#but i felt like thief fit them better

[galaxyseclipse]

Art Prompt: 🗡with everybody.

Or whoever you want to if that's too much.

🗡️: draw a character as if they were in a rpg/dnd character

okay, quick story time: my first thought with this one was -obviously- dnd, but I didn't want to come up with races and classes. so next I was gonna do Fire Emblem, cause that's an rpg that I play on the rare occasion that I forget why I don't.

but then...

I remembered that Miitopia is an rpg >:3c

so have some sillies, being characters from a very silly game

I should replay Miitopia...

[moralcandy]

fifteen things that don't come back, by charlie slimecicle:

number one. the paper airplane you and your daughter throw at your husband while his back is turned in the kitchen, the two of you hiding behind the counter as you snicker quietly when he stops humming and yelps a curse as he turns around with a faux angry expression and a poorly-hidden smile.

number two. the glass your daughter broke trying to grab it from the cabinet on her tippy-toes. you didn't look over until you heard the glass shatter against the kitchen floor, too preoccupied with grabbing the jug of cold orange juice from the fridge to notice until it was too late. golden, afternoon sunlight shone warmly on the both of you from the open window as you swept it up while she stood to the side with a sheepish expression.

number three. your husband's soft shirt he let you borrow when you said you couldn't find your own but really you just quickly shoved yours under the bed when he wasn't looking. you absently noted that it smelled like him. your lips curved into a slight smile without input. your foot shoved your shirt under the bed a little bit farther.

number four. the pictures you took of your daughter and niece, hugging eachother as they posed for the camera, the photo incinerated into ash when you blew up your house. you frantically dug through your daughter's chest afterwards, soot covering your hands as you searched for the photograph. you did not find it.

number five. your niece.

number six. the feeling of a cold glass of wine held tipsily in your hand, the waterdrop of condensation slipping down the glass at the same pace your tears did down your cheeks. you downed the alcohol until there was nothing left except a burning feeling and a lump in your throat. the bartender did not give you another drink.

number seven. your friend, the one who used to laugh hysterically with you as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders before he began to scream at you while he wrapped his hands around your neck. he pushed you into the dirt, the metallic taste of blood in your mouth and the feeling of wet dirt on your skin as you absently question whether the water dripping on your face was the rain or the tears slipping down your friend's face. you know that was the funeral of your children, but you think both of the real 'you's died that day, too.

number eight. the warm, rumbling feeling of laughter in your chest as a smile hurts your cheeks, the sensation long gone. your mouth, for a moment, twitches into a small smile at the memory of the feeling.

number nine. the feeling of hands on your own, your husband's warm hands intertwined with yours as your cold, golden rings clink against eachother. your daughter's tiny hand clasped around yours as she leads you to a butterfly she found, grass brushing your ankles as you walk.

ten. the sound of your daughter's amused laughter, snorts interrupting occasionally. her head leans back as she giggles, her eyes scrunched up in happiness.

eleven. the sound of your husband's soothing voice, lilting with fondness as he looks at you. a smile absently crosses his face as he speaks, audible in his voice. you always remember smiling back.

twelve. your golden wedding band your husband lovingly slipped onto your ring finger so long ago, the one you furiously tossed into a dusty corner with particularily bad aim. you blame the poor aim on the tears blurring your vision, but it could've been the alcohol, really.

thirteen. your husband. you try to go to sleep in the center of your bed now, knowing that he won't be there. when you wake up, you always find yourself on the left side of the bed, as if you've moved in your sleep to accommodate someone. you scowl and think that your asleep self should stop being so stupid. ..you make the bed just in case he really does decide to come back.

fourteen. your daughter. whenever you make yourself breakfast now, you keep accidentally making two bowls, the muscle memory automatic, familiar, and no longer needed. you sit down at the table and set the bowls and begin to eat, but you always end up just stirring the cereal with your spoon as you stare at the untouched bowl across from you. you always end up throwing them both away. without your input, a frown tugs slightly at your lips as your pour out the second bowl but you know that nobody else was even here to eat it anyway. your eyes burn.

fifteen. your daughter, the one you know isn't the real one. sometimes you walk down those train tracks where you found her, hoping she'll be here this time. she never is. ..you still keep checking, just in case.

[fraugwinska]

DoubleTrouble No. 2 - Missionary Impossible

Yes, we did Team up again - the wonderful @macabr3-barbi3 and my humble self wrote another DoubleTrouble fic, based of a hilarious FranticFanfic game result (If you are a writer and have some friends who also indulge in fanfiction, check the game out: www.franaticfanfic.com - Your throat will hate you but the laughter makes it worth it!)

This time we give all of you Vox Lovers a real Treat! Mine is the Readers POV, while Barbie provided Vox's POV - get the TV's dirty version right here.

And now, without further ado:

Explicit Sexual content - Minors DNI - 18+ - 6.5k words

You had to admit: Breaking into Lucifer’s personal vault was your boldest and most impressive job yet. You had your concerns - normally you didn’t take jobs that seemed too shady or downright wrong to you - but you didn’t steal anything powerful, just a bottle of his vanished wife’s perfume. You shake your head at the memory. Most certainly one of her many, still very active superfans, kind of icky to be honest. But money talks, and boy did that client talk.

The only downside had been that for the first time, the 666 Evening News had a picture of you.

Granted, blurry, obstructed and absolutely not usable at all - but it still irked you to no end. They didn’t call you the ‘Traceless Thief’ for nothing.

But even though no one was more the wiser about your identity, even though Lucifer begrudgingly stopped looking for witnesses, even though the gossip on the streets about speculations who the Traceless Thief could’ve been died down - ever since that night, you felt like you were being watched.

The next jobs you take go without news coverage and media attention, and yet, you grow more and more paranoid. Hell has many eyes - figuratively and literally - and you feel them all on you. But there is work to be done and a living to be earned - and the tiny alibi antique bookshop you keep definitely doesn’t provide. No one sane wants old shit in hell - and the rare specimens that do and visit the dingy little space under your apartment come and go, disappointed in the stock you barely keep.

Which is fine by you - you only really need it for one thing. The PO Box.

The wonderfully boring, uninteresting PO Box of the ‘Dusty Pages’ bookshop was your portal to the real money. Hell had become a lot better the day you mastered the powers the underworld granted you: No physical barrier could contain you. Being intangible granted you freedom, and to return to the profession you were best in: Stealing Shit.

Of course, noble causes like overturning corrupt governments by breaking into officials homes and publishing their many crimes was still stealing, if you ask heaven that is, and it landed you in hell. You gave up being salty about it, and made the best out of the situation.

“Hey Frankie. How’s the wife?” The post office clerk, a grumpy looking crocodile in an ill-fitting checkered suit huffs.

“Still fucking annoying, as always. Each day I’m getting closer to bribing an exterminator to kill the bitch just to shut her up for good.”

You chuckled, leaning on the counter and tapping your fingers on the scratched wood.

“Aw, did you burn the meatloaf again? You know Alice hates that.” Frankie gives you an exasperated look, which you meet with a mocking grin.

“You want something? Except for getting on my nerves?”

You shrug, twirling a tiny key on a string around your finger. Frankie, and by proxy Alice too, were parts of your harmless, boring, inconspicuous appearance. Just a normal young sinner, just a normal errand to run, keeping normal small talk with the clerks.

“Just checking my PO Box. I’m waiting on a few rare books I ordered to restock.”

“Uh-huh. Tell someone who gives a shit.”

The crocodile turns away, adjusting his small, round reading glasses and eager to ignore you. Perfect.

“Always nice to chat with you, Frankie.” you say and saunter over to the little door with the number 13. The quiet click always sounds satisfyingly like a little exclamation of joy and like cashflow, and under the ‘Old Crap & Thingamajigs’ catalog you found what you were hoping for. A thick envelope and a letter - new jetstream-bathtub, here you come.

God, why were the VoxTech maintenance uniforms so fucking skimpy?

You grumble silently, cursing yourself that you haven’t grabbed the male one. But that would’ve been suspicious, and you couldn’t afford to be suspicious today. Not if you want to get the job done and live to tell the tale. 

The Vee Tower is full of cameras, hundreds of tiny, red blinking lights next to crystal clear lenses, and dead spots were hard to find and a rare occasion. So, when you couldn’t shift through the walls, you had to look like you belonged. And apparently, a fucking laced, black mini-skirt and a top with puffy sleeves that looked more like a fetish bralette was what it took to ‘belong’. The whole point was blending in, not being remembered - and all the female employees from cleanup and maintenance looked the exact same as you. So, unless one was walking around with a bag full of personnel files on hand, you looked like anyone else on this floor.

You stepped into the elevator, the keycard your client had sent you along with the money and initial job offer in hand. Wherever that person got those precious credentials, you were grateful for them because it gave you an easy way to bypass all the layers of security that VoxTech imposed. All that hassle for an incriminating photo.

You sighed when you pressed the button to floor 66, where the CEO of VoxTech enterprises had his private apartment. Vox.

The name was even more intimidating than Lucifer's to you. While the king of hell was aloof, inactive, disinterested in the ongoings of hell, Vox was the absolute opposite. He knew every little secret. VoxTech had millions of eyes and ears. It was a well known fact that he kept his all-seeing spycams on the whole pentagram and his pliant audience in his steely grasp. Always on top of the times, on top of the news, on top of the sales and on top of any business, shady or not, in hell. In the eyes of the citizens of the Pride Ring, Vox and his partners Valentino and Vevette owned practically everything. He had the largest audience in the history of hell, the sharpest wit and the keenest, calculating eye on the prize - a charming manipulator that was considered very much dangerous and not to be underestimated. Which is why you had to plan your gig for a time you were certain he wasn't around.

A shame really - you couldn’t deny, despite his ruthlessness and questionable business practices with which he had built his empire, you kind of admired the self-made TV-demon that rose to overlord status and made quite a big name for himself in stellar time. That, and he was nice to look at too, even with a flatscreen for a head. Oh well.

The ding of the elevator brought you back to the job at hand, and with confident steps, you glanced up and down the corridor. There were a few cameras pointed to the apartment door, but you found a dead spot not far off, and with a content smile, you walked over as if to inspect the carpet, just to shift as you were out of the camera's angle, your body transpiring through the wall, and with a quiet thud, you were inside.

That was the moment the lights went out.

A power outage was the last thing you had expected - in the Vee Tower of all places. The one place in hell that burst with electricity, and you would laugh at the irony if you weren't so tense. The timing is suspicious,and with a beating heart you shuffle forward, trying to phase through the nearest wall.

What the fuck?

You furrow your brows and huff, irritated. The wall is - well, a wall, and while that was a normal state for others, for you? Unimaginable. Your hands are resting against the concrete and steel, normally easy peasy to walk through. But you feel the hardness under your fingertips, much more intense than it should and almost stinging.

Conventional route it is, then, you think begrudgingly and slowly make your way through the corridor, listening into the stillness of the apartment. The corridor led into a spacious living room - flat, modern couches that screamed money and luxury arranged in a half circle, surrounded by various screens, all turned off. In the middle you see the outlines of a metallic, lavish coffee table, empty and clean like in a catalog. It was the kind of space that wasn’t really meant to be lived in, but to show just how much you had that you didn’t really need. A show.

