you will have a wonderful time out in the garden.

(full text below the cut)

Bellissima fiore,

I saw the migrating turtle doves this morning, looking beautiful as they flew across the snow filled sky and couldn’t help but think of you, Il mio uccellino. I hope you are doing well this afternoon. I am sure you are all ready for the Yule celebrations this evening.

I must confess, while I thoroughly intend to let you have a bit of fun, I have other things in mind for this evening's festivities. Of course you can enjoy the celebrations—partake in the wine—or even the champagne, I hear fratellino spared no expense. Maybe enjoy some of the sweet confections and some mingling with friends, but at some point however I will sneak you off to the garden.

The two of us can snuggle up close as we admire the dance of the delicate, yet however playful snowflakes as they fall from the sky. I always marvel at their beauty, the way they sparkle in the light, much like your eyes. We can't stay out for too long though, these old hands cannot take too much of the cold. I am certain that we can find a way to warm each other up afterward.

It brings me joy to imagine your eyes lighting up as we watch them. We should head over to the greenhouse too and check on our poinsettias while we are out. They're so breathtaking this time of year, but not so much as you amore.

- Papa Emeritus I

I am thrilled to spend the peaceful longest night ahead together. So much promise and joy for us to behold for our future, our future together. See you soon.

[ambersky0319]

so

I'm actually gonna go through with the whole "do art based on a song" thing probably weekly (aka work on it over weekends after fall break probably)

figured I'd share the song ill be doing for this upcoming week! I'll probably include it on the actual post with the art but idk yet

my process for picking these songs is literally just get a random number generator and find the song in my main playlist (which is ridiculously long)

it avoids bias from me, makes it easy because I'm indecisive, and I find songs I completely forgot were even on my playlist!

[goldeneyedgirl]

Ficmas22: Day 8: ATBT Faithless

Good evening chickens. I'm currently fighting off the flu because it isn't Christmas unless I've stressed my immune system into a breakdown (two sick dogs, one sick cat, and a clown family.)

Tonight, thanks to beautlilies who reminded me this even existed, we have a little one-shot from All These Broken Things-verse, post-Breaking Dawn.

I hope you enjoy it!

all these broken things: faithless. 

She wonders when she stopped believing in some kind of higher power. In god and fate and destiny and the idea that it would all work out, somehow. She did believe in those things for such a long time; they were the tiny lights in the darkness, the hope that there would be something for her to fight for. 

Instead, she’s nothing. She’s not Alice Cullen or Alice Hale or Alice Whitlock. She’s just Alice, the eternal refugee. The ghost and the victim and a monument to every ounce of her own fucking failure. Somewhere, her rightful self is furious with her for ruining everything so thoroughly. 

She wonders when it happened, when she stopped believing in anything good for herself. In when she just… finally let her heart break into a hundred different pieces and let herself face the truth. That Jasper did not love her. He tolerated her and used her, but there was nothing else there, not for him. 

The obvious answer would be walking in on him and Tanya. She never expected monogamy from a man who didn’t know she existed, but it had stung that he didn’t even try to be diplomatic about it, to try and keep his assignation hidden. That Tanya had the dignity of the house, of slipping away and be worthy enough to fuck in the house. She got the dirt and mud and shame of the woods.

(That shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did, really. He had pointedly made her no promises, and she had long since learned where her place was in the world. She should be grateful - and pleased he didn’t hurt her, she can almost hear James informing her. She thinks very highly of herself indeed, if she aspires to be the kind of girl a man fucks inside a house.) 

But it wasn’t then that broke her. That had been hard but it was just confirmation of what she had known for so long. 

It was Italy. It was surviving Italy. That she was so willing to die for Edward and Bella because, in her heart of hearts, she knew there was nothing left for her with the Cullens. She would never be a daughter or a sister or a wife or a mate. She was just a space filler, a haunting of the life that never came to pass. 

It was sitting in the car driving back to Forks, next to Jasper and answering all of Carlisle and Esme’s questions, whilst distantly realising every single one of them was about Bella and Edward and Aro. None of them asked about her, not once. Sitting in stolen, mismatched clothing, and having negotiated a stay of execution from the Volturi on a tissue-paper-thin deal, not one of them asked if she was okay. 

She’s so tired of waiting for something good for herself. She cannot believe in any sort of god or goodness when she’s facing down the Volturi a second time - standing face to face with Aro of Italy alone, because the Cullens are willing to die for one of their own. 

