#but it still makes sense without the indent so it’s cool

[4thelovabob]

Bob is touch starved part 3

Somewhere in those 14 months - maybe over a quiet night after family dinner in the Tower, when it's dark but they're all too keyed up to go to bed - Bob is by the window gazing out at stars in the night sky when an inkling of memory comes over him.

Shadows over Manhattan. A heaviness in his chest. An explosion of pain and rage. And then...a sudden lightness. Warmth. A flood of...peace.

Fragments of feeling he's not sure what to make of. He stares and stares outside, trying to make sense of it all, fidgeting with his hands. There's a memory in them, too. Of clinging to someone.

Yelena. Yelena...holding him. Her arms finding him, her voice soft in his ear. You're not alone. I'm here. She didn't let go, even as he punched into the darkness, as he broke, as tears streamed down his face. She never let him go.

In the aftermath, the comedown, the emotional hangover - she was still there, still enfolding him in her embrace. He remembered trembling for her, as his deep well of sorrow began to recede. Because she lay beside him, head on his chest, the contours of her body pressed perfectly to his. She wasn't leaving. She wasn't going to leave him.

The full body contact overwhelmed him with a comfort he'd never thought he'd receive. And for the first time, he allowed himself to. Allowed himself to return her touch. He had taken her arm in his hand. Grasped her close to him.

I want you here, Yelena, the touch communicated, as his heavy breath had steadied again. I've wanted you so much.

"Uhh, Earth to Bob," Walker's voice carries across the room, jarring.

Bob swivels around, dazed. "Huh?"

"You want in on this game or not?" Ava asks, waving a deck of Cards Against Humanity with a wicked smile. "We got Bucky on board."

Bucky gives a half-shrug of his metal arm. Meanwhile, Yelena is just watching him quietly. A question in her eyes.

Bob swallows. He hopes, begs with his whole heart, that this memory wasn't just a dream. And he needs to know.

"I - did we -" Bob struggles to form words, as he meets her gaze. He feels his face get hot. "Did you, uh, hug me?"

Alexei breaks into a wide grin. He slaps his leg. "Yes! He remembers group hug!"

"We all did, Bob," says Bucky gently.

"Yeah, but Yelena was the first one to reach you," Ava adds. "She flipped across a room full of flying obstacles."

"It was pretty fucking cool, actually," admits Walker, to everyone's surprise.

They're all watching him. Yelena studies Bob as though trying to tell him something with her look. A tiny, hopeful indent between her brows. The barest hint of a smile forming on her lips.

Bob can't help it. He beams back at her, big and goofy, his heartbeat in his ears. With a fluttering sigh and a scratch of his head, he says, "I guess I have some catching up to do. But, um, for now, cards."

They don't push the subject further. It was important, they had all agreed, to let Bob go at his own pace. But the mood is lighter that night.

He sits beside Yelena while Ava deals them in. After a few seconds, under the table, Yelena's hand slowly comes to rest on his knee and he all but leaves his body. It feels so natural, so loving, so good.

Without hesitation he covers her hand with his, lacing his fingers with hers. This time there's no exchange of shameful memories. Only their shared heartbeats now. Only the promise of more touches to come.

They don't let go the whole game. If the others notice - and they definitely do - they say nothing. They had earned it.

(part 1) (part 2)

(part 4) (part 5) (part 6)

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

*steps on stage nervously*

Uhh.. umm. Uhhhhh

Spidey Academy AU!!

Like Xavier's School for Gifted Children, Miguel - a Spider-person fond of kids, opened a Spidey-Science Academy, for the Spidey-people of the universe

It's not like a high school. There's five years and the years are not really sorted by age - but by experience.

So Hobie would be a year 3 - a middleclass-man

Pavitr is a year 1 - a freshman

And the classes, are all based on honing your Spider-powers and senses.

There's assignments, things you have to take home and do.

They're give you a fake evil Doc Ock chip and have you decode it and make it good again (like Peter in No Way Home).

Or they ask you to stop a petty robbery without using your webs. You have to bring in the Daily Bugles article on you the next day and they grade you on that.

(Hey say what you want but Jonah reports the facts he just talks a lot of shit)

Any class a Spider-person needs, they have.

You name it-

Home Ec? No. Sewing and Suit Repair Class

Gym? No. Swinging & Strength Endurance

Science? ALL ADVANCED. Freshmen's take Advanced Spider-biology and have to learn ALL the different Spider-variations and illnesses Spider-people can get. Multiversal Physics.

All of the honor classes are FULL.

There's also other helpful ones like Firefighting Training and Sign Language (both mandatory), hence how Insomniac!Miles is completely fluent in ASL.

Oh - also. Because Miguel is such a tight-ass -

UNIFORMS. Sweater vests over pants or shorts. (No skirts cause they still be upsidedown and shit)

You have to bring your mask everyday. It's like your ID card

y'all ever had that? Like y'all needed an ID to get into school and if you didn't have it they charged you? Like money? My school did that we also had metal detectors like the airport I'm so deadass this was just a normal public school - I'm getting distracted, anyway-

Of COURSE Ms.Jessica Drew is Assistant Principal. OF COURSE she also teaches Advanced Combat and Strategies class.

And YES she's a hard-ass grader. Has never given a 100% in her life. On some 'This was the best thing I've read in my entire teaching career but you forgot to indent on paragraph 5 so 99%'

She doesn't give a fuck about your GPA!!!

Unlike Mr.Peter B. Parker.

He makes people call him 'Professor PB'. He wants to be the cool teacher.

His classroom is SO FUN during lunch time. Probably runs the anime and manga club. He's that really nerdy teacher that you don't expect to be like "I know what anime is! I grew up on Dragon Ball 😁

His class are always fun but SO chaotic. Still wears sweatpants sometimes. He's the Science teacher.

And every year they take class photos and there's a Spidey homecoming where everyone parties on the walls in cute outfits.

CAN YOU SEE IT?

Swinging Team instead of Track and Field???

CAN YOU IMAGINE IT?

MIGUEL AS PRINCIPAL???

LYLA BEING THE LOUD SPEAKER ANNOUNCER?

[yappingismysuperpower]

An easy explanation on why Yamato is a man.

Let's start with this. Most people say that in Vivre Card it says that Yamato is a female as you can see on the picture. Certainly Yamato is a female.

Unfortunately for YOU, who a female is not a gender identity. It is sex. Let's explain first the difference between sex and gender. Sex is an assigned female or male at birth, this means having female or male reproductive organs. Female is an uterus and male is a penis. While gender indentity is how you FEEL about yourself. As a female you can identify as a man, masc or anything you want to. Anything how you feel like.

But then let's say that's not how it works. Vivre Card is still nor made by the author of One Piece, Eiichiro Oda.

And as we can remember many Vivre Cards were wrong a lot of times. Let's even take Yamato's Vivre Card. He has Observation, Armament and Conqueror's Haki, right? Well in Vivre Card it says he has only the first two. So it's not a good argument to use against Yamato being a man.

"But Yamato just calls herself Oden"

Yes, he does. But didn't you know what was One Piece about? It was about freedom and being themselves. Yamato quits calling himself Oden at the end of Wano arc, yet still everybody call him a man. If Yamato was only acting there would be a wholesome scene with Luffy and Yamato, probably Yamato crying, calling himself a woman and saying "I'M YAMATO, NOT ODEN!"

But it did not happen. Yamato still calls himself a man. Luffy calls him "Yama-o", which basically means "Yama-bro". (Also this is super cute, cause "yama" means a "mountain" in Japanese and considering Yamato is like two times taller than Luffy it makes sense and makes it cute ❤️)

"But she still has boobs"

Mind you that not all transgender people have to feel gender dysphoria. Also how was he supposed to get a top surgery? He was locked for 20 years in a country without such surgeries and it was war, then right after war he was injured, it's not a surgery to make, when someone is injured, definitely not. It's a shock to the person they're flat and it's kinda long process and all the testosterone. I doubt there is something like testosterone for transgender people in One Piece, but if there is... still HOW in a country like this being locked for 20 years?

Anyways. I have so much more reasons, why you are transphobic if you call Yamato a girl.

But I'll stick to few more

Here Yamato said "Kozuki Oden was a man, right? So I became a man too!!". Many transgenders (idk can I call us transgenders?It sounds cool, like superheroes) understood their identity, just because they liked someone and wanted to be like them.

Transgender identity is an aumbrella. Imagine it like this: There's a really big umbrella, there's said it's a transgender umbrella. Under the umbrella there are many other smaller umbrellas. One of non-binaries, one of trans masc/fems, one of trans men/women etc. Because transgender is every identity that is not identifying and using pronouns to your assigned at birth gender. Which Yamato does not. Yamato might be a female and even a girl. But if he uses he/him pronouns (which he does) is still under the transgender umbrella. Which makes it transphobic if someone doesn't use his preffered pronouns.

Yes, you are transphobic, be proud of yourself 😘

But if you knew this one... Then what are you doing reading/watching One Piece? You clearly didn't understand the point of it and that loved by everyone Bon Clay is also queer (LGBTQ+ term used for someone who is LGBTQ+)

Bon Clay doesn't have a partner in Baroque Works, because they identify as both woman and man (this is to make you understand better, because they identifies as genderqueer which has no real explanation, it's an identity that you feel yourself and people can't tell you how you feel).

Ivankow is genderfluid, which is an identity, where your gender varies from moment to moment.

Even Kaido calls Yamato his son.

Baroque Works says queer rights ✅️

Revolutionary says queer rights ✅️

Kaido says trans rights ✅️

Also if you read/watch One Piece and think that you are on Luffy's side, while you are racist/trasphobic/homophobic/judging/etc.

Then you are not on Luffy's side. In fact you are exactly like the World Government and should read/watch One Piece with your eyes open. This is about freedom, happiness, equal rights and All the good things. One Piece is not about the imaginary world. It's the same as our world. There exist hate, which is the World Government. Luffy is freedom and happiness. Revolutionaries are equal rights and freedom.

Never call yourselves One Piece fans again pls.

If my English was in any way no good, go ahead and tell me, it's not my first laungage

(ALSO I LOVE BEING RIGHT AND TELLING DUMB PPL THAT WILL DEFINITELY DON'T UNDERSTAND THAT THEY ARE WRONG HAHA!)

I'm literally Yamato irl.

THAT'S ALL FOLKS! ❤️

[argitscumdump]

This has been sitting in my drafts for a month bc I WAS gonna draw examples (and I’m halfway done with them, so they might still come) but if I leave it I’m Going To Explode

So

LETS TALK ABOUT TEEF

Side note: I’m using design and place ideas from several different continuities for two reasons: I like those versions best, and not all of these bastards are in RiD or Prime.

Other side note: some headcanons were built from reading specific fics, either by roundabout or directly correlated to, and will be credited at the end of the relevant section. Highly recommend them all, tho they are all just straight up porn😅

As it stands, there’s five groups I like to put fang types in (six if you count combined outlier types like Tarn and my Jeep Axle, but we’ll get to that later): Tetrahexan, Velocitronian, Warframe, Rodionite/Dead Ender, and Beast.

These are just where the style is seen most prominently, and most fanged bots from other places fall into one of these categories so it didn’t make much sense to split them any further. If there’s any offshoots you’re curious ab, feel free to ask!

Starting off with the smallest group, we’ve got:

Tetrahexan!

The nearly dead warrior race with a single canon representative gets its own type, why? Bc I gave him and my gal Cross Brace really cool teefers, and I think it separates them very nicely from the rest in more ways than one. Double why?

DOUBLE FANGS. AND SELF-SHARPENING.

Double fangs? Like, a set on top and a set on the bottom?

NO

Four true fangs on top, none on the bottom, made for the sole purpose of ripping through heavy armor with brute force. All four are thick and slightly hooked to better do their job, and so well sunk into a bot’s “gums” that it’s more likely to tear their own helm off than break one.

Thinking comparatively on the self sharpening, the other types of fangs are like needles or swords —needing some kind of outside source to keep them from going dull— but Tetrahexans have their own built-in sharpeners attached to their lower jaw.

Depending on the bot, it can either be a set of false lower canines that sit neatly between the front and the back fangs when the mouth is closed (Cyclonus, his false fangs are decently worn and curved outward a bit), or a set of indents that the teeth rest in like a knife block (Cross Brace, she’s absolutely terrible at not getting her lip stuck between her teeth and the slot). Both sharpen the fangs naturally as the bots open and close their mouths.

Like I said, there’s really only Cyc and CB to use as examples, but it works out bc they have the two different types split between them.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54813724

Moving on, we’ve got:

Velocitronian!

Bc I believe the zoom zoom bastards deserve them, as a treat. Also bc KO exists. He will be lending his service to us today alongside my lovely, spindly asshole, Coast.

The main thing that sets Velocitronians apart is they are what we would consider the baseline. They’re your average two on top, two on the bottom set that most would assume when thinking of fangs. Except that they’re really, really fucking sharp, and the rest of their teeth are basically just incisors, making their whole mouth like one of those guillotine paper cutters.

If guillotine cutters were made to chomp through as much thin plating and tubing as fast and clean as physically possible, which they Are Not, but these bastards are!

The fangs themselves are catlike, fitting together like scissors, and about average as far as fragility goes. Their purpose is simple: take as big a chunk off in as little time as possible without sacrificing momentum.

While most speedsters are built to be light, they’re also made to be aerodynamic and even, most importantly. Chomping off even a little too much from a competitor has the chance to give someone an edge, and while it’s technically not a legal move in racing circuits, you’d be hard pressed to find a bot that doesn’t do that shit.

Knock Out, unsurprisingly, is the textbook for Velocitronian fangs, well-maintained, sharp to the touch, and neat; my little whack job Coast, on the other hand, is all the way on the other end of the spectrum: crooked, chipped, and she doesn’t care as long as they’re sharp.

