#but he just wrote 'you are amazing!'

[itsalwaysforyou]

just remembered a wip i had which was jay at uni meeting normal people and desperately trying to act cool and normal whilst internally screaming about being in a whole new place with all new people and not having his gang with him

[oneluckydragon]

got hit with the echo+sora brainrot so i am once more rambling in your askbox about it. because reasons.

anywho i think there is something truly saddening about echo's struggles to make peace within herself and how she truly finds it hard to find that peace when she is so certain that if the truth about her origins were to be revealed to the world, much less to *sora*, everything she achieved, everything she worked for, all of which matters to her most, will crumble away in a moment's notice.

but the fear of losing all your life's work is none compared to the fear of losing sora. the feeling of poison that settled itself within themselves and between each other out of fear and tragedy of what had happened to them is familiar. echo's resemblance to dusknoir was already enough to set the two off because of how much it had all hurt to see someone you love and yourself turn into a mockery and a splitting image of someone who had pretended to care yet showed he never did at all, but this poison is louder. it hurts to bare, to carry, and to have none but yourself to be its sole holder.

but this poison, this feeling of heartache is different. because whereas the previous pain was something both of them felt, sora was lucky enough to not have known the truth about the person who she cares for so dearly.

echo knows that she used to be darkrai. and it haunts her to have known that her previous incarnation was so *cruel*, all for the sake of it just feeling right. wishing to engulf an entire world in darkness, solely for whatever desire she used to have.

and for how much she knows, how much she will hammer it into her own head that she is *not* like that anymore, that she looks at her past with sneer and disgust and that she will not be the barer of evil anymore, it will not matter in the slightest when she will have to look at sora if she were to ever find out.

how afraid, angry and dejected she would look when finding out, and how she will go on the defense/offense because of how much this will overwhelm her.

because when echo looks at her own shadow, she sees herself for what she is. she knows what she is, be it out of shame or guilt.

but when sora will look at it, she will see a tall, contorting and menacing shadow, towering over with a bright cyan eye doing nothing but looking at her, as if tempting her to make the next move.

and she defends herself. from someone she knows will not harm her. she raises her arms up in self defense from a hand that would never hurt her more than the world has already did.

she knows echo will not hurt her. and thats why she is afraid.

Oh my oh my OH MY, Sinnoh!!! YES YES YES!

HOW!!! IN THE WORLD!!! Are you so good at crawling into my head and creating these vivid analysis/snippets on my OCs??? I've barely shared ANY information about Echo and Sora because I've been wanting to hoard most of my stuff for when my fic is finally finished... but... I think you've broken my resolve a bit, if I'm entirely honest.

You know what? I'm so inspired by your accuracy and eagerness to talk about my girls that I'm gonna forgo my crippling anxiety regarding my writing skills and instead post a snippet of my WIP fic here as a treat for you. A teaser, if you will. Since I have no idea when the fic in question will actually be done and ready (or when I will be satisfied with it, cause the thing is currently 36,000 words and still slowly climbing). And now you've got me eager to share SOMETHING of my fic with you and anyone that might want to take a peek at it.

Please enjoy this conversation between Dusknoir and Echo. The topic deals a lot with what you'd described up above!! c:

[Note: this is an unedited part of my fic because I am still in the process of writing and it may change in the future, so please be gentle w/ me but I'd love to read any thoughts/comments that pop up while reading!! pls send asks or replies or anything really cause I love you guys]

+++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++

“I’m going to tell you something now, and you are going to listen.” Echo commands with a sharp bite in her voice that Dusknoir cannot fathom ignoring. He pauses and then offers a slow nod, waiting, wondering what she could possibly desire to tell him at a time like this, of all things.

Minutes pass as Echo remains rooted in place, still as her own shadow, and her eyes dart around as she stares at the patches of dry grass and sand beneath her paws. Her claws clench and unclench, digging into the earth like daggers as the wind of the forest (it’s trees so close, just behind them, a looming sort of presence that could engulf them whole) whistles through the surrounding branches, carrying stray leaves of many bright greens through the chilling breeze. Dusknoir watches them dance around Echo, twirling, floating down, down, down… but it’s quiet, too quiet, and Dusknoir feels a shiver pass through him when Echo’s voice finally rings out through the silence.

"When I evolved, Sora was petrified," She says, nearly a whisper, an admission that melts away her confidence and appears to bring her a flood of both shame and regret. Her face twists up then, strangely, like she’d felt a twinge of pain from somewhere deep inside the very fabric of her own soul and was unable to quell it. "She couldn’t even bring herself to look at me most days. At first, my appearance… well, it reminded her too much of you. And eventually of someone I used to be.”

Someone I used to be. At that, Dusknoir’s immediate reaction is to recall Echo’s previous life as a human, as the miserable shell of a creature surviving alongside Grovyle that he’d relentlessly hunted in the dark future. A human made of contempt and anger and apathy, who never smiled or laughed or cried or screamed like the old legends said humans would-- an entity that simply existed rather than lived. An echo of a life long dead and buried. But, judging by her tone, by her voice, by some uneasy intuition itching in the back of his mind like a swarm of pestilent Ninjask… he knows that she means something else entirely. Something that she isn’t willing to share. And frankly, that concept utterly terrifies him.

Someone I used to be. Dusknoir wants to speak, to break his own silence, wants to ask the myriad of questions bubbling up in his throat because this isn't the first time she's hinted at another life beyond being human, but those questions die at the source like a flame doused in water. And always the coward, coward, coward, instead he takes the easy way out by doing nothing at all. Whether Echo notices his surge of inner conflict or not-- the nervous wring of his hands and the tremble in his spine that he cannot control under her gaze-- she does not react.

“I’d take a step and Sora would flinch away.” Echo confesses, her markings flickering with light before going dark and dead, as if her body wished to snuff them out entirely, a deep seated rejection, a self-loathing so strong that Dusknoir cannot help but recognize it and empathize, and his heart aches, “It took ages for her to stop shaking when I’d speak. To stop looking at me like-- like I was going to…” 

Echo grimaces like she’s enduring waves of grueling torture and doesn’t finish that string of thought, but it’s not hard to make an educated guess on what went unsaid. Like I was going to betray her. Hurt her. Break her heart. She’s been through so much already and I couldn’t bear to be another influence in the history of her suffering. I hate myself because of how I made her feel. When her eyes went wide in fear and through them I could see myself staring back like some sort of burden, some sort of curse.

“I am not my past.” Proud and true, Echo straightens up and holds her head high, a spark igniting in her eyes, a glint of determination, a will to keep going and going despite such circumstances and strife, despite this horrid, unspeakable past that haunts her so, “And I am definitely not you. It’s taken a while, but I know that much now. I’ve accepted it.”

I am not my past. And I am definitely not you.

A sigh, a breath, and Echo glances at him with a certain sorrow that cannot be described, a sorrow that lingers even through the veil of her tenacity, "But no matter how I feel, no matter my conviction, my shadows still find ways through the cracks. Every time I think I'm getting a grip and that I might finally understand myself… I change all over again." She admits, sounding more angry and tired than defeated now-- like a mirror of her old self, her human self that had clawed and damned and cursed him, despised him more than anything. "I hate it. I hate that I never truly know who I am. That I have to learn about my past through stories others tell me, or through fragments of twisted, broken memories that I wouldn't wish on anyone. Through conflict and pain and… and..."

