#don't sweat the feminine nickname

[murdrdocs]

REARRANGE YOUR WORLD. luke castellan

description. as the daughter of the god of dreams still honing her powers, you sometimes found yourself sucked into the dreams of others. tonight, like most nights, you find yourself in the dream of luke castellan. however, his dream seems to be more pleasant than it usually is

includes. SMUT 18+, fem!reader, she/her pronouns for r, consensual voyeurism (luke watches), dub con voyeurism (r watches luke watching…), subby!Luke, dom!reader (dream scape reader), real r and luke r just friends, cliffhanger don't be shocked; title from this must be my dream by the 1975

pt 2

wc. 1.3k+

a/n: the description and warnings makes it sound confusing but its not i swear.

Your dreamscape begins to morph. 

You’re barely allowed to mourn the disappearance of the world you love so much, soft grass that acts as a cushion beneath your lax body, the distant smell of salt water and the soft sound of cascading waves just a little ways away. Nobody else in the world is there with you, yet you don’t feel lonely one bit. 

And then, it’s ripped from under you and you find yourself in a bedroom instead. 

It’s large, warm as if there was previously a source of heat but you don’t find one. You exist solely among furniture, a grandiose bedroom suite, a four poster bed in the center, the shape of what looks to be a couch in the corner. But nothing else is as clear as the bed. 

You take a step closer, preparing for the piece of furniture to be the focus of the dream. 

There’s just a few moments before the subject appears where things start to change. The changes aren’t noticeable, and if you hadn’t been forced to exist in dreams for a while now you wouldn’t have recognized them. The way the air became more humid and a little stuffier. The smell of the air becomes more pungent with a light musk that reeks of human sweat. And then you can feel a presence even before it’s there. 

That’s when they appear. 

One figure sits at the edge of the bed on their haunches. From what you can tell, they’re masculine presenting, the expanse of their back toned and tanned, dotted with a few sparse moles. They’re wearing nothing but dark boxer briefs. 

The other figure sits towards the top of the bed. They’re lounging more so, wearing nothing but feminine undergarments. It takes you a while to notice who it is, and you spend the time analyzing their position. Leaned back on their elbows casually, legs bent and connected at the knee. They hold the position and air of a goddess, but it’s not until the dream clears you that you notice they aren’t a goddess. They’re a demigod. 

They’re you. 

Wearing a confident smile (bordering on a smirk) as well as she’s wearing that underwear set. 

Your eyebrows furrow, you take a step closer, trying to figure out who is having a dream about you. 

You step to the side of the bed and focus on the masculine figure. When your eyes land on Luke Castellan, things start to click into place. 

Usually, Luke’s dreams are nightmares. Many times have you been pulled from the serenity of your dreamscape into the tortuous lands that Luke’s mind produced. You’ve fought off monsters from the deepest pits of the underworld along Luke’s side, only to wake up in the morning bearing the mental scars and smiling in Luke’s face as if you were unaware of your presence within his mind. 

Your shoulders briefly start to tense as you prepare yourself for such. You wait, and wait. Anticipating the ground to open and swallow the scene. Or for a lightning bolt to strike down your surroundings. Or for something to come from somewhere to morph this brief serenity. 

But the nightmare never comes. 

Which leaves you to watch and see what will come. For better or for worse. 

A few moments go by and then Dream You is speaking. 

“Are you going to watch me, Lukey?” 

Your eyebrows raise at the nickname. It’s not one you haven’t called him before, but you usually say it in an egotistical tease, used mostly during intense moments like capture the flag or during training. 

Never with that tone of voice. 

Dream You speaks like a temptress. Her voice is smooth, teasing, and seductive. You don’t even know if your real life voice is capable of sounding like that. 

Luke nods, curly hair bouncing with the movement. 

“Yes.” He hesitates for a second before adding, “If you’ll let me.” 

Her grin grows and it’s not unlike the appearance of the cheshire cat. 

“Of course I’ll let you, Luke. I’m not cruel.” 

Dream You spreads her legs and the wet patch in the center of her panties is so vivid and emphasized. It’s only something that could exist within a dreamscape, a place where everything was emphasized. Desired or not. 

With the way Luke’s breath hitches, you’re sure the sight of Dream You’s arousal is heavily desired by him. 

His fingers twitch at his sides as if he wants to touch you. You notice Dream You’s eyes glancing down to his digits, but if she notices his eagerness she doesn’t say anything. 

She situates herself up against the headboard and uses her now freed hands to touch her body. One hand goes to her chest and the other goes between her legs. She closes her eyes, and begins to touch over her slit. 

“What do you say?” She asks Luke, her eyes still closed as she gets lost in the movements. 

Luke’s reply is nearly instant. 

“Thank you.” 

Dream You sighs, she hums dismissively, and then she hooks her thumbs under the elastic of her panties and slides them off of her legs. 

For some reason, your first instinct is to turn away. It’s only now that you’ve realized that Luke Castellan is having a wet dream about you, and you then realize that this is an intrusion. You shouldn’t be here and you should instead be working on finding your way out. 

There is no reason for you to stay. Surely, Luke won’t be in any danger in this dream. There'll be no variables for you to manipulate or no reason to wake Luke up before he goes too far under. 

But then again … it’s your body. You look at it every single day and that shouldn’t have to change solely because you’re viewing it through someone else’s perspective.  Intrigue preys on you, urging you to get closer and closer until you can feel the heat wafting off of their bodies. 

You take a step closer. 

Since Luke has never seen you naked (from what you know at least), there are a few things that are off. Before you can stop yourself, you’ve blinked and your dream body is as realistic as the one in reality. 

She swipes her fingers through her slit, dragging them up to her clit to rub a few circles, then she goes back down to slip her fingers into her entrance, two at a time. 

Her moan is instantly pornographic. She throws her head back, arches her back, spreads her legs even more as her fingers start to pump in and out of her cunt. The noises are loud and lewd and vivid. They should make you cringe, and if you weren’t starting to be affected by Luke’s dream then maybe you would have. 

Instead, you notice Luke beginning to palm the very prominent shape in his briefs and you can feel yourself falling under a spell of sorts. Everything becomes dreamier. You’re losing your self control. You’re having to fight the urge to kneel on that bed with Luke. 

You don’t know if you expected Luke to ask Dream You for permission to touch himself (the relationship between these two is almost as intriguing as their movements), but he doesn’t. He reaches into his briefs and pulls his cock out. 

You get a glimpse of his head—red and leaking and admittedly enticing—before your moral compass knocks back into place. 

You take one step back, and then another. There really is no reason for you to be in here. Luke is fine, he’s probably having the time of his life, and you no longer have to play the role of the worried friend. You can leave him to his dreamscape, and return to yours where you’ll either try to remember as many details as possible or try to forget it all. 

Either way, you shouldn’t be in here. 

You turn around and a door appears. 

Your foot lands in front of you, and you’re about to make your way to the exit until Luke speaks. 

“Stay.”

[finniestoncrane]

Date, Digger Style

KTJL!Boomer x Fem!Reader, word count: 6k hi i am sorry, this was supposed to be like. a lil silly thing about what a first date with george might be like. and it ended up being 6k words. i just want him so bad it makes me look stupid quite honestly and i am ok with that 💙 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: sleazy behaviour, groping, tongue kissing, just the tip and then not just the tip but agreeably so, lots of physical affection, reader has tits and a vagina, reader is referred to with feminine pet names, descriptions of a gross kitchen, also let's pretend that he's always a lil bit drunk so his drunk driving seems like the normal state of things. he's a villain. he's allowed to break laws lmao (and it's fiction, so i'm allowed to decide what alcohol does to him)

Sitting on the edge of your sofa, you took a quick look at your phone to check the time and to see if you had missed any messages. Nothing. Not even a quick courtesy text with "on my way" typed hastily, or auto filled. You'd been sitting there for twenty minutes already, with no sign of George. If this was what he considered a good start to your first formal 'date' then you two were perhaps too different after all to make this work. He was laid back, to a flaw. Horizontal. And you were more organised, at least more so than George Harkness.

Just as you began typing out a message, you heard the tell-tale screech of the tyres on his van, followed by the rumbling of the engine as he put the brakes on and came out of the creaking door. The sharp buzz at your door was enough for you to know your suspicions were right, and without answering it, you headed downstairs. At the door, you could see Digger, picking at his teeth and tucking the stray strands of hair back under the rim of his hat before he noticed you and struck a pose, goofy smile plastered onto his face.

He moved to grab you when you met him on the steps leading up to your building, but you dodged him, spitting his nickname at him.

"Digger."

"Aw, are you mad cos I'm late? You're not some bloody princess, I think you can wait five minutes!"

"Twenty minutes."

"Twenty, the- Twenty!?"

His eyes were wide as he looked to you, and you offered a solemn and unimpressed nod in response.

"Fuck... alright, that is a bit much. This'll be worth it though, I promise."

Raising an eyebrow, you silently questioned that. You'd known him for a while now, skirted around the conversation, flirted constantly, but turned him down at every offer of a date. And now, when you had finally agreed and given in to his constant pestering, he was going to show up late and not even dressed differently or in clean clothes? You weren't sure it would be worth it. But, if all else failed, you could always count on him to make you laugh, or at very least conjure up a smile. And despite wanting to still maintain an exterior of disappointment, you could feel the corners of your mouth lifting as he opened up the passenger door and gestured to it with his arm, bowing low.

"M'lady, your carriage awaits."

As you stepped up and into the front of the van, the smell was the first thing that hit you. Stale beer, sweat, and about five other scents just indistinct enough to elude your keen nose. Trying not to think about it, you turned to grab your seatbelt and noticed, out of the corner of your eye, that the back of the truck was filled with empty beer cans and bottles, piles of clothing, some dirty and some clean. And in the middle of it all, a mattress, some pillows, and a scattering of sheets.

"Do you live in here?"

"Don't worry about it, babe."

Before you could ask him any follow up questions, he pulled away from the kerb with a stuttering acceleration, and carelessly pulled into traffic. After a few minutes of teeth grinding, life-threatening driving at high speed, he pulled off the main roads and began taking back streets.

Granted, you didn't know where you were going yet, since Digger was insistent on keeping it as a surprise, you still assumed that after ten minutes of nothing but roads dotted with potholes and routes plagued by speedbumps that it was surely quicker to have stayed on the main route until you were closer. However, it became clear that there were intentions behind this path after all, when you turned to question George about the route and found him quickly glancing from the road to your chest, smiling wider every time a bump jostled your body, causing your breasts to jiggle. With a heavy sigh, you turned to look out of the window, concealing the smile that threatened to give away your façade. There was no way you could let him know how oddly flattering you found his constant gawking, that would be a nightmare.

When the van stopped at a red light, you spoke, still looking out of the window, to try and get Digger to tell you where you were going.

"I just would feel better knowing how long we've got left to drive is all."

He reached over to you, placing his hand on your thigh and pressing his fingers and thumb together, squeezing the ample flesh.

"Listen, don't worry about it, we're almost there."

His palm pressed down and skimmed further up your leg, and as you turned to catch his eye, hoping to at least shame him into not continuing his bold heavy petting, you were instead met with his lopsided, careless grin. With one hand on the steering wheel and one permanently on your thigh, he continued driving for another ten minutes, until you were well on the outskirts of the city. When the van finally stopped, you could still hear the tinny rumbling and sharp clinking of the empty bottles and cans bashing around in the back, feeling like it had shrilly inserted itself permanently into your head. But once you had stepped out of the van and the fresh air, plus the odd stench, hit you, you could hear yourself think clear enough to know that you were definitely beginning to regret this decision once more.

"Told ya we wouldn't be much longer! We're here!"

"Where is here?"

"About twenty minutes outside Gotham."

"Digger."

He slapped his hand on your back and pulled you into a side hug, dragging you along as he walked towards the door of the flat roof building with broken neon lights that stood in front of you.

"Ah, come on babe! Get a sense of humour, or you'll always look fuckin' miserable!"

You weren't sure if he could hear your sighing over the sound of the gravel as you made your way to the front door, and he definitely couldn't hear the louder second one you let out when you got inside. The one that was cut short when you realised you could taste the smell that lingered on the air.

Taking your hand, an oddly gentle move from Digger. The moment was gone quickly when he smacked your ass as he ushered you into the dingiest looking booth at the back of the bar.

"George, really? Here?"

"Yeah, babe! This place is great. Cheap beer, good food. I promise, you just gotta trust me, alright?"

Taking a quick look around the place told you otherwise. But there was just something about him you found hard to say no to. Which you imagined would land you in much bigger problems later on, but for now, potential food poisoning and a hangover of the worst order seemed like a fair risk for what would no doubt be a fun night regardless. It always was with George.

"Aw, I know that face! You're on board! Right, I'm gonna go to the bar and get us some drinks and food."

"I don't know what I want though, I haven't looked at the menu."

"Don't have to, I'm getting us the usual. You'll like it, tr-"

"Trust you, yes, I know."