Moving away from city categories, we have a build type instead:

Warframes!

You love ‘em, I love ‘em, they’re great for size differences, and who better to use than THE Warframe, Megatron? Also, Blitzwing is here because this hc is ENTIRELY his fault.

Unlike Tetrahexans and their cannibal rumors (they weren’t), or the measures Dead End Rodions turn to for survival (more on that later), Warframes are actual bot-eaters. Or, at the very least, they’re designed for it.

Paired with a tank system that can break down just about anything and convert it into fuel and frame repair, Warframes have teeth that are built to kickstart the process.

Like molars mixed with sharp gears, Warframe teeth crush without care and interlock neatly for maximum crunch and proper mouth fit. Their teeth sacrifice sharpness, but it doesn’t really matter in the end when even the strongest plates crumple under the highest psi and thickest teeth of any other fang type (teeth tend to make up almost or more than half of a Warframes mouth).

While Megatron was the textbook average for Warframe fangs at the height of the war, years of getting his aft beat ended up warping his helm just enough that they never quite sat right, and after the war he ended up getting the edges flattened down to a less intimidating shape, though they’re no less dangerous.

Blitzwing, on the other hand…

Blitzwings teeth are just weird. The front’s fine, there’s nothing wrong there, but where the molars would be on a normal set, his teeth move. They’re set on a short track that churns them backwards like tank treads, adding to the level of rip-crush-tear he’s capable of.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24332080?view_adult=true

Shifting back to cities, we’ve got:

Rodionites!

Plus their Dead End counterparts! Bc this is the best example of circumstance changing the fangs use. Drift was obviously first pick for examples, and Sweeper ended up tagging along bc I wanted more lore to give him.

By far, Rodionite fangs are the weakest type one can have. They’re long, thin, and shallow-set in front of the canine position like vampire teeth, more for show than anything. They tend to be so long, in fact, that it’s not uncommon for fangs to need special pockets in or below the lower gum line to properly fit. Due to their removability, they’re seen as highly customizable frame parts, sort of like body jewelry.

The one thing they are useful for, though, is piercing lines.

I’m sure you can see where this is going.

Dead End Rodionites do what they can to survive, and if it means sometimes siphoning energon from the already deceased (or still alive, depends on the bot) to keep going, it’s a price to pay. Other than that, most will either sell their fangs for a quick shanix, or lose them in any number of ways (fights, deterioration, thieves, what have you) over the course of their functioning.

Drift was one that managed to keep his —abnormally long— fangs from the start, and not even he is quite sure how that happened, considering both his history in the Dead End and the frame rebuilds, but he’s appreciative nonetheless. Sweeper, by contrast, quickly replaced his fangs with a shorter pair. He found long, needly teeth more a pain than anything (plus dust kept getting lodged in the resting holes) and changed them out not long into his first job.

Lastly, we’ve got my personal favorite:

Animal Based!

Not only does this encapsulate beastformers, but also whatever the RiD ‘Cons had going on, and will be explained as such by my beastformer and a RiD ‘Con, Richter and Steeljaw.

The main trait of this category is that it’s far more fluid than the others. If their frame is animal-inspired, their teeth will imitate said animal within reason, and with few exceptions (the exceptions are usually bug based). Their purpose is the same, function changing with the animal, and it’s all around a rather simple category to wrap one’s head around.

With Steeljaw, he’s got the standard teeth that a wolf might have and uses them in a similar fashion, they’re just more compact and human-looking to fit better in his mouth. Likewise with Richter, though his Sabertooth fangs are the ones he uses in alt, and stick all the way front to back through his helm instead of ending in the gum (they’re also technically removable, but leave an uncomfortably large nightmare hole through his head).

The unofficial Mixed category is a group of bots that, for one reason or another, ended up with two or more kinds of teeth in their mouths. Representative species are Tarn, bc I wholeheartedly believe that man would reshape his mouth hole to better imitate Megs (his original Velocitronian-type fangs and Warframe everything else, but it was a little shoddily done, so they don’t lock together properly.), and Axle, who…technically kept their —normal-sized— Rodion teeth, just added Warframe teeth to the mix in an attempt to ensure a meal at the cost of their frames nervous system and a few non-life-sustaining bits and bobs, but they’re fine. Probably.

I wish I could say my reasons for spending so much time on this were warranted, or that the length was reasonable, but no, all this shit came from a late night fic binge and my longstanding fascination with teeth and fangs. If you read this entire thing, know I am extremely appreciative ❤️😅

[lucky-clover-gazette]

kings rising highlights & annotations

chapter 6

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

Damen watched Laurent enter with his first adviser Vannes

LET’S GOOOOOOOO

The little brow furrows as he searched for vocabulary, the ‘How do you say—?’ and ‘What is it called when—?’ were gone.

awww cute that damen noticed them before :’) sweetheart

‘It’s lucky for him he speaks our language so well,’ said Nikandros, as they returned to the Akielon camp. ‘Nothing involving him has anything to do with luck,’ said Damen.

Their camps, they agreed, would be kept separate.

ah, the sitcom “line down the room” solution

The Veretians were scornful too, in a different way. Akielons were barbarians who kept company with bastards and walked around half naked. He heard the snatches of what was said on the edges of their camp, the ribald calls, the jeers and taunts. When Pallas walked past, Lazar wolf-whistled.

this reminds me of the two factions from the infamous avatar the last airbender episode “the great divide.” also look, new gay people!

And that was before the more specific rumours, the murmurings among the men, the sidelong speculation that had Nikandros in the warm summer evening, saying, ‘Take a slave.’ Damen said, ‘No.’

so it’s like a social expectation. but he’s still not doing it. even LAURENT does it (kinda), although he has much more to prove than the akielons

He buried himself in work, and in physical exercise. During the day he threw himself into the logistics and planning, the tactical groundwork that would facilitate a campaign. He plotted routes. He set up supply lines. He commanded drills. At night he went alone from the camp, and when there was no one around him, he took out his sword and practised until he was dripping with sweat, until he could no longer raise his sword but only stand, his muscles trembling, the tip of his blade pointed to the ground. He went to bed alone. He undressed and sluiced himself down, and only used squires to perform those menial tasks without intimacy. He told himself that this was what he had wanted. There was a working relationship between himself and Laurent.

no this is so sad, but so relatable. breakup behavior transcends worlds

There was no longer—friendship—but that had never been possible.

tell that to laurent, who allowed himself to become your friend and sexual partner, fully aware of the fact that you killed his brother

He had known it would not be some stupid fantasy of showing Laurent his country; of Laurent leaning against the marble balcony at Ios, turning to greet him in the cool air overlooking the sea, his eyes bright with the splendour of the view.

HE 🗣️ WAS 🗣️ WATCHING 🗣️ THE 🗣️ ROAD

To Kastor, he sent only a single message: I come. He didn’t watch that messenger depart. It’s not naive to trust your family. He had said that, once.

damen. girl.

love the conflicting themes of trust here. damen needs to learn that he can’t trust everyone to have intentions as noble as his, and laurent needs to learn that some people in the world can be trusted to have noble intentions. mistrust makes them both feel alone—laurent takes comfort in that loneliness, because it means no one can hurt him, but it also means that he’s never truly relaxed or vulnerable (in a good way). damen feels awful with the loneliness of mistrust, and wants so badly to reach out and make connections with people even when the flags are very, very red.

Guion was a man in his late forties, with an indoor figure.

does “indoor figure” mean “not fit” because that’s so funny 😭 let’s not bruise the man’s ego by calling him out of shape, he’s just an indoor cat instead

When he saw Damen, Guion bowed in the same way that he would have bowed to the Regent: deeply, sincerely. ‘Your Majesty,’ said Guion.

bitch.

Damen had come here to learn what he could of the Regent’s plans, but there was only one question rising to his lips. ‘Who hurt Laurent at Charcy? Was it you?’ ‘He didn’t tell you?’ Damen had not spoken alone to Laurent since that night in the tent. ‘He doesn’t betray his friends.’

i love damen. he is giving laurent the distance he requested, despite it breaking his (damen’s heart), but he’s also still fiercely protective of laurent behind his back. to the extent that his questions about guion hurting laurent feel more important in the moment than tactical ones about the regent. laurent pretends not to care in an attempt to lie to himself, but damen is only pretending in front of laurent to respect his wishes. he’s not lying to himself about giving a shit, and hasn’t even tried since like chapter 6 of book 2.

also - “he doesn’t betray his friends” implies that damen doesn’t see laurent’s poor treatment of him as betrayal, because knowing the truth now about laurent’s awareness, damen would never expect laurent to have considered him a friend. this gives book 2’s “friends? is that what we are?” a whole new layer of complexity.

'I captured him on his way to Charcy. He was brought to Fortaine, where he negotiated with me for his release. By the time he and I came to our arrangement, he had spent some time as a prisoner in the cells and had suffered a little accident to the shoulder.'

to be fair, i think this is what laurent would want guion to say, and might have even dictated to him exactly. anything else would make him sound weak. but damen knows laurent better than that, and can easily read between the lines.

‘You put Govart,’ said Damen, ‘in a cell with Laurent?’

run.

‘Yes.’ Guion spread his hands. ‘Just as I helped to bring about the coup in your country. Now, of course, you need my testimony to win back your throne. That is politics. The Prince understands that. It is why he has allied with you.’ Guion smiled. ‘Your Majesty.’ Damen made himself speak very calmly,

being a king sucks, you can’t even throw hands with the guy who had your divorce husband tortured because said divorce husband is using said guy as a political asset

‘Did the Regent know who I was?’ ‘If he did, having you sent to Vere was rather a miscalculation on his part, wasn’t it?’ ‘Yes,’ said Damen. He didn’t lift his eyes from Guion. He watched the blood rise and mottle Guion’s cheeks. ‘If the Regent knew who you were,’ said Guion, ‘then he hoped that when you arrived in Vere, the Prince would recognise you, and be provoked into a blunder. Either that, or he wanted the Prince to take you into his bed. The realisation of what he’d done then would kill him. How lucky for you that didn’t happen,’ Guion said.

the regent failed to anticipate the secret third option: laurent knowing exactly who damen was from the start, accidentally falling in love with him and semi-purposefully gaining a powerful ally, taking him into his bed despite the brother killing, having a messy breakup about it, but still remaining a powerful duo of world leaders unified in wanting to take him (the regent) down

‘You swore a sacred duty to hold the throne in trust for your Prince. Instead you turned on him, for power, for personal gain. What has that won you?’ For the first time he saw something genuine flicker in Guion’s expression. ‘He killed my son,’ said Guion. ‘You killed your son,’ said Damen, ‘when you threw him into the path of the Regent.’

i think this has one of two meanings, diverging with the interpretation of guion’s line.

damen: you swore to help the prince, but then you turned your back on him for personal gain. so did you gain enough to justify that decision? guion: (briefly genuine) meaning #1: i lost my son when the regent’s manipulations resulted in his (aimeric’s) death, so actually i lost something. meaning #2: the prince ended up being so mean to my son that he killed himself, so he wasn't deserving of my loyalty. damen: you’re the person most responsible for aimeric’s death, because you let the regent use him as a political pawn and sexual object.

i’m really not sure if it’s meaning #1 or #2 here. #2 might not make sense at all, because it’s not guaranteed that anyone told guion the details of laurent’s reaction to aimeric’s betrayal—it had only been damen, laurent, aimeric, and jord in the room, right?

regardless of guion’s meaning, damen’s response still stands. and at least it hurts guion emotionally, if not physically. it’s almost like damen is finding himself turning into laurent, acting the way laurent did in the court of vere. he can’t take the direct route, so he has to be backhanded and cruel instead.

He had not dealt with Makedon. Round one came when Makedon refused to accept the extra rations available to his troops from Fortaine. Akielons didn’t need pampering. If Veretians wished to indulge in all this extra food, they could do so. Before Damen could open his mouth to respond, Laurent announced that he would likewise change the provisions among his own troops, so that there would not be a disparity. In fact, everyone from soldiers to captains to kings across both troops would receive the same portion, and that portion would be determined by Makedon. Would Makedon inform them now what that portion was to be?

jesus christ laurent (affectionate)

Round two was the skirmish that broke out in the Akielon encampment: an Akielon with a bleeding nose, a Veretian with a broken arm, and Makedon smiling and saying that it had been no more than a friendly competition. Only a coward feared competition. He said it to Laurent. Laurent said that from this moment on, any Veretian who struck an Akielon would be executed. He trusted the honour of the Akielons, he said. Only a coward hit a man who wasn’t allowed to hit back.

in a way, damen helped laurent with that one, since he’s the honorable akielion who told laurent the same thing in book 1.

It was like watching a boar try to take on the endless blue of the sky. Damen remembered how it felt to be coerced to Laurent’s will. Laurent had never needed to use force to make men obey him, just as he had never needed men to like him in order to get his way. Laurent got his way because when men tried to resist him, they found, sweetly outmanoeuvred, that they couldn’t.

he thought to himself, with heart-eyes,

(i don’t think anyone here is interpreting laurent as “sweet” but you, damen)

In fact, the way Laurent’s men talked about their Prince now was not substantially different to the way that they had talked about him before: cold, ice-cold, except now he was cold enough to have fucked his brother’s killer.

:)

No one was looking at Laurent. It wouldn’t have mattered if they had been. His face showed nothing.

but damen looked at them not looking, and thought of laurent, because this is marlas they’re talking about

‘I’ve been there before,’ said Laurent. ‘Then you’re familiar with the area,’ said Nikandros. ‘That makes it easier.’ ‘Yes,’ said Laurent.