"Echo," Dusknoir murmurs her name softly, an offering, a potential escape if only she would wish to drop the subject and forget this conversation had ever happened-- if she'd overstepped and needed an excuse to back out, a diversion, an understanding. And briefly, Dusknoir wonders why she is opening up about this particular information, why she would delve into something so vulnerable, so personal. Why she would bring up this hurtful history when it obviously brings her great discomfort.

And then, he gets an answer.

“You’re lucky, Dusknoir." There it is, that wildfire burning in her eyes again. A spark that’s new and bold and startling. But lucky? No, never. He'd have to disagree, accounting the mountain of evidence that was his life and regrettable deeds.

"You already know exactly who you are and what you’ve done, and most importantly why. You have more than a tattered picture of yourself that reflects broken answers. And you can change with that knowledge. I see you trying.” She tells him, searching, looking for something so deeply and Dusknoir wishes he knew what it could be so that he could give it to her, because he would, he would gladly give it to her without a second thought if it meant they could be close again. But he isn’t a fool, and he’s wise enough to know they’ll never be like they were before. “And if somehow I could change, even as half-assed as I have. Well, then what’s your excuse?”

You can do it, say her unspoken words, I believe in you.

[spinnysocks]

the best edited compilation of scar?? sometimes i forget just how brilliant scar's animation is in portraying his personality until i watch vids like these or rewatch tlk 1 :]

[pardonmydelays]

ok, so i just listened to "loom" by imagine dragons, and i'm sorry but i only like three and a half song

[pinkestmenace]

Thoughts on Dark Meta Knight

A continuation of 'Thoughts on Shadow Kirby'. This is a long one!

TL;DR: I first talk about his relation to Taranza and Sectonia, then comes the fic I 'accidentally' wrote, then I talk about his (mirror) abilities and relation to Meta Knight (or rather, his inherited memories.)

Have you ever noticed how whenever people talk about the whole Dark Meta Knight/Dimension Mirror/Taranza/Corrupted Sectonia issue, it's always "Taranza must hate DMK so much!" and never "DMK must hate Taranza so much!" or even "Why did Joronia/Sectonia keep a magical mirror that clearly oozed bad vibes?" (Note: I'm neither saying Taranza is a poor uwu boy who did nothing wrong nor that he is evil incarnate. He didn't know DMK was in there nor that the mirror had lingering corruption. I am however saying he was a fool for stealing an important magical artifact! All three were hurt here.) I mean, come on. Sectonia is an individual with agency. You're telling me she just placidly accepted this whole situation and only gets to serve as an "Evil queen needs to die!" and "Woe is Taranza, his beloved is dead!" plot device? She could have been corrupted/replaced by her own reflection! Maybe she was as interested in studying DMK/this weird danger orb in 'her' mirror as he was in corrupting her.

That is, if he did corrupt her. Who's to say he wanted that? Or had the ability to, other than by speaking? We've heard nothing about him having corrupting magic. Besides, what would he gain from it? Sectonia could've already been somewhat unhinged before she got the mirror and this was just the beginning of a domino effect. Remember, the mirror you fight him in in Triple Deluxe seems to be the one that was in the middle of the Central Circle, not the entrance of the Mirror World. That's the one Dark Mind was hiding out in and judging by how destroyed it still looks inside it's also the most likely place for any corruption to linger. (Luckily for the other inhabitants, I'd say. Not so lucky for him or poor Shadow, who in DMK's absence was likely left alone to defend the Mirror World and therefore grew more agressive like we see him in other games. He had no allies and no choice but to learn to fight.) I think that Shadow spawned when Kirby first entered the mirror, but DMK was likely around at least a little longer than that, judging by how he seems to have a pretty good grasp on his abilities already.

So. Since Triple Deluxe is clearly inspired by fairy tales, (Consider the Dreamstalk/beanstalk, a palace in the sky and a wicked beauty-obsessed queen with a literal magic mirror!) why not spin a little tale of our own?

I want you to imagine being Dark Meta Knight for a moment.

Mirror, Mirror, From the Sky — Who's the Wickedest and Why?

Once upon a time a dark force secretly infested your world. Depending on how long you've been around, you either spawned as a flawed clone, or you got to feel yourself being corrupted. You may not even know who you are, other than what the wisps of your inherited memories and skills tell you. Either way, the heydays of good fortune, friends and fair weather are nothing but a burning memory to you.

Dark Mind, the force calls itself and it takes an interest in you, since it could use a strong henchman. Now you have this flaming eyeball breathing down your neck, playing at being your master and ordering you around. Tsch. Do you dance like a pathetic little puppet? Do you plead with it using the fancy words you find on your tongue, but did not learn yourself? Do you obey to save your own skin, or resist and risk having your mind broken and hollowed out further? Do you have it in you to become a double agent? You are a scared toddler who only just learned how to walk. You are a hardened knight who has no patience for this. The armour you wear shows traces of battles you haven't fought. You cling to it in preparation for what's to come.

It sends you to go remove some obstacles. A pink child and your own doppelganger. Fueled by bitter resentment and childish petulance you dare to bend your orders just slightly. Rather than rend the child into pieces, you refract him into four. Rather than sending your doppelganger back to his maker, you lock him in with yours and break the mirror to prevent his escape. (As well as Dark Mind's escape, that is.) Your master is angry. That's fine. You're already wrong and broken and don't give a crap.

Eventually the child and his refractions fix and enter the mirror and your master gives you an ultimatum. Twice it told you to get rid of the brat and twice you have failed! Now, to prove your loyalty you must put your life on the line. Beat the brat. At any cost. Surrender is not an option! You shed the veneer and take out your frustration on the child. But he's too strong. You can feel your body give out! You remember how to beg. "Master, please, I can't take any more!" It's no use. Its fiery gaze scorches you, it widens the cracks in your mind and forces you to continue, miserable marionette that you are.

You shatter and your consciousness fractures. Where did you go so wrong? Why did this have to happen to you? What will become of that strange charcoal child you saw stalking you? You want to go home. That home isn't yours. What does your counterpart think? Like the allegory of the prisoners and the shadows on the cave wall you don't know more than what little you can infer. His flickering gaze is unreadable. There is no cave. You are the shadow. You have no idea what philosophy is.

??? days later you somehow wake up. You get your bearings. You're still in this ruined miniature dimension, but your master is gone. You're alone. Tsch. Figures the brat and your blue bastard of a counterpart would abandon you. What's wrong with them?! (What's wrong with you? Are you really that disposable? Maybe they didn't know you still had life left in you either. Did they mourn for you?) At least the mirror portal is right there. You'll go back to the Central Circle, find something to eat and then you'll plot your revenge against the world that failed to welcome you! You just have to step out...

