#he seems simultaneously very old and very young

[ctrl-lupin]

Goemon is terrifying

[nerdie-faerie]

I'm such a middle aged mum for someone childless in their twenties. I said 'lovely manners' to two kids on reflex while working till today, why am I someone's grandmother?

[star-sim]

boy's night ☆ riki nishimura

☆ summary: riki had no game, no rizz, which was why he employed the help of his six friends to text you. warning: having seven boys on the phone trying to text a girl does not give good results! ☆ genre: fluff, all enhypen members make an appearance, boys being boys, very stupid, it's getting rizzy in here but clearly i have negative game ☆ warning(s)? no just silliness :3 ☆ word count: 1.7k words

"Oh my god, she texted me!" was the sentence that completely destroyed Jake Sim's house.

Tonight, Riki was having a sleepover at Jake's house. It was supposed to be a chill night, a night in which Riki could bask in his friends' presence before they went off to college again.

There were many perks to being the youngest in his friend group. It seemed like Heeseung, Jay, and Jake forever saw him as their baby, after all, when they all met as children, Riki was a snotty little four year-old, constantly tattling on the older boys. Regardless, it was nearly impossible for them to not fuss over him, constantly asking if he ate yet or if he needed help. Sunghoon teased the ever-living shit out of Riki, sure, but the older boy never hesitated to take Riki's side whenever there was an argument. Sunoo and Jungwon were closest to Riki in age, but that didn't stop them from watching over him closely, like mother cats stalking their cubs.

Though, there was one thing that Riki had to admit that he hated about being the youngest: he was the most inexperienced.

Whenever his friends got their 'firsts,' he was always too young to care. It seemed like all his friends got to experience their first crushes and heartbreaks almost simultaneously, only for them to not be there when Riki had his.

Even when he was now a senior in high school, he had absolutely no idea how to talk to girls.

He'd heard all the stories about Heeseung and his antics at college, all the flirting tips that Jake liked to give out to Sunghoon and Jay, and all the crazed texts that Sunoo and Jungwon sent as they went through relationships.

Even so, Riki had never experienced teenage love for himself.

Enter: You.

You were the cute girl that sat in front of him in his Macroeconomics class. If it wasn't for the fact that Riki absolutely hated Macro, he would blame the fact that you were just so pretty that he couldn't bring himself to focus on the lecture about the New York Stock Exchange.

Initially, Riki had no intention of pursuing you.

You were cute, obviously, but hearing you talk to your partner in class was enough for him. Plus, it wasn't like Riki had any experience— even if he wanted to talk to you, he had no idea how to!

Except, thanks to his nosy friends, your name had been discussed what felt like a million times by the end of the week.

"So... [Name], eh?" was the first thing Sunghoon said as Riki's camera turned on during their weekly weekend FaceTime calls.

"This is so exciting, Riki," Heeseung said as he joined the call.

"Wait, how do you know her again?" Sunoo's voice cut in. "Sorry, my Wi-Fi is bad. You said you know her from Macro?"

With a little more prying, his friends managed to get a middle-school level confession out of Riki.

"I-I just think she's really pretty, and like, she's really smart," Riki huffed, "I don't think she likes me like that— I've never even spoken to her! Like, I can't talk to women, I straight up am a mess and the other day—oh my god— she looked at me and I think I almost passed out. What do I do? I actually cannot do thi—

".... But you think she's pretty, right?"

And that's how Riki managed to get your phone number. With the help of his friends (that felt more like them feeding into his delusions), he worked up the courage to stutter out a simple question.

And when you smiled, nodding enthusiastically as you typed your contact into his phone, Riki felt his soul leave his body.

So, it wasn’t hard to imagine the havoc that engulfed Jake Sim's house (the place of the sleepover) as Riki's phone pinged, your contact name showing up.

It was already late at night, so the boys were raiding Jake's pantry to get midnight snacks. 

The moment that Riki announced that you had just, in fact, texted him first, everyone stopped in their tracks.

"Oh shit!" Jay shouted as he jumped over Jake's sofa, bowl of cereal still in hand.

The sound of crashing as Heeseung knocked over the ramen cups, as well as cutlery dropping abruptly and cabinets slamming filled the house.

"Oi, don't mess up my kitchen!" Jake yelled as his feet pounded against his stairs, scrambling so fast that he practically glided downstairs. After Jungwon spilled milk on his shirt, he was half-way through putting on a new shirt as he clambered down.

"What did she—" Sunoo pushed Jay out of the way, knocking the older boy over as he plopped down next to Riki on the living room carpet and peeked over his shoulder— "What did she say?!"

Within seconds, all six of his friends were huddled around Riki, pushing each other out of the way to catch a glimpse of what you said.

"Move your fatass head!"

"I can't see!"

As his friends argued, Riki stared at his phone, chewing on his bottom lip. His heart was pounding in his chest. He only saw the notification, and didn't see what you said yet.

What if you said something crazy, like "I just found out about that one time in first grade when you peed yourself at the playground" even though Riki and all his friends agreed to never speak of that incident again?! Or, what if you confessed your everlasting love for him in a long paragraph?

His head was spinning.

"Wait, did you open the message yet?!" Jungwon abruptly yelled into Riki's ear.

"No..." Riki answered slowly, watching the way all of his friends' once tense faces soften with relief.

"Oh my god," Jake sighed in relief.

"Phhhhheeewww!" Heeseung said dramatically.

"Why?" Riki frowned. "What's wrong with opening the message?"

"[Name] can see if you read her message if you open it," Sunghoon said matter-of-factly. 

"Why is that a bad thing?"

All of his friends groaned.

They taught him a trick: swipe just enough so that he could see the message, but not enough that the system marks it as read.

Hey, was all you said, much to Riki's relief.

"What do I say?" Riki asked, clutching his phone. His eyes flickered to his friends as he sucked his bottom lip under his teeth pensively. "How do I respond to this?"

"Just say 'hey' back!" Jay blurted.

"No!" Heeseung shook his head profusely. "Anything but that!"

"Why not? You want him to say haiiii instead?" Sunghoon nudged the older boy.

"No, no, no!" Jungwon reached across to smack Sunghoon's knee. "All of you are wrong."

Jungwon turned to Riki. "Just respond with an emoji."

They all groaned loudly.

"Okay, anything but a goddamn emoji!"

Riki ended up typing out a simple hey in response. He had to make Sunoo press send for him, squeezing his eyes shut. Riki immediately shut his phone off, placing it face down.

"I don't want to see if she responds or not!" Riki moaned. 

Within a minute or two, his phone pinged again.

"She responded!"

Even though you only asked, How was your day?, the entire house was once again invigorated. The boys shrieked, whooping and hitting Riki's shoulder, so loud that the house probably shook.

"Oh my god, it's happening!"

"Ouuuuu, she wants you, Riki!"

"Everyone shut the fuck up, it's time to lock in, oh my god it's actually happening—"

And just as everyone settled back down, ready to give Riki their mind-blowing advice, his phone dinged again.

[Attachment: 1 photo]. It was a silly picture of you, one of those cute ones that showed your eyes, clearly taken on the spot. 

"OHHHHHHHHHH!"

"Shewantsyousobadohmygo—"

According to Jake, if a girl sends you a picture of herself, no matter how silly or cute it is, she is head over heels for you.

"One message at a time!" Jay yelled over Jake's shoulder as they tried to figure out how to respond. "You need to answer her question first and then respond to the picture!"

"No! Don't respond to the picture!" Sunghoon, who was all the way in the guest bathroom, yelled from behind the bathroom door, his voice both booming and muffled. "She'll think you're weird!"

"I agree," Sunoo said.

"I agree," Jungwon mocked him in a nasally voice, earning a slap to the shoulder. "Just heart the picture!"

But their arguing fell upon deaf ears.

"Riki, what are you doing?!"

Riki was on his own, his heart beating at the tip of his fingers.

I hung out with my friends today and it was fun, how was yours? was his first response. Pressing on the picture, he responded, You look cute.

When Riki glanced over at his friends, they were sprawled across the floor, crying aloud dramatically.

"It's over."

"You're insane."

"Fumbled."

Riki threw a pillow at them. "I didn't fumble— Oh shoot, she's typing!"

The house was once again filled with screaming and crashing as they scampered to Riki's side.

You typed for a few moments. Everyone was at the edge of their seat, simply begging to see how you'd respond. But then, you stopped.

"Good game, guys."

"100% over."

Riki chewed on his thumb, his eyes glued to his phone screen. Did he creep you out? Was it weird for him to say that you looked cute? Did he fuck up?

But then you finally replied.

My day was just filled with homework, very boring, you replied. Maybe if I spent it with you it would have been more fun.

Oh.

My.

God.

Riki's hands shook as he typed back another response, completely ignoring the complete and utter disaster around him. He didn't know what came over him. He wouldn't say any of the things that he typed out loud, let alone to your face. It was like he was possessed by some spirit that gave him the courage to type. Without even noticing it, his heart was palpitating in his chest, his entire face, neck, and ears covered in a red shade.

I'm free tomorrow, he typed. 

"RIKI WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU—"

Okay, you simply responded. 12PM. The Block. Let's have fun.

"D-Did she just ask you out?"

Riki glanced at this phone, then at his friends, who stared at him with eyes as wide as saucers and their jaws dropped to the floor, then back at his phone. He blinked. "Yeah."

"Yes?!"

Riki blinked again. "Yeah."

.

.

.

And then it hit him.

"Oh my god, [Name] asked me out...!"

[bimbobaggins69]

𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒕𝒉𝒚 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒔

priest eddie munson x nun reader

♱ summary: after a life of chaos and sin, eddie finds comfort in the one thing he never thought he would, religion. But what happens once he gives his life to god and swears off all of his old vices before finding the one person that makes him question whether it was worth it.

♱ warnings: smut ahead, 18+ mdni, fem reader, no use of y/n, use of pet names, religious themes, slight religious trauma, reader was forced to become a nun, mentions of drugs, fingering, unprotected p in v, slight lil daddy kink, cream pie, fluffff, overuse of italics but what else is new? Pls do not read if any of the above sounds offensive to you, you are in control of your own media consumption.

