#he flies so he has to have that shape movement in him but he's also impulsive and stubborn

[dazzelmethat]

Hmmmm color/composition wip, and sketch/anatomy wip. For my bug guy, igg.

[luxaofhesperides]

Post-Apocalypse + Soulmate AU ; requested by @burr-burr!

When Danny was a kid, he used to imagine how the world would end. It was never a zombie apocalypse or the fallout of a nuclear war, but the death of the sun, the expansion of their star in death that would swallow their planet whole, leaving no survivors.

It would have been nicer than the post-apocalyptic world he stands in now, knowing that it’s his fault the world has ended. 

He’s still struggling to wrap his head around it. To understand that all of this is his fault because he cheated on one test, desperate to pass after being unable to study for it with how exhausting and time consuming fighting ghosts is. Everywhere he looks, there’s more destruction. His own home is rubble, with only the partially untouched Ops Center remaining to let him know that this is where he once lived.

The rest of Amity Park is in worse shape. Buildings are hollowed out, the skeletons of their foundations visible, if they still remain standing. Most homes have been burned to the ground, leaving blackened corners of walls and nothing else. The roads are cracked and difficult to walk through, as if an earthquake tore through the city. Cars are scattered along the road, overturned or left abandoned, doors still open.

Danny has yet to find any bodies. He doesn’t know if that’s a good sign or not. 

He’s only caught a few glimpses of his future self, the cause of all this, and can’t bring himself to chase after that monster. He feels sick to his stomach knowing what he’ll become. 

That monster has to be stopped. The world has already ended, but that doesn’t mean his future self can be allowed to go on like this. If there are any survivors, they need protection. They need to know they’ll be safe to try to start rebuilding, and that can only happen if his future self is dead.

Danny knows what he has to do; he has a responsibility to protect what little remains of Amity Park, and to do that, he needs to kill himself. 

But his head it spinning from the horror of the situation and his throat is tightening up the way it only does when he’s about to have a panic attack.

He needs to stop his future self, but he also can’t stay another second in the ruins of Amity Park without destroying himself.

The guilt sits heavy in his chest as he goes ghost and takes to the sky, flying blindly towards the setting sun. Danny doesn’t know where he’s going, and he doesn’t really care. He just needs to get away for a bit, until he can calm down and put together a plan of attack so he can take out his future self in one go.

He just…

He never thought he’d be a monster. But here they are.

Flying away from Amity Park reveals the truly harrowing extent to which this world has suffered under his future self’s hands. There are no intact cities or towns. Roads are broken beyond repair, highways littered with empty cars, most bridges crumbling into the rivers below them, and everything is covered in overgrowth. All signs of humanity’s careful cultivation of the world has been erased. The earth takes back what humans took from it, covering everything in green. 

There is no movement. No people. Barely any birds flying beneath him. 

What remains of the world is silence.

Danny is terrified that there’s no one left. That his future self has so thoroughly destroyed the earth that no human survivors remain. 

That gives his guidance, some idea of where to go: a big city. Any big city, really. 

He flies lower, searching for some sort of landmark, or a sign that will tell him where he’s going. A rusted over green sign farther down the road tells him that he’s 50 miles from Gotham.

Oh, Danny thinks, Maybe Batman can help me.

If anyone could survive the end of the world, it would be the superheroes, right? If anyone stands a chance at defeating his future self, it would be a superhero. Superman might have been a better choice, but Metropolis is the opposite direction and multiple states away; Danny’s not sure he can make it before his future self catches wind of him and hunts him down. 

Danny has no doubt about what would happen to him if he’s caught; there’s a reason he hasn’t seen any ghosts around, after all.

Gotham is a city of secrets and rumors. What little he’s heard of it is baffling and, frankly, insane. There’s no city in the country like it and Gothamites prefer it that way, stubbornly loving the home that will kill them. For all the manmade horrors they survive on the daily, they would be more prepared for the end of the world than anyone else. 

Gotham may be another casualty of his future self’s destruction, but it also offers him hope.

Danny follows the broken road towards Gotham, pushing himself to fly faster than he ever has before. What should have been a half hour flight is completed in fifteen minutes. 

As soon as the towering buildings of Gotham, dark and semi destroyed, come into view, Danny drops from the sky and returns to human form. The strain from pushing himself has exhausted him and he feels it like an ache in his chest, his heart twisting and trying to burst from how hard it’s beating. 

He collapses to his hands and knees and gasps for breath on the outskirts of Gotham. 

It takes a good few minutes to calm down and breathe normally, then another to gather his strength to stand up and begin walking. 

The world is eerily quiet as he enters the city, feeling the chill fall upon him as he is consumed by the shadows of tall buildings. It’s much more intact that Amity Park, but there’s no denying the destruction that still surrounds him. Buildings are empty and worn down, decaying and slowly being consumed by new growth. Burnt out husks of overturned cars fill the street, leaving Danny to carefully pick his way around them, unable to walk in a straight line. 

He feels like the only person in the world. He feels like he’s being watched by a hungry eyes. 

Danny shivers and walks faster. 

The deeper he goes into the city, the more he starts to hope that he’s not alone in this world. There’s small signs of life: the smell of smoke, recently burned, certain streets cleaned up, makeshift walls constructed from rubble to block access to certain areas of each block.

He swears he can see people move above his head, but anytime he looks up, the windows of every building are empty. 

“Batman,” he whispers to himself, “I just need to find Batman.”

He turns a corner and continues walking. Apartment buildings give way to stores and businesses, all with their windows broken and nothing on the shelves. Then the buildings end abruptly and he’s left staring at an overgrown park that resembles a jungle more than it does a part of the city.

The scent of something sweet lingers in the air. Fruit, perhaps, or flowers. 

If he was left in the aftermath of an apocalypse, he would go to where he could find growing food. If there’s anyone left in Gotham, he’s willing to bet they’re in here, surviving off of what food can be grown in the confines of the park. 

Danny crosses the road and takes three steps onto the grass before someone appears beside him and points an electrified baton at him.

“Who are you?” they demand, eyes hidden behind a cracked helmet, but the bottom half of their face is visible, revealing scars crossing on dark skin. 

Danny takes a step back, eyeing the electric baton warily, and lifts his hands to show he means no harm. “Danny. I came from out of town. I was hoping to find people here.”

“You don’t look like you’ve been traveling.”

His clothes are clean and intact and he has none of the world-weariness that weighs down this Gothamite. Danny winces, and says, “My situation is kinda complicated. But I did just get here. I’m looking for help, actually. Do you know where I could find Batman?”

There’s a long moment of tense silence, then he hears a quiet sigh and the helmet comes off. An exhausted looking man looks at him with one blind eye, turned a milky white, and his voice is low and stricken as he says, “Batman’s dead. But maybe I can help you.”

“Batman’s dead?!” Danny repeats, shocked.

“Yeah. Sacrificed himself in one of the last times Phantom attacked Gotham. Got me and Nightwing out of that encounter alive. We’re really the only heroes left in Gotham, not that there’s much need anymore with everyone trying to survive.”

Phantom killed Batman. His future self killed Batman. 

Danny feels sick to his stomach.

“Oh,” he manages to say. 

The man’s expression softens. “Don’t worry, we’ll help you as much as we can. Why don’t you come on in? Ivy can get you some food if you’re hungry.”

Danny nods numbly as he follows the man deeper into the park. He walks with ease, taking paths that only become visible when he walks them, leaving Danny to follow close behind. It takes some time before he realizes that the plants are moving out of their way just enough that they don’t trip, and when he looks back, the path is covered again, hidden from sight.

He’s taken to the heart of the forest, where the trees shift to the side to reveal a large encampment of survivors all living together. Beds are strung up as hammocks between trees and rope ladders dangle from branches to help people move up and down. The ground is full of small fire pits, a few in use to make make food, and sections in the back full of vegetable and herb patches, separated by berry bushes. 

The people here all look tired and worn down, but they still smile and speak in light voices, adjusted to a new life after surviving so much horror and destruction. He even spots a few people using powers, or just looking different, including one large man who looks like a crocodile. 

“Pick up another stray?” a raspy voice asks, humor lighting the tone. They both turn to see a woman with long red hair and a green tint to her skin be lowered to the ground by a vine. She’s also heavily scarred and her right arm is completely gone, replaced by a wooden limb covered in moss that moves as if it’s always been a part of her body.

“Hey Ivy,” the man greets, “I don’t think this one is staying. He came to Gotham looking for Batman.”

The words make Ivy’s gaze sharpen, and Danny feels a trickle of dread go down his spine. She’s dangerous and standing before her feels as if he’s in the mouth of a hungry beast.

“Is that so,” she says, voice flat. “How interesting. I’ll let you two talk somewhere more private.” Her gaze flicks to the side, and when Danny turns to look, he can see some of the people in the encampment observing them warily, bodies tense and poised to either flee or attack.

Ivy turns and the plants part for her. Danny waits for the man to begin walking before he follows, trying not to feel trapped as the plants close the path behind him. She takes them to a small pond full of water lilies, gives the man a careful look, then leaves, swallowed up by the plants.

“Is everything okay?” Danny asks hesitantly. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”

“Nah, you’re good,” the man replies, “It’s just that people don’t trust me much.”

“Why? You’ve been really nice.”

The man shrugs. “My soulmate is Phantom. He’s the one responsible for doing all this and killing almost everyone we love. I didn’t know until the first time I fought him, but they hate anything to do with Phantom, including me.”

Danny’s heart stutters in his chest. This is his soulmate.

Most people don’t subscribe to the belief that they’re meant to be with their soulmate. Meeting your soulmate is rare enough that most people don’t try, and plenty of people have spoken of how important it is to have a variety of relationships, to not close yourself off for the slightest chance of meeting your soulmate. 

Danny never looked for his; he didn’t want to subject them to his parents, and then he became a halfa and gave up on all dreams of having a normal life or any relationship with someone who didn’t know he was Phantom.

And now he’s here, in a ruined future, standing before his soulmate who understandably hates him for destroying the world. 

“You’re Phantom’s soulmate,” Danny breathes. His hands are shaking. He wants to cry.

The man sighs. “Yeah. I am. Not that it’s stopped him from trying to kill me. Don’t worry, kid, I’m not working with him. I swear.”

“He’s your soulmate and he hurt you.”

“He hurt everyone,” he says, then gestures at his blind eye. “This is barely a thing compared to what he did to other heroes.”

Danny can’t find the words to expression his horror at seeing the damage he did to his own soulmate. His future self is heartless and cruel and bloodthirsty. He has to be stopped.

He doesn’t want to kill his soulmate. 

“I came here for Batman,” Danny says, “Because I thought he could help me stop Phantom.”

“That’s rough, kid. Batman couldn’t beat Phantom. I don’t think anyone can. We’ve tried, but most heroes are dead and we can’t just go out there and risk the lives of everyone here. We gotta focus on survival, not revenge.”

“I have to stop Phantom.”

“Sorry kid, but that’s a terrible idea. Don’t go out there trying to be a hero. You can stay here, alright? Ivy will get you set up and the others will help you settle in.”

Danny takes a step back and shakes his head. “No. I have to stop him. It has to be me.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I’m Phantom,” Danny whispers. 

The man immediately reaches for his electric batons again, taking a step back. “Not funny, kid,” he says with a tense voice. 

“I’m not joking. I am Phantom, just from the past. I’m not supposed to be here.”

“You’re Phantom?” the man repeats. “You. You’re just a kid, and you’re going to destroy the world one day?”

“I don’t want this to happen! That’s why I need to go back, so I can stop the event that will set me down this path. And to go back, I need to defeat the Phantom that exists here.”

“He’ll kill you, kid.”

“That still solves the problem, doesn’t it? If I die here, then he’ll never live long enough to destroy the world. He’ll die too.”

The man stares at him with cold eyes, then turns away, dropping his hands away from the batons. “Don’t turn this into a suicide mission, kid,” he says. “The Phantom who’s here isn’t you. You don’t have to pay for his crimes. Just… stay here and I’ll go fight Phantom.”

“He already hurt you,” Danny says. 

“What’s a little more hurt? I can handle it.”

“No,” Danny says firmly. He shoves away the fear and hurt in his heart and finds his strength in determination. No more running away. No more hiding. 

The timeline should not exist. He can’t hesitate at the thought of erasing this version of his soulmate from existence; he’s tired and injured and an outcast in the only community that still exists in Gotham. He deserves better. Everyone here does.

And to give them a better life, Danny needs to stop this one from ever happening.

“This is my future. It’s my responsibility. I’ll stop it and make sure this never happens. And… I’m sorry for everything I did.”

“It’s not your fault, Danny. You’re not this version of Phantom.”

That’s not at all true, since Danny’s actions lead to the end of the world, but he’s not going to argue when he’s preparing to fight a stronger, more ruthless version of himself. He takes a deep breath, then goes ghost and floats into the air. 

“Before I go,” he begins, hesitantly, “What’s your name? Since you’re apparently my soulmate.”

The man smiles sadly and answers, “Duke. If we ever meet in your time, tell that version of me to look for my mom’s favorite book.”

It’s an odd request, but if it’s important enough to be asked for, then Danny will do it. “Your mom’s favorite book,” he repeats, “Got it.”

“Take care, Danny. Good luck out there.”

Danny nods and takes one last look at his soulmate, older and worn down, stubbornly getting through each long day, and swears to make things better.

Then he flies off, ready to fight his future self and make things right again. 

. . .

He thinks of his soulmate for years after he’s back in the present. The timeline where his future self exists is gone and the world is safe, but he still remembers the pain he caused Duke. 

When the time comes to apply to universities, Danny sets his sights on Gotham. His parents take him on a trip during spring break to tour the campus, and it’s after the tour, as he wanders around on his own, that he bumps into a student walking out of a building.

“Sorry,” they both say at the same time, reaching for each other to help each other keep their balance. 

As soon as their hands meet, it’s as if lightning runs through him. From the look on the other guy’s face, he felt it to. 

This is his soulmate.

“Duke,” Danny says, amazed and disbelieving all at once. And the request crosses his mind, something he wondered about almost every night since he returned to his time. “Look for your mom’s favorite book.”

“How—?”

“I met you in the future. You asked me to take back a message for the you that’s here. So: look for your mom’s favorite book. What does that mean, by the way? I never asked.”

Duke blinks, then slowly retracts his hands from Danny’s. “My mom’s favorite book was a hand bound journal from my dad. They were soulmates and he wrote about their first year in a relationship together. It’s full of pictures, and she loved it more than anything. That message is to remind me to have faith in soulmates, to believe that something good can happen to me.”

“Oh! That’s… wow, sorry, I didn’t mean to pry into something so personal.”

Duke shrugs. “It’s fine. I needed the reminder. I would have already run away by now if you didn’t say that. You already know my name, but I think now’s a good time to introduce ourselves.”

“Right!” Danny says, flustered. He sticks his hand out, which Duke shakes with an amused smile. “I’m Danny. Fenton. I’m coming here next semester.”

“Duke Thomas. I’m a freshman here and I’d really love to get your number.”

He’s not hitting on Danny, not really, but it still makes him blush. The way Duke looks at him is full of light and laughter, so different from the exhausted and wary way he looked in the future now rewritten. 

This is what the future version of himself tried to kill. He doesn’t understand how anyone could ever hurt Duke when he’s so full of life. 

But he’s safe now. Everyone is; Danny changed the future and what lies ahead is wholly unknown to him.

The world is safe and full of promise. 

No matter what comes, Danny is sure he and Duke are going to be just fine.

[brawlstars-dragon-au]

Sketch dump time! A whole bunch of requests from the crazy ex-bird app

In Order: Maisie, Pam, Colette, Buster, Chester, Chuster ❤️🧡 (and a teeny Gus), Leon and Sandy (Leondy 💚💜), Bull, El Primo, and Mandy!

Extra notes about each sketch:

Maisie:

Her breath attack is a condensed foam material, similar to that of a fire extinguisher. Using a gas similar to a pressurized CO² (based on gas-based fire extinguishers!), she shoots it out at high speeds. These hits can potentially cause frostbite and even severe damage to the body if left unattended. She's quite powerful in this AU due to this ability 👀👀 being able to put out the fires and overpower another dragon's breath? Now THAT'S some queen moves right there! She can also simply spray out the foam substance at short range without that pressurized gas. This helps with more close range fire fighting work.

Her right wing and front leg were undeveloped, a disability she'd had since she hatched. However! With the help of mechanics, she uses these prosthetics to help her fly. Still gotta test out how to draw it to make sense, as well as sort out how it stays in place. I've been using inspiration from Toothless (HTTYD) and his tail that Hiccup made.

Pam:

Pam is a bulkier dragon, very much on the larger side of all of them. I'm at odds with myself to figure out whether ot not she'll have wings 🤔 so I had two copies there! Perhaps her wings may be a bit smaller if I do give her them.

Pam spits out molten magma that's stored up inside her as an attack. However, it can also be chunks of scrap metal that she stores up. Otherwise, it's just magma.

Though I didn't draw this, I want Pam to be very resilient to fire in general, as her species/family of dragon use their ability to spew this magma (technically Lava after ut leaves her body? I'll do more research on this...) in order to craft and shape metal. While other dragons need to spend some time to build up a fire hot enough, the Junker family line is able to do this much more easily. (Amber is a close second, though)

Her skin has the ability to crack and seep up lava out of it, potentially coating her body in this to give herself a temporary lava shield, something extremely hard to break through. (In the future, little Jessie may also be able to do this... however, Pam doesn't think she's ready at the moment and avoids the topic or any ideas of teaching her how.)

Colette:

Colette flies in a sort of funny way, twirling around and flapping her wings to maintain somewhat of a chaotic flight pattern. Think of a snake slithering through the sky, but with large wings and the grace of... a teenage dragon (not much, but it does work).

When she gets better at flying...pray and hope she isn't able to catch up to her favourite brawlers cause she isn't ever gonna let go of them 💀 It makes for a great attack, actually! Charging at enemies and coiling around them like a snake to prevent movement, like a big hug ❤️ she just loves everyone SO much 😍

Buster:

Finally kinda set on a design for this funky guy! He's a larger dragon (smaller than El Primo or Frank, but still definitely up there in size)

His wings never quite grew fully, so he wouldn't be able to fly 😔 however, that'll never stop him and his dreams of being a cool movie star 🧡🧡

Buster, at the heart of it, is an unstoppable force when he sets his mind to something. He'll charge in with the same ferocity as his favouite protagonists, rivalling the audacity and hard-headed nature of even Bull! All while doing so for his friends 💪 we love Buster in this AU frfr

Chester:

Chester always has theatrics when he flies. Flips, spins, and fun aerodynamic movements up in the sky! He's gotta compensate for his lack of speed compared to other wyverns after all, but he thinks he's pretty great 😎

Loved drawing this kinda unique pose tbh! That's what I loved with these drawings, I got to experiment without really thinking too much for em with how polished and clean that look. It was very fun! 🔥

Chuster ft. Gus❤️🧡:

We love some goofy gays here 🥹❤️🧡 I just wanted to let em have a little nuzzle + smooch! Dragons don't necessarily kiss, but little side boops like this are the equivalent of a cheek kiss.

Also, a little Gus on the side 🥹🥹 I love this sort of found family dynamic that have! Buster being the cool dad vibe/big bro to Gus, and then Buster being in a relationship with Chester so that he's also a cool dad too 😎 Gus loved these two guys from the very start, they're funny 🤭 never a boring day for these silly lads.

Leondy 💚💜:

My beloveds 🤲 I really do cherish the ship, as well as strong friendship Sandy and Leon have. (Btw in my HCs, Leon and Sandy are 13 & 14 respectively, just to clear that up!)

Sandy, I've mentioned a few times, is very inspired by Capybaras, so Leon finding one is just perfect 🤭 silly little deadpan face lads.

Bull:

BULLDOZERRRR- What a lad! Bull is inspired by- uh, Bulls! Great creatures, large bodies and thick necks to support those headstrong charges 🐂 I love making his posture all confident, strong steps to say, "Yeah. You TRY and stand up to me. I DARE you." Don't wanna mess with him on most days 🏃‍♀️💨💨

El Primo:

Still figuring out a full-body for El Primo, bit he's roughly the same size as Bull! (Maybe a bit bigger)

El Primo has got really small wings, similar to his El Dragón skin. Even his scales and horns are inspired by that mostly! Love when characters have preexisting dragon themed skins 🤭 makes it a lot easier to make ideas!

His "mask" is actually just body paint. He has similar paint on his body, really showing off the vibrant colours and persona he puts on for the crowds.

He WILL beat up his enemies into a pulp in matches. Thank goodness there's the gem powered regeneration and the respawn system in place 😭 I plan to give him a very strong body and tail, enough to support him when he needs to go on his hind legs and overpower his opponents. Buster is designed in a similar way as well!

Mandy:

Last but not least, the Queen of Candy herself. Not even the Dragon AU let's her escape fast food work 😔😔

Her super attack is purely a magical sugar-based rainbow blast, as shown in the sketch. Also, I'm now realizing that I forgot her red spots oml- No wonder she looks so empty 💀 uhh sorry about that, lads 😭 I'll redraw her one day to show off that glowing effect of her spots 🥹🥹

And that's all! Thank you for reading if you made it this far! Hopefully I can make more of these sketch dumps 🤭✨️ maybe take reqs from here too! We shall see. Take care y'all!

[inhuman-obey-me]

CONGRATS ON 4K+ FOLLOWERS!!!🎉 You two are so awfully talented I can't even put into words, really. Here's to many more!

May I request: 🥡 (Can’t fight these cravings in the night.) with Beel + MC Included, please?

(ALSO IS THE PROMPT LYRICS TO MOTIONLESS IN WHITE'S WEREWOLF BC I LOVE THAT SONG)

Ahhh, thank you for your kind words!! ( ๑ ˃̵ᴗ˂̵) ♡ We're so grateful people like our stuff enough for us to have reached this point, especially with how many times we've fallen into inactivity. Thank you so much for your support!!!!