...into a large bedroom. You look around. Fancy furnishings that would befit a palace. A breathtaking view of the rising sun, which drapes the room in purples and oranges. It hurts your eyes. You look down. A vanity? Where the Shards—

You don't get time to think before a piercing shriek rends the air. You look to your left and see a strange spider-like creature charging at you, wielding twin rapiers! You quickly leap out of the way and draw your own sword.

The woman stops in front of you, clad in a simple but refined silk nightgown, her four unoccupied hands balled into tight fists. She stares you down with her four front eyes. Is this spider as afraid of you as you are of her? She's Princess Joronia, you soon learn. She received the mirror as a gift.

She sympathises with you and offers you a cup of herbal tea to calm your nerves. You've never had tea, (not-you remembers the taste) but by the Mirror's mercy do you know you're thirsty! You accept it, if only to buy yourself time to figure out what's going on and come up with a way to escape with the mirror. The tea soothes you, although it has a strange aftertaste and Joronia's smile is gentle, if a bit too practised. Her gleaming upper eyes gaze patiently into yours. She doesn't drink. You're tired, so tired.

The next day you wake up inside the mirror and try to leave again. Joronia didn't seem so bad. Maybe you can convince her to let you return the mirror! You find it's been magically sealed.

"Oh, don't worry," says 'Joronia' through the glass, her eyes and smile just a little darker and haughtier than they were yesterday, "it's only a safety precaution until we get to know each other better." But months later she still hasn't let you leave with the mirror. Instead, she's been staring into it more and more, fussing endlessly over her make-up and increasingly ostentatious outfits. She laments to you as if you are nothing but a pet she can vent to freely. "Uhuhuhu~! Didn't I look simply unacceptable before? I just couldn't stand my dull reflection. Tell me how gorgeous I am! Then I might even feel generous enough to feed you."

You grow bitter. How trapped you are! Behind you is the ruined hellscape where you were broken and humiliated. In front of you is an increasingly deranged self-obsessed woman who you're forced to ingratiate yourself to for scraps. Tsch! You are caged and seething! The day you find the person who subjected you to this your sword will taste blood! Soon your vibe arsenic joins the maddening sulfuric stench that abhorrent eyeball left behind. Your mind and the mirror grow ever darker in a vicious cycle. It's been years. You yearn for sights you have only seen in dreams. You cannot die.

The reborn and remade Queen Sectonia doesn't care. She's too busy solidifying her power and enhancing her own grotesque beauty to pay attention to the machinations of naughty little strays. Your sharpened tongue pleases her just enough to spare you and coax out news of the outside world. You are her obedient pet. The keeper of her innermost secrets. More loyal than her advisor. You hone yourself and your blade when she's not looking.

So when Sectonia dies and the seal goes with her, you are ready. You don't care who's on the other side. You. Only. Want. REVENGE.

* * * * *

Headcanon time!

I see DMK as leaning into using his mirror abilities, not so much because he wants to prove himself superior to Meta Knight, but because that's something only HE can do. Something he 'earned', not inherited. He wants to be the best at something without needing help.

When he spawned he already knew how to speak, move and wield his sword. Or rather, the second he attempted to do any of these things he 'remembered' how to do them.

Wouldn't it be funny and tragic if so much of his life consists of discovering skills he didn't know he had, that belong to someone who isn't quite him? What surprises will his memory give him today? Amnesiac roulette.

Imagine: he's just idly fidgeting with a sheet of paper and looks down to see he's accidentally folded a perfect little origami crane. He crushes the crane. Tsch. Another skill he didn't earn! (Later he secretly learns to fold something Meta Knight hasn't folded before, just so he can say he made the skill his own. He will deny this.)

He didn't know he had the ability to mend his cape. Yet when he found needle and thread his hands traced the movements with practised ease. He refuses to mend his cape and claims it fits his rough-and-tough aesthetic. (He collects scraps and quilts a cozy blanket for his hideout. He claims to have found it in the trash.)

He comes across a book in a language he has never seen before. He can read it! The contents make little sense to him. He tries writing, but discovers his handedness is opposite to Meta Knight's. Ink smudges his left glove as he adjusts. (It shouldn't matter. He's ambidextrous! Try as he might, he still cannot draw or write with his right hand.)

Infodump about memory function incoming! (TL;DR: there are several types of memories, some about life events, some about sensations or skills.) I hope I can explain this correctly using an example.

Imagine you're going for a stroll in the park. You don't have to think consciously about every movement you make because you already know how to walk. You decide where to go and your brain handles the details automatically. (Procedural memory. This is what let him immediately move and fight.)

You spot someone walking a dog. Your brain goes: "Dog!!!" You don't have to analyse every feature of the animal to know this because the holistic concept of "Dog" in your brain immediately lights up and couples it to the language part of you to remember the correct name. (Semantic memory. This let him recognise the world and understand speech.)

You consider petting it. Your hand experiences the ghost of fur underneath. It just stopped raining, so your nose anticipates the wet dog smell as well. (Sensory memory. He gets whiffs of sensations and tastes he hasn't experienced himself.)

You approach the dog. Suddenly you realise you've seen this dog before! It was last week and when you pet it wrong it snapped at you. You remembered a specific event. (Episodic memory. He didn't get this one and therefore doesn't remember Meta Knight's life. He has to puzzle out what his 'original' is like from the other remembered scraps he got.)

[skyblueartt]

AS SOMEBODY WHO ONLY KNOWS THINGS ABOUT THE GAMES I FORGOT HENRY EMILY HAS A SON IN A DIFFERENT UNIVERSE OH MY GODDDD….Sammy…Samuel….kiddo…I am so sorry that I wrote you out of my own personal Fnaf lore interpretation I’ve constructed in my head😭 hope ur doin well buddy. I’m just gonna say you only exist in the book universe for my sanity. ily Sammy I’m sure you’re a great kid🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡

[schmweed]

Succession | S02E02

[sydney-carton-of-sour-milk]

The Many Illustrators of A Tale of Two Cities 4: Curtiss Sprague

...& a guest book editor...

This week's is a special one. We'll dive right into this 1930 edition by first admiring all the silhouette art of its illustrator, Curtiss Sprague - but see if you notice something extra along the way:

And to highlight the last one for its marvelous misquote:

Alright, have you noticed it? There's more than just ink coloring some of these pages!

Yes, this week we're not just taking a look at this 1930 edition - we are taking a look at this particular copy of this 1930 edition, which features not just Sprague's beautiful work...

...but also the work of William*, a high school sophomore 92 years ago who clearly learned the lesson from my last post! *although perhaps not clearly enough because I personally can't tell for certain what his surname is by his signature😅

Besides his coloring in Sprague's silhouettes, there isn't a lot more of his work written throughout the book - he did make sure to take plenty of notes in the blank pages, though!

There is also this brief note (please comment if you can make out the word above the date!):

As well as this subtle substitution (whoever C.E.S. is...oof!):

William's work made searching through and scanning this particular book an absolute delight - it was a grounding and beautiful reminder that students have been idly writing in their schoolbooks for as long as school has existed.

Thank you, William!