You scanned the room. There was an open arch leading into a kitchen - also polished and top notch empty, not the cluttered mess you had in your apartment - and a closed, narrow door, likely a storage room. But at the opposite end of it, you see a faint, blue stripe of light, teal blue, luring you towards it. A night light maybe, or some indirect mood lighting shit that was all the rage since LED’s hit the Pentagram a few years ago, shining through a cracked door. Intentionally inconspicuous, your brain whispers, but anything was better than the dim darkness you were stumbling in now. 

When you reach the glowing gap and peek cautiously into the adjacent room, one hand almost on the handle, a groan makes you freeze before you could register what you are looking at.

Oh satan.

Vox.

A LOT of Vox.

The overlord was fucking home, and not just that. In his bedroom - your target location - naked, an impressive and glowing cock in hand, working himself in a way he would definitely not appreciate anyone seeing him in. You felt your neck and cheeks flush with heat - another thing you did not expect nor calculate for. But you can’t look away - as surreal and absolutely dangerous this situation is - his deliciously large hands and the sheer sight of his luminous length glistening with precum as he strokes himself cuts your breath short with highly inappropriate lust. The screen in front of him was bright, and for a moment, you were so enraptured with him that you didn’t recognize the silhouette he was pumping himself to.

You.

It’s you.

In this ridiculous maid costume that was unconsciously riding up your ass, sneaking through the corridor, not even half a minute ago. With growing horror you watch yourself taking tentative steps through the living room, the you on the screen hesitating before deciding to move to the left, one arm reaching out to a cracked open door.

“Fuck, yes.”

The words were barely said when your brain kickstarts.

Fuck, no.

He knew. He knew you were here.

In a flight of panic, you bolted for the corridor, back to the door, back to the safety of not-fucking-here, but you couldn’t even make four steps before your wrists were bound by cables shooting out of the walls surrounding you. You ready yourself to slip through them, but again, your powers leave you high and dry again. Helpless, you back away into the nearest wall, and the door opens fully, with the TV demon standing in the frame. Tall, intimidating even butt-fucking-naked, and a cocky smile on his HD face.

“Hello, my dear,” he almost coos and takes a few steps towards you as you writhe in the restrictions, desperately trying to slip out and get the fuck away. “I’m so glad you got my invitation!”

“Invitation?” That makes you still against the cables, your eyes darting over his face, confused. What the hell does that mean? You weren’t invited, you had a job to... Oh. Oh shit.

“You’re the client?”

His face was answer enough, and you would have slapped yourself for your stupidity if he hadn't had you in an iron grip. A loud game-show ding startles you back into the here and now, he was so much closer than before…

“Sure thing, doll! How else was I supposed to catch a slippery little thing like you without scaring you off?”

He traces his fingers down your cheek, his tips sparking with static electricity. How fucked up are you that this turns you on? Not being able to suppress the need to glance at his still shining and ripped cock again, you swallow hard. Where is your sense of self-preservation? Apparently left outside of this apartment, along with your usual foresight and dignity.

Cables wrap around your thighs and with a yelp you feel yourself getting lifted, legs parted by the wires. You almost topple over but are caught by his hands on your arms and faced with a smirk when you press your back into the wall, stabilizing yourself with a reddened face.

“Those didn’t come with the uniform,” He has the audacity to wink at you, nudging to the black lace panties you wear - excuse a girl for not wearing granny panties in the workplace - and you want to retort something snarky to him, when he looks at you that way. 

Within a moment, you realize two things.

Firstly, with the way he was roaming your body, his eyes lingering not only on your face, but your tits and the flimsy underwear concealing your very obvious wet arousal - you were fucked one way or the other. Which should’ve terrified you. Emphasis on ‘should’.

Because the other thing was, that even though he had bound you, even though you were at the mercy of this powerful sinner who tricked and trapped you here, rendering your power useless with whatever-the-fuck… he didn’t seem malicious, but rather… curious? Fascinated? Playful? You can’t really pinpoint it, but something tells you that - if you play your cards right - you might get more out of this make-pretend job than a jetstream-bathtub and hopefully all your limbs intact. And most importantly - you have nothing to lose.

“They're from my personal collection - lucky coincidence that they match the overall vibe of your staff's... uniform." It takes a lot to steady your voice as you talk, with the way his clawed hands run along the insides of your legs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

He cocks his brow, as if he's pleasantly surprised, and licks his lips before he answers, his voice sultry and dripping of sexual tension.

"Mh... Luck favors the prepared, I always say. Oh, and speaking of slippery and prepared, sweetheart..."

You gasp as you feel the soft fabric being pushed aside and long fingers running lightly through your drenched folds. Fuck, you can already tell just how skilled those fingers must be. How great they'd feel deep inside you. Involuntarily, you buck your hips to guide them to where you wanted them most - onto your clit and burrowed to his knuckles - the desperation just dripping from you as he chuckles and lets his thumb glide over the throbbing pearl teasingly teasingly as he pushes one of his digits in. Your head rolls against the wall behind you with a needy moan escaping your lips and you have to bite them to stay focussed for what you were about to do.

"What a sight. You have no idea how long I've waited for this moment, doll, seeing you all desperate and fucking..."

The rest of his sentence died in his throat, replaced by a low, long and stuttering moan. Half shocked, half aroused, he looked down to his throbbing cock, then his head snapped up to you, grinning down on him. You moved your hips again, grinding down on his unmoving fingers, frozen in place at his confusion, confirming your suspicion that he didn't know about your other power. Not as strong as your intangibility, sure, but strong enough for him to feel - and see - the ghostly hand you envisioned around his dick, continuing what he started, pumping him in leisurely, slow strokes. 

"Didn't know about that move, doll." His hand comes alive again, and even though his voice glitches a bit he adds another one, much more tenderly and almost softly, properly prepping you. And judging by the circumference of the cock you feel through your spectral hand, it was more than precaution, but nothing less than a mercy. Mercy you were ready to beg for, given his thumb would continue the delicious circles it drew, just the right pressure, just the right pace to push you near the edge without tipping you over it.

"You're just a whole mystery, huh?"

Now fairly certain your head wouldn't roll at the end of this encounter, you let your last reservations slide. It has been too long since you were in the hands of a skilled lover, one that didn't disappoint, that didn't come too soon or drilled amateurishly into you in search for the g-spot they never found. This one knew what he was doing, finally, and by satan you wouldn't waste this opportunity. Make it a night to remember, and who knows? If you fuck his brains out, maybe he'd be knocked out long enough after for you to make a quick and easy exit. You imagined the spectre hand to twist, its thumb mapping the soft ridges around the crown. That seems to do the trick for Vox, and the look he shoots you deeply satisfies. "Fuck me, that's good."

Playing into this sentiment, you didn’t stifle the moans his damn fingers stroke out of you, the way they glide in and out, pressure on all the right marks without fail is too good to hold back. Your skin felt on fire, even without him touching anything but your pussy, and you felt no energy left to care that your clothes - if you would call them that - seemed to fall apart on your body, skirt pushed up to your waist, top loose around your shoulders and almost down enough to let your boobs fall out. You must look a mess, but then again the overlord didn’t seem to mind - quite the contrary. He looked outright hungry, eyes glitching occasionally with a particular squeeze of your hand or a poignant lustful moan from your lips.

“Do you have to concentrate to do that?”

“A little.”

His fingers hitting that one sweet spot inside you, cutting any other, more elaborate explanation short. Fucking hell, that you had to get tricked and trapped by an overlord to find a man that doesn’t think ‘foreplay’ is the interview before a soccer game was a fucking travesty. Grateful for that fact you withdraw from your own pleasure and decided to reward him, regaining your concentration enough to imagine a second hand to pay attention to the firm, very plump balls of his, rolling them in its palm and giving them a gentle, tentative squeeze.

“Cool party trick though, isn’t it?”

As if you challenged him, there’s a subtle change in his demeanor - his eyes more inquisitive, his fingers more eager and fervent, and a third one joined the others, stretching you oh-so-deliciously. For a moment you think you’d lose control, the ghost hands flickering before you got a grip on them again, determined to not tip the scales so soon. But you had to admit - it was tempting, to give into this implied command: Submit, let me take care of you, let me fuck you dumb.  

Little did he know, you were all about equality - or nothing at all. And if he was allowed to plow you with three fingers, surely he couldn’t protest against a third hand.

You weren’t sure how you’d manage it… the power was new, still waiting to be mastered, but you willed a third hand into reality, joining the one on his balls, softly working their way down and massaging his perineum. It strained you to no end, operating the conjured hands while Vox was adamant to make you cum on his fingers alone, but with how the cables shook and loosened around you, you were fairly certain it was enough to show him you meant business, your message clear: If anything, baby, we will fuck each other dumb. 

You watch with almost painful arousal how his screen flashes from the three-way-stimulation, his teeth slightly baring from the sensation but without losing his cocky smirk, as if to show his resilience.

"You'd be the life of any party I know, sugar, if you can pull shit like this out your sleeve."

With a wince from you, he pulled his fingers out, leaving you gaping, empty and fucking whining at the loss, eyes sharp and with a dangerous glint in them. "But you're not the only one with a few secret talents."

He kneels down then, opens his mouth, and you can't believe your eyes as a thick, long, very analog blue tongue unfolds and licks his lips hungrily and almost impatiently. A hand around each thigh spreading you almost impossibly wide, the hot breath feels chilling against your slick opening, and a brush of the tip of his tongue on your swollen clit makes your toes curl and your muscles tense with expectation. Your gaze, locked with his, breaks only when your head throws back and you moan out his name as he truly begins to eat you out. 

No teasing or games, no building up the tension - it's unmerciful, frenetic, his tongue alternately flickering on your clit with its pointed tip and pushing deep into your core with an almost unbearable thickness until there was no space left to be filled, tasting every little centimeter inside. Instinctively, your real hands twitch in their restraints, wanting to reach out, grab his head, the frame of his screen, fucking anything really just to have something of him to hold onto and push. Your hips can't hold still, but he made sure not to lose an inch as his hands gripped your ass down and into him as if he heard your thoughts, drawing you deeper into his maw as he devours you. Your spirit hands fade in and out, your mind unable to keep them steadily corporeal - he was too good, his tongue was too good, not once did his rhythm falter nor the damn thing slow down, giving you no chance to collect yourself.

Finally - oh god finally - his cables loosened enough for you to dart your hands towards him, finding a saving anchor on his arms. You literally felt like you were drowning - wet and out of breath, senses fogged by that wonderfully violent tongue swiping and licking and prodding and fucking pulsing. When he hummed into your cunt, all dams broke, and you could only stutter “fuck, cumming - oh my God-” before you snapped and you fell into the depths of your orgasm.

Whatever prick, mouth or fingers you had on and in you before - this erased them all. Never before felt your head so light, your cunt so heavy and hell so divine.

His relentless licks make you mewl with every stroke as he rides you through your high, but he just doesn’t stop. Greedy, rawing your abused cunt to a point where moans turn into almost pained whimpers and your body twitches and squirms, begging for him to relent.

Mercifully he understands, and when he stands up, you only passingly realize with a pang of bad conscience that your spectre limbs have dissipated somewhere along the line, leaving him high and dry - only metaphorically, because his cock was soaked in leaking cum.

He hooks your legs over his arm, his other snaking around your waist to lift you from the wall, and you made no motion to resist it, being that the prospect of his soft sheets on his bed were much more preferable than color-coated concrete on your back. The short walk over feels like the eye of the storm - a short illusion of a safe space, and you use it to assess the damage.