With a wink, he slid out of the booth and you watched him make his way to the bar, leaning on it with his oh-so-cocky attitude as he ordered for you. And when he sat back down, he slid a pint in front of you and began chugging at his own. Looking over the tip of your glass as you sipped, you tried to get a glimpse at the kitchen. From what you could see, it looked like the kind of place that might give any decent health inspector an aneurysm. The chef's clothes were dirty, the walls were a stained yellow colour that seemed as though it was dripping down the walls, and every surface had a strange assortment of crumbs and stains on it. But still, you persevered.

And still, when the plates were slammed down on the table in front of you by the uninterested waitress, you were optimistic. Because you were determined to have a nice time. It was likely that which annoyed you the most of all, because the moment you bit into the greasy sandwich you didn't care in the slightest what kind of health hazard it was prepared in. You just wanted more.

"See, told you it was good."

Nodding in agreement, mouth too full to speak, you swallowed down the rest of the sandwich, although by the time you had finished it and your accompanying beer, Digger was already onto his third pint, and the sandwich was but a memory. Until he burped and you could smell it on his breath, something he found hilarious.

"Lighten up! You try, give it your best shot."

"I'm not having a burping contest with you, George. We're on a date."

"Yeah, but you're on a date with Digger. Way more fun, far less stuffy. Go on."

You mustered up the best you had to offer, cheese and beer and lettuce the most noted flavours in the air you expelled. Closing his eyes for a moment, Digger reached out across the table and took your hands.

"That was, without a doubt... the most pathetic fuckin' burp ever. We gotta get you another drink!"

Before you could say anything, he was already shuffling out of the booth and shakily making his way back to the bar. A bad decision being made and you couldn't really stop him. He could handle his alcohol, definitely, you'd seen him do it a number of times before. Digger could put away what might kill a lesser, for want of a better word, man. But it didn't make him any easier to be around. You'd already found yourself flushing hot, cheeks darkening, a heat building in your stomach with each lingering touch or flirtatious stare. So far this evening, you'd almost kissed him twice. It wasn't going to be any easier to prolong what you felt was the inevitable if he got far too drunk and became his usual, handsy self.

Of course, that's exactly what did happen. One more pint in and Digger was all over you in the booth. He'd leaned in at first to say something to you, speaking over the noise of the bar, close to your ear, his arm reaching up and around you and pulling you close and then keeping you there. As his fingers stroked at your shoulder, the other hand fell to your thigh, periodically squeezing it between his fingers and thumb. And every time you got distracted by how far up your thigh he was snaking his palm, fingers splayed out, pinkie grazing over your crotch, his other hand would pull your attention away as his fingertips skimmed over the top of your breasts.

It was difficult to try and hold him off. You were both tipsy, or at least you were tipsy, Digger seemed to be wasted. No good decision could come from that. But the way he touched you, the way he smelled as he leaned in, sweat, cheap body spray, acrid beer, it was intoxicating. If you'd been any less sober you might have leaned in then and there in the booth to kiss him, tasting the alcohol on his tongue, letting him put his hands all over you, anywhere, anywhere. But luckily, before you could make what you knew was a mistake, he sat back and laughed, one loud and sharp 'ha'.

"I fuckin' love this song, babe! C'mon!"

Before you could argue otherwise, you were being dragged out of the booth to join Digger on the tiny dance floor in front of the band. The song was difficult to dance to, at least you had assumed, given the heavy rock riffs that underlined the inaudible, high volume lyrics. But George wasn't deterred. It was almost endearing, how horrendously embarrassing he was, standing there with his air guitar, throwing goat horns at the band as he bounced on the spot. Cute, nearly. But mercifully cut short as the song ended.

"Aw, just as I was finding my groove."

You smiled at him, rubbing his shoulder in sympathy, biting your inner cheek as you felt how strong he was, impressed by his muscular arm as you let your hand slip down to graze over it.

"A real shame, George. Let's go back to- "

The band started up again, this time, a slower song, one that lent itself well to the kind of 'end of prom' vibes all young lovers were hoping for. And before you could finish your suggestion of heading back to the booth, Digger had pulled you close, his arms around your back, falling to your waist as he swayed back and forth. It could have been dancing, it could have been the uncoordinated shuffling of a man who had one too many beers, but either way, you leaned into it, allowing your head to rest against his chest while you placed your hands, linked together, at the nape of his neck.

It was almost too romantic, in its own, strange way. The dim lights, the other couples around you, the unique twang on the guitars, the stench of the greasy food, and the way George kept his hips, his crotch, pressed tight to you as you leaned against him. Not particularly from a storybook romance, but perfect all the same. You'd known this would happen. One date, and you were already falling for him. Not because of anything he'd done, but because deep down you knew you had been into him, since almost the moment you'd met. But you'd fought it, because men like George Harkness, you assumed, weren't the kind of nice boy you dated.

But here he was, holding you, swaying you, sighing softly as the music swelled. Granted the movements weren't exactly graceful, but they were surprisingly fluid, as though he might be good at dancing when he was sober. Yet another surprise for you to learn about, but obviously not right now. He was trying though, his hands at a respectable height, his head leaning on your shoulder. Every so often, he nuzzled into your cheek, placing a soft kiss to it when the notion took him. And when the song finished, you could hear his words clear, spoken gently into your ear.

"You wanna head out?"

You weren't sure if that was "out" as in "get some fresh air" or "out" as in "let's head home, yours or mine" but either option seemed good. The last remaining bit of sun and a soothing breeze might be enough to sober George up before you brought him back in for more dancing. And if it didn't, you were happy to take him to your place for a coffee, nothing more. Although, you were potentially considering letting him sleep on the sofa. You couldn't imagine how difficult it would be to nurse a hangover in the back of his van.

Outside, finally able to breathe without choking on the stench or the thickness of the air, you watched as Digger shielded his eyes from the sky. His stumbling stopped, and he began walking with his usual confidence, almost sobering up immediately in the light of the day.

"Christ! Still pretty bright out here..."

"Yeah, it's not that late. You tapping out early, George?"

"Nah, nah. Not at all! If I've got you for the night, then I'm havin' you for the night. C'mon, I know a place."

Admittedly, and strangely enough, you really hadn't had enough of him yet. It was one of the few things you agreed on, actually. This was supposed to be a date, you'd set aside the evening for it, so you were keen to make it last as long as possible. You couldn't let George know that, though. Keeping the upperhand seemed to be key with him, so you offered him a reluctant smile and rolled your eyes dramatically.

"Well, I suppose so."

Stepping up into the passenger seat of his van you caught him smiling back at you, knowingly. You weren't kidding him, he wasn't as stupid as he seemed at first pass, but he was kind enough to let you keep up the ruse. It didn't stop him getting a little dig in at you, however.

"Are you sure? If you're not keen I can take you home, babe. Wouldn't want you to be bored or something."

"And where are you planning on taking me that isn't boring, then?"

"Eh... just a little spot I know of. Quiet, secluded. Up that back road to the overlook. But again, if you're not into it..."

"No, no. It sounds... well, it doesn't sound boring, anyway."

Digger laughed, starting up the van which groaned horrendously before sputtering to life. Before he drove off, he turned to you and winked.

"Definitely won't be, it never is with me, babe."

Pulling out of the parking lot, he turned away from the city and onto the quieter roads which led out past the city lines and into the expansive countryside that secluded Gotham from the rest of the world. From the window, you watched the sun slowly setting, clouds turning purple and navy as they pushed in from the sides like curtains on a stage show. You had all the time in the world to gaze peacefully, as George was driving in complete silence, way below the speed limit, focusing intensely on the road. He'd seemed to sober up once you were out of the bar, but you didn't want to distract him while he was doing his best to keep you both alive.

The van bounced along a short dirt trail until it stopped in a small clearing, surrounded by trees on all sides and far above the dim, intrusive glow of the city, which buzzed against the now deep, navy sky. Shutting off the engine, George turned and shot you a smile, eyebrows raised playfully, before he leapt out. He walked quickly to the back of the van and you followed, waiting patiently as he opened the two back doors wide, finally giving you a better look at what had been rolling around there the whole time he had been driving.

There wasn't much you could think to say, being of the opinion that you should only speak if you had kind things to say. From where you were standing, you could definitely tell that you had been correct in your earlier assumptions. This was where he lived. His rolling apartment. Convenient, yes. But it was a long way away from being one of the trendy 'tiny homes' you'd seen. The walls were adorned with four posters in total, all of them the kind of cheap standards you would expect in the bargain bin of some ancient music store, miscellaneous women in very little clothing gazing out as seductively as they could from the airbrushed backdrops. On the floor, there was a stick and poke tattoo kit that looked like it might be the source of several new variants of hepatitis, and it was littered with empty beer bottles and cans, some of which may have been half-full at the point he decided to drive off given how sticky the surfaces looked. And to top it off, there was a worn out mattress. No sheets on it, no sheets around it save for one scruffy blanket. It was covered in stains that you couldn't quite place, which matched the single, dented and almost flat pillow that lay haphazardly to the side.

"You live like this?"

That was what you had wanted to say, but again, your polite nature stopped you.

"Handy to just get in the van and sleep, or get out of bed and go."

George smiled, looking oddly proud of himself.

"See, you get it. You won't believe the amount of people who have been put off by- uh... well..."

He looked to the ground, rubbing at the back of his neck with his hand.

"Not that there's been that many people I've invited into- A-and not that there haven't been any people that have been-"

"George."

You placed a hand on his shoulder and raised your eyebrows, offering him a sympathetic grin. He took the out, thankful that you'd put an end to his suffering, and reached in for the blanket, placing it flat over the top of the bed before offering his hand to you. Taking it, he helped you shift yourself into the back of the van, watching as you got comfortable on the mattress as best as you could, at which point he joined you.

Leaning back on his arms, he looked to the sky, sitting in silence for a few minutes. You had joined him, watching the stars start to sparkle as they became visible against the darkening backdrop. At some point, you realised that he was staring at you, and you wondered how long you'd had his gaze trained on the side of your head. Not on any other part of your body, you noted. He was looking at your face, gazing at your eyes. When you turned, you caught his stare immediately, smiling softly when he blinked and looked away with a cough meant to clear the air of the awkwardness he was bringing about.

Rooting around behind him, he eventually found two unopened beer cans, both of which were loose amongst the rest of his belongings. Keeping one for himself, he passed the other to you. He raised his, tipping his head with a 'cheers' and then cracked it open. You watched the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped, a small trickle of foam slipping past his lips and down his chin. The urge to lean in and lick it off was disturbing, most of all because you felt yourself moving towards him before you even realised it. Settling back down into the strange romance of the moment, you pulled the tab on your own can.

The immediate explosion, the build up of pressure and gasses from the can being jostled around as you drove up the bumpy, dirt track to the spot you now sat in, left you in shock. Your shirt was soaked, completely, and the cool air was already beginning to chill your body. You blinked in shock, watching as Boomer tried to conceal his giggles while he stood up.

"Take your shirt off."

Looking to him, you raised an eyebrow, a look that said "is this really how you're going to make that move?" in a way that he read almost straight away. He began unzipping his blue hoodie, turning from you and passing it behind him, generously, and uncharacteristically, offering you some privacy.

Taking it from him, you quickly made the swap, your body exposed to the cold night air only briefly before you zipped up the hoodie, still warm from Digger's body. You tucked your bra and shirt under the mattress, making a mental note to collect them before you were home, hoping they would be dry. Making sure the zip was up completely, not offering any suggestive cleavage for Digger to hook his ideas into, you settled yourself, noticing that you were smiling. You could smell him on the fabric that covered your body. Beer, sweat, lingering smoke, an acrid smell you couldn't quite place and a sweet one on top of that. As the fabric grazed over you, you could feel your nipples hardening. It wasn't the cold though, it was faint arousal at the way you felt so close to him.

"You done yet, you're only putting a hoodie on!"

"Shit, yeah, sorry."

"I can look?"

He raised his hands, pulling them from his pockets and holding them up to his side, questioningly.

"Mhm, yeah."

When he was facing you again, he let his lips turn into an appreciative expression.

"Looks good. Suits you!"

Thudding back down beside you, George immediately lifted his arm up, wrapping it around your body and pulling you close. You found yourself settling into the hug, a natural embrace, one that made your heart flutter slightly as you let your head rest entirely against him. And then it happened, the moment that secured your confusion about him and his intentions. He sighed wistfully. So deep and joyous, his fingers digging into your arm to let you know you were the reason for the warmth spreading through him.

"It's nice out here, you can actually see the stars. Couldn't tell you what any of them were though."

"Are you kidding me right now?"

He turned slightly to look at you.

"What?"

"What? What are you doing? You brought me up here to look at the stars?"

George narrowed his eyes, his brow furrowing in confusion and slight irritation.

"Yeah! I thought it would be romantic!"

"Exactly!"

"Exa-... what?"

"You're so confusing. This whole evening, you yourself, it's not how I thought it would be. I mean, it wouldn't be you without the occasional grope and cheeky wink, but you've been so... You're so... It's weird to see you being so..."

Digger's hand fell to your thigh, a light pressure aiming to calm you down.

"So what?"

You couldn't answer it, because you weren't even able to settle on a definitive answer yourself.

So confusing?