& the standard endnote for all posts in this series:

This post is intended to act as the start of a forum on the given illustrator, so if anyone has anything to add - requests to see certain drawings in higher definition (since Tumblr compresses images), corrections to factual errors, sources for better-quality versions of the illustrations, further reading, fun facts, any questions, or just general commentary - simply do so on this post, be it in a comment/tags or the replies!💫

[kekaki-cupcakes]

PJO RANT FOR THE ONE PERSON WHO ASKED :D

@seeking-further-illumination here you go, lol.

I think that the expectations of the show were for exactly what everyone wanted, because of Rick's involvement and the budget, but everyone imagined the books differently, so not everyone could ever be happy with it.

There's that, and it is marketed towards a younger audience and I'm not making any assumptions but most of the fans who aren't happy [from what I can see] are a bit older then the target audience [not that there's anything wrong with that, obviously, don't come at me], and if you re read the first book it's literally written for children.

There's literally backlash for everything ever made because for some reason people just can't chill [???] but I think the reason the Percy Jackson show had such a large amount of people unhappy with it is because we haven't had anything like it before. I don't know how to explain it but we've all created our own little versions of the show and made our own content for the fandom cause we were left to our devices for so long, so now that we have something, viewers already have these empires in their heads that they want to see on screen.

I'll just put it like this, if the show came out, like, a few years after the og book series, there would be less people unhappy with it.

[skyward-floored]

Finished, Peg! ❤️❤️❤️

Please be careful with the merchandise (auction, Hyrule POV) - 3400 words

Warnings same as the original: stabbing, blood mentioned, torture, a bit of dehumanization

Hyrule felt uneasy.

He knew, better than most, what powerful magic in the wrong hands was capable of – trying to keep his cursed blood out of the hands of his era's monsters had repeatedly taught him that – so when the Chain landed in Legend's Hyrule and received Zelda's letter concerning the black market that dealt in rare and dangerous magics, he was more than happy to join Legend in working to root it out.

The uneasiness only increased as the Chain split up to look for information, and he stuck very close to Twilight's side as they wandered the crowded streets. Never comfortable with crowds, he let Twilight do the talking, simply trying to listen and observe while simultaneously trying to quell the itch that something wasn’t right. Shortly after they'd stopped for lunch, they'd found a man – fairly well dressed, with enough jewelry to put Legend to shame – who claimed to have information about the market. He'd asked them to follow him through an alley so they could, “discuss this in a more private location,” but before they could make it to the other side they found themselves closely surrounded by large, heavily-armed men.

Hyrule's senses went haywire, magic gathering at his fingertips, and he felt Twilight bristling beside him. Somehow, the men seemed to draw even closer at the faint glow around his hands.

“You boys look a bit lost,” one of the men sneered, looking directly at Hyrule. “Anything we can help you with?”

Hyrule tried to project confidence, despite how he continued to press close to Twilight's side. “We don’t want any trouble.”

The man's sneer turned to a smirk, and he laughed softly. “Fairies never do.”

Hyrule froze, feeling as if one of Wild's bombs had gone off too close, ice instead of shrapnel in his veins. How did they know?!

The men lunged for him, tearing him from Twilight's side before either hero could react. Twi shouted and tried to get him back, only to collapse in a heap as one of the men clubbed him roughly over the head.

“No! Twi!” Hyrule struggled to free himself, magic sparking frantically, but all he got was a hit to his own head for his trouble, knocking him down to the cold stone of the alleyway. He felt manacles clamp firmly around his wrists, then rough hands lifting him to his feet.

His magic fizzled out as his consciousness wavered. The last thing he heard before fading entirely was from one of the men holding his arms. “He's a strong one. He’ll fetch quite a pretty sum, once we break him a bit.”

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

It was very dark when Hyrule finally woke, head aching, though a faint light flickered in the distance. For just a moment, he wondered if he was back in one of the caves in his own era. However, when he moved to rub the ache out of his head, the chains shifting around his wrists brought everything back into sharp, terrifying focus. A chill settled over him like a shroud as he remembered the words spoken by what must have been some of the black market dealers. Somehow, they knew about his fairy blood, and they intended to sell him off, like he was no more than a fancy pot, to be used at will. The imagery of a pot made his stomach flip and his head spin as he recalled they’d mentioned breaking him.

He had to get out of here, wherever here was.

With a burst of energy born of fear, Hyrule tried to get to his feet, only to stumble dizzily back to the ground as his vision turned fuzzy and he tripped over the chain around his ankle. Placing his head between his knees, Hyrule tried to breathe through the wind rushing in his ears.

Once he felt settled again, Hyrule took a moment to take stock of where he was. By the barely visible torchlight he looked around, finding himself inside a small, barred cell, more like a cage than anything. With his ankle chained to a ring in the center of the cage floor, he could reach out and touch all four sides of the cage, and the ceiling looked a little low. Probably would have bumped my head again if I’d managed to stand up. He couldn’t see much besides open hallway to either side, and the mustiness in his nose could have belonged to any dungeon.

With a general idea of his surroundings, dismal as they were, Hyrule turned his attention to himself. The mercenaries appeared to have taken all of his adventuring gear, leaving him with little more than his clothing and his magic. Aside from the bump on his head, he also had several bruises forming on his arms where the mercenaries hadn’t bothered to be gentle when kidnapping him, as well as a few small cuts that were slowly weeping blood. He reached up to heal those out of habit, an ingrained defense after years of being hunted by the monsters of his era. His magic was a little lower than he would have liked in a situation like this, but by no means was it depleted. He still had enough to make an escape attempt.

As Hyrule began to contemplate how he could escape – the Fairy spell uses a lot of magic, but it would certainly get me out of this cage – he heard a door open in the distance, and the torchlight steadily grew brighter.

Weaponless, but not helpless, Hyrule again gathered his magic to his fingertips and rose to his knees as several sets of footsteps drew closer, prepared to cast any spell that might give him a winning chance of escaping alive. When the footsteps stopped outside his cell, however, all thoughts and intents fled his mind.

The well-dressed man with the jewelry they had been following through the alley stood in front of him, mouth leering and eyes bright with greed. The armed guards from the alley stood behind him.

“You!” he gaped, desperately trying to jump-start his brain. “You're-"

“The ringleader of this little operation, yes.” The man's voice oozed, and Hyrule shuddered as the man's greedy eyes looked him over, stopping intently on the places that still showed remnants of his blood. “You certainly made it easier on us, following me into that alley. I honestly thought we’d have to work harder to capture you.”

Hyrule shuddered again, but through the fear and discomfort his mind was starting to move once more. He rallied his magic but didn’t make a move just yet, hoping to gain some insight as to what was going on. “Where am I? Where’s Twilight?!”

“Your friend?” The man waved a bejeweled hand, dismissing the question entirely. “He doesn’t matter. What does matter,” at this, the man's predatory smile grew even wider, “is you, and the magic you possess.”

Hyrule's heart dropped into his boots, his fears confirmed. They knew he was half fairy, they knew about his magic, and they had absolutely every intention of keeping him here until their opportunity to sell him in the black market.