He wanted . . . he didn’t know what he wanted. For Laurent to have looked at him when Nikandros had announced that they would travel to the place where, six years ago, Damen had killed his brother.

messy messy

A rueful flicker of guilt: he knew that these men breaking curfew would not expect their King to appear and admonish them personally. His presence was ludicrously disproportionate to their crime, he thought.

damen kingship theme

‘Stand,’ said Damen, ‘like the men you think you are.’ He was angry. The men, standing, perhaps did not recognise that. They didn’t know the slow way that he came forward, or the calm tone of his voice. ‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘what it is you are doing here.’

wait no we are totally seeing the laurentification of damianos

The boy was badly bruised, and he could not stand under his own weight once the ropes were cut. Damen lowered him to the ground. More had been done to him than target practice. More had been done to him than a beating. They had put an iron cuff around his left wrist, like the gold cuff around his own—like the gold cuff around Laurent’s. Damen knew with a sickening feeling in his stomach exactly what had been done to this boy, and why. The boy didn’t speak Akielon. He had no idea what was happening, or that he was safe. Damen began to speak to him in Veretian, slow, calming words, and after a moment the boy’s glazed eyes focused on him with something like understanding. The boy said, ‘Tell the Prince I didn’t fight back.’

oh fuck, laurent would be horrified by this. it’s like an echo of nicaise and aimeric’s victimhood, and the only reason the boy hadn’t fought back was laurent’s threat. that lack of self-defense goes against so much of laurent’s own values and behavior, and he’d be disturbed to realize how he had inadvertently disempowered this vulnerable person.

‘Makedon of the north,’ said Damen. ‘You were a friend to my father. You fought with him for almost twenty years. That means a great deal to me. I respect your loyalty to him, as I respect your power and need your men. But if your soldiers harm a Veretian again, you will face me at the end of a sword.’

okayyyy so we’re starting to see a hint of where the kingship theme is going—damen getting past the whole “this is how it’s always been done, so i have to do it the same way” idea, and approaching “well i’m the king now, and this is what i think should happen instead”

‘You walk a fine line with Makedon,’ Nikandros said, on his return to camp. ‘He walks a fine line with me,’ said Damen.

YES BITCH!!!

‘Bruising, a broken rib,’ said Paschal. ‘Shock.’ ‘No, I meant—’ He broke off.

aw. damen really has come a long way, in terms of how he sees veretians. i think some of this is laurent-related, but i also think that damen is now extending the honor he’s always shown his own people to people he wouldn’t have considered worth honoring before the series’s events.

‘Thank you,’ said Damen. He heard himself continue, ‘I don’t expect—’ He stopped. ‘I know that I betrayed your trust, and lied to you about who I am. I don’t expect you to forgive me for that.’ He could feel the incongruity of the words, falling awkwardly between them. He felt strange, his breathing shallow.

i really appreciate paschal’s role in this story. a male figure in damen and laurent’s lives who cares about them both, but doesn’t give a shit about their sex lives in the slightest. paschal has always been kind of grey re: the war between akielos and vere too, evaluating people based on their individual qualities rather than their political allegiances. thanks doctor dad, you’re a real one.

‘We all do what we have to,’ said Paschal.

mysterious old man is mysterious…

[noonaishere]

Music of the Heart [J.YH] - thirty-one | JUPiTER

You walked into the studio to the cacophonous sound of multiple keys on the keyboard being held down. You looked over at the keyboard to find Hongjoong, face down on the keys.

You laughed softly; he probably fell asleep there last night and didn’t even hear the noise. This poor guy was going to make himself deaf before thirty if he kept doing this kind of thing.

With a chuckle, you walked over to the keyboard and switched it off.

“Why’d you do that?”

“AHH!”

Hongjoong looked up at you, the lines of the keys indented on his face.

“What the hell is wrong with you? I thought you fell asleep like last time.”

“Oh…” he touched his face and then ruffled his hair in frustration. “I was just thinking.”

“Having emos?” You chuckled.

“Yeah, having emos.” He turned the keyboard back on.

Now that your heart rate had lowered to a number under 180 bpm, you could put your stuff down on the table. “What about?”

“This song I’m working on for my own recordings.”

“Are you also a soloist?”

He nodded as he pressed a few keys idly. “I release under another name though.”

“Really? Why?”

He shrugged. “I’d rather people look at my solo work without being biased by my producing work.”

“Makes sense. You are one of the most famous producers in the business.”

He nodded tiredly. “Anyway, JUPiTER is coming in today so I think I need to give up for now.”

Your eyebrows ticked up. 

JUPiTER was Wonderland Entertainment’s most popular boy band. While their main concept was astronomy and Greek mythology, each of their comebacks had a different vibes, from cool, to cute, to sexy, they pulled them all off well. As expected of a group managed by Wonderland.

“Wow, really?”

“Mhm. we had finished their album right before we hired you. I think they had some questions for their performances.”

“Umm, what should I be doing?”

“You should just observe today.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

You took your notebook and a pen out of your bag so you could make notes if you needed to. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Hongjoong watch you for a moment before going back to idly pressing the keyboard keys.

A few minutes later, Maddox came in with JUPiTER behind him.

“Yes I be the cat and, yes I do the dragging.” He sang as he walked in, followed by his temporary entourage.

You looked up and bowed as they came into the room.

Hongjoong stood as well. “This is our new bassist and producer in training, t/l/n t/f/n.”

The group of boys took turns shaking your hand as they introduced themselves: the leader, Dal; the “mom”, Max; the unofficial maknae, Keeho; the fashionista, Jiung; and the actual maknae, Jongseob. You had seen them all on stage and in pictures before but - even though they were wearing casual clothes - they were all gorgeous in real life. Who could possibly think the visual arts were still needed when there were people this pretty on planet earth?

“It’s nice to meet you all.” You said.

They all nodded and responded with the same sentiment to varying degrees.

“So what are you doing here today?” Dal asked.

“She’s here to observe the recording process,” Hongjoong answered.

“But we’re done,” Keeho pointed out.

Hongjoong nodded. “And answering the questions of the artists is also part of the process. Otherwise you wouldn’t be in the studio today, would you?” He smiled.

They all nodded. He was right. 

He gestured to the chairs at the table. “Please, sit.”

Maddox joined you on one side and Keeho sat on the other side.

A few hours of discussion went by as mostly Dal and Max asked questions having to do with technical aspects, and asked for notes Hongjoong might have for the sound guys on the music shows.

You paid attention and took copious notes; if Hongjoong was really serious about training you as a producer, you wanted to show him that you were serious too.

When the conversation slowed and it seemed like the meeting was about to adjourn, Keeho turned to you.

“So how long have you been working here? You’re new right?”

You nodded. “I’ve been here… a few weeks already?

He nodded. “That’s cool. You’ll be around for our comeback-- Dal?”

Dal looked up. “Yeah?”

“When’s this comeback again?”

You opened your phone and went to the recording calendar, it had the comebacks on it. You checked the upcoming week. It was in three days.

“Umm… You know, it’s soon but I forgot the date again. I’ll check when we get back to the dorms. It’s not this week, I know that.”

“Okay.”

Your brow furrowed, could he have forgotten his own group’s comeback date? That’s weird.

You opened your mouth to help him, when you felt something hit your foot. Looking down, Maddox’s foot was now against yours. You looked up at him, confused, and he shook his head slightly. You looked to Hongjoong and he did the same.

You closed your phone and put it in your pocket.

After a few more minutes of questions and notes, the members, you, Hongjoong, and Maddox all said goodbye to each other and the members left. Maddox and Hongjoong went to their chairs at the desk and you sat at the table and got ready to do some transcribing.

“So um… is there a reason why Dal forgot his own group’s comeback date?”

Hongjoong and Maddox both laughed.

“What?”

“Dal knows it,” Hongjoong started, “he’s a really good leader who’s on top of everything. It’s just that Keeho…” He looked for the right words and looked to Maddox for help.

“Keeho is a streamer,” Maddox said, “and has spoiled every single comeback in some way since they debuted, so eventually the rest of the group decided that they had to lie to him if they didn’t want to continue getting yelled at by their managers for spoiling their comeback dates.”

You laughed. The idea was absurd. “On-- he’s spoiled them on purpose or by accident?”

“By accident. Every single one.”

“Wow,” you laughed. “Okay.”

They both nodded.

“That’s kind of ridiculous that they had to resort to lying to him about it.

“It really is.” Maddox laughed.

“Honestly, they’re doing it for his own good.” Hongjoong added.

“Does he know they’re lying?”

“At this point? I’m not even sure.”

You shook your head with a laugh and got to work transcribing.

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luvvvx • iamthehotdemon • hrts4hanniehae • rachs-words •

[yldboth]

(originally posted: june 14th 2023)

Incipit: Alright, so when i went to sleep yesterday (14h00) i had this annoying migraine. When i woke up in the morning (21h40) it was still there and had gotten even worse. Sucks. So I’ve got this big glass of water with “0,4L“ indented on the side and i think “i’ll drink some water, that usually helps migraines“ and so i fill it up and take a swing and just don’t stop and when it’s empty i fill it again and again and again and 3 hours later i’ve drank like 3 and a half liters of water. The point i’m getting at here is twofold. First, whoever invented humans is a fucking idiot. “Oh, i know, when they’re dehydrated they’ll just get a nondescript throbbing at the top of the head signifying absolutely fuckall to them.“ - Absolute fucking dumbass. Second, right now i’m actually in the best possible state (Thematically, not Mentally) to improv write this next sign:

2nd Post: Aquacin (#45), The Sign of the Ravel. A Ravel means a tangled object if i recall correctly, i’m not regoogling it.

Constellation: The sign is composed of three parts, a straight segment on the left, a sharp corner on the right, then the piece in the middle which is the other two stuck together, y’know, like, they’re tangled together. Nice going past me. A previous iteration had the design be just 3 times the middle part, and at that point the first possible symbolism was a bit obvious. It’s a chain (see first picture below). But that’s booooring. Like, a blood symbol themed around chains? Look at mister original over here. Chains isn’t even what people think of when they hear ravel (or more commonly, Unravel). They think ropes, knots, fabric, maybe even electric cords. So instead, why not something more like... (spends several minutes fucking around in GIMP) This! (see second picture below). A wand with a knot. Why? What does it mean? Well, first of all, it’s abstract and mystical looking and bizarre and looks cool. But searching for more precision, the first thing i think of is Bridge Locks (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Love_lock). This might be a cool element to characterize around later, but the connection with the symbol is a bit thin, so let’s keep searching. The second thing i think of is the japanese tanabata festival (just learned that’s how it’s called) trees (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tanabata#/media/File:七夕_(19545533256).jpg) where people write wishes on pieces of paper and tie it to a bamboo. Scouring that wiki page, wish trees (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wish_tree) are actually a thing throughout the world and throughout cultures. some of them have things tied to them, some of them have coins in their bark and all of them are freaking awesome. So here’s the idea, a myth for how the constellation was born. There’s a big tree once upon a time. A powerful figure of some kind, a god or hero, ties something to one of the branches and makes a wish, possibly for love if that ends up being a theme of the character later. Later, a hero goes up to the tree, hacks the branch, and crafts themself a wand without ever removing the tied item in order to benefit from the figure’s power. they go about their epic saga doing whatever it is that ancient myth heroes do, and at some point in it the wand gets flung out of their hand and into the sky where it is immortalized as a constellation. Dope.

Lusus: I spent quite a bit on the constellation, so i going to try to get the lusus done quicker, i don’t think it’ll be too relevant to the character this time. It’s an eel. An eel. It’s an eel with a tie. A neck tie, all dad-like. An ambiguous length of its body is inside a big piece of wood-looking coral. Actually, scratch that, it’s in a small tree. An underwater tree. Its body is probably all tangled up inside, but we don’t know that, we just get the sense of it from how it keeps doing head thrusts that slowly drags the whole thing around on the ocean floor. Otherwise it tries to appear to others as serious as possible as much as possible.

Physicality: Ok here’s the deal. It’s a dude. He’s got a necktie. He looks a bit like a loser. He can’t be a girl because girls usually look too cool with a necktie. Hair is messy, like every shonen protagonist messy, but his suit is impeccable. Here’s the secret, the big character reveal that’s dropped at like the 1/4th of the story, late enough to be surprising but early enough to cement itself in his character. It’s a clip-on tie :o. FOOL CAN’T PUT A NORMAL TIE ON WITHOUT MAKING A FCUKED UP KNOT THAT LOOKS RIDICULOUS, JAJAJAJAJAJAJA. (not judging if *you* have trouble with ties, or anything. this is just kidding stuff). So we’ve a messy boy, what about psychic powers? My HC for Violet blood psychic powers is... None. Haven’t figured it out. So he’s gonna have none, he was lining up to be a bit of an everyman archetype, anyways. Now that we’ve got a messy-haired loser everyman character, the obvious next step is to give him droopy eyes, a mumbly voice and a stubbled chin, right? WRONG! Remember, my man’s suit is I M P E C C A B L E. He has bright open eyes, a clear voice and the shavedest of chins. He tries very hard, every day, and if he’s a mess it’s solely because he sucks huge shit at basically everything (he just like me fr fr). His hands quake at the slightest of pressures, his eyes start to dart around at the slightest of calls for focus, he busts every craft, misses every target, loses every fight, but every time he gets back up, he cleans off his suit, clips his tie back on and combs his hair (which immediately goes back to its immutable messiness) having learned a bit more. A lot of hs characters often have minorer interests that don’t really matter or symbolize anything in the grand scheme of things (rose’s knitting, john’s magic tricks, jade’s gardening). For this guy, it’s roguelikes/lites. His strife specibus is rodkind. Not magic rods, not baseball bats or walking canes. just circular sticks of metal he uses to beat enemies over the head with. At some point he gets like an insane legendary weapon, but it’s just a metal stick with overly elaborate ornaments and such, so it looks ridiculous.