So disgusting?

So gentlemanly?

So romantic?

So hot?

All of that and more.

And when words had failed you, you decided that you'd have to express your feelings another way.

It was less of a romantic, graceful move and more that you sank into him, falling against his body, your lips luckily making contact with his as you both found your way in the kiss. Neither of you expected it, both of you surprised. The tenderness, the hunger behind it. You could taste everything about him, smell him even better than you had when you had put on his hoodie. You expected he was experiencing the same.

Digger fell back, his hands catching your waist as he pulled you with him, both of you laying now on the mattress in the back of his van. His hands pawed, grabbed, skimmed over you, oddly restrained in fact. That was until you shifted yourself up and onto him, straddling his hips and staring down at him, panting heavily as you both caught your breath and took stock of the situation you were now in. His hands on your waist made their way up to your shoulders, your neck, cupping your cheeks as he grinned at you. Watching your face, your expression, for any subtle changes as he let his hands trail back down your front, fingers catching on to the zip of his hoodie and pulling it down slowly, opening it to expose you to him before he cupped at your breasts as you bit your lip.

"Fuck me..."

Digger let out a low groan that followed his short, to the point statement. His fingers circled your nipples, tightening around them as he teased you. His hips bucked up, jostling you, letting you feel how hard he was. You could tell just from that motion that the rumours about how gifted he was had truth behind them.

Bending down to kiss him again, you let your tongue slip past his lips, his own meeting in your mouth. He tasted divine. Sweet, but acidic. Earthy almost, definitely addictive. Everything felt dream like, surreal. Mostly, you assumed, because you were doing something you'd never dream of, something you knew was ill-advised, a little bit silly, embarrassing in the right company. But it was hard to care.

You were quickly brought out of the dream like state however, as you felt Digger's hands between both of your crotches, unbuckling his belt and fiddling with the zipper on his jeans.

"Wait... on the first date? You think you've charmed me enough for that?"

With the smug, self-satisfied grin you had grown oddly fond of, George looked into your eyes as he spoke.

"I think you started this, so it's a pretty good indication of how much I've charmed you."

He winked as he let his fingers tug at the waistband of your own pants, pulling at them as you leaned in to another kiss. Your attempts to stop him, or at least to pretend that was your intention, were put to one side as your body reacted to the feeling of the cool air against your bare skin, his hands, rougher than you expected, holding your thighs, pulling your pants down further until he needed you to move.

"Well... have I charmed the pants off you at least?"

Smiling back at him, you nodded your head from side to side as though you were weighing up his efforts over the evening.

"I suppose you have charmed the pants off me, yes. But... I'm not sure how much further your winning personality has gotten you."

"There's plenty of time for me to catch up, then."

Clumsily, and with very little grace, you shifted and removed your pants, blushing as you noticed Digger watching you intensely, taking note of every movement, every second of you undresssing, as though you were offering him the performance of a lifetime. As you steadied yourself, he hooked his fingers into the band of your underwear and pulled you back to him, landing you flat on top o f his body, your hands on his chest.

Teasing at the band of your panties, he dipped two fingers underneath the fabric, skating over your mound and down to your lips, stroking them gently before spreading them apart. He rubbed one finger up and down, collecting your slick as he licked his lips, desperate to know how you tasted. Bringing his fingers to his lips, he ran them on his tongue, sucking them with his eyes rolling back.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck me."

He continued unzipping his pants and pulling them down, boxers included, to reveal his more than impressive cock. At least ten inches, easily, thick, perfect, topped with a tuft of almost flaming red hair. Trying to control yourself, you leaned back.

"What are you planning on doing with that, Harkness?"

He squirmed, pressing his eyes shut and biting his lip before he managed to strain himself enough to speak.

"I just want... I want you... touch it... feel you... something... come on, please!"

Shuffling forward, teasing him knowingly as you felt his head, his length, against your thighs, you mused out loud, humming as though you were actually considering it, as though you hadn't already made your mind up yet.

"I suppose... this was a pleasant enough date. I could give you something, throw you a bone."

He nodded furiously below you, muttering his words of agreement.

"But! Just the tip. I'm not sure how much more of that I could take. It should come with a warning."

George actually blushed, looking away from you for a moment, as though the comment had genuinely embarrassed him. It did seem odd to you in that moment that he wasn't constantly bragging about his prowess in that area. He struck you as exactly the kind of person who would mention the size of his cock at any opportunity. You wondered if had the effect on others that it had on you. It was daunting, a little bit nerve-wracking. How many of the few people who had made it this far had given up at the sight of it, you wondered.

Most, you assumed, as despite how desperate he seemed to fuck you, he agreed enthusiastically, happy to be offered any opportunity to get as close to you as possible. He was already pulling at your underwear, grasping at it, trying to pull it down before deciding to push it to the side as he lined up the head of his cock with your swollen lips.

Looking directly at you he maintained the intense eye contact as he slid himself between your lips, pushing at your tight entrance slowly, carefully, only allowing his head to enter you. It felt amazing. So good, better than you thought. It stretched, filled you up, and that was ten percent of what he had to give. He hissed, gritting his teeth in concentration, trying his hardest not to move his hips, to buck them, to push himself any further inside of you.

As you balanced yourself, trying to contend with the little of him that was inside of you, he brought his thumb to your clit, rubbing it, making you twitch, contracting against him, tightening the grip your cunt had on his head. As he groaned, you couldn't help yourself anymore. You wanted him, all of him. You were willing to risk it.

"God, George... just fuck me."

"Wh-what?"

"Fuck me! Just..."

Realising you might need to take matters into your own hands, you let yourself slide down his cock, each inch stretching you further, a shockwave of pain followed by dull throbs of ache and arousal coarsed through your body, the pit of your stomach feeling pressed, your insides stuffed with him. Llike you were being entirely consumed, enveloped, in George Harkness.

"Christ..."

It was all he could manage with the limited breath he had, his whole body stopping any other function to focus on not letting himself cum inside of you immediatel. The sudden warmth, the tight, wet embrace, the way you leaned back, breasts bouncing as helped yourself to him, riding his cock as he lay back and held your hips. His thumbs, stroking against your skin, where the top of your thighs met your lower stomach, feeling your own desperation as you worked him harder, faster, palms resting on his chest to balance yourself as you took everything he had.

Brows furrowed in concentration, pursuing your orgasm, you wailed as his fingers found their way back to your nipples, teasing them, grabbing at your breasts as you rolled your hips and felt his cock twitching agaisnt your walls. It hurt, but in a way that was delicious, a way that felt like it should be borderline illegal, like most things that provided such a wonderful, addictive experience were. But there you were, enjoying it. Loudly, explicitly. And very publicly. It didn't matter to you, and it really didn't seem to matter to George. You were quite happy to scream it from the rooftops then and there, how much you were enjoying it. Being fucked by Captain Boomerang, as ridiculous as his name always seemed to you. You'd be quite content to tell everyone that he was making you cum, that he was one stroke of his thumb against your erect nipples, one tap of his cock against the exact spot inside of you, from losing all composure.

"George... George..."

"Yeah... yeah, it's good... eh? I'm good."

"Fuck, you are. Yeah. Yes! Yes!"

One final, loud, resounding 'yes' echoed around you, filling the air, bursting through the trees. You imagined that anyone within a five mile radius might have heard Digger coming. His cock, falling from you against his body, still dripping with your slick, still spurting streams of his thick, white cum all over his abdomen, covering his thick pubic hair. His hands, still embedded in your skin, creating deep, red marks where the grip was far too tight, stinging so perfectly pleasantly.

Your own notes of pleasure hadn't exactly been all that much quieter than his own, but still drowned out by the amped up grunting and wailing of George. At least you could hold that saving grace. Allow yourself to cling to that modicum of your dignity.

Because you certainly weren't bothered about any other facets of it, as you slid down beside George on the dingy mattress, curling around his body, hand on his chest, smugly satisfied to know that you had contributed to the stains that would no doubt be a permanent feature.

[discotenny]

Take me back!

Why is he at your door after he broke up with you just a week ago?

Chifuyu x gn!reader <Christmas showdown aftermath, fluff, 700+ W.C>

Had a strong feminine urge to write sm fuyu fic sorry guys LOLOL. Not beta read, but then again, is it ever? Mentions of the nickname 'angel' if that's important.

———

Your ex boyfriend is at your door, with messy hair and frazzled eyes. His bangs stick to his forehead with sweat and his sweater is stained unflatteringly at the pits. Bleeding cuts and mud splotches splatter across him, and there are bruises on his (beautiful) face. But when are there ever not? 

He’s panting, holding up a hand through breaths and gasps, trying to speak but nothing more than coughs come out.

“Rough night?” You say, amused. Knowing him for as long as you had, his heavily winded state and beaten up form could be due to a myriad of different things. 

“Shut up-“ he wheezes out, managing little else. Chifuyu’s hands fall to his knees as he collapses to the foot of your doorstep.

You bend down to meet him, putting a patting hand on his back. Ex-boyfriend or not, he was still your friend. Chifuyu breathes in gasps and gasps of cold, painful air. "Fighting on Christmas? Tsk tsk Matsuno-"

"Don't call me that-" He says, not looking you in the eyes.  

You sigh under your breath, "Huh?" 

"It's Chifuyu- Why is it suddenly Matsuno- h-huh?!" His voice is still shaky as his throat burns with cold. "Even before- I- w-we-" 

"What's this about, Matsuno?" You push away his bangs from his eyes with a frown. 

“Takemitchy’s gotten back with Hina…” He says with a whisper. 

“Oh? Congratulations to them I guess. But I don’t really see what that has to do-” Chifuyu grabs your face suddenly, squishing your cheeks together and bringing your forehead to his. “Wait- Ow- Matsu-” 

His body heat is so warm compared to the snowy weather outside. His breath fans against your nose as you shakily mumble out confusion and questions. Chifuyu’s eyes close tightly as he holds you close, basking in your touch and presence. His breathing settles to a calm pace, meanwhile you grow all the more flustered at his surprise actions. 

“Take me back, please,” Chifuyu's voice is smooth, quiet, and if all of your attention wasn’t on him right now you wouldn’t have heard what he just said.

“Huh?! Matsu-” 

He kneads your cheeks with his thumbs, “I told you- it’s Chifuyu.”

“Still- you can’t expect me to just accept this so easily! In case you forgot,” you take one of his hands into your own, “You broke up with me.” 

“I know- I know I did…” His voice waves with hesitation, lined with regret and guilt from actions past. “But I was stupid. And seeing Takemitchy admit it too made me realize how dumb I was for wanting to break up just to keep you out of all this shit…”

“That’s the reason you broke up with me?!” Your voice rises in anger, and you hold his hand tighter. “You-” 

“Please, angel?” The nickname that slips past his lips makes you stop your words. “I’m sorry. I love you. I’ll never do that to you again.” 

“You…” Your voice wavers, and you can’t tell if the shakiness comes from overwhelming happiness or underlying hesitation.

"Please?" A hopeful tone laces his words.

Lifting back your head from his, Chifuyu’s eyes widen as he braces for the worst. “You’re so stupid!” Your foreheads collide as he lets out a loud whine. 

“Ow! y/n you see I’m injured- what the hell…” He hisses at the contact yet leans into you more, chin falling onto your shoulder with little fanfare. 

“Here’s what’s gonna happen, alright?” You point a finger at his chest and he lets out a questioning hm at the action. “You’re gonna take me out tomorrow to make up for all of this. No fights, no Takemichi, just us.”  

A grin spreads on Chifuyu's face and he tackles you in a hug. Laughter echoes through the air as the two of you fall backwards into your home. “That was always the plan, angel,” he says as he hovers above you. A hand goes to caress your face, brushing a finger just below your eye. “Does this mean I’m Chifuyu again?” 

You laugh in reply, a wonderful sound that spreads throughout the room. “You always were,” somehow, his smile grows wider and he leans down, placing a kiss on your forehead with a chuckle.

———

Originally wrote this to be a Mishima fic but changed my mind remembering there's a new ep today FDSKFKA. I love my boy he's so heuewhfwnnffnawfw eaifwajijewfawaeewmef

[ddejavvu]

Hi again!! I requested enemies to lovers with james potter but realised you had a fic about it so if I can request something else can you do James Potter with a really feminine reader? Like she is so soft and gives of coquette vibes yk? Btw sorry to annoy💕💕

sorry i don't know the specifics of the coquette aesthetic so i just went with like hyperfem pink stuff inspired by a tiktok i saved forever ago of a guy fast asleep in his gf's pink bed <3

--

James looks out of place on your bed, still in his rugby jersey with dirt and sweat smeared over his face. He's plopped down right in the middle of your pretty pink bedspread, and your arsenal of equally rosy pillows are soft to the touch as you come back from the bathroom with a set of baby wipes in your hand. You use them most often to clean your hands after meals at restaurants, but today you put one flat against your palm and scrub away the grime on James's skin.

"Darling," He whines, squirming in his seat atop your princess-like bed, "It's fine, 's just a little dirt."

"I don't want it on my pillows," You insist, wiping the towel around his face and starting on a grass stain that colors his arm green, "If you're not gonna shower, I'm gonna wipe you down."