And, ahahahaha, you got us, it seems we've finally been called out on using lyrics in our prompts. Yes, we also love that song!! In fact, we're both big MIW fans, so for anyone else who likes them, see if you can spot what other lyrics we put on the prompt list ;)

"Can’t fight these cravings in the night." - Beel/MC

Unlike his twin, Beelzebub rarely remains asleep the whole night through.

Some nights, he twists and tosses in his bed, trying to shake off the specters haunting his dreams, then wakes suddenly, his heart racing. On others, it's simply the call of hunger that jerks him from his slumber, his grumbling stomach demanding satisfaction at any hour. Other times still, he wakes without any reason at all. Sometimes, it's all three, pulling him from sleep over and over throughout the night.

He looks up at the gentle golden glow coming off the solar design on his wall, barely illuminating the room just enough to navigate, before his gut begins its growling demands. It's no use to try to go back to sleep; he can't fight these cravings in the night for long.

With a shake of his head, he slides out of bed and quietly makes his way towards the door, glad that Belphie sleeps heavily enough never to be disturbed by his movements. In the short trek from his room to the kitchen, he can feel his stomach growing emptier and emptier, until his vision starts to blur, and he's holding himself back from gnawing off the door itself.

He grabs the first thing within reach off the table and gorges upon it without hesitation. Guilt nibbles at the edge of his mind as he vaguely registers the shape of something like a drawn-on face upon his tongue -- some special treat of Levi's, probably, and he'll get chewed out for it in the morning, no doubt. But the voracious growling of his stomach drowns those thoughts out easily, and he forgets quickly as he lumbers his way dizzily forward. It doesn't matter what it is, as long as it sates the hunger long enough to reach the fridge.

His sight comes back into focus as he reaches for the fridge's handle, only to realize it's already open, with the shadowed silhouette of someone sitting in front of its heady glow, peeking over the door at him with mild terror in their eyes.

"Beel, it's me," you breathe in a nervous hush.

Your voice rings distant through the fog of hunger, buzzing in his head like swarms of flies -- or maybe those are his own wings, clicking behind him in voracious frenzy. This isn't the first time you've caught him midnight snacking, but it's usually the other way around, when he's already deep into his feasting.

He reaches a hand past you without answer, without eye contact, no sign of even having heard you, fingers closing rapaciously around whatever food they can find. Your presence is calming to him, always has been, ever since the day he decided to make his pact with you, but that's not enough right now. He doesn't trust himself not to devour you whole. He needs to eat, he is starving, and you smell so delicious.

So he reaches past you, grabbing whatever he can, and he eats. He eats, and eats, and eats, until the buzzing stops, and finally, his belly isn't screaming its emptiness anymore.

You're still standing there beside him, and he realizes you've been handing him things as he ate, snacks from the cupboards to sate him and glasses of water from the sink to help him wash them down. The fear is gone from your face, replaced only with worry.

Well, he did consume half the fridge's contents within minutes, after all.

He wraps you up in a big bear hug, expressing only a blunt, "Thank you," and his embrace is tight but warm, and full of relief.

"Are you feeling better now?" you ask, giving him a light squeeze in return.

"Yeah, for now. I might wake up hungry again later. Though, I feel better having you here with me. Like my stomach is less angry, somehow. But I think I'm okay now, so I'll go back to bed. You should probably go back to bed too. Belphie always says you don't get enough rest."

You're quiet for a moment, thinking, and then answer, "Well, why don't I come sleep next to you? If you wake up again, I'll make you something properly to eat."

"Are you sure?" he asks. To be honest, the thought of eating your cooking has him salivating all over again, but he doesn't want to ask too much of you.

"Yeah. I sleep better in your room sometimes, anyway."

Nodding firmly, he takes your hand, leading you back to the twins' room, where Belphie is still sleeping peacefully, unaware. Quietly careful not to disturb the youngest brother, you climb into his bed together, snuggling up close. He can smell raspberries and vanilla caramel on your breath -- the pudding you had snacked on before he'd come in, probably. The last thing he thinks before drifting back to sleep is how sweet of a scent it is, just like you.

When he wakes again, it's morning already, and you're giving him a gentle poke on the nose.

"Good morning, Beel. Did you sleep okay?"

[scientific-dog]

Is JJ a Flying Polyp?

JJ FLYING POLYP PROPAGANDA

I am a Lovecraft fan and did you read his “The Shadow Out of Time”? I think that JJ has peculiar similarities to the Flying Polyp race.

(There, Flying Polyps were extraterrestrial race which devoured and exterminated another alien race named there as Yithians or The Great Race)

It’s just a speculation I made for fun, nothing special. Just compared two aliens. For fun.

1. I always wondered why no remains/prints of the Yithians were found anywhere (according to the lore of the story).

If the Polyps had the similar digestive tracts as JJ has, then there was nothing left of the devoured victim. Literally. They digest everything. No bones/cartilage/other hard parts for you, no waste products, they spit out metal or so as much as possible.

Devoured to nothing.

2. Returning to the first: the weapon of the Great Race against the Polyps. Polyps are only vulnerable to electricity. Jean Jacket, according to the canon, flies due to the electromagnetic field that he creates himself (obviously for this he has a special organ, I suspect it places somewhere on the sides and on the top like stingrays have), this is also why he interfered with the electronics. Let's say the Yithians used weapons that resonated/oppositely suppressed/something like that with the field of the Polyps. Then, if we consider JJ, these interferences not only deprived him of normal movement and they fell down, at least it could directly harm their organs, because if they flew due to this field, then it is clear that other systems of their body also depend on it. They could have been paralyzed by such a blow, or killed outright. That is, yes, this is indeed a very effective weapon against Jean Jacket

3. Polyps controlled the winds and other things. Well, everything is simple here: this is a beautiful metaphor for how JJ eats sand and creates winds and hurricanes. This is literally what he did in his spare time.

4. Polyps left huge marks on the ground (without touching it)

Idk, can we say that JJ has an image of a flying saucer? -> reference to crop circles -> back to the Polyp tracks? Maybe these traces are a consequence of the influence of the JJ’s electromagnetic field, which interacts to the surface sand when he flies close above the ground, like Chladni’s patterns

5. The polyps are semi-material and freely mixed through the air, and their shapes are indescribable.

Let's assume that the shape of a flying saucer is not necessary for the JJ-likes. In his open form, he indeed looks somewhat semi-material, and his body is very unusually shaped and truly indescribable.

And moving through the air is quite feasible for him thanks to the field + the fact that he is light.

6. But the saucer shape is already a modification, which allows him to quickly cut through the sky. Yes, exactly in the form in which he appeared in the end, he will not be able to fly quickly, this is the most non-aerodynamic form. But if he shrinks into a disk, it will be easier for it to fly at supersonic speeds. Let me remind you that he is probably very heavy, what makes a multi-ton predator need extra drag in an indescribable form. Plus it's easier to hide.

But the same Lovecraft had no talk of any plates. Well, yes, but they didn’t have to: there were a lot of them, you don’t need to hide or hunt, your crowd won’t drive you crazy

6. «…and of strange winds and whistling noises associated with them. And I thought of the tales, wherein the horror of great winds and nameless subterrene ruins was dwelt upon...» (quote from the story)

This is an addition to point 5 (winds).

But about the sounds: JJ has a very wide vocal range of sounds. In reality, they are whistling, clicking, grinding, etc.

«And all the while cold fingers of damp vapour clutched and picked at me, and that eldritch, damnable whistling shrieked fiendishly above all the alternations of babel and silence in the whirlpools of darkness around.»(quote from the story)

Those moments where JJ eats people are really similar. It creates a wind current to suck in the victim.

7. Flying polyps are an aggressive and predatory species. It is unknown how intelligent they are. Having no vision, they felt in some special way through any matter.

Yes, Jean Jacket is very aggressive. Fact. Especially if you make a visual contact with him. But even without this, he's crazy.

Yes, in the film's FD, of course, it is generally accepted that Jacket is just an animal. I used to think so too. But now it seems to me that his behavior is more aggressive than animalistic. At the very least, he did some things and clearly did them on purpose. Yes, destroying the Jupe’s show is an act of aggression. Drenching OJ's house with blood (intentionally! He deliberately vomited all over his ranch) is an act of aggression. Gobbling up a reporter and flying above OJ, while the guy is screaming inside Jeans' stomach is an act of aggression. And much more, as well as the intonation of some of its sounds. Yes, JJ is not a ruthless monster. But then he clearly went on the offensive and tried to show his dominance here. This also supports the first scene of the film with Gordy: the monkey lived calmly until he went crazy from the constant abuse and killed everyone. In fact, JJ demonstrates aggression only for the reason that your “attention” to him drives him crazy and he is mad, cuz that Jupe allegedly “deceived” him. That is, we clearly have awareness and he enjoys his “revenge.”

And he is mad by the fact that they are looking at him, it drives him into rage, just like Polyps.

Or how aggressively he behaved when he saw the ball. The whole bitch is exhausted.

Remark: I know that all the actions of JJ also can be explained that he wanted to lubricate his throat/hungry/etc but let it be, of course that’s all true, I just want to note that the fact that he are the horse decoy instead of real horse made him suffer from pain and made him aggressive, really agressive towards the person who “fed” him before and the whole crowd from the SLE only made it worse

8. Lack of vision in Polyps. Yes, it seems like the plates don’t even have glasses (but he still has something like eyes, but it’s still, like, and these “eyes” are well hidden)

[sonkitty]

The Sideburns Scheme Post #12

(For reference: The Sideburns Scheme)

Crowley, Good Omens 2, Episode 1, The Arrival, being in Hell

...

Sideburns Check

The sideburns are the same as when Crowley was in his car. He actually still is in his car. The main other character presence is Beelzebub, another demon, with many other demons known to be in the background. So, the sideburns stay the length they are with a standard demon reading.

The two thrones represent the two front seats of Crowley's car. He's sitting in his driver's seat. Beelzebub is sitting in the passenger seat.

As my overall theory goes, because Crowley is using the sideburns to manage his personal space, he has to stay in that throne, so that he won't leave too early. He stays in his driver's seat for his eventual exit. That limits his movement.

...

Brighter Red Streak Check

Instead of a brighter red streak of hair often found above the center of the left eye, the hair itself seems to have a general border where the left side gets a stronger red saturation. Meanwhile, the right does not and is darker too. It could easily pass for black with how dark the scene is even though it's actually a very dark red.

That creates a striking contrast at least.

I described this contrast in my older version of this post as that it felt like the intended effect of the brighter red streak seemed to have just spread all over to Crowley's left side.

...

Hairstyle Changes

Since it's hard to track the hairstyles with potentially subtle differences between angles, the following is based on the main front view provided. There is a much more clear picture of parts that are supposed to separate into shapes. When the scene in the Bentley started, the hair swooped upward with a narrowing curve to Crowley's right; then curls flared around in his movement. Here, the hair also swoops upward with a curve to the right, but the narrowing isn't as strong. In addition to the color border noted above, there's a more evident extra separation between tufts of hair above his left eye.

The lighting favors Crowley's left, so the saturation here also favors Crowley's left. The style itself generally intrigues me. I would love to have seen it in better lighting.

...

Earthly Objects

(For reference: Earthly Objects)

This scene has notable crossover elements with the Sideburns Scheme and Earthly Objects.

With Crowley remaining seated, he ends up doing various self-touches. Early on, the touches involve getting the flies off him, spitting them out, and placing his hands on his legs. It's the best look at the tassels and belt, which is still not a good look because of his dark clothing in this dark location with its icky green-tinted lighting.

When the hands are placed on his legs, the right index finger is up, looking to avoid the touch. The right thumb is hidden. The left thumb is not easily visible but is technically partly on screen and part of the touch. The actual thumbs overall mainly become visible when trying to get the flies off him in this part.

Crowley asks two questions during the scene with the opening for Beelzebub to answer them. These are dialogue points for Earthly Objects, but they are also a way to invite the conversation he is having into his personal space that he's managing with his sideburns. I think he leans forward off the back of the throne and stays in Hell for that reason when he asks them.

There actually is a third question as part of "It is? It is, yeah." Then Crowley actually leans back instead of forward, so that one is not an invitation to his space. The questioner answering the question before an interacting character can answer looks to nullify the question in Earthly Objects. Aziraphale uses this tactic during the ball invitations and even as the first thing he says to Crowley during the Final Fifteen. "What's that lovely human expression? Oh yes! Hold that thought."

Beelzebub starts off the scene sitting in a throne as well but soon stands up to face Crowley and talk to him.

One of Beelzebub's questions is "What if I said Hell was willing to forget everything you did, that we were willing to accept you back, no questions asked with a hefty promotion?"

The next cut shows that with his legs crossed, Crowley's left hand makes a point to touch the other throne nearby on the seat with every digit visible. There is extra shadow between the pinky and ring finger and the index and middle finger. Meanwhile, the middle and ring finger are put closer together. That's a curious choice to me. The position also helps create a pocket between the arm and the throne.

His right arm rests on his right leg with a fair amount of his shirt sleeve stretched out. The right hand is not showing his thumb.

I'm not sure if the Tied Hands are no longer tied because even though he had his sunglasses touch, he is still sitting. It looks like sitting affects them in some way based on his first present day scene with the newspaper door and the parts I couldn't figure out with attending to the mail when he was getting up from a sitting position and going down to a sitting position.

Regardless, his position here hides the tassels though the clasps are visible. It's been extremely hard to figure this part out, but as best I can tell, he is using his right vest tip to hide the tassels. The lighting, dark clothing, and overall position also ensure hiding the snake head on the belt.

Perhaps the Tied Hands untied in the initial cut when they were shown since Crowley keeps hiding the tassels after that. The Belt Head receives the same treatment.

Later in the dialogue, Crowley does show and open his right hand to reveal its thumb. After that, the lower part of the tie and his thumbs are not seen again. While most of that is thanks to the camera work focusing on his upper body, he also folds his arms to help hide his actual thumbs.

There is incredibly deliberate framing with Crowley's head between the horns of the two thrones. That's a pocket in Earthly Objects though not a full-scale Pocket Frame found in the Threshold Tricks. Playing with the words anyway, because pockets and the game still do that, I would guess this framing is meant to be a Foreshadowing Frame.

The rope Beelzebub uses to summon a demon underling in a later scene is visibly untouched during this scene.

...

Story Commentary

I like to interpret this scene as what Crowley means by "fragile existence". As part of managing his space with his sideburns, he has to manage his own movement. He leans and touches in specific ways to help keep himself anchored to Hell while he gathers the information he wants. He continually looks like he wants to lean forward and move more than he does, but he won't. He'll lean to the side some.

The first exchange is about Crowley saying he thought they had a generalized understanding. Beelzebub says they don't. Beelzebub could put a price on Crowley's head anytime they wanted to. But...why don't they? While season 2's reality and chronology is confusing, the implication from the story is that it's been a few years since the end of season 1. Based on the information available, Beelzebub didn't put that price on Crowley's head during that time—and they won't do it for the rest of season 2 either.

The topic quickly changes with the question from Crowley, "Is that a new face?"

As I've noted in other posts, my understanding of Crowley's sight is that it's special. He senses with his eyes so that it looks like seeing, but he isn't seeing in the way many humans see. The story communicates that mainly through his sunglasses and what they may or may not reflect.

So, here, his eyes are sensing a difference when looking at Beelzebub. I also think this sense Crowley has is rather keen compared to other supernatural entities. Aziraphale recognized Gabriel but admitted some of that recognition was based on appearance. Saraqael does look at Gabriel as if they recognize him at first in episode 2 and just don't admit it, but that's not much to go on.

When it comes to other supernatural beings, they can't see or sense that Gabriel is Gabriel. While that could be from the miracle Crowley does with Aziraphale, the story leaves room for that to not be the case because so much of Gabriel is actually in the fly holding his memories. Michael sensed him better and nearly caught on when he the fly was near him in episode 2.

Crowley is the only character whose initial reaction to sensing Gabriel with his eyes was to call out Gabriel's name immediately, even with Gabriel having amnesia. The fly isn't shown to be active at all during that scene. Despite Beelzebub's words with "all your memories" and "all your you", it looks like actually at least some of Gabriel's memories were still inside him because of what little Crowley himself could access.

Getting back to this particular scene in Hell, Beelzebub tells Crowley they've had their new face "for ages," which I take to mean they changed it not long after season 1 ended.

The conversation shifts again to Beelzebub standing up off the throne, facing Crowley, and then flattering him by saying, "Such a pity Hell never really appreciated your talents, Crowley."

The funny thing is, Hell did appreciate Crowley's talents. That's why he got the assignments he did. Hell could be so badly understaffed in season 2 because despite Crowley's efforts to not work too much when he did work for them on Earth, he was effective. Satan himself said Crowley earned the job of delivering the Antichrist in season 1, specifying the M25 as a stroke of genius. Hell can't make up for losing him.

The staff issue could be another matter of course, but I like this idea in the meantime.

Crowley, understandably, finds this approach from Beelzebub mildly surprising but soon goes along with it. That's when he most obviously leans back during the scene. "It is? It is, yeah."

Then comes the prospect of "forget" everything Crowley did, accept Crowley back no questions asked, and giving him a hefty promotion. Since this story has something going on with memories, that "forget" word is suspect. Even in the full context with the other words, without knowing how season 2 ends, the offer is still suspect.

I agree with Crowley. That does not sound like the thing Beelzebub would be likely to say. He adds the word "so" at the end though the subtitles don't actually include it. This part is Crowley not literally saying No but implying No. He's not going to accept an offer he thinks isn't even valid to begin with. He even shifts his head to the side with this implication.

Undeterred, Beelzebub acknowledges it might be and then brings up that the Archangel Gabriel has vanished. Crowley does a mouth movement, suggesting he is trying to taste the air and get a feel for the atmosphere. Beelzebub keeps talking. They, being Hell in general, know Gabriel isn't in Heaven. They don't know where he is. The two talk some more with Crowley trying not to give away what he already knows and Beelzebub saying Crowley could name his price. They compliment Crowley some more with his knowledge of Earth.

The words "fall" or "falling" are never brought up, but that would theoretically be why Hell thinks they have a stake in where Gabriel is since he's not in Heaven.

Again, Crowley does not literally say No to the offer. Instead, he deflects it altogether and shakes his head as he says that it's a big universe, lots places an archangel on the lam can go, and so on.

By this point, Beelzebub is growing visibly frustrated that Crowley's not interested in the two preceding offers and not giving enough information for if he does know anything. So, they say he could have whatever his nasty little heart desires and name a rank: Duke of Hell.

Crowley barely has a chance to react as he nods in acknowledgment. Though not in the subtitles, he starts to quietly say, "Oh, well..." However, Beelzebub keeps talking before he can continue as they change tactics. Finally, they bring up a possible threat from Heaven to anybody involved with this affair.

That is enough to get Crowley's attention with another question. He leans forward and shifts from between the two thrones to being in front of his own throne once more as he asks, "How?" The cut mainly implies he has folded his arms since much of the arms themselves cannot be seen, but the changed touch will be confirmed soon enough.

Beelzebub smiles a genuinely pleased smile that they finally have something Crowley wants. It's enough to walk back toward the other throne, sit down, and say with dramatic emphasis, "Extreme sanctions".

Crowley's reaction is very interesting because he takes a moment, as if he knows something, to say that it's not actually a thing. With referring to something they used to joke about to frighten the cherubs, that implies he's talking about their time as angels and being in higher ranks together. They were peers.

Beelzebub insists it's a true threat, saying, "Anyone involved in Gabriel's disappearance will be erased from the Book of Life. They won't just be gone, they will never have existed."

This threat makes no sense to me. I know Crowley reacts like it's a real threat, and it's a fictional story where maybe that's supposed to work. But given that's not shown how in this season...I'm left baffled by the idea, considering how much a person's existence impacts others.

If the Book of Life wiped out Aziraphale's existence, the entire course of human history on Earth changes because he gave Adam and Eve the flaming sword.

Regardless, Crowley nods and acknowledges that such a threat could teach someone a lesson, alright.

There's an "It's a Wonderful Life" reference here, I realize. I hope it's not foreshadowing. With this concept of erasing someone from the Book of Life, I'm inclined to think that a person wiped from existence cannot learn "a lesson" because they don't exist anymore!

But wait. That is what happened in the movie "It's a Wonderful Life". The angel Clarence showed the human George Bailey a reality where he, George Bailey, no longer existed because he had never been born. George learned "a lesson" about the value of his own life.

That path for the Good Omens overall story doesn't strike me as particularly interesting but noted nonetheless.

As noted in other posts, I do think the Book of Life is in the matchbox and a potential threat interested in Crowley himself, for whatever it actually does.

Beelzebub says, "So if you hear anything, you come to me first, yeah?"

The subject of Crowley coming back to work for Hell has effectively been dropped by this point. He never literally said No, but I felt it was stated within context. Beelzebub gave Crowley what he actually wanted instead: this information. Still, this scenario does leave an opening for Crowley to eventually become Grand Duke of Hell. I do think that will happen in season 3 though the path to get there would hopefully be interesting since the end of season 2 heavily implied Shax would be the next Grand Duke of Hell. Would Crowley even go to Hell to bring up the offers in this conversation or would someone else bring it up? How does Shax factor in?

I mainly suspect Crowley will be the Grand Duke of Hell because of the framing in the credits, in this scene, and the way the Good Omens story likes duality and parallels. Crowley's car is the threshold for him to Hell on Earth. The elevator is the threshold for Aziraphale to Heaven on Earth. But even Earth itself is in the credits thanks to the plants behind Crowley in his car. Plus, they're the Green maintained in the Rainbow Connection (theoretically).