(Had she noticed that Emmett accompanied Bella and Renesmee to Aro when they were called forth, but she is left to approach him barefoot with two strangers in tow and hoping beyond hope that her story is at least enough that they will survive? She had, and she had wondered if Aro would take her as his pound of flesh if it came to that.)

She packs up her clothing in the attic, folding them and laying them out like she is arranging bodies for burial. A ceremonial return of all that they gave her. The letters are written, she’s fucked Jasper good-bye, and now she’s finally leaving, the last of the Cullens’ so-called ‘friends’ to depart. 

(She can’t even see what will become of her, the second she leaves them behind. That frightens her so much, but it makes sense. To make a decision, you have to want something. To want something you have to have something to hope for. One step out of the door and there is too much and not enough all at once. She’s never been brave, but she will just this once. 

Because, frankly, it would be braver of her to stay.)

—

No, she stopped believing in god a long time again. In a rotten shed in 1948. 

But herself? Her visions?

The Cullens?

(Jasper?)

She stopped believing in them the second they left her to face down the Kings of Volterra alone. When there was no comfort or confidence or acknowledgement, the illusion crumbled. They can no more be her family than she can be the girl she was supposed to be. She lost that and ruined that and she deserves to be alone for her failures.

Nothing better is ever going to come for her.  

And that is why she is leaving.

[empressaraceli1992]

A Song for Ghost

I heard this song, and thought of this little scene. Please feel free to continue it (I cannot write smut to save my life).

The 141 sat together in the common room of the Valqueres base. A short mission to take out some straggling Shadows complete. Price sat next to Gaz on a small loveseat enjoying–in his mind– a well deserved cigar while Gaz fussed over a minor laceration on his Captain’s upper arm. Ghost occupied the only reclining chair, pushed into the corner of the room so he could observe everything, sharpening one of his favorite knives. Alejandro, Rudy, and Soap sat on the couch. Alejandro and Rudy were talking quietly while Soap sat curled around his sketchbook drawing, and humming to himself. 

“Gaz quit clucking, and relax.” Price chided gently, removing the sergeant’s hands from his injury. Gaz gave him a hard look, but listened nonetheless leaning back into the loveseat. Alejandro laughed at something Rudy whispered to him. Both men gave Soap a sidelong glance.

“You’ve got it bad Hermano.” Rudy grinned leaning into Soap to peek at his drawing. 

“Awe bile yer heid.” Soap said, playfully shoving Rudy away with his shoulder. 

“What are you humming anyway?” Alejandro asked, reaching around Rudy to prod Soap’s knee.

“Yea Soap, why don’t you give us a bit of entertainment while we relax?” Gaz snuggled into Price’s shoulder. Soap threw his small white eraser at the other sergeant. Everyone in the 141 knew that Soap had a lovely singing voice, though he rarely sang around them. Most of the time they would have to catch him when he was cleaning lost in his own thoughts to hear his beautiful voice echo down the halls. The one time a recruit caught the sergeant off guard, embarrassing him, and Soap refused to sing for a month. The recruit was punished thoroughly for the slight even if he didn’t really understand why.

“If I do, I don’t want you to laugh at me.” Soap growled seriously without looking up from his sketchbook. 

“You know we wouldn’t.” Price assured him.

“Unless it’s a love song.” Rudy cut in cheekily. “It sounds like you’re pinning hard over there Hermano.”

Ghost looked up from his knife, hands stilling. 

“Maybe I am.” Soap muttered. “Wouldn’t matter anyway. Ye want me to sing or nae?”

“Sorry, sorry.” Rudy amended.

“Good.” Soap grinned, settling down more comfortably into the couch he cleared his throat. His hands continued to move as he sketched.

“Like we're under water

Can't hear nothing You've been

Casting a spell I'm all yours now

Yeah you've been filling the space up in my mind”

Everyone stilled–almost scared to spook Soap as they listened to his voice wash over them. 

“And tell me everything

Both the good and bad cause

Whatever you would tell me

I would still like everything that I see”

Even Ghost set aside his knife and wet stone–leaning forward his elbows on his knees as he listened intently. 

“Cause nothing feels better than us

I'm so high, can't get down

No nothing feels better than when I'm with you

My future is buried in your eyes

I got so much to say and I won't lie

Nothing feels better than when I'm with you”

Soap glanced up from his sketchbook–ocean eyes met warm amber. 