"I'm too tired to shower," He grumbles, letting you smear the stains off of his skin. You nod, craning your neck up to kiss at his freshly-washed face.

"I know." You hum sweetly, and after making sure his cleats aren't still on his feet, you gently push against his shoulders, letting him slump exhaustedly down onto your mountain of pillows. They're all pink and suddenly he's enveloped in a sea of the color while you gather the stained wipes into your fist and head towards the bathroom trash can. He checks his phone once before setting it on your nightstand, seeing that it's only 30 minutes to noon. His practice had earned him a well-deserved nap, and he's hoping to spend most of the afternoon swaddled in your pink blankets.

"Nap?" You ask, though he's already pulling you towards the bed and taking hold of your hips to lower you down on top of him. You giggle at his eagerness, and his joints ache slightly as he moves, but your added weight does nothing to aggravate his sore muscles.

"C'mere," He grumbles, as if you're not already on top of him. You're the perfect pink thing to complete the collection, clad in the color from head to toe as you settle your head against his chest. There's a pink barrette in your hair and he cranes his neck up to kiss at it, his lips pressing sweetly to your head.

"G'night, pinkie pie," He lands a teasing pinch against your hip, using the nickname he'd oh-so-cleverly devised for you after seeing the cartoon character on a children's birthday banner, "Love you."

"Love you too," You grin against his neck, lifting your head lazily to kiss at his lips. He thanks whatever deity crafted him for tinging them pink, because you certainly love to kiss them, and James couldn't ask for more.

[frvnkcastles]

Hello my lovely writer,

I love your work but wasn't brave enough to write you, until today =) even if I don't know if you're still accepting requests I give it a try, in hope that you like to write a story with your wonderful words. Currently I'm sick as a dog and in need of some care taking Frank...

Frank and her are dating for some time now, but she has problems with trusting him completely because of her last abusive relationship. So she didn't tell him that she is chronical ill and often suffers from pulmonary infections and tachycardia always when she feels under the weather or sick she tells him she is busy so they can't meet. When she's falling deathly sick with a very high fever she tells him to raincheck their date. Frank gets suspicious and tries not to think of her cheating with him. When he doesn't hear from her for days and she doesn't answer his texts and phone calls he's mad and he wants to confront her. What he doesn't know is that she's at home deathly sick and in need of help cause of her high fever. When she doesn't open her door he is raging thinking that she's in bed with another man, but what he finds shatters his heart not as he aspected. He finds her semi conscious on her bathroom floor....

Well some angst, drama, secrets of her past and a protective caretaking Frank nurses her back to health.

Hope that's something you like.

Love, kiss and hugs sends you a fan of your work

Sorry for my English, it's not my first language 🤍

SIRENS IN MY HEAD ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: Feeling under the weather, you cancel your date with Frank, and when he doesn’t hear from you for a few days, he expects the worst — only to find an equally bad situation: you, unconscious on the bathroom floor.

Warnings: Chronic illness, mentions of an abusive ex, cursing, feminine nicknames

Word count: 2.2k

Author’s note: Omg anon it took me so long to finish this, I apologize!! I took some creative liberties with this one because personally I feel like Frank would assume something bad happened to you instead of cheating, but I hope you still like what I came up with :) I’m sending you lots of love and good vibes!!

In the past couple of months, you and Frank had discovered that you had a lot in common — you both liked dogs, you both tended to put others before yourselves, and you liked the same kind of music playing from his truck radio whenever he took you anywhere. But the most glaring similarity between the two of you lately was that neither of you remembered the first thing about dating. He had never even intended to get back into it, but then you had come and won his heart all to yourself, whereas you had been reserved and wary ever since you had broken up with your aggressive and controlling ex. His habit of putting you down with words as much as his hands had earned you a complete distrust of men — with Frank being, apparently, the exception.

Still, you didn’t completely open up to him. In fact, there was one major thing you had been holding out on, out of the fear that it would be too much for him to take — or worse, he would take advantage of that weakness somehow. So when you started to feel under the weather once more, your chronic tendencies acting up again, you made sure not to tell him why you were canceling your dinner date.

”Yeah, it’s just, I have to be at work all day and it doesn’t really seem like it’s gonna work out today”, you rambled into the phone, hoping Frank wouldn’t call you out on the bullshit excuse, only to be crushed a little more by his disappointed voice.

”Oh, okay, sweetheart. ’M sorry to hear that. Maybe tomorrow, then, huh?” Frank suggested, his gravelly voice full of dismay, and as a wave of nausea rushed over you, you squeezed your eyes shut and drew in a shaky breath.

”Actually, uh, I’m not sure I can make that work. I’m really sorry, but I’ll—I’ll let you know when I’m… more available”, you cleared your throat, embarrassment creeping up your spine and mixing in with the cold sweat breaking on your forehead. ”Again, I’m sorry. I have to go.”

With that, you hung up the phone and threw it next to you on the mattress before groaning and running your hands across your face. You hated this, but you couldn’t bring yourself to telling him the truth. Still, as your fever rose and your heartrate refused to calm down, you wished nothing more than to have Frank by your side, caressing your hair and holding your hand.

It wasn’t the first time you had done this, tried to fool him into thinking you were fine when in reality you were not, but this was the first time Frank was more than just a little bit suspicious. He would have liked to think that enough time had passed between the two of you for you to be honest with him, the same way he was learning to be honest with you — even about things he had always kept to himself.

Still, he let it go. For the first couple of days, anyway. Then all of a sudden, you weren’t answering texts, ranging from casual check-ins to more clear requests for any kind of sign, and when he called you, you didn’t pick up, either. You had gone completely radio silent for the fourth day now, whereas before you would get back to Frank within minutes. He missed checking his phone and seeing a notification from you, and like a goddamn schoolgirl, he missed texting you until ungodly hours in the AM until he’d pass out on his phone from sheer exhaustion.

And Frank, well, he always assumed the worst. The most horrendous scenario imaginable was already forming in his head, and he tried his damnedest to keep his cool, but fuck, if he wasn’t worried. He tried to get his mind off of you by cleaning his guns, but he soon realized it was just to prepare him against whoever had possibly taken you from your home, or maybe even the street. Surely something had happened for you to not even let him know you were okay.

”Goddamn it, sweetheart”, he muttered at his phone where his long list of unanswered text messages stared back at him. He tried to sit still in his silent apartment, but the longer he did, the worse he started to overthink. And before he knew it, he was out the door, headed for your building with his gun in the waistband of his jeans.

Tapping on the wheel, he impatiently swerved from one street to another. He had gotten far too attached to you — in fact, he hadn’t even realized just how deeply until right now, but he couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, not now, not ever. You had become so indescribably important to him, more than he’d even care to admit, but he couldn’t lie to himself. He was ready to go to war for you if that was what the night had in the cards for him.

He was at your front door in almost no time, his knuckles knocking on the door to give you the chance to answer. But when nothing happened, not even a squeak came from indoors, Frank tried the handle — to no avail. ”Fuck”, he cursed under his breath, knowing you’d hand his ass to him for what he was about to do, but he wasn’t going to let a mere door stand in his way.

And so, he shoved through the door with his shoulder, busting in unceremoniously and with a bang. At first glance, the apartment looked untouched, and in any other situation, he would have taken a moment to appreciate just how you it was, from photos to little plushies decorating the place. But now, he was focused on only one thing, and that was finding you. Even though the place seemed normal in every way, he withdrew his gun and kept it hoisted in the air just in case, the barrel leading the way as he searched the apartment room by room.

It was in the bathroom that Frank found what he was looking for, only to be slapped in the face by the horror that quickly washed over him at the sight — you, lying on the floor, sweat beading on your feverish face while you breathed heavily and unevenly.

”Shit”, he uttered out while putting his gun away and kneeling down beside you. ”Sweetheart? Hey, sweet girl, can you hear me? Hey, I need ya to wake up for me, okay?” Frank continued, his anger fading into worry as he lifted your head up and tried to gently shake you into consciousness. When you began moving on your own and your eyes parted open, he sighed in relief, but licked his lips in the realization that you were not in the clear yet.

”Hey, hey, take it easy. You with me, darlin’? Look at me”, he instructed with short and simple statements, his voice gentle but stern, and you found it in yourself to follow his guidance. You leaned into him and looked up at him, struggling to find your words with your dry throat and your dizzy head.

”Didn’t want you to see me like this”, you slurred, and knitting his eyebrows together, Frank tilted his head at you.

Nodding to promise he understood, he cleared his throat. ”Listen, I’mma take you to the hospital, aight? I’ll be with you the whole time, I promise”, he continued, and even though you didn’t have it in you to fight back, you nodded.

With ease, Frank picked you up from the floor, and as quickly but carefully as he could, he rushed downstairs to his truck where he made sure to protect your head and avoid any sudden movements while buckling you in. He maintained a balance between rushing and not risking your life any further, but needless to say, he was relieved no cops pulled him over as he sped through the streets to get to the emergency room.

He was working on autopilot, his instincts guiding him but his mind not quite catching up with what was happening. He was scared, but that part of him was shutting down completely and the diligent soldier in him took charge of the situation until you were lying in a hospital bed, still unconscious but stable according to the doctors.

He didn’t leave your side for one second, even when his eyes started to slip and his body yearned for coffee. The doctors told him he might have to wait all night, but he was willing to — he just wasn’t going to let you wake up all alone, confused and hurt.

It must have been near 4 AM when you finally came to, your groggy movements alerting Frank who was half-asleep in the chair he had dragged to your bedside. But as soon as you seemed to be waking up, he was eyes wide and his hand reaching for yours. You were too out of it to fight him off even if you had wanted to, but when your eyes adjusted to the new setting and you slowly realized where you were, you clung onto him desperately.

”Frank…”, you croaked out, eyes blinking rapidly as you lifted your head just a little bit, and shushing you softly, Frank caressed your cheek with his free hand.

”Hey there, pretty girl. I’m right here. You’re at the hospital, okay? I found you, uh, I found ya unconscious and I got you here”, he started, his rough voice a warm welcome as you got oriented — although as you did, you found yourself hoping you wouldn’t.

As soon as you remembered the couple of days you had had, shame, regret and guilt gushed into your system, poisoning you from within and encouraging you to bury your face in your hands. You groaned, but still blissfully unaware, Frank continued.

”I—I’m not really sure what happened and the doctors don’t wanna tell me anythin’…”, he trailed off, sounding and looking very much like a kicked puppy, and it made you feel so shitty. God, you really liked him, and now it felt like everything you had developed together was moments away from burning to ashes.

”I’m so sorry, Frank. I didn’t want you to get involved in this mess”, you breathed out, pursing your lips together awkwardly in an effort to not cry.

”Hey, you don’t gotta apologize. I… I wanna be involved in whatever you got goin’ on, y’know?” he shrugged before licking his lips and adding, ”and since I’m here now, maybe you could tell me what’s goin’ on?”

He made a damn good argument there. So, you decided to put on your big girl pants and rip off the band-aid.

”I suffer from these… spells, I guess. I deal with chronic illness and when I get sick, I get really sick. I’ve been struggling with it a lot this week, so I cancelled our date”, you explained with a grimace, but Frank didn’t seem shaken by it — worried, sure, but about to make your worst nightmares come true? Not by a long shot.

”Man, that’s… Shit, that sucks. No way ’round it. ’M sorry”, he sympathized, and you nodded quietly to accept his kindness. ”Maybe I’m just a big ole’ idiot but uh, you coulda just told me, yeah?” Frank wondered, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at his innocent attempt to understand. Granted, you weren’t making it easy for him.

”Yeah, that’s where my trust issues come in, I guess. Um, my ex was really… Well, the worst. I kinda learned to expect the worst from everyone, especially men, and I didn’t want to risk telling you because I didn’t know how you’d react. Even now I’m kind of worried about what this means for our future”, you admitted nervously, your fingers fiddling with the thin cover on top of you, and Frank immediately squeezed your hand to reassure you.

”I ain’t gonna do anythin’ you don’t want me to. I’ll try to learn about it and do whatever I can to help ya out, is that okay?” he questioned shyly, and with a quick nod, you smiled at him.

”It’s okay. I would like that. I just don’t want it to be an inconvenience or—or something that gives you too much control over me”, you explained, and tilting his head at you, Frank frowned.

”I don’t wanna control you, sweetheart. ’M sorry your ex was a piece of shit like that. But I promise ya, I ain’t gonna be the same. I’mma do this shit right”, he insisted, still squeezing your hand, and as his words hung in the air, you felt the anxiety slowly fade away. Maybe, this could work out.

”Thank you”, you whispered, and nodding to confirm it was the least he could do, Frank lifted your hand to his mouth and left a gentle kiss on the back of it.

”Next time… you can tell me and maybe I can come over and take care of you, yeah?” he offered, and when you broke into an approving smile, he flashed a grin at you. ”Good, good… ’Cause I gotta be honest, I really like you, girl. And I ain’t plannin’ on messin’ this up”, Frank pointed out, and with a giggle escaping your mouth, you gripped his hand a bit tighter.