Determination welled within him, his gathered magic begging to be used, but before he could so much as snap his fingers for the Thunder spell a spear was shoved through the bars of the cage, ripping through tunic and flesh alike. A near-silent scream left him as he clutched at his wounded side, offensive magic forgotten. A second and third spear were thrust through the bars in his distraction, one making painful purchase against his upper arm while the other came to rest, gleaming in the torchlight, at his throat.

Pink healing light leaked from Hyrule's fingertips, habit again surfacing as he tried to stem the flow of blood from his wounds. He knew he needed to conserve his magic, but he also needed to stay alive if he was to have any chance at escaping. Through it all, the man watched him intently. Soon enough, he pulled a ring of keys from his pocket, inserting one into the lock as the light of healing magic faded. Hyrule gasped in left-over shock, spear still at his throat.

“Try anything,” the man warned, turning the key in the lock, “and we’ll hunt down the men you were with. A few of them had rather promising magics as well.”

Outrage flared in Hyrule’s heart alongside concern for his brothers. He didn’t want to do as the man asked, wanted to let the Thunder out and escape with magic blazing, but he couldn’t risk his brothers' safety. He remained still as the man crouched in front of him, seething as his bloody tunic and freshly-healed wounds were scrutinized.

“Fascinating,” the man murmured delightedly. “This is powerful magic indeed.” He withdrew just a bit from Hyrule's space, but remained close due to the size of the cage.

A knife appeared in the man's hands, spinning mindlessly as calculating eyes narrowed, clearly weighing options, risks, costs, and statistics. At some unknown signal, the spear was withdrawn from the cage. Hyrule’s small sigh of relief collapsed into a shout of agony as the knife was suddenly thrust into his stomach. The man left it there for a few moments, gauging Hyrule’s reaction, before pulling it out again, blood dripping on the floor between them.

“Do it again,” he commanded as Hyrule curled protectively around the wound. He shook his head frantically, but screamed anew as the knife again found a place inside his body.

“Do. It. Again,” the man demanded, but Hyrule again refused. The man's eyes narrowed in anger. “Potion!” he barked, and a bottle of red potion exchanged hands. The man reached out and forced Hyrule to drink the potion, struggling weakly and trying not to choke.

The moment the bottle was empty, the knife streaked forward again. Faster than Hyrule's dazed mind could track, several cuts bloomed across his arms and torso before the blasted knife again found purchase in his abdomen. The knife was mercilessly twisted as it was removed, and Hyrule collapsed to the floor with a broken cry, shivering weakly, blood dripping though his fingers and staining his tunic, the potion he’d been given effectively made useless.

“Heal yourself.” The man sounded bored, as if he was talking about the weather, not actively torturing a teenager. This time, shaky hands welled with pink magic, rapidly decreasing reserves straining to heal the grievous wounds. By the time he finished, Hyrule knew his magic was dangerously low. He would not have enough to heal himself again, never mind attempt to escape.

The man seemed to realize this as well, for he stood, unconcerned, and locked the cage behind him, leaving Hyrule to his trembling exhaustion and the overwhelming scent of his own blood. He and his goons left without a backwards glance, taking the light with them.

Hyrule was left to the dark and the cold, curling weakly around his still-aching stomach, a plea to the goddesses on his lips. He hoped his brothers found him soon. He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take.

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

Hyrule’s time in the cage – he had no idea how long they kept him there – progressed in distressingly similar fashion. Sometimes it was the man and his knife, others it was a pack of the goons with nothing more than their fists. Every interaction left him bruised and bleeding, ears ringing with the taunts and jeers of the men as they loudly wondered exactly how much they could get for him.

Every attempt to regain a semblance of magic naturally was interrupted and drained by another cut, another beating. They never brought him food, and only twice brought him water. He tried again to refuse to heal himself maybe two days in, only to be force-fed another red potion and stabbed again, and again, and again, until every scrap of magic he possessed was wrung dry and they had to give him a bit of green potion – carefully measured out to be exactly just enough – before he passed out from blood loss.

They left Hyrule alone for a while after that, and he gratefully fell into fitful slumber, too exhausted to dream. He was woken what felt like mere hours later by another beating, and the stubborn hope he’d held onto that his brothers would find him began to wane as he tried to protect his head. Where were they? Wolfie, if he was around, should have been able to find him, right? He knew now that he’d never regain enough magic to escape on his own, so he placed his faith and hope in his brothers, desperate for rescue.

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

An indeterminate amount of time and pain later, Hyrule was roused from semi-consciousness by a none-too-gentle boot in his ribs and a key in the lock of the chains around his ankle. He found himself roughly dragged out of the cage and upright, feet stumbling and head spinning at the change in elevation. The mercenaries dragged him up several flights of stairs and into dull moonlight.

For the first time in an age, fresh air graced Hyrule’s nose and lungs, and he sucked it in greedily. Somewhere he found the strength to try and break free, but he only made it a few steps before the mercenaries caught him again. Still, he struggled with everything he possessed, aching for freedom. The men kicked his unsteady legs out from under him, and he crashed to the ground, dazed. One of the biggest men bundled him into a tarp, then picked him up as if he were no more than a misbehaving child.

Hyrule felt himself carried up some steps, then heard the detestable voice of the ringleader – auctioneer, he realized with a jolt – as he was set down on a hard surface, the chain still around his ankle secured tight once again. “A truly one-of-a-kind rarity, our most valuable piece this evening, I give you...” The tarp was ripped away from his body, and he winced at the harsh light suddenly surrounding him, “a half-hylian, half-fairy!”

Murmurs of awe erupted through the crowd of auction-goers as he tried to blink the room into focus. Hoping against hope that his brothers had learned about the auction and were somewhere in the crowd, Hyrule started scanning faces. He felt his heart lift as he saw Sky standing close to the stage, and it absolutely soared when he saw Legend next to him. He fought hard to keep the elation and relief off his face, ears ringing with the single thought whirling through his mind. They’re here. They came!

A horribly familiar pain suddenly ripped through his stomach, and Hyrule though he heard Legend cry out as he curled instinctively around the newest stab wound, weakly trying to keep from bleeding out, not a drop of magic left in his body. The auctioneer let him cringe for a few moments, then thrust a ridiculously small amount of green potion at him. “Now heal,” he said, face calm but voice laced with warning.

Hyrule spat out a now familiar glob of blood, then glared at the auctioneer with every bit of fire, determination, and courage he could muster. He didn’t care that he could feel himself paling from blood loss. He didn’t care that the auctioneer was beginning to anger. His brothers were here, and he would not perform for the sake of the crowd.

The auctioneer drew closer, growling just loud enough for Hyrule to hear. “Heal or I’ll shove a red potion into you and stab you as many times as it takes for you to use your magic. I honestly thought you’d have learned by now.”

Hyrule's determination blazed for a minute or two longer, but at the thought of his brothers watching him be stabbed again, his resolve crumbled. He took the bottle of potion, closing his eyes as he swallowed the single sip.

Pressing his hands back to his wound, he gathered his weak magic to pool in his gut, closing the wound. The magic faded to nothing again as the wound sealed itself shut. Weak from blood loss and exhausted by his ordeal, he slumped forward, barely even twitching as the auctioneer grabbed his tunic and yanked, exposing the bloody but completely healed skin underneath.