“Nothing feels better than us

Nothing feels better than us

Let me be your safe place

If the sky would open

I'm making sure that you'll stay dry

In the greatest of storms I'll be your light

And they can't tell me nothing

That will make a difference

Since I got everything I need

In you

I'm invincible, I believe”

Soap felt his heart slam against his rib cage as Ghost held his gaze for a long moment. Taking a shuddering breath he prayed no one noticed he pushed through the next chorus. His eyes returned to his sketch as the tips of his ears turned red. 

“Cause nothing feels better than us

I'm so high, can't get down

No nothing feels better than when I'm with you

My future is buried in your eyes

I got so much to say and I won't lie

Nothing feels better than when I'm with you

Nothing feels better than us

Nothing feels better than us

My future is buried in your eyes

I got so much to say and I won't lie

Nothing feels better than when I'm with you”

Soap didn’t look up again, scared to see the look on the lieutenant’s face now that he had finished. Rudy and Alejandro–who had never heard him sing before–looked at him with wide eyes. Price gave a proud fatherly smile.

“You do got it bad.” Gaz quipped, a sleepy grin on his face.

Soap opened his mouth to spout off a smart ass remark–Ghost stood, and walked out. Soap felt the remark die on his tongue, his face fell ever so slightly. If you didn’t know him well you wouldn’t see it at all, but Price knew. Price saw. Soap went back to his sketch without commenting. 

“Alright lads, time for this old man to head to bed.” Price got to his feet, Gaz following right behind him, and patted Soap on the shoulder as he left. Soap hummed an acknowledgement, but didn’t move otherwise. Alejandro took his cue from Price, and helped Rudy to his feet, wishing Soap a goodnight, and they too left.

Soap waited until he was certain he was alone before he let the first tear slip out. He stared through his blurred vision at the sketch of Ghost–Simon–without his mask staring back up at him the corner of his mouth turned up in the slightest hint of a smile. Slamming the sketchbook shut, Soap chucked it against the far wall. The book hit the wall with such force the old seam split and pages scattered everywhere. Groaning Soap dropped his face into his hands as the tears now fell unopposed. 

He was such an idiot. Not only was it against every rule about fraternizing it was obvious Ghost didn’t feel the same. How stupid was he to sit there and sing his heart out like a fucking teenager? Soap bit into his bottom lip to stifle his sobs, and ground himself. He had annoyed Ghost over the comm constantly with his heedless flirting. Of course Ghost didn’t feel the same. Soap was just as annoying now as he had been in his team before the 141. Soap’s shoulders shuddered with his silent cries as he mourned his broken heart. 

Something rustled nearby. Soap’s head shot up alert. The pages of his sketchbook flittered across the room–the slight breeze from the open window had swept them further into the opposite corner. Growling to himself, Soap flung himself off the couch. He might as well clean his mess up before anyone else noticed. Squatting, Soap began plucking the pages off the ground, stacking them neatly in his hand. 

There were numerous drawings of each member of the 141: Price with his cigars, Gaz with the recruits, Ghost…Ghost standing against a tree in full gear during their last mission, menacing, and yet so… Soap shook his head snatching up the drawing. There was another drawing of Ghost, his mask rolled up above his nose as he ate. Soap felt his heart ache as he picked that one up. There was even one of Ghost standing in the middle of the makeshift ring they had built for sparing, a dozen faceless recruits staring up at him in awe as he explained one of his more complicated takedowns. Soap almost smiled at the thought, almost…

Where was his latest drawing? Soap glanced around confused, he had every piece of his sketchbook, but that drawing. His eyes fell on a pair of black army issued boots. Only one person could sneak in without Soap noticing. Sure enough when Soap lifted his eyes slowly the owner of the boots stared down at him through his skull plate mask. Soap’s latest drawing in his massive hands. 

“Hey L.T.” Soap croaked rising carefully. “Sorry ‘bout the mess.” He held his hand out for the drawing expectantly. Ghost glanced at the drawing and then at Soap’s outstretched hand before meeting the Sergeant’s uneasy gaze.

“This supposed to be me?” Ghost asked flatly. Soap winced.

“Yes, sir.” Soap wasn’t sure, but he hoped honorifics felt like it would placate the lieutenant. He didn’t want to ruin what little they had left, IF they had anything left. Soap still wanted to work with the man without him hating him entirely. 