”Don’t worry, you’re doing just fine so far.”

[mallowmaenad]

baedel flow

this shit ain't nothin to me girl

i'm taking DIY alstolfo brand temu titty skittles. I got so much prog up my ass my dildo has erectile dysfunction. I'm injecting estrogen straight into my face so I can force fem the cop in my brain.

I'm problematic. I ship things you can't imagine. The judge read my Archive Of Our Own bookmarks out loud and the jury were too busy throwing up to give me a guilty verdict.

I smoke shit so dank it'll age regress you into a fucking sperm.

I'm on that greymarket back alley bimbo goo. I'm doing deviantart shit to my body just to look myself in the mirror when I shave in the morning.

Your sister LOVES my milk duds. You never had a brother, she calls me mommy with a 2 year age difference.

I'm putting lead and estrogen in my haters' cereal so I can make some toxic yuri, get them moaning in their boyvoices 6 months later behind the Warhammer store like I'm fucking Slaanesh.

They/them me again and I'll run a used Manscaped Lawnmower across your face until you look like a fucking newborn

I show up to Planned Parenthood just to stand there and watch the abortions, licking my lips between sips of Strawberry Dreams mixed with pure thailander gamer girl sweat.

When I'm done with you you'll never want to go to the pool shirtless again bitch

I'm on those quadruple puppygirlboygirl anarchist homebrew estrogen patches, taking so much spiro that Big Pharma is wiping down fire hydrants in my area to make Premarin with the residue.

The only thing Harkness is testing is my fucking patience and I'm about to turn him into another one of my little sisters

I'm smoking that bocchi the rock giving myself middle school anxiety so intense it erases my male socialization

They wanted to write a callout post about me so I fucked their moms, and their dogs and the playstation 5 just for good measure, now if they don't call me auntie they're grounded from role playing My Hero Academia characters on discord for 2 weeks.

You wish I'd make you my bitch. By the time you re-align your pronouns you'll be bottoming for a fucking stuffed shark posting about your Amazon Basics skirt on reddit

They call me the egg cracker because I bust so many fucking balls

I radiate so much AGP my nickname at the local pride center is elephant's foot. I give Kaitlyn Jenner so much gender envy it's got her considering voting blue in the next election.

Yeah I'm on E, what the fuck else am I gonna trip on when I drive to the pharmacy blasting SewerSlvt so loud youtube is recommending video essays to every single person in the tri state area.

Christine Chandler wishes she was me. Contrapoints wishes she was me. Aphrodite desires me carnally. They can't handle the divine feminine energy radiating from my unwashed hen cause they gotta go through the Hero's Journey just to get a face full of baby butter that tastes like expired anchovies.

Tonight girl my chosen name is Bridget because I'm going to go to town inside you. Your hole's gonna be more ruined than Thanksgiving dinner when I show up in a slutty little number watching my cousin the same age as me lose another inch of his hairline.

I'm sucking on that neocities watamote siscon shadow siren hard candy getting affected like a male feminist just heard me say the word bitch a little too loud for his liking. My Celeste speedruns have never been faster.

Fuck around and find out keep talking shit and my final fantasy 14 plugins won't be the only thing I'll be reprogramming tonight

[jellyfishsthings]

Warnings: this is going to be a multi part series and it's going to be angsty cause I am in my feels. Female reader, Padmé and Anakin were together but had a healthy break up, Jedi reader so forbidden love

This story takes plays in Clone Wars yet many events have been changed (like the meeting of Ashoka and Anakin... don't worry the sibling energy is still there.)

series masterlist

I head towards my room. The walk there feels like an eternity. When I finally reach the familiar doors, I slip inside. I remove the damned dress haphazardly as I head towards the shower. I let the cold water envelop me, trying to remove the tension from my shoulders since my usual scalding hot shower routine will not calm me.

After a while, I got out and dressed myself in a long T-shirt and tucked myself under the heavy duvet. My eyes flutter close, exhaustion taking over my senses despite my nap on the ship that was rudely interrupted. Yet, my mind is clouded. Padmé's words resurfaced. "You are made for each other." Yeah sure… as much as I want it to be true, there is no way there is no chance for the two of us. And so I will myself to sleep, and I let myself dream of what we could be.

I dream of him.

Dawn finds me still in my bed for the first time in forever. Today is what I call a "slow" day because I don't have to do anything. So I bury myself under the comfort of my pillow and my comforter, and I stay there for at least one more hour, doing absolutely nothing. Yet my body craves movement, and I can't stay still anymore. I throw on my robes and head towards the cafeteria, where chaos erupts.

"But Master-" a young feminine voice calls and is interrupted by a much louder one.

"I am not your Master, girlie. There has to be some kind of mistake." Anakin's voice booms and echoes through the hall. Causing laughter from all the other current residents of the Temple.

"What is happening? " I whisper to Obi-Wan as I enter the room.

"Anakin has a Padawan. A much… stubborn one." He says, chuckling.

A young girl stands across from my friend with arms crossed and a scowl. Anakin wears a similar stance and expression. I calmly get closer to them.

"Ani. Won't you introduce me to your friend?"

He draws an annoyed breath, trying to maintain his composure.

"My name is Ashoka."

"Nice to meet you, Ashoka. Were you shown your room yet, and your new clothes?"

"No, because skyguy over here …"

"Don't call me that." Anakin snaps, and I try to stifle a laugh. "Not you, too."

"She's funny."

"She's overly sarcastic, mean, arrogant and… why are you smiling like that?"

"Oh, how the tables turn."

"What do you - No."

"Oh yes." I say and smirk at him, waiting for his response. It never comes, at least not directly.

"Come on, Snips. Let's have a tour of the Temple." He says with an exaggerated sigh. And I beam at the nickname Snips. He is already invested even if he shows clear dislike to her … for now. I wink at the young Padawan, and she smiles at me as they leave the room.

I find Obi-Wan slacking at the corner table, watching me with a knowing smile. I serve some French toast on a tray, and I join him. A comfortable silence enveloped us as we ate.

"May I ask you something?" He says after a while.

"Of course Master Kenobi."

"Drop the formalities, firecracker. Will you join me in the meditation ring? I am afraid my usual partner is rather occupied. "

"Of course."

And so we leave our trays in the washing compartment, and head towards the meditation ring. Our outer robes are removed as we sit across each other, and we cross our legs, placing our hands above our knees facing upwards and straightening our backs. Our eyes flutter close as we let ourselves delve into the Force; we let our spirits travel miles and miles away. Soon, I feel something resisting my mind's borders, trying to slip inside, and I gently push it back. This goes back and forth for a while, and Obi-Wan is a great opponent in this as it turns out. We are both out of breath and sweat collects above my brows.

"The Force is strong with you. You have great power in you, and you use it wisely. Your constraint and maturity proceeds your age. "

"Thank you, Master."

"Yet you wear your emotions, much like Anakin. Especially with Anakin."

"Well, of course, he is my friend."

"That is not what I mean, and you know it. I have raised you both. I know what I see. Your feelings for each other are obvious, at least to me. The council forbids any kind of attachment." He says calmly. "I think they are wrong. Attachment is what makes us stronger; it is what gives us hope."

"You mean -"

"I do not think anything, kiddo. You are too smart for your own good. I have faith that you will figure it out. And dismiss any thoughts of leaving the Order; he is not complete without you."

I stayed still in my place, baffled at his words, as he kindly smiled at me and leaned down to kiss my forehead.

My thoughts are tangled knots for the rest of the day. Every loose string I find makes the mess even more complicated. Every task I try to do is left unfinished, I give up on the thought of a productive day, leaving reports unread on my desk and I head towards the training room.

I hijacked the sound system of the room and I put my one and most prized possession into the old pick up I once found on a black market. Loud music fills the room and I head towards the center of the arena. I position myself in a fighting stance and I let my body get lost in the music as I repeat fighting routines. Hours could have past or mere minutes before a small body appears next to me trying to copy me. I flinch as she gets close to a striking distance.

"You are awesome. Why can't you be my Master and not Sir Grumpypants?"

"I wouldn't know Ashoka."

"Master speaks very highly of you."

"Ashoka what the hell are you doing?" Anakin yells as he lets the doors slam behind him. I roll my eyes at his dramatic entrance and his antics. "Go back to your room."

"But you said-"

"Now. I won't say this twice." And so Ashoka leaves with a long, suffering sigh. After she is out of the doors I turn towards my friend.

"You didn't have to be so stern with her."

"Don't criticize me." He buries his hand in his hair, tugging at the roots as he whispers. "What am I supposed to do? She is just a child and I have to turn her into a warrior? The war is raging and-"

"Breathe. Just breathe." I say as I encircle him with my arms, hugging him tightly trying to calm his panicked breathing.

"I can't do it. I won't." He mutters over and over as tears slip down his face.

"You can and you will. You have to."

"I know." His lips move against the skin of my neck, forming the words but never saying them out loud. "You will help right? I am so lost."

"Yeah, this is what friends are for."

"Yeah, friends." He repeats sadly.

Friends. The sound of it is bitter and it sits badly at our tongues, since we are both too afraid to face the truth.

words: 1.277

[daddy-issues-99]

Repo Man x GN reader

Uses feminine nicknames so idk still gender neutral ig... Also implied age gap. 

TW: Mention of injury, blood, gore 

PLOT: You work with Nathan in collecting organs and develop a crush on him

You stood next to one of the many operating tables putting some of the organs you just cut out into a cooler while Nathan was discarding the left over body. 

You glanced over at him, he lifted the body up onto his shoulders and carried it effortlessly out of the room. You couldn't deny how good looking he was. Even with the mask on just his height and way he carried himself was a major turn on. 

You were still lost in thought when he walked back in. He saw you starring at him and smirked under his mask. 

“You okay Sweetheart?” He asked bringing you back into reality.

“I uh..I just-” He let out a laugh at how you stuttered. He walked over and leaned against the operating table next to you. He was so much taller up close. 

“Rough day?” “Just...tired” You said not making eye contact. “Makes sense, that guy did give a pretty good fight.” “Ya, even with his heart pulled out he was still bitchin.” You leaned back against the table looking down at your blood covered jacket. 

“We should probably clean ourselves off.” You nodded and walked over to the clean up area trying not to slip on puddles of blood but you could catch yourself. 

You fell back, hitting your head on the bloody red floor hard. Your vison went dizzy as you tried to stand up and tears started to stream down your face despite your protest. Nathan rushed over, getting down on his knees to pull you close and make sure you were okay. He could see the tears through the eyes of the mask. “Y/N are you okay?” 

You didn't respond to afraid your voice would be shaky from the tears. You turned your head away trying to hide your already masked face. You tried to push him away and stand up but he stopped you. He gently picked you up bridal style causing you to wrap your hands around his neck, scarred he might drop you. “Don't worry, I wont hurt you Sweetheart.” Despite your protests he carried you over to one of the clean operating tables without even breaking a sweat.

He gently sat you down on the table and took of your mask, placing it next to you and the did the same. You turned your head away trying to hide the tears in your eyes. 

He took off his latex gloves and replaced them with a pair of clean surgical gloves. “Let me see your head.” You didn't dare look up at him but turned your head so he could see where you hit it. He gently touched the back of your head trying to make it as painless as possible. “No blood. Just a bruise starting to form. No need to worry.”

He turned around and threw the gloves away and put on his latex ones again ready to continue his tasks. “I’m sorry” You said just above a whisper causing him to turn around. 

“For what, you did nothing wrong?” He said empathetically. “I know but, you do everything for me and all I can do is make things harder.” You said as your voice cracked. 

“Your perfect, everyone slips up once in a while its okay.” He said placing a hand on your cheek. “You did nothing wrong Sweet heart, its okay” He said as you looked up at him, sadness still in your eyes.

“Will this prove that you've don nothing wrong?” He said as he brought your face and placed a gentle kiss on your lips. You instantly tensed up but soon returned the kiss. 

He soon pulled away and you rested you head on his forehead “Did that help?” “It fixed everything” You said as you wrapped your hands around his neck, enjoying the close contact.

“I wish you would have done that sooner.” You said looking him in the eye. He gave you a quick kiss “Me too Sweet heart.” You smiled. 

He helped you off the operating table and handed you your mask, placing a quick kiss on your head before you put it on. “You should fall more often” He said with a smile. “Who said I need to fall for that to happen. You said giving his hand a squeeze. 

“Same thing tomorrow?” “Same thing tomorrow.” 

[zz-chikorita]

If Leon and Guzma and other characters from your fic were in a historical, real-world AU, what kind of jobs would they have? And what time period?

Oh shit I get to pick the occupation AND time period??? Ok. Give me a sec...

Let's talk 1920's USA🎼🎶🎷🎺🍻🥃🥂:

Guzma is a bootlegger. He started out solo but gained the trust and admiration of many if his peers and is now the head of the gang that bootlegs in that area. He goes by many names like The Boss, Don G, and The Passing Don, to name a few.