Personality: For the narrative, he would either be an unproblematic prince meant to subvert the lowkey implied idea in homestuck that princes are supposed to be evil or problematic, or he would be a non-prince villain with a sympathetic backstory. The problem is, i don’t want to make a habit of mentioning class in these because it generally limits the character’s possibility at this stage of its inception. The problem’s problem i just did that. So, fuck it, turkey-off ham-on, guy’s a prince as well as not a complete piece of shit. Princely narratives are based around the character owning great power in excess and abusing this power in a way that proves self-destructive, the form of the power in question being variable based on the aspect. Here, the character’s power evidently comes from their tremendous perseverance. Perseverance isn’t a classic association of blood, but i think it fits a bit considering breath is associated with malleability. I would still like a thicker connection, tho, and it’s a perfect occasion to tie in with physical appearance. Why *does* this character take such good care of his appearance? Another strong theme of blood is responsibility, duty. Perhaps if The Man feels the need to put in so much effort, it’s out of a sense of duty for “something?”. In that case, since it manifest primarily through their appearance, maybe they don’t even need to actually be competent, they just need to seem it. A man who’s spent countless years working tirelessly to show a level of competence that is in no way natural to him, in order to righteously represent the people he does. Maybe a country? a community? a political party? a kin, be it of blood, of heart or of mind? Whichever, it’s the fear of failing these people that keeps him going, and that eventually breaks him. My man needs a break. I failed to mention it earlier, but, yes, if he’s a prince and his perseverance is Blood, than his perseverance is a toxic influence to him, something he has to let go of but can’t. For the previous options of what it is that pushes him, i prefer the options that are fundamentally good things, like community and kin. The alternatives, political party (ties well into blood tho because diplomacy is somewhat connected to blood) has him more as a victim of his circumstances than of his own making. With positive groups pushing him there’s also room to tie it with bridge locks and the constellation myth. The narrator can be all like “Eternal love is beautiful, of course, but it must not be confused with eternal commitment.“ or something.

Excipit: Ok this is pretty much all, but there’s a few more things. About the strife specibus, each rod the character uses always has something tied to it. Like the first one has ropes above the hand position to form an improvised guard. And then maybe another one has a ribbon. Then he alchemizes the first and the ropes become sorta tendrils that move around of their own will. Who knows, i think that element gives potential for making fun creative weapons while keeping the idea of “lol, it’s just a bar“.

I’m not trying to make this a daily thing or anything. If you see this from the traveling through the homestuck hashtag, sorry to bother you with my silly character spitballing. I gotta go now, lest i miss my deterministically set bed time (15h00) (it advances 1h every day) (that’s how it got to there) (it’s a problem).

[cutie--q]

alegria654 replied:

Okay, sell me that show, I have no idea if it's worth watching

i don’t know how to persuade people really, so i decided to make a list of my pros and cons of we bare bears instead! i feel like this will be more helpful in figuring out whether you want to start watching it or not :)

pros:

it’s a slice of life show.

the show feels... warm?? if that makes any sense??? (it was actually intended to be that way by the creator!)

the character interactions are SO sweet,,,

the character dynamics are just really fun in general.

the show was made by the crew for the crew, meaning that they made it so it can be enjoyable for both minors and adults!!

this is a subtle thing that’s not acknowledged in the series, but ALL of the characters are socially inept. they’ve all been pushed away by society in some shape or form, whether that’s because they’re put on a pedestal so much that they can’t trust anyone who genuinely wants to befriend them (nom nom), or because they’re LITERALLY bigfoot and they’ve been chased/judged all their life that they’ve never had a lasting group of friends before (charlie). in a show, if there is someone who’s socially inept, it’s usually just one person (and even then, they’re just shy or ~quirkily~ awkward), so it’s incredible to see a show whose FULL CAST is socially inept!

on that note, bigfoot is a recurring character. that’s enough of a reason to watch this show. /joking

haha found family lovers go brrrrr

it’s definitely comfort show material!!

the relationship between a panda bear and bigfoot is something that can actually be so gay coded

these are the classic gay coded characters, folks. ya got the one who is VERY affectionate (charlie literally kisses panda and only panda sometimes??? for no reason????), them risking their lives for each other time and time again, that one scene in “chicken and waffles” where they’re just staring and stammering at each other (i seriously can’t see that scene as anything but romantic), them having a child in some way, it has it all.

the bears being mistreated by strangers in the show has always been an allegory for what it’s like to be a person of color in america. this was not only highlighted in the episode “grizzly the movie,” where grizz is casted into a movie that negatively depicts grizzly bears, but also in the show’s official movie, which is centered around the government trying to separate the bears and force them to “go back to where they came from.” (the movie is the most serious part of the series. it genuinely messed me up for days.) it’s very impressive that this allegory wasn’t added in later on; it was always intended to be apart of the show.

cons:

panda.

there is no character development in the show. the show would have you thinking there is, but it’s so painfully slow and gets taken away whenever it’s convenient for the plot that it’s just best to not get into it :/ (especially since the show got cancelled RIGHT when the characters were actually changing)

there’s also not that much continuity/ongoing plot. (this isn’t really a con, but it’s an important thing to know.) the only thing resembling that is “icy nights,” which was a continuing story in the show that only had two episodes and is unfinished. although the crew talked about how they wanted to wrap that up, so at least you can have closure in that regard.

the creator laughed at people who harmlessly shipped his characters :///

the characters kinda take a backseat as the show goes on. what i mean by that is that the episodes start making the WaCkY situations lead more than the characters and their personalities. this starts to happen in the less well received season 4, tho, so it doesn’t take up too much of the show.

also in season 4, they start to have a LOT more baby bear episodes than usual. baby bear episodes are episodes that focus on the bears as kids, but the thing about these episodes is that they’re just “awww, cute!” material for 11 minutes straight (it doesn’t have that much substance). getting these episodes sometimes?? a nice change of pace, it’s kinda interesting to see them interact as kids. but when these episodes take up a quarter of the season??? not so much. (who knows, maybe this increase in episodes gave CN the idea to cancel wbb and make a show that focused on them... as kids. they basically made a show that excludes their friends, who are the foundation of this show, cause, y’know, that’s a good idea :|)

in the show’s movie about racism, a cop was the hero even tho it would’ve been VERY easy for their friends to have been instead 🙃

[tmwcs]

My Roommate's Ex - Chapter 1

Hey loves, so I started to dig up my original drafts of this sequel by the same name, just finished re-editing the main characters names to HeeseungxReader pairing. There wont be as many chapters as MGR, and its less poetic and more storytelling. This chapter doesn't have any sexual intercourse, but does have some level of adult only events. There is ALOT of fluff in this one, so I hope you all enjoy. If you hadn't read My Girlfriends Roommate first, I suggest you do, and while I do encourage you to read all 12 chapters, if you feel the absolute need to skip, I would recommend you at least read chapters 8-12 and not skip any of those because they play a major role leading up to the good stuff.

Pairings: Heeseung and you of course. <3

Warnings: Not really for this one, just the mentioning of naked bodies next to each other and that's pretty much it.

Summary: Nah-uh! Y'all should know by now I don't like summaries, at least for short chapters/series. As stated before, Heeseung is a stud (still a stud) and you are (still) the most beautiful damn creature he's ever laid eyes on. Ya feel me?

Read on and enjoy. I'll be posting more chapters either later tonight or tomorrow morning. Okay byeeeee!

Your eyes flutter open, greeted by the darkness in the room. You can’t recall exactly when or how you fell asleep, all could remember, were the events that took place right before you passed out.

The subtleness of movement in your body commissioned you to feel something wrapped around your waist. You looked down, briefly forgetting that the room was pitch black, having no idea what the time was or how long you had been asleep, it came to light that Etha-no, Heeseung fell asleep with you. Next to you.

You mobilize your figure and commit to a half turn, easily allowing for you to lean your head towards the opposing direction behind, you hadn’t realized just how close he was next to you until the tip of your nose is suddenly met with his Adam’s Apple. Your body must of went entirely numb as you didn’t realize that your whole backside was entrenched to his front. Your eyes adjust to the darkness, expanding the limits of your senses as you not only feel his body, but you were able to somewhat make out the lining of his silhouette.

You saw his lengthy arm loosely resting on the indentation of your waistline, right before it meets the curve of your hips; while his other was bent at the elbow as he laid his head on it, asleep. His breathing was hard, slow, and long. He sounded peacefully exhausted as each exhale rushed the air out through his nostrils, grazing your forehead as you laid still with the tip of your nose planted against the hard lump on his neck.

You sigh as the urge within you wanted to give him soft kisses. Your body would slightly shake whenever you remembered the sensation you last felt, admitted by the man who lays beside you, boldly naked just as you were. No wonder you had knocked out without immediately remembering anything, the intense level of the orgasmic high still lingered in your mind as you felt a rush of deep love rising from your chest, tingling you to feel the desire of wanting to do it all over again. Every bit of it, to include the intense pain that introduced the pleasure.

Your bodies felt warm and soft, almost like silk, even smoother than your satin pillow. The motions of his chest as he breathed ranged in the re-expansion of his muscles to kiss your back as he took in each inhale. The coolness of his scent, cedar pine and mint, was still present as you continued to breathe through your nose, right against his neck. Succumbing to its hypnotizing effect, you rubbed the tip against the protrusion of his apple in very faint circles, enjoying the scent spiraling into you as you breathed it all in.

It must have been a sensitive spot for him, he slightly awoke upon receiving your gesture of affection. Yet he wasn’t entirely awake, it seemed he dabbed into consciousness for a split second as he dug his face into your hair and tightened his arm around your waist, bringing you in closer, shoving your face to the side and upwards so that your lips were met with range of smooth skin underneath his jaw. The flat surface begged for kisses, it was warm and not a stubble or blemish was in sight. You grazed over it with soft and tiny kisses as you reached your hand over to greet the extremity that was around your waist, rubbing your hand up and down along his wrist and forearm.

How ironic that it would take only one night for you to feel the immense pleasure of love, joy, and healing, when a man you had been with for months couldn’t make you feel even just a sliver of this blistering sensation. You really didn’t want to wake him, if possible, you would have stayed in that exact moment forever. But you didn’t want to risk Vicky coming in and see the evidence of what transpired on the other side of the evening. You didn’t care about her knowing, it was just the manner of how to relay it to her.

You weren’t sure what made you feel this way, but your instinct told you that Vicky still had some sense of fondness for Heeseung, and you’re not entirely sure how she’ll take the news even if you were to tell her in the best possible way you can think of, if that was even a thing.

Sleeping with your roommate’s…your friend’s boyfriend or ex boyfriend, reminding yourself that you hadn’t received any confirmation on the status of their current standing. For all you knew, they could have still been dating, just managing a break period.

You felt your heart soaring from nerves as you began rolling all the possibilities of Vicky and Heeseung’s situation. You wanted to keep him but not in the manner where you stole him from someone, after all, there is always a right way and a wrong way to do things. You put your mind at ease by coming to a mental pause, reminding yourself that you have yet to hear of Heeseung’s side of the story, or Vicky’s for that matter. The sudden realization hit you upon remembering she had never told you anything. Instead, she had just suddenly appeared at the party with her body fully embraced by Gabe prior to suffering the harassment of him and his indecent friend.

Stroking his forearm, the scented oils of his cologne become enriched at the slight friction of you dragging your fingers up and down the length of it. Feeling the light massage on his skin, Heeseung wakes up, unleashing an exhausting groan as he breathes in the floral scent of your hair. He hugs you tightly and admits the same gesture you were giving to him, dragging his fingers on to the center of your chest, encircling traces around the fullness of your breasts.

“I didn’t want to wake you. But we need to get dressed, in case if Vicky comes back.” You whispered softly against his neck as you lowered your kisses from under his chin, tracing the distance your face had traveled with the brush of your parted lips grazing against him.

You’ve become inebriated at the feel, the scent, and the movement of him. Groaning once more, he lets out just one word in the most pleasant tone, it was a combination of tired and fresh.

“Sure.”

The sudden flow of his arm that was embracing you reaches over to the bedside table to check the time, he leans in hovering over your cradled figure as his reach becomes fully extended. Noticing that he was enclosing you into his chest, he looks down at you, his hand remains attached to the table, placed directly on top of your phone.

He leans his face in and kisses you passionately, your naked bodies generating more heat as they rub against one another. He became so enveloped into kissing you that he had forgotten to retract his arm and stopped moving altogether. Instead, he focused on keeping the kiss alive by maneuvering his tongue in circular motion around yours, reopening your mouth every time you attempted to bring it to a pause.

As his arm remained still, you raised your hand and attempted to reach the phone yourself, not realizing until the last second that it was too far, and your arms are not nearly as long as his. He feels you reach your arm out and your fingers tapping and feeling around the beveled edge of the table, barely touching the screen of your phone. While keeping the kiss going, he pushes the phone further away instead of dragging it towards you, enjoying the feel of you struggling as the tip of your fingers begin to spider crawl along his wrists, trying to link with his bracelet so that you could pull him back in, along with your phone that remained planted underneath his palm.

You both feel the stretch of your smiles as your lips remained pressed together. Your tongues retract back into your mouths as you both chuckle, releasing a mixture of his deep pitch and your light one to fill the room. He drags the phone to your hand, finally. He places the device in both your hands and interlock your fingers together as he brings your arms back in.

Your smile never breaks as you look over to the side, squinting at the sudden brightness of your screen, you read the time on display. The clock read 3:37am, you figured that Vicky stayed out as usual, and would be back mid-morning. You figured she must have left with Gabe right after the incident and stayed with him all throughout the night.

You and Heeseung enjoyed more kisses before finally getting out of bed, cleaning up, and getting dressed. Not yet wanting to part away from you, he asks you to come for a drive with him. You accepted delightfully as you didn’t feel like staying inside the dorm or waiting up for Vicky.

He asked where you wanted to go and you looked at him intently for a moment, your lips formulate an alluring smile as your eyes twinkled at the sight of him before you shifted your gaze.