“That proof enough?” the auctioneer crowed, and a roar of assent rose from the crowd. A smile bloomed in his voice, “Bidding starts at 30,000 rupees.”

Awareness faded as Hyrule collapsed to the floor, head floating and semi-conscious. He vaguely heard the buzz of numbers being called out, but he couldn’t bring himself to listen. He was just so tired.

One number, or rather, one voice, pierced through the haze of his mind. “60,000 rupees!” Was that…Wind? The white noise of the crowd died immediately.

One voice gasped loudly, dramatically, then a voice declared, “63,000!” Warriors?

The crowd as a whole gasped as Wind and Warriors continued their bidding war. Hyrule suddenly felt something moving near his ankle, twitching the chain around. Confused, he pried his eyes open. “…Four?” he mumbled, disbelieving.

“Hey, traveler. I’ve almost got this chain free, just give me a minute,” Four murmured, fiddling with the lock, eyes seeming an odd mix of blue and red to his hazy vision.

Screams of shock and pain suddenly rang though the crowd, sounding like they originated from the auctioneer and his goons. Four finished with the chain on his ankle and moved to the handcuffs on his wrists as the rest of the crowd erupted in panic, no doubt caused by the rest of his brothers.

Sky was suddenly at Hyrule's side, raising him to a sitting position and brushing his hair out of his face. “Hey ‘rule,” he said gently, eyes ablaze with concern as he took in the leftover cuts and bruises littering Hyrule's body. “We’re getting you out of here, okay?”

Relief and exhaustion fought within him, and it’s was all Hyrule could do to give Sky a weak smile and nod. A small, triumphant noise from Four heralded the release of the cuffs from his wrists, then Hyrule found himself bundled carefully into Sky's warm, safe arms.

Four in the lead, they started to run down the stage, but they found themselves surrounded by mercenaries as the auctioneer shrieked after them. Fighting broke out between the guards and the heroes, and Sky shifted Hyrule to one arm, determination shining clearly from his eyes.

Sky jerked and swayed as he balanced Hyrule in one arm and the Master Sword in the other, taking blows himself to keep Hyrule safe. Through the queasiness fogging his brain, Hyrule saw a sword aimed for Sky's head, and he yelped a warning, Sky ducking just in time.

The move jostled Hyrule even further, and suddenly there was a guard grasping his arm, trying to rip him from the safety of Sky's arms. He and Sky both struggled against the man, until a winged boot entered Hyrule's vision, kicking the guard in the jaw and sending him reeling.

With Legend's arrival, the remaining guards fled, giving the heroes some room to breathe.

“That scum-of-the-earth that stabbed Hyrule escaped,” Legend growled, glancing back at Sky. Hyrule shot him a weak grin at the familiar and so, so welcome ire, and he watched as the vet’s face softened, worry pinching at the corners of his eyes.

“I’m so sorry we didn’t get you sooner.” Legend said, guilt heavy in his voice. “Are you okay?”

Hyrule nodded. “Yeah...” he murmured, exhaustion and relief finally beginning to overwhelm him. “‘been using a lot of magic. Tired.”

Legend nodded, and ruffled his hair. “Probably the blood-loss too. You can sleep all you want once we get out of here, okay?”

Hyrule hummed in contentment and rested his head against Sky's arm, consciousness fading as the heroes rushed from the building.

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

Hyrule awoke a short time later as he was gently lowered to the ground, still resting against Sky's side, the other heroes gathering around them. Sky gently helped him sip a red potion until the bruises and cuts he’d sustained had healed some and the fog began to clear from his head. Hyrule took the potion bottle in his own hands and finished it, gratefully accepting the bottle of green potion – a FULL bottle, thank Hylia! – Four handed to him.

Vitality and magic finally rising inside him, Hyrule took Legend at his word, leaning into Sky's lap and quickly falling asleep, surrounded at last by safety and his brothers' care.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA *zooms around in circles and rereads this a dozen times*

THIS IS AMAZING OH MY GOSH I DON’T EVEN HAVE THE WORDS

THANK YOU SO MUCH SILV 💚💖💚💖💚💖💚💖💚💖💚💖💚💖💚💖💚💖

[grumpy-nyks]

The Fernweh Saga by @lacunafiction - Agnes edition

Who would have thought? 🤭

Agnes "Nes" Sigrún 🌑RO: James Corvin

Personality: sincerity // cautious // friendly // merciful Traits: heart // compliance // believer Past affinity: writing [horror stories] Primary ability: empathetic impressions Past susceptibility: receptive

☀️Fernweh: She never really thought about leaving Fernweh… It was her place, near her family and friend(s). She felt good there and assumed she’s gonna spend her whole life happily in this little town. Even if Fernweh brings back devastating memories, she’s curious about what’s happening in Fernweh now, in her true home. It’s always been her dream to work in Turn The Page, and during her ‘short’ stay in Fernweh, she started thinking about it again. Why not stay for longer…? She would love to carry on her grandfather’s work and bring his legacy justice. 

☀️Grandpa Jóhann: When she was young, she had an amazing relationship with her grandpa. They were completely honest with each other, and she loved him wholeheartedly. Some people thought that making her grandpa proud was her main hobby. She used to tell him all about her dreams that she had, which were always wild... and also about the nightmares… It took her by surprise when her grandpa, one of the most important people in her life, started being less involved. She was hurt and began to wonder if she had done something to cause the distance between them. His decision to move her out of Fernweh so quickly after this tragic event made a huge impact on her mental state. She needed time to cope and be with her closest ones, especially her grandpa...but after all she didn't blame him. She often heard that she looked exactly like her mother…like her grandpa's daughter... She assumed he could not look at her, without thinking about her... And she could not blame him for wanting to escape that pain. Agnes knew it was the best thing that her grandpa could do for him, and she accepted it, too eagerly. She always too eagerly took the blame for everything.

☀️Beckett Warrick: After what happened in Fernweh after James she had even more trouble interacting with other people and making new friends… However, Beckett was an exception. He was the first person who got to truly know her after the events in Fernweh. When she got the letter about her Grandpa, she considered hiding the truth from him, because she knew deep down that he would be there for her if she needed him… even if he would not particularly enjoy it. It's a good thing she’s such a bad liar… Her main concern is about Beckett’s well-being. She noticed that this 'little' trip made a huge impact on him. He wasn’t supposed to be here, and it’s because of her that he–... She needs to make sure that nothing happens to her friend. And she will somehow manage to bring him back to his home.

☀️Reese Verner: They had an unconventional relationship. Reese saw her as a rival, while Agnes thought of him as a friend. She was confused about why Verner, someone of great importance, would even look at her see her as a rival. She knew there were better candidates for his games. She had only one question on her mind - “why?”. Despite Verner's playful teasing, Agnes always remained polite and friendly towards him, even when he attempted to push her boundaries. Girl knew how to keep her true feelings behind a warm smile she still does. If I can be completely honest… Agnes was rather shocked that Reese still remembered her… and was actually looking for her, which sounded so unbelievably. His concern for Milton's well-being made her see him in a slightly different light. Of course, she already knew Reese had a good heart, but his behaviour really touched her. Additionally, Agnes noticed that Reese and James’ relationship became stronger and deeper… It’s for the best. James deserves someone as dependable as Reese. He will always be there for James. 