For one - the ‘clothes’ you wore were useless now, they did nothing clothes were supposed to do - The sleeves were half-ripped from the bralette, hanging by a thread, and the top itself so far down your tits were fully out, nipples dark and flushed, while the skirt was nothing more than a drape at this point, hiding the mess on your thighs and reddened, puffed lips.

Then you look up through your lashes, up to the best lay you ever had, down below as well as up above. You should plan your escape, should use the time you had now to calculate what to do to get the fuck out while you could - Instead your horny little fucked-up brain was busy imagining how you could draw this out, make him so pussydrunk he’d send another decoy job weekly, just so you could return to that magic tongue again and again.

You were right. The sheets felt soft and obscenely expensive. You spread your fingers, the only real motion you were still able to make for now, taking his roaming gaze and the appreciative expression on his screen as a badge of honor. Your senses tingled, and you blinked one, two times, listening into your powers. The walls of his apartment were prepped by him to prevent you from leaving - electricity most likely, something intangible itself - but the ceiling and floors weren’t.

“Got another round in you, baby?”

You look up to him as he wraps your legs around his waist,lining himself up to you, tip ready and loaded. But he doesn’t push in. He waits, and you could cry as he does so.

Fucking hell, the ruthless media overlord half of hell fears to the point they piss themselves is waiting for your consent.

It’s this unexpected, contradictory duality that draws your lips into a smile. Trapping you in his territory, able to kill you with his goddamn pinkie, and yet the only thing he does is make you cum on his mouth and wait for a ‘yes’ to fuck you mindless - how could you not fall for that? Even more, how could you not test your luck with that?

With regained strength you reach for his dick, fingers wrapping firmly around his girthy base. His body follows your gentle guidance, and he lets himself glide into your ready heat with a groan that sends a shiver down your spine - such an earnest sound it makes you want to return the favor tenfold. And you just knew the way you could.

“You don’t need to worry about my stamina,” Voice like honey, you refocus your mind, visualizing the wicked idea that had entered your mind.

A soft hand. Long, flexible fingers, slick and smooth and ready. It formed as you thought it, stroking the cleft of his ass, halting at the tight ring of muscle it found, testing his reaction with a teasing, light press against his opening.

The reaction was priceless. Face glitching, hips jerking violently forward into you as its fingers pass his entrance and slide into him, coming to a halt at that one, very sensitive spot. His breath is ragged and eyes fucking wild, but the way he bends down, gripping your hands to entangle them with yours and pressing as much midnight-blue skin against yours tells you that he doesn’t exactly hate it.

“Worry about your own,” you whisper against the skin of his chest, grinning at the way he shudders at the sultry tone of your voice and the challenging eyes of yours, hilted in your pussy still, taking the ghostly fingers like a good boy.

“Whatever you did to your apartment, you only did it to the walls - the floor is fair game - ah fuck-”

He found some of his senses back, his thrust surprising your nerves with a sudden jolt of electricity - added by him or imagined by you, you can’t tell. He fills you so perfectly, as if molded just for you, big and hard and absolutely sublime, and when he brings his knees up more and bends you at the waist he manages to push in even deeper, pounding almost at your cervix with increasingly feverish, tough thrusts. Again, he wanted to break your concentration, but this time, you were prepared. You let your body do what you trained it to do - it goes hazy, misty, almost translucent in a blue-ish hue, revealing the vision of his buried prick deep inside you, teal glow in navy mist, before you solidify again and find the strength to grin up at him.

“If you cum before I do, I’m out of here.”

There was a wicked glint on that screen of his, and he upped the pace of his snapping hips, pressing you deeper into the mattress.

"Guess you'll have to move in then, baby." His voice sounds almost distorted, his body starts to spark with fizzing bolts of electric energy, and when he grips the headboard with one hand to gain more momentum to fuck even faster and stronger into you, you almost want to take him up on that quip, convinced his apartment was equipped with more than just a boring jetstream hot tub.

Your spirit fingers stroke in a come-hither motion over his prostate, over and over, varying in pressure, intensity and speed, and each swipe makes him moan a little louder, driving his dick a little deeper into you. It's becoming a race towards a finish line none of you wanted to get to in the first place, a fight of wills and bodies, pushing you to your limits judging by the way your oversensitive pussy clenches, begging for release once more. But by Satan himself you did not intend to lose without a good fight, your fingers raking over his lithe back and the sharp edges of his body, lingering, scraping, writing wordless praises into his skin in red streaks.

“In fact, sweetheart,” he says as he pounds you and your pants become out even louder, “I’ll make you cum so hard you don’t want to leave - you’ll scream my name so loud they’ll hear you down in Wrath, know exactly where you’ll be living from now on.”

Vox, too, is close, you can see it, hear it, most importantly feel it. One hand remaining on the headboard, the other scoops you up by your neck, pulling you onto his face in a kiss so breathtaking and fierce you almost pass out. It's sloppy and lustful, it's lips against lips and tongue on tongue, and your ability to use either becomes redundant when you and him both simultaneously cry out, orgasms overlap and intertwine, you cunt clenching tightly around his pulsating length, sending spurt after spurt of hot cum into you as your own release drips onto the soaked sheets below. Your eyes roll back, the fingers buried inside his tightened ass vanish and your muscles relax. With his hand still on your neck, claws digging into your skin, he slowly brings you back onto the mattress to let you fall together with him.

Silence settles for a second. A brief moment of stillness and clarity, sweat cooling your skin, hearts slowing down and breathing returning to normalcy. You feel the aftermath of his touches everywhere. His marks litter you from top to bottom: Your wrists and thighs are covered in red streaks from the tightness of his cable bondage. Your whole skin tingles from the waves of his inherent electric current. But most telling of all was the pooling mess inside of you, already leaking.

You let yourself feel the weight of his body on yours - it's an intoxicating feeling, the heat radiating off his dark blue skin, and the subtle charge beneath, a hidden hum underneath your fingertips, telling of the immense power of an Overlord you just let fuck you senseless. Now would be the time to run - his screen was completely blue, turned off while he recovered his breath - if you wanted, you could disappear, and he wouldn't be able to stop you or track you down. But when you searched the depths of your mind and body for regret and the sense of danger it brought - there was none. Only satiated warmth, an afterglow you could bathe in, like a warm, healing balm, easing your aching bones and bruised skin.

And just in that moment of resolve, Vox’s screen returned to show his face, and he lifted his head slightly to look at you with eyes as bright and vivid as the neon signs lighting up the streets of the entertainment district outside his windows.

One Month Later

“Thanks babes, I was about to lose my shit when Velma and Kelly fucking quit on me. Bunch of pussies, those two, seriously.”

You shoot Velvette a smile over your shoulder, adjusting the last couple of details on six of her girls, ghostly blue hands hovering around them - clipping a collar here, buckling a shoe there. You pity the two foolish girls - the runway show had Velvette occupied tonight, but tomorrow - well, you were sure Vel was about to annihilate their sorry stylist asses for blowing her off last minute… and not just with a snarky post on Sinstagram.

“No problem, Vel, that’s what I’m here for.”

The small woman laughs sarcastically, but not in the usual mean way, but a playful one, a friendly one. That was one of the things you could pride yourself on - That Velvette, social media queen and judge of what’s hot and not, fell in love with you almost as fast and hard as Vox did.

“Darling, we both know that no one really knows what exactly Vox hired you for. What was the job description he pulled out of his flat ass again?” she raises a cocky brow, sipping obnoxiously on her iced coffee to go in her hands, holding out another, identical one for you. “Ah, yes, ‘ASS’.”

You take the drink from her, smiling mischievously back at her. When Vox came up with that title, he didn’t even notice the ambiguity of its abbreviation, and you let him stew over it for almost a day before you told him, silently convinced your fingers left a memorable impression. “It’s ‘Administrative Services Specialist', and what can I say? My resumee was very convincing.”

Velvette snorts into her vanilla foam. “Funny name for your cunt love, but you do you. Now shoo. Didn’t you and flatface have a date tonight?”

You wave her a quick goodbye, sipping up the cold drink in one gulp and throwing it into the trash as you bypass it, hurrying down the hall and plucking the private keycard from your back pocket. You scan it at the elevators, noticing the other employees backing away from you, and you couldn’t hide the grin that flashed your face. No one dared to ride in that elevator with you, a very badly kept secret that it sent you one way straight to Vox’s apartment, and every one of them would rather chew glass than be caught by whatever awaited the opening elevator doors.

And Vel was right - you had a date with Vox, a special one at that.

Barely three weeks ago you actually did move in - call it a whim of insanity, call it fate - and since that, your days were filled with a job in the Vee Tower that you actually liked (no one shed a tear at the ‘Dusty Pages’ closure notice) and the nights were spent naked, sweaty and blissfully explicit under, on top and any other possible way with Vox in his bed. You learned something new about yourself - with the right partner, you were almost insatiable. Another thing you learned was that Vox seemed to feel just the same. Lucky coincidences indeed.

But date night was something special. Giving up the alibi bookshop was easy enough - but you were adamant that you still wanted to do your other jobs.

Not because of the money - Vox provided generously, and wouldn’t take a cent from you (although you managed to convince him to let you buy him at least snacks and small gifts, an exception you abused to the absolute limit). No, you actually liked to sneak through the night, liked the thrill of moving in the shadows and shifting through secured buildings. Liked the excited arousal you felt after a completed heist.

To preserve your secret, you and Vox decided that you wouldn’t reveal your main power to the others at Vee Tower, the only other people who knew were Velvette and Valentino.

The latter wasn’t your biggest fan, and who could blame him, giving that you were living with  and fucking his ex-lover, but he had his own flings and things to take care of, and after a few occasions where you stepped in to help him out at shoots and with his scripts, he at least became cordial towards you.

But date night was where you went out to do a job, secured through Vox for one of his many business partners, and the pool of people the TV demon had on hands that needed or wanted something of value was a bottomless pit from which you could choose the ones you liked the best. And your digital lover not only organized your gigs - he became your eyes and ears, your literal partner in crime.

The doors open, and Vox stands waiting, leaning, in the doorway, arms crossed and a grin on his face.

“You’re late, doll.”

“I know I know, but Vel needed some helping hands - you know I can’t leave her hanging.”

“Oh, I saw.”, he chuckles, his screen switching from his face to images of you from the security cameras on Velvettes floor, close ups of your face, your tits and ass sprinkled in between. ”You know I can never see enough of you, gotta keep those cameras on.”

You scoffed, but did so with a smile before you kissed him and ran off into the closet, undressing quickly while he followed you, letting himself fall down on his bed and watching you intensely as you peeled your clothes from your body and slipped into your signature skintight suit. By the time you were changed his cock was hard, straining his pants which you acknowledged with an appreciative smile.

You both exchange longing looks, but time is ticking. You put the newest addition to your equipment in your ear - a tiny, wireless headset, directly connected to Vox, bend over the bed, your tongue running over the warm line of his lower lip and sigh as he groans with want.

“I know it’s usually payment upfront, baby, but we’re already behind schedule.”

You can’t seem to tear yourself from him with those big hands on your ass squeezing tightly and that goddamn tongue in your mouth, your mind half decided to tell your client to fuck off and fuck the demon in front of you senseless. But he gently pulls away, his eyes burning not only with need, but also with pride. A look you loved to see on him.