Crowley replies to Beelzebub with saying, "I don't know anything about this, but I'll absolutely let you know." However, he is sent back to the car before the sentence actually finishes. He had leaned forward off the seat when he started to talk. The space read that business was done and sent him back, whether he meant for that exact thing to happen or not. That was due to how the sideburns help Crowley manage his personal space. The exact cut off point in the sentence is the end of the word "anything", so, there's a good chance Beelzebub would never have heard Crowley say he would let them know.

Nonetheless, after this encounter, Beelzebub makes no effort to contact Crowley directly again for the rest of the season.

...

Why is the red back in Hell but not before or after summoning? Is that part of the possible story edit with suspicious continuity errors or does Hell being Hell just do that to Crowley? The angle of his head changes in the cut between being in Hell and being in the car. He was leaning back away from Beelzebub, then he is leaning forward toward where they were. In Hell, he looked like had a lightning imprint on the upper left side of his forehead sometimes too.

I maintain my theory on this space within Hell being the same as the Bentley, Crowley's own home base, when Crowley himself is there.

...

I couldn't find every post I had in mind for making this one, but here are a couple:

Since this seems to be...

Something something about (referring to the posts above my reblog)

The main one I couldn't find but wanted to was, I think, about how angels who are not Aziraphale can't seem to recognize people by their faces. Crowley can recognize faces too. I can't remember if other demons were brought up in the post.

...

That's it for this post of mine. Sometimes I edit my posts, FYI. I actually do hope to start editing some in the near future because I've been procrastinating, and it's a growing list.

...

Main post:

The Sideburns Scheme

...

Past version of this post:

Post #12 (being in Hell)

[kale-smoothies]

I really want to hear someone ramble about music and characters, and this is the second time I’ve seen those songs being used to describe Scourge so please explain away.

if you want of course.

OKAY OKAY GIRL ANACHRONISM MOSTLY FEELS LIKE PRISON SCOURGE

everytime i listen to the song i imagine an animatic so ill do my best to explain why I associate the song with Scourge.BUT ITS REALLY HARD FOR ME TO EXPLAIN THINGS LIKE THESE so forgive me if it doesn’t make sense

From the scars on my arms And the cracks in my hips And the dents in my car And the blisters on my lips That I'm not the carefullest of girls

Scars on his arms and blisters on his lips cause he’s always fighting AND being tossed around like basketball (He was used as a basketball in one panel) so I always think he had some small lasting scars on his body or something

And the strings that're breaking And I keep on breaking more And it looks like I am shaking But it's just the temperature

Okay FIRST TWO LINES, I like to take it as a metaphor for losing control. Scourge lost control over his life and KEEPS losing control in prison, OR it could be a metaphor for losing sanity. As Scourge was seen being super paranoid at one point, maybe everything he’s going through is slowly chipping at his sanity.

last two lines, shaky hands due to anxiety but also because he’s cold at night since he doesn’t have a mattress or a pillow or a blanket

If it were any colder I could disengage If I were any older I could act my age But I don't think that you'd believe me

It's not the way I'm meant to be It's just the way The operation made me

“I could act my age..” GUYS HE’S 17!! He did all he did when he was 17! Barely 17 too. “The way the operation made me.” IT’S THE NARRATIVE! HE’S TALKING ABOUT THE NARRATIVE! HE WOULDN’T BECOME WHO HE WAS IF HE WASN’T SHOVED INTO THE VILLAIN SHAPED COOKIE CUTTER THAT THE UNIVERSE WANTED TO MOLD HIM INTO! He accepted and embraced his role as Anti Sonic which is WHY HE’S SUCH A DICK! HE’S SUPPOSED TO BE A SONIC! BUT THAT’S WHAT FLOWING

And you can tell From the state of my room That they let me out too soon And the pills that I ate Came a couple years too late And I've got some issues to work through

State of his room AS IN solitary confinement. They DEFINITELY tossed his ass in SC multiple times in the first week, BELIEVE ME. And he’d go crazy over no chaos energy, no movement, no running, no form of communication, just him, himself, and the darkness of his thoughts and his past regrets IT WOULD EAT HIM ALIVE

also he has ALOT of issues to work through Imposter syndrome, Superiority complex, parental issues, possible feelings of inadequacy. Which is probably why he never went to therapy with Zouge. He doesn’t want to open up and admit he has problems with people he doesn’t know

There I go again Pretending to be you Make believing That I have a soul beneath the surface

“Pretending to be you.” HE’S TALKING ABOUT SONIC!! Like? Like?? “I’m sonic at his fullest potential.” IDK HOW TO EXPLAIN IT BUT THIS IS LITERALLY HIM!!

I was taken out Before the labor pains set in and now Behold the world's worst accident I am the girl anachronism

Literally him went he went green! He was taken out before he turned super AND so behold the world’s worst accident: scourge. He was never meant to be green, he just jumped off the road of the narrative with that little escape

And you can tell By the red in my eyes And the bruises on my thighs And the knots in my hair And the bathtub full of flies That I'm not right now at all

Red eyes due to insomnia, bruises because of fights, knots in his quills because of lack of self care…

There I go again Pretending that I'll fall Don't call the doctors 'Cause they've seen it all before They'll say just

Let her crash And burn She'll learn The attention just encourages her

“Don’t call the doctors!” THATS HIM! NO BODY CALLS THE GUARDS WHEN HE’S BEING BEATEN SHITLESS! BECAUSE ZOBOTNIK DOESN’T WANT THEM TO!!!!1! “Let her crash and burn she’ll learn. The attentoin just encourages her.” DO YOU SEE MY VISUON

And you can tell From the smoke at the stake That the current state is critical Well it is the little things, for instance

In the time it takes to break it She can make up ten excuses Please excuse her for the day It's just the way the medication makes her

First part is probably Moebius after Scourge disappeared? Did it fall into anarchy? Did Alicia Acorn or the supression squad take control?

I genuinely don’t know how to explain the last line but its him its him its so him AUGGHHHHHHH

[joylinda-hawks]

I think I read about these ghost masks in some book. The Ghost Valley from Qingya Mountain? Why is this gang of villains hunting the Mirror Lake Sect? WOH, episode 2, part 7. It is already night, ZZS is resting in the woodshed, ate the meal he brought and looks at the lamp hanging from the ceiling. At some point he begins to feel pain and clutches his head. He states that it is already midnight and the Nails of Seven Torments are playing again. ZZS begins to feel pain almost in the entire chest. He takes a bottle of wine and drinks it, then immediately spits it out, choking on the remains of the wine. ZZS knows that only meditation can soothe the pain, so he adopts a meditation position and begins to meditate. ZZS hits the meridians with his fingers to block them. We see that the ZZS veins are swollen and clearly visible, and the ZZS itself is trembling. Even though he tries to fight the pain, this pain is visible on ZZS's face. ZZS looks at his hands, where we can also see swollen veins with blood flowing through them. ZZS tries to block it with hand slaps and then makes further movements to eliminate the pain. Despite his strong body and steel character, ZZS cannot stop moaning. However, he is still fighting with his body and he manages to win this fight, at least for now. The pain becomes less and ZZS slowly calms down and brings balance to his body. He is so focused on getting his body back in shape that only after a while he hears strange sounds coming from outside the building. Through the door, ZZS sees a strange brightness outside, unusual for night time. So he gets up from his chair and walks to the door. He opens it and sees a glow above the roofs of the buildings and hears what sounds like the blows of swords. ZZS looks around and jumps to the nearest roof. Standing on the roof of ZZS, he can clearly hear the women's cries for help, he looks down and sees burning buildings and men in white masks and red robes chasing the servants and murdering women and men. ZZS in his robe is invisible when on the roof. He wonders that he read somewhere about the masks of these ghosts. He states that this is the Ghost Valley of Mount Qingya, and then asks why ghosts are chasing the Mirror Lake Sect. ZZS observes the drama unfolding downstairs. Then he jumps down and defeats the ghosts with quick sword movements. When he has eliminated the opponents, ZZS looks around and looks at the lying bodies. He states that all of them are servants and none of the warriors put up any resistance. ZZS adds that it seems that the warriors have lost their power and the Mirror Lake Sect is being destroyed by Ghost Valley. Once again, ZZS jumps onto the roof of the next building and looks down. Between the buildings he sees a boy and an older man running, the older man asks the boy to go with him. Soon they both disappear from the sight of ZZS, who is still on the roof and watching the ghosts running around the sect. Soon his attention is attracted by a flying mechanical bird. ZZS, surprised, says The Trapped Sparrow and asks himself what the spy from Tian Chuang is doing here. Finally, ZZS decides that he must save the boy and the older man and jumps off the roof and flies into the air. ZZS must have thought that it was a good decision to stay in the Mirror Lake Sect. He was fed and given wine. However, at night the nails came in and ZZS had to use all his skills to eliminate the pain. This pain and suffering is a punishment for ZZS for the bad deeds he has committed. He comes to terms with it, but in order to function normally he has to fight the pain. He soon discovers that Ghost Valley has attacked the sect and wonders what is the reason. The situation becomes even more interesting when ZZS discovers a spy from Tian Chuang. ZZS, despite everything, cannot watch the massacre idly and kills the ghosts, then decides to save a boy and an older man who are running away from the ghosts. ZZH, playing the role of ZZS fighting with nails, had to put all his acting skills into this scene and he managed to perfectly show ZZS's suffering. +(1)

[princess-of-the-corner]

Kingdom Hearts II: Final Mix Recap: Pride Lands (Hakuna Matata)

In order to access the world, you must first clear the Sunlight Storm Gummi Route.

It’s a tunnel through thick, green clouds, with occasional holes letting in golden light from above (with some holes revealing glowing light).

Most of the enemies you’ll encounter here are Nobodies.

Near the end of the Route, your Gummi Ship will fly up into one of the holes that lets sunlight through, and fly in the blue skies above the clouds for a brief “boss” encounter with a single “Hunter” Gummi Heartless that destroys all other onscreen enemies to 1v1 you, and after it’s been dealt with, you’ll be seen out by a handful of Nobodies as the Gummi Ship flies for the exit.

Once you’ve completed the route, the Pride Lands is unlocked.

Upon disembarking, we open with the iconic stampede scene.

However, because all of the lion characters have permanent smiles on their models, we’re completely reliant on their eyes and ears for facial expressions. It’s not as bad as the “live action” movie, since the characters at least have SOME facial expressions, but it does take some getting used to.

Simba is nearly trampled by the Wildebeests (The Lion King), only to be rescued by his father, Mufasa (The Lion King). Mufasa places his son on an outcropping, but is knocked loose by a wildebeest. He climbs back up, where he encounters Scar (The Lion King) and asks for some help back up.

Scar digs his claws into Mufasa’s paws, leans in towards his brother’s ear, and whispers four iconic words:

“Long live the king.”

And then he throws his brother back into the stampede, a horrified Simba screaming as his father dies right in front of him.

Years later, Simba wakes up from his nightmare, right next to a sleeping Timon (The Lion King) and Pumba (The Lion King). Unlike his younger self, he has a fully emotive face.

After checking and seeing that his adoptive parents are still asleep, Simba walks up to the ledge of the grassy outcropping they’re sleeping on and looks over the jungle, and up to the starry sky, where a lion-shaped cloud looks down on him.

The following morning, Sora, Donald, and Goofy beam down from the Gummi Ship, and check out their new looks.

Sora is now a lion cub, Donald a bird of some kind, and Goofy a tortoise.

The trio are excited by their recent transformation, but Sora does find the Gorge to be pretty creepy.

What, with the bubbling green steam vents, and ominous glowing cracks, plus the permanently overcast sky.

Unfortunately, that won’t save them from Shenzi (The Lion King), Banzai (The Lion King), and Ed (The Lion King), who surrounded our heroes while they were reacting to their transformations.

Hundreds of generic Hyenas (The Lion King) also surround them.

“Heartless?” Sora questions.

“I dunno Sora. I get the feeling they might live here!” Goofy observes.

“Don’t mind us! Just passing through,” Donald explains, “We won’t be any trouble.”

Sora affirms Donald’s statement.

“Don’t be silly,” Shenzi replies while she and the other named hyenas circle the trio, “We’d love you to stick around for lunch.”

“That’s not gonna be a problem!” Banzai assures them.

“Gawrsh Sora – I think WE’RE the lunch!” Goofy realizes.

Ed confirms this with his signature cackle, and our Junior Heroes book it!

Or well, they try to, anyway, but Sora trips over his own feet on account of having only been a quadruped for about a minute or two at this point.

Donald and Goofy are cornered as well.

Fortunately, Scar chooses this moment to call the Hyenas away with a roar, forcing them to abandon their meal so as to avoid angering him.

Sora notes that they should probably take advantage of this to get used to their new forms, and Goofy promises to show them a new trick, which he does after the cutscene ends and before you get control of Sora.

For the duration of his visit to the Pride Lands, Sora will be locked into Lion Form. He cannot use his Drive Forms, Summons, Growth Abilities, Movement Abilities, or Action Abilities in this Form. Donald’s and Goofy’s Limits have also been disabled. He can only use his Support Abilities in this new form.

Fortunately, Lion Form has its own built-in abilities to compensate:

Combo Upper: Knocks a target into the air during a combo with the block button.

Aerial Impulse: Tackles and attacks a midair target during a combo with the block button.

Finishing Blast: Deals damage to nearby enemies at the end of a combo with the block button.

Retaliating Smash: When knocked down, quickly regain balance and counterattack with the block button.

Combo Plus: Increases maximum combo by 1 on the ground. Stacks with other Combo Pluses Sora might already have equipped.

Air Combo Plus: Increases maximum combo by 1 in the air. Ditto, but with Air Combo Pluses.

All of the chests in this world are ornate gourds, with the big gourd holding a map of the Savannah.

The overworld theme for this world is called “Adventures in the Savannah”.

While in the Gorge, Sora can talk to Donald and Goofy, and there’s already a Save Point to return to the Gummi Ship if you so wish.

Progressing out of the Gorge leads SDG to the Elephant Graveyard, where they find Nala (The Lion King) cornered by the Heartless.

Sora immediately jumps to her defense, summoning his Keyblade into his mouth, and the battle begins.

The battle theme for this world is “Savannah Pride”.

Introduced in this fight is a new Heartless known as Living Bone (pluralized “Living Bones”). They look like zombified dinosaur fossils and attack with shockwaves and will-o-wisps. When it gives the “Rodeo” Reaction Command, Sora can hop on its back and use the “Grand Cross” Reaction Command to slam it into the ground for big damage. I mention the Living Bones now because you’ll need them as a frame of reference later on.

Once both Living Bones are defeated, Nala thanks SDG for their help, and Sora asks her if she’s seen any other Heartless around.

“Heartless… Is that what they’re called?” Nala asks, “I’m not sure if there are any others…”

Nala explains that she doesn’t usually hunt outside the Pride Lands, with Donald not finding the term familiar.

Sora asks if she’s seen a guy named “Riku”, people in black hoods, or a big bully named “Pete”.

She shakes her head “no”.

Sora figures they might as well check out anyway, but Nala warns him that the Pride Lands are dangerous thanks to Scar and the Hyenas.

“There’s no food left,” she explains, “They’ve driven off the prey. We’re about to starve.”

Sora insists they can handle danger, citing the Heartless they just fought off, while choosing not to mention their encounter with the hyenas.

Nala realizes he has a point, and wonders if he might be just what the Pride Lands needs.

Goofy isn’t quite sure about their odds against Scar and his hyena army, while Donald just wants to know who Scar is.

“He took over when our last king, Mufasa, died,” Nala elaborates.

Sora realizes that this means Scar is her king, and that she’s basically asking them to commit regicide. As they’ve only JUST met her, Sora decides to deliberate with Donald and Goofy before they make any impulsive decisions.

“We can’t just go around knocking kings off their thrones,” Sora points out, actually raising a valid point, but because he’s still a teenage boy: “But then again, if they see that I’m stronger than their king, maybe they’ll ask me to be their next king!”

“Sora…” Goofy remarks.

“I’d have to refuse, of course,” Sora quickly backpedals, “Still, I’d like to see the Pride Lands, so you guys don’t mind lending them a paw, do you?”

Thus, our heroes are now in recon mode.

“Uh oh, there he goes again,” Donald remarks as Sora runs back to Nala.

We don’t hear what they say, but Nala runs off, and Sora explains that she’s going to explain what’s going on to the other lionesses, while SDG are supposed to meet up with her at Pride Rock.

Also, Goofy wears his shield on the back of his shell, and Donald carries his staff in his talons. Adding further comedy, Goofy’s “running” animation consists of him withdrawing into his shell and spinning like a Beyblade.

But back on topic, you need to progress the rest of the way through the Elephant Graveyard to reach the Savannah.

This barren wasteland serves as the Central Hub. Just run across the dried ground, past the dead tree, and cutting through any Heartless you meet in order to get to Pride Rock.

Aside from the exit back to the Elphant Graveyard, the map shows two more exits. One of those is blocked off at the moment, so you have to continue on to Pride Rock.

Don’t worry, it’s a big and obvious landmark. You can’t miss it.

Upon arrival, we see the Lionesses (The Lion King) all lazing about in various states of despair. Nala takes Rafiki (The Lion King) to meet with our Junior Heroes.

“That’s him,” Nala explains.

Rafiki quietly inspects first Sora, then Goofy, and finally Donald, and the despondent lionesses open their eyes and look over at the newcomers, perhaps wondering if he’ll be the one to dethrone Scar and become the new king.

Rafiki whispers into Nala’s ear, shakes his head, and walks off as Nala hangs her head.

The lionesses go back to laying down.

Nala explains that she had told Rafiki that Sora might be able to force Scar and the hyenas out of the Pride Lands, but Rafiki just told her it wouldn’t work.

Whoever saves the Pride Lands will be their next king, but whoever he is will need certain qualities.

“Meaning…” Sora presses.

“I think she means you’re not cut out for the job, Sora,” Goofy observes.

Nala apologizes for bringing them all the way here for nothing, but Sora insists its fine.

She warns them to leave before Scar finds out they’re here,

You now have control of Sora again, and can talk to the various lionesses walking around for some set-dressing.

There are also gourds to open, including a big one that holds a map of Pride Rock.

You can’t go inside Pride Rock’s den yet, however, and thus your only option is to try and go back to the Savannah.

Unfortunately, Shenzi, Banzai, and Ed will block your way out, with a bunch of nameless hyenas approaching SDG from behind to surround them.

The hyenas are still hungry, and are very eager at getting a second chance at eating our Junior Heroes.

However, a roar from the king, Scar, convinces them to wait a little. Savor the chance.

He stands alongside another lion, a lion with Pete’s face.

Sora recognizes him immediately.

Scar effortlessly bounds down the rocks to stand before our Junior Heroes.

Pete tries to do the same, but stumbles to the ground from his perch, landing painfully, much to Sora’s exasperation and second-hand embarrassment.

“What are you doing here?” Sora questions aggressively.

“Aww, the cute li’l kitty’s worried about me,” Pete taunts, “If I were you, I’d be more worried about my friends!”

“Sora!” Donald calls out.

“We’re surrounded!” Goofy shouts as the hyenas close in around the duo.

“Go on ladies–” Scar addresses to the lionesses, “You’ve got some hunting to do.”

“The herds have moved on, Scar,” Nala reminds him, “We can’t hunt on a land with no prey.”

“No prey?” Scar questions, “Then what do you call this?”

He motions towards Sora, Donald, and Goofy.

Sora protests that they’re not prey, but Scar just comments on how they’re “nice and fresh” too.

“Well, they’re all yours, Scar,” Pete declares, before running off.

Nala, having had enough of Scar’s nonsense, tackles Scar mid-pounce, and urges the others to run.

SDG take advantage of the momentary distraction to bolt, the hyenas giving chase after them.

Fortunately, Nala is faster, and she leads them to safety.

Back at the Savannah, Nala again apologizes for involving them, this time in a textbox.

Sora insists it’s no big deal, while Donald insists it’s not her fault Sora wouldn’t make for a good king.

“Hey! I had to give it a try, right?” Sora defends.

“So you DID want to be king!” Goofy says.

“Well… You know…” Sora trails off.

Deciding to change the topic, he asks Nala if she has any ideas for who else could be king.

She can think of only one candidate, the son of their last king, but he died when he was just a cub.

“If only Simba were still alive…”

Sora then reveals that he IS still alive. They fought alongside him not that long ago.

Nala is thrilled to know Simba’s still alive, and asks where he is.

Sora reveals he doesn’t know, but Nala’s just happy he’s still alive, and asks to know more about what he’s like NOW.

After they’re safe from Scar, of course, so they should head to the Wildebeest Valley.

Wildebeest Valley is accessible via the third and final exit from the Savannah.

You have a map, and it lacks both the extremely marketable silhouette of Pride Rock AND the ominous elephant ribcages from the Elephant Graveyard.

As it’s also one of only THREE recognizable landmarks on the Savannah, its more generic design of “path between two massive plateaus” isn’t an obstacle to locating it.

Upon entering the Wildebeest Valley, another Simba-focused cutscene begins, showing him moping by the waterfall.

“Hey, why the long face, Simba?” Timone asks, “You gotta lighten up and live a little!”

“Y-yeah…” Simba half-heartedly replies.

“What were you thinkin’ about?” Pumbaa asks.

“Lemme guess. The past, right?” Timone guesses.

Simba wordlessly confirms it.

“Hakuna matata!” They both cheerfully remind him.

It does get Simba to crack a smile, if only briefly, but he also gets up and trudges off.

Timone reflects on how much he’s grown since they first adopted him.

Simba trudges up to the flowers on the outcropping, sighs, and flops down, sending various leaves, blades of grass, and flower petals blowing away on the wind.

Meanwhile, at the Wildebeest Valley, our Junior Heroes come across a rather intimidating gorge, with jagged rocks at the bottom.