Looking down at your phone in hand, your memory relives the very moment when Heeseung read the email and shut the screen to black. Thinking about it brought you a feeling that you hadn’t felt before, a carefree one. You placed the phone on the edge of the table, and with your fingers barely touching it, you scooted it to the very same spot it had been at all night. A hard swallow travels down your throat, you blinked a couple of times before turning your head back to him, crossed your arms as you voiced your answer.

“Take me anywhere and everywhere. If I’m touching you and away from everything else, that’s all I care about.” You ended your sentence with a resounding smile, your eyes reflecting an emotion that communicated to him.

The hand that was playing and twirling his keys around suddenly dropped to his side after hearing your words. He stared right back into your eyes, his smile quickly disappears, he doesn't move, just simply stands there for a few seconds, as a couple of deep breathes seeped through the parted distance between his lips. His eyes were just a tad bit glossy, but not because of tears or the urge to cry, it was because he became overwhelmed by a powerful feeling, and it came so suddenly that it made his chest fall into his stomach.

Shifting his stance to lean inward he licked his lips, extended his hand to you, and spoke out. Even though his words were just a thread away from being a whisper, a very faint trace of his tone was present, it was broken, yet soft and tender.

“Come here.”

You walked over and took his hand, the moment you had done so, a familiar rush of force pulls you in. You’ve felt it once before when you had first met, it was when he pulled you away from Gabe. Pulling you so fast and so strongly, he displayed accurate timing and swiftness in his reflexes as he releases your hand, reaches around, and places it firmly on your lower back, all in the midst of you being pulled. Chest to chest, your bodies are like fitted pieces of a puzzle.

The tilt of his face allowed you’re your faces to be much closer to one another, with your noses placed on each other’s cheeks and your lips touching. He took one split second in pausing all movement before kissing you with more passion than any man was willing to give.

He took you for a long drive, taking every opportunity to glance your way with a smile as he kept one hand on the wheel, while the other would sneak over to hold yours. Wherever he was taking you, it was unfamiliar and beautiful. You leaned forward from your seat with your eyes growing wider, your mouth slowly opening upon seeing the amazing view through the windshield.

It was a long farm road that was surrounded by rows of large sycamore trees, perfectly paralleled with each other as they sided the path. Along with the trees, the road was also decorated by large bushes of blue and purple hydrangeas, all in full bloom. The spacing in between each trunk permitted you to view a wide bright green pasture filled with grazing cows and horses, the sight caused a small chuckle as you recall your father’s fondness for cows, and your mothers for horses.

The view was breathtaking. It reminded you of a landscape oil painting your father had hanged up in his study, it had the same sycamore trees and a bright green pasture with cottage houses and a field of lavender. The small gold plate on the bottom titled the painting as “Terre de Nice” by Andres Anroullie, a historic painter who grew up in the countryside of Nice, France; he painted that piece as a tribute to his homeland while he studied abroad, according to your father.

Thanks to Andres Anroullie’s talent, you grew up with a deep fondness for art, and ever since you first saw it, you would sneak into your father’s study to stare at it every day, feeling a sense that you had belonged there.

Noticing you enjoying the scenery and remarking the hydrangeas, Heeseung rolled down the windows, allowing the summer air to flow through, bringing in the loose petals from the flowers decorating the road.

He lowered the speed of the car to 5-10 mph, giving you all the time in the world to enjoy the setting as you stuck your hand out and let the soothing air flow through your fingers. The air was lukewarm as it was still very early in the morning, the sun was barely rising.

“Where are we?” Your voice was breathless, and your eyes never veered away from the view.

You smiled wondrously as you fell in love with the setting, it brought you back to a one of the more calming moments of your childhood.

He turned to face you and was about to answer but stopped. Losing his breath, his heart skipped a beat causing a soreness in his chest, he wasn’t prepared for it but was eternally grateful for what he saw.

The view of your smile dressing your beautiful face, and the slow flowing of air through the open windows causing a collaboration of blue and purple petals to dance in circles against your open palm as you raised it to your face, blowing at them as if you were blowing a kiss. Your hair surrounded you, and just like the petals, it danced in fluid motion from the traveling air.

He heard of the nickname they gave to you at the college, even before he met you, he recalled being informed by his peers that his girlfriend’s roommate was a goddess. Meeting you the first time made him understood why they called you that, but seeing you now made him believe in it. You were ethereal.

Finally able to regain some level of composure as he swapped one hand out with the other on the stirring wheel, resting his elbow on the base of the window, leaning into it as he rested his hand over his mouth and cleared his throat. When he was able to get over the soreness in his chest, he finally answered.

“It’s a place called Terre de Nice.”

You stopped blowing the petals and looked at him, what he just said did more than just surprised you, you were speechless. He remained facing the road, taking a moment to avoid looking at you so he could calm down from feeling overly flustered and dazed.

“Terre de Nice?” You repeated very softly, making sure you heard correctly, which he confirmed that you did as he responded once more.

“Yeah, named after the city in France, it means Land of Nice.”

[belphies-cowgirl]

reunited

Satan drabble: MC comes back as a demon

word count: 400+

Satan sat by your grave with his head hung low. his fists were clenched by his sides as he wept. since your death nothing had seemed to go right for him, it was one thing after the other. the anger inside him just kept boiling and he wanted to destroy everything in sight. he feels incomplete and hollow without you. nothing makes sense anymore, everything just makes him so angry and frustrated. guilt and grief were slowly eating away at him. he blamed himself for your death because he couldn't do anything to save you. he couldn't sleep or eat. he didn't feel like reading anymore because anytime he tried to get lost in a book he just ended up lost in memories of you. 

as he sat there weeping all he could think about was the last time he saw you alive. you were holding onto him so tightly it left two red handprints and crescent-shaped indents on his skin. you kept telling him that you didn't want to leave, that you weren't ready to lose him. he could still feel the way you shakily held his face and kissed him one last time. he touched his lips as tears rolled down his cheeks. he would give anything to be able to see you again, to hear your laugh, to see you smile. just one more kiss, one more warm embrace. 

a cool breeze washed across his body causing him to shiver. there weren't any breezes before, not even the creatures of the night made noises. he lifted his head and felt around for his jacket. a pair of obsidian-colored wings and horns caught his attention. his heart stopped, you were standing there in front of him looking as radiant as ever. he swore right then and there that he would tell you every day how much he loves you, how much you mean to him. he swore that he would do everything in his power to always protect you. 

before he could get up, you ran towards him smiling. you threw yourself into his arms and his back hit the ground. he held onto you tightly, hoping that this was real. he took in every detail of your beautiful face as you gently wiped his tears away. he couldn't stop smiling, tears kept flowing as he laughed. he couldn't believe it, you were in his arms again. you were alive and happy to see him. his heart melted as you brushed his hair out of his face, your soft touch warmed him to his core. you placed a soft kiss on his lips before kissing his tears away. 

"my love, you have no idea how happy I am to see you again."

✄ ——————————————————————

feel free to comment, reblog, shoot me a message, or an ask <3

please do not use my work as your own! 

m.list

[early20sfailingplenty]

Ok, not to be a whore but, as someone who is currently on their period, I keep imagining making an offhand joke about wishing that "my period would just stop for a bit" and suddenly just feeling Bo come up behind you and growl in your ear "I'm sure we c'n fig're out something that'll help with that." Fingers just rubbing a rough circle on the indent of your hips. "Put our heads together.."👀👀👀

Minors DNI or be blocked on sight!!!!

GOD ANON YOUR MIIIIIIIIIIIND😍I spun a small something!❤️

TW; PERIODS, BLOOD, SMUT IS IMPLIED POST-FIC, Bo’s a bit of an asshole but he means well lmao.

Gender neutral reader, no coded language, “you” & Y/N used.

“Ugh,” you sighed in frustration, “I wish my period would just stop for a bit.” Your voice was louder than you wanted it to be, so good were the acoustics in the garage, but it wouldn’t have mattered even if you had whispered, because Bo would have heard you anyway. He was always so intently aware of where you were and of what you were doing. A hunter was he, the man who had seen it all and done even worse, and you couldn’t take even one step in any particular direction without him noticing it, noticing you. “It’s such a waste of blood, makes no damn sense to me…” You trailed off, distantly aware that you were talking to yourself and you should probably be quiet.

You knew that you weren’t alone, that Bo was under the truck doing something or other, but you didn’t expect for him to suddenly be at your back, his arms constricting around your abdomen until you made a pained noise. He scoffed and then loosened up his grip so that the pressure his arms put against your abdomen was just enough to be comforting, but any harder and he would be causing you further pain. Bo’s chin rested on your shoulder and his lips ghosted over the shell of your ear as he said, “M’sure we c’n fig’re out somethin’ that’ll help wit’ that,” his voice husky with want and his eyes fixed upon you. Any movement, any breath, any hesitance, any consent… Bo would see it all, he would see you.

His fingers travelled down, down, until they were rubbing rough circles in the indents of your hips. You tipped your head back, back, until your head was resting on Bo’s shoulder, your neck exposed to the cool air, and his fingers dipped below your waistband, rubbing at the space below your navel to both soothe your cramps and to warm you up until you were nice and pliant for him.

“Y’know, Vince once tol’ me that orgasms help wit’ cramps. Wanna help me, uh… test his theory? If we, ah,” Bo leans forward and rests his forehead against the back of your head, “put our heads together, m’sure we c’n get’cha feelin’ better, darlin’,” His fingers traverse lower and lower still, and you arch into his body, wanting more of everything he’s offering to you and more.

When he put it like that, how could you say no?

[believeitseeitdoit]

Legos and Language

Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes

Summary: All bets are off when it comes to a Lego mishap in the Rogers-Barnes home 

Rating: Y'all shouldn’t be reading the filthy things if youre under 18 anyways but this one is pretty PG (but language is the exception)

Warnings: Domestic stucky, suggested and slight smutty times, 90% fluffy, some foul language, talk of murder and destruction of legos forever, feel good shit, Steve, Bucky and their girl have babies

don’t steal my little munchkin oc names please, I like them 

This is written from each lover’s POV, marked by ******** this 

This is a work of love and hated of legos, solely to be read for a smile and maybe some happiness, be kind or go away

        “Sonofabitch!” Your hushed curse rattles through the house as you stomp barefoot through your son’s pile of a semi built lego creation. With a few breathy “fuck’s,'' you hop over to the nearest chair to rub the new soreness out. Sharp indentations litter the underside of your arch, and you peel off a flat piece from your toe then mentally plot unmonitored use of the quantum realm to murder the creator of legos before they can cause any harm to you again.

       Continuing your muttering, you delicately set your foot down and turn to the mess. You sigh in relief that you didn’t destroy any of the built chunk, you were only subjected to the ultimate test of parenthood, the loose pieces.

     “Back to our regularly scheduled morning, coffee.” You say to the empty room, narrating your routine as if you were running a sitcom. Once in the kitchen, you set about making a hefty pot of coffee for you and your husbands, humming an 80s rock tune and letting your open robe swish around you loosely in the process.

********

      They both notice you slide out of bed, a super spy and a retired Avenger don’t miss much in their own home. But rather than follow you down to the kitchen to disrupt your morning ritual, Steve pulls his husband against him and nuzzles his hair so they could get some quiet time of their own. A few moments later, Bucky is softly snoring against Steve’s arm, and Steve is on the brink of sleep when he hears a barely audible string of curses and the unbalanced thunking of feet along the hardwood. Bucky seems undeterred, so Steve leaves him be and slips out of the bed to investigate what caused the early use of language, not that he’s surprised considering their wife’s colorful vocabulary when the kids aren’t listening.

       Pulling his discarded boxers back on from the night before, Steve saunters out of the master suite silently toward the staircase. He pokes his head into the nursery to check on the sleeping infant twins, and heads down the old hardwood steps, praying for them not to creak with every step. Halfway down the stairs, he hears you filling the coffee pot under the tap and the chorus to a White Snake ballad quietly playing from the speakers while you hum along. With a smile and a small head bob as he catches the tune, Steve steps across the threshold of the stairs toward the living room and kitchen, unaware of the torture devices scattered on the floor.

      Steve intends to follow the wall to get to the kitchen without his presence known, until you hear a series of words that would make Tony blush and an unfortunate crunching sound of your son’s creation being smashed to bits.

     “SONOFAFUCKINGMONKEYSASSHOLE WHAT THE FUCKING DICK ON A STICK GOD DAMN PIECE OF TORTUROUS BULLSHIT IS THIS?!!” He yelps loudly and tries to hop over the new graveyard of legos.

     In his fresh misery, he misses you quickly dropping the coffee grounds onto the counter top and hustling toward him to make sure his verbatim doesn’t wake the twins. As you begin shushing him from a few steps away, Steve hobbles blindly toward your voice and you see it happen before you can say anything. Your big clutz of a husband smashes his un-assaulted foot through your son’s Legos, only this time Captain America is not the star spangled man with a plan. He has absolutely destroyed the near complete firetruck and you can only stand in awe at his ability to hit each remaining chunk of the build before he finally makes it to the couch.

     “Fuck fuck fuck fuck, why the fucking legos? FUCK!” His wailing is not going to gain any sympathies from you, only entertainment at the weaknesses of men.

     “Steven Grant, you shut the hell up before you wake my babies or I WILL send Bucky to the store and you can have twin duty alone.” Sitting down at his feet to pull the pieces off his skin, you scold him lightly but without any venom or intention. He hisses as you pull the flat plastic off his big toe, and you chuckle as his pathetic whimpers cease.

     “So, coffee?” You stand and pull him up with you toward the kitchen, letting his calloused hands and leftover cologne embrace you like a blanket as he leans down to caress your cheek. He kisses your forehead and softly brushes hair behind your ear with one hand while the other grips your plush hip under the loose robe.

     “Maybe something sweeter to distract me first? This robe is teasing me.” His lips ghost down your neck and he nips at your collarbone while pulling the thin silk off your shoulders.