♱ authors note: just a little something to feed my priest eddie brainrot, hope you like! A special thank you to my beautiful beta’s @take-everything-you-can , @xxhellfirebunnyxx & @corrodedcorpses <3

♱ wc: 3.7k

The first time Eddie had ever seen you, he thought it was a fluke. Of course he’d see the most beautiful girl, after he had taken a vow of chastity and was in the works to become a priest.

It felt as though God was taunting him for all of the sinning he had done as a teen and young adult. Dangling something he could now never have, right in front of his face. Oh, cruel world.

He should be used to this, the feelings of disappointment and utter longing. For most of high school and some time after, he was used. Used for the things he had that people wanted: sex, drugs, and the few rare instances girls dated him just to piss off their parents. But never has he been wanted, adored unconditionally. After living a life like that, filled with drug binges and meaningless sex, giving his life to God seemed like a no brainer, at the time.

Eddie was impulsive however and the things that felt clear as day in the moment, seemed to blur over time.

What Eddie didn’t know was that you had already planned your escape route. You had grudgingly been pressured by your late father to join the “family business”. He had become a priest when you were five and since then he’s had your life mapped out for you; become a nun, work in the monastery and give your life and soul to God until it was your time to eventually meet him.

That was not the life you wanted for yourself. You wanted to fall in love and get married, have children and move far away from this town that has brought you nothing but shame and guilt.

“Excuse me, uh I believe this belongs to you.” A voice echoes through the empty chapel, making your shoulders jolt at the startling interruption of your most sacred thoughts. Your veiless head snaps towards the voice in fear, as you were not to be in the church without your veil, it was a symbol of modesty that your convent took very seriously.

What you found was not an angry priest, deacon or catechist but a student priest. His kind eyes and gentle smile, long brown locks that were pulled back at the nape of his neck and his hands that were clutching at your head piece, had all simultaneously taken your breath away. There had never been anyone in the church that met his appearance. He had a bad boy turned good look that really set your insides ablaze. Whether it was a warning from God, not to stray from the path by allowing you to feel small licks of hellfire, or your subconscious begging for a reason to deviate from the life that was so carefully laid out for you, you didn't know but what you did know was this man would now become the catalyst of all your waking day dreams.

“Oh, yes my apologies, sir.” You softly smile before taking the veil and placing it securely on your head. You turn back to the big wooden cross hung above the altar you’re standing afront, before looking back into the strangers' doe pools of chocolate. “How uh, how are you enjoying your seminary studies?” You question, cheeks heating up at your terrible attempt at small talk.

“My seminary studies?” Eddie repeats with a low chuckle as his eyebrows shoot up, getting lost behind the fringe of his shaggy bangs. He cocks a wide smirk at your question, you really were as sweet and delicate as you looked. That made the future priests’ stomach flip in excitement. The need for corrupting such a cute little thing, vehemently returning. He hadn’t felt that utter desire in years. He would give this all up to watch you fall apart underneath him.

“Mmhm.” You giggle with a small nod of your head, fingers twisting together over your front from the frisson excitement bursting through your chest. You had never felt this way talking to any priests or priests in training, the rush was addicting.

“It’s going well.” The male murmurs with an unconvincing smile, his eyes glance down to your lips before snapping back up to your eyes in a fleeting moment. Your heart rate kicks up at the implication before you boldly turn towards him, your chest puffed out as the swell of your breasts are tightly hugged by the black fabric of your unflattering habit.

Eddie takes a step closer towards you, the toe of his boots brush against your black flats. His eyes roaming your fully clothed body as if he had x-ray vision and could see the black lace set you allow yourself to wear underneath, as an act of rebellion that only you were allowed a glimpse of.

His left hand slowly moves into your space, gently placing the cloth of your veil that had fallen over the front of your shoulder, back to its rightful place. The act was so tender and kind you couldn’t help but to lean closer into his touch.

The chapel was so still, all that could be heard was the heavy breathing of two very enamored people, as if they finally found what they had been looking for all along. A safe place to house their hearts.

In a matter of seconds you jerk back, as footsteps ring out from the corridor, startling you out of your love filled daze. Eddie thinks on his feet, the awfully close position being far too compromising, so he takes your hand and leads you into the confession box. He covers your mouth as the footsteps grow closer, two people chattering as they walk by before leaving out of the exit, letting the heavy wooden doors slam shut behind them.

Eddie quickly removes his hand, shooting you a sympathetic smile before the realization hits that you’re seated on his lap, half awakened cock digging into your backside causing a small gasp and unintentional clench of your thighs. A devious smile displays itself upon the brown eyed boy's lips, you wanted him just as bad as he wanted you. And he didn’t even know you. Oh he’s fucked.

His soft lips swiftly brush up against yours, making you quickly pull away in surprise. “I can’t kiss you, I don’t even know your name.” You whisper rather unconvincingly.

“It’s Eddie, what’s your name sweetheart?” He purrs into your ear, goosebumps alite your skin as you squirm in his lap from the low timber of his voice.

You meekly recite your name as your face grows hot from his attention. “Mmm, pretty name for an even prettier girl.” He huffs before he licks his lips in anticipation. His cock now fully hard and poking into your clothed skin.

Eddie gently grabs your chin, eyes meeting yours in a powerful standoff. “May I kiss you, angel? I really need to kiss you.” The desperation dripping from his voice is enough to convince you of anything.

“Yes.” You murmur before fully straddling him, his lips find yours in a passionate frenzy as you move together like a beautiful melody.

In all of your timidness and trepidation you’ve completely forgotten how it feels to be pressed up against another body, brain empty as you enjoy the moment as it comes, you giggle between kisses at the double entendre.

“What’s so funny, huh?” Eddie says playfully, grabbing at your sides and causing a shriek of loud laughter to roll off your tongue. How was it possible that this man made you feel like a kid again, a kid you didn’t even get to be? The fleeting nostalgia is quickly interrupted when Eddie puts a finger up to your lips, a gesture that asks “do you wanna get caught?” And it almost makes you giddy, nothing this exciting ever happens to you.

“You gotta be quiet, angel. Can you do that for me?” He asks in a dominating tone that has you shuttering and weak at the knees. He swipes a gentle finger across your lips, placing it in between the two before you quickly get the hint, wrapping your plush pink pillows around his index and lightly sucking. The action has Eddie’s eyes rolling back in his head, there was no way he’d be able to hold back, not with you grinding down on his painfully hard cock while sucking on his finger.

Without much thought left in your already fucked out brain, you remove the long black cloth that you’ve despised for years, yanking it off of your shoulders and over your head. Disposing of it over your shoulder without a care in the world, you had more pressing matters at hand.

“Oh fuck.” Eddie’s breath hitches as utter shock crosses his features, his mouth drops open while his eyes roam the expanse of your body that is scarcely covered by lacey black fabric. His cock twitches underneath you, causing you to squirm, unintentionally rubbing his throbbing pink tip over your warm heat and pulling a needy moan from between your lips.

He wastes no time, bringing his hands to rub over the see through fabric that is covering your now peaked nipples before slowly moving down in a gentle but callous glide over your sides, to your hips and finally landing on your plush thighs, giving them a tight squeeze as his lips curl up in satisfaction.

“Can I touch you, baby?” He whispers, rubbing the tip of his nose against yours as he desperately awaits your approval.

“Please.” You moan out into the expanse of the wooden box as you drag your slick cunt across his achingly hard cock in one more act of torment.

His fingers move before his brain, finding themselves between your legs, rubbing right over that button of pleasure that Eddie hasn’t been acquainted with, in what feels like years. He slips his hand past the black lace, digits sliding between your soaked lips and teasing at your tight little hole before he’s bringing the slick up to your swollen bud and drawing gentle circles, a loud moan erupts from your chest as the unknown pleasure consumes you.

You weren’t a virgin, despite what everyone thought of you or at least what you let them think. No one knew that you’d lost your virginity the summer of junior year. Maybe it was an act of rebellion against your strict parents or maybe just a sad attempt at being so starved for any kind of connection, you took the only one some high school boy had to offer; three minutes in the back of his beat up Pontiac.

The feelings being pulled from you by the long haired man, were unlike anything you’ve ever felt and you never wanted it to stop. You would beg and plead to him until the end of times to always make you feel this good, it’s the closest to God you’ve ever felt in all of your life, how is this a sin?

“Does that feel good, angel baby?” Eddie whispers into your ear, low and seductive as his finger finally breeches your entrance, it slips in easily and without pain but the pleasure makes your hands fly up to grip at his shoulders before throwing your head back and letting out the sexiest set of moans Eddie has ever had the delight of hearing.

He slips a second digit in alongside the first, pumping in and out at a slow pace but the depth is what had your toes curling into your little black flats that were being held on by a thread, threatening to fall off of your feet at just the slightest movement. Eddie began to scissor his fingers apart, stretching you open enough to take his girth. The moans that were beginning to fill the church were downright sinful.

“I-I think I’m gonna um…” you breathe out harshly as your cheeks heat up from the words that you just can’t bring yourself to utter.

“You’re gonna what, huh? You gotta talk to me, baby. Tell me what’s goin’ on?” Eddie asks in faux concern, it’s so mocking and arrogant but it causes you to clench tightly around his fingers, sucking him in like a fucking vice.

“I’m- ah ah, I’m gonna cum!” You sob into his chest as you grind down onto his digits, fucking them into you deeper with each thrust, until your incredible high starts to feel slightly painful and overstimulating.

“Such a good girl.” Eddie praises, slipping his two fingers out of your pussy before bringing them up to his mouth and sucking dramatically as a groan of delight reverberates from his chest.

“You think you can cum on daddy’s cock like that?” He questions, his lust filled eyes bore into yours as the filthy words drip from his tongue. You should be disgusted, it should turn your stomach…but it doesn’t, not even in the slightest. Instead it amplifies your arousal and now it’s you who is desperate, yanking his vestment off of his upper body in one swift and eager motion.

With Eddie’s full chest on display, you drag your nails gently down his torso, causing a whimper to slip past his lips. He has tattoos. The revelation causes your eyes to widen. You didn’t think priests were even allowed to have tattoos, they were a sin in your convent. Although you had been fed so much propaganda throughout the years, you really couldn’t see what made them so terrible.

And you had to admit they were very attractive, certainly adding to the whole former bad boy mystique he has going on.

“You like em’?” Eddie asks as if he knew exactly what you were thinking, a glint in his eyes as they lock with yours.