Nala, not the least bit intimidated, gives herself a running start and leaps the ravine, wowing Sora.

She urges them to follow, but Sora replies that they won’t make the jump.

Nala realizes that Rafiki was right, and then tells Sora that she’ll teach him how to do it.

“Don’t worry, you can do it!” she encourages.

Fade to black.

When we cut back Sora jumps the gorge successfully, joining Nala, Donald, and Goofy on the other side.

This unlocks Dash, an Action Ability for Lion Form. It allows Sora to move more quickly when the player holds down the Block/Dodge Roll button, replacing all of Sora’s Growth Abilities.

If Sora tries to turn while using this ability, well… To quote KHWiki: “Attempting to turn while dashing will cause Sora to slide until he decides to stop turning or dashing, which will cause him to skid and bounce, slowing him down immediately.”

This will GREATLY cut down on travel time.

The Wildebeest Valley is designed to let you get the handle of the Dash ability, with rocks for you to bob and weave between, and plenty of Heartless to let you get the handle on how this ability works in combat. You can even run around the area where Simba found his dad’s corpse in the movie, right at the end of the room.

Progressing to the next area has the petals, grass blades, and leaves reach Rafiki’s “Stone Hollow”. This cutscene mostly just reuses archived audio of Rafiki’s jubilation from the movie (minus the music, instead using the Pride Land’s overworld theme), but does still feature Rafiki painting a mane onto Simba’s cave painting.

Meanwhile, in the Wastelands, Nala explains how Simba was reported dead in the same stampede that took Mufasa’s life.

“Who told you that?” Sora asks.

Nala stops walking. Even with her facial features not animating beyond jaw-flaps in this cutscene, you can STILL see her connecting the dots before her next line:

“Scar.”

Rafiki walks up behind our quartet, climbs up a slope, and stands atop a stone.

“It is time,” he declares via archived audio from the movie, before pointing his staff ahead.

“It must be Simba!” Nala realizes, before rushing ahead, “Sora, hurry!”

“Wait up!” Sora calls after her.

The Wastelands are basically a winding path with a few puzzle pieces to pick up and gourds to open.

They’re not considered part of the Savannah, so you don’t have a map at the moment.

The Wastelands lead into the Jungle, where Sora will encounter Shaman. They’re Emblem Heartless that sometimes ride Living Bones.

They can also use magic.

They have a 1% chance of dropping the “Shaman’s Relic” a Staff for Donald. It grants +4 Strength and +5 Magic, as well as the Blizzard Boost ability.

Upon passing through the Jungle, SDG arrive at the Oasis, where Simba has been surrounded by Heartless.

Before Sora can so much as summon his Keyblade, Simba lets out a mighty roar that intimidates all of them into fleeing through Corridors of Darkness.

“Simba!” Sora greets, running up to Simba while Donald and Goofy follow close behind.

Simba falls back into his fighting stance, hackles raised.

“I-it’s me – Sora!” Sora explains as he slides to a stop, “Donald and Goofy are here too.”

Simba calmly-yet-cautiously approaches the trio, looking them over.

We cut to his POV, where we see a cut from the present to their forms in KH1.

“Sora! Donald! Goofy!”

He excitedly bowls over Sora and nuzzles him as cats are wont to do, but is still kinda curious as to why Sora’s changed species. (Reminder: The most drastic transformation Simba can witness in KH1 is the Halloween Town forms. He has NEVER seen SDG undergo such DRASTIC transformations.)

The explanation is interrupted by Timon and Pumbaa’s panicked screams for help, calling out that “she” is going to eat them.

Simba realizes something must’ve happened in the jungle, and tells Sora he has to go help his friends, before dashing off to rescue them.

Sora promises to back him up.

The Oasis is one of those areas where Donald and Goofy become NPC’s you can talk to (until you progress the story).

There are some gourds you can open. One of the big ones holds a map, while the other holds the next Torn Page.

There’s also a Save Point, and Kumop’s Moogle Shop (Adds the “Lord’s Broom” staff and “Dreamcloud” shield to the large town shops’ inventories).

Returning to the jungle reveals a terrified Timon and Pumbaa have been cornered by Nala, who’s stalking closer and closer, only to get tackled by Simba before she can pounce.

Sora tries to break up the resulting fight, but it’s not until Nala pins Simba down that the two of them finally recognize each other.

“Hey! What’s going on here?” Timon asks, before he and Pumbaa turn around to see Sora standing directly behind him.

The two, understandably, scream in terror and run to Simba for protection.

“Don’t worry, they’re all friends of mine,” Simba explains.

“So that means… nobody’s planning to eat anybody else for lunch, right?” Timon questions.

Sora and Donald nod.

“Are you sure they don’t wanna eat me like I’m some kinda pig!?” a cowering Pumbaa asks.

“We won’t…” Sora promises, “but you are a pig, right?”

“Call me Mr. Pig!” Pumbaa snaps, all fear forgotten.

And everyone laughs.

After the laughter dies down, Simba asks if the others could excuse him and Nala for a bit.

Back in the Oasis, Nala tells Simba he needs to come back to Pride Rock.

“I thought Sora could help,” she explains, “but you’re the only one who can save us from Scar.”

Simba insists that he can’t go back.

When Nala asks why, the only answer he gives her is “hakuna matata”.

“It’s something I learned out here,” he explains, “Sometimes bad things happen, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Simba walks over to look at the view of the waterfalls, as Nala wonders what the heck happened.

Meanwhile, Timon, Pumbaa, Sora, Donald, and Goofy are doing the dance for “Hakuna Matata”.

However, as Square Enix could not secure the rights to include the song in the game, all we get is Timon saying “Hakuna!” followed by everyone else shouting “Matata!” as they march behind him.

Nala walks past them.

“He’s not the Simba I remember,” she remarks, “Something about hakuna matata…”

In order to progress the story, you must approach Simba and use the “Cheer Up” Reaction Command.

Using this Reaction Command prompts a cutscene where Sora, Donald, and Goofy say nothing as Simba walks right past them and out of the oasis.

Come nightfall, and he stares up at the starry sky, completely alone.

“My father’s dead,” he says to himself, “And it’s because of me… It’s my fault.

“I can’t go back… It won’t change anything.”

Cue flashback to Simba’s childhood, perched on his father’s back as they admired the stars together.

“Look at the stars,” Mufasa tells him, “The great kings of the past look down on us from those stars. So whenever you feel alone, just remember that those kings will always be there to guide you…

“And so will I.”

I forgot to mention this before, but all of Mufasa’s dialog uses archived audio of James Earl Jones, taken straight from the movie.

“Father… Are you there?”

Swirling clouds appear in the night sky, and Mufasa’s spirit manifests among them.

“Simba… you have forgotten who you are. You must take your place in the Circle of Life.”

“How can I go back? I’m not who I used to be.”

“Remember who you are.”

Mufasa disappears as Simba runs up to try and get closer, stopping at the cliff’s edge.

“You can all come out now,” Simba states.

Sora, Donald, Goofy, Timon, and Pumbaa come out of their hiding places among the foliage.

“I’m going back to face my past,” Simba declares, “I could use your help.”

“He really is a king…” Timon notes, his voice swelling with pride.

The sun rises behind Simba.

Sora earns the “Circle of Life” Keychain.

This Keyblade grants him +4 Strength, +1 Magic, and the MP Haste Ability (restores restoration rate of MP Gauge in MP Charge by 25%).

Additionally…

SIMBA HAS JOINED THE PARTY!!!

Simba’s weapon is “Proud Fang”, due to the fact that he fights unarmed. He’s a lion, after all.

His Action Abilities are as follows:

Body Blow: Charges at an enemy, headbutts it, and quickly retreats.

Double Body Blow: Charges directly at an enemy with his head thrust forward.

Kick Up: Runs up to an enemy and kicks it while somersaulting backwards.

Aerial Punch: Attacks with a swing of his left paw immediately after jumping.

Fierce Claw: Spends 10 MP to rush at enemies 8 times successively while spinning sideways at high speed.

Groundshaker: Spends 10 MP to attack surrounding enemies with an earth-shaking roar.

Healing Herb: Restores Party’s HP with the power of nature at the cost of all of his MP.

He also has the following Support Abilities (descriptions taken straight from KHWiki):

MP Rage: Restores MP relative to the amount of damage taken. Equip more to increase the effect.

Defender: Increases defense by 3 in a pinch. Equip more to increase the effect.

Auto Limit: Automatically sets the Reaction Command to Limit, if Limit is usable.

Hyper Healing: Quickly revives a fallen Party Member and greatly restores their HP.

Auto Healing: Restores HP while replaced by another Party Member with Change.

Speaking of, his Limit is “King’s Pride”.

The Limit starts with the “Wildcat” Reaction Command, which prompts Sora and Simba to leap forward as rocks burst out of the ground around them, damaging any surrounding enemies.

This leads to the Attack Command becoming “X-Claw” (Sora and Simba dash towards enemies and slash furiously) and gives the prompt for the “High Fang” Reaction Command (Sora and Simba spin through the air towards enemies). After 20 cumulative uses of both, both commands become “Proud Roar”, which finishes the Reaction Command with Sora and Simba letting out a mighty roar that calls down beams of light.

Simba cannot be removed from the party for the time being.

In order to continue the story, you must head back to the Savannah.

Upon arrival, Simba sees what Scar’s rule has done to the Pride Lands for the first time in his life.

Timon is shocked that Simba wants to fight his uncle for this arid wasteland, but Simba explains that the Pride Lands are his home.

At Pride Rock, the lionesses are all still depression-napping, while Scar is looking over his domain. He then looks up, sees Simba standing on higher ground, and gasps in shock.

Scar is shocked to see he’s still alive, and Simba starts telling him off, with Nala calling him the rightful king as Sora, Donald, and Goofy silently give moral support.

“The choice is yours, Scar,” Simba warns as he approaches the cornered tyrant, “Either step down or fight.”

“Must this all end in violence?” Scar questions as he slinks past Simba, “I’d hate to be responsible for the death of a family member, Simba…”

“I’ve put the past behind me!” Simba insists.

“But what about your faithful subjects?” Scar presses, “Have they?”

“Simba, what is he talking about?” Nala asks.

“Go on,” Scar urges as he creeps around Simba, “Tell them who’s responsible for Mufasa’s death.”

“I am,” Simba confesses.

Nala gasps, and Scar proceeds to back Simba up against the edge of Pride Rock, guilt-tripping him, insisting Mufasa would still be alive if it wasn’t for him, not caring that Simba insists it was an accident.

“You’re in trouble again. But this time, Daddy isn’t here to save you,” Scar taunts, “And now, everyone knows why.”

Simba’s hindlegs go over the edge, forcing him to latch onto Pride Rock with his forelegs’ claws.

Upon seeing Simba’s very familiar predicament, Scar can’t help but gloat to him about how this just like how Mufasa died.

He digs his claws in and leans in to whisper the truth to Simba, wishing to twist the knife one more time before throwing his nephew to his death:

“I killed Mufasa.”

Whereas revealing his true intentions to Mufasa shocked him long enough to allow him to kill him, here it only ENRAGES Simba enough that he’s able to pull himself up, tackle Scar to the ground, and force him to confess the truth.

Shenzi, Banzai, and Ed come out of the King’s den to hyena-pile Simba, allowing Scar to slink away like the coward he is.

Sora runs in, insisting that Simba handles Scar while they handle the hyenas.

Simba gives chase to his treacherous uncle, while more hyenas close in on Sora.

Fortunately, Timon and Pumbaa swoop in with the save, Timon directing Pumbaa to charge through the nameless hyenas.

Unfortunately, this leads into the entire pack deciding to go after the two prey animals instead, chasing Simba’s adoptive parents into the King’s Den.

Simba has been removed from the party for now.

In order to begin the boss fight, the player must enter the King’s Den.

Shenzi, Banzai, and Ed require the player to defend Timon and Pumbaa.

If Pumbaa’s HP runs out, it’s an automatic game over.

Stick close to Pumbaa, use the “Call Over” Reaction Command to get him closer to you if he gets too far away, and don’t focus on any one hyena for two long.

Defeating all three earns Sora +5 Max HP, Donald +3 Max HP, and Goofy Lucky Lucky! (increases enemies’ base drop rates, stacking with other Lucky Luckies).

After the Hyenas flee, Sora asks where Simba went, and Nala motions towards an exit in the back of the King’s Den, which leads to the top of Pride Rock.

In order to begin this world’s final boss fight, the player must progress that way.

Sora, Donald, and Goofy arrive in time to watch the two clash, with Sora stopping Donald from intervening.

In the end, this is Simba’s fight, and for his claim to the throne to have any legitimacy, he has to do this alone.

Scar eventually manages to down Simba, and pounces to try and finish him off.

Simba merely counterattacks by kicking him clear off the edge of Pride Rock, sending him plummeting to his apparent demise.

“You’re okay!” Sora declares.

“Aw, that was just a sneak preview!” Pete declares as he walks up behind the group, “Cause this ain’t over – not by a long shot!”

He points at the cliff Scar was just thrown off of, and the boss music kicks in as Scar’s paw grips the edge of the cliff, having already climbed back up the mountain.

“Anger and jealousy turned the king of Pride Rock into a Heartless!” Pete reveals.

Scar, either having recently become a Heartless or secretly been one the entire time, pulls himself back onto the rock as Pete continues gloating:

“Oh your kingdom’s gonna rise again… But this time, as the Pride Lands of Darkness!”

Scar jumps back onto solid ground and envelops the area in his darkness.

“That’s what you think!” Simba retorts as he gears up for a rematch.

Simba has rejoined the party, and must remain in the party for the duration of the boss battle.

The ground has turned translucent, revealing the fossilized bones preserved inside the solid rock.

Scar can attack with circling balls of lightning, shockwaves of fire when he pounces, and emitting dark energy while stampeding around the place.

When he pins Sora to the ground, Sora can use the “Counter” Reaction Command right as Scar’s about to swipe his paw to break free and stagger him.

While Scar IS a Heartless, he still looks like his normal self, WITHOUT having to possess someone else.

Upon defeating Scar, Sora gains +10 Max MP, Donald gains Fire Boost, Goofy gains +4 Max HP, and Simba gains +30 Max HP.

Scar staggers for a bit, before finally keeling over, his reign of terror OVER.

After the battle, Simba marches to the front of Pride Rock, and lets out a mighty roar, the lionesses joining him.

The swirling clouds appear again, as Mufasa’s spirit materializes once more, revealing this world’s Gate.

Sora opens it, holding the Keyblade with his tail when doing so.

Timon asks about the light show, and Sora replies that they have to say goodbye for now.

“I’ll go tell Simba,” Pumbaa offers.

“Aw, he’s prob’ly busy,” Goofy observes, “Just tell him we’ll be back soon.”

That reminds Timon that Simba’s the king now.

“He’s going to be so busy now that he’s probably going to forget his two best buddies.”

“Well, you always got hakuna matata, right?” Sora points out.

“Guess so,” Pumbaa notes.

Timon isn’t satisfied with that answer, and asks what they’ll do if he forgets to tell the carnivores who they are.

“One look at you, and you’re a pig roast!” Timon points out.

“That’s MISTER Pig Roast!” Donald chimes in.

“Same thing!” Pumbaa shouts, “And I’m not sticking around to become anyone’s pork dinner!”

The warthog cartoonishly flees the scene as Timon calls after him.

“You can never forget your true buddies,” Sora remarks.

Defeating Scar earns Sora the Fire Element, upgrading Fire to Fira.

Back on the world map, a new episode was unlocked at Olympus Coliseum, AND we’ve got a Torn Page to return to the Hundred Acre Wood.

Which do you think we should take care of first?

-

See now I just have the entire soundtrack stuck in my head. Also I had to look up some of the images for this. Living Bone looks dope as fuck! Lion!Pete is cursed tho

Hm. I think the Hundred Acre Wood would be more a vibe right now

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

Unholy

Suggestive themes ahead, also implied cheating but not in the way you think. Have fun!

He always has to take off his wedding band. He doesn't know why - it's not like the little object or its implication even matter all that much to him - but he cannot have it on when he goes there, even if they both know he's married already.

It's a mental barrier of some sort. He has to take it off, otherwise he won't go in and he won't drink and he won't ask for his favorite dancer and he won't take him back to his favorite luxury hotel suite to spoil him rotten.

But he wants to do all those things, he's been thinking about them for days now, wicked desires breaking his focus at the worst times - so he slips the golden ring off his finger and hides it into his pocket, loosens his tie and starts the car, the motor humming lowly at the command.

He's quick to send her a text. A lie, just like always. A covert "do not ruin this for me by reminding me you exist". A simple, formal "I will be working overnight. Do not wait up."

It was just common curtesy, letting her know he won't be home that night. The reason may not have been honest, but alas. He cannot be hung up over lying of all things - adultery is a lot worse, after all, and he's not particularly fussed over that, so what's a little lie compared to it?

Driving is boring. Functional, but boring. He doesn't have particular feelings about it, though he likes reminscing about the many times he used the car's backseat for a whole lot of purposes that it had not been created to. He could be a quite impatient man, after all. And he could afford the dry cleaning afterwards anyway.

The club is a familiar sight, enticing red neon lights and faint music escaping through the walls. The same image, every time. The bouncer knows him already, lets him walk right in, no queueing, and receives a generous tip every time.

It's the same chaos of light and darkness, flashing colours, special effects and loud music. Dancers entertain the crowds, money flies at their feet like they're gods. Debauchery. He's quite a hypocrite to judge, he's there too, isn't he?

The bartender hands him a glass of fine whiskey, on the rocks. The usual. And he downs it at once before the bartender tells him where to go.

The room is the same too. A comfortable plush sofa, dim lighting, a stripper pole in the middle and a personal bar. He sits and waits, basking into the prickly warmth of the alcohol being processed into his system. He feels warmer by the minute, and eveb more impatient. More aroused. He's two buttons down on his shirt now, debates undoing the third.

The door to the room opens, and the enticing, scantily clad silhouette of his favorite dancer walks in. He's wearing a pair of knee-length leather boots, heels so high it must be painful, and a pair of tight, black shorts. Nothing else. Except for a pair of nipple pasties, of course. Black, X-shaped. His hair falls down his back, untamed.

"Wei Ying."

"Lan Zhan! You're early today! I've only just started my shift!"

The man seems pleased with the knowledge.

"So, what do you want me to do for you?"

Lan Zhan looks at him, hazy with desire and alcohol. "Surprise me. I will reward you if I like it."

Wei Ying thinks for a moment, then rushes behind the bar to turn on the music, change the lighting and pick something up.

A sensuous beat fills the room seconds later. Lan Zhan cannot focus on the lyrics, all he wants is Wei Ying.

As if reading his mind, Wei Ying walks up to the pole and, swaying his hips, moves around it with elegance and sin, practiced confidence entwined with the desire to earn his partner's enjoyment and a reward for himself.

The metal shines into the red light, and Wei Ying nimbly climbs it, his muscles straining with the effort of the erotic routine he's performing. Lan Zhan cannot look away, wouldn't dare to, his eyes following every one of Wei Ying's suggestive movements, the curve of his spine as he arches against the pole, the tantalizing glint in his eyes, the flexibility of his legs as he effortlessly spreads them out.

Lan Zhan lights up an expensive cigar on a nearby table, without breaking his eyes from his own little show.

Then, as the song ends and transitions into a different one, Wei Ying crawls up to him, dripping sweat and lust, and produces a long, pristine white ribbon from his back pocket, smiling seductively. "Tie me up?"

It takes only a second for Lan Zhan to hoist Wei Ying up on his lap and kiss him senseless, hands traveling over the expanse of his skin, mindful not to burn him with the cigar.

Wei Ying moans softly at the stimulation, seeking more, and it takes just another second for it to be granted to him. It seems like he earned his reward after all.

When Lan Zhan finally pins him against the couch, ready to devour him, Wei Ying's eyes catch onto something shiny falling from one of his lover's pockets.

It's easy to guess what it is.

Wei Ying smiles, satisfied, cat-like, and lets himself fall.

The song on his playlist changes.

Mommy don't know, daddy's getting hot

At the body shop

Doing something unholy...

[haruhey]

Mind If I Join You?

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Word count: 13k (i am SO SORRY i got carried away and this fic turned out SO FILTHY but i hit 300 followers so consider this a gift??)

Established Relationship Fluff | Smut

There’s only one bed shower, and Daryl Dixon is an opportunist.

the request:

every single fic of yours is seriously amazing. ur a great writer!! can i request a daryl shower smut bc wooweeeee

There’s always a giddiness inside Daryl when he returns from runs. No more sleeping in the RV for nights on end, no more eating cold canned chicken soup and - as much as he liked Aaron - no more hearing him talk about how much he missed Eric and making him miss you, too. He’s exhausted, his muscles sore from overuse, but the fact that you’re probably curled up in bed makes him so damn excited that all the ailments of his aging body are swiftly forgotten with each step he takes.

Houses fly by in a blur as he ramps up into a jog, his feet taking him to the dim light of a moving lantern in your shared bedroom window. By Daryl’s estimate, it couldn’t have been more than 10 or 11pm, but time meant little in the apocalypse - it was either dark out, or light and with the days getting shorter, he noticed you using the lantern more and more frequently. Just a few days ago, you had fallen asleep curled up on his chest, the soft orange light filling the room before he strained his body trying to turn it off without waking you. The next morning he had a terrible cramp running from his rib up to his bicep, but he never complained. Not even a wince in your presence since he thought the soreness was worth it. He would rather die several times over than lose the image he saw - of your pillowy lips taking soft, steady breaths of air while you slept against his bare skin.