“And besides, you are so much more voracious after a job well done.”

He slaps your ass as you pass him, and you shift through the wall, now almost as eager to steal that stupid looking red duck from some dingy, rundown hotel as you were to return to his waiting cock to cash in your salary.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Be my escape

Written for the @steddiemicrofic challenge, January 2024 edition

Prompt: hole, 404 words

Rated: M

Tags: Fantasy AU, Magic AU, Guard!Steve, Thief!Eddie, Imprisonment, Claustrophobia, Eddie Munson whump, Referenced sex

Notes: Set in the same universe as this one.

People call it the Hole.

That's not its actual name, of course. Steve thinks it fits, though.

He still remembers his last visit. He was just a boy, but his father - newly appointed Captain of the Royal Guard - insisted he come.

The journey was long and tedious, giant waves battering at their boat. When they reached the steel platform far off the coast, he was freezing and nauseous. And then came the descent.

He recalls the warden's boasts as the cage slid into the depths. The magic crystals keeping the structure deep under the ocean from caving in on itself. The intricate enchantments sealing away the inmates’ magic.

What he recalls even better is the moisture and the despair hanging in the stale air. The mounting pressure inside his skull the further down they went.

Today, he's Captain of the Guard himself, but the dread crawling up his spine as he glides downwards is still the same.

The name fits perfectly. This place is a hole. A hole under the sea where families like the Harringtons and the Carvers throw their enemies to rot.

Enemies like Eddie Munson.

As he stalks down the corridors, he wonders what he's doing. He should be glad Eddie got caught. The man is a criminal. A thief. The insufferable bane of his existence.

Didn't find him so insufferable the other night, a voice at the back of his mind gloats. Nor the way his body fit against yours, or the way his mouth felt on your-

He tells it to shut up. He doesn’t have time for this.

The inside of the cell is dark. A figure stirs upright on the metal cot against the wall.

“Finally,” croaks a voice. “Are you the manager of this fine establishment? I have a complaint. The room service sucks and I think there's rats in-"

“Oh, for fuck's sake,” Steve sets down his lantern and drops to his knees. “Shut up, will you?”

Silence.

Then …

“Stevie?”

A whisper, a plea.

“Told you not to call me that,” he huffs, already unlocking the shackles around too-skinny wrists. The second they fall away, there's hands in his hair, tracing the shape of his face.

“Shit,” Eddie breathes. “Why- Are you a dream?”

Steve snorts, pulls them both to their feet.

“Sure hope not. Imagine that'd make it difficult to bust you outta here. C'mon, we have no time to lose.”

⚔️✨️⚔️✨️⚔️✨️⚔️✨️⚔️✨️⚔️✨️⚔️✨️⚔️✨️⚔️✨️

Part 3

So I texted @house-of-the-moving-image if I should write more Phantom Thief for this prompt, and they were like "funny you should ask, I just had this idea about a magic high-security prison called The Hole". 🤣

We've got the next bit all figured out already, but this was all I could fit into 404 words.

[blueicequeen19]

Who’s It Going to Be?

Warnings: non-con, forced oral, dry humping, cum play

I gasp as Rafe’s fingers tighten around the column of my throat. I couldn’t scream or fight him. He was so much taller and stronger than me with a murderous look in his eyes as he searched my face for answers that I couldn’t give him.

“Don’t lie to me.” Rafe hisses, slamming my back against the wall of apartment and making the pictures on the wall rattle.

“I want to know where your sister is and you’re going to fucking tell me.” Rafe snarls, loosening his bruising grip long enough for me to suck in a painful breath. I open my mouth but he cuts me off, squeezing my windpipe again.

“She owes me a lot of money. A lot. So I’m not dumb enough to think she’s actually still on the island so where did she go to?” Rafe snaps, pressing his body so hard against mine that I could feel every hard outline of him. Especially how hard his cock was straining in his shorts.

“I’m—not—telling—you—shit.” I bite out, my eyes filling with tears from the pain of his hold and lack of air. Rafe’s gaze darkens further as he glares back at me before letting his blue eyes trail down my body like I was a fucking bag of coke. That was the problem. Rafe was my sisters dealer and she stole from him.

“I guess I could offer you up to the cartel as payment instead. Your sister mentioned you being a stuck up little virgin. People pay big money for that.” It felt like someone had dumped a bucket of cold water on me. Fear sunk into my bones and I started to tremble, the tears starting to flow.

“Or I could keep you for myself. Make you earn back every fucking dollar she took from me.” Rafe licks his lips, reaching down to palm one of my breasts over my sleep shirt. I whimper, trying to swallow against the palm of his hand.

“What will it be? You? Or your sister?” Rafe snaps, finally moving his hungry graze back to my face. My bottom lip quivers as Rafe leans down and nips it with his teeth, gently sucking the flesh into his mouth before releasing it. I try to turn away but i can’t. I couldn’t call the cops without them involving my sister. It would only make things worse. I was screwed.

“I’m curious how those lips would look around my cock.” Rafe rasps, reaching down to adjust himself before lowering his zipper.

“I bet you’ve never sucked dick before. Let me show you.” Rafe pushes me to my knees and I sniffle, coming face to face with his massive erection.

“Rafe, I-I can’t.” I cry, leaning away as his tip weeps precum.

“Sure you can. Surely a little thief can suck a dick.” Rafe fists my hair with one hand and slaps his cock against my lips with the other. I squeeze my lips shut and he paints them with his precum with a satisfied smirk on his face.

“Come on. Open up. I want to hear you choke.” Rafe rasps, slapping his cock against my lips again. He yanks hard on my hair, making me cry out so he can quickly shove himself down my throat. I immediately struggle and gag, trying to push away but he doesn’t let me; pinning me between him and the wall.

“Ah ah, watch those teeth. Relax your throat. You bite me and I’ll pop that ripe little cherry.” I slump in defeat, relaxing my throat and gagging as he starts to use my throat for his own pleasure.

“Oh fuck. That’s good. You’re doing so good. You might even be better at this then your sister.” Rafe groans, making me glare up at him. I can’t stop gagging but every time I think I’ll lose it, he pulls out just enough for the reflex to go away.

My eyes widen as his cock starts to throb and swell in my mouth. I’ve never given a blowjob let alone swallow someone’s cum. Just as I’m starting to panic, Rafe yanks free and yanks me to my feet, spinning me around and shoving my front against the wall.

“Rafe! Wait! Wait!” I cry as he yanks my sleep shirt over my shoulders and tears my panties down my legs. My legs nearly buckle as he presses against me, fitting his length perfectly between my cheeks and thrusting just as hard as he had in my throat.

“Fuck, it would take nothing for me to slip just a little lower and claim one of these little holes.” Rafe moans, plastering himself to my back as he dry humps me. Desire like I’d never felt before flooded my veins creating a painful throb between my legs.

“Would you like that? You wanna be my personal little fuck toy? You’re pretty when you cry.” Rafe nuzzles my neck, kissing and biting as he thrusts harder with pleasure filled grunts.

“No.” I hiss, just as his body slams harder against mine until he stills, his warmth shooting up my back and running back down the crack of my ass with a heavy sigh.

“You’re awfully wet for someone saying no.” Rafe growls, suddenly sliding two fingers through my slit. I jerk against him, zaps of pleasure shooting through me as he circles my clit. It takes me a moment to realize what he’s doing.

“Stop.” I bite out, trying to move out of his grasp.

“I’m just marking my territory. I want you to be covered and full of my cum one way or another.” Rafe growls, suddenly thrusting a cum coated finger into me. I gasp, trying to pull my hips away from him but he doesn’t loosen his hold on me. Next his finger finds its way into my ass and I cry out, the sensation foreign and unexpected.

“Stop it. I hate you.” I snarl, feeling him smile against my neck before biting me hard. A sob escapes as he sucks the tender flesh, marking me further.

“From here on out, I own you. You don’t talk to anyone else or go anywhere without my permission. I’ll fucking know and you won’t like what happens.” Rafe presses against my clit again and I jerk, hating the way my body is reacting to him. Rafe fists my hair, yanking back on the strands and capturing my lips in a bruising kiss, sealing my fate.

[richea]

Inomata’s Design Notes & Memories - Destiny Cast

Some notes:

I’ve linked images of each thing she references below.

Unlike the first batch of Eternia characters I previously posted, these were in Japanese. And unlike the Destiny 2 ones I translated, she talks about her experiences with the characters in the game and not just her design processes!

The book in question is this one.

What I think about most when designing characters is their colors and the components to their look. The characters are displayed as such small sprites, so in order to be able to differentiate them from each other, I give each of them a specific color palette and unique accessories to each of their outfits.

Stahn’s thing was his scarf. I also made sure his shoulder pads, gloves, and boots looked huge.

Rutee is supposed to be a thief, so I made her look a bit like a ninja. I didn’t want her to look too girly, so I gave her shorts and exposed her navel. For colors I went with red and black, since that’s a distinctive palette. Whenever I’d do boss battles, she’d always be joyfully picking 2 gald off the ground instead of healing my very low HP characters (laughs). I thought about removing her from my party to prevent this, but then I’d feel bad, and it just made me think “this is all part of her plot” (laughs).

Philia is a priestess through and through. I went for white and green to give her an earthly feel (laughs). Her glasses and braids were a strong request from Namco. I came up with designs for her, but they didn’t have the glasses or braids, so they were repurposed for the priests in Straylize Temple. It was the basis for Philia’s design as well as Elraine’s in the sequel. Philia has her eye on Stahn, but he eats too much and he oversleeps. I feel like they’d work out better if Philia was more the assertive type herself (laughs).

Woodrow is an archetypical handsome man, so I didn’t have much to stress about when designing him. He’s a king, so I wished he had a stronger atmosphere behind him. I almost never used him when playing the game though (laughs). When you break into Dycroft, I thought, “it’d be really cool in a narrative sense to use him here, but he’s just so weak”. But you get special dialogue if you take him along, so I went “tsk” and brought him anyway. “Just stick to the backlines and don’t die” (laughs).

Leon’s really easy to draw, so again I didn’t have much to stress about when drawing him. He has a princely vibe to him, so I gave him white tights, but everyone was taken back by it! I thought, “is it that weird?” and ended up making them less tight fitting (laughs). He acts a bit snobbish, gets seasick easily and refuses to eat vegetables, so he really crosses off a lot on the “young master” list. He’s also really fun to use in battle (laughs). He has a really low defense stat but he hits fast, so it’s crucial that you string your combos together. When paired with Stahn, if you can isolate your bosses in the far side of the screen, they go down quite fast. Then I see the popup that Rutee’s picking gald off the floor again and I just use healing items on him (laughs).

I wanted to make Chelsea cute and small, so I based her image off of little birds. I gave her a palette of pink, green and blue, and made her hair look like a cockatoo or parrot. Her bloomers look like a paper lantern and I find them quite cute (laughs). Her life story makes me want to cry though. She’s fine and all in the first game, but in the sequel, she’s still wearing those bloomers from when she was a kid, living all alone on a snowy mountain. And if you go through her drawers, you can take something that Woodrow gave to her. I felt so bad, I thought “even though it’s so out of the way, I’ll go buy all the items you need!” (laughs). Then she makes all of these bows for you, but by then, I’d already enhanced my weapons a lot… But I felt so bad that I never Refined them and thought, “I’ll keep these on me forever” (laughs).