“I do, father Eddie.” You purr as your hand brushes over his hard erection still locked behind the confines of his black slacks.

“Fuck.” He hisses into your neck before leaving a trail of sloppy kisses, his hands reaching for your black lace thong as if he was going to slip it down and off of your body, but the sounds of fabric tearing alert you to his true intentions.

“I’ll replace those.” He says with a sinister chuckle, throwing the piece of fabric behind you to be lost in the sea of clothing beneath your feet.

“Holy shit!” The man gasps as his eyes meet your dripping center, the damp coils that sit above your mound and your little stretched hole that was done by his own hand. The view causes him to bite at his lip in animalistic hunger.

“Mmm, such a naughty boy using such foul language in a church.” You tut, having no idea where that came from but if his cheeks that have now grown a bright pink hue and the wild growl that slipped from his mouth were anything to go by, he was just as into it.

Eddie can’t take much more of your teasing so his hands slip down to the buckle keeping his slacks up, eagerly removing all of the obstacles that keep him from sheathing his cock deep into your tight little cunt.

Once he is fully released from his fabric confinement he wraps his hand around himself, giving it a few tugs before he’s smearing the large beads of precum around his tip and down his shaft, groaning from the attention he was so badly yearning for.

“You ready, baby?” He questions. Bringing his glistening, pink head to the seam of your sodden lips and rubbing the tip against your clit, before prodding it against your awaiting hole. The way your cunt sucks him in is heavenly. It was as if he was a virgin again, nothing or no one else mattered before you. The feelings settling in the young man's chest were overwhelming and terrifying but when he looked up from how his cock was coated in your wetness and into your eyes, he knew you felt it too.

You let out a breath of relief when he was finally buried to the hilt inside of you, throbbing and aching for release. Deciding to end the torment of your teasing, you begin using your knees that are roughly digging into the oak wood of the pew eddie is seated on as leverage to bounce and swirl your hips as you fuck him, so audaciously.

“Ah, ah, ah…” were the only noises leaving both of your mouths as you continuously sunk down onto Eddie’s cock. His big hands gripping the meat of your thighs as if you’d dissipate without his touch.

“Please.” You whine into the sweat slick skin of his neck, before reaching for the hair tie placed carelessly into a bun at his nape. You tug releasing his brown waves that fell just beneath his shoulders.

“Please what, my love?” That word made your head spin, you’d never been referred to as someone’s love. I mean you just met him and he probably says lots of endearing things while he’s getting laid, but it certainly made that fire in your belly kick up to blazing high levels.

“Please fuck me!” You sob, tears falling from your eyes as you get closer to your sweet release. But your legs were closer to finishing than you, as every bounce sent a searing pain from your knees up to your thighs.

“I’m sorry baby. I’m makin’ you do all the work, aren’t I?” Eddie teases with a condescending grin, making you pout and nod your head in agreement. “Here you are bein’ such a good girl, riding my cock like that and I don’t even have the decency to help you out.” He tuts, a wide smile splitting his face before the hands that were once resting on your thighs, come up and grab two rough handfuls of your ass.

He pulls your cheeks apart as he sinks down some, planting his heavy boot clad feet better onto the red carpet of the confessional box. He sends you a quick wink before he begins pounding into you with almost inhumanly, rapid thrusts making you cry out into the stuffy air.

Your hands dig into his scalp, grabbing fistfuls of hair as he fucks you like an animal, with complete carnal hunger. A chill runs down your spine all the way to your toes as the fire in your lower stomach begins to consume you. You don’t care who hears you now, you just care about you and Eddie and working each other's bodies to gratification.

“Your close baby, I can feel it. C’mon, let go for me and cum on my cock.” He demands as his length throbs with each clench of your walls around him. He’s too close, but he’d rather die than cum before you.

“Oh! Yes, Father Eddie.” You squeak before crashing your lips into his. The long haired man’s eyes roll back into his head and a growl escapes his chest at the use of his not so future title. If he can’t have this then being a priest just won’t do, not anymore.

Eddie breaks the passion fueled kiss to suck his thumb into his mouth, slicking it up before bringing it to your swollen clit. The first gentle circle makes you jump, causing your walls to tighten even harder around him. His toes curl in his boots, he was so close, so on the edge to stuffing you full of him.

“I’m gonna cum inside your pretty little pussy, do you want that?” He asks roughly, but his eyes are so soft and so full of adoration and you want whatever he’s willing to give you.

“Yes, please Father Eddie.” You plead as you meet his thrusts, aching legs be damned. You can feel that high that’s teetering so close, you’re so desperate to fall off the edge.

“Who’s the naughty one now, huh? Begging a church priest to cum inside you? You bad girl.” He tsks, with a faint chuckle. His words knock you over the edge, coming so hard on his cock you see a white blinding light as your eyes tightly shut.

“Mm, that’s it baby!” Eddie growls, his thrusts faltering as he cums inside of you, your walls now coated with his white, hot release.

Eddie scrubs his hands down his face, “oh my god!” He exasperates before wrapping his arms around your back and pulling you tightly into him, as his softening cock is still buried inside of you.

“Shh, you can’t use the lord's name in vain in a church!” You playfully reprimand, as if what you both have just done wasn’t grounds for going straight to hell.

“Hey, watch your mouth when you’re talkin’ to me, young lady! Or I’ll give you ten of these…” he scolds before bringing his palm down harshly onto the sensitive skin of your ass, making you gasp in surprise. He grabs your chin tightly before continuing, “and ten Hail Mary’s, I’ll make you say each one with my cock down your throat.” You clutch at your chest like you’d never been so offended, but the words caused you nothing but arousal as your cunt began to drip at the thought.

“You really are a naughty boy.” You purr, shaking your head as if in disappointment. You were both so deep in your own little world that you didn’t hear the footsteps outside the confessional door.

The handle was jiggled and quickly ripped open as a loud gasp rang out from behind you.

“Sister!” The nun hisses in absolute disbelief and disgust. The tone of her judgment awoke something deep inside of you that you thought had been buried. You hop off of Eddie’s lap, his spent cock plopping out and falling back onto his lower stomach. You quickly pull the habit over your head as Eddie stands up to inch himself back into his pants.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” The nun you now recognize as Sister Claudia, snarls with a look of revulsion.

Eddie swiftly takes your hand and pulls you away, abandoning your veil and his vestment. His now shirtless and tattooed chest on display for the judgmental nun.

Without another thought you throw her the middle finger as you and Eddie run down the row of pews and out the heavy doors.

You weren’t sure where you were headed, but as long as it was with him. You were ready for the new journey.

[scarletttries]

Roman Roy x Age-Gap! Reader Headcanons:

Pairing: Roman Roy (Succession) x Reader

Word Count: 2k (warning: mention of Logany child abuse)

Author’s Note: Oh Roman Roy, you're really making me fall in love with your sad little face and your slightly softening heart this season. Thank you for this request, please enjoy these thoughts about Roman Roy with a younger, but still very much legal adult, reader. Also please fill my inbox with Kendall and Roman requests because I am thinking about little else! 😊

Update! Part two here 😀

- Roman Roy has always felt simultaneously like he's never really grown up, and that he was never allowed to be a child. Growing up as the youngest son of Logan Roy he wasn't allowed the chance to make the silly mistakes of childhood folly. Logan had been through that before and frankly he needed Roman to be a serious adult from the moment he could comprehend his father's disapproving glare. Naturally this was an impossible ask of a small, sensitive boy, and led to blows to back of the head when tears threatened to stain the silk shirt he'd been so uncomfortably forced into for another endless press event where he stood like a prop, just desperate not to get in any more trouble or let his dad down worse than he already had.

- As Roman entered adulthood he began to be left out of all the rooms where serious people met and talked about things he could never quite get right; he's wasn't self-interested enough, he didn't have those killer instincts, he couldn't rid his head of the thoughts of how many people would be affected by the company's every move. As Logan and Kendall started to tire of his quippy comments, relegating him to waiting outside for busy work, he could feel himself struggling to meet the thresholds of adulthood that Ken seemed to have carried with him for as long as Roman could remember. This dichotomy of boy and man left Roman feeling like he was never quite comfortable with his age, unsure what lense to see that number through. And then he met you.

- Getting a job at Waystar may have left you feeling a little morally uncomfortable, but you reminded yourself that ten years experience there and you'd be able to get any job in any industry you like, while also being able to pay for your own place. So you pushed that feeling down each day as you entered that office full of rich old white men. Given you'd actually had to earn your place there, rather than just knowing someone, it wasn't long until your work ethic, intelligence and ingenuity had you climbing the corporate ladder in your department and getting you noticed by some of the much higher-ups. Naturally they tried to just take credit for your work, but when the day came that Logan actually asked for an explanation of a report you'd produced, Frank had no choice but to put you in a room with the big boss face-to-face.

- You'd heard nothing but bad things about Logan Roy and as he stared at you in pure contempt while you answered his questions, wondering why his time was being wasted with this young thing from the bullpen, it took all your resolve to hold your nerve, giving short answers and trying not to give him anything to hold over you. Every so often you'd let your eyes flick over his shoulder to the man standing behind him, ten years older than you but pulling at the sleeves of his shirt like a little kid as he watched you face the interrogation, outwardly seeming far more nervous about the situation than you did. After fifteen minutes of watching you hold your head high and speak so confidently about your work, Roman was staring at you unashamedly in a mix of awe, intrigue and disbelief. Despite the age gap you seemed to have all the facets of a self-assured adult that he felt he'd never quite unlocked, while exuding the joyful exuberance of youth he'd never been allowed. He needed to know more about you, so when Logan shouted at Gerri to 'throw you in a dress and bring to this week's investor mixers' he could feel his heart pounding in his chest at the sheer hope and possibility of the answers you might hold.

- You weren't thrilled to spend your evenings surrounded by colleagues, stood to attention in case anyone needed a question answering, but you didn't hate the full railing of designer evening wear that had been sent to your apartment for the occasion. You found yourself trying to blend into the shadows of a corner, unsure of your place in this room and this crowd, wondering if any of the food on display was actually for eating, or if that would be seen as a massive faux pas. Luckily Roman had been keeping an interested eye on you all evening; who you'd spoken to, what you'd been dressed in, the frankly adorable face you'd pulled when Frank handed you a Whiskey twice your age and you took a very unwilling sip, feigning appreciation before slinking away to stick your tongue out at the burning taste. And finally he built up the nerve to approach you now that you were alone, trying to approach casually by picking up a grape from the ornate platter beside you, only to take a bite, realise it was plastic and having to hand it mortified to a waiter that had watched the whole thing from your side. He could feel the blood burning in his cheeks as he watched you try and stifle a laugh, both mortified that you already knew he was a fool and pleased that he'd been able to bring a smile to your face this evening.