Smiling, he lets himself remember the way you looked when he first gifted it to you, a grin that spread to the apples of your cheeks and crinkled at your eyes plastered on your face. It wasn’t a perfect replica, but it looked close enough to the one you would both light on nightwatches in the prison - which he thinks was when he first realized he loved you. Daryl also remembers the first night he saw you use it, the memory so vivid in his mind that he felt like if he reached out, the soft fabric of your pajamas would welcome his touch.

He could picture it now, your back against the headboard, reading one of the books that littered the shelves he never touches. Your face bathed in the lantern’s hue while your eyes scanned the pages and drinking in every word of whatever you were holding. He plucked that book right out of your hands that night and pulled you onto his lap, kissing the pout off your face until you weren’t annoyed at him anymore, rendered down to just laughing against his lips.

Fuck, he couldn’t wait to get home and see you again.

Daryl curses under his breath as he fumbles a little with the doorknob, but the profanities are quickly replaced with a huff of accomplishment as he practically sprints to the bedroom, boots shucked off haphazardly at the front door. He skips every other stair with long strides, desperate to feel you in his arms. When he enters the bedroom, he places his crossbow on the dresser and is surprised to see the room as dark as it is, the only source of illumination being the moon as it streams through the windows. The bed is empty and the blankets are strewn to your side, but neither you nor your pajamas are anywhere in sight. Panic flies through him before he registers the unmistakable sounds of the shower running, and he scoffs at himself when he sees the dim orange light peeking from beneath the bathroom door.

Had you known how worried he was for a second, you would have laughed at him. He was already so protective of you before the two of you got together, but it was another level entirely when you both made it official. It wasn’t just losing you to the dead anymore - it was also losing you to other people. Daryl knew you could take care of yourself, he had seen you hold your own on runs in the prison and trips outside the Alexandrian gates, but, God, if anything happened to you he wouldn’t know what to do. Being apart from you once when the Governor attacked was already almost too much for him to handle, but the thought of losing you and having to be okay with the fact you were never going to love him again? That was something he never wanted to experience.

Leaning against the wall, he pulls off his belt and places it next to his crossbow, his vest following not long after. The mattress squeaks slightly when he makes his way over to it and lies down, his body feeling almost instant comfort at the feeling of something other than the hard leather of his bike’s seat. Days like this made him think that maybe you were right in jokingly telling him that his motorcycle was a dumb choice for long runs - his tailbone was probably shaped like a rectangle from how long he’d been sitting on his ass.

A few moments pass as he allows himself to indulge in some rest, eyes closing and already in the first stages of a slumber before he shoots up, pushing himself to the edge of the mattress and sitting straight. Fuck, he needed to shower. He had given you his word that he would. Each time before he fell asleep after a run, he’d said; and Daryl Dixon was not one to break promises. Especially not to you.

Getting off the bed, he sheds his shirt and throws the old fabric onto the dresser, grimacing at the knowledge he would have to scrub at the dried walker blood come morning. His socks are next, pulled off by impatient hands and left on the floor, not even given a second glance as he then pulls open a drawer and grabs a pair of boxers from his meager pile. The only thought in his mind being the feeling of smooth sheets and your body against his skin. He’d pick up his clothes after his shower - if he could even muster up enough energy to.

Step by step, he makes it a good few feet out of the bedroom before he realizes the other second floor bathroom doesn’t work. If his memory served him correct, there were some plumbing issues and, before anyone could buy replacements, the world became, well, what it is now. After all, it was the only reason you and Daryl even took this house - nobody else wanted to have only one shower and, after becoming a couple, sharing one between two people didn’t seem all that bad. At least, that’s what he thought until now. Groaning, he rubs his eyes in an attempt to rub out the fatigue in them before his whole body lights up with an idea. Maybe he could have some fun with this. And if you asked, he could always blame the missing pipe or whatever it was that the Alexandrians couldn’t fix.

Practically thrilled, he mentally pats himself on the back and rushes back to the bedroom. Tired? Not anymore. Daryl can’t be if he wants to fulfill what just popped into his mind. Years of hunting leave his footsteps nearly silent when he enters the bathroom, but he’s not exactly at a disadvantage in terms of noise. The rhythmic beating of water against the tiled floor drowns out the slight squeak of the door as well as the hitching of his breath when he notices the gap. With how the room was designed, just standing at the door led his gaze in a nearly direct line of sight to you, the shower curtain lying an inch or two from the wall and offering him a vision which he doesn’t hesitate to indulge in.

It’s not like he's never seen your body - far from it, actually - but there was something about you that made him hesitate when it came to stuff like this. You deserved sweet and soft, affectionate with declarations of love between his kisses, and while he enjoyed giving that to you, sometimes he wanted something different. Sometimes Daryl wanted to act on impulse - to feel a different type of desperation - and tonight, he wanted to act out one of his long-hidden fantasies. One that involved you on many, many occasions.

Truthfully, he couldn’t fucking stop thinking about it since Merle and his buddies showed him that damn VHS as a hormonal high schooler. He never really had a committed girlfriend or anything like that to ever even pluck up the courage to ask, but that fantasy remained like a phantom in the back of his mind, lying just outside his finger’s reach. One that haunts him late at night and renders him withering in his own palm. At least, that was the case. Because he has you now and how he managed that? He didn't know. But he felt confident enough around you and trusted you enough to pursue the desire in him.

A shiver courses through him, running along the tip of his spine when he considers the possibility you might like it as much as him - and if you did, maybe he would divulge to you more of these secrets he’s always kept hidden so well.

With silent movements, Daryl unbuttons and unzips his jeans as he leans against the door of the bathroom, just barely suppressing a groan when his fingers graze the zipper. He curses himself, chastising his sensitivity at the mere image of you doing something as mundane as taking a shower, but he knew it was an inevitable consequence. Ever since the prison, anything you did got him riled up - even just seeing you sitting on his motorcycle made his skin light up with goosebumps. Left in only his boxers, he steps out of the denim pooling at his feet and picks it up, throwing it haphazardly onto the cream coloured counter as he waits for you to take notice of his presence. The metal button clashes against the smooth marble of the vanity, and its noises sound across the room, your eyes opening and your fingers catching the edge of the plastic curtain as you dart your head out, searching for the source.

Your body tenses up, no doubt the experience of living out on the road for so long, but the fighting instinct drains from you the moment you see the affectionate boyish grin playing on Daryl’s lips. It’s barely visible as he stands so far from the meager light source, but it sends an eager smile onto your face. Like all those times he’s returned to you, you want to run to him, feel his arms wrap around you and inhale his scent as you plant those incessant kisses he ‘hated’ everywhere on his face, but that urge only serves to remind you that you’re standing naked in a shower and he’s just staring at you.

“Daryl! What the- I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow.”

Embarrassed, you speak, voice pitched higher than normal from the shock and excitement coursing through your body. However, he stays put, leaning against the door as he drags his eyes up the expanses of skin afforded to him; that is, until you pull the plastic curtain to cover yourself and run your free hand through your hair, tilting your head ever so slightly in order to urge his eyes to meet yours. You wait for his response as you brush the wet strands back from your face, but it never comes, him instead choosing to stride towards you and send you a pout before pulling petulantly at the shower curtain, trying to coax you to let go of it. Raising an inquisitive eyebrow, your grip loosens and he can barely hold back his excitement when you really do let go, tongue peeking out for just a second before he hooks his lip between his teeth.

Throughout your relationship with Daryl, you learned he loved looking at you, gawking at and admiring each angle, birthmark and curve until you felt heat flush through your body. Even before the two of you got together, his gaze stuck on you, longing and soft when you weren’t looking, only hardening if your eyes ever met his. Each time he saw you it was like he was still in disbelief that you were his, forever suspended in the wide look he had when you first confessed to him, hence why you didn’t pay much attention to his stare as you moved to pump out some shampoo. You didn’t really know why he was in the bathroom and he made no effort to tell you, but you were here to clean yourself. So that’s what you’ll do. He’ll probably leave sooner or later after making sure you weren’t hurt anywhere, anyways.

The way the light from the lantern bounced off your glistening skin made you look like some sort of goddess. Like an otherworldly being he shouldn’t be looking at. Or like a succubus, sinfully tantalizing, except you didn’t know what you were doing to him as you raked your hands through your hair again, bubbles forming already between your fingers as you scrubbed. Shit, this was way better than he expected, and he’s gladly taking in everything it was offering. Shifting his weight, he clenches and unclenches his fists - commanding himself to keep them at his sides - but then you turn around, allowing the water to rush down your back and his resolve withers away as he tries not to envy the path along which it’s falling.

Soon, the little space between the shower curtain and the ceramic tiling isn’t enough for him. He needs to feel you against him, his trembling hands and suffocating boxers egging him on like this was the first time he’s ever seen you naked. Clearing his throat, he urges himself to move, building his confidence which had seemed to dissipate nearly immediately as you locked eyes with him. What he wanted to do wasn’t sweet or affectionate, and even though he knew you would tell him if you didn’t like it, he just didn’t really want to risk even doing something you didn’t like in the first place.

“Sorry I, uh, I’ll go rinse out my hair somewhere else. Here, I’ll get out so you can-”

This was it. He had to act now or he’ll lose the opportunity. Running his thumb across his bottom lip, he watches as your hand reaches for the shower valve, but your movements and voice stop when Daryl shoots his dominant hand out, the calloused skin wrapping around your wrist in a warmth that makes you snap your gaze to his. While firm, he never applies enough force to hurt you - he knows what kind of men there were in this world, and he didn’t know what he would do if you ever thought of him like that. On the contrary, the feeling of his fingers around you is welcome, especially after what felt like years away from him. Giving him that same inquisitive look, except this time laced with a small smile, you can tell by the way he’s gnawing at his lip that he has something to say. Something that has him hesitating in a way you’ve never really seen him hesitate before, well, besides the first time you both kissed.

“Actually, mind if I join ya? ‘Cause ya see, the other shower don’t work and there’s this girl - my girl - she’s amazin’, but she doesn’t let me into our bed ‘til I shower and I’m damn tired.”

Oh.

Noticing the way you tense up slightly at his suggestion, he offers more, another reason to sway you into accepting as if the pursuit of his little fantasy would both begin and end with what drops from his lips. This definitely felt more daunting, like a much larger leap than him asking for permission to kiss you.

“I also heard showerin’ in pairs saves water.”

Oh.

Yeah, you get why he was hesitating now.

Honestly, Daryl really couldn’t give a fuck about the water he was talking about. What he had in his running mind had little to do with his environmental footprint and more to do with feeling your skin on his and the image of you coming undone for him. He hasn’t been home - been with you - in what felt like weeks, and he thought the generator could stand to work a little harder after running for one person for a few days. With a slight upwards twitch of his eyebrow, you can feel what little apprehension you had leave your body and his heart pounds in his ribcage with the anxiety of what’s to come. At least, he thinks that’s why its beating at 100 miles per hour.

It surely can’t be the residual hormonal anticipation or excitement from his youth.

“And who exactly did you hear that from?”

The slight joking edge to your voice causes him to smile, but it’s a mischievous one, one that holds promises and sends a shiver through your body. Daryl really had no clue what he did to you when he looked at you like that, his piercing blue gaze hitting you as his head tilts down almost sheepishly to the grip he has on you.

His eyes flick up to meet yours, a glint residing in them that draws you to look at nothing but him as he runs his thumb along the bone of your wrist. With a tilt of his head, he speaks, muttered as he gnaws once more at his lips and lets go of his hold.

“It matter?”

So nobody, probably.

The amusing thought sends you shaking your head ‘no’ as you smile, pulling open the plastic curtain in invitation while trying to suppress the idea that just popped into your head. Daryl just wants to shower and the only reason he wants to shower with you is to fulfill that promise he had made. Because he just wants to go to sleep. That’s all. Nothing more, nothing less. Hooking his fingers into the waistband of his boxers, he’s hopeful that you would be watching him - and he’s fully prepared to make a show of stripping his last piece of fabric - but he’s sorely disappointed when he sees your eyes closed in an attempt to keep the bubbling shampoo from burning at them.

Why weren’t you looking at him? Was he not overt enough?

Wow, he really wasn’t very good with… whatever it is he’s trying to do, huh?

You shuffle forward from the steady stream and he takes that as his cue to step in, gladly placing his body just a few inches from yours and sighing in relief when the water hits his sore muscles. The sounds don’t go unnoticed by you, and your heart sinks a little with each suppressed groan of pain Daryl lets out. He always worked so hard for Alexandria, and they still treated him like somewhat of an outsider, questioning his true intentions with harsh looks when he even so much as walked too close to them. But they didn’t seem to mind him much when they were eating the animals he hunted, though, and that sent your blood boiling.

Turning around, you try not to let your gaze drop too low as you place your hands on his shoulders, frowning when you feel the stiff knots that have burrowed their way underneath his skin. Almost immediately, Daryl submits to your touch, an all too familiar warmth bubbling in his heart as he, too, turns and exposes his scar ridden skin to you, allowing your thumbs to rub circles into his upper back. He always loved this - the domesticity of these moments, the wordless communications, your love and affection directed solely at him - and he’s starting to forget the real reason he crashed your shower in the first place, lulled into relaxation under your nimble fingers and the water beating down on his overworked muscles.

“Does that feel better?”

Your question warrants a response landing somewhere between a grunt and a groan, but then you laugh and he swears his heart swells tenfold. He missed hearing that. Even if you got embarrassed of it sometimes, or hid it muffled behind the palms of your hands, he loved hearing it. Because you glowed when you did, your eyes crinkling up at the corners with a smile that almost always brought him to his knees, and perhaps almost selfishly, the knowledge that he doesn’t want to be away from you any longer dawns on him - as well as the knowledge that it’s inevitable that he has to leave again soon. Whether it be with Aaron or Rick, or some of the poor bastards that piss their pants whenever they see him.

When you stop your ministrations, he feels himself frowning as you tap him once with your thumbs, but he elates almost immediately when you speak promise of a better massage come morning. He’s slightly ashamed of the way his whole body lights up in goosebumps in anticipation, but it’s not unwarranted. Spending late mornings with you was something Daryl never knew how the hell he had lived so long without, and they were his favourite types of mornings by a long shot. Especially when it ended up more often than not with you on him or him on you, the both of you thankful for the misfit house you had all to yourselves and away from prying eyes and eavesdropping ears.

“You’re too damn good to me.”

But he deserves it, you think to yourself, He deserved to be cared for like this.

His praise drips with a softness he didn’t even know he was capable of until you came along and Daryl turns back around to face you, smirking lopsided when he sees a shy smile worm its way onto your face. He had to have known what he was doing when he said stuff like that - especially when he used a voice like that. Seriously, how long had the two of you been together? It felt like an eternity already, but he could still make you flustered from a simple compliment. Shaking your head, you rest your wrists at the nape of his neck and use the leverage to pull his lips to yours, thumb swiping at the blood dried at his cheek and hoping the distraction of your tongue on his will keep him from teasing the warmth crawling up your neck.

A ‘hm?’ noise falls from him, small and surprised as his eyebrows raise for just a moment before his hands loop around your waist by instinct. When you pull away, another noise falls from Daryl, but this time it’s more disappointed than anything, and he chases your lips with his bottom one jutted out, taking full advantage of the strong arms he has wrapped around you. Holding you in place, his eyes plead with the now perfected ‘one more’ look you’re all too familiar with and you can’t bring yourself to deny him - he knows you can’t. Closing his eyes and puckering his lips as he waits patiently, he hums when you finally kiss him again, his satisfaction vibrating down to the hollow center of your collarbones before begrudgingly letting you go when you pull away again.

The water runs a brownish red from the dried walker blood being washed off his body and he scrubs furiously at his arms, trying to gauge the right move that will get your thighs shaking and your moans bouncing off the ceramic tiles he’s seen less than he’s willing to admit. Should he just… go for it? Just pull you against him and push you up against the walls he wants your noises to echo off of? No, he should come up with a better idea. You deserved a better idea.

Running his thumb along his jaw, Daryl sneaks furtive glances at your body - who the hell he was hiding them from, he didn’t know - and picks even more skin off his chapped lips as he watches you twist at your waist ever so slightly to comb through your hair. Swallowing down his spit like some teenager, he watches your shoulder blades protrude and disappear, intently following the droplets of water as they fall along your neck and down the muscles you’ve developed. He had to hand it to the sorry rich prick who had designed this house because, all things considered, they did a pretty good job; there was just enough spread of it between the two of you to pass as a decent shower. Even if you or him had to oddly angle yourselves to warm a cool patch of skin.

Reaching towards the shampoo bottle, his arm brushes against your waist almost feather-light, but it sends a shiver through you, rattling your ribs and making your cheeks flush all the same. Daryl lingers for a moment longer than you expect, his body leaning as he stretches over and you think he’s going to step forward - wrap you up in him - but dutifully, respectfully, anxiously he stays put. You want his touch, especially after nights alone with only the scent of him on his side of the bed to keep you company, and, having caught a quick glance at his straining boxers before he joined, there’s little room for doubt in your mind that he wants you. But still, it exists.

Your own arms begin to sore when he finally pulls away, his hands now raking through the hair he seemingly never wants to cut. Clearing your throat, you turn around, eyes screwed shut as you face Daryl, fearing for both the shampoo you’re washing out stinging at your eyes and the fact that if you looked at him, your gaze would probably drop. God, was all it took just a few days without him to have you craving him like this? The close proximity coupled with the knowledge he’s standing next to you naked makes you tense up before a shiver runs up your spine, your thoughts causing your breath to hitch for barely a second. Despite your efforts to suppress it, your subconscious prays that he picks up on the little noise. Please let him pick up on it.

And he does, ever observant as he connects the dots, the initially surprised look on his face melting into a small anticipatory smirk before he all but races to lather his hair in the coconut - or was it grapefruit? - scent. This was good. This was damn good.

He dares take a step forward, tentative, testing out the waters as if he was unsure of your desire, but he knows he can read you, and that he can do it well. This was when he should do something, right? The subtle confirmations - a tense, a shiver, a hitching breath - beg him to. Under the streaming shower, Daryl impatiently scrubs at his scalp, teeth hooked permanently atop his lip as he watches the rivulets of watered-down shampoo catch along your skin, his fingers and mouth itching to replicate its path down your neck to your chest. He knows that path well, and perhaps that’s what makes him even more envious.

Thank God for the fact you’ve closed your eyes because if anybody saw Daryl right now, they would take a step back, maybe even several thinking he was angry. How could they not when he was glaring at you as if you had done something horrible? It’s a surprise to him, the fact that it seemed like you really could not feel the burn of his stare, but then a thought pops into his lust-fogged brain. Maybe you did know. And maybe you were toying with him, playing coy and pushing him to a teetering edge, letting him taste the tension on his tongue until he could hold back no more.

To say he’s impatient is an understatement. He isn’t simply impatient, no, he’s impatient. He wants to do something. He wants you to do something, to initiate the flurry of hands and lips he’s craving so desperately and, seemingly blind to that triad of signals, he scrubs frantic at his hair in an attempt to control himself. As he rinses out the shampoo, he manages to cling onto what little restraint he had over his body until you turn back around. It was like the universe was egging him on, trying to break his resolve by showing him those dimples on your lower back, reminding him of the way he gripped them when he took you that night before he left - and it works. Jesus fucking Christ does it work.

Daryl’s body crowds you then, muscular arms wrapped around either side of your waist and rough hands palming at your chest before sliding down to your stomach, pulling you flush into him while he grinds his hips experimentally against your body. The feeling catches you off-guard, eyes widening in surprise as you let out a gasp into the steam of hot water and you grip harshly at his forearm, attempting to steady yourself from the sensations blossoming from your thighs. He can feel them tense and begin to snap closed against him, but you hear the corners of his mouth twitch upwards with satisfaction.

“What- what are you doing?”

Restless, his fingers travel downwards, hooking a strong thigh between your two legs as he ignores your question, them parting immediately to accommodate him. Daryl’s veins thrum with adrenaline, feeling the all too familiar effects of your warm skin when he realizes you’re letting him do this - enjoying him, even - your hands pawing at his to beg him to speed up, to bring you that nirvana he loves to be the reason for. Heat flushes your body, knowing full well what he’s capable of, but despite it, your skin erupts into goosebumps under his touch, desperate for more.

“What’s it look like ‘m doin’?”

Your neck comes under his affection next, his lips meeting it as he mumbles the words against your pulse point, tongue darting out when he feels it speed up. Almost methodically, Daryl finds the marks he’d left days prior, darkening them with unadulterated determination and rolling his hips against you once more. The heavy motion draws a whine from you, short and needy as your nails dig into his wrist and he all but basks in it. God, this felt good. How the hell had he spent so long without you? Without your skin under his? Everything about you feels like a fucking drug to him.

“D-Daryl- what would your girl say.”

He smiles against your neck, a warm pride bubbling in his chest when he hears the slight shake in your voice. It always got like this when he was touching you, and he liked to think it was the anticipation raking through your body. All the possibilities he could bring to you. He loved listening to your voice as it was, but hearing it quaver as it bounced off the ceramic walls, mingled perfectly with the rhythmic thrum of water crashing against the two of you? It was almost alarming how quickly it made his head spin.

Submitting to your urging, he lets you slide his hands down to the apex of your thighs, groaning guttural into your ear when he feels your hips lift and rut into his touch, unintentionally grinding your ass onto his cock when you push yourself back onto him. Hooking his chin over your shoulder, you hear his breaths as he digs his palm an inch below your pelvis, thick fingers gripping harsh at your inner thighs as he nudges his further between them. It feels like fucking magic, whatever he’s doing, and a plea tingles at your lips before you bite it down. Daryl’s never been this bold, and this is new territory for the two of you. Very new. So you were going to let him take his time - let him explore every inch of your skin as if he didn’t already have it memorized - despite the fact every cell in your body screams for you to sink down on him right here and now.