Leon is a jazz pianist. Although well known and loved in Europe for the classics, he immigrated to the US to pursue his passion for jazz. He faced far more discrimination due to the color of his skin in this country, making it difficult to get a foothold anywhere. He mainly plays for pennies at illegal speakeasies these days. He's very well liked by patrons for his upbeat personality and "exotic" good looks. His jazz nickname is "Champ"

Plumeria is a suffragette that frequents Guzma's main hang out. She's a sharp tongue and a very good card player. Guzma quickly learns to play her for drinks and not cold hard cash (or, worse, the shirt off his back).

Kukui was recently discharged from the Navy and currently works as a tailor. He comes to the speakeasy regularly to drink away his sorrows and flirt with the dancers.

Kalani is a mechanic who moonlights as a bar tender at the speakeasy. He's also not above helping Guzma out with those rattling vehicles that certainly don't have secret compartments he's installed to smuggle booze.

Raihan was a praised scholar over in Europe, but after immigrating, the best he can land is a job as a barber. The bar is a sweet reprieve from reality.

Piers is a jazz trumpeter. He use to be a jazz singer as well, however, he's decided to live life as the man he is and although he's successfully adjusted his speaking voice with practice, he is unable to make his singing voice sound any less feminine. He focuses solely on his horn now. Although, there's rumors that he will sing private encores for those few he truly trusts.

Imma write a little taste of this AU under the readmore:

Leon wiped the sweat from his brow before placing it back into the pocket of his suit with shaky hands. He's performed in front of audiences of hundreds of people! So, why is simply standing at an unmarked back door in a back alleyway getting to him?

He took a deep breath and patted his cheeks with his palms, an old habit that's become a ritual before every performance. In this case, it helps him keep his bloody nerves, if only a little.

Finally, he knocks on the door and does his best to straighten his suit.

After a moment of no response, Leon is about to knock again when a voice from the other side gruffly demands, "Password."

"P-password?" he replies dumbly.

"No password, no entry."

"Wait! I'm no with the police! A friend telt me ye have a piano? I'm just looking for a gig's all!"

Leon held his breath. There was mumbling on the other side of the door. It sounded like two voices. He looked over his shoulders and then gently pressed his ear to the door.

"...we been lookin' for someone casual. Keep the patrons entertained between sets."

"How ya know he's legit?! Could just be tryna get free booze! And what's with that voice? Queerest Brit I've ever heard!"

The next voice he heard he's certain he would've heard clearly even if he wasn't pressed up against the door:

"ACE! BLACLJACK! What the hell are you numbskulls arguing about this time?"

"There's some kid at the door," the more nasally 'numbskull' explains, "says he plays da keys."

Next thing Leon knew, the door gave way and he stumbled forward, the side of his face landing squarely in the broad chest of a man with a spotless, white suit with hair to match.

Leon quickly scrambled backwards, apologizing profusely.

The man roared with laughter and grabbed the young man by the front of his shirt, practically dragging him through the door.

"He's a bit of a gongoozler as well, eh? But tell you what, kid, I'll let it slide this time since you're so damn pretty." The man winked, and every nerve in Leon's body felt like it was lit aflame.

The man put his hand at Leon's mid back and began to lead him down a dimly lit hallway.

"You sure 'bout lettin' him in here?" the same 'numbskull' from before asked as they walked.

"Ace, the kid says he plays the keys. So let 'im play the keys! If it turns out he's lyin'-"

"We can just kick 'is ass later!" finished the other 'numbskull'.

The white-haired man waggled a finger at him with a grin on his face. "See? Blackjack knows what's up."

They arrived in a large room with a bar, some tables, a decent size stage, and a grand piano sitting just below it.

Being early in the day, there were not many people here. The dark skinned bartender eyed him from where he wiped down the bar. A couple patrons were passed out, bottle or glass in hand. In the very back corner booth, a group of men in suits quietly played cards. One, whose suit could only be described as cut sharp as a razor, appeared to be winning.

As they made their way to the piano, the man's hand still resting gently at the small of Leon's back, said man asked him, "What's your drink?"

"Oh...uh...whisky, I guess."

He called over for the bartender to pour a glass before setting a firm hand on each of Leon's shoulders and forcing him to sit on the piano bench.

Next thing he knew, a lowball glass was thrust into his hand. Without thinking, he started throwing it back.

"A'right, a'right, take it easy, kid," the white haired man scolded, a bit of amusement in his voice, snatching the glass from his hand and setting it up on top of the piano. "You play good, you can have the rest and then some, eh?"

"O-oh! Richt! Umm... what do ye want meh to play?"

"Whatever ya got," he replies cooly, leaning an elbow on the piano, "You sing too?"

"I... umm... I mean... I can... it just... isnae onything special."

The man hummed in thought.

"Alright then. Just play us somethin', don't worry 'bout singin'. If I happen to know it, maybe I'll sing with ya. Sound good?"

"Aye- er... yeah. Ok."

Leon took a breath to center himself. This is the easy part. All he's gotta do is focus on his playing and lose himself in it. Luckily, the few ounces of liquor he just ingested seemed to be helping his nerves as well.

He didn't really think about which song to play; he just started playing and hoped for the best. The tall man seemed to perk up with interest.

Next thing Leon knew, a deep sultry voice sang:

"There was a boy

A very strange enchanted boy

They say he wandered very far

Very far

Over land and sea

A little shy

And sad of eye

But very wise was he-"

Transfixed on the handsome man singing just in his peripheral vision, Leon failed to notice all the heads turning their way, some even beginning to nod in approval or sway to the deliciously languid rhythm.

"And then one day

One magic day he passed my way

And while we spoken of many things

Fools and kings

This he said to me-"

As a professional, Leon didn't waver as the white-haired man moved to stand behind him, placing a large hand on each of his shoulders. Although, it didn't stop the hair on the back of his neck from standing on end.

"The greatest thing

You'll ever learn

Is just to love-"

The man leaned down to his ear.

"And be loved...

in return."

[deduction-substitute]

Alice hoped that her staring wasn't obvious.

But if August staring back was any indication, then it was a sign that she wasn't doing a good job at it. As much as Alice respected him as her coworker, she also respected him as her friend. And August was- how should she put it? Oblivious. Dense. Very...expressive.

She prided herself on her self-control. In their line of work, she learned that the simple twitch of a finger or the raise of a brow could instantly destroy her chances at getting a good scoop.

It was something that August did not learn, no matter how long he's worked in the field.

Alice found it endearing. Their boss didn't.

But right now, there was no boss to scold August or command Alice to travel miles just for an interview. There were only the two other survivors and the hunter hiding behind the curtain.

What are you doing here? August seemed to speak with his eyes.

What are you doing here? Alice clicked her tongue.

Investigating. A bead of sweat rolled down August's face. Both of them ignored the fact that he was lying. Instead, Alice directed her attention somewhere else and raised her brow.

Are you using my skirt?

"It completes the disguise!" August hissed from underneath his breath.

"It's not practical." Alice crossed her arms, before her eyes widened in horror, "Disguise?"

She finally realized that August wasn't just using her skirt. He practically stole her whole closet! His hair, usually hidden by his newsboy cap, was down, the volume of it creating the fake image of longer hair. Not as long as hers, but it did its job.

Alice thinks that she should be angry at him, if it weren't for the fact that he was...kind of rocking the look. She looked down at her own outfit. Her old reporter outfit, something similar to August's own- minus the suspenders.

Sitting next to him, she felt a bit underdressed.

She cursed at him under her breath. Leave it to August to make her of all people distracted.

"Aug," The use of his nickname made him perk up, "Don't tell me you're in disguise like me." Don't tell me that they think I'm you and you're ME.

August blushed, clearly embarrassed. That was enough of an answer for Alice.

"Is that makeup on your face?"

"I-It was for the disguise!"

"It's covering your freckles. Wash your face later."

"What are you, my mom?"

The others in the room watched as the Lucky Guy and the Journalist got caught up in their own little world. A feminine voice spoke up from behind the curtain, sounding unimpressed, "Can someone tell them to get it on with?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Eh."

The Prisoner and the Mercenary replied without even looking away from the duo.

They stayed in the lobby for 10 minutes.

[swearingcactus]

FC4 Names Chinese Translation and Re-translated back to English

cus y'know. im a sucker for this and i have pleco. I got the names from this Chinese article about the game . As far as I know, Mandarin Chinese translations of names usually just find the closest Chinese word that sounds like the foreign name. (a wild example: the Joestar in Jojo is translated to: 喬斯達 (qiáo sī dá) even though 'star' has its own word: 星 (Xīng). so, the meaning for each word that makes up the name doesn't usually matter to the original name/character). Mainly I'm just listing the translation & words down for my own amusement :)

Ajay Ghale - 阿杰·盖勒 (Ā jié·gài lēi)

The 阿 /'A' sound is usually used as a prefix to a nickname 杰 (jié) = outstanding person, hero, prominent. (very fitting) 盖 (gài) = it can be a surname / a word that means: lid, shell, canopy. 勒 (lēi) = rein in/force/command/to bind

Pagan Min - 蒲甘·明 (Pú gān·míng)

蒲甘 (Pú gān) = translation for Bagan(Pagan) as in the ancient capital of Myanmar (previously Burma). 明 (míng) = it can be a surname / a word that means: sight, bright, brilliant.

there are several Min surnames including this 闵 which can also mean 'to feel sorrow/to mourn' --so I don't know why they changed it to Ming in the Mandarin Chinese translation. Otherwise, Pagan's name is very literal.

Sabal - 沙巴尔 (Shābā ěr)

Sabal's characters doesn't really mean anything. the 沙/Shā can mean sand/grit but that's about it.

Amita - 阿米塔 (Ā mǐ tǎ)

阿 (Ā)= same 'A' as Ajay's. 米 (mǐ)= rice 塔 (tǎ)= buddhist pagoda/tower (ironic)

Bhadra - 巴德拉 (Bā dé lā)

巴 (Bā) = just a compound word 德 (dé)= virtue, morals, heart, kindness, favor :(( 拉 (lā)= pull

Paul "de Pleur" Harmon - 保罗·“德普勒”·哈蒙 (Bǎoluó·“dé pǔ lè”·hā méng) god that's a mouthful.

保罗 (Bǎoluó) = literally 'Paul'. > 保 / Bǎo means protect/guarantee. > 罗/ luó means a net (for catching birds)/trap/sieve 哈 (hā) = breathe out (with mouth open), if you duplicate this character it makes the onomateopia for laughing too 蒙 (méng) = ignorance, illiteracy by coincidence the 'de Pleur' nickname features a lot of shared characters with the other cast. > the 德/de part is the same as Bhadra's. > 普 / pǔ means 'general/universal.' > the 'leur' sound is translated to 勒 (lè) which can also be read as (lēi) that makes up Ajay's 'Ghale'.

Noore Najjar - 诺尔·娜迦 (Nuò'ěr·nà jiā)

诺尔 (Nuò'ěr) = Mongolian word for lake > 诺 (Nuò) = promise/yes

娜 (nà) = elegant/graceful. often used phonetically in feminine names 迦 (jiā) = also used phonetically for foreign names

Yuma Lau - 尤玛·刘 (Yóu mǎ·liú)

*tries not to make a yo ma joke*

尤 (Yóu) = outstanding / particularly 玛 (mǎ) = usually used for foreign names/words.

As opposed to Pagan's surname that got changed, Yuma's is actually consistent. Her surname 'Lau' is Cantonese but is read as Liu in Mandarin Chinese. Liu is a pretty common surname but can also mean a type of battle-axe, to kill/slaughter. very fitting imo :)!! Bonus Round:

Ishwari - 伊什瓦莉 (Yī shén wǎ lì)

伊 (Yī) = doesn't really mean anything, usually used before a word/expression. 什 (shén) = also doesn't really mean anything. it makes up the word for 'what'. (i think it's a missed opportunity to not use 神 which is also read as shén but means god/deity) 瓦 (wǎ) = primordial spindle / tile 莉 (lì) = female name that means sweet and pretty Mohan Ghale - 莫汗·盖勒 (Mò hàn·gài lēi)

莫 (Mò) = no one, nothing, do not 汗 (hàn)= sweat ah yes the founder of the Golden Path : Do Not Sweat also fun fact: the translation for 'Ghale' (盖勒) is also used for the Western surname 'Geller' so technically Ross and Monica Geller from the hit 90's sitcom Friends share the same Chinese translated surname as Ajay. another fun fact, the name 'Jason' is commonly translated to 杰森 (Jié sēn) so Jason also has the same word in his name as Ajay's that means 'hero'. (the (sēn) means forest)

*if this passes any native speaker who found anything wrong, please lemme know and i'll edit!