"Yeah yeah fuck you." He laughed as he stopped just in front of you, all the words he'd planned to share failing him now that he was close enough to see the beauty in your sincere smile as you shook your head,

"Really I should thank you, now I'm one step closer to figuring out what's actually edible here." You replied with a warmth that almost made Roman recoil, so used to the icy chill he usually received from those around him.

"Well certainly not that whiskey." He nodded to the short crystal glass you'd been trying to put down since Frank handed it to you, tone sarcastic but without the cutting edge he was usually one to deliver. "Why is that the one thing these old fucks actually like to be their own age?" As you laughed again Roman felt a little victorious, he had set himself a pretty low bar but he was confident he was going to be the highlight of your evening.

- As you spent the next week being dragged to different events, you'd always find Roman slinking to your side before the night was through, as if you'd always been old friends, just counting down the hours of everyone else's company. You'd counter his one-liners and then ask him where he'd rather be on a Friday night and make him realise he didn't really know any other kind of night. So when you'd list off your weekend plans, and hobbies and interests, and tell him stories about your friends that had his hyena laugh echoing across the otherwise solemn room, he'd start to realise just how much he was missing out on, and how much he wanted to explore that with you as his guide.

- It stopped being enough, just finding you on odd evenings. Roman would start finding your desk at Waystar, pretending to just be wandering through a junior office coincidentally. He'd glance at his wrist, ignoring the fact he'd forgotten to put on a watch this morning, and comment that as 'technically kind of your boss' he needed to make sure his best employees were actually taking a lunch break, and also were you hungry? Sometimes during the day he'd just melt onto the floor beside your desk, chatting about nothing as you tried your best to type and pay him the attention he so desperately craved. He'd start having all of his meetings in the rooms on your floor so he could wave at you as he walked past the huge glass windows keeping your team contained, an apt metaphor for the walls up inside him he was worried you'd never cross.

- Poor insecure Roman, he'd really try and force himself to ask you out, but ultimately he'd be so afraid of the potential backlash of rejection, that it would be up to you to finally ask if he wanted to grab a drink after work, one Friday when he'd been particularly clingy. You'd take him to a fun, casual bar and watch his eye's light up at people playing darts or ordering fried food and generally the nice, relaxed atmosphere where he didn't feel he had to be the smartest person in the room. Occasionally a friend of yours would walk in a wave and ask how you were doing, and you'd introduce Roman as your friend with no shame or regret and he'd say something funny and get the same rush of pride at making you laugh that he did the first time, and he'd feel like maybe the more time he spent getting to know you, the better he could see himself, still young at heart but not the kid he once was. His lost childhood and misspent youth given a second chance as you offered to see him again next weekend.

- Once you open the affectionate floodgates Roman would be the clingiest koala you can imagine. He'd rarely be as direct as holding your hand, especially not in public, conscious of looking just like his father with a younger woman on his arm. But in the privacy of your little apartment, the one Roman fell in love with the moment he saw it, he'd take a slightly threadbare throw and toss it over the both of you as he all but crumbled into your lap when he wanted to talk about something he thought would make you run. Opening up about his father's wrath and his warped view of himself, glancing up periodically to check you hadn't ran away and left him behind, finding softness in your eyes instead of disappointment and sinking even more deeply into you.

- Roman would think you are an absolute fucking genius for everything you've done for yourself. Worked hard to be the best at your job? Genius. Manage your own bills and do your own laundry? Genius. Carry a water bottle around and make him drink some when he has a headache and somehow he feels better than he has in years? Genius.

- Roman would follow you to hell and back, but you'll have to forcibly remove him from your apartment when you want to go outside. He's never been somewhere that actually felt like home, every soft furnishing and mismatched bowl making him want to haunt your halls forever. If you ever make him a home cooked meal, he'll act like it's not a big deal, but honestly he's crying inside that anyone would go through the effort for him, and that he was the person they chose to be around. Cut to him going thrifting with you to buy five new dishes for you to cook in next time, plus anything else you like.

- Occasionally you'll successfully get him outside for a hike, or a walk, or even a day at a museum or arcade; and Roman will go full toddler on you. Pointing at everything excitedly, running around and shrieking, making sure he was your undivided attention and dragging you by the hand to look at everything. By the time you're home you're ready to collapse, only to notice Roman surreptitiously placing a little souvenir somewhere on your shelf, sneakily bought from a gift shop while you were in the bathroom, before pretending he has no idea how it got there.

- Roman is so enraptured by the incredible, rounded human-being that you are, that eventually some of your self-belief would start to rub off on him, making him feel more sure of himself than he ever has before. Thinking less about the approval of others (except you, he still desperately wants that), feeling confident in his ideas, and no longer feeling like he's stuck in Peter Pan mode - despite falling for someone ten years his junior, Roman would finally feel like he was becoming the man he was always supposed to be, thanks to you.

Let me know if you want a part two of this!

[3d-wifey]

And They'd Find Us In A Week - Chapter 8

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 4.8k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! Tag List: @melancholicmelanin , @yvy1s, @honethatty12 A/N: Are yall mad at me 🙁🙁 Your outfit & Finnick's outfit.

Past (ix) - You

[19 & 20] - THE CAPITOL

You like Johanna, you decide after only a few minutes of talking to her. She’s clever and somehow always simmering with rage. With her stature and how meek she seemed in her interviews, even you were surprised by the 180 she did in the arena. It's easy to see how she won. 

It's admirable. Admittedly, your games were more animalistic than strategic. The careers had turned on each other pretty early on, leaving behind those who were desperate to stay alive. There was even a boy who resorted to cannibalism, eating the heart of any tribute he killed. His name was Titus. He was only thirteen. When they airlifted you out, it felt like you were taken out of the wilderness and brought into captivity.

You also note, despite her permanent scowl, or maybe because of it, she’s pretty. And that thought plants dread in your chest. You know the future for pretty, young victors all too well.

Is this how Finnick felt when he first met you?

There are ways around it, you note. Though the consequences are pretty grim. Enobaria comes to mind. She won her games by ripping another tribute’s throat out with her teeth. An act of desperation turned into her main selling point. She was smart. Went to an extreme and sharpened her teeth to garner more Capitol appeal while simultaneously dissuading Snow from selling her body. She’s pretty, but no one’s jumping to get into bed with teeth like that.

And Haymitch…well, Haymitch wasn’t given much of a choice considering Snow killed any leverage he might have had over him.

You make your rounds, jumping from group to group, barely being able to pull away from those who want your attention. Obviously, you aren’t mingling because you want to. There isn’t a single client you’d willingly interact with, ever . However, what you want doesn’t really matter at the end of the day. A fact made all the more apparent when you get cornered by a particularly tenacious Capitol.

Ursa Lowvale—a notable actress old enough to be your mother, with a surprising amount of political influence—has one hand caressing your cheek and the other holding your waist. Her makeup, in Capitol fashion, is cakey and clashing. You force down the impulse to move away because no matter how long you’ve done this, it never ceases to amaze you how uncomfortable their touch makes you.

“Did you get the care package I sent you, dearest?" She asks, rubbing a thumb over your cheekbone. You take her hand from your face and move it to rest over your heart, just above your breast. Her touch makes you nauseous, but you play it off as if you’re showing your sincerity and not your disgust.

“I did. And I must say, your kindness knows no bounds.” You threw the package away immediately. You didn’t even bother looking inside. “You’re so giving.”

“Oh, I’m giving in all aspects . As I’m sure you know.” She moves her hand down to rest on the crest of your cleavage and you play none the wiser to what she’s insinuating. That’s the personality you’ve cultivated over the past four years; shy, docile, naive—if not a bit ditzy. It’s that very image that ropes them in. Corrupting the ‘innocence’ of a victor is awfully appealing.

“I’ll be sure to set up another meeting sometime soon. It’s been far too long.” She leans down and places a kiss on the corner of your mouth. “I’ll be waiting.” 

You wait until she’s out of sight to drop your smile. You take a sip of champagne out of the flute and then you take another. You’ll never drink enough at one of these events to lose your wits, but it doesn’t hurt to be a little tipsy. If more encounters like that happen, you’ll need it.

You stick to the outskirts of the party, savoring the limited solitude while it lasts. You watch on as Johanna turns another person down. You don’t know how they even work up the nerve to ask her to dance; she certainly isn’t welcoming. She seems to tolerate victors well enough, but anyone else—well, they should know better than to approach her.

You jump when toned arms slide around your waist, champagne sloshing out of your glass.

“ Stunning as always, Star. ” He whispers, voice husky in your ear. You relax in his hold.

“Finnick Ewan Odair, I swear if you made me drop this glass—” 

“I know, I know,” he smirks against your cheek and you can’t tamp down your smile, “Missed you.” He kisses your temple and moves back. It wouldn’t be perceived as strange for Finnick, of all people, to hang off of you, but you keep it to a minimum as a self-imposed rule. No one would blink twice at innocent affection in public, but you both know how easy it would be for the two of you to get carried away. There’s flirting and then there’s flirting. 

“Mhm, I’m sure you did.” You chuckle into your drink, playing at being impassive and he sighs dramatically.

“You see, now, normally, when somebody says they miss you, you’re supposed to say…?” He prompts with his hands and trails off. “C’mon, Star. I know you know this one.” You blink up at him, silent. He scoffs in faux offense, turning to walk away and you drop the act.

“Okay, I’m sorry ,” you laugh, pulling him back by one of his billowy sleeves to hook a finger in one of his belt loops, “I’m sorry. I missed you too.” In the past six months since Johanna’s games, you’ve only seen each other seven times. Odd, since you’ve both come to the Capitol at least twenty times combined, and usually, the two of you are brought in to work at the same time.