His grip disappears too quickly for your taste, but before you can even register the decadent sear that marks his blunt fingernails and calluses, his palm makes home just below your stomach and he swipes two fingers against you, spreading you for him but avoiding that bundle of nerves you want so desperately for him to touch. An expletive drops from Daryl’s lips as he gathers evidence of your arousal, and the sound of him makes you claw at his wrist, your hands still blanketing his as you try to angle him to do something other than coat his fingers and smear you across your inner thighs. Amused, his middle finger curls, breaching you just until his first joint before pulling away, relishing in the way you clench as if trying to keep him in you.

“Hm, I dunno. What do ya think she’d say? I think she likes it.”

You can hear the self-satisfied smirk on his face as he feels your body react and you can practically see it behind your closed eyelids. Daryl knows all your buttons, every single movement that renders you down to a puddle of mush, but he’s avoiding them. His jaw clenches and unclenches as you buck your hips up to try and meet the talented fingers only getting further and further and further from you. Skin warm from the streaming water and the sheer amount of lust coursing through him, his left arm snakes upward, resting just under your breasts before pulling your shoulders flush against him. His teeth sneak out from behind his lips, grazing against that spot that made your thighs shake the first time you slept with him, and you become putty in his hands.

A gasp of Daryl’s name falls before a staggered whimper erupts from your throat, his hands moving so fast and sure along your body as if he had molded you to his perfection. Everything hits you at the same time, his sharp canines right below your jaw bone before they melt into the caress of slightly chapped lips, the hand at your chest palming and tweaking and toying like there was no tomorrow, his fingers swirling, nudging at that tiny bundle of nerves you’ve been silently begging him to touch just once, and you can’t stop the noises falling from your lips. No matter how much you try, they escape.

“Or d’ya think she’s too busy moanin’ for me to tell me?”

Oh, that fucking prick.

To make it worse, you can’t even bring yourself to be angry for that long because his voice drops into that low, husky whisper that makes your knees go weak. Had Daryl not essentially smothered you against his body, you just know you would be a puddle, pliable and aching after just a few days away from him. A jolt of pleasure rockets through you the moment you realize what he wants - to make you as desperate as he is for this - and you know he knows exactly how to get it. Biting your lip, you trap your sounds in your throat just to spite him and you dig your fingers into his forearm, seeking in any way to find another outlet for all the compounding stimulation he just keeps giving you.

Your heartbeat drums through your ears and you can barely register the growl against your skin, but the vibration of it is inescapable. He feels the crescent shapes already forming from your nails on his tan skin and he pulls his face from you, breath fanning your ear in preparation to express how disappointed he is at you robbing him of your noises, but you beat him to it, freeing the words that burn at your tongue to knock him off his high-horse. Daryl was never a very confident man, but fuck if it does not make your skin tingle.

“I think she’d tell you to- to shut up.”

The rebuke is futile, a stutter brought on by the push and pull of his deft fingers and he laughs. Daryl chuckles into your skin before everything from him detaches, only for him to grab at your waist and spin you around to face him, adjusting his hold to crowd you once more. Your back hits the ceramic tiles, a sharp whine escaping you at the contrasting cold, and you can see that smirk you had envisioned on his face when you open your eyes, taking in every inch of the swept back hair now falling into his face as he tilts his forehead slowly to yours. Running your non-dominant hand up from his arm to his face, you push the strands back, smiling slightly at the way he melts as his eyelids flutter shut for just a second. As much as he said he hated how damn soft you made him, he sought after your touch, your hands much too intoxicating for him to deny them.

You glow a ring of delicate orange from the lantern shining behind him, the light bouncing off your glistening skin and those sparkling damn eyes that shine with unguarded affection despite your ‘annoyance’ from just moments ago. Creating shadows over your body with his broad figure as he blankets you, Daryl nearly groans with delight at the image - the realization that you look impossibly better with the warm hue making his head spin. And when he remembers that you’re his to love? He tries to hide just how much it makes his mind run, but his voice comes spilling out without much thought, everything about you shrinking the filter between his brain and mouth that he so tenaciously keeps on during the day.

“That so? ‘Cause if I do then I can’t tell ‘er how much I missed her. Or what I was thinkin’ when I thought about ‘er at night.”

Daryl was already so worked up at the thought of doing this to you, you didn’t even need to actually do anything to him to have him throbbing against your stomach, begging to be touched after days of only imagined scenarios to keep him company. So you indulge him, tracing your dominant hand down the V-line of his pelvis and biting your tongue when his hips snap into your grasp, his grip at your waist tightening as he tries to still himself. He wants you to touch him, to let you give him what you want to give him and he tries his damndest to control himself, instead using his words to try and rile you up.

“Nothin’ I do feels as good as her. Nothin’ I’ve tried’s ever been close.”

Your whole body shivers at the insinuation, the ceramic sandwiching you to Daryl ceasing to feel as cold as it did when he first pushed you against it. He feels like centuries have passed when your hand finally wraps around him, running your fingers in a stroke that has him groaning and nearly keeling over you with how much that simple damn action makes heat pool in the pit of his stomach. Everything about this feels heightened, the steam of the shower failing in comparison to the heat pinging between the two of you. His eyes seek yours, cock twitching and catapulting him much farther to his climax than he would like to admit when he sees you watching your grasp, lips parted ever so slightly, pleading with him to lay his on them.

Heart thrumming in his chest, another groan of an expletive followed by your name drops from Daryl before his hips jerk forward, stuttering into your grip with no real rhythm as he pushes a rough kiss onto your mouth. When you let out a little surprised squeal, he pulls himself back immediately, as if shocked by his own lack of self-control, but your hand never stops, and your face leans closer towards his, the feeling of his ruined sounds vibrating along your tongue making you chase him. This must have been how he felt when he had you whimpering for him on those late nights and early mornings. No wonder you both loved them so much.

Twisting your other hand from the side of his neck to his nape, you pull him to you with equal fervor, the stroking of his cock forgotten in favour of his chapped lips turning into something more sinful with each movement of his talented mouth. His fingers begin to wander now, eagerly grasping at the two dimples at your lower back before his palms find all too familiar territory kneading and massaging your ass. Knees nearly buckling, you remember the leaking heaviness twitching in your grip and you nudge him between your thighs, your legs spreading just a bit wider as you inch him closer and closer and closer to where you need it most.

“N-no, wait- I gotta-“

His hands shoot downwards to still yours and he pulls his hips from you, his statement stuttered through a sharp, shaky breath. Whining, you nearly beg for him before you realize he succeeded in what he set out to do - and he was only gone four days, your subconscious chastises. Your head is swimming in desperation for him as you shake it, hair whipping into your face and onto the wall while you vehemently disagree with both his words and your own internal mocking. All coherent thoughts leave your mind, washed away in the stream of water running down your body and you come to the conclusion that you don’t fucking care if he would poke fun at you come morning, you need to feel him.

“Daryl you don’t need to- you can just- I can-“

You don’t need to keep-

You can just-

I can-

God, you sounded pathetic, your voice barely breaking above breathy through the heavy beating of water, and he loves it, it’s enticing him; he could die right now and he would feel nothing but satisfaction. Daryl was never a very confident man - well, with people at least - but around you, he felt wanted. Not just in moments like this when you craved him so debaucherously, but in moments when you would pull close to him while you were sleeping or hug him from the back. Just giving him your affection so freely and not expecting any back. It made his heart damn near break everytime he had to leave. Adjusting his grip on you, he digs his knee into the wall, perching you on either side of him and leaning closer and closer to your burning skin.

“Gotta get ya ready. Jus’- jus’ be a good girl an’ be patient. Don’t want ya limpin’ tomorrow ”

Despite his words, Daryl can’t help but think that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. It wouldn’t be so bad to linger beside you the whole day, a constant reminder of the real reason you needed him to get you things, or why you would grip his arm as a piss poor substitute for a crutch when the two of you walked along the street. Nobody else would know - at least, neither of you would ever tell - but the satisfied puff of his chest and the fact he stands just a little bit prouder might make them connect the dots. That, and the lovebites that creep out from underneath the neckline of your shirt which, coincidentally, only seemed to darken after he came back. Nah, he thinks to himself, it wouldn’t be so damn bad.

“I thought you were tired.”

There’s a hint of concern in your voice, peeking out from between the teasing and he grunts, acknowledging your words before his hands wrap around your wrists and urges them to loop around his neck. He knows he needs to do this, the action a silent beg for you to just relax and let him treat you right in the way you know he always will. With his neck flush in the crooks of your elbows, you tug him, pulling his face to yours and raking your fingers through his wet hair.

“Never too tired for you.”

His stubble scrapes against your nose as he mumbles his confession between kisses down from your forehead, a delicious burn leaving a trail that makes your heart beat impossibly faster between your ribs. Grip falling to your waist, Daryl’s rough fingers inch towards the apex of your thighs, but he moves them so fucking slow you're tempted to just reach down and push them into you like you intended to do with his cock. Before you can entertain the idea any longer, he catches your lips in a clash of tongue and teeth and knowingly smirks against your lips. He’s dedicated, attentive, and what kind of man would have the heart to deny you? He would do anything for you, all you had to do was ask.

Daryl eagerly swallows the moan you let out against his lips when his middle finger curls into you, the vibrations spreading along his tongue and consuming him from the inside out. Your thighs spread wider for him, welcoming him - no, begging him - for more and it riles him up almost comically well. Whether it was intentional or not, he would never know. He pulls his face away just inches, breath heavy against your parted lips before he sends you a small smile, an underlying mischief peeking out from the tiniest sliver of teeth he exposes. Leaning more of his weight onto his knee, his left hand travels around your waist to your ass, digging his dull fingernails into the flesh and pulling towards him, bringing your hips off the cold ceramic and snaking that arm into the curve he’s just created.

Before you can even brace yourself, he pushes a second finger in, curling languid with accelerating speed, revelling in the heat you bring him with an audible groan that reverberates off the shower walls. Already so desperate, the feeling nearly makes your legs shake under your own weight, but Daryl’s prepared - he could keep you up with the hand he has splayed across your upper back and he’s secretly proud of it. His mouth returns to you again, tongue surging to meet yours as if just the taste of your kiss would satisfy his desire to taste what’s beginning to coat down his palm.

It doesn’t, but it’s a damn good substitute.

Nails scratching pathetically at his scalp, your lungs beg for oxygen, but you ignore your body’s pleading for as long as you can. You need Daryl. Just him. Just him. His fingers are ardent, all of them pushing and pulling and toying and touching you in a way that skyrockets you into an overwhelming nirvana and it feels good. It feels so good to be with him again, surrounded by his scent and his heat, that you start to entertain the thought of begging for him. You try to do just that, but every sound coming from your lips is only absorbed greedily by his before you pull him away by his hair, taking large gulps of oxygen as he does the same.

Not even a second passes before you’re grinding down into his palm with pleas falling into the steam of the shower, all your words going straight down to his cock. Gritting his teeth, he growls at your desperation, lips shooting down along your collarbone before catching the skin between teeth. He has your whole body memorized, proof of that fact littered across your body in the form of lovebites, memories seared into your mind of his everything and it’s almost too much to handle. Almost. But you need more. And Daryl knows, much too perceptive in all senses of the word.

His left arm snakes up to your neck, the nape of it secured in a grip firm enough to pull your hips down onto his muscular thigh, spreading you and rubbing that sensitive bundle of nerves with his rough skin. Something between a swear and Daryl’s name chokes through your throat and he curls his two fingers just enough for you to repeat the sound, the movement perhaps pulling your hips forwards toward him. With the way you grind down so readily on him, it wasn’t easy to tell whether the roll of your lower body was from his fingers or the lust running through your veins. A satisfied smirk worms its way onto his face that you want to kiss off, but your head is stuck against the ceramic tiling by his hand tugging securely on your hair. Not enough to hurt you. Never enough to hurt you.

He can feel it now, the fact that you’re close, and it only makes him work harder. Maybe it was selfish of him, expediting your pleasure so he can finally seek out his, but he’s damn near shaking with the thought of finally being able to be with you in one of the ways he always wants to be. Sometimes Daryl felt like a teenager with all this certain enthusiasm he can’t seem to control with you around, but you had never complained - you made him feel alive in all the best ways - and he thanked whoever was pulling the strings in his favour for bringing him to you. Circling his thigh, he pushes everything he can up into you, the pressure making you feel like you’re floating. Fingers carding through his hair, your whole body tightens around him in a silent plea, and he's pretty sure he would have to be just about the biggest idiot in existence to ever deny you.

“Give it to me. C’mon, give it to me. Ya wanted my cock didn’t ya? Jus’ give it to me an’ I’ll make ya feel even better.”

Give it to me.

Give it to me.

Give it to me.

Daryl’s voice makes your mind swim, the growl rough and dangerous like everyone always tends to think he is, and incoherence drops from your lips, echoing against the confines of the walls as his breath fans your ear. Rutting your hips up to his hand, the knot in your abdomen snaps, the proclamation of it escaping you in a broken moan of his name. He can feel your body’s reactions before you start to get those familiar sparking waves of pleasure, the clench of you around him growing sporadic as he continues to unravel you with his teeth gritted, the unrelenting precision of his fingers sending you clawing and tugging at his scalp with no regard of your strength for just a moment.

His groan at the sensations edges out the haze of your climax and you immediately detach from him, pulling your body back from his so abruptly that he slips from you. Scrunching his nose in disappointment, his large hands cling at the back of your thighs, bringing your chest and forehead to his as if he couldn’t stand being apart from you for even just a few seconds.

“Sorry- sorry if that hurt I didn’t mean to-”

Face inches from yours, he shakes his head and cuts you off with a series of hungry pecks. One to your sinfully soft lips, then to the corner of your mouth, then one to your jawbone, devouring your apology right then and there as he overtakes your senses.

“‘S alright. It felt good.”

Then he kisses you again, urgent all the same, but he only pushes a firm brush of his mouth against yours. The movement is like a signature, as if it were his name scribbled easily along at the bottom of a letter - a soft possession that you wear along the tingles of your lips. It makes you claw at him again, tugging on the sides of his hips to pull him flush against you, fingernails digging crescent shapes he wants to see come morning, and your apprehension all but dissolves into the hot water of the shower. You were his, he was yours and in his mind, there was nothing he wanted more than for you to show him just what he does to you.

“Anythin’ ya do feels good.”

It’s stupid, how you could be in the middle of something so intimate and a simple compliment from him could leave you flushed from the neck upwards, but he loves it. He loves the little whimper you let out at his words and he smiles that lopsided boyish grin that makes your heart skip a beat. When he smiles at you like that, it makes you feel like the only person in the entire world. No walkers, no Alexandrians, no runs or patients at the infirmary to steal you or him away from the other. There was no one except you and Daryl - and it’s been too damn long since it was like this.

Body flush against yours, he snakes a hand down between his legs and the other grips at your thigh, hooking it around his torso and begging with a roll of his hips for you to rest your leg there. Each breath he takes sends a jolt of pleasure blossoming against your ribs, his skin rubbing against your chest so deliciously it makes your mouth fall open in silent pants of air. You don’t know when you closed your eyes, but they open when Daryl says your name, broken by a curse that falls somewhere after the first letter. He looks good like this - eyebrows furrowed and jaw clenched.

Gritting his teeth, his mouth can barely form a coherent sentence with how much excitement is coursing through him, and he’s trying his fucking best to hold back from slamming into you until you give him a nod or a pull or anything, but then something in him breaks. The feeling of just having you so damn close worms its way into his brain and he takes himself in his fist, dragging along to gather the remnants of your climax and notches himself, all the while groaning from the heat emanating off you.

“‘S this okay? Need t’know if this’s okay.”

Slurred speech. It was so uncharacteristic of the Daryl everyone else knew - the Daryl who was so sure of himself, the Daryl who wore a permanent scowl on his face, the Daryl who was so mysterious, never speaking anything above a growl - and you think you could have laughed had it not been for the fact the words themselves dig up memories of all the times he had said them to you before. Every cell in your body lights up, high alert now that he’s in you, but he’s not moving. He’s not inching into you or filling you in the only way he can and you push your hips towards him, greedy movements making you swallow more of him. Taking a sharp breath, he lets you rut against him, but still, he doesn’t fucking move.

“God, Daryl- yes. Yes, it’s okay. More- more than okay.”

Sometimes you hated him, and then hated how stupid you felt for hating him.

He waits for your words. He always does. Without fail he checks on you before he slides into you. He never wants to take because he always wants to be good for you, but sometimes you wish he would. Sometimes you wish he would just take from you - take everything you have. There is nothing in this world that is not shared between the two of you. Daryl’s wholly yours as you are wholly his.

Curses drop from his lips, your name thrown in once or twice as if he’s reminding himself you’re real as he feels you around him. They fly out of his mouth like the bolts from his crossbow and ricochet off every wall as he begins to move, slow at first, experimental maybe with his hand secure against your thigh, then he starts building and building into a heavy, sinful rhythm. Shakily, Daryl groans, the breath he lets out tendrilling at your chin before he sucks frantically at your bottom lip, your noises meeting his as they hit the ceramic wall.

He wants to live in this moment forever; immortalize the way you look and sound on one of those VHSes, write the damn date on it, and hide it away for his and your eyes only so it’s rewatchable and revisitable and reliveable. It's not enough to just sear you into his memory like he’s done so many times before because you’re damn near perfect. Like you were made for him - for him to give you everything he wants to give to you.

“Fuck- fuck- you feel better’n I remembered. How’s‘at possible?”

The words escape him, rushing out as if you’ve put a spell on him, and they almost escape you, too, your pulse beating in your ears. But he’s so close to you, growling out through gritted teeth into your ear and pushing his lips to the curve of your jawbone like they need to be on your skin. He pulls his body away, chest leaving yours, and you pull at his waist to bring him back, whining lewd for him and only him, shameless and betraying the blush you feel as you register his stutters, but he doesn’t. Instead, Daryl smiles, that same damn grin with his teeth hooked along his bottom lip and eyes hooded as he watches every change in expression. You groan, half in the way he rolls his pelvis just enough to rub against that small bundle of nerves that beg for him, and half in annoyance at the way that lascivious expression seems to make every electron in you buzz.

“Shut- shut up.”

He lets out a sharp breath, a singular amused ‘ha’ following it, cock hardening and twitching even more at the fact he’s making you blush like that first night he had lavished every inch of your body with his lips - like you didn’t deserve every single damn word escaping from him. Leaning his weight against his left forearm that lies on the side of your head, Daryl brings his face to yours, nipping at your lips and seeking your tongue before he starts speaking.

“You should see yourself like this, y’know. Fuckin’ perfect for me.”

For a man who only ever growls and mutters, he certainly liked to talk a lot when he was pounding into you the way only he knows how and you’re just so damn unbelievable for him. For him. You’re his to love and it sparks something within in him that makes his tongue fucking run and his hips speed up involuntarily. Hell, you probably heard more of his voice in this shower tryst than the whole first nightwatch you had with him. You’re not even sure the water is beating down onto you anymore because the heat of your body makes the shower pale in comparison.

The sweat accumulating on his back and chest and everywhere is washed away almost immediately as it forms and you’re grasping for something to hold onto. Clawing, you wrap both your arms under and around his shoulders and scratch desperately at his back, grinding up against him and making jumbled noises of moans and Daryl’s name when he drags against that spot he knows so well. It’s skin on skin, the ceramic wall ceasing to feel cold as you screw your eyes shut and let yourself mount and mount with each roll of his hips. You hear a nearly feral growl, feeling your leg being hiked up higher by the elbow hooked underneath your thigh, and a loud noise breaks from your throat when his thumb swipes where his cock meets you.

“C’mon, we ain’t got all night.”

You’re close and he knows it. It was like he was rubbing it in your face, the fact he could make you like this - how quickly he could reduce you into the incoherent, ruined state you always seemed to become for him. Attentive. He’s always attentive. You can tell by the way he’s memorized everything that makes you shake and capitalizes on them, thrusts coupled with the tight circles pulling you closer and closer to that precipice of pleasure, but he says those words anyways, hoping to get a reaction from you. Daryl’s not an impatient lover - he would spend hours buried in you if you let him - but he’s so damn close and perhaps almost selfishly, he wants to watch you succumb first. He wants to watch the water race down your body as you writhe for him against the wall, and he wants that to send him over the edge.

“Then- then do better, Daryl.”

You bite back, your breath grazing against his neck and a wet heat rushes through him, making him groan nearly wrecked as his hair tickles your cheek. Reaching behind his muscular body to his shoulder blades, one of his large hands is more than enough to wrap around both of your wrists and he takes them in his grasp, moving them until they’re secure against the ceramic wall behind you. You’re warm for him. Pliable for him despite the veil of distaste in your voice and he can’t get enough of it.

Daryl’s so fucking happy you bite back.

His hips stop and you let out an almost childish cry, but he stays buried deep, filling you up to the brim as the water beats down on the both of you and holding you against the tiles by the weight he’s pressing from where you meld to him. His face is so close to your ear now. So much so that you can feel the breath when he speaks, a dangerous growl resounding through your body before his teeth graze along your neck.

“Hm? I ain’t never heard a complaint from you be- before. That a- fuck- are ya challengin’ me?”

An expletive drops from Daryl’s lips when you clench around him, no doubt from the sudden crash of your mounting pleasure, and he pushes impossibly further into you, firmly pinning you down until he knows you won’t be able to move anymore. He wants to show you he can stop at any moment, that he can make you work for it, but you both know he’ll give in. Maybe you didn’t know the extent of which you have him wrapped around your finger, but if you even knew half of it, you would know he would never stop. Not when he was so desperate for you he can barely think of anything except the way you look and feel. At least, not unless you wanted him to.

“Are you g-gonna take it up?”

Although your mouth ceases there, your brain runs, pleas tickling at the tip of your tongue, but you can barely manage to form the meager few syllables that have already escaped you. Eyebrows knotted at your forehead, you try desperately to coax more movement from him - a whine, a whimper, a thrash of your pinned hands flattened by his strong grip - but Daryl’s so damn still and it’s driving you crazy. When your body settles for only ragged breathing and shaking thighs, he takes it as his cue to lean down, lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s so affectionate you forget that, just moments ago, he was relentlessly pounding into you.