[brokenbeldam]

BASICS:

Full Name: Tatum Weisz

Nicknames: Tate, the kids in their life call them Taytay

Date of Birth: February 10th 1994

Zodiac Sign: Aquarius

Nationality: American

Ethnicity: White

Faceclaim: E.R. Fightmaster

Place of Birth: Chicago, Illinois

Gender: Non-binary

Pronouns: They/them

Sexuality: Queer

Languages: English

Family: Debbie Weisz (mom), Felix Weisz (father)

Occupation: Mechanic and Twitch streamer

. MORE INFORMATION BELOW

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION:

Height: 1.85 m

Weight: 150 lbs

Hair: Mousey brown, straight, ends just at their shoulders. Tatum's hair is usually always down, unless they're working and it's tied up

Eyes: Blue/green

Detailed Physical Description: Tall, slim, a few random piercings in their ears

Typical Clothing/Equipment: Tatum loves the androgynous look. While their fashion tends to lean more on the masculine side, they often like to sprinkle in a little femineity from time to time. Tatum enjoys dark, muted colors, no patterns, often oversized and hiding their body. While they aren't working, Tatum likes to dress smart with oversized shirts, and high waisted cargo pants. When at home, Tatum will opt for something a little more comfortable in sweats and old baggy band tees. At work, Tatum will wear overalls, however they are usually tied around their waist for a more casual look

PERSONALITY/ATTRIBUTES:

Personality/Attitude: If you ever need a day planned out, then Tatum is not your person. Plans always seem to be their kryptonite as they always prefer to just go with the flow and see how they feel on the day. Tatum's spontaneity can often stress others out. This trait goes side by side with Tatum's laidback nature and whatever will be will be outlook on life. Tatum is a very creative person and has to surround themselves in music, art, gaming, anything that will inspire them and appease their creative brain. Tatum is a huge believer of nothing will change if you don't take action and because of this, they are a huge advocate for the LGBTQ+ community, often doing whatever they can to raise awareness and money for those in need. While they are extremely introverted, you wouldn't think it as soon as Tatum goes live on their Twitch stream, or when with friends. Sometimes, Tatum can find themselves detached from their emotions, which can come across as them being cold and unbothered. They often get unrealistic ideas, which can cause their mental health to spiral when their goals aren't easily reached

Skills/Talents: Baking, playing guitar, fixing vehicles, writing music

Favourites/Likes: Collecting art, gaming, staying up late, energy drinks, Lego building, live music, oversized clothing, cars

Most Hated/Dislikes: Judgemental people, mornings, cold weather, tomatoes, closed spaces

Goals/Ambitions: Tatum just loves living their life day to day. Their main goal right now is to gain more of a platform on Twitch and to be involved in more activism

Strengths: Intelligent, visionary, creative, open minded

Weaknesses: Cold, unpredictable, overly idealistic, stubborn

Fears: Closed spaces, the dark

Hobbies/Interests: Sports, baking, gaming, playing music, writing music, lego building

Sexual Preference/Experience/Values: Tatum knew they were queer right from a young age. While they would say they don't have a preference when it comes to gender. They mainly lean towards women and feminine presenting people. Tatum has never really had a proper relationship and has yet to actually experience real love. Everything up to now has been casual or didn't go as planned

Education/Special Training: Tatum went to a public school in Chicago, deciding to skip college as they went straight to work as soon as they graduated

Past Occupations: As soon as they finished school, Tatum took up an apprenticeship with their grandfather, working at his auto shop

[mpfuro-station]

Remember the cutie? He's a weird one. Tarot card nicknames, here we go!

Furo: Empress

UPRIGHT: Femininity, beauty, nature, nurturing, abundance

REVERSED: Creative block, dependence on others

The Empress greatly encourages compassion, beauty, and love. She is deeply connected to Mother Nature, and her influence is powerful when you absorb the energy of the natural world around you.

I chose this card because of it's emphasis on nature. But if you feel uncomfortable with the feminine nickname, please let me know! I'll make sure Xenon doesn't refer to Furo as 'Empress' in future interactions.

Mortimer: Justice

UPRIGHT: Justice, fairness, truth, cause and effect, law

REVERSED: Unfairness, lack of accountability, dishonesty

Justice is your firm-but-fair reminder that karma is real, and there is a consequence for every action. Whatever life is handing you at this moment comes from decisions you've made in the past, and whether it's a punishment or a reward, it is exactly what you deserve. When this card comes up in your Tarot reading, make sure you are acting fairly in all your interactions with others.

Tido: Star

UPRIGHT: Hope, faith, purpose, renewal, spirituality

REVERSED: Lack of faith, despair, self-trust, disconnection

The Star is the embodiment of hope and healing. She is a calming influence that brings messages of renewal, optimism, and inspiration. When The Star comes up in your Tarot reading, she reminds you that the universe is working in your favor, and encourages you to have faith in where you are being taken.

Furo: it's fine! it does fit them very well!

It took Furo awhile to realize the first year was referring to them. When it finally clicked, everything made sense. "Wait, you mean me? I'm Empress?!"

"Yes, you seem to embody the card very well," Xenon nodded. "If it bothers you, I can always stop."

Furo shook their head. "Not at all! I find it endearing," Furo laughed a bit. "Heh, although I have no clue about tarot."

"Really? I thought I heard you are referred to with gender ambiguous terms."

"Well yeah, but if you use they/them pronouns it'll be fine. My name is still feminine in nature, so it's like that." Furo explained away. "Besides, now you get spot number 2 for people who gave me a female title!"

Xenon asked, "And who holds number one?"

"Oh, Rook-senpai. He calls me Madame Furet," Furo smiled. "But feel free to call me what's easy for you! Gotta build a good relationship with my juniors!"

Mortimer:

"Justice, little old me? You flatter me!" Mortimer laughed. "Well, if that is the case, I will fulfill my role justly!"

"I am glad that you like it." Xenon responded.

"When it appears, karma is sure to follow, is that it?"

"Well yes, but it also - "

"Haha! I wonder how my dear old father would feel hearing that. He always pesters me to return home, but maybe he'll stop once he hears what others think of what my presence brings." Mortimer muttered to himself. He smiled wide as he gave Xenon a clap on the shoulder. "Thank you, my wonderful underclassman! It's always a pleasure to hear how my peers think of me!"

Tido:

Tido looked at Xenon confused. “Shtar? Heal-healing?” He tapped his chin before he knocked his hands together. “OH! My, my, uh, leg! Doesh it gotta do do wid dat?!”

He sat down where he stood and took off his prosthetic leg, with the shoe and all. Tido smiled and laughed, “Ehehehe! I don’t di-dink dis is healing doh!”

“Please...put your leg back on...”

“Oki, oki,” Tido relented still giggling to himself. “But dat’s a nif-nif-nifty name-a-ding! Should I, I give ya one? Hmm? Bud-buddy-bossh? Yeah! Buddy-Bosh-bosh!”

[deafsignifcantother]

my name is mud

♥ summary: staying with bo for awhile, but this is your first time ever killing.

♥ relationships: bo sinclair x deaf feminine reader (romantic)

♥ word count: 1016

♥ warnings: in canon violence, reader can't talk, insects (bees) mention

♥ author’s note: based off of the primus song and this is also very un-proof read

He called you bumblebee. This was behind your back at first, but it quickly became a pet name. It stemmed from the puny hums your voice would emit whenever you tried to make noise. He never told you this. So you spent a long time wondering why he was calling you bumblebee. You came up with multiple theories. Is it because bumblebees are cute? They have round, fuzzy bodies. But you doubt Bo could even tell the difference between one and a wasp. Wasp or not, they have been nicknamed "flying mice." Could that be why?

After waking up this morning, you put on your typical clothes and slip on your only pair of shoes. You don't have the most sparkly of clothing. They are dirty from the environment. There have been many times where the victims will find you, pushing you to the ground or dragging you by the hair. Bo will meet them with a hatchet and lacerate them. Bo insists you need to get violent with them to put them in their place. But you can't. You can't find it within yourself. You've never been the most vicious person.

You have taken on another role in the town. Meet the victims. You had to stay idle throughout the days, waiting for Lester's beckon. You have found yourself reading a lot of books. Playing a lot of i-spy. The role is a bit hard, and you understand that Bo put you on the front lines since you're deaf. It gives him a lot of time to go alert Vincent of their arrival. And it makes the town look more 'vulnerable' - as he describes it. Maybe that's why he calls you bumblebee, he thinks of you as vulnerable. His treasure.

You assumed this because of the way he stands next to you. He tends to guard you with his body. Always stepping in front of you when he starts to talk to the victims. That, or he has his hand on you as if you were a purse, clutching you to his side. Making sure people knew not to hurt you - that you are his.

Bumblebee. It's such a silly nickname. Once he figured out how to sign it, it was practically over for you. A memory you cherish is one of him coated in blood. The battle left the victim more mutilated than he preferred. His hair was sticky and he needed to wipe the liquid from his eyes so he could see you. He signed the pet name to you, dropping the aluminum baseball bat he had in his hands.

People are gonna be here in the morning, you remember. So you trot off to the car place, taking in the morning sun. Bo wasn't inside when you left. Maybe he's already talking to his mom. Or helping Vincent with the fresh meat. Whatever it was, you hope he is safe.

Something good about spending time in this small town is the way you spend all your days free of work. Maybe that's why he calls you bumblebee, you're reliant on him. There is no 9-to-5. No internships or part-time jobs. All you have to do is stand and look pretty. Like now, as you ignore the people walking up the hill, pretending not to see them as you mock an engineer.

A part of your routine is acting stupider than you are. They try to talk to you but you just point at your ears, shaking your head. The look of irritation and impatience on their face is a common reaction. Before, back when you had a normal life, you would have been offended. But now, this is exactly how you want them to react. When Bo swoops in and saves the day, you just stand back. That's what you always do.

It was all normal - except he didn't come home that night. Things usually didn't take this long. The worry wasn't strong at first, you weren't too invested in his case. At first, you grabbed the handy bat and crept down into Vincent's underground lair. But he wasn't there - neither of them was. Buckets of melted wax laid untouched. You started to sweat. The museum. It had to have been the museum.

Those decorated stairs you had walked on millions of times suddenly had a thousand steps. Your stained shoes and dirt-covered clothes weighed on your skin. Without the ability to hear, you weren't exposed to the violent grunts of one of the victims.

You opened the door, and it felt as if you were hit by a bowling ball. Your stomach tensed, and your spine drained of its fluid. Bo laid still, arrows in his body, hands grasping at nothing. Panting above him was the same person you had greeted that morning. They had survived it all.

Your heart beats inside your ears. He can't be dead. Your honey - lying, bleeding on the ground. A life without Bo flashed through your eyes. There would be no one to hide behind when things got tense. No one would bring home groceries - remembering all of your favorite foods. No one would annoy you at night, keeping you awake for kisses. The object in your head had slipped into being a weapon as you raised it warily. Is this would Bo would want? Are you watching Bo?

You raise the aluminum baseball bat, kissing the delusioned survivor upside the cranium. It felt sharp as the compact vibrated your fingers. It felt like you were holding a nest of buzzing bees. The vibrations continued as you maim his skull. You're not the bad guy. You can't be. You're just protecting your hive - your family. They give you a house and food without any payment. They love you - the same way you love them. Is this how he feels whenever he defends you? The sweet nectar that pounds against the inside of your skull, telling you to keep going. Female bumblebees can sting repeatedly, not stopping at one pierce. Maybe this is why he calls you bumblebee.

[shlutnutt]

Tag

in honor of kit's birthday, why not a quick little kit smut?

starts off as a little fluff lol

warnings: smut, penetration, fingering, oral sex, just regular smut

song insp: courtship dating and affection both by crystal castles

ight so boom.

"Come on! Slow down flash." Kit yells from the other side of the asylum caf trying his best to catch up to your incredible speed. Kit and you were inseparable, no matter how many times the nuns tried seperating you guys, you'd always find a way to hang out or at least see eachother.

Playing tag was your favorite game to play since it didn't require a board game with boring little pieces or any difficult rules. "Ok! I'll give you a headstart! Only 5 seconds!" you yell back causing a little disruption. Kit speed walks towards you not wanting to run anymore.

You giggle at the sight of Kit completely out of breath infront of you as he tapped on you, causing him to giggle along with you pausing suddenly taking a second to admire the beauty he had infront of him. The eye contact you both held brought nothing but butterflies, rising your need to have his soft plump lips against yours, but you dont dare make a move preventing any sort of punishments coming from Sister Jude.

Kit grabs your hand signaling you to sit down alongside him by the window which seemed nearly empty from the patients hating the sunlight. "Hey, I have a plan.. Its risky but we can have some alone time?" Kit whispers feeling the tension you two imprisoned. Taking his hand into yours you whisper back "What's on your mind baby?". Kit plans "Well, we go back to our prison cells at 9:00 pm. Jude usually leans around till 9:30 pm. We were the only ones who ate today's toasts. Lets say we got immensely sick hey? Get our "medical help" and meet by the girl's bathroom. Whatcha think?"

You were totally down for Kit's quickie plan but were terribly scared of getting caught. Knowing the result will be awful you honestly respond with "I dunno Kit. Its very risky. But I'll do it!"

"Shh"

"Shit sorry. Only if you're staying by my side though."

"Im not leaving you alone Y/N.. We're inseparable my love, dont ever forget that. "

All of the patients were escorted to their cells for their bedtime. As soon as you hear the hourly beep for 9:00 pm you keep track of time for 30 minutes. Focusing on every minute to second that passes by from the top of your head you prepare for your act, knowing that Kit is more then ready. You soon hear familiar deep coughs from the right side of your cell, knowing it was time. As you begin coughing harshly you hear keys jingling down the hallway unlocking a cell. Knowing you were next you continue coughing almost making yourself throw up.