Johnny’s original idea was “troubadour,” but as the story progressed and I gave him his hat and all sorts of plumes, he came out a bit comical (laughs). He’s a really fun character to have in your party though, and I fell in love with him right away. I love that his tone-deafness does physical damage to the enemies (laughs).

With the Swordians, they have the will of humans and I wanted to incorporate that into their designs, but it didn’t seem to fit so I went for something more inorganic. Berselius alone has a creepy aura to him, and when Destiny 2 came around I thought “But his owner is such a nice person! Is it really okay for him to have such a creepy design?” but then I thought well, maybe Harold just likes things that way (laughs).

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Can I request a One Piece Whitebeard Pirates x Giyuu Tomioka!Reader? Like, maybe the Reader is also a Divison Commander? And like Giyuu very much, has the basically the same personality as him. And the Time Like could be when Ace first Joins, basically when the Whitebeard Pirates defeat Ace and his Crew and Kidnaps them basically and brings them on the Moby Dick?

-You fit in nicely with the other oddballs in Whitebeard’s crew, you thought they were all weirdos, but they all thought the same of you.

-You were quiet, compared to many of them, but you were very strong, your skills with your sword and command over water made you a very dangerous opponent on a pirate ship.

-You thought that you were normal, not believing the words of encouragement from the other members of your crew who all praised your skills.

-It was strange, it was like you didn’t believe in yourself, because you felt like a thief.

-You opened up to them, after watching Ace get his ass beat again, as you were commenting on his drive and determination, as it reminded you of your childhood friend.

-They learned that both he and your sister were brutally murdered by a cruel person with a demonic like Devil Fruit, and Sabito had been training to be taken as an apprentice of a powerful swordsman, your master.

-You confided in your crew that Sabito was so much better than you were, he would have been more worthy of being trained, and how you had wished that it was you that died so he could have lived on; because when he died, your master took you as his apprentice instead and trained you.

-You felt like a fraud, like you were living a lie, as becoming the warrior you are now was not yours, it was Sabito’s. And with your imposter syndrome, you believed they all didn’t like you as a person, they only cared about your skills, which did cause several fights and a lot of yelling as they all denied it, trying to make you see that they were being honest with you.

-Whitebeard could see your viewpoints, as you felt guilty that you were the only one that survived, and you coped by blaming yourself, putting yourself down.

-Ace was the one that actually helped you the most, by punching you on the top of your head, “You IDIOT!!” the others were all scared, but when Whitebeard didn’t react from Ace attacking you, they didn’t either as Ace shouted at you.

-You took his anger, his rage, but you were shocked by his words, “They wouldn’t want you moping around and feeling bad about yourself! They would want you to live!!” his words made you think that he had lost someone too, something you learned much later, after the two of you became close friends, as he told you about Sabo.

-Whitebeard was appreciative of Ace getting you out of your funk, and with it, your power only grew, as they had seen in several battles, that you were so much more powerful, and you looked like you were having fun.

-Whitebeard ruffled your hair roughly, doting on you, telling you that it was a good thing that Ace knocked some sense into you, and you had to agree with them, even though it hurt.

[bunji-enthusiast]

Some Ban x Reader?

Namely, chubby reader with some body worship from Ban. He fucking loves your folds, your plumpness, that sweet little ass, and those thighs. You could sit on his face with it right between his thighs and he would die a happy man if he was actually able to die.

All those little things are reminders that you look and act the part of being human, while he feels he’s just a sham. He called himself Ban the Undead for a reason.

One day, he decides to buy you a pretty set of lingerie. To make you feel as pretty as he thinks you are.

You can always rely on this man for such an occasion 👌

Greedy Bastard — Ban The Undead

• Sypnosis || He decides to take it upon himself to indulge in much needed body-worship, he can’t help it!

• content || sexual themes, ban being ban, rushed ending (apologies, I couldn't think of anything better my dear).

The crooning chirps of the morning rose to an alarm that he didn’t want much for, butchering his night of sleep he had lovingly spent against your plush body. Even squeezing your adorable little ass, Ban without a doubt is sincerely reminded of what a wonderful little partner he has.

To be frank, he is quite jealous of your very, sexy curves. Like time could pass without warning if he indulged in them for far too long.

If his cause of death was namely because of you, you’d make Ban the happiest he’s ever been in his life.

Thigh-squeezing or none.

“Babe,” Ban drawled, his cheeks reddening as he burrowed his face in the folds of your stomach. “You look so fuckin’ pretty, Y’know?”

He hooked his arms beneath the arch of your back, eliciting a yelp from you at the sensation. “Ban…” You creaked your neck to peer at the foxy creature, he was still very much a man. It was a times those fangs of his and those darling red eyes had reminded you far too much of a fox. It was a fitting thought he is after all the Fox Sin of Greed.

The man hums, sharp eyes peering at you from the folds of your skin. For a moment, he blinks, as if he was waiting for you to say something.

“You are a perverted man.” You say blankly, dumbly trying to suppress the way he made you feel right now.

Ban laughs, as if was his usual singsong tone, he doesn’t answer you — but his hands did.

You yelped, gripping the bedsheets which had provided you with comfort thus far. Feeling large hands crawl between the plush of your thighs, parting your legs which revealed a very mischievous expression of the ill-mannered thief who appears to take great pleasure in your current position. “C’mon, lemme eat you out~” He smiles, the fang of his teeth poking out.

Your lips turned, trying to close up your legs again as you weren’t prepared for such a display of affection. If that is what you can call it, you weren’t sure, it felt like because of him your mind was being turned to mushed.

Ban’s hands now held a firmer grip, keeping your legs pryed open.

“We haven’t even—“ You cut yourself off, knowing that the man was serious. He was a bit of a greedy man, but you just never stopped being surprised at what lengths his greed goes to.

His face softens for a moment, one hand stilling over the fat flesh of your stomach. “Hey I can save that part for last, hmm?” Ban murmurs, leaving your thighs out of both his hands. You unseeingly flinched at the loss of the warmth, but it was quickly apparent that it was replaced by the fact he is now focused on trailing his way up to your face. Bit, by excruciating bit.

Ban sure seemed to take his sweet ass time every single time he pulls this, you squirmed as you sat up, trying to gain elevation over him. He stills at your movements, a disapproving look on his face. Your face heats up at the sudden silence, bucking your hips to gain some friction and warmth. His hands stills on your hips as he leans closer to your face, his lips are against yours already, greedy yet inviting.

His hand cants your jaw, tipping it as he gains entrance into your mouth. Ban lets out a low moan as your hand jolts against his arms, digging into his skin as you found purchase. You could almost feel a rumble omit from his throat, sultry and satisfied at how well this was going as of right now. His other hand keeps steady on the mattress below you, taking his sweet time in prolonging the kiss.

You weren't sure how long you could hold it for, pushing back against him as you breathed for oxygen to enter your lungs once again. "What I said about being perverted," You sat up, your hands pushing against his bare chest, "You are far more greedy."

Ban smiles at your statement, happy to see you were more awake and moving. "I am a thief y'know?" He mentions, you shake your head, sighing at being reminded of the fact. Ban simply will never stop reminding you of this very fact, he often times more then not will steal things he finds bothersome to actually pay for - which has resulted in you scolding him (if you figured out he stole something) multiple times.

The shifting in the bed had pulled you out of your stupor, seeing Ban had finally gotten up. You heaved a heavy sigh of relief, 'I won't have to deal with his loving this morning'.

You finally found the strength to get up from the bed yourself, but only a few steps in you were stopped by a large hand holding you in your spot. "I wasn't done yet, come on." He chuckled, his face holding a very familiar expression. You huff, crossing your arms as you covered yourself.

"Ban, whatever you are planning. I swear to god-"

He interjects, "It's good, okay babe? Not bad."

Ban smiles, eyes closed and all, one hand pulling you back to the bed. You complied, letting out another annoyed huff as you sat back down at the edge of the bed. Your brow raised as you see his other hand behind his back, "What do you have there?" You ask, and he almost appeared to have stiffened.

"Something' to help you." Now you still, you hands coming to rest in alignment with your position. The way he had worded his sentence had you questioning what he had behind his back, Ban slowly pulled out the item in question.

Pretty red lingerie, from top to bottom it was fresh, new and good quality. Your face burns, bringing up your hands as you covered your eyes from the sight. "You know I won't be able to fit in that!" Hands not belonging to you immediately pries apart your cover, Ban just waves the set of lingerie infront of your face. "Just give it a try, alright?" He says, "You can take it off after, if ya don't like it."

Silence ensues.

After a few more minutes of thinking, you relented with an agreeable sigh. Snatching the set of pretty lingerie from him, "I hate you so much, you know I'm not gonna look good in this."

Ban sighs, taking your chin in his hand as his voice takes a low tone, "Now I know I just didn't hear my pretty girl say that about herself." You flinch, your own hand gripping onto his wrist as you blushed, dumbly blinking at the sudden change in the atmosphere. You certainly didn't expect this much praise from him, not this man, he was far more favored by the gods instead of you. Why would he get this pissed over a comment you made about yourself? You had no idea.

"Try again." He says with a firm squeeze on the skin of your cheeks.

“I want my girl to know how hot n’ pretty she is.”

[violaextract]

NOT ONLY CLASS SWAPPED SCYTHEBELTS, BUT ALL CLASS SWAPPED FATED??

you try to give a flower to your crush and your powers go haywire smh

hi so if you saw the og class swaps i did for the fated in like,, 2020 maybe,, uhhhhhhh no you didnt ( you can see the og ones behind them in the line up )

this time i chose sub classes for them!! and they are very silly, BELOW THE CUT IS MY THOUGHTS AND WHY I CHOSE THE SUBCLASSES I DID, IF YOU WANNA HEAR MY RANTING VVVV

sylnan is circle of shepherd, i felt that it suited him, especially with the idea that he could steal from people with the help of animals, also because he lived with the rats, so,, ykyk,, also the vines can be used to climb stuff because thats cool, i love the guardian spell too, basically you get downed and you can summon a spirit that will attack anything that gets near you, ( even if the spell doesnt attack teammates or non threats its a nice idea for braad to be the only one who can get near him when this happens, and possibly as the party grows together the others can also approach him ) also the vest design is meant to mimic a ribcage, i think i had an idea of why i did this but forgot,, it just looks cool. maybe something to do with his death or his emotions, whos to say

braad, arcane trickster, SURPRISING NO ONE, hes silly thief guy who maybe became a rouge to help their situation, but he was kinda just hiding it from his brother, until the pact thing happened and then after the pact is severed, hes a trickster instead of a bard. he needs to be able to do his silly illusions, also i like to think he just happens to doge stuff, like by sheer coincidence

velrisa, college of lore, i thought because she wouldnt be a cleric for weejas, she could be a sort of, storyteller if you will, spreading the word and fighting for her god with music, she still does stuff with undead and whatnot being raised by clerics, but she simply found another way to show that,( maybe she struggled with normal cleric magic also maybe she relates to mountain )

taxi, battle master fighter, it was this or champion, but i feel like it fit what with what we know about his parents, in this he was trained and whatnot, it was probs a gillion tidestrider thing where it was fucked and he throughout the fated travels learns to fight for himself and protect the people he cares about instead of listening to what people told him he should be fighting for. also maybe he could become some sort of champion because its taxi, i love him.

mountain, war domain, like with taxi i was inbetween war domain and death domain, i felt death domain because the death of his wife maybe threw him into that, but i felt that what with mountain being in a fighting ring and meeting his wife there, that war fit better, he is a crazy good fighter and healing also possibly learnt from Hilda and heightened after her death. hes still mountain though so alcholic cleric punch healing and shenanigans, dont think that just because hes a healer now hes devoid of everything that makes mountain, mountain. plus with taxi, maybe hes very involved with helping taxi find his fight, and with vel, she knows about cleric stuff despite not being one so ykyk

okay rant over, the read more thing didnt work so IM SORRY, i put too much thought into this BYEEE

[the-modern-typewriter]

hii I was wondering if you wanted to do a snippet about a thief stealing from assassin/vigilante and then getting cornered later when they think they’ve gotten away

thank you sm I’ve always loved your writing <3

"Did you know," the voice said, "that they used to chop the hands off thieves?"