“Don’t know. Seems like you might be wantin’ it more’n me.”

Smiling against your mouth, he pulls away just enough to speak. A challenge in his words so obvious to you that you try in vain to buck your hips to his. If he didn’t sound so good and look so good and feel so damn good, you would have denied it, but you’re strung so taut, so close to the peak, that you can barely form a retort. A stupid, handsome smirk rests on his lips as he waits. Patient. Like it wasn’t affecting him, being buried in you. He’s just waiting for your words - goading you as he watches from underneath his lashes.

“Daryl, I swear to God if you stop right-“

The insincere threat is enough to spur him into action. Partly due to the fact you sound so desperate and ruined for him, and partly because he just needs to feel you again - he would lay you down and take you the way you deserved on the bed come morning, but right now was a different matter entirely. Swearing, his smirk drops in favour of a scowl, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he snaps up into you in quick succession. The hand at your thigh is roaming now, massaging and palming wherever his nimble fingers can worm their way onto before it splays across your ass, using the grip to pull your body impossibly closer to his. Daryl would have made you beg for him - he wanted to - but he can’t stop himself. Not when you look so pretty up against the wall and you’re taking his cock so well.

“Been gone four days an’ you’re already so damn needy.”

Whether that statement was directed at you or himself, you would never know.

An abashed whimper escapes through you and you want to deny it, perhaps just to see what would happen, but you can’t. You can’t because Daryl’s right. He knows he is, and you know he is. You thrash your arms so you can touch him, feel his skin underneath your fingers, but his grip around your wrists keeps you firm against the ceramic tiling - just enough to keep you pinned so he can admire the way you squirm for him. Grunts and groans of your name escape from him with each thrust, the feeling of your body melded to his much too intoxicating for him to keep his mouth shut.

“What, you embarrassed now? Wanna cover your mouth? Keep them noises from me when you’re soundin’ so damn pretty? Ya better not be thinkin’ about it. ‘Cause ya damn well ain’t gotta.”

Daryl tilts his head, eyes squinting in faux-concern and mocking you as his hips relentlessly hit up into yours, pushing out the breath from your lungs which escape in tantalizing gasps with each roll. You’re so close, and the only thing you can do is moan at the sound of his rough voice, the coil tightening in your abdomen because of his determined thrusts. You just need a little more - just a little more - and he reads you like a book.

Without warning, the hand pinning your wrists frees itself, his finger pinpointing back between your thighs with an unadulterated eagerness to pull your climax from you and you damn near cry out Daryl’s name as you claw at his back. It’s like second nature to him, the way he can touch you and make you crumble for him. Practice does make perfect, and he’s always been a persistent man.

“Ya sure as hell weren’t when you were bein’ a brat.”

Everything he’s doing to you is almost effortless. It makes your legs shake and without warning, your thighs tense up, a white hot surge of pleasure erupting from the base of your stomach and you gasp a broken moan of Daryl’s name as you clutch at his neck in an effort to keep yourself from collapsing onto him. He holds you close, chest pushed up to yours and breathing ruined into your ear as he works you through your climax with dextrous fingers, chasing his own as his rhythm begins to falter. Sporadic thrusts meet each flutter of your clenching warmth. until he can’t hold out anymore.

Screwing his eyes shut, a stuttered chanting of profanities mixed in perfectly with pleads of your name fan out from his mouth and he pulls out, rubbing himself harsh against your thigh before your fingers wrap around his cock. Fuck, Daryl nearly crumbles right then and there, a ragged groan rushing from him before his hips jerk upwards to your touch - nothing could even compare to it and he thinks nothing could ever come close. Nothing except you. Pulsing in your grasp, both of his rough hands dig into either of your thighs and he stills, teeth gritted as the evidence of his pleasure hits your stomach before being washed away in the steady stream of water.

Satisfied, you smile and lean towards him, your head coming off the ceramic wall, and he parts his lips immediately for your tongue, but you pull away after giving him a quick peck. Scrunching his nose, Daryl pats lightly at your thigh for your attention and seeks your lips once more, moving his with the same amount of overwhelming love and affection he always does. It makes you feel warm inside, like you were the only one in the world for him. And you were. At least, in his mind you were.

He releases the grip he has on your thigh and slowly lowers it, his hand still ghosting close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his body. Both legs still shaking slightly, your foot hits the floor of the shower and you lean your weight on it, tentative and experimentally at first before you overestimate its security and half-fall-half-stumble into him. Daryl notices, of course he does, and he swallows down the pride welling in his chest as his sure grasp steadies you against his body.  

“Hey, hey, I got ya. Jus’- jus’- I got ya.”

By instinct, he speaks, the rumble of his chest against yours making your heart well up with the familiar fondness you always experience when it comes to him. Daryl wasn’t a man of many words even though you had managed to break him out of his shell a little - at least with you - but there was no doubt in your mind that he genuinely and wholeheartedly cared about you. In his eyes, you had strung the stars into the sky and he always treated you with a softness he never thought himself capable of.

With one hand on his waist and one on his shoulder, you use Daryl as a crutch, continuing to lean your weight on your legs until they cease to shake. When you can stand on your own, albeit with wobbly legs, you link your fingers in both of his and meet his protective gaze - alert as if prepared to catch you again if your body gave any type of signal. He smiles when he sees the expression on your face and brings your knuckles to his lips, pressing a firm kiss onto the back of each of your hands before letting go and reaching for the bar of soap you two had ignored in exchange for something more riveting.

“Here, let me- I’ll help ya wash up.”

It meets your shoulder and it’s cold as he trails it down, lathering your right arm before moving across your chest and to your left. Smiling at his concern, you hum, nodding your head and content at the feeling of his tenderness as he continues to dutifully run the suds down along your body. Daryl unabashedly goes about copping a feel or two when his hand just so happens to fall onto your chest or your ass, a boyish grin meeting your quirked eyebrow when you question his intentions with a look. If you actually, truly cared to ask him, he would say he was helping you wash your body and making sure he was doing it to the best of his ability - quality assurance or some shit like that.

He helps you lather, too, calloused fingers rubbing off dead skin much better than yours could as he focuses the showerhead on him. You laugh when he pulls you into him, water streaming down your body along with his hands as the bubbles wash off your body and you run the bar of soap along the broad expanse of his shoulders, doing your fair share of subtle… touching too. Daryl all but melts into your caring hands, revelling in the way your attention is solely focused on him before he grunts, as if signalling you to look at him. When you do, his hands loop around your waist, head tilted to one side as he gingerly rubs those little shapes he always love to draw onto your skin.

“Y’alright? Was, uh, was that alright, I mean.”

Allowing you to maneuver him under the shower, he begrudgingly lets go of you to rinse off all the soap and feels genuinely clean for the first time in what felt like days. Smiling, you respond, saluting playfully and laying a small peck onto the corner of his lips before you spin around, pulling the curtain open just enough to reach for the towel lying just a few inches away on the towel rack but still keeping the warmth from the water in.  

“Yes, sir!”

His cock twitches at the name, betraying the slur of fatigue in his voice and he sighs at himself, turning the shower knob off and opening the curtain fully, reaching for his own towel that hangs next to yours. He always did feel like a teenager when it came to you, and usually he didn’t mind it, but he really was tired before this and his back is killing him, so maybe another time.

Drying your body, you turn your head towards him and smile before making quick work of your wet hair and stepping out, pulling your underwear on from where you left it on the bathroom counter. It’s a small smile, one fully innocent and only ever reserved for him, but that look makes your words replay in his mind. A shudder runs through him as he tries to ease a smile onto his face too, admiring the scene of you for a moment. It’s domesticity, showing him a homelife he could actually feel loved and safe in; reminding Daryl something like that actually existed for him.

He imagines meeting you in a different world, wooing you like you deserved through coffee dates and Radiohead concerts, not through killing reanimated corpses or guarding Alexandria’s walls together, and his whole body calms down.

But then you pull on a shirt that’s much too big for you - one of his shirts that you said you liked wearing because it smelled like him - and he swallows his spit as if he hadn’t seen you naked just moments ago, a familiar shudder running through him again. Definitely another time. Near future, preferably.

Hopefully.

“You coming?”

Your voice breaks Daryl out of his daydream and he grunts an answer, smirking at the joke that just popped into his head as he replies with a curt ‘I just did’ and catches the pair of boxers you throw at him in response. Rolling your eyes, you comb your fingers through your hair and try to dry it as much as you can with the towel before reaching for your toothbrush. He follows suit, dressed in only his boxers as he brushes his teeth and shakes his wet hair at you like a dog, causing you to whip water at him off your fingertips after you wash off the excess toothpaste dribbling at the corners of your mouth. Smiling internally, he spits, tasting mint on his tongue that he'd much rather replace with the taste of your lips, even though he knows full well you’re just as minty as he is.

“Thank you.”

Meeting his eye in the mirror, you give him a confused look, eyebrows raised in an expression he thought was much too cute on your face for your own good. Your hands don’t still as you continue to rub out the water in your hair, determined not to go to bed with it too wet and risking it to clump up and dry tangled.

“For lettin’ me, uh, do that.”

His naturally gravelly voice clears up, turning slightly more timid than you were used to and you notice the shift in his behaviour. He avoids your gaze, waiting for your response as he fiddles with the lantern he now has in his grasp, unsure of what you would say and you decide your hair is dry enough. Hanging your towel back onto the rack next to his, you grab his free hand and lead the two of you back towards the bed, smiling affectionately as you turn off the lightsource and place it onto the nightstand. Wide-eyed, Daryl stares at you, as if waiting for you to tell him to leave - that you hated what he had done - but you break him from that train of thought as you slip under the covers and welcome him to join you.

Relief washes over him and he happily climbs in, groaning at the feeling of your body next to his and he succumbs to the comfort of the mattress. Pushing yourself into his side, his arms automatically open for you and he swears he could cry when you brush your thumb against his cheekbone and lean up to him.

“Anything for you.”

He feels the words as you whisper them just inches away from his lips, and he relishes in them when you pull away from the quick peck and dig your face into your pillow, closing your eyes and just looking so at peace. You’re so close to him Daryl’s in awe and he can’t help but stare. Wanting to hold onto the feeling of his skin a little longer, your finger draws a little heart over where his beats in his chest and you speak again, voice so warm and sincere.

“I’m glad you’re home.”

Home. That’s what it is to him now, too.

“Glad ‘m home too.”

With a final kiss laid on your forehead, Daryl echoes your statement and pulls your body closer into his. A small smile tugs at his lips and his arm slings lazily at your waist before he, too, closes his eyes, allowing himself to fall into the lull of sleep.

It was good to be back.

Back to a home he had made with you.

──── ⋙ 

@daryldixonluv @pulplorrd @fuseburner @hells-mistress @maria--grey-blog @marylimlp @pncnsc @tinachristeen @hail-yourselves @whimsicallymad @just-always-tired​ @phoenixblack89​

comment to be on my taglist!

[blzzrdstryr]

Prize of war

Yandere!Morax x water deity!reader

Wordcount: 1459

CW: Yandere, violence, confinement, sexual harassment

The archon war is at its peak, when an oceanid, Periboea, brings sudden news to you - the deaths of Guizhong and sealing of Osial. The former produces nothing but a sly smirk - the Dust Goddess, despite her kindness and wisdom was still a formidable opponent, another competitor for the title of the Seven.

The latter, however, makes you both frown and sigh in relief - the Vortex Lord was your ally, a needed help to fight and defy Morax of Guili plains, yet he also was a future enemy - the grounds of your so called alliance were shaky, unreliable, ready to change at any moment like dark waters you both command.

Now, with him sealed away you don’t have to worry, you don’t have to worry about Osial turning against you, you have to worry about facing the Lord of Rock alone instead.

“Out”, you dismiss Periboea, sensing the forming headache. What should you do? What should you do? With the Guizhong out of the picture it would be easier for both you and Osial to finally overpower Morax and take over the plains if it wasn’t for him being sealed away.

You stay motionless and deep thought for a while, thousands of possibilities appearing in your mind - none of them a clear solution, a path to absolute victory. Suddenly water spirits visit your abode, bowing in both fear and deep respect - Morax has made a new step in this bloody version of xiangqi. You stand up then, gritting your teeth and taking your weapon - war never waits.

With no reckless but also insanely strong and fast Osial by your side, Morax’s power shines in a new light - his presence is felt everywhere, despite his figure still being unseen. You call to the power of the seas, sending wave after wave to look for your enemy, until a voice booms nearby.

Ah.

That’s why you couldn’t see him.

Morax looks pitifully small and weak in his human form - with a razor sharp talons and long serpentine body replaced by the soft mortal flesh he doesn’t inspire usual awe or terror, yet you keep your guard up. He stands on the shore, surrounded by his lackey adepti near some strange machine.

Guizhong was working on that ballista, you realize, focusing your eyes a bit longer.

“[First]”, Morax says, his usually calm voice now gravelly and dead - Guizhong’s passing must have been hard on him.

“Morax”, you reply, understanding his intention - it’s the last battle then.

You start to fight - adepti lunge at you, while their lord stays on the ground, fiddling with the ballista. You keep an eye on him, while carefully evading the blows from his lackeys - they might be lesser creatures, but even a snake can kill a lion, so you keep a distance, slowly but surely approaching the sandy shore.

“Now”, Morax yells, to his adepti, not you. You quickly turn in his direction, alarmed of what he might do next, only to see a bright glowing bolt shooting your way. The time freezes, as you scramble away and somehow you succeed, projectile grazing only a side of you.

“Huh”, you whimper, seeing how the nearby waters turn red from your blood - oh, Morax will pay for that. You will make him pay for that.

“Oceanids!”, you command your servants, voice travelling through the entirety of the seas: “rip Morax’s loyal dogs to shreds”, a thousand of voices echo your war cry, water spirits finally emerging from the blue deeps.

With the loch folk on the surface, the tides of battle turn against your opponents, as you shift your look on the Morax again - he feeds ballista his energy, hastening the next shot - you won’t have it. Focusing hydro energy is easy, forming your own water mimic is even easier.

You send the replica of a great leviathan to Morax’s direction, the volume of water splatters everywhere upon crushing on the shore, breaking Guizhong’s last masterpiece. This prompts Morax to finally face off you, with his spear in hand and fierce amber eyes burning brighter than any star.

“You will pay for that”, he whispers, the dragon evident in each syllable.

“We’ll see”, you taunt, finally taking out your weapon. Your battle looks like a dance, with your moves fluid and flexible, yet fast and unstoppable, like a river flowing in the spring. A laugh escapes your lips, the thrill of the battle getting into your head, so you don’t notice his lackeys disappearing from the battlefield.

“Now”, Morax says again, looking past you.

A blindingly bright bolt flies into your direction - you haven’t destroyed the ballista completely - there's not enough time to dodge.

It goes right through you.

You scream.

Everything fades to black.

***

You wake up in the unfamiliar room, clothed in the unfamiliar clothes and surrounded by unfamiliar things. You can’t sense the call of Celestia, meaning that you’re either outside the Teyvat or in someone’s pocket dimension. This is bad. You almost jerk, but you can't - a burst of pain explodes in your solar plexus upon the slightest of movements.

With a shaking hand you touch your midriff, feel a hastily sewn hole and then you come to a horrifying realization - you can't feel your hydro. A distressed noise escapes you as you caress the injury, a lack of elemental core crushing you better than any humiliation or defeat.

Consumed by your grief for the lost powers, you miss the moments someone enters the room. It’s Morax again - he looks vastly different now, with all hints of his usual bloodlust and cold fury gone, he resembles a kind and wise dragon from the fairy tales human parents tell to their children.

“[First]”, he starts, taking one slow step after another, careful not to scare or enrage you: “I am happy you’re finally awake. You’ve been unconscious for a while now”.

You look at him with angry, accusing eyes, all of your grievances temporarily forgotten: “I can’t believe you did it, I thought you were an honourable person”, he lightly tilts his head, feigning ignorance: “You ripped out my core! I bet you were enjoying every second of it, you sick bastard!”.

“None of that”, he deflects your insults: “your core was destroyed by the ballista, not me. The last projectile went through you and subsequently your core”.

“Well”, you rise from the bed, despite the agonizing pain: “you stole me too! Ballista has nothing to do with this!”

“It’s either that or the eternal seal”, he adopts the patronizing tone and you want to kill him just for that: “with your core gone, I doubt you will restore even a fraction of your power, so sealing you away will be a waste”.

“A waste”, you repeat, remembering that Morax is not only a god of martial arts, but also business and commerce: “What is there to waste? I have no power now, no reason to live”

He wordlessly comes to you after this phrase, his hand touching the bandaged torso, before his amber eyes glance at you momentarily. You know that look, have seen it during the countless battles - cold, calculating and thoroughly fixated - a shiver goes through you.

“I am the one who defeated you”, he finally says, so quietly that even you with your superhuman hearing have to strain your ears: “You belong to me now, I can give you a new reason for living, I can make you accept and embrace it”.

You look at his eyes and the hand he laid upon the injury, fear caused by his words alone paralyzing your whole being. A whole tornado of thoughts appeared in your mind, each one of them anxious, nervous and unsettling.

“You should have expected this”, Morax mutters, noticing the dread that clings to you: “your insufferable taunts and your little tricks, you wanted to be my first thought in the morning and the last in the night, you have succeeded”.

A warm hand cups your face, and you can’t find any comfort in it, as strong fingers pry open your lips. He forcefully kisses you, his tongue invading your mouth, as you desperately battle the panic. Finally you take control of your body back and quickly shut your teeth together, biting him, tasting a coppery blood”.

He leans back, still collected, despite the blood escaping past his lips: “I should have expected this”, he says more to himself than to you and then he shifts his eyes back to you: “Still, I have a lot of time to tame a wild sea beast like you”.

He leans in again, his hand forcing your mouth open with a renewed strength: “Water can take any shape, [First], and I’ll guide you to the shape I want you to be, my prize of war”

[sailorhyunjinz]

~ Fluffy intruders ~

Warnings: FLUFF & SMUT, dom!minho, fem!reader, established relationship(kinda?idk), fingering, nipple play, blowjob, penetrative sex (stay safe yall), sex ruined by cats hahaha

Word count: 2,079 words (whoops...)

Requested: Based of anons scenario (which made me laugh so hard, ty for making my day <33)

Note: i want a cat ;(( ALSO writing long smuts is heeeella difficult AA SORRY IF THIS IS SHIET

As a child you were never allowed to have pets. Your parents said that you didn’t have enough ‘responsibility’ to care for another living creature and so after years convincing you eventually stopped, deeming yourself forever petless. But that was until you met Minho. You vividly remember the first date which was at a local cafe, filled with hanging wall plants and rustic boxes of coffee beans. The brown haired boy looked cozy with a dark oversized sweater and a white and black checkered beret, his silver chain earrings shined everytime he moved his head. The strong musky scent of the coffee beans in the cafe fitted his image making him appear even cuter than you originally though. 

When you had ordered your drinks of choice you sat down at a table in the far back of the cafe, not visible to a lot of the visiters. The both of you plopped down on each side of the round table, momentarily gaining eye contact before breaking it, being to shy to look for too long. You noticed a couple strands of hair on the shoulder of his sweater. 

“Wait, you have something there” you said while smiling, gently leaning over the old rosewood table. 

Minho smiled back and froze a bit when your hand got closer to him, heart beating faster than ever. After all it was a cute girl sitting across him dressed exactly how he pictured you. 

“There you go” you leaned back into your seat as you threw the hairs on the stone flooring. Only when you looked back at him again did you notice that the color of the strands were not his signature dark brown but instead orange. You looked at him confused and just had to ask.

“Did you have orange hair recently?” was the only question you managed to get out but you instantly regretted it the moment it left your lips. ‘Why do I always make a fool out of myself?’ you though. 

Minho laughed, the apples of his cheeks rounded and his eyes formed a halfmoon shape. 

“No... I would like to try it someday to match my cat Soonie” he said through that cute smile on his lips, having a dreamy look when he mentioned his cat.

“YOU HAVE A CAT?” you said a tad bit too loud but you didn’t care, you were currently talking to someone that had the animal you always wanted to own. 

Minho laughed even louder, heart exploding from your cute reaction. 

“I actually have 3! They’re called Soonie, Doongie and Dori” he said, flashing his dad-like smile, looking like a proud parent over his cats.

Your eyes lit up as you tapped your legs in excitement.

“I want to know everything about them!” you squealed like a little child. 

“Yet another thing we have in common. I’ll tell you but let me fetch the drinks” he said with a soft comforting voice before he stood up and went to the counter. You followed his figure with your eyes. 

The rest of the date you talked about mostly his cats. Sure, you talked about other boring things like work but seeing Minho talk about his little critters made you fall in love even more. He pulled up his phone, a whole album was dedicated to the fluffy babies. He had everything you wanted. A perfect smile, a comforting personality and of course a nurturing side which was shown by how well he took care of the trio of cats. 

That was 2 years ago. Now, you were a full-time mom to the cats. And as much as Minho hates to admit it, his cats love you even more than him. There was only one little thing you could complain about ẃhen being a catmom and no, it’s not the amount of cat fur that flies into your mouth when kissing the kitties. 

You yawned as you closed the bedroom door and crawled into bed, the cats sleeping peacefully in their fluffy beds in the living room. Minho was already cuddled up with his phone, the blue light reflecting onto his complexion. He looked so concentrated and you refused to sleep without getting a good night kiss from the cozy boy 

“Kiss” you said, holding out your face in front of his phone.

“ha ha no” he turned the other way and lied on his side, only then did you see why he was obsessed with what was going on the screen. He was playing games with the other boys which made you roll your eyes. You were not giving up this easily and so you spread out on top of him, rubbing your face onto his. 