"Y/N! What is going on in there?!" You hear a familiar feminine voice question in concern. "I- I can't breath! My stomach is killing me!" you continue your act, pretty impressed in yourself. The lady opens your cell and your heart automatically skips a beat at the sight of your lover alongside the nun, smirking slightly in between coughs.

Each step you took down the soundless hallway to the nurses was raising your heartbeat by the second not losing the tension Kit's aurora gave you.

When you all arrived at the nurses office and sit down for a few seconds, Nurse decides to break the silence. What the hell is wrong with you two? It's literally bedtime." she questions in annoyance. You silently chuckle hearing the word "hell" come out of a nun's lips. "I don't know, I suddenly wasn't able to breath properly and my stomach started hurting really bad." Kit says in "pain" mimicing your words. "And you?" the nurse asks pointing at you with her black pen decorated with a little cross. "I feel the same way. All I ate was the buttered toast, I dont usually feel like this." You add the fact that you ate the toast to make your lie far more believable. "I ate the toast too. It seemed like nobody wanted them so I gave it a try." Kit adds, completing the perfect lie.

"Second time this week the chefs' failed once again at their job. I apologize on their behalf.. I'll get you some pain relieving pills. Give me a sec." The nun apologizes heading to the big creaky door towards the basement where all medications were in storage.

I look over at Kit nerviously, who's sitting on the patient bed, uncuffed surprisingly. He seemed so excited and just overall ready to destroy your guts. "Aren't we going?" you ask perplexed to the fact he's just sitting there smiling not moving a muscle. "Escape rules 101: Leave five seconds after your kidnapper, or you'll get caught. Boom!" You giggle at his words aware he made it all up, still taking it into advice though. "Five, four, three, two.. one! Run Y/N runnn!" he insists.

Kit grabs your hand soft but steady as he drags you down another hallway towards the girl's bathroom. Warm air kissing the both of your faces as you glide down hallway to hallway with your favorite person in hand, smiling and giggling, pure ecstasy and excitements on your faces, as you arrive at your destination.

"Check if the stalls are empty on your left im checking on my right, babe" you smile at the sudden nickname Kit had put on you and proceeded to follow his commands giving him a quick thumbs up from the other side of the bathroom signaling him that the coast was clear, he does the same.

You choose the stall furthest from the door pulling Kit in with you locking it immediately "So now what?" Kit teases almost as if he were to be taunting you, acknowledging your need through your eyes. "You tell me." you attempt to tease back. "What if I show you?" he whispers, leaning into your neck. "Show me then.." you whisper back suddenly gasping at the sudden touch of Kit's delicate pink lips against your neck. His soft kissing, licking and sucking against your neck making your core wet by the second. Becoming stressed from his soft teasing you grab his jaw gentley, leading his lips to your own.

As you two kiss passionately you feel his tongue silently asking for enterance which you allow, the makeout now becoming intense. You feel his hands suddenly lifting your gown, sliding your underwear to the side, looking you in the eye with question for consent which you also allow. Kit begins rubbing your wetness delicately as he slowly inserts a finger inside making you whimper in pleasure grabbing onto his strong masculine shoulders. With now two fingers in your core, you begin jacking off Kit through his well fitted sweats producing a light angelic moan to fall out of his lips. You decide to quickly undress him teasing his member devilishly.

"Now you'll have to finish what you started gorgeous." Kit whispers reffering to your teasing on his. You drop down to your knees slowly tracing your fingers down his body, stopping right below his belly button making him groan deeply in need. "So needy for me, baby" you tease as you suck his member whole causing him to grip your thick hair for support. The combination of your moans vibrating on his now soaked member and your massaging on his balls, made his release speed up more then ever.

"Im cl- close Y/N.. You're doing such a good job for me" he praises while nutting in your mouth which you swallow quickly, avoiding the slight bitter taste. Kit picks you up with no notice and leans you against the stall you both shared slowly sliding his member past your submerged folds. You moan instantly at the feeling of Kit's cock filling you up completely hitting your g-spot everytime. You're both breathlesss in the moment, your loud moans echoing through the flickering lights of the bathroom, holding onto his shoulders for support your arms wrapped around his muscular sweaty waist.

"F-fuck Kit. Im cu-.." not being able to finish your words due to the amazing sensation you were feeling on your core, you feel instantly empty as Kit pulls out of you to finish your high with his mouth.

Kit tongue fucks you, and licks between your folds to finally sucking on your clit liberating your release in his mouth which he sucks up every drop of. Your body collapses onto his still trying to process the intense moment you both divided.

"I love you, Y/N" Kit lovingly says while lookin down at you with innocent eyes. "I love you too, Ki-"

Getting brutally interrupted you hear screaming "Where the hell are you two!" you both hear the nurse, footsteps running up and down the hallways. You quickly get dressed and kiss Kit your goodbyes as he flies past the huge door into the boys' bathroom which luckily was right next to the girls'.

"I-Im here!" you manage to scream back, sticking two fingers down your throat forcing yourself to throw up. "I just got really sick and needed to throw up, sorry." you apologize looking up at the lady who's eyes were boiling in anger. You were pretty sweaty, hair tousled, and hands were shaky. Made your lie pretty believable. "Where's kit?" nurse asks calmly this time now that she's found you. "Im not too sure I think he ran to the boys' room, he got really red and well ran out, seemed sick also." You manage to convince.

Nurse walks out, disgusted by your view heading into the boys' room in which she's not allowed into. You jump at the scary sounds Kit made from the other side of the wall, relieved you two had mentally communicated the same plans.

Managing to clean yourself up a bit you hear hard knocking on the girls' bathroom door. You timidly open up to the view of nurse and Kit. Relieved you smile to yourself a little, Kit realizes and taps on you playfully.

"You're it, loser."

[the-lunar-mistress]

Never Ending Survey: Sazlethan Mahvash

Rules: Repost, don't reblog, tag 10 blogs!

Tagged by: @captainkurosolaire

Tagging: @unkemptandtired @shadowheartxiv @clouded-vxle @quantum-milktea @glorified-thieves @bluebell-bluebird @yisu-xiv @fortress-and-flame @muted-howl @othard

BASICS.

FULL NAME: Sazlethan Mahvash

NICKNAME: The Lunar Mistress, Hingashi's Viper, Lulubell Vixen, Jewel, Saz

AGE: 63 (appears to be in her late 20's)

BIRTHDAY: 18th sun of the 6th umbral moon

ETHNIC GROUP: Rava Viera

NATIONALITY: Othardian

LANGUAGE/S: Dalmascan, Hingan, Old Auri, Common Eorzean, some Thavnairian

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Demiromantic

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single

HOME TOWN / AREA: A small village in the Golmore Jungle

CURRENT HOME: Hingashi

PROFESSION: Madame of The Viper's Nest - dancer's guild and lounge. Informant, assassin, and arcane specialist for The Court of Thieves. Black market Alchemist.

PHYSICAL.

HAIR: Snow white, often worn in a braid, pulled up into an intricate design with pins, or in wild untamed curls

EYES: Celeste green, hazy violet

FACE: Sharp angles, unnatural beauty, freckled

LIPS: Full, plush, and pouty

COMPLEXION: Tawny brown

BLEMISHES: None

SCARS: Burns on the palms of both her hands that are covered in ink, and whip scars littering the surface of her back.

TATTOOS: A tattoo of vieran origin along the bridge of her nose and chin. A moon tattoo of similar design between her breasts. And finally runes in the shape of an elemental wheel are printed on her palms and feet in aetheric ink.

HEIGHT: 5 fulms 10 ilms

WEIGHT: 153 ponzes

BUILD: Toned, curvaceous, and feminine. Built like an athletic dancer. In pristine physical condition.

FEATURES: Freckles, wide set eyes with lush frosty lashes, iconic black lipstick

ALLERGIES: ...people.

USUAL HAIR STYLE: Fitting for the occasion. However, it does fall to her ankles and she will never cut it.

USUAL FACE LOOK: Stoic, calm, and relaxed.

USUAL CLOTHING: Often tight revealing clothing or flowing dresses. Expensive fabrics inported from all over the realm. Notable colors being black, deep violet, and gold. Lots of jewelry.

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR/S: Deep waters, drowning, abandonment

ASPIRATION/S: Unknown

POSITIVE TRAITS: Charming, tactful, diplomatic, romantic, idealistic, peaceful, intelligent

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Indecisive, detached, a trouble maker, superficial, self-indulgent, devious

TEMPERAMENT: Choleric

SOUL TYPE/S: Scholar

ANIMALS: Snake

VICE HABIT/S: Drugs, sex, alcohol, and violence.

FAITH: The Kami

GHOSTS?: Of course. They never cease their rambling..

AFTERLIFE?: Yes.

REINCARNATION?: (Unknown) Bituun

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT: Centrist

EDUCATION LEVEL: Self taught

FAMILY.

FATHER: Unknown

MOTHER: Unknown

SIBLINGS: Unknown

EXTENDED FAMILY: Unknown

NAME MEANING/S: Moon-like

HISTORICAL CONNECTION?: ???

FAVORITES.

BOOK: Anything she can get her hands on

DEITY: Unknown

HOLIDAY: All Saints Wake

MONTH: October

SEASON: Summer

PLACE: Some secluded cove in the middle of nowhere

WEATHER: Warm, a light breeze, night

SOUND / S: Silence, hissing, screaming, moaning, howling, singing

SCENT / S: Lavender and cedarwood, sex, sweat, blood, rain

TASTE / S: Blood, Sahnti's cooking

FEEL / S: Expensive fabrics, skin on skin, flower petals, steel

ANIMAL / S: Snake, coeurl

NUMBER: 1

COLORS: Black, gold, purple

EXTRA.

TALENTS: Alchemy, dancing, singing, killing, manipulation, magic

BAD AT: Making friends, remaining stable

TURN ONS: Physical beauty, blood, unwavering dominance, intelligence

TURN OFFS: Weak minded people, filth, ignorance

HOBBIES: Hedonism, performing, people watching, baking, reading, playing instruments, stargazing

TROPES: Femme Fatale, Lady of black magic, The Ophelia

QUOTES: “Even in the wild submission is not given, it is earned. A wolf will not expose it’s throat because it’s told it should. Why then, would you expect a human being to do less. Earn it.”

“All was dark yet splendid–”

“If you want change, you have to invite chaos”

“Lick the blood from my hands and tell me you still love me.”

“Why should I apologize for being a monster? Has anyone ever apologized for turning me into one?”

“It is a sweet and precise torture.”

"I heard you call to me in my dreams. I heard you weep...and it was the sweetest sound I had ever heard..."

"Please...stop talking. If I cared about the words coming out of your mouth, I would not be trying to actively read the ones in this book. You understand now? Good. Now leave me."

"Did you just...pull my hair? For gods sake woman have some class. This isn't a bar fight."

"Do you think I'm bothered by the idea of spilling your blood? Sweetheart. The very ground you stand on is soaked with my sins. But go ahead and keep screaming. Let me feast on the terror I see in your eyes."

"Did I stutter? Clothes. Off. Now."

MUN QUESTIONS.

"Go ahead. Scream. Let me hear the results of my efforts on your tongue."

Q1 : If you could write your character your way in their own movie,  what would it be called,  what style would it be filmed in, and what would it be about?          

A1: I'm pretty bad with coming up with names. I don't know honestly. I like names that are symbolic and don't tell you anything about the movie till the very end. Like a song whose title isn't in the chorus. It would definitely be erotic and R rated. High fantasy without any restrictions. Dark, magical, and probably a bit of a psychological horror. It would be about all those Unknown details no one knows about her. A bit of a narrative.

Q2 :  What would their soundtrack/score sound like?

A2: Haunting sympathy pieces. I dunno like...HANS ZIMMER THANKS

Q3 :  Why did you start writing this character?

A3: I was really depressed about a year ago. Writing her was a way for me to dump and cope with all those negative emotions without feeling bad about feeling the way I was. Her character and the way I write her is very raw and passionate and relatable.

Q4 : What first attracted you to this character?

A4: Sazlethan is a small part of me but she is also everything I'm not. Probably even what I wish I was. She's sexy and smart and could care less about what anyone could possibly think about her. She perseveres through the situations I put her through and grows for these things even when it gets rough. And I admire the strength he has and the dedication she puts into her passions. She always gets back up on her feet.

Q5 :  Describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse.

A5: It is literally impossible for her to settle down and build any kind of relationship. She gives a little and then just disappears.

Q6 :  What do you have in common with your muse?

A6: Wine, sex, zodiac, and minding our own damn business.

Q7 :   How does your muse feel about you?

A7: Saz is vengeful and I can't fight. She'd most definitely kill me.

Q8 :  What characters does your muse have interesting interactions with?

A8: Characters who don't play by the rules.

Q9 :  What gives you inspiration to write your muse?

A9: Movies and music

Q10 : How long did this take you to complete?          

A10: Can I sleep now?