The thief whirled with a yelp.

Their mark caught their wrists, snake-quick, in an unyielding grip and smiled.

The thief's heart jumped into their throat.

"Did someone tell you to steal from me, little thief." Their not-so-victim swaggered a looming step closer, towering over them. "Or was it all your own idea? Think carefully."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

They raised their brows. Their grip tightened.

The thief yanked at their hands, a gasp of pain on their lips.

Of course, they'd been caught before. Especially in the early days of their heisting career there had been moments when they'd ended up hurtling down the streets, zig-zagging, shouts rising behind them. But more and more...

Well, for one, they'd quickly stopped pickpocketing. Most of the people truly worth robbing weren't the sort casually strolling down the street with cash in the pockets. They lived in their own exclusive world, chaperoned from moment to moment in sleek cars. Being a proper thief, one that really made gold, was about fitting in. It was about persuading rich folk to hand over their money. It was a sleight of hand of confidence and hacking.

"I'd start with your little finger," their mark murmured, almost reverent. "Then start cutting the rest of those quick, clever digits."

The thief's mouth went sick-dry. Hangover, just-thrown-up, scorched.

"I'll give it back," the thief said.

"Better," their mark said, and brought the thief's hands up to their lips to press a kiss of thanks. "But not what I asked."

The thief thought they might pass out on the spot. Still. They squared their shoulders. They tried to look cool, and roguish, and like they could double-wield daggers. They couldn't.

"How did you find me? Who are you?"

"Not," the other sing-songed, "what I asked."

"My idea," the thief bit out. "Because you're a rich jerk."

Their mark didn't laugh, but the laugh tucked into the corners of their lips as they smiled.

"I'm Marauder."

The colour drained from the thief's face. Their hands went slack in the vigilante's hold. "No - but you -"

"You didn't know?" the vigilante asked. They clicked their tongue. "You should have deep-dived your research. Sloppy." Their gaze flicked over the thief. "Cute, but sloppy."

The thief gave a fervent shake of the head. In hindsight, it made a horrible amount of sense. A screwed up, non-parental Bruce Wayne sort of sense.

"See, when I steal from people," the vigilante said, "I steal from the bad guys. A Robin Hood act, if you like. But you...tut, tut."

"I said I'd give it back. I didn't know. I'm sorry."

"You're sorry you got caught."

"No shit." It came out slightly hysterical. The thief felt a little hysterical. "I thought you were another rich asshole."

"Oh," the vigilante purred, "I'm definitely a rich asshole. Just not the worst out there."

The thief eyed them, warily. They knew, intellectually, that was true. In practice, news stories of violence and wrath and cut-throat justice flashed through their head. The vigilante was merciless in the pursuit of what they thought was right.

They wanted to say that stealing probably wasn't the worst thing ever, and the vigilante probably had way bigger priorities, but it wouldn't quite come out. Their hands felt very fragile.

"Which is why," the vigilante said, "I'm here instead of the police. I think I can use you. Your skills. We could make this city better."

"I don't think I want to rob the kind of people you fight. But thanks."

"Tough."

The thief swallowed. "You really should just send me to jail. Thanks."

The vigilante smiled again. "Is that really want you want?"

"You don't need me."

"No, but I want you. You're good. With me on your side, you could be the best. Consider it community service."

"I'm giving you your stuff back."

"Too late." The vigilante finally let go of their hands. "You steal from me, and I'll steal you back. We're going to have so much fun together, little thief."

[pyrocephalus-rubinus]

I am just obsessed with the recurring themes of our lives as stories in the Junoverse.

Alessandra Strong reminding us that there are no Happy Endings in real life, only Happy Middles.

Juno being reminded that stories are a way humans have of trying to frame our lives in a way that makes sense, but real life is not that simple. In the reminder that you might want to become the villain in a story to make sense of it but maybe sometimes little kids who live in Oldtown die and no matter how much you blame yourself, it is just not that simple.

In the way Sarah Steel got her story stolen away from her. Andromeda's story, yes, but also her story. And how she couldn't deal with that.

How Juno tried to rebuild a story to survive, with him as a hero as much as he was embarrassed to admit it. And with the part of Sarah Steel pumping through his veins as the ultimate enemy. An epic of heroes and monsters. The way his life was not a simple story in which there was One Clue that would explain everything, One Answer from Ben that would make sense of it all.

The way Juno got robbed of his story by Ramses. Made all those sacrifices, those actions that felt heavy on his shoulders for a plotline that didn't exist. The plot twist was the unraveling of the story, leaving only pain and sadness behind. The way Juno was able to overcome that. To start a new story, to do with his life as he saw fit.

I also love the reminder that we do need stories like Mick's to keep us hopeful. To gather strength to face the big mean world. The acceptance of how useful and sacred the tool of "stories" is.

The way dreams - stories- like having a life of adventure among the stars with the one you love, or like having a home in a city that means death but also hope to you… that those are also necessary. But we can't live in a dream. And the dreams may pass, but it's okay that we dreamed them.

The way Juno could recognize the brutality of stealing Nureyev's story away from the thief. The cruelness of it. How he could sense it coming, looming from that door. How afraid he was for Nureyev.

The way Nureyev's only way of coping all these years has been telling himself a story over and over again. A story of martyrdom. A story of devotion… In order to keep Juno away and not succumb to the desperation to be next to someone he loves and feels like he doesn't deserve, he has been telling himself this story. This lie of how Juno would be better off away from him. How Juno would never understand the sacredness of his life's work.

All these stories, all these versions of what's going on… All these precious lives being used as little clogs of an infernal machine that does not care for stories. Only results and getting richer and richer…

Just ugh… this podcast…

[caw4brandon]

How to End a Story

Stories are often told through two styles. It's either a recollection of something that has already happened. Or, it's an ongoing event happening to the character's life.

The story can be told through just one main character or multiple characters but like all stories. They have to end. Let's discuss the ending of three shows that I recently watched. (I'll try not to get into the spoilers)

- They're Not just Frogs -

< Amphibia > by Matt Braly; follows three girls; Anne, Sasha and Marcy who stole a mysterious music box that transported them into another world of talking frogs, toads, newts and other horrifying monsters.

Our main character is Anne Boonchuy who found her temporary home with the Plantars; Hop Pop, Sprig and Polly. A small family of frogs who took Anne in and helped her better understand the world. The show is good at using little segments to build the world. Such as a mind manipulation sentient spore, the divisions between the main races and the mystery behind the music box.

Story-wise, the show tried to make the flow of events happen at a nicer pace. Season 1 was used on Anne to better understand the world and how things have changed between her friends. Season 2 used that change to add another twist to their relationship. As the seasons progress, the cast slowly expands.

The show eases in the main trio and their new friends. Some episodes foreshadowed what was coming for the characters, and some felt pointless. With a cast that big, it would slow the story down but surprisingly, it felt okay.

You get to spend some time with them, learn what makes them tick, what changed them and how they felt about the current state of the story. As a person who had some regrets in life, I really liked Sasha Waybright's development. She went from someone who took charge to becoming a character who matured into a better person. Giving her time to improve, showed that she improved but is still a work in progress.

As far as the ending goes, I felt a little bittersweet. I liked that it ended and that the big arc of the main trio is resolved but I would really like to see an expansion for how they deal with all the events they went through as it was rather traumatic. Thankfully, we have fan artists for that!

- Eat This Sucka!!! -

It would be impossible to avoid spoilers when < The Owl House > by Dana Terrace was at its peak. Spoilers were happening left and right!

Context, The Owl House follows the outcast teen; Luz Noceda who was meant to go to a summer camp. On the day she was about to go. Luz got distracted by a thief who went through a mysterious door that led Luz into the Demon Realm.

The series takes on a familiar arc where the outsider; Luz learns the ways of the witches but with her own creativity and innovation. Luz also resides under the care of the Owl Lady; Eda Clawthorne, King and Hooty (The house itself)

As the seasons progress, Luz helps the other witches her age improve and come out of their shells. Importantly, she finds new friends she never had in the human realm.

The Owl House is a show of obviously coded Queer characters and individuals that don't fit with the norm. Dana is a genius that never made a big fuss over the fact that some characters are openly Queer. Although the studio; Disney tried to limit the screentime to avoid public outcry.

The show is my first-ever witness to openly Queer characters being completely normal about it instead of being preachy. Perhaps this has to do with the title; Demon Realm.

"Where the general belief of the overzealous conservatives in a so-called Good and Righteous God thinks that's where Queer people and other abnormal people belong."

The main villain; Belos tries his hardest to "purify" the realm by limiting how witches use magic and violently persecute anyone who opposes these new rules. It's a symbolic view of the Puritan tyrant. That their ways are destined to be divine when it was all a ruse to further their own personal agenda.

The show suffered a mess of developments as Disney has a strong Anti-Queer policy with their shows. But Dana, the sneaky bastard that she is. (he says affectionately) Slipped in undeniable proof that the characters are proudly Queer and the Puritian miserably fails.

The ending was pure cinema! The show uses Luz's perspective to show that kids can have their own complexities and what we may think is good may not be what is right for said person. The show also displays good values of being open to change, that it's never too late to right the wrongs and Weirdos Gotta Stick Together.

- The Freaky Friends -

We finally came to my favourite show of this batch. < Hilda > by Luke Pearson is a fun and adventurous show about a young girl who loves adventures living in a world that is brimming with magic. I would like to talk more about it but I've already covered that in [The Beautiful World of Hilda]

For the sake of this post, I'm only focusing on Season 3. The final season of the series. While the show is not as plot-driven as the latter mentions. I think there is much to be said about the breath of fresh air Hilda brings to the table.

Hilda has a special place in my heart for how she managed to bring wonder and joy into my viewing experience. This season, took on a more ominous turn where the adventures get deadlier and the stakes get higher in this little world of the blue-haired adventurer.

Season 3 was commented on by the viewers as "underwhelming and inconclusive" and that it tore its own "fan theories" apart. Personally, I loved that the showrunner revealed everything and also nothing because that's the point.

Hilda is not about a big mystery, it's a pure adventure and curious exploration of the mythology surrounding Trollberg and the rest of the world in Hilda. The feeling of fulfilment but also, melancholy that the series has ended is in my opinion, the best conclusion.