“Now, was that so hard?” He teases and you poke him in his stomach where he’s ticklish. The muscles in his abdomen twitch as he snorts unattractively. Or, it would have been if anyone other than Finnick did it. “You’ll catch a cold in that.” He notes with a quirk of his eyebrow and looks you up and down for longer than what’s strictly necessary. He’s referring to the newest dress your stylist stuffed you into. It seems like she gets more and more daring with each outfit. This time you’re in a thin strapped evening gown with an almost see-through corset bodice. There’s a slit up your left thigh reaching your hip. You try not to toddle in red heels that are truly too high.

One of his hands goes to your waist and moves you to sway with him to the music the live orchestra is playing. Your free hand trails up his strong shoulder to play with the hairs at his nape.

“I can say the same for you.” You tug on the shark tooth necklace that definitely isn’t his. He’s in a loose, khaki-colored wrap shirt with a deep v-neck. Deeper than deep, honestly. It’s sheer like yours and tucked into the front of his white slacks. The sleeves cinch at his wrists and the whole thing offers very little coverage to his bare chest and stomach, which is probably the point.

“I guess we’ll have to find a way to keep each other warm then.” He bites his bottom lip with a grin that spells nothing good for your patience.

You pinch his side.

“Ow! I’m kidding .” He raises his hands placatingly, grinning broadly.

“ Behave .” You scold through your teeth and your cheeks hurt with the stretch of your smile. 

“You gonna punish me if I don—”

That earns him a smack to the bare skin of his chest. 

“You are so irritating,” you scold and he laughs loud and unrestrained with his head thrown back. A sight that never ceases to leave you breathless. Finnick usually never lets himself be this carefree in public, but maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s your presence. He catches his breath, ruddy cheeks dimpling. He looks awfully pretty under the soft yellow lights, hair shining like gold. A possessive thought sinks its claws into you. You don’t want anyone to see him like this. No one else deserves it. You aren’t even sure if you do.

“You love it.” He’s still letting out breathy little giggles as he beams down at you, big doe eyes twinkling.

You shake your head with an insurmountable fondness. “I love you .”

He wrinkles his nose and your eyes are drawn to the faint freckles dotting the bridge of it. “See, that’s not fair.”

“Oh?” You cross your arms, balancing your glass precariously while playfully sizing him up as one would before a sparring match. But that train of thought makes you think. Could you take Finnick in a fight? You snort. Can anyone? “Please, Mr. Odair. Please tell me all about how unfair it is that I love you.”

“ Ouch . Mr. Odair?” He huffs at your expectant stare. “You use it for evil .” He mirrors your stance by crossing his arms, and drawing your attention to his biceps. His loose-fitting sleeves are doing a horrible job of hiding their shape and size as they flex with his movement. Hmm . You bring back that thought of fighting Finnick, but now it’s not that funny. You picture you and Finnick spent and sweaty as you wrestle on a mat, he would be red in the face and grinning from exertion as he pinned you down and—

You take a sip of champagne. 

“Well, I guess I’ll just stop saying it all together then if it’s such a hardship.” You shrug.

He raises his hands like he’s fending off an attack. “Woah! Alright, alright. I’m willing to come to a truce.”

The pair of you are still joking and giggling together when you get approached by a couple. Edgar, one of Finnick’s regulars, and Karlo, his husband whom you’ve had many meetings with yourself. Anyone else in your position would have jumped apart, and put as much space and plausible deniability between you as possible—and maybe you would have done that when you were younger, but you both know now that the best way to squash any suspicion is to act like there’s nothing to be suspicious of.

You and Finnick share a glance. Breathe and endure , you mouth to him while your back is still turned to the encroaching couple. You welcome the wry twist of his lips.

“What are you two drinking that’s making you so smiley?” They ask and you both sober up. Well, not literally. You don’t know about him, but you’re still a little fuzzy. You shiver as the silk of Finnick’s shirt brushes your bare back as he wraps his hand around yours and takes a sip from your glass.

“Champagne.” He supplies, with that charming smile that you don’t even have to turn around to know is there. “It hits quicker than you’d think.” This is partially true, but, really, the only thing you’re drunk on is Finnick.

You lean back into the heat of Finnick’s chest and his hand goes to your hip to steady you, his thumb rubbing circles into your hip.

“Looks like someone’s drunk more than her fair share.” Karlo laughs as they crowd in on you both and if you really had been as drunk as you’re pretending to be, you would have thrown up from the smell of their strong perfumes clashing. Both sickeningly sweet and fighting to clog your lungs. “Don’t tell me you’re drunk already.”

“Honestly, I barely drank any. I must be a lightweight.” You laugh, fake to your own ears and you’re sure to Finnick’s too.

“Really? That’s quite surprising. You know. With your rough background and all.” Edgar says with genuine confusion. It’s odd to be insulted so sincerely. Finnick scoffs behind you in what could be mistaken for amusement, but the grip on your hip says otherwise.

You stay quiet for the rest of the conversation. You chime in here and there, but Finnick carries the bulk of it. It isn’t normally like this. Many people usually fall over themselves trying to be the first person you talk to. But there are a select few who prefer you to stand there and look pretty. You can essentially dumb your way out of a conversation, Finnick isn’t so lucky.

“You’ll have to show us some of your poetry sometime, Nick,” Edgar says while walking his fingers up Finnick’s arm and you almost wince for him. He hates that nickname. Writing, specifically poetry, is the hobby Finnick was forced to take up after his games. Something that’s supposed to give a layer of complexity to his playboy image. Though, unlike most victors, it’s actually something he enjoys and is quite good at. 

You, on the other hand, wished you were given any other skill to hone. If your fingers hadn’t already been callused, the violin strings would’ve left them mangled. 

“He always forgets to ask that, but I’m sure it’s because you have him suitably distracted.” Karlo laughs and Edgar cackles along with him. You don’t know what’s tighter, your grip on the glass or your smile. You wonder which one will shatter first.

“Ah, anyway. We must be off.” Edgar, thankfully, pulls away.

“It’s always a pleasure to see you.” Karlo takes your unattended hand and kisses the back of it and you instantly regret talking your stylist out of giving you elbow-length gloves.

“Likewise.” 

You hold your breath and release it when they’re out of sight. You feel Finnick’s chest expand with his own sigh of relief.

“Alright,” he plucks the champagne from your hand, handing it to a passing server. You’re tempted to complain, “Let’s go. We’ve shown our faces long enough that Snow shouldn’t care.” You’re hesitant for a moment, but you can’t act like the idea of being alone with Finnick isn’t more than enough to convince you. 

Other than the constant security and monitoring, the Training Center isn’t a terrible place to stay. As you and Finnick walk hand in hand down the hall, you can take comfort in the fact that you won’t run into anyone you’ll have to hide this from. The soles of your feet ache with each step. You yelp when you almost trip for the third time, your ankle turning inwards. Maybe you really are a lightweight.

Wordlessly, Finnick squats down and pats his thigh. You're confused before he taps your ankle. And he waits patiently like it’s the most natural thing in the world to take your shoes off for you. Your chest warms from something other than alcohol. You place your foot on his thigh and he takes off your heel and does the same with the other. He keeps the strap of your shoes looped over his finger as he stands.

“C’mon,” he puts one arm under your knees, another behind your back, and lifts you up like you weigh nothing. You really do try your best not to gawk at his strength, but from Finnick’s flustered giggles, you’re failing miserably. You wrap your arm around his neck.

“My hero,” you put the back of your hand to your forehead and his chest vibrates with his laughter. 

“My star, light of my life,” you laugh as he spins you, “The least I can do is save you from a broken ankle.” He presses a featherlight kiss to your lips. Your eyes flutter shut and you can’t help but smile against his lips.

You and Finnick have unintentionally established a pattern. More often than not, you both would be in the Capitol at the same time for the same reason and one of you always ends up in the other’s room. But the elevator doesn’t stop on either of your floors.

The elevator opens on the rooftop and he’s yet to put you down. You’re amazed at how long he’s been able to carry you without any strain.  

The gardens are sprawling and well-maintained, a surprising amount of care for something unprofitable. There was a kid, a tribute from one of the early games, who jumped off the roof. They claimed he fell by accident and the force field was put in place as a safety measure. But you all know what really happened—the districts know what happened. And you suspect he’s the reason the garden was implemented. A poorly planned distraction on the Capitol’s behalf. 

Finnick sits on one of the garden benches behind a tall hedge of roses with you on his lap. You rest your head on top of his, tracing random letters on the back of his neck.

Finnick clears his throat. “There were kids at the reception. Running around– chasing each other. They asked me to play tag with them.” He laughs. You conjure up an image of Finnick chasing a gaggle of children that don’t even come up to his waist, because of course he did, and suddenly, you can think of nothing else. “Have you ever thought about having any?”

“I did when I was younger.” You hum. You thought of a lot of things when you were a kid. When you were young enough to be shielded by your parents from the brutality of your district, young enough to dream. That period didn’t last and you haven’t been a kid for a long time.

“But?”

“But, I didn’t think I’d live long enough to have any.” You didn’t even think you were capable of that kind of love. You didn't think it was in your capacity. It was bred and beaten out of you, especially after your games. But Finnick’s in the business of proving you wrong. “And to bring them into this world, into Eleven, seems cruel.” 

The chirp of crickets fills the silence. Fireflies dot the sky and blend with the stars.

His fingers tap on your thigh. “I always thought I’d have two. They’d be close in age so—”

“—They’d be friends.” You finish and he gives a slow nod that picks up speed.

“Yeah, a boy and a girl.” You want to picture it. You want to imagine a world where it’s possible to have that life together. But you fear the fate of a child that would look like you and Finnick.

Your eyes drift from constellation to constellation. Perseus, Pegasus, Pisces. The stars are clearer here than at the Marquis, but not by much. It’s times like this that you miss your dad the most.

“If you’re comfortable sharing, I’d love to hear some more of your poetry.” You mutter into his hair. What Edgar said got you thinking. You don’t want Finnick to associate his talent with those people. Everything he writes is a piece of him. It amounts to more than that, more than them. 

“I would think you’d be tired of it by now, considering how much I write in my letters.” 

“Mmm, I’ll never be tired of anything you do. You really do have a gift, Finn, and you shouldn’t waste it on them.” The words were out of your mouth before you even had time to comprehend them. You lift your head when he moves to look at you, “It’s true.” You say, somewhat embarrassed. You aren’t really the emotionally forthcoming one in this relationship, but you weren’t expecting what you said to be met with surprise.