“With me, Sergeant.” Ghost turned on his heel and stomped out. Soap felt his heart plummet into his stomach. He was so fucked. Hurrying after the lieutenant, Soap tried to swallow past the lump in his throat.

Soap knew Ghost was going to go to Price and demand that Soap be transferred. He shouldn’t have opened his mouth. Soap could feel the tears welling up again. Ghost led him down the hall stopping at an unmarked room. Pulling out a key, Ghost unlocked the door, and threw it open gesturing for Soap to step inside. Soap stepped into the room–it was pitch black. The door shut behind him, and the lock slid into place.

Soap let shuddered sob. So Ghost was just going to lock him in here until he could deal with him? Rustling, the slide of fabric against skin. No, no, no Ghost was still in here. He was going to chew him out for his blatant disrespect. 

“Sir, I’m sorry I–mmmph!” Soap’s brain short circuited. 

A large hand wrapped around the back of Soap’s neck forcing him to turn—warm chapped lips crashed into his own. Soap whined into the kiss dropping the remnants of his sketchbook. His hands wound around the broad chest in front of him twisting themselves around the fabric of the hoodie. Ghost growled into Soap’s lips wrapping his free hand around Soap’s thigh pulling his leg up around his waist. Soap was going to die–die happy, but die. 

Ghost’s tongue slid across Soap’s bottom lip. Soap groaned. Ghost took the opening and slid his tongue inside, exploring Soap’s mouth as he deepened the kiss. Soap gave as good as he got, his tongue warring with Ghosts as he ground into him. Grunting, Ghost spun pressing Soap’s back against the wall grinding back into him viciously. 

“Fuck!” Soap gasped. Ghost’s mouth trailed down his chin tasting his stubble. Soap gave a pleased shudder turning his head to allow Ghost more access to his neck. Ghost nibbled, and licked his way to the place where Soap’s neck met his shoulder.

“Last chance to tell me to stop.” Ghost warned, mouthing the flesh there.

“God, please don’t stop.” Soap begged, he wrapped his hand around the back of Ghost’s head, the other around his shoulders. “Please…”

Ghost sank his teeth into him–Soap moaned, throwing his head back against the wall with a dull thud. 

“Don’t brian yourself before I can fuck you.” Ghost grumbled licking the tender spot before moving to a new spot. Careful to bruise the sergeant up as deliciously as possible. No one would touch his Soap, his Johnny ever again. 

[juszar2]

It's Just Like That....

It's like when a little boy in kindergarten or second grade likes you and you don't reciprocate, they want to get physical or be disrespectful.

I have experienced this and other things similar from females and it has always baffled me. What is this predicament. For me, if we don't share chemistry to be friends I would never disrespect... Or really even care to review a female or consider her further... At all. She just goes about her life. There is no relationship. What these arrested developments and homosexuals do, I just cannot understand and thus I like to keep them so far away from my life. This might be a combination of again... You need higher wealth to keep them all the way out and never run into one.

The prior employment partner who is over 50 and embarked on a severe kindergarten boy who likes a girl who walked away and thus she wants to harm me effort. Apparently her story morphed into she finessed me...Somehow? When absolute truth and a testimony that anyone around her who'd feel like telling some truth on any given day could report that I have never kissed the female's as* and instead, it was the opposite. She kissed my as* and very humbly when asking that I help her to build said to me "you won't regret it" and I knew I would. Colleagues, foes and even those friendly with that female had referred to her as a demon, sick and disgusting when asking me why I'd associate myself. Never is when I indulged that and I'd not chime in or feed that ever, I will be blessed for that. That is my character. In truth this female could not get me to show up for anything that was not sanctioned by situational etiquette. Not even a sandwich, no personal calls, nothing for years. When I agreed to partner (out of obligation to my ethnicity) I set the pace and plan for my role. My ideas, and what I did was effortless for me, perhaps not for her, but for me the ideas and success was born out of autonomous effort and was not for or because of her, but instead in spite of and despite her. I had good intentions and really had nothing to do with her. I enjoyed what I was doing irrespective of who benefit from my contributions. It did not finness nor con me. I would not even tell it about anything to do with my life. It got nowhere with me personally... Years. I worked around its presence and despite it. The truth is thoroughly known that some of the deals it was offered did not see my presence as a compliment to the deal, but instead I was required as the deal. It was made clear to her almost embarrassingly in meetings that my role was integral and without me being involved there might be no deal. If it wants to tell truth that is absolute truth. Also it knows that calls from other business persons even competitors of such came into my desk and they'd ask me outright to leave the rot and come work with them. Mainly but not exclusively those of other race. I managed the creation and growth of that situation according to really.... Me. And it wishes it could have controlled, finessed, manipulated or otherwise used me. It Benefit from me being me. God and all else around it knows that. But Satan is what and the truth is not available. And thus it went about the business of what Satan does, but up until the final day and on that day it had not manipulated nor disrespected me in the light. The slithering it was doing was in anticipation of the day I might leave. After I left it went on and on publicly without me knowing speaking in scorn and then escalated it. Pretending to break news of this possible used spouse. I did not find out about this until much later as I'd been long gone.