☀️Sofia Dorran: Their bond was formed over a shared admiration for books and... the color blue. It may sound funny now, but these things became central to their lives and deepened their friendship. Sofia was the first person Agnes entrusted with her writing, and valued her honest feedback, knowing that Sofia would not make her feel bad if something needed improvement. They frequently borrowed books from each other's collections. Agnes yearned for the days when she and Sofia had reading sessions together, sipping on their favorite beverage. The only issue back then was when the book ended poorly or their library didn't have any new positions for them to read. She's willing to know how Sofia's taste toward books shifted (if shifted) and how she changed as a person. She's also extremely grateful because her grandfather received constant care from Sofia and her mother.

🌑James Corvin: …Do I really need to tell you that James was her first crush? And that she never found the courage to tell him so? maybe now will be the time? Agnes and James were always together, wherever one went the other followed. They were inseparable. Agnes even used to bake oatmeal cookies for James with her mother's help. They dreamed of their idyllic life together. As friends, obviously. Seeing him again after all those years was much harder than she anticipated. Agnes felt overwhelmed with stress from the moment she stepped out of her car. Every time she heard his surname, she unknowingly flinched. Her mind was full of questions about his well-being, life, and changes. She couldn't help but wonder if he would be happy to see her. …she did manage to hold his hand for a moment, I can consider it as a success

☀️Alex Corvin: Agnes has always looked up to Alex for their adventurous spirit and their willingness to embrace life to the fullest. She has always wanted to adopt a bit of Alex' wild side. Whenever they are around, boredom and dullness seem to disappear. They both share similar values and support each other's life goals. If I would say which person Agnes was the most willing to meet during her stay in Fernweh that would be Alex. She was confident in their friendliness towards everybody and was sure that their kindness had not wavered. Agnes was touched when she heard that Alex was looking after her grandfather's bookstore… It appears that Beckett has a new admirer, which Agnes wholeheartedly approves of.

☀️Mal: Agnes has a sense that Mal might be suspicious, but she is quite naive and doesn't believe that he could mean trouble. Although she is wary of him and finds him a little untrustworthy, Agnes believes in being kind to everyone, and she is willing to give Mal a chance, not judging him by her own impressions of him.

☀️Goldie: Agnes is grateful that her grandfather had a furry companion like Goldie, who probably managed to brighten his spirits. She fondly recalls how her grandfather would tell her stories when he once had a dog, when he was younger and how his eyes would light up with joy as he shared his story. Agnes is committed to taking excellent care of Goldie and ensuring her safety.

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

SAME ANON FROM THE CHILDHOOD READER WANTING TO PROTECT AJAX AAAH!! MY HEART… I LOVE THAT SO MUCH!! Foul Legacy getting love and comfort makes my heart go Q__Q <3 <3 I love the idea of FL falling for reader once he returns hELP PLEASE??? Imagine they would ruffle or pet Ajax' hair when they were young after the abyss and Legacy is just <3 <3 just little small things for him (that they'll definitely do with FL now, free affection <3)

Ajax may be strong and dangerous, same goes with big mothman, but that is not gonna stop reader from protecting them. owo (I hope it's okay to send another rambling aah! I live for childhood AUs so much and I love the scenarios you make!! ;v ;)

HEHE YOU ARE SOSO WELCOME I ABSOLUTELY LOVED WHAT YOU SENT IN <3333 (original ask here!!!)

you being a source of genuine affection for Ajax... when he returns from the Abyss, he's clearly changed, and no one but his family wants to be near him. no one but his family- and you. all the other children your age fear his newfound violent tendencies and stay as far away as possible, but you have no shame in jumping on him in a hug, swinging your hands back and forth together, or ruffling his hair, your innocent childhood combined with your protective nature. and Ajax, oh, he craves the small things you do for him, the wonderfully casual way you spend time with him instead of walking on eggshells like everyone else. whenever you squeeze him or playfully pat his head, he feels safe, like his fall into the Abyss never happened, and he can almost believe it if it wasn't for the creature chittering ecstatically in his mind- Foul Legacy's not used to even the slightest bit of affection, and it overwhelms him at first as he falls for you as much as Ajax has

when Ajax gets sent to the Fatui, he eventually grows accustomed to the lack of contact, the way his coworkers either regard him with fear or distaste. when he returns to you and experiences your affections again, now wholeheartedly love, he feels like he's melting into your arms and nearly cries. Foul Legacy's not used to being protected- in the Abyss, life is ruthless and cold- and furthermore he doesn't really need to be protected, but when you look up at him with a slight frown and tell him that he's worth being protected, no matter what, he almost breaks right then and there. the sensation of you holding him, an Abyssal monster who only escaped by latching himself to a mortal, like he's something precious makes him tremble with emotion- so many emotions he's never felt before- and he allows himself to indulge and lean into your touch, the same soft pets you give Ajax. eventually Foul Legacy lapses into slumber and vanishes, leaving a tired, teary Ajax in your arms, who pulls you close into a tight hug, begging for just a moment longer

[dreeeve]

wishing I was confident enough to post my thoughts on things without the need for a visual or cut off

Anyways I need to say the entire main party of ISAT is the rep I really needed to see… I hold ALL of them so incredibly close to my heart…

I’m going to talk more in the tags but please play this game, it’s worth it, im only on act 3 so surely it’ll get better :^)

(I reached max tag limit LMAO???)

[pardonmydelays]

An appropriate response 😂

Oohhh, what about him with glasses????

you're welcome? actually, one of my hottest takes is that he wrote this song about himself, i mean:

everybody say thank you mr miranda

ok, so i've been waiting for this ask forever, cause apparently i have a thing for glasses & i am just saving everything i see... & i am more than happy to share:

i thought i had more oh shit-

[obey-me-headquarters]

Impatience fills the air. Like a tiger ready to strike or a coiled band bending to break. The atmosphere hangs heavily between you, Cove, and Baxter.

It was a normal evening for the three of you, or as normal as your new relationship could be. An evening spent in and enjoying each other's cooking that started out playful slowly turned more and more heated as the night went on.

With the food eaten and the dishes being washed, the tension was palpable. Baxter is on washing duty, while Cove dries and you put the dishes away. Every touch as plants were passed lingered, and glances got more and more heated.

Finally, the band broke. Lunging forward, you grab Baxter by the collar and push him against the sink. He raises his eyebrows at the suddenness but melts into the kiss with a needy moan.

Cove sheepishly glances over his shoulder at the two of you, wet dish still in hand. His eagerness bleeding through, but his shyness halting him from making any sudden moves.

Your tongue slips into Baxter's willing mouth, welcomed with a needy moan. The both of you were nearly lost in your heated embrace. Tongues pressing against each other and hands desperately clenching clothing. Yet your mind couldn't help but wander to your other partner. A sidelong glance reveals Cove standing off to the side, wet dish in hand, his want so earnestly on display.