He places a kiss on the shell of your bracelet. You shiver as he trails his lips down to the tip of your fingers. Your heart speeds up in anticipation. He presses his cheek to the back of your hand and he sits there with his eyes closed, before speaking.

“My heart, who am I to deprive you of what's yours by right? The air in my lungs, I breathe for you. The blood in my veins pumps for you.” He laces your fingers together, eyes still closed. “A leaf can’t stop itself from falling and neither could I.” When he opens his eyes back up, you’re swept away by the sheer adoration. That’s something you should get used to, right? You don’t think you’ve seen Finnick look at you any differently. And you don’t think you ever will.

He shakes his head with a smile as bright as the sun. “Everything I do, I do for you.” He whispers and just when you catch your breath, it’s gone again.

You’re not sure who leans in first, not that it matters. No, all that matters is this moment—just the two of you.

He pulls back, the tip of his nose brushing yours.

“So,” he speaks, lips twitching into a smirk, and you brace yourself for the sheer strength of the eye roll that’s certain to follow whatever he says next, “your room or mine?” Your eyes truly come close to rolling out of your head, but you snort despite yourself and that smirk becomes a full-blown smile.

Present (VIII) - You

[23 & 24 ] - TRAINING CENTER

You inhale through your nose and release the breath through your teeth. Your arms burn from your fingers to your biceps and you try to adjust your grip on the bar, but the strain in your shoulders convinces you to tap out. You drop to the ground and the screen next to you reads four minutes and eight seconds, but you know you can make it to five. 

You bounce on your toes and shake out your hands. Just as you’re about to jump back up, you notice a crowd forming around the archery station. Your curiosity gets the better of you and you’re able to slip to the front and see what the commotion is about. Inside, Katniss shoots down the hologram opponents with deadly proficiency, seemingly sensing the enemies before they’re even there. The arm strength involved with shooting a bow and arrow is nothing to scoff at. Especially with the fluidity and speed she’s going.

After she hits the last hologram and the exercise shuts off, everyone else stands impressed—yourself included. You're starting to understand why Haymitch is putting so much stock into her.

In terms of basic survival, there’s nothing for you to improve on. Shelter making, fire starting, weapons, hand-to-hand—there isn’t much for you to learn within the day you have left. You think about stopping at the camouflage station but think better of it. As long as there’s something to climb, you’ll have camouflage. Mags hovers by the fish hooks station, but you worry if you go near her, Finnick won’t be far behind. You don’t know what he wants from you, why he even wants to speak to you. It’s not like he responded to any of your letters, so why now ? Why now when you’ve finally come to terms with the way he wanted things to be?

On the topic of avoiding Finnick, you also steer clear of the knot-tying station. He’s there now teaching Katniss how to tie what looks like a noose. You’d run out of fingers if you tried to count the number of knots he’s taught you. You never thought you’d ever have to use any of them, but there’s no telling what will happen in the arena.

Edible insects are much easier to distinguish than plants, but you’re more than adept at both. The same can’t be said for Peeta. You must have been watching him for nearly thirty minutes and he’s gotten close to nothing right.

He still has the paint that the female Morphling—Megan, you’re pretty sure—painted on his arm. Swirls of the orange, yellow, and purple trail from his wrist to his shoulder.

The screen flashes red as he organizes the plants incorrectly.

“You are terrible at this.” You walk forward to lean against the control panel, “Like, extraordinarily.” 

Peeta looks up from the buttons. It’s technically the first time the two of you have talked, not counting that meeting after the chariots where Chaff kissed Katniss.

“I just,” he scratches at the back of his head and frowns, discouraged, “I can’t remember the names. I know nightlock, obviously. But not much else.”

“Well, you’re able to recognize where you fall short. That’s good. You’re trying to match the names to the fruit, but you don’t have enough time to remember all of that. It’s pointless anyway.” What good is remembering the name of a berry if he doesn’t know if he can eat it or not?

“Then, what am I supposed to do?”

“Instead of figuring out the names, try to focus on what they look like and whether or not they’re edible. That’s all that matters, honestly.” You restart the exercise, changing the parameters so he’ll have to organize the plants into categories by picture.

“You’re helping me?”

“I can’t, in good conscience, let you die because you decided to tussle with the wrong berry.” Hundreds of kids have died in Eleven from eating something they shouldn’t have. Not because they didn’t know it was poisonous, but because they were so hungry that they took their chances. “Trust me, that’s not a fight you wanna pick.”

It’s touch and go for a second, but it’s not long before Peeta starts catching on. He’s a quick learner, and it’s much easier—more beneficial—to memorize what an edible plant looks like rather than what it’s called.

While Peeta is distracted with a timed matching game, your eyes trail to where Finnick goes through different motions with a trident while Katniss watches with laser-like focus. He stops to say something to her and glances your way. You’re quick to look back down to the task at hand.

How are you supposed to work with him in the arena if you can’t even handle being in the same room as him?

“I’m just not good at this.” Peeta laughs with a hint of self-deprecation. The screen shows he was only able to get half of the plants organized before the timer went off. For somebody starting from scratch, he’s selling himself pretty short. He just needs a little more time and you’re confident he’ll be able to recognize what can and can’t be eaten within an hour.

“I watched your games. You could definitely be better.” Poisonous berries are the leading cause of death in the arena. Followed closely by being killed, either by another tribute or the arena itself. This will help protect him from the former. He doesn't need to master this. He just needs to know enough to get by.

”Yeah, Katniss is definitely better at this kind of stuff.” He looks over his shoulder to where Katniss and Finnick are still training. This time Katniss holds the trident and her movements are nowhere near as polished as his were. Despite that, Peeta’s eyes shine.

You look at Peeta— really look at him—and realize something.

"You actually love her, don't you?" You marvel. It hadn't even crossed your mind that their feelings could be genuine. He looks at you surprised, before whatever persona he's embodying slides into place. 

"What, do you think it's an act or something?" He laughs.

"I did. But your eyes gave you away. They hold this kind of—softness whenever you look at her, whenever you talk about her," you turn back to the screen but don't restart the exercise, "I'd recognize that anywhere." Of course, you would. It's how Finnick used to look at you.

You're both quiet. He looks from you to his hands on the controls.

"I do." He breathes, hard to hear over the cacophony of sounds in the room. "I really do."

You take a breath and let it out in a sigh.

"I'm sorry then."

"For what?" His brows furrow with confusion.

"You shouldn't have to go into the arena with someone you love. It's cruel." Your heart aches for him. You don't know how much Katniss reciprocates his feelings—you're starting to think she doesn't at all. For that, you can't help but feel sorry for him—can't help but see yourself in him. 

Haymitch was right, after all. Peeta's a good kid. He doesn't deserve this.

"Then, I'm sorry too." You glance at him from the corner of your eye. "You're right. We shouldn't have to." You don't say anything for a second and he doesn't press you to. You doubt anyone told him about you and Finnick, so maybe he's just that observant. And smarter than anyone notices. An oversight you're sure he takes advantage of.

You don't bother denying it. Instead, you nod. He nods back. A sense of comradery is shared between the two of you, but it doesn't last long. You still have training to do. You press on a random square and a creepy-looking plant appears. A red stalk with shiny, white berries spins in a slow circle on the screen.

"White baneberry, poisonous or not poisonous?" He contemplates it.

"Poisonous?" He asks more than tells you.

"Just to eat?" You prompt and he shakes his head.

"You can't touch it either." He answers far more confidently and you smile. There might be hope for him yet.

"Good. Next."

-

A/N: SMUT NEXT CHAPTER!!!!! PEW PEW PEW!!!!

[plinkodiskhorse]

on labels

The back and forth over the use of the word “queer” baffles and frustrates me. I think the arguments, and the term itself, are illustrative of a dialectic. Queer is simultaneously collective and individual, affiliation-group and self-identity, over-arching and specific, degrading and embracing. Until a time comes that all variations and expressions of gender and sexuality (and combinations thereof) are free from social and institutional stigma, queer will never mean just one thing.

Queer, as an over-arching term for anyone who is NOT cisgender, heterosexual, or perisex, acknowledges the overlap and interplay of gender assigned at birth, identified gender, gender expression, sexual attraction. A cisgender, butch dyke (a person assigned female at birth who aligns with that identity and is attracted to other women, while expressing her gender in a “masculine” manner) and a faggy, transgender man (a person assigned female at birth who “rejects” womanhood while dating men and expressing an “effeminate” masculinity) may seem very different from one another but can have MANY shared experiences of “queerness.” Both may be targets of transphobia and misogyny — even when one of them isn’t trans and one of them isn’t a woman — and both may be targets of homophobia. “Queer” (can, should) holds space for all of these aspects of self, even when they seem to contradict one another.

(How can a transgender man experience misogyny? When he is not perceived/treated as a man, but as a “failed woman.” How can a cisgender woman experience transphobia? When she is perceived/treated as a “non-passing” transgender woman encroaching upon “women’s spaces.”)

When this hypothetical cis dyke and transfag both claim the word “queer,” there is (or should be, in this umbrella interpretation of queer) an understanding that “your fight is my fight.” We may not be the exact same flavor of queer, but our liberation is interconnected. My freedom, as a transgender man, cannot be won at the expense of women’s freedom. I don’t mean that just in the sense that I would be morally opposed to that situation; I mean it in the sense that the oppression of women WILL impact my own freedom.

The baroque complexities of queerness become further entangled when considering race, religion, and disability. Can “queer” hold the history of racialized gender in America? That black people have been hypersexualized/virilized and subsequently fetishized and denigrated for this projection. That East Asian women have been seen as seductresses or naturally submissive, while East Asian men are desexualized or objectified as seeming young and effeminate. The stereotypes of the hot blooded Latina and the macho Latino. Can “queer” encompass the deliberate destruction of Native gender identities and the subsequent (current) obfuscating mythologizing by white queers? Can “queer” be a place for people who see their gender and/or sexuality as a manifestation of/connection to the Divine while also being a place for those deeply harmed by religion because of their gender/sexuality? Can “queer” accept people with disabilities as people capable of eroticism even if their bodies don’t allow for some forms of sex acts?

As a dialectic, rather than a static fact, queer can hold these things, and there are times that queer will be too broad for all these things and specificity is needed.