     “You kept me up late, baby. I need coffee before anything today.” You whisper breathily against his tanned, thick chest, whimpering and shivering as you feel him trace the marks littering your skin and gently squeezing the flesh he is so obsessed with.

     He allows you to pull away only after you shudder again, but he stands behind you, hands locked onto your hips as you pour the bitter amber liquid into 3 mugs. Steve’s love bites on your neck keep you distracted long enough for Bucky to come down the stairs without being noticed.

     “I thought we agreed there was no third wheeling in this family, and yet here we are.” Your bonus husband is perched against the refrigerator offering your favorite coffee creamer and his signature pout.

******

     Bucky is roused by his husband rolling out of bed and the accompanying coolness that surrounds him as the sheets flutter back down against the mattress. He listens to Steve pad lightly down the hall to check in on the kids, Hudson in his room first, then Charlotte and Talia in the nursery.  As the footsteps recede down the stairwell, Bucky lets his body sink into the bed and the scents of his partners surround him and lull him back to sleep.

     Until he hears a string of words leave his husband’s mouth, and a series of crunches and shattering sounds buried under more very inappropriate words. Now wide awake, Bucky shoves himself from bed and puts a loose sweatshirt over his head while he walks toward the stairs. He is halted by a whimper from one of his little twins in the nursery, but his ever present super senses note that both babes are still firmly asleep so he continues down the steps.

       Not sure of the state of things on the main floor, Bucky alertly scopes the space and finds their son’s legos strewn about the floor. With a sigh, Bucky steps around them and shakes his head as he follows the sounds of his husband and wife to the kitchen. He is met with tangled hair and soft pants, an open robed woman more stunning than Aphrodite, and a man barely containing his impressive erection in his low hanging boxers. Bucky can feel the energy in the room, can practically taste the arousal on them, and his subconscious stirs awake, begging to join like a wolf waiting for the hunt.

*******

      “And who plans on fixing our son’s firetruck creation? Because it sure as hell won’t be me, I will be taking care of our little girls where I am wanted.”

     Steve is the first to respond, an arm opens toward Bucky in the same moment. “Honey we didn’t mean to leave you out, c’mon over here let us show you how much better it is with you.” 

      As Bucky steps into Steve’s reach, you push off the counter and into the thick warmth of your husbands. Their desire envelops you as kisses are peppered on skin and fingers prod at bits of flesh for a better grip on reality. The moment is nearly bursting with love and lust, blinding both man’s super senses of their incoming visitor.

        “Who da hell bwoke my WEGOS!!!!????? MOMMYYYYY!” Hudson screeches from the bottom of the stairs and you’re running for him in an instant.

        “Hudson Anthony! You do not speak like that. You know better young man.” Steve and Bucky hiss at the use of their boy’s middle name, knowing how he feels in both respects.

       “Baby boy, I’m so sorry about the Legos, but you cannot use that language. No naughty words right?” You hate scolding him when you completely understand his frustrations, but heavens forbid he say any of that in public, the boy would be shamed and sent to his principal so fast even the Daily Bugle couldn’t catch it first. 

      Hudson sniffles and rubs his nose, trying to fight off tears of frustration in front of his daddy and papa, but quickly fails.

“But, is bwoken mommy. I woked so hawd on it! Wuh happened?” He begins wailing and stuttering breaths, and you pull him into your arms to hug and comfort him gently.

       “Shh, handsome, it was an accident. See, they were left too close to the stairs and mommy stepped on some, then daddy heard her yelp and ran through them too. Papa moved them out of the way and reminded daddy that he needs to help fix it with you baby.” You bounce him on your hip, trying to push the sadness away like you did when he was a small tike.

       Bucky and Steve step closer, each wrapping an arm around you and Hudson to initiate a bear hug. Hudson whimpers a bit longer then picks his head up from your shoulder and leans toward Steve, signaling he wants his daddy to hold him next. Steve pulls him close and whispers apologies only audible to his boy, but you and Bucky smile knowingly. They head to the far corner of the couch where they can have a quiet cuddle and talk about how Hudson can teach his daddy to rebuild the LEGO vehicle. 

      You lean against Bucky, enjoying the moment until he turns to the stairs.

       “Time for round 2 with some sleepy babies?” You tie your robe closed and head up the walk way, stubbing your toe on the first step.

       “Mother fu—dge on toast that was unpleasant.” You yelp and grip tightly onto Bucky’s vibranium arm. He chuckles and scoops you into his arms, carrying you up the remaining steps.

     ���Careful, I don’t want to use your middle name today too darling.” He winks, setting you down at the doorway of the nursery. With a huff, you begin fluttering about the room, softly waking your girls and beginning their morning routine.

    “My sweet little Charlotte Ann, and my lovely Natalia Rose, you two are the most precious angels in this world. But for the love of all things holy, no Legos when you’re older ok?”

Tagging those who may appreciate this or can give me a helpful bit of advice on my writing : @bxccxdxll​ @iraot​ @sagechanoafterdark​ @tuiccim​  @thebescht​ @makbarnes​

[aks-of-the-weak]

Incipit: Alright, so when i went to sleep yesterday (14h00) i had this annoying migraine. When i woke up in the morning (21h40) it was still there and had gotten even worse. Sucks. So I’ve got this big glass of water with “0,4L“ indented on the side and i think “i’ll drink some water, that usually helps migraines“ and so i fill it up and take a swing and just don’t stop and when it’s empty i fill it again and again and again and 3 hours later i’ve drank like 3 and a half liters of water. The point i’m getting at here is twofold. First, whoever invented humans is a fucking idiot. “Oh, i know, when they’re dehydrated they’ll just get a nondescript throbbing at the top of the head signifying absolutely fuckall to them.“ - Absolute fucking dumbass. Second, right now i’m actually in the best possible state (Thematically, not Mentally) to improv write this next sign:

2nd Post: Aquacin (#45), The Sign of the Ravel. A Ravel means a tangled object if i recall correctly, i’m not regoogling it.

Constellation: The sign is composed of three parts, a straight segment on the left, a sharp corner on the right, then the piece in the middle which is the other two stuck together, y’know, like, they’re tangled together. Nice going past me. A previous iteration had the design be just 3 times the middle part, and at that point the first possible symbolism was a bit obvious. It’s a chain (see first picture below). But that’s booooring. Like, a blood symbol themed around chains? Look at mister original over here. Chains isn’t even what people think of when they hear ravel (or more commonly, Unravel). They think ropes, knots, fabric, maybe even electric cords. So instead, why not something more like... (spends several minutes fucking around in GIMP) This! (see second picture below). A wand with a knot. Why? What does it mean? Well, first of all, it’s abstract and mystical looking and bizarre and looks cool. But searching for more precision, the first thing i think of is Bridge Locks (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Love_lock). This might be a cool element to characterize around later, but the connection with the symbol is a bit thin, so let’s keep searching. The second thing i think of is the japanese tanabata festival (just learned that’s how it’s called) trees (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tanabata#/media/File:七夕_(19545533256).jpg) where people write wishes on pieces of paper and tie it to a bamboo. Scouring that wiki page, wish trees (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wish_tree) are actually a thing throughout the world and throughout cultures. some of them have things tied to them, some of them have coins in their bark and all of them are freaking awesome. So here’s the idea, a myth for how the constellation was born. There’s a big tree once upon a time. A powerful figure of some kind, a god or hero, ties something to one of the branches and makes a wish, possibly for love if that ends up being a theme of the character later. Later, a hero goes up to the tree, hacks the branch, and crafts themself a wand without ever removing the tied item in order to benefit from the figure’s power. they go about their epic saga doing whatever it is that ancient myth heroes do, and at some point in it the wand gets flung out of their hand and into the sky where it is immortalized as a constellation. Dope.

Lusus: I spent quite a bit on the constellation, so i going to try to get the lusus done quicker, i don’t think it’ll be too relevant to the character this time. It’s an eel. An eel. It’s an eel with a tie. A neck tie, all dad-like. An ambiguous length of its body is inside a big piece of wood-looking coral. Actually, scratch that, it’s in a small tree. An underwater tree. Its body is probably all tangled up inside, but we don’t know that, we just get the sense of it from how it keeps doing head thrusts that slowly drags the whole thing around on the ocean floor. Otherwise it tries to appear to others as serious as possible as much as possible.

Physicality: Ok here’s the deal. It’s a dude. He’s got a necktie. He looks a bit like a loser. He can’t be a girl because girls usually look too cool with a necktie. Hair is messy, like every shonen protagonist messy, but his suit is impeccable. Here’s the secret, the big character reveal that���s dropped at like the 1/4th of the story, late enough to be surprising but early enough to cement itself in his character. It’s a clip-on tie :o. FOOL CAN’T PUT A NORMAL TIE ON WITHOUT MAKING A FCUKED UP KNOT THAT LOOKS RIDICULOUS, JAJAJAJAJAJAJA. (not judging if *you* have trouble with ties, or anything. this is just kidding stuff). So we’ve a messy boy, what about psychic powers? My HC for Violet blood psychic powers is... None. Haven’t figured it out. So he’s gonna have none, he was lining up to be a bit of an everyman archetype, anyways. Now that we’ve got a messy-haired loser everyman character, the obvious next step is to give him droopy eyes, a mumbly voice and a stubbled chin, right? WRONG! Remember, my man’s suit is I M P E C C A B L E. He has bright open eyes, a clear voice and the shavedest of chins. He tries very hard, every day, and if he’s a mess it’s solely because he sucks huge shit at basically everything (he just like me fr fr). His hands quake at the slightest of pressures, his eyes start to dart around at the slightest of calls for focus, he busts every craft, misses every target, loses every fight, but every time he gets back up, he cleans off his suit, clips his tie back on and combs his hair (which immediately goes back to its immutable messiness) having learned a bit more. A lot of hs characters often have minorer interests that don’t really matter or symbolize anything in the grand scheme of things (rose’s knitting, john’s magic tricks, jade’s gardening). For this guy, it’s roguelikes/lites. His strife specibus is rodkind. Not magic rods, not baseball bats or walking canes. just circular sticks of metal he uses to beat enemies over the head with. At some point he gets like an insane legendary weapon, but it’s just a metal stick with overly elaborate ornaments and such, so it looks ridiculous.

Personality: For the narrative, he would either be an unproblematic prince meant to subvert the lowkey implied idea in homestuck that princes are supposed to be evil or problematic, or he would be a non-prince villain with a sympathetic backstory. The problem is, i don’t want to make a habit of mentioning class in these because it generally limits the character’s possibility at this stage of its inception. The problem’s problem i just did that. So, fuck it, turkey-off ham-on, guy’s a prince as well as not a complete piece of shit. Princely narratives are based around the character owning great power in excess and abusing this power in a way that proves self-destructive, the form of the power in question being variable based on the aspect. Here, the character’s power evidently comes from their tremendous perseverance. Perseverance isn’t a classic association of blood, but i think it fits a bit considering breath is associated with malleability. I would still like a thicker connection, tho, and it’s a perfect occasion to tie in with physical appearance. Why *does* this character take such good care of his appearance? Another strong theme of blood is responsibility, duty. Perhaps if The Man feels the need to put in so much effort, it’s out of a sense of duty for “something?”. In that case, since it manifest primarily through their appearance, maybe they don’t even need to actually be competent, they just need to seem it. A man who’s spent countless years working tirelessly to show a level of competence that is in no way natural to him, in order to righteously represent the people he does. Maybe a country? a community? a political party? a kin, be it of blood, of heart or of mind? Whichever, it’s the fear of failing these people that keeps him going, and that eventually breaks him. My man needs a break. I failed to mention it earlier, but, yes, if he’s a prince and his perseverance is Blood, than his perseverance is a toxic influence to him, something he has to let go of but can’t. For the previous options of what it is that pushes him, i prefer the options that are fundamentally good things, like community and kin. The alternatives, political party (ties well into blood tho because diplomacy is somewhat connected to blood) has him more as a victim of his circumstances than of his own making. With positive groups pushing him there’s also room to tie it with bridge locks and the constellation myth. The narrator can be all like “Eternal love is beautiful, of course, but it must not be confused with eternal commitment.“ or something.

Excipit: Ok this is pretty much all, but there’s a few more things. About the strife specibus, each rod the character uses always has something tied to it. Like the first one has ropes above the hand position to form an improvised guard. And then maybe another one has a ribbon. Then he alchemizes the first and the ropes become sorta tendrils that move around of their own will. Who knows, i think that element gives potential for making fun creative weapons while keeping the idea of “lol, it’s just a bar“.

I’m not trying to make this a daily thing or anything. If you see this from the traveling through the homestuck hashtag, sorry to bother you with my silly character spitballing. I gotta go now, lest i miss my deterministically set bed time (15h00) (it advances 1h every day) (that’s how it got to there) (it’s a problem).

[thefanbasewhore]

The Weeping.

Prompt no. 4 from @wkemeup 's 9k challenge! - Character A is being held hostage. Character B offers to trade themselves in A's place.

master list || tag list

Summary || After you're taken from a mission, Bucky offers himself in order to insure your safety.

Paring || Bucky Barnes x female reader

Word count || 1,660

Warnings || abduction (kidnapping??), violence, gun-fire, mentions dead bodies and blood, angst.

Side note || clear eyes is Bucky and yours way of saying everything is okay and this is shorter then I intended it to be, I didn't have a lot of time to write it, so if it seems rushed, I'm sorry.

The mission was supposed to be simple - a quick in and out, retrieve the information and burn that place to the ground but even that seemed unattainable at the moment.

Bullets whiz through the air, penetrating the barrier of sound that make Bucky's ears ring. To anyone else it is frightening, usually follows screams of terror but it's something he lives for, the only familiar sound to stay with him constantly through the years. Adrenaline makes his body visibly tremble, chest conforming to laboring breath in order to stay quiet. Those crystal blue orbs narrowing, fine wrinkles bunch on the skin of his forehead as he nods towards you, on the opposite side of the room but still in his peripheral vision.