As for this possible used spouse. For my life there was dignity. The person that may have been revealed is not the person who pursued me and for decades had reflected the kind of person even this rot thought I'd have in my life. If true... They were shocked I'm sure to find he was a toilet... If true. Weak people are decent when among decent and trash when among trash. They really don't stand. I do not respect that. So if it is true that either this homosexual first and then in concert with the rot, or this homosexual and rot in concert together has used this person, the history is that he was not that over my whole life. He offered what he could... And ALL that he could. Gifts, companionship, reliably professing his feelings consistently over decades. He did not have much but certainly never took my resources... Ever. He just didn't get in the way of success and become a problem. He is not strong and will damn near cry when challenged a little, I just had never brought him a challenge. Cowards have always been good at treachery always. Judas might have begun that trend. If true the cowardice that I saw in him as a youth and then again as a young adult only found a platform to be revealed publicly. All the swearing to God and on his dead father's grave would reveal what he is publicly but he has no pride nor dignity so he cannot be embarrassed that a rot that most know is a rot got him to harm what that rot knows the value of. And all because I did not want to coexist with it. Imagine great people find that the Saboteur is him. Incapable of solving the problems over the years, but became the problem. That will be his legacy. He does not understand that he could have shown this rot some strength the kind that I have shown and told them no thank you to being used in any way. The things he said in denial show that he understands what a man would be vs what a low life would. Cowards do the two to the middle thing swearing over here and being bit**ed, parroting and apologizing... To rot on the other end? Rot asking and urging that he let them have sex with him and giddy documented excited that this is me. Yes her they say! They can't even believe that they were able to show him as trash because they know the value of what he had. It is staggering to find that you know a low life like that... If true it could just shock you to think you let someone that a rot could use into your life. That's a girl... Not a man. Real men have tried and continue to try to get me to go against him. I could never have anything but disdain for something like that... While I'm maintaining property, assets in my own name, and creating successful people, this person could have been the lowly in the worst ways. I know a Catholic man who thinks this whole trash... The possibility is disgusting. Demonic.

As I considered before, if true that would go along with lying about his ethnicity when he asked to date me, the no underwear for entire life and uncleanliness, display of cowardice, consistent using parents for financial gain having every single thing in their name, swearing on dead parent and if lies...and lack of tenacity in being the leader and provider. It will mean that is his character instilled and born. It takes no courage and no bravery no manhood and rather is a female trait and cowardly to accommodate the enemies of your family and serve as the way to negatively impact the family that he had little responsibility for having molded the success of, instead watched me lead. But for decades, what he could provide, even if getting it from someone else, he did. If he is this...That just means he never stepped into a role of being a man. A role of strength. To be pocketed and bit**ed by a rot that I was taking steps to remove from my life and instead find positive success or at least not obsession and while he could not be the strength he would be used to negatively impact his own family. I could have done that to him and so much more but I would never. Ultimately in defense of myself anything is possible but treachery for rot could never be how I am reduced. Many opportunities and so if he in fact is the lowest female treacherous low life. The downside is that great people do currently and will further confirmed know that he is the lowest form and weak. He loses what is pure, unmatched. Had it all and did not know what to do with it. But you have to have a palate for "it all" authentically. That is not the end or entirety to this stalking story and band of lowlies. And because God loves me, he shows me things and so much more I have written and detailed and given to folks to document. It's really fascinating. I just say that if you did not know your greatness prior, a good stalking obsession will tell you. Where I used to never opine about myself... I absolutely will and must now. The stalking is next level and this low life may very well be one. It is important to let great people know the full extent... All people, throw in some professionals to document because this male is really the catalyst for all of it. Just like with the youth, these lowlies would have to claw at me from outside of my life but this possible toilet could be likely not a man not a protector certainly and just nothing he presented himself to be. He must place himself where he can feel strong and that is being used by enemies. That way, it can remain relatively quiet and he can feign decency or feel wanted somehow. To protect your spouse and the success or your family is harder for him... This is tough to him somehow. As he yells swears on his dad and God that he is not this. It was suggested to me by a professional that if felt to be inferior or not as capable... A male might do such lowliness also. It is all just disgusting to me and again I think of how I could turn back time and never had him approach me. It is tragic that I cannot and just in time to have a family with a real one. It is unbelievable that I accepted it all even the lying and cowardice... And this is what he did, personify it. If this is all true of this person. He knows that it is Satan... I can tell he knows.