Admittedly, I didn't know how to end the post. I just wanted to get my thoughts out about these three shows and how it ended. It feels like the end of another era. A close to another chapter for animation and the stories it can tell.

These three shows; Amphibia, The Owl House and Hilda proved that animation is still taking new heights but still maintains the charm of what stories are. A good ending where the arc may be over but the adventures will still carry on.

It's been a fun and tear-jerking journey with Hilda, Luz and Anne. Their worlds are unique and brimming with excitement that I haven't felt in years and a desire to catch up more.

I'll miss them dearly but hey, such is the life of an adventurer. Don't be sad that it's over. Be happy that it happened and above all. Go make your own stories!

[snippydippy]

~Heart of Gold~

An "excerpt" of a much larger Fortnite story I'd love to write in it's entirety. Midas has something he needs Montague to know.

Quick shout out to @corvidazed & @stuffule for encouraging me to finish this after losing it to a power outage the first time. Love you guys! <3

Midas paced the floor in Montague's office, waiting for the man to finish his meeting with Oscar and Nisha so the two of them could speak. The tightness in his chest and buzz in his mind were almost as disturbing to him as the realization of his feelings for the Diamond Thief in the first place. Despite living a very long life, Midas had never felt quite like this before. He'd never been so entirely stricken by love. At least not that he could remember, and certainly not in this way that so perfectly fit the way people described it. He had been in many relationships, and had cared deeply for those involved, but not like this. Never once had he counted his footsteps for nerves while preparing to lay himself bare to anyone. Midas had been on the receiving end of such confessions a handful of times. For better or worse.

He hated this. He hated the spark of doubt that seemed to be trying to burn a whole in the back of his mind. It wasn't like himself to feel nervous. At the absolute least, this aggravating fear of rejection gave him some reassurance that his feelings for Montague must have been real. Not that there was much doubt in that regard at this point, he'd certainly spent enough sleepless nights ruminating on his emotions before deciding it was necessary to declare them.

Regardless of the outcome, he'd finally be able to move on from these childish feelings. He'd be able to stow the memories of the kiss they'd shared that constantly ran through his mind. He could put to rest the way he longed for more every time Montague made eye contact with him, touched his shoulder to get his attention, or when the ghost of a smile appeared on his lips before he remembered to be annoyed by flirtatious remarks.

Midas was thinking of that smile when he heard the door open and close behind the man who entered. The two exchanged a nod before Montague made his way behind his desk. He didn't sit, instead standing and looking over the map of the island displayed on its digital surface. He tapped at various points of interest to leave red pings.

"I'm afraid we don't have much time before we need to meet with Jones and the Banana. I'll need you there to make sure things go smoothly." He said, not looking up, "What did you need to discuss with me?"

Knowing he had to be quick about this did nothing to settle the hammering in his chest. Midas clenched his fists behind his back, willing himself to stop being ridiculous. He had very little reason to think Montague would refute him. And even if he did, oh well. It would be settled either way, and he would not walk away from this like some spurned teenager.

Midas took a step towards the desk, also looking down at the map. He spoke in a leveled voice, "I wanted to talk about us."

"Us?" Montague looked up, meeting Midas' neutral expression with mild annoyance before he sighed and raised an exasperated hand to rub his eyes, "Midas, we have talked about 'us'. I've already told you I cannot afford to be distracted--"

"I know what you said." Midas replied, not allowing anything other than resolve to creep into his tone, "I don't wish to talk about us in the context of a fling. I'm not suggesting we continue in the same vein as the…encounter, we had before."

"Encounter. That is one way to describe it." Montague huffed before he came around to the other side of the desk and stood beside Midas, "Fling or otherwise, I cannot prioritize a relationship. We do not have time for this."

Midas turned his body to face him, and a beat of silence passed between them as he thought about his next words. Montague went to speak again, but before he could say anything likely to reiterate him as a distraction, Midas let his shoulders relax (despite the vice grip he held on his wrist behind his back).

He spoke softly, calmly, "I love you, Montague."

Montague blinked, standing stiff, still and silent. The seconds that passed counted by the thudding of Midas' heart in his ears.

"You…" Montague finally let out a humorless type of scoff, "You what?"

A laugh of any kind was not the reaction Midas had wanted, but he supposed it could have been going worse. He wasn't being yelled or swung at, insulted, or told to vacate his office immediately. He took a step forward, closing the gap between them a fraction, but not breaching personal space just yet. Midas took pleased notice of how the other man did not step away. He still spoke softly, but with purpose, "I love you. I have taken time to try and understand what it is you stir in me, and I've realized it is my heart. You are my heart."

"Midas." The expression on Montague's face was difficult to read. Mostly, he looked surprised, if not a bit confused. However, the slight furrow of his brow while he looked off to his desk read to Midas like…sadness, of a kind. Another reaction he hadn't wanted. He watched as the other man sighed and brought a hand up to run it through hair that Midas yearned to feel nestled against his neck every night from now on, "I don't know what to say."

"Say the truth." Midas did reach out then, taking another small step forward to place golden hands over the other's waist. Montague said nothing, laying his own tentative hands on the other's arms. No matter how much all of these feelings perturbed him originally, the Golden King could do nothing to stop how they consumed him in this moment. He allowed a touch of the intensity he was feeling to seep into his tone, "Tell me you love me too."

Montague's eyes flicked about Midas' face before uncharacteristically casting down to the floor. This wasn't going exactly the way Midas had wanted, but he could fix it. He could convince Montague his feelings were true. There was no longer a spark of doubt in his mind, Midas needed Montague to reciprocate. Based on his behavior while they were alone together up until this point, he was certain he would.

"Or don't." Midas said, hesitating.

Montague swallowed and finally met his eyes. What Midas saw in them was so, complicated. Feelings almost as different as the color of his irises themselves. Midas moved in closer, their bodies together as his hands slipped around to the small of the other man's back. He continued, whispering as if saying it at a normal volume would be too convincing, "Say the words. Say that you don't want this. That you don't want me, and I will drop this forever. We will never speak of this again, I will forget, and we will be partners in business only. But…I need to hear you say it. If you can't, I will continue to love you until the day I truly die."

Montague remained silent, his body relaxing in the King's arms, eyes closing, and his hands languidly sliding up to Midas' shoulders.

A moment went by like this, and Midas' felt a relief--an elation, wash over him. Were it not for the armor he wore, Midas would believe the steady pounding of his heart could've been felt through his chest against Montague's. It wasn't the verbal affirmative he'd been hoping for, but he'd take an inability to reject him as an approval of sorts. With this, Midas knew Montague wanted him for something, and this delighted him. He smiled and pressed in closer still, their lips ghosting together as he whispered, "Monty--"

"I don't want you."

The words were as sharp as the diamonds Montague could coat himself in. Loud and clear, and yet they struck Midas dumb anyway. The hard rhythm of his heart seemed to cease entirely as his body froze. He didn't have any time to process before Montague spoke again, his tone as clear and calm as Midas' confession.

"I don't love you, Midas."

Midas pulled back just enough to look into Montague's eyes when he opened them. What he saw before was replaced entirely by the same steely gaze he'd seen the thief use in his business dealings. Something inside the King ruptured. The pain that came with it sending a shock through his limbs, numbing his fingers. A tremble might have started through him if he had any less control over himself.

Montague must have seen a shift in his expression, because he gently pushed back on the other's shoulders to replace some of the gap between them. Midas fought against the instinct that made his fingers twitch with the desire to hold Montague as close as he wanted to. Hands again settled on his waist, Midas desperately searched Montague's face for anything he could use to salvage this. He raked over his features for any sign of doubt or regret. He found nothing.

Midas closed his eyes and took in a long inhale to try and calm the raging storm brewing in his mind. He then stepped back, straightened, and his hands retreated back behind him. When he exhaled and opened his eyes again, Montague was mirroring his stance.

"Alright." Midas said plainly. Montague raised a brow at him, but he only gave a placid smile in return. He would not allow any of what he was feeling to show through. He could not. He extended his gilded mechanical hand to the other, "Partners it is then."

Montague studied the hand extended to him, and then the man behind it. Midas would later wonder if the other man's expression was as impossible to read as it seemed, or if he himself was simply too bereft in emotion to glean anything at all. The relief he felt when Montague did finally shake his hand was abysmal. His fingers were still numb when they let go, the thudding of his heart evidently serving no purpose but a futile attempt at mending itself in the moment.

"As it has been, call me whenever you need. I will be by your side at a moments notice." Midas spoke steadily. Montague nodded curtly before moving back around the desk, eyes cast to the map once more.

It took everything Midas had just to will himself to move, and even then he only managed to turn his head to look at the other, "I'm afraid my first act as solely your business partner will be to disappoint. I won't be able to attend the meeting with Peely and Jones."

Montague looked up at him, annoyance painfully clear on his features. Midas continued, "They have already agreed to aid us against any lingering gods. I'm sure everything will go fine in my absence." He finished before heading for the door.

"Midas, wait!" Montague called sharply, "Where are you going? I need you for this."

Midas stopped with his real hand gripping the door handle. He looked back with the same calm smile, "Montague. I told you I will move on from this, and I will. I did not say it would be easy."

There was a moment of silence, Midas did not bother trying to read the other's expression, "I need time."

"How much time?"

The question sent a flash of annoyance over Midas that quickly muddled together with everything else. How was he to know when he'd feel normal again? This was the first time he'd have to contend with heart break of this kind. And it had only just shattered, "Not long. A couple days."

"Fine." Montague said before his expression fell into something the King deeply resented, "I'm sorry, Midas."

Hearing this only compounded everything. Instead of allowing himself to boil over, Midas let out a single laugh, "You have nothing to apologize for. I asked for the truth."

Montague's eyes fell away from him. Midas opened the door then, not looking over his shoulder to say, "Don't pity me, Montague. It doesn't suite either of us."

He did not close the door behind him, a layer of gold having bloomed over the brass and wood.

[roanofarcc]

FRIENDS? FRIENDS.

percy jackson x annabeth chase blurb

warnings: none, just some pre-percabeth cuteness! some minor spoilers for the TV show & the books but nothing major or all that important

note: percy & annabeth will forever have a place in my heart. I'd love to write more little drabbles of them! feel free to send it any requests! I'll also write for other character (but keep in mind I am just now reading the House of Hades so I haven't reached the end of the heroes of olympus series yet). also, please use your imagination a little as to where this would fit it post the lightening thief quest lol.

...

Moonlight reflected off the steady water, bringing a sense of peace to Percy as he dangled his feet off the edge of the pier. He traced patterns in the wood grooves and attempted to clear his head which hadn’t stopped spinning since he arrived at camp. 

He should have been more alert, but he missed the series of footsteps that crept up on him until he felt a presence at his back.

Percy jumped, startled, and reflectively reached for Riptide. 

“Hey,” Annabeth greeted, instantly disarming Percy. He let out a sigh of relief and dropped his hand back onto the pier. 

“Hi.” 

She looked wide awake despite the late hour. All of the other campers were asleep or tucked away inside their cabins. Percy had spent the better part of a couple of hours tossing and turning until he gave up trying to sleep and wandered out toward the lake, the only place at camp where he felt the most at ease. 

It looked like Annabeth was in the same boat as him. Instead of her usual orange camp shirt and cargo pants, she wore a matching, soft pink sweatshirt and sweatpants. Little hearts were embroidered on the front pockets of the sweats and the neckline of sweatshirt. 