“KISS KISS KISS” you demanded to which Minho sighed, turning onto his back again. You were now straddling him and leaned down to kiss him on the lips, expecting a small peck but oh were you wrong. Minho put his soft hands on either side of your face, cupping your cheeks as he deepened the kiss by crashing his tongue on yours. The movement of the kiss formed a pace, making you slightly rub on against his member while the bed moved slowly. 

Minho moved his hands from your cheeks to your hips, pressing them against his hardening dick while you rubbed against it in a quicker pace. His eyes darkened, previously being rounded but now they were hooded, resembling the eyes of a dragon. A mysterious smirk appeared on his light red lips as he flipped you over, hovering above you. Your thighs rubbed together, body getting hotter by the second since you knew what waited everytime this happened. 

“Since you wanted a kiss so bad how about I give you something better?” he growled, eyeing you up and down, taking in the beauty of your body lying helpless underneath him. You swallowed a hard gulp as you nodded faintly. He took of his shirt, revealing his slightly muscular body he had been working on recently. With his hand he lifted up your light pink pyjama shirt exposing your two delicate buds and without a second though Minho attached his lips onto one of them, sucking relentlesly whilst his fingers played delicately with the other nipple. Your chest was a playground for Minhos tongue as he switched from nipple to nipple, licking and biting them playfully. Through clenched teeth you muffled a stiff moan as he twirled his tongue around the sensitive buds. You grabbed onto his dark hair, stroking it in encouragement to which Minho smiled in between bites.

His hand trailed down from your nipple, tracing the outline of your waist and hip as it softly halted around the band of your pyjama shorts. A firm grip was placed on your waist as Minho went back to kissing you, his lips covered in saliva from sucking on your nipples earlier. You patted him on the head as you bit his bottom lip, enhacing the romantic kiss. The grip on your waist loosened and plunged down your shorts making the burning feeling in your clit amplified. He traced his fingers over your clothed pussy, feeling your wetness through the thin fabric to which he smirked.

“I’ve barely done anything but my princess is already soaking” he said, breaking the kiss for a second. You nodded again, wanting his fingers inside you. It was almost like he was reading your mind because that’s exactly what happened. Being caught off guard, Minho pushed the fabric aside, digging two digits into your pulsating cunt. Tiny whimpers made it’s way out your mouth as he curled his fingers upwards, finding your g-spot. Those whimpers turned into moans as Minhos thumb started circling your enlarged clit. You looked at him and he looked back, signaling your desperation for him. He understood it in a heart beat and removed his fingers, immediately stripping himself from the loose fitting pants and boxers. His hard member sprung free from the clothes that were now lying on the floor somewhere. He was still on top of you, looking like a statue with when he stood on his knees that were on their side of your body, his dick only inches across your face. Lifting up your hips slightly you pulled your pyjamas and panties down before you semi-sat down again, the warm bed hitting your butt. 

Minho lifted your chin with the same fingers that were inside you moments prior, he looked you deep into the eyes before he placed his dick on your plump lips. You licked the tip slowly and looked him back into the eyes. He looked so much powerful than you when he was above you, asserting his dominance by grabbing a fistful of your hair and pushing you down on his shaft making you choke. You sucked him of to the best of your abilities, hollowing your hot cheeks and drooling all over the place. 

“You look so pretty like this princess” he grunted out, the grip on your hair tightening as his noises got louder, twitching slightly between your lips. Minho rolled his head around and landed his eyes on yours to which you blushed. 

As he was nearing his release he pulled out of your mouth, you gasped for air and coughed. Just as you were about to wipe off the drool on your chin and chest he took the back of his hand and swiped the drool off of you, rubbing it on thr bedsheets. Even when his dominant side emerged he cared about you. 

“Face down, ass up” he said getting off you. A small “yes baby” fled your swollen lips that came from sucking him off too hard as you got into position. Minhos slightly cold fingers grazed your wet folds from behind, the sensation of cold feeling oddly numbing on your hot pussy. He grinned at the whimper that you let out and stood on his knees infront of your butt, lining himself up with your cunt. You shut your eyes tightly even before he put it in because you already knew the feeling. He was way to big for you and so it always stinged a bit before the pleasure kicked in. Yet again you were right, a moment of pain as he penetrated you but when you adjusted the feeling of being filled to the brim made you stammer out a moan. Minhos hands seemed bigger than they were when he grabbed onto your hips, setting a even pace.

“My pretty princess is always to tight for me” he said, focused on his movements. You could only moan in response, your lips pouting by the way your cheek was being squashed against the bed. Eventually the pace of his thrusts quickened causing the bed to shake. Minhos hands stroked your back from time to time, giving you goosebumps. Your moans got louder and as he grabbed both your arms pulling you against his member they turned into screams. You threw your head back, sweath covering the few stray strands of hair that poked out. Minho knew you were close by listening to your loud moans that sounded like music in his ears. But besides his low groans and the sound of skin slapping against each other you heard another sound. Minho stopped, turning around to face the door. 

Loud scratching and meowing erupted on the other side of the door which made Minho scoff while you looked with a confused expression at your boyfriend. He resumed this thrusts at an even quicker pace, you clenched around his dick feeling your release coming closer. 

“I’m making mommy feel good! Stop being such babies!” he yelled which confused you deeply as you laughed. 

“Who are you talking to?” you turned around to face your boyfriend.

“Who else but the spawn on satan that are those cats?” he said, the both of you bursted out in laughter. 

Minho let go of your arms and pulled out, feeling empty. You opened the door and saw the trio of cats marching in the bedroom one by one, getting comfortable on the bed. Minho covered himself with the duvet before snuggling his beloved babies. But the second you lied down on the bed, all three of the cats snuggled up with you instead leaving Minho feeling betrayed. 

“Traitors...” he mumbled looking visibly annoyed to which you giggled, petting the Soonie. 

“Ok out now! I was not done with mommy” he said to the cats pointing at the door. 

[meili-sheep]

Jk I lied, I’m back <3

Last thing I swear:

Childe and Diluce fighting a horde of abyss mages, maybe doing a domain by themselves but it turns out to be too much for them > Childe’s using Foul Legacy > Childe’s too excited and ends up killing everything but he also ends up hurting Diluc, it’s too much for him though and the power from the electro is reacting with his pyro vision and the wound is just getting worse the more it creates overload and the moment Childe hears his scream echo in the domain he freezes <3

Enjoy <3

Worst if Diluc has no control over his pyro healing so with the electro he's just overloading and he can't stop it. He's in pain and trying to hold in in the best he can well trying to keep the enemies away. But He's getting tired and overwhelmed. And they get one good hit and Diluc cries out.

Childe freezes when he hears it. And flies into a rage trying to get to Diluc. Still not realizing that it's his fault. And now there is more electro around with Childe's speedy movement and Diluc scream again.

By the time Childe makes it to Diluc all the enemies are gone, but Diluc is out cold. My man can take a lot of punishment. But he's still human. And Childe in a panic as he can see the wounds are sealed! What hurting Diluc so much! Why is his pulse so faint now!

And then it hits Childe. The shape of the wounds. That's not a mage attack... That's a cut from a blade. Chide's electro-infused blade. Childe is just trying his best to hold it together and just fumbling trying to pick Diluc up and get him out of there all well trying to comfort him despite Diluc not being able to hear him.

"You'll be alright, angel! You'll see! You are too thought for this little thing! And you have to be alright to yell at me, ok? And For me to apologize! I got to make it up to you! So be alright. Ok? firefly."

[siriusmydeer]

🌗gia!!! you angel!!!! 21!! where the reader has a bad day!!!! also!! ily!!! drink some water!!!! big mwah!!! also congrats!!!!

bad day

james potter x reader

summary: you have a bad day and james comforts you.

word count: 0.8k

warnings: swearing, mentions of blowing up a school, mentions of dying (as a joke)

“i could, probably will single handedly blow up this entire school.” you felt the intense burn and pains slithering up your legs throughout your entire body like thorns absently pricking in your skin and bleeding like it was normal, as you walked in the marauders dormitory quietly you gazed around for a couple of seconds only to only find your boyfriend reading the ‘quidditch through the years.’ quietly on his designated bed, absently flicking through the pages in peace.

he looked up from the navy-blue book at the creak of the door for his ears to be filled with your whines as they only continued. your muscles ached while shutting the door and trudging over to the boy who looked tremendously confused by your debilitated state.

you slumped yourself on the wrinkled ivory bed across from james’ form, feeling the cold sheets meld into your flushed and continuously burning skin from the amount of out and about things you partook in, sighing in relief at the nice cool comforter and suddenly rapidly blinking for a moment before resting on your elbow sideways, hastily looking at your boyfriends bewildered figure.

“you never read, why the hell are you reading?” if james didn’t assume you were so exhausted he would’ve claimed you sounded petrified at the fact that he was reading a book.... about quidditch. well fuck— maybe you really were out of it.

“never mind that, i just want to curl up in a ball and die.” he saw you groan into the air as you mercilessly dragged the palms of your hands on your eyes to guard you from seeing, small little colourful shapes dancing around your bleary eyes. you boyfriend continuing to gaze at you befuddled, choosing to ignore how confused he looked and pursuing to just keep mercilessly rubbing your eyelids.

he studied your worn-out figure, tense muscles and groaning every other minute. he brought his thumb to your hairline, pushing a few hairs behind your ear, stroking your jaw for a moment before he pushed his nimble fingers into the roots of your tresses, and continued swiping his thumb calmly against your warm-skin to alleviate the tension in your body.

he saw you briskly shoot up from the mattress, his hand descending to your shoulder in a perturbed manner at your sudden movements. “you have plans with remus— go! i cant keep you, you’re already late!” you wailed in a baffled-tone.

why the hell is he still here? i mean he has plans with his friends, he needed to be there and you could always see him later. even if you didn’t want too, he still had to go to zonkos with remus for new prank supplies.

“y/n, you’re the only one that matters. now shut up, and tell me what’s wrong so i can fix it.” you were startled at his sudden stipulation. its like he was demanding a servant for new food at a restaurant, probably a little nicer but he was determined to solace all your worries away.

you gaped at him with wide eyes for a moment, jaw almost going slack but having enough constraint on yourself so it didn’t look like you were trying to catch flies into your mouth; further, creasing your eyebrows at his request. he saw your body relieve some sort of tension with a long-airy sigh, promptly placing yourself on the sternum bone of his chest, feeling the uniform-shirt crinkle under your ear as you got comfortable.

“mcgonagall made me stay extra hours for detention, i cleaned 116 cauldrons— no magic. i was late for quidditch practice, extra hard because theres a match coming up, every muscle hurts. tutoring sucked, slytherin couldn’t even decipher what was clockwise and counterclockwise. i have the urge to hibernate like a damn bear.” your sentence was significantly prolonged, pausing every few seconds to regain your train of thought; your brain spindling in exploit for the past several hours made it unusually grueling to keep a continuous thought.

“angel, ‘m right here. relax.” he crooned to you in a mumble on the shell of your ear, feeling his hand placed upon your back; stroking it in light motions, disregarding the uncomfortable sensation of your uniform top now radiating on the palm of his hand. he felt your body further sigh again, your frame relaxing onto his torso. his cheek was now placed upon the crown of your head, lifting ever few seconds to sponge small kisses into your hair— your tresses tickling his lips as he did so.

“remus will be pissed you bailed, jamie.” you muttered to him with small tinges of guilt paining your mumbled words, james feeling the vibrations of your tired words sending shockwaves all over his chest. his adoration continuously growing for you, as you were about to fall into a deep slumber— still concerned about his best friends.

“i don’t care, he can bitch about it to padfoot. you’re my priority.”

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[lovecinnatwist]

frosssttr titans au where omega dick is giving private lessons to alpha jason qusjdjsjs

What? Hardcore smut with Dom!Dick? Let's go

A Firm Hand

Tags: Omegaverse, Dom/Sub undertones, Breeding kink, Orgasm Denial, Cock Rings, Multiple Orgasm, Over Stimulation, Creampie, Knotting, Cum Inflation, Messy Sex

Bruce has always been soft.

Heart tender and open for all that came broken and battered. None more so than Jason Peter Todd.

The alpha practically bleeds for love, wounds of betrayal open and green with infection. When he comes to the Titan’s Dick see’s it. How could he not when the kid has yet to have a firm hand guide him to his proper place?

The role of an Alpha is always under his omegas.

Jason’s cock is stiff and hard.

The girthy meat throbs in his cunt, bare and raw. The sheer look of pure unadulterated awe in his expression makes Dick feel powerful. Then again he must be to have the kid flat on his back and helpless to him. He clenches down, the growing knot teasing his slick folds.

It’s good.

Broad in a way that there’s a touch of a burn. It’s been a long time since he’s had an alpha. There’s none on his team and barely any time to seek one out. Not that he would have to worry about that anymore. With a tickling touch, he pushes Jason’s sweaty bangs out of his face. All while the kid seemingly holds his breath.

It’s admirable really the way he holds himself back for Dick’s pleasure. A good alpha that would need very little instruction- but still a firm hand. That’s ok, Dick has the time and he certainly doesn’t mind doing a little housebreaking.

Sweat drips down his back. They’ve been at this for hours and it has yet to become less spectacular. The other occupants in the tower know better than to disturb private lessons. He'll have the alpha to himself all evening.

“ What is an alpha for Little wing? “

Jason’s teeth grind from how hard he’s clenching. The knuckles on those strong hands white against the sheets. The cock ring is doing a beautiful job. It keeps the alpha hard and ready, while on the precipice of orgasm. Close but not yet. Not until Dick has his fill.

The answer that gets drawn out sounds like it hurts.

“ A-An omega’s pleasure. “

The confession is sweet to the ears. Dick’s cunt oozes slick, soothing the burn and inching the cock inside closer to his cervix. It’s an easy movement. The gentle circling of thick omega hips makes that throbbing cock press somewhere wonderful.

Now that he has this he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to let it go.

“ Who is your omega? “

Jason doesn’t speak. Dick narrows his eyes, patient fingers turn demanding as they pull on soft brown curls. The alpha yelps away from the touch but the way his dick hardens gives away his arousal.

“ Who Jason- “

Jason’s eyes flit about. It’s clear that he isn’t sure what the right answer is. Bruce in fact is technically the pack omega. Despite the obvious flaws and mistakes made over the years. It’s only natural that Jason would think of his pseudo dame first. At least before.

Not now that Dick is teaching him the proper way an alpha behaves, fucks and submits.

“ You bro- you. “

The purr comes out effortlessly. The pleasure that radiates from that perfectly polite answer makes Dick hungry. Such a good alpha. When their lips meet for a kiss, seafoam green eyes widen. There’s nothing cuter than how gone Jason is for him. Every movement screams disbelief and desire. All while the smoky musk of safe-good-behaving alpha perfumes the air.

Fuck he’s such a good boy. Dick is glad that he’s the first to have his knot. Bruce may play as dame and parent but Dick wouldn’t do the same. As a single, healthy omega he would take and have.

Jason had made it so easy to. The casual, flirty, confident little offers. Typical for a young alpha, hormones and arousal making them blind to the actual hierarchy. He actually thought he would be the one to dominate, set the pace and take.

Silly little standards set by the porn industry. Fairytales that alpha pups clung to in excitement. All in the past now though.

Consent freely given will never be taken back in the presence of true pleasure.

Dick picks up his movements. It makes Jason wheeze like he’s been hit in the gut. A gorgeous sound that joins a litany of breathless, frantic moans. Dick’s own voice becomes loud and free as he indulges. The alpha’s cock is just the right size and shape to rub somewhere magnificent. The more he moves the closer he gets to orgasm.

Even without prompting, the alpha knows what to do.

“ Please- Please omega- use me. Want to feel you cum. Want to be useful- want to be good- “

Jason is good. So so good and perfect. Dick’s eyes nearly roll back from the way those cut muscular hips struggle up to drive him deeper. Movements of a natural breeder really. There will be no trouble the day Dick gives up hardness for softness. The day he has his little alpha fill him up.

Not that they can’t practice until then.

“ You are- So good for me Jason. Such a good alpha. Doing so good- “

The broken keen is distinctively omega. It drives the alpha wild, nearly feral. All while gnashing teeth each movement becomes violent and desperate. Such is the way of a good alpha. Using all their strength to bring their omega to orgasm.

It’s like riding a bull. Dick can’t help a giggling scream as Jason fucks him good and hard, nearly knocking him off in his haste. His body quakes, thundering righteous sounds of pleasure raining free.

He’s going to cum for the fifth time tonight and this time- his good sweet little wing is going to fill him up. The first cream pie the alpha will ever give. Dick will also be the only omega to have the pleasure going forward.

The thought makes him manic.

The second the cock ring comes off Jason's snarl cuts out for a beaten up whimper. Stuttering and sweet as those hazy green eyes turn alert.

" No- no nonononono omega I'll cum- "

Hands frantically scramble as Jason tries to stave off orgasm. Huge knot expanding and inflating at an alarming rate. The first time is always so wondrous the pleasure must be borderline painful. Dick's own pleasure intensifies. He won't let his eyes leave Jason's. The rapture- the pleasure- the unyielding devotion.

It gives a Dick a high.

After this Jason would never be able to be anything but his.

" Omega! Omega please- "

Gut-wrenching little whines fill the space. He begs prettily as he hopelessly attempts to hold himself back. Dick is going to cum. The rising of orgasm hits in relentless waves. Ever going higher and higher as pleasure rips through him.

Helpless blue-green eyes go wide in panic. Looking at Dick like he's a God. Like he is the answer to life's questions. His mercy, his saviour, his light, his world.

Just as an alpha should.

Dick slams down on his knot hard enough to bruise. Jason's mouth opens in a scream but no sound comes out. That's ok though, Dick is loud enough for both of them.

The orgasm is everything it should be

Especially when it's taken at the use of a well-behaving alpha. Jason is crying gorgeous tears. Biting his lip until it bleeds. Hands tearing holes in the sheets of the bed

All while he watches Dick come- muscles straining as he denies himself. Dick's powerful cunt clenching and clamping down on the alpha.

Dick sees the exact moment he breaks.

He grins shakily as his entire body vibrates with the best orgasm of his life.

" cum puppy- cum for omega-"

Jason's release pants his insides with enough force that Dick jerks. It's violent and ruthless. Hot spunk causing the knot to rapidly shrink and expand. It's an odd feeling. His pussy opening and closing as enough cum to breed at least six omegas makes its way inside.

Jason's hand flies to his hip when he tries to get away from it. The foreign feeling is overstimulating. The puncture of alpha claws in his iliac crest is more arousing than painful.

Alpha instincts that prevent an omega from running away from being bred. Dick's eyes flutter as another creamy load makes its way through his walls, through his petite cervix opening to stuff him up in a way that should be painful.

At least if it didn't drag out his own release into something life changing.

The choking sounds Jason makes are so precious. Just as the way he clings and snaps to not bury his fangs into Dick's neck. Not that he would chastise the perfect little alpha for it. As Dick's abdomen starts to swell he realizes that he'll never let Bruce ever touch a hair on his alpha's head again.

" mine "

It's dark and final.

" yo..urs-"

Dick tilts the worn out alpha's head. Muscles and body jumping like it's been electrocuted. The sweet little thing goes with the touch accepting what is to come.

An alpha's claim might be the most common but an omega could do the same if they were possessive enough.

It just took more tries.

Jason jumps as his teeth sink into the delicate expanse neck. High enough to be obvious, dark enough to be clear. Dick's eyes blur as the taste of Jason coats his tongue. Thick and rich like expensive honey wine.

He growls when the alpha tries to move. It makes him still but for good measure Dick pulls him up to shake. It makes his teeth go deeper. It would be impossible not to notice how his good little alpha gets hard again at the action. More cum filling him until it's nearly unbearable.

They would need to do this several more times but that's ok. He doesn't think Jason will have any protest to offer.

When he finally can bring himself to release the eerily silent alpha Dick marvels at his own handy work. Fucked out and pretty. Dick cooes the alpha's full green eyes drag to his.

" G-od Da…mn"

The words come out at a wheeze. The alpha's throat reedy from the bite. Also from the growling and screaming but Dick doesnt want to train that out of him. He likes those sounds just fine.

" blew your mind pup? "

The sparkle comes to life slowly. Like the sun peeking through the clouds and gently lighting up the shimmery surface of a sleepy lake. That's the best part of Jason. Submissive and sweet but too resilient to break. He plays his fingers between sweaty brown curls. The alpha chuckles dry and broken.

" If I g't up, th'nk ma br'ans'll be on ta p'llow. "

Dick chuckles. He kisses the alpha deep and claiming. Blood plays on their lips which does wonders at arousing his younger partner. The alpha's cock is the only thing still up to play at the moment.

The alpha groans at the realization.

" why'mm st'll hard!?"

Dick purrs. He clenches down, pussy too full to do anything else but make a mess of both of them. The feeling of thick alpha cum sliding down his thighs is addicting. Greedy fingers reach down for a taste.

Jason's breath hitches the moment Dick stuffs messy white fingers in his mouth. Perhaps in his eagerness he forgot something pertinent. Like how awful Jason's eating habits have been since joining the Titans.

He winces, bitter and salty.

" No more burgers and junk food Jay. "

The alpha's argument dies the moment Dick moves his hips. The wet lewd sound of their coupling is quickly becoming his favourite thing.

" an alpha's seed is for their omega Jay. It needs to be palatable and fertile. For when you give me pups- and when I want to use that big cock of yours to distract my mouth. "

The alpha's eyes dilate, blown and feral at the statement. Dick thinks he looks devastatingly handsome.

" B-bro-"

A stern hand twists in brown locks.

" Omega! " he yelps to correct. Dick grins.

Well Rome wasn't built in a day.