As a dialectic, queer is a slur and an academic term. Queer is an acceptable word in a peer-reviewed journal, and has the potential to be “fighting words” interpersonally. What matters is the context and the individual interpretation. And it’s HIGHLY personal.

I was born and raised in Texas from the 90s to the 2010s. I never heard queer used as an insult, except in media from (or set in) the past. If I had heard someone use queer as an insult, my initial reaction would have been confusion. Are you fucking old? Is this the 70s? But I did hear gay used as an insult all the time. And faggot and dyke, if there weren’t any teachers within hearing range. I didn’t really encounter queer until undergrad, as an academic term, an area of study, and then as how my friends self-identified. Because of this, my associations with queer are largely positive.

But I know people who also grew up in Texas, only a 30-45min drive away from where I grew up, who did experience queer as a slur. For them, they may feel more comfortable reclaiming fag or dyke, rather than queer. And that’s their decision to make. And yet, it would be reductive if they were to treat queer as only ever a slur, not as a word with decades of usage in academic and intracommunity contexts.

I like queer as a word that can veil meaning.

It can be a conversation stopper. You don’t get to know the specifics of my gender history, my sexual partners, the roles I take in sex, the acts I enjoy during sex.

It can be a conversation starter. I see you’re different in a way that is similar to how I’m different; let us now ask each other oblique and leading questions that the cis hets around us won’t understand.

I dislike how queer is increasingly absorbed into the corporate rainbow-washing of assimilationists. A company doesn’t get to sell me Pride merch with one hand and donate to anti-trans politicians with the other hand.

I cannot say that queer retains its edge, nor can I say that it has been defanged. I cannot force others to reclaim the word, nor can I gatekeep the word. In the first “queer studies” class I ever had, my professor explained “autonomy” literally means “self-naming.”

There is no right or wrong answer, there is only ever-increasing nuance.

[thesirencult]

THE PLUTO IN CAPRICORN GENERATION'S ATTITUDE IS THE PROOF THAT WE ARE GOING THROUGH A PARADIGM SHIFT

The average 4 year old spends more than 3 hours each day in front of a screen. Isolated, with no human interaction and their ability to read human emotions and perform complex cognitive functions declining constantly.

The Pluto in Capricorn generation holds a direct mirror to our socioeconomic and technological structures.

Pluto = breaking, transforming, war, power games, death, metamorphosis

Capricorn = socio-economic structures and organization, careers, institutions

After the 2008 crisis and COVID-19 AND the current silent depression we are moving through, looking at the way children of that generation behave, shows us where our societal constructions failed. So here are some observations :

- Many Pluto in Capricorn kids want to pursue a career path out of the norm. They want to be influencers or own online businesses. Very few of them are interested in traditional paths of wealth like banking and finance.

- They don't have respect for school and education because they feel like it doesn't teach them enough. Most of the kids also went through 2 years of online school and they missed out on the social perks the schooling experience provides.

- Violence. This generation is mad at the system. They quiet quit. They hate supervisors and "gurus" and they are also looking for extremely masculine figures, like Andrew Tate. A few days ago I stumbled upon the Candace Owens talk with Andrew Tate and he appeared a bit "reformed". Guess what? The young men in the comment section did not like his slightly changed views on marriage and women.

- This kids consider Facebook and Instagram "old". They like crypto and decentralised platforms. They are simultaneously very street smart but not that interested in formal education.

- It feels like these kids had to grow up very fast in a world that seems unforgiving and harsh. They may be more unemotional and less empathetic, especially if personal placements support that.

[lisenberry]

A little early for WIP Wednesday, but I've been thinking about this one for a while and it had me in a chokehold this morning. Snippet from something longer.

Alpha Bountyhunter!Price x Omega Saloon Madam!Reader

Western in the vein of Deadwood, Godless, and Silverado (thank you @thecoziestbean)

Title: I was born to run, you were born to stay (so hold me close)

CW: Violence, murder, sex work, ABO/Omegaverse, past trauma

“Are you the madam?”  The timbre of his voice spoke to a memory you’ll never forget.

If you had a doubt before, thinking your eyes and your olfactory deceived you, you were sure as shit now.

“I am.  And don’t bother, I know who you are.  A lawman in Chicago, before the war?”

“Yeah, I was there.” As if he got the question all the time. As if he was famous or something.

“Sergeant John Price?  You gunned down my daddy like he was a mad dog in the street.”

“I've killed a lot of daddies. Did he deserve it?”  He licked at the foamy bubbles of beer clinging to his thick, dark mustache before wiping it with the back of his hand.

His glacial eyes fixed on yours, assessing.

“Maybe.  But I sure as hell didn’t.” 

His gaze slipped down to the scarf around your neck, strategically placed to muddy your scent and disguise your bitten gland. 

“It's Captain now. Never met a mated whore before.”  He finished his drink with a long, thirsty pull.  Simultaneously changing the subject of his culpability in the wayward trajectory of your life, and daring to insult you for it.

“Widowed.”  You challenged his derision with a light tone, as you replaced his empty mug with a fresh fill.

“I’m sorry, and for the offense as well.  What happened to him?”  He didn’t seem very sorry.  In fact, you imagined it was a disposition as foreign to him as couth.  

“He was shot in the face.  Very tragic.”  A sweet, satisfied smile graced your lips.

“You sound real tore up about it.”

“I was.  The recoil on that rifle nearly dislocated my shoulder.”  Your boldness was rewarded with a surprised, choking snort.

“Is there a warrant out for your arrest anywhere?”  he asked, recovering with an inquisitive grin.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you.  Truss me up and drag me in?”  You were playing with fire, judging by the flare of hot blue light that accompanied the sharp huff of air into his nose.  Like a bull chuffing at the dirt.

But you were too long in the tooth to be simpering for ornery old alphas.  After what he’d done to you, it seemed only right to give him a bit of trouble.

“No, I imagine you’d just put me down all swift and quiet like, not wanting the fight.”  If he was going to insult your honor, you’d give it right back.

But he didn’t rise to the bait.  Not as quick to anger as that last lingering impression you had of him from years ago.  Shame, it was a sight.

“Do I have to worry about you, darling?” An unsettling warmth displaced any suspicion in his words.

You glanced down at the bar top, to see just how close his hand was to yours.  A tingle of electricity drawing you in against your will.

Can’t fight your nature, child.  It’d been the last thing your grieving mama said to you before you were loaded onto that stock car filled with young, first heat omegas.  Alongside the cattle slated for auction.  Each one moaning and crying a different tune.

“Reckon you’d be a fool not to, Captain.” 

[rileys-battlecats]

Finally made some simple reference sheets for my little guys :D I also put together some little facts about them and their personalities :P

Minare

pronounced mee-NAH-ray

Half leader, half figurehead to the rebellion against the current king and his heir

The people who work with her respect her as the last scion of the true royal line, but also they have known her since she was Fresh Out The Womb so she's also kind of their baby. Collectively. Collective rebel baby

Disregard the fact she's like. Early twenties. That's their baby girl

This makes Minare A Little Insane. She loves the rebels, they've supported her and her family through the worst times they've seen in living memory, but also She's An Adult and she NEEDS to have someone respect her and her decisions.

Her opinions don't always hold the weight that she thinks they should, her being the future ruler of the kingdom and all

Much of her work in the rebellion is stunted by the fact that she is THE last of the true royal family, so she is Not Expendable. They have to keep her safe, and she knows why, but it's also a little infuriating that she can't help more

Dangerous missions are an Absoultely Not, but Mina still helps by doing safer missions and planning/strategizing

She's been given tons of self-defense training, and she carries a short blade with her just about everywhere. This is seen as slightly unusual, but ultimately understandable for a young lady when she's traveling on her own often. Like having a can of pepper spray with you

Makes casual friends very easily; she manages to seem incredibly open and personable while simultaneously telling you Nothing important about her personal life

That being said, she doesn't have many close friends. She doesn't want to put anyone in danger, and she also doesn't want to put herself or the rebels in danger by making an opening that could be exploited. Her friendship with Vaitus is something that happens without her really meaning for it to happen. She just looks up one day and realizes she's gotten way too attached to this guy that was supposed to just be another acquaintance

She's got a protective streak a mile wide. if she makes the connection in her brain that she's responsible for someone, they INSTANTLY become someone Under Her Protection. This clashes with the inherent sacrifices she has to make as a leader of a political rebellion with high stakes consequences for each decision made

If one were to ask a random citizen of the capital if they know Minare, 9 times out of 10 they're at least acquainted with her. she's always keeping an ear out for people who need help, and is known for being able to give them a hand. If she's not doing the helping herself, she probably knows a guy

Loves finicky work. tinkering, fixing things, touching up stuff, anything that most people would find boring to work on, she's your gal

Vaitus

I'm. not sure how to explain pronunciation like I did with Minare. It's 'Vai' like in 'vital', and 'tus' like in 'tusk'

Doing His Best™

Crown Prince of the kingdom. I think I might name the kingdom 'Acora' but I haven't decided on that quite yet

"Crown" Prince is kind of an unnecessary title, since there's no other heirs. There used to be! Up until Vaitus was around 7 years old, he was one of the last in line for the throne. But then An Event occurred. I will get into this event at another time, I've got a few animatic ideas for it :P

Vaitus is less than enthused (read: terrified) by the idea of becoming king one day, but he's also aware that the kingdom would almost certainly fall into chaos if the current king died without a ready heir. A rush to fill a power vacuum could tear the kingdom apart. So he just. keeps on keeping on!

Fantasy autism. it's just like real life autism except the royal physicians diagnosed him with "occasionally possessed of foul spirits and daemons" so the diagnosis wasn't really helpful. He has no idea why he suddenly loses the ability to speak (or sometimes even think) in high stress situations. this is especially unfortunate when most of his life consists of going from one high-stress situation to another

Very thoughtful. will not speak until he's got the full sentence ready + 3 possible follow up sentences depending on where the conversation goes

Animal lover. but he doesn't know this until he gets to interact with an animal. he meets one (1) stray dog and is so normal about it (lying)

TERMINAL rbf

Was told as a child that it's impolite to not make eye contact with people, so now he makes All The Eye Contact. he's being polite. wait what do you mean he's being scary

[goldenavenger02]

you'll be alright (no one can hurt you now)

For @badthingshappenbingo Prompt: Hiding An Injury

Hakoda wasn't going to bring it up to any of the teens, but he had a sinking feeling that the week would not be as fun-filled as Aang was hoping.