With a light smirk, Percy said, “Nice PJs.” 

She rolled her eyes in typical fashion and moved beside him before she took a seat. Annabeth sat close enough that her arm brushed against his. Percy didn’t know if she meant to sit that close, but she didn’t move away. She stayed with her arm nearly resting up against his and dangled her feet over the edge of the pier.

“They were a gift from the Aphrodite Cabin,” she said, rubbing her thumb over the little hearts on her collar with a small smile on her lips. “They help my bunkmate, Veronica, with my braids.” 

Percy hummed in response before he said, “You look like you belong in their cabin.” He didn’t quite realize what he said until the words left his lips and his cheeks heated up instantly in embarrassment; however, he didn’t get the chance to say anything before Annabeth did. 

“Are you calling me beautiful, Seaweed Brain?” 

Percy silently thanked the gods it was dark on the pier and that Annabeth couldn’t see the red hue of his cheeks. He cleared his throat and shook his head. “No! I mean, that’s not what…not that you’re ugly…oh jeez.” Ducking his head, Percy contemplated throwing himself off the pier.

Annabeth was cool and she obviously was cool looking. It wouldn't have been a shocker if she had been claimed by Aphrodite, but because of her wicked brain and the fact that she was always six steps ahead of everyone, Athena made more sense. Athena was probably cool looking too; she was a goddess after all. Everyone in the Aphrodite Cabin was also cool looking because their mother was known for being the most beautiful goddess of all, or whatever, but they were no Annabeth.

A belly laugh erupted from her throat and echoed through the quiet air, taking Percy by surprise. She slapped her hand over her stomach and threw her head back as she managed to say between laughs, “You should see your face right now!” Percy couldn’t help but smile sheepishly. 

Once her laughter subsided, she shook her head. “I’m just teasing you.” 

“Very funny,” said Percy, desperate to change the subject. “What’re you doing out here, anyway?” 

“I couldn’t sleep,” she replied. “You?” 

Percy had gotten used to his mind racing and almost never turning off, but after they returned from their quest and he finally had a second to think over everything that had happened since learning he was a half-blood, his brain was in overdrive. There were a million more questions he had but was slightly scared to get answered. He needed to sleep off their quest, but every time he closed his eyes, he was bombarded with visions that made little sense and unsettling memories of every time he, Annabeth, and Grover nearly died over the course of one week. 

“I just needed somewhere to think,” he answered. 

Humming in response, they let their conversation drift off into comfortable silence for a couple of moments. 

Percy wondered if her mind was also swarmed with too many thoughts, memories, and questions. It seemed unlikely, Annabeth having questions. If there was one thing he learned about her from their time together, it was that she knew the answer to nearly everything, and if she didn’t know the answer, she would figure it out before anyone else. 

“Percy?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Can I ask you something?” 

He furrowed his brows and turned his head to look at her. “Uh, sure.” 

“You remember when we were at Meduas’ and you were telling Grover and me about the prophecy the Oracle gave you?” He nodded, urging her to continue. “You said that you only picked me for the quest because you couldn’t see us ever becoming friends.” Her voice had become a lot softer than normal, which freaked Percy out. A part of him wanted her to insult him or start bickering with him instead. The small but noticeable twinge of sadness in her voice and the frown that rested on her lips twisted up his stomach in a really weird and uncomfortable way. 

“Do you still feel that way?” 

“Are you insane?” he asked, wide-eyed and confused. She simply shrugged and kept her gaze set on the rippling water ahead of them. “No. No way. I didn’t even fully feel that way I said it. I was just really worried about the Oracle and really, really confused.” 

She met his gaze and narrowed her eyes slightly, not believing him. 

“Okay, I guess I meant it a little but only because you were intense and I didn’t think you would’ve wanted to be friends with me, especially after you left me to fight Clarrise alone and then shoved me into the lake.” 

“I needed proof that you were who I thought you were,” Annabeth defended, causing him to smile lightly. 

“Yeah, and it worked. My dad claimed me because you didn’t really give him a choice.” 

“I think the words you’re looking for is ‘thank you.’” There was a beat before she sighed and backtracked a little, even though Percy wasn't upset at her for it. He understood why she did it, and who knows when or if his dad would have claimed him if she hadn't. “Sorry. I maybe could have helped you a little or not pushed you so hard.” 

With a wave of his hand, he dismissed her. “Nah, I get it. It did help, and you got to go on your quest. But then we kind of fought at the beginning and I figured you really didn’t like me.” 

Annabeth moved her hands into her lap and picked at the skin around her fingernails, almost like she was nervous, which seemed unlikely. Maybe Percy was just really bad at reading people. Annabeth seemed good at it, though. She was kind of like Grover in that way; she could sense danger or a problem before it appeared. 

“Though, I kinda got the idea that maybe you didn’t totally hate me by the end of the quest.” 

She shrugged again, but her frown disappeared. “Maybe I don’t.” 

“Cool,” he smiled until he realized maybe he was smiling a little too big and he needed to chill out. “Because, you know, if I have to go on another quest, I would…well, I’d probably pick you again.” 

Annabeth moved to look at him. “Probably?” 

“Definitely, actually.” 

That got her to smile, and Percy felt himself relax. “I’d pick you too,” she said before quickly adding, “As long as I’m still in charge.” 

Percy put his hand to his forehead in a mock salute. He was not going to argue with her, not after she was the main reason they didn’t die on their quest.

A yawn escaped Annabeth that she tried to muffle under the sleeve of her pink sweatshirt. The night had caught up to him too, and the fatigue of the past week settled in his bones. He rolled his shoulders back with a stretch before he stood to his feet. 

Outstretching a hand toward her, Percy said, “We should head back.” 

She didn’t hesitate to grab his hand and let him help her up. Her hand was really warm compared to his cold one, and he held it just for a second longer after she was standing up. Annabeth cleared her throat and tucked her hands into the pocket of her sweatshirt before she led the way off the pier. 

Together they walked the footpath back to the cabins, listening to the croak of the frogs around the lake fade and the buzz of crickets grow louder.

They arrived at Percy’s cabin first. Annabeth paused alongside him and offered him another smile as she said, “Night, Percy.” 

He grinned. “Night, Annabeth.” 

She turned on her heel and started walking toward her cabin, still with her hands in her pockets and her head held high. 

Friends. That was nice. He had another real friend that he trusted and who trusted him. If nothing else went right for him, at least he had that. Maybe that was all he really needed to survive as a Half-Blood. Maybe he would be okay.

[idkman-ijustwannamakeatournament]

Round 2: Match 8

"Two Sides of the Same Coin"- Two things that are regarded as part of the same thing. Even if they're very different, they have at least one common thread that helps them fit into this trope.

Propaganda:

Luz Noceda and Phillip Wittebane/Belos:

"I'm just gonna leave the wiki link since they put it into words better than I ever could've:"

Percy and Luke:

"They both felt like pawns of the gods. They went about fixing it Very differently. Listen to the song Good kid and its reprise from Lightning thief the musical"

[lightningqueen11]

Got these lads some better references! Not complete ones, but they're still pretty good.

Here are the 8 Links I'm planning on including! I have general characterization concepts for all the others, but they were being kinda annoying designs. I might include em as I continue to figure out this AU, but for now here's what I got!

Our very first hero! I don't really consider the SS prequel manga canon here so Sky's the very first holder of the Hero's spirit. He's a very kind soul, protective of those he cares for and holding the endless determination and courage of any hero.

After the end of Skyward Sword, Sky's taken up a bit of an 'ambassador to the surface' type role, educating those who've come down with while Zelda spends as much time as she can with her family on Skyloft. Though the scars from his fight with Demise still twinge, Sky's happy to move forward with his life on the surface.

Minish is our youngest member, but that doesn't mean you can underestimate him. Minish is quiet, playful, and endlessly curious. He's the best spy this chain has, able to shrink down to the size of a mouse and be completely invisible to everyone but fellow children.

After saving Zelda from being encased in stone and having her light force drained, Minish simply seeks to spend his time enjoying his childhood with his best friend and learning to forge a sword as good as the four sword.

Mask is our resident angst, his life has been far too hard. Mask is mysterious, closed off, and talented. With the body of a teenager and the mind of a young adult, this lad has plenty of tricks up his sleeve.

Resuming his travels after Termina, Mask finds himself looking for somewhere to belong. He's travelled to Labrynna, Holodrum, Koradai, and yet the only place he really felt any sense of family remains in that strange war with Tune and Captain. Perhaps, someday, he'll find his way back to them.

Tune's our resident navigator! He can read and create maps and starcharts like no other, plus he knows his way around a boat. Despite the more pirat-y aesthetic, Tune's really a sweetheart. Sure, he enjoys finding abandoned treasure and sailing, but he's hardly a ruthless bounty hunter or thief. He just loves meeting people, and wants to help anywhere he can. A trait practically required for the hero life.

After his adventures, Tune's living a life of travel on the Great Sea. He has his own boat, but broadly he sails with Tetra, the two finding buried treasures from Hyrule. He's always had that itch to go somewhere, to do something, and maybe he's about to get exactly what he wants.

Wolf's a bit of a mysterious edgy man himself, but this time it's all appearances. Our resident furry is just a big huggable rancher with a protective streak when it comes to his family. He's amazing with animals, and with the help of a certain amazing nose, he can track basically anything.

I'm diverging from canon a lot here. Midna's never shattered the mirror of twilight in this universe, she's just not around in the light world because it would hurt to be anything more than a shadow there. Instead, after their adventure Wolf and her hang out frequently. Wolf's pretty content with his lot in life, he's got his family, his home, and his best friend. Really, what more could he ask for?

Unabashed favorite character alert, Four's a bit of an asshole. Like, they're very heroic and frankly, often right, but they've still got an arrogance problem. They're fiercely loyal and incredibly smart, and will take the role as supposed leader because frankly, no one else wants the title.

After returning the Four Sword with Vaati and Ganon completely obliterated, Four's gone back to their life as a knight. There's still a fierce purple ache in their chest for a certain Shadow, but the teal confidence easily shoves that to the side in favor of being the perfect warrior. Now, Four's rising through the ranks of Hyrule's guard, ready for whatever challenge comes next.

Wild fits their name very well. They're quick to explore every mountain and valley, loot every chest, and find every korok. Incredibly different from the Link from before the Calamity, they share memories but not so much experiences. Wild is the best archer in the group, even without their champion ability.

I can't quite decide whether I want Wild to be pre or post TOTK, but it doesn't make too terribly much of a difference. After his adventure he continues to explore Hyrule and the lands beyond it. He's verrryyy close with his Zelda, and the two like to do a bit of mad science with Purah every so often. He's happy with his new lease in life, but if the chance comes to explore something new? Well, Wild's definitely going to take it.

Cap's here! And he's a bit of a mess. Traumatized from his fights with Cia and Dark Link, Captain has trouble being confident in himself at all anymore. He's always been naturally confident, but ever since that first battle with Dark, Captain's been suppressing that part of himself. He's a very skilled leader and tactician, with the most experience working with a large group.

After the war Captain.. didn't really know what to do with himself. His friends had left, and there was no longer anything to fight against. He decided to dedicate himself to being a guard, but he still felt a little empty. He's never really moved on from the events of the war, but maybe soon he'll return to some old friends.