He nods once more - just to ensure that the hallway is clear. His heart is thumping against his chest right along with your own, fingers clenched the butt of your to bring it closer to your chest, raising it as Bucky moves in front of you with his own. The walls are splattered with red, fresh blood as you maneuver through the corpses' that lifelessly scatter the floors and the dark hallway seems almost endless, except the flickering light at the end of it. With every muffled gunshot it turns into darkness only to be unexpectedly brought to life again. "Stay low.." Bucky whispers as he follows your stance - back against the wall and a free hand reaching for the spare knife hidden in both of your boots but not before he extends his arm and fingers grasp the buckle across your chest with a gentle but meaningful pull, "Clear eyes?" "Clear eyes." Bucky nods softly as the cool vibranium finger sculpts the structure of your jaw with twinkling eyes. "Be careful in there, okay? You need anything --." He taps the shell of his ear with two fingers, and you nod in understanding. With one last glance Bucky turns towards the double doors, a hand pressing against the handle as he uses his body weight to push it open with ease and the moment he does more gunfire echoes the walls of the room. A sudden blur of motion catches his attention as his breath hitches as his arms wrap around you as bullets whiz through the air, only inches away from piercing your skin. Bucky uses the other door as cover as metal bullets ricochet. Smaller fingers clench into his flesh arm, forming indentations of small crescent moons as a means to seek cover. Bucky's arms wrap around you pulling you into his chest to shield you from any stray bullets but the heavy door behind his back is a strong enough metal to take the blunt force of the bullets without breaking through. His soothing hands find your hair, breathing heavily as he angles your face to meet his eyes. "Are you okay?" Your throat tightens at his worried expression but nods to confirm you were not hit. Bucky nods back, eyes setting in a hard line as he keeps you between his legs but peers over the threshold of the floor but a warning short from around the corner bounces off the walls. "Fuck." Bucky whispers as he reaches into the pocket of his tactical pants, but you don't need to look to see what he's got. "I'll go up the stairs, you go to the right." He pulls the pin out, rolling it into the room and waits until a thick, white cloud of smoke fills the hall, with one last nod he pulls his glasses down, fingers tapping the side as they click to life. You follow behind, gun raised in the air as you follow through sweeping the rather large room. The smoke is thick - suffocating, throat closing due to the inadequate amounts of oxygen, but you swallow the ball in the back of your throat while trying to maneuver through it, the glasses didn't help much. Footsteps cause you to jump, turning in every direction but the cloud is too thick and they near closer following along with your frantic motions to protect yourself with a mixture of anxiety and fear coarse through your veins. Something is mumbled to your right but it's too late, two rather large hands roughly grab at your hair, pulling it into a tight fist as another set of hands catch your leg - pulling into your fall onto the ground, hitting your head hard enough that dark, round dots cloud your vision. Before you could even manage to move - the cool surface of a blade touches your neck and your raise your hands in surrender as the weight of the man moves to crush your chest, face still veiled behind the white smoke. Without a word he turns you around, pressing your cheek against the floor with a rough hand as he pats down your suit, pulling the knives out with a snarl as his friend picks up your gun. 'Sweetheart, where are you?' Bucky's voice is muffled from the fact that the man's hand presses against it, but it vibrates his skin and it's yanked from your ear and crushed between two fingers. When the smoke dissipates the man brings you

to your knees, hands wrapped around your wrists with an unforgiving knee digging into your spine. "If you want her alive, come out now." A thick, foreign accent bounces off the walls of the room as the hand tightens, the other goon on your right holds your gun up as a blur moves in the corner of your eyes. Bucky's eyes meet yours in a panic as he rounds the corner, raising his gun to the man that holds your hair which only causes him to say something in a foreign language, digging the knife into your throat until it stings with pain. Every ragged breath the sharpened blade nicks the thickest column of your neck. "Let her go." Bucky hisses through clenched teeth, jaw clenching as seafoam eyes darken like the night sky. The man smiles evilly, a sick grin that reaches his eyes, makes Bucky's stomach drop inside his stomach as he twirls the knife around a dirty, unmanicured finger. "Didn't think we'd recognize you with that haircut, Soldat?" The skin of your neck burns as a yelp of pain fills the room, blood smears his fingers and invades your senses and the words make Bucky's eyes narrow, squeezing them shut at the words. The smell of smoke, gunfire and metallic make your head spin as Bucky lowers the gun to the ground, hands raised in the air. "Take me, let her go." "What use do we have for you now, Soldat? You are no longer our winter soldier; they have rid you of that." The man's sick chuckle causes him to shake his head, eyes wild with paralyzing fear. "That's not true - I feel him, he's still in here." He pauses, guilty eyes flicker to your own and back up the to man's, "Just let her go, don't hurt her." "No, no." You manage to mumble, tears stinging the waterline of your eyes as you grit your teeth in pain, he never lets the pressure of the knife go as you try to suppress a shiver. Bucky lowers his head with shame, in complete defeat as he lowers to his knees and moves the gun further away. "He's still in here. You can get him out. Take me instead of her, please." "Stop, no!" Eyes of guilt refuse to meet your own, the secret you have known all along and Bucky's urge to smother the winter solider completely blinded him from the fact that this could happen someday. It's been years since he's been so called 'freed' but some roots are so deep they can't be removed, the inside of his brain still tainted with the dark soldier who refuses to stop haunting him after all this time. "Bucky don't you fucking do it!" Bucky ignores the calls, squeezing his eyes shut with emotion. It's not fair, all those years spent brainwashed, tucked away inside his own brain just to end up there again. He barely survived the trauma then but now - he would never be able to, not without Steve, without the Wakandian's again. "Walk towards me, slowly." The other man commands as Bucky nods an understanding to stand on his feet but pauses as the knife presses into your skin more, "Let her go first." The instant the knife is gone is relief, hand reaching up to rub the burning skin and smear blood against your gloved hand and along your neck. Roughly the knee against your back pushes you from the position of on your knees to leaning against the man for support as his arm crosses against your chest, hand crushing the windpipe of your neck. "I will count to three and you both will walk, you towards me, her out the door. Got it?" With every number your heart pounds inside your chest, face turning red due to the harsh grasp at the surface of jaw as a cough follows suit, chest greedy for oxygen as he releases. Bucky takes the first step forward, edging you closer with his eyes that leave little room for argument. Close, slow steps until both yours and his arm brush against each other The fat of your bottom lip quivers as he leans forwards, hands still raise obediently in the air to press his forehead against your own. "Buck -." "Promise me, you won't come look for me." It is rushed as the men in front of him yell but inaudible as you shake your head as tears push past eyelashes. "I mean it, forget about me, they'll never stop. Okay? No

matter how much I try, they will never leave me alone." "How could you say -." There's a rough tug on his hand, pushing him forward but he uses the last second, he can spare to press one more heartbreaking kiss against your lips and before you could comprehend what coming next - a burning, red-hot pain radiates at the base of your skull and numbing darkness consumes you.

tags: @sugarpunch-princess, @old-enough-to-know-better73, @maxsaturdayhatesnarwhals, @Fajitasandfics, @devilswaldorf, @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123, @grubler, @SodDy030, @agent-catfish-kenobi,@scarletglowss, @abitchforbarnes, @xxlovingfandomsxx, @jewishdelis, @klorpski, @kaitieskidmore1, @peterpstuff, @akaaaaashiiii, @angelsandsorcery, @moony-is-bae, @yliumy, @watermelonsponge, @stolenxkissess, @peakascum, @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme, @crvecem, @likealadygodiva, @harrysthiccthighss, @burnerbitchh, @sergeantjamesbbarnes, @amelia-song-pond

[spxllcxstxr]

Date Night • The Marauders

(Gif not mine)

Request: Maybe like a poly!marauders x (she/her) reader where they just spend a day together :) like you can write smut If you’d like, but yea maybe they can go out to eat id like to see a dynamic in a poly relationship w them. Thank you!! Love your writing <3 — anon

Summary: Date nights are rare, but tonight, you go out for ice cream with your partners

Warnings: Food and eating!! The entire fic is about eating, so please stay safe! If you have a peanut allergy no you don’t. Also, if you’re lactose intolerant like me, uhhhh pretend there’s a potion for that I guess, kinda implied first Wizarding war, smallest hint of steaminess

Word Count: 1.6k

A.N: Remus=Ross, James=Chandler, Sirius=Joey, right? This took me like weeks to finish...but overall I kinda like it. Let me know what you think, and love you all ❤️

****

The four of you very rarely had free time.

Between missions and meetings, you and your partners almost never had time off, and even when you did, one of you would still be busy. One of you would still be undercover or stuck debriefing the latest mission with Mad-Eye for hours.

So it’s weird to find yourself situated on the couch, Sirius’ head resting on your lap and Remus on the other end, stuck with his feet. James shuffles around in the kitchen behind you, stuck with dish duty after almost setting your flat on fire.

Sirius snuggles deeper into your thigh, evidently still exhausted from the previous day’s mission he was tasked with.

The flat is mostly quiet, the only sounds coming from Remus turning the pages of his novel and the ceramic plates clashing together as they get put away. The sun slowly sets outside, basking your living room in glowing orange in light.

You run your fingers through the mess of dark curls splayed out on your lap, always lustrous and soft to the touch. He hums deeply in approval.

A sharp clap from behind jolts you out of your peaceful thoughts.

You crane your neck to watch as James throws on his denim jacket.

“I believe that we,” He starts, eyeing the three of you. “deserve a date night.”

Instantly, a smile grows across your face. The last time the four of you had a proper date night, it was 1979 and Queen had just released a new song, which meant that Sirius needed to celebrate with all of you at the pub getting absolutely pissed.

Since you all joined the Order, all your free time has been sucked down the drain.

So that’s why the mere suggestion of the normally elusive date night makes you feel all giddy inside. You would’ve gotten up from your comfortable position to throw your coat on if it wasn’t for Sirius practically securing you to the cushions.

“But James...” He groans.

“Oh c’mon, Pads, we haven’t been on a proper date since—“

“Last year.” Remus interjects, shutting his book before placing it onto the coffee table. “But then again, you were too drunk for it to actually be considered a date.”

“Don’t blame me, blame Freddie and his Merlin given voice.” Sirius muses, still laying on your thigh. His fingers dance around your kneecap.

Remus slowly eases himself off the couch, joining James by the front door.

“Fine.” You hear James shrug. “We’ll just leave you here to suffer while Remus, (Y/n), and I go out to Florean’s.”

This seems to grab his attention, because he perks up just enough for you to slide out of his grasp.

You end up at Remus’s side, clinging to his grey jumper as you excitedly pull on your shoes.

“Ice cream?” Sirius asks, pushing his hair behind his ears. “Without me?”

“It doesn’t have to be without you, Sirius.” You retort, sandwiched between James and Remus. “If you get your arse over here, we won’t have to leave you.”

“Alright, you’ve convinced me.” Sirius huffs, hands raised in mock surrender, dragging himself over to the front door.

He waves his wand, boots zipping out of the closet and slipping onto his feet, his dark leather jacket covering his white shirt on its own.

“What, are simple tasks too hard for you now?” Remus teases, lightly bumping his shoulder into Sirius’.

“We’ve got magic for a reason, Moons.” The shorter of the two rolls his eyes. “Might as well use it.”

Remus opens his mouth to retort but James swiftly interrupts their bickering.

“I swear to Godric Gryffindor himself, (Y/n) and I will leave both you gits here.”

There’s grumbling from the two of them, but it becomes garbled once James throws an arm around you and Apparates you to Diagon Alley.

Your brain feels like it’s spinning in your skull and your stomach tugs familiarly at your naval. Sure you’ve Apparated many many times before, but it’s simply not fun no matter what.

As per usual, Diagon Alley is loud. Children and drunkards laugh, spells and fireworks whizz passed your ears, people in heels trot across the cobblestone path.

It’s places like Diagon Alley that remind you why you love magic so much.

James’ arm is still heavy on your shoulders as you watch people in cloaks and tall hats rush by you.

There’s a startling crack behind you and you and James turn around to see your other partners. Sirius might have a few new purple bruises littered across his collar bones and Remus might have a smug look plastered across his face, but no one says anything. Remus throws the two of you a silent wink as Sirius hangs off of him.

“Gonna hold my hand, Moony?” James questions, his arm outstretched.

Remus eagerly takes it, fingers interlocking.

So the four of you are connected as you stroll down the street. Your face is buried into James’ denim jacket, the faint smell of grass stains and broom oil an already welcomed scent. In the middle, James and Remus have their shoulders rubbing together as they walk, James’ thumb most likely tracing figure eights between his knuckles like he always does. Lastly, it seems like Sirius had changed his position enough to stick a hand in Remus’ back pocket.

The sun continues to dip lower below the horizon, resulting in candles and lanterns being lit in every dark corner. Children are ushered inside homes and adults start to flock towards the pubs.

With the looming threat of dark and dangerous wizards, people aren’t taking their chances, safety in numbers and safety indoors being popular within the village.

Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlor is lit up in a rainbow of colors as always, and the sweet scent of ice cream drifts through the air. People sit in crowds outside the shop, enjoying their treats on the sidewalk or some even spread out on the street.

“So what’re you going for today, Jamie?” You ask as your little group enters the shop.

A little bell sounds from above you, barely heard over the boisterous laughter and rowdy conversations that surround you.

Unlike you, Sirius, and Remus, James doesn’t have a signature flavor. He had to have a different kind every visit. So while Remus had already ordered his strawberries and cream in a waffle cone and Sirius is eyeing his peanut butter ice cream, James is still perusing his options like a little kid.

Your own ice cream starts to melt a bit while you’re waiting.