To update and help a homosexual or homosexuals and stalkers to stalk the person you profess to as posted here...God saw, sees and hates treachery (as stated in the book) and I believe will ultimately not be mocked. So if and when revealed we just move toward seeing what that brings... Or maybe him seeing when the time comes for a conversation. Who knows which?.... God.

[belle-keys]

30.09.21 : September Wrap-Up

July 2021 Wrap-Up

August 2021 Wrap-Up

So I read 12 books this month, and I'm gonna talk about 8 of them using my regular tier-ranking system.

The "I wasted my time" tier: I was just really disappointed in or bored by these books, so they got low ratings from me.

All the Light We Cannot See was plain boring for me. Yes, I know compared to all the critics that have praised this book, my take that it's lackluster doesn't mean much, but this book tasted like air. For a book so character-centered, I have no idea why I couldn't give a shit about any of them. As for A Very Large Expanse of Sea, this book felt rather... incomplete? The romance was just basic, and I found Mafi's depiction of Islam and the main character's motivations just kinda weird.

The "Holy Shit" tier: I really loved these books! All between 4-5 stars and they really made my day because I thoroughly enjoyed them!

The Burning Girls was a fast-paced, eerie horror read that deals with ghosts, religious dogma, and is set in the dreary English countryside... Emily Brontë would approve of this book, I presume. The Love Hypothesis was a surprisingly great read! I despise romcoms and almost never read them, but Goodreads was putting it in my face so I had to pick it up and found, for once, that I actually liked the main ship and the way their relationship progressed. Finally, Dial A for Aunties was a fun read about family, heritage, identity, and most importantly: how to conceal a dead body in a wedding with a couple thousand guests! It made my week!

The Holy Grail tier: These books are my babies and no one can take them away from me like these were so fricking good.

Let me tell you... In My Dreams I Hold a Knife is the love child of The Hunting Party and If We Were Villains and I ate that shit up like a starving woman. The best feature was the unbearably insufferable narrator who made this story so real. False Witness is harrowing yet beautiful, dealing with the legal world and crimes against women, and I literally think about the opening and closing chapters of it all the time (Callie defense squad!!!). Finally, The Atlas Six was my favorite read of the month. It's existential and fantastical, meticulous and murderous, and I literally would sell an organ to get the sequel tomorrow.

[m34gs]

Without giving too much away... what are your top 5 headcanons for the Bar AU? 👀

Hi friend! Thank you so much for your ask! I'm so excited to answer :D

Hehehe, "without giving too much away" is a difficult stipulation since I love ranting about our Bar AU, but I shall do my best!

(For those who are curious, Bar AU is an AU Kimium and I created that I write; it combines a bunch of our favourite fandoms in a large crossover. You can find the parts that are posted here!)

My top 5 headcanons for the Bar AU:

5. There are different Branches of Shinigami, and they do different jobs. They know about each other but rarely interact outside of business; and even business interactions are rare.

4. Grimmjow is a Feminist and protector of pregnant people and ally to transgender people everywhere. Disrespect someone's pronouns or tell someone it's "not their choice to do what they want with their body" and he will make you Regret It. Also, he is The (self-proclaimed) Greatest Painter of the Nails.

3. Rin, the Literal Son of Satan, constantly freaks out about ghosts and Shinigami existing. He can also see them because he is an exorcist.

2. Ryuk's head fucking hurts from all these people with weird/fucked up numbers floating above their heads. There are some people he cannot even look at. Light thinks this is funny af.

And of course, at number 1, we have:

1. Mrs. Yamada, the moving company, the takoyaki stand, and the Bar itself all transcend boundaries and universes to unite our favourite characters.

There you have it, my Top 5 Favourite Headcannons. That being said, there are many, many more and I thoroughly enjoy them all! Thank you for the ask friend!