Well, that certainly wouldn't do.

Working on pure impulse, you grab onto Cove's shirt in a blind grab and pull him towards you. Breaking the kiss with Baxter, you swiftly direct your attention towards your sea formed haired lover. A startled squeak escapes his lips as you lean forward to press your lips against his.

Baxter observes you two through hooded eyes, slumped against the counter as he desperately tries to catch his breath.

"As fun as kissing in the kitchen is, do you mind if we take this a bit more comfortable?" Baxter asks.

You loathe to put an end to your sudden make-out session, but you could see the appeal of the suggestion. You didn't want one of the first times the three of you were intimate to be in a kitchen.

With a grumble, you lean away from Cove, who gives you a confused look.

"H-huh? We're- what?"

Obviously, he didn't hear what Baxter had suggestioned, to preoccupied with having your tongue down his throat. With a laugh, you pull Cove by the hand and grab Baxter's on your way, too.

It was a bit awkward trying to lead them both, but by Baxter's pleased snicker, you guess that the two of them made due. It wasn't long before the three of you arrived at your door, which you kicked out as you were out of hands to open it with.

"Um, I could have opened that for you." Cove states behind you.

Yet you pay him mind, quickly leading your two lovers towards the bed. Cove falls first onto it, and you halt Baxter with another kiss.

Grinning, he leans into it, and you push him into Cove's lap. Cove gratefully accepts his gift and wraps his lips around Baxter's neck while your own is still pressed against Baxter's. Trailing kisses up and down the shorter man's neck, Cove stops at his mole. Knowing that it's one of the most sensitive spots on his body, Cove ghosts his lips over the spot.

With a choked-off moan, Baxter gasps against your lips. An airly chuckle escapes your lips, and you ever so slightly lean away, just to enjoy the sight of Baxter squirming against Cove. The taller man was caging him in with his body, holding him against his chest as he teased the skin around Baxter's oh so sensitive mole. Baxter wasn't that short of a guy, but Cove was extremely tall, and he used every inch to his advantage as he held Baxter against him.

It was obviously doing something for Baxter, too, judging by the way he leaned back into the hold, as if he wanted to envelop fully. With a smirk, Baxter glances towards you, obviously wondering where you've gone, but not too disappointed with who you left him with.

Before he could say a no doubt sophisticated and playful remark, you leaned forward and captured his mouth in a kiss. Yet this kiss was less about getting acquainted with the inside of his mouth and more about exploration as your hands trail alongside his body.

Reaching his crotch your hands confidently pressed against it, earning your a groan from the monochromatic man, which you happily swallowed. Baxter was throughly overwhelmed sandwiched between you and Cove, a fact he was acutely aware of. When you leaned back to catch your breath, Baxter stammers out:

"Don't- don't you two want to enjoy each other's company a bit more?"

Grinning deviously at him, you very much did not. Content with overwhelming him with pleasure he never thought he would receive. Cove obviously had a similar thought as he reached around Baxter to undo his shirt buttons.

"No." He whispered bluntly into the shell of Baxter's ear, earning him a delicious shudder.

With a defeated sigh, Baxter relaxes into the hold. "Well, I wouldn't stop you two since you're so determined."

"Good, you couldn't if you tired." You reply with a grin before dropping to your knees.

Hastily, you grab onto Baxter's belt and loosen the buckle. Flinging it over your shoulder the moment it's loose enough you make quick work of the buttons and zipper, cursing yourself for not removing his clothing before sitting him down, but too impatient to stop now. With an annoyed grunt, you pull down his pants, not even bothering to remove them fully, and let them hang around his ankles.

Finally you see what you're been thinking about all night, Baxter's cock. Unfortunately, it's still clothed by his cute leaf boxers, but it's half hard and dripping, creating a wet patch. You knew that Baxter was needy, but you didn't know that a few kisses were all that was needed to get him this worked up.

Kissing the wet patch, Baxter bucks against you, almost hitting you in the face. Luckily you're able to lean back before he does.

"Sorry, th-that was rude of me. I just- hmp!" Baxter throws his head back with a moan as Cove sucks a hickey around his mole while his hands reach down to hold Baxter down.

"Don't worry, I'll keep him still for you." Cove states.

You know that Baxter isn't going anyway with Cove holding him down. His hard earned muscles he got from his summers of surfing being put to use as he holds Baxter tightly against him.

With a smirk you pull the leaf boxers down to his ankles, and enjoy the sight of Baxter's hard cock leaking against his stomach. Licking your lips you lean forward to give his slit a kiss, earning you a breathy groan.

Cove's hands wrap firmly around Baxter's thighs, spreading his legs for you and holding him in place.

"Good luck, you're going to need it." He says ominously into Baxter's ear.

"I- what?" Baxter asks confused, he's never been victim to your mouth on his cock before, unlike Cove who knew exactly what you're capable of.

Before he can get an answer, your lips wrap around his dick. You only take a moment to savor the taste of his precum and compare it to Cove's, before your tongue works its magic.

"Ugh! O-oh, my- hmp! Now wait just a- fuck!" Baxter throws his head back with a throaty groan. You're glad that Cove had the foresight to hold Baxter down, because the way he's thrashing right now would surely dislodge you from your spot. Fortunately, with his strong hold, Baxter remains held in place as you treat him to the otherworldly experience of your mouth.

No amount of squirming, thrashing, or withering could deter you, as Baxter quickly surmised, not that he stopped doing any of those things as you sucked. The moans and groans you pull out of him are entirely involuntary, as Baxter would prefer if you and Cove didn't hear such neediness from him so early into your relationship. But there was no helping it, and he quickly spilled a mix of "Please," "Oh god," and language you didn't think the normally sophisticated man would ever confess to knowing.

Cove decided that he wouldn't completely overwhelm the poor man, at least, not yet, and took a break from painting his neck with hickeys. Instead, he was content to watch Baxter lose all sense of composer against him.

"Fuck- please, oh God I can't!" Baxter moaned, and that was all the warning before he came into your mouth.

Normally, he was a lot more polite, warning about any spilling, but all sense of decency was clearly sucked out of him. You let yourself enjoy the unique taste of his spent before swallowing, mouth still wrapped around his dick. Baxter mewled softly at the sensation but was too worn to complain.

Leaning back you wipe all drool and uncaught cum from your chin with the back of the hand, and chuckled when you caught sight of Baxter.

You were getting used to seeing him more relaxed and messy, but you have yet to see just how far he could let himself go until now. He laid boneless in Cove's hold, the taller man's hold being the only thing keeping him unright. His eyes were glossed over and his pupils were so dilated that it made him look cat like. Mouth hanging slightly open, a few drops of drool spill down his chin.

Cove is no longer holding him so tightly, instead choosing a loser hold against his chest. Leaning down, he presses a kiss onto Baxter's forehead, and that seems to snap him out of his daze.

Looking down at you with hooded eyes accusatory, Baxter asks:

"Where in the world did you learn to do that with your tongue?"

[longagoitwastuesday]

Gushing about Gojo and Megumi and how they are or could have been everything to me I forgot to mention that I really really really love Yuuji. Like, a lot