James squints his eyes at the names, despite his glasses already resting on the bridge of his nose.

“You haven’t done toffee apple in a bit, Prongs.” Sirius points, his finger making contact with the cool glass barrier.

“You’re right.” James hums. “Thanks.” He presses a quick kiss to Sirius’ stubbled cheek before ordering his ice cream.

There’s a small open table across the way, lit up by a few lanterns, which the four of you claim.

There’s a very slight breeze that makes you cuddle up to Remus’ soft jumper.

Desperate to talk about something other than the current state of affairs, James gets caught up talking the Wimbourne Wasps and their new Beater, Ludovic Bagman.

You watch Sirius, tongue poking ever so slightly out of the corner of his mouth, try to sneak a scoop of James’ ice cream while he’s distracted.

Attempting to hide your amusement, you bring a hand up to cover your mouth, feigning interest in the Quidditch talk.

You watch the spoon make an indent and it’s halfway to Sirius’ mouth before—

“Oi!”

The silver spoon freezes abruptly, and grey eyes widen significantly.

“Is that why you suggested toffee apple? So you could nick some of my bloody ice cream?” James gasps dramatically, mouth agape in shock.

“Where’re your manners, James?” Sirius retorts, licking his spoon. “Sharing is caring.”

His hazel eyes narrow. “I don’t know, Black, that looked more like thievery to me.”

“Well let’s take it to our very own Wizengamot, then.” Sirius loudly gestures to you and Remus.

“Well I’m sure that for a wee bit of ice cream, (Y/n) and I, as key witnesses to the whole event, can clear the air.” Remus smirks, biting into his cone.

Sirius swiftly pushes the rest of his ice cream across the table, not even trying to be discrete about his offering. You and Remus start to dig in.

“Bribery!” James shouts, throwing his arms up in the air in exasperation. “This trial is a load of bullshit!”

“Sorry James, can’t hear you over how good this is.” Remus remarks with his mouth full.

You lick your spoon, watching the theatrics.

“That doesn’t even make sense!” James straightens his glasses and runs a hand through his hair in playful frustration.

“Aw, Jamie...you want some of mine?” You pout, offering some of your own frozen dessert.

“At least someone at this table loves me.” James grumbles, sticking a spoon into your bowl.

Sirius sticks his tongue out.

“Hey, I never said Sirius was cleared of all charges.” Remus raises a scarred brow.

“What?” Sirius snaps. “But I bribed you!”

You snicker at his balled up fists.

“So you admit to the bribery, you might as well admit to the thievery while you’re at it.” He finishes the bowl, licking the last of it from his spoon.

“Oh how the tables have turned.” James smugly points out.

Sirius childishly pouts, opting to pick at his black painted fingernails.

“We should have date nights more often.” James chuckles, clinking your spoons together.

•

All Character Taglist: @aspiringsloth20 @amourtentiaa @cherie-draco @mullthingsoverinthehotwater

[tales-unique]

FAITH, LOST  IV

Oh honey she starts off so spicy! Hence why it's all under a Read More since I don't wanna get done for showing the nasty straight out the gate. Minors better beware! ;3

Tagging the boos, for obvs reasons @chelseareferenced @buckysbaby1 hope you all like it! 😘😘

Chapter 4

It begins as soon as your eyes flutter open. The darkness, familiar, like an old friend, coerces your senses into a heightened state. Exposed, your skin prickles at the coolness of the room, writhing against soft sheets. You exhale in exhilaration; you know what’s to come. It starts small, a low thrum of electricity in the air that tickles your bare flesh. Then it builds, tantalizingly slow, a measured surge of power that has you twisting yourself in knots. You want more. Only He can give you more. His arrival is heralded by the scent of oil and whiskey, leather and smoke. It caresses you, embraces you, and sends you into overdrive. It’s instinctual, a primal desire. It corrupts your mind, the sequence disjointing in its take over. Thick boots echo on a wooden floor, your mouth falling open with a heated breath. Your back arches when you feel his weight dip the bed, heat radiating from him. The contrast has you trembling, body wired. His hands, strong and calloused, grip the backs of your thighs easily. A simple tug and you’re at his mercy, legs parting easily in his strong grip. You moan, he growls. He likes what he can see, those beast eyes glowing a dangerous red in the blackness. Sharp indents form against delicate skin, his claws marking your inner thighs. His little lamb, so sweet and so ready for the slaughter. Then there’s movement, the shuffle of fabric, the chink of a belt buckle. You tense, but you’re ready. The air surges with the oncoming crescendo, the room spinning, or maybe it’s you? You’re not sure, preoccupied with the molten heat that pools suddenly between your legs. You feel his grin, all teeth and tongue helping to blot out the sharp stab of pain.      Forgive me Father, for I have sinned—

The sudden chaos of a burst steam pipe in the hallway outside your room abruptly shocks you from your slumber, a cacophony of sounds assaulting your sleep-hazed senses. You hear Heisenberg shouting, the scraping of metal being reshaped at will, the harsh hissing of escaping steam. Groaning at the rude awakening you flop back against the lumpy couch cushions, kicking off your blanket in protest. A light sheen of sweat covers your body, making your nightclothes stick to you in an uncomfortable way. As you stare up at the ceiling you try to decode the meaning behind your dream. You recall with an embarrassing amount of clarity just what it was you were doing and who you were enjoying it with. Humiliation blooms within you, coloring your cheeks a shade of scarlet. It wasn’t as though you hadn’t indulged in the past, you just never had desires so blatant before. Especially for someone who was your superior in every way. “Hey, you awake in there?” Heisenberg’s voice cuts your thoughts short. All the racket has stopped, there’s just the usual hum of the Factory. “Y-yes!” You squeak, stomach clenching uncharacteristically as you sit up, “I’m awake!” “Well get your ass up, we have work to do!” He claps his hands hard to exaggerate his point and you lament your new found torture as his footfalls recede down the corridor. Oh merciful Mother Miranda how were you supposed to face him anymore?

Heisenberg is, for lack of a better word, pissed. It surges through him and it shows in the haphazard, volatile approach he takes with his work. It isn’t rational, this level of response on his part, but he can’t help it. You’ve barely spoken a full sentence to him all day. Now, he’s under no illusions that you were going to become the best of friends. After all, you had been sent to him by Mother Bitch herself to be his servant and he knew that you were three sheets to the wind over this religious bullshit, but he’d thought that you’d been showing progress in becoming your own person. At least, you were , until that little incident where he had you pinned against his desk and decided to take his teasing to the next level. It isn’t often that Heisenberg considers that he may have gone too far with something, or someone , but he’s definitely considering the possibility now that you seem to be avoiding him wherever possible. You’d even brushed off his blatant last ditch attempt, an offer to accompany him to see his forge and the projects he’d been working on, in favour of praying to Mother Miranda. It’s the exact opposite of what he wanted to happen. You’d been so close to opening up, to no longer being a tool, but instead you’re become even more the meek little lamb of Miranda’s flock. Frustration bubbles within and his temper, short-fused as it already is, takes a critical hit. As a result everything he does has a sharp, volatile edge to it; even something as simple as opening a door is menacing in his current state. It serves to further deter you from him, giving you the space you so desperately desired. That is, until Heisenberg reaches his limit. “Just open up already! You can’t ignore me forever!” He thunders where he stands in the hallway, gritting his teeth in a vicious snarl. When he’s met with your persistent silence he howls in frustration, throwing his arms up in the air. The irony of him choosing to remain outside your door doesn’t go amiss, since it’s well known that he could easily rip the door from its hinges with the flick of his hand because of his nifty little ability to manipulate metal. Which, coincidentally, nearly everything in this Factory is made of in some form or another. But he doesn’t and you’re thankful for that, even if you still don’t want to face him. It continues on relentlessly, neither side backing down, and without realizing it, the whole thing becomes a game in its own right. One that pits you against one another to see who cracks first. So it’s a surprise when it’s Heisenberg that seeks you out first. It’s a situation of his own making, having followed you on the gritty live feed from his security cameras. With ease he catches you off guard on your way out of the elevator, taking your fright in his stride. “Easy now!” He exclaims, his hands raised in surrender. You’re cagey, looking for a way out. He isn’t going to give you one because he’s had about enough of you giving him the cold shoulder over a goddamn joke . You’ve pressed yourself tight against the wall, watching him like a hawk. He can hear the frantic flutter of your heart, the sharp intakes of breath, and his jaw tightens. He can’t get distracted now, he needs to focus — this was not the time to enjoy your distress. “Now I know that I can be a bit of a handful,” he starts, then falters, mouth working to try and word it just right, “but, really, hasn’t this gone on long enough? I didn’t mean any harm by it! Just a little teasing, you weren’t meant to get upset.” Oh, he thinks this is because of that time. You stare up at him in utter disbelief. You want to slap him. It’s the first time you’ve ever felt the innate burning desire to inflict bodily harm on anyone, but here you stand, about ready to knock those glasses right off his face. “You have literally no idea how you make me feel , do you?” You accuse him, incredulous, your posture straightening. Things might have slipped back to the way they were before all of this if he had just let you be, allowed you to warm back up to him, and maybe you might have been content with that. This was a turmoil of his own creation, after all, so why not let him stew in it a while. But now? Now you were at your limit. You’re tired of constantly tip-toeing around yourself because of him and his stupid games. If anything, you’re even more tentative to rekindle whatever this relationship is that you have with him, to throw in the towel and tell Mother Miranda she’d been wrong about you. It made you sour to think that what little progress you had made had been lost and it’s taken its toll on you. There’s a harsh look to you that has Heisenberg’s head spinning, apprehension gripping him. “H-Hold on a minute,” he attempts to defend himself, an uncomfortable blend of emotions sitting like a stone in his stomach. He’s conflicted over your new found confidence. You’re no longer the mild-mannered devotee that was wound around Mother Miranda’s finger, standing tall. You’re practically shining. It’s a good look on you, but he’s not exactly thrilled to be the one on the receiving end. “No!” You snap, squaring up to him. You see his brilliant eyes widen behind his circular glasses and for once in your life you feel powerful and in control . “I’ve done nothing but try my best here, trying to make something good out of this situation and you made me feel like a complete idiot !” The words feel heavy on your tongue, but you feel lighter now that they’re out in the open. Who knew that having your shame out in the open could feel so liberating. You take a deep breath when you feel the pinpricks of tears sting your eyes, trying to ground yourself. You wouldn’t forgive yourself if you cried in front of him. Not in this lifetime, or the next. Heisenberg stares down at you with a look of realization on his face, now fully aware that there was more to this than your feelings of inadequacy, that you were little more than a joke to him. It’s always been there, in the way your heart races when he gets just that little bit too close or how your eyes soften when he’s agonizing over his work. He goes to speak this revelation but you shake your head, lower lip trembling. “I was just trying to help .” The way your voice breaks has him in a tailspin, the look of pure anguish in your eyes cutting him deep. This is in no way what he had envisioned when he spotted the chance to clear the air with you. “Oh come on, don’t cry!” It’s a desperate plea, something you never thought you would hear from him. “You’re making me feel really shitty here!” “That’s because you are!” You sob, unable to hold it back anymore. You feel like such a pathetic idiot. That overwhelming monster of self-degradation looms, fueling your misery. If only a dark abyss could just swallow you up and save you from this embarrassment, but you know that’s not going to happen. There’s only this awkward moment, lingering between you. You whimper, trying desperately to wipe away your tears. They stream down your cheeks, burning against your already flushed skin as you sniffle. Suddenly his hands are encasing your own in a firm grip. With a surprisingly gentle touch he tugs them down, exposing you. The whites of your eyes are marred with tiny lines of red and your long lashes clump together from your tears. You’re a mess, but he doesn’t mind. In fact, he finds you oddly endearing in the moment. Swallowing, you try to understand what’s going on. Your hands are still held in his, the feel of soft leather almost comforting against your skin, and you wonder if you’re dreaming again. Something stirs in you, glowing embers kicking up from ashes, and you try to pull away. It’s an admirable attempt but Heisenberg easily catches you, holding you in a vice-like grip against him. You whine at the harshness of his grasp and he frowns, loosening his hold just enough to make it bearable. “I’m sorry, alright?” He mumbles, hesitating. It’s been so long, too long, since he’s been in such close proximity to someone who wasn’t prey. You aren’t fighting him, you aren’t trying your damnedest to get away. In fact, you look as though you’re captivated by him. It’s a side of him that no one has ever seen before, the dejection of a man twisted into being a monster. Something inside you breaks anew at how lost he looks, the last and most dangerous of the Lords at Mother Miranda’s disposal. He’s nothing more than a dog on a choke chain, to be used when it’s suited and then discarded afterwards. Just like you. “Heisenberg,” your voice is hushed, woeful. The words are so genuine and your heart isn’t yet made of stone to be immune to their plight. When you shift in his grasp there’s no resistance and you reach up to gently cup his cheeks in your hands. The stubble on his face tickles your palms and his skin is warm and smooth to the touch. You find you quite like it, the contrast of textures. He does little in the way to stop you. In fact, he encourages you. His hands find purchase on your hips, thumbs brushing the delicate spots just below your rib cage. It elicits a soft gasp from you, your body stiffening beneath him. Glistening eyes stare up at him, a swirling maelstrom threatening to drown him along with you. He’s curious whether or not you’re ready to commit to this. Heisenberg knows what you want, or better yet, what your body wants, but your mind eludes him. He waits with bated breath to see what path you will take, the uncomfortable feeling of anxiety creeping in his bones. It’s like poison, a crawling taint that threatens to take over him. What have you done to him? The exact same thing he did to you. It’s a disquieting notion, one that almost overtakes him, until it doesn’t. The doubts are suddenly banished and relief washes over him at the feel of your silken lips against his in a tender kiss. The chain breaks; you're both suddenly free, and it feels euphoric .