If Hakoda was being honest with himself, he wasn't completely sure when he started seeing the former prince, now Fire Lord, not as an adversary but as one of the kids.

It would make sense if it had started after he accompanied his own son to save him, as well as Suki, from the Boiling Rock; Hakoda, who had to fight the urge to reprimand the then sixteen year old for putting himself in danger after finding out about the cooler.

But to him, he was more confident that it had been around the time of the coronation; when he saw just how broken Sokka's leg was and heard the tale of how the young Fire Lord had nearly died in order to save Katara's life.

Hakoda knew that he could not stay in the Fire Nation forever, nor did he want to when he finally had the chance to be with his children after the long, miserable years without them.

But he would have been lying if he had said that the reason he had postponed his return to the South Pole wasn't so he could be confident that the teenager wouldn't reinjure himself within a few days of that crown being nestled into his hair.

He should have known that he would be promoted to Head Chieftain upon his return to Wolf Cove, which ended up taking away more time from Katara and Sokka then he would have liked; it didn't make him feel any less guilty that they were simultaneously being pulled across the nations and into more danger then he ever wanted them in again despite the war being over, all with Aang by their side.

Hakoda liked Aang, it was hard not to get along with someone so happy, kind and understanding as the Avatar himself who also made time to play with the other kids in between all of the stuffy meetings that the teenager was subjected to, but he just wished that he would stay put.

And so, maybe that was why he bit the bullet and sent the letter to the new Fire Lord, extending his invitation to the South Pole; while the rest of the higher ups would want to extensively question the teenager about his priorities, he knew he was being mildly selfish in hoping that the response he received about the visit being confirmed and scheduled would be enough to get his children to stay put for more than a few days.

"Do you think Zuko has ever been penguin sledding?" Aang asked one night at the dinner table while sneaking some of the pieces of his bread to Momo, who had refused to be kicked out and curled up next to Aang's ankles at every meal.

"Do I think Zuko, former prince of the Fire Nation who had a stick so far up his as-" a nudge to Sokka's ribs from Katara, seemingly keeping him from swearing. Sokka skipped over the profanity as if it had never left his mouth, "who spent three years of his life hunting you down and is now so busy as the Fire Lord that I'm lucky if he talks to me for more than five minutes whenever I'm there, has been penguin sledding? Yeah, that's gonna be a hard pass, buddy."

"Gonna put it on the list, then."

"Aang, he's coming for work. Like Sokka said, he's been really busy."

"I know," Aang muttered, seeming more like the thirteen year old that he really was rather than the all-powerful Avatar whose very name made grown men tremble in fear, "but he's going to be here for an entire week. He has to have some free time, right?"

Hakoda could tell by Katara's nod, followed by a quick peck on Aang's cheek, that it was more of a hope than genuine confirmation.

They wouldn't end up waiting a long time for Zuko's arrival, however, when the single airship arrived in the South Pole just a few days later and out walked the Fire Lord along with two guards following behind.

"Fire Lord Zuko, welcome to the South Pole."

"Chief Hakoda," the teenager greeted with perfect posture and a professional smile, "thank you for the invitatio-ooff."

It had been going well until the Avatar himself wrapped the Fire Lord into a bone-crushing hug, followed closely behind by Katara while Sokka went around behind him and dumped the fresh snow down the back of his shirt.

To Hakoda's surprise, however, the guards didn't move despite the onslaught of "Fire Lord Hotman" from Aang, belly laughs from Katara and the snowball fight that broke out between Sokka and Zuko.

"I'm not going to tell you two how to do your job," he started, gaining the older guard's attention before pointing at the group of teenagers, "that being said…"

"I'm just glad it's snow and not leaves this time, Chief Hakoda."

"The autumn equinox in Ba Sing Se was a nightmare for the royal stylist." The younger guard added, still firmly in his post.

He had been a parent for sixteen years, and he knew that sometimes, it was not worth asking for more context.

After a few more minutes, however, the group of four seemingly remembered just why Zuko had arrived and helped him off the ground while he brushed off the excess snow from his clothes.

"My apologies, Chief Hakoda." Zuko bowed in his direction with a bright flush on his cheeks; whether it was from impromptu snowball fight or embarrassment, he couldn't tell.

"Well, that is the most I have seen my daughter laugh in a long time, so consider yourself forgiven." Hakoda was smiling as he wrapped his arm around a still giggling Katara while the Fire Lord stood up, but he could feel it morph into a frown as he noticed just how pale he seemed to be, "anyway, why don't we get some lunch?"

"Yes, I'm starving! You are going to love seal jerky, Zuko!" His son insisted as he wrapped his arm around his friend's shoulder, nearly knocking his knees out from under him due to the lack of tread on the Fire Lord's boots.

Hakoda made a mental note to review how the ambassador of the Southern Water Tribe was supposed to behave in the presence of royalty with Sokka later.

"You don't have to eat it if you don't want to," Katara added which resulted in a disgruntled sound from her brother, "where's Toph?"

"Oh, she wanted to be here, but then she found out about the climate and I told her that we needed her to keep all of her body parts, and she said, um…" He trailed off, but Hakoda had only needed to speak to the earthbender one time to have a guess what her direct quote was, "well, let's just say she made some very creative threats towards me if I dared to make her wear shoes."

Yeah, Hakoda definitely had an idea about the profanities that had escaped Toph's mouth in response to needing shoes.

"So, I know you have work to do while you're here. But, I've been working on some firebending techniques that I want to get your feedback on, and I've been making a list of activities to do in our free time!"

"Sounds like a plan." Despite the nod and Aang's whoop of excitement, Hakoda winced at just how exhausted Zuko sounded as he spoke.

He had always been more moody and reserved than the others, but now his voice had none of its usual bite now that the adrenaline from the snowball fight had ebbed away. Hakoda wasn't going to bring it up to any of the teens, but he had a sinking feeling that the week would not be as fun-filled as Aang was hoping.

…

Hakoda didn't want to be right.

The meetings had gone better than expected, with Zuko promising that he was doing his best to return all of his military personnel to the Fire Nation as soon as he could without draining the already dwindling economy, as well as helping build up the beginnings of the new trade routes.

In fact, aside from the brief moments of him rubbing at his eyes, Hakoda thought he looked as though he had been able to get some sleep the night before, which ended up being the reason why he allowed Sokka and Katara to postpone their meeting with him and the rest of the council about their specific duties to the tribe.

It wasn't like all of them had been given enough of a chance to relish in their teenage years just like he had done with Bato and Kya at their age. If they wanted to take Zuko penguin sledding that badly, then Hakoda was going to let them.

It even gave him a chance to get to know the guards of the Fire Lord better as they gave him advice about how to better security while he tried, and failed, to pry into any misadventures that his kids had pulled Zuko into.

All in all, as the sun was starting to set over the peaks, Hakoda was about to pat himself on the back for handling this head chieftain promotion pretty damn well, at least until he heard the chatter approaching the house.

"For the last time, let go of me."

"You're still bleeding, Fire Lord Hotman."

"And would you quit it with that? I'm fine, it's just a scratch."

"We don't even need Toph here to know you're lying," Katara's grumble was the loudest as the door to Hakoda's hut swung open to reveal the disastrous consequences of penguin sledding, "hey, dad? A little help?"

Katara, Sokka and Aang had snow on their shoulders and boots and flushed cheeks, but what was more concerning was the Fire Lord sandwiched in between the three of them, with snow caked on his clothes and the red-tinted snow that covered his forehead.

The guards were up before he was, the older one pushing Zuko's snow-covered hair out of the way to get a closer look at the gash on the right side of his head and the younger one asking him various questions to rule out a concussion.

"Qiang, Tao, I'm fine! Seriously, I've gotten worse than this from the turtle ducks."

Hakoda held back a snicker at the whine that interspersed itself with the Fire Lord's voice while he tried to fight off the attention of his guards.

He busied himself with grabbing a clean rag and running it under the warm water from the sink, listening in as the group of three wrangled their friend to sit down in one of the dining chairs.

"The turtle ducks made you smack your head into a tree limb?"

"Sokka, for the last time, it was a branch and all it did was take some of the skin."

"That's still a lot of blood, Zuko."

"It's a head wound, they bleed a lot more. Hold still."

"Katara, don't pull at it!"

"Okay," Hakoda finally spoke up while turning around, getting all six sets of eyes on him despite the fact that his daughter was still trying to get Zuko's hair out of the bloody gash where it had stuck, "unless you are currently in charge of part of one of the four nations, step outside," Hakoda commanded, cutting off his son's question before his hand was even fully in the air, "no, ambassador does not count."

"Damn." Sokka muttered under his breath as he, along with Aang and Katara walked out.

He really needed to review the behavior expected of someone with Sokka's position sooner rather than later.

"Your majesty?" The older guard, Tao, asked, "would you like us to stand guard outside?"

"Yeah, that's a good idea." Zuko agreed, waiting until his guards were out of the building to practically slump onto the dining room table in exhaustion.

"Are you alright, Fire Lord?" Hakoda asked as he finished wringing out the rag before bringing it and the first aid kit to the dining room table.

"Please just call me Zuko."

"Alright then, but the same goes for you. I wasn't exactly pleased to find out I had been promoted without my knowledge," Hakoda explained before using one hand to tilt his chin upwards and using the other to gently press the cloth against the sticky hair, "sorry if that stings, I just want to get any hair out before it's disinfected."

"It's fine."

"I take it that the penguin sledding didn't go as intended?" Hakoda asked after a few moments.

"What gave it away?"

Hakoda couldn't help but smile at the sarcasm as he deposited the dirty rag onto the table, "well, between the blood and my children along with the Avatar himself holding onto your arms as they brought you in here, just a hunch."

As he spoke, he soaked one of the gauze pads with the disinfectant and pressed it to the gash, unsurprised to see the teenager's knuckles turning white from the strength that he was clenching his fist, "you doing alright?"

He nodded, and stayed silent as Hakoda pulled the gauze away to replace it with a fresh, dry pad that he taped in place; he'd mention something to Katara later, but for now, he knew that he just needed to get Zuko dry now that the snow was melting off of him.

"I'll be right back," he insisted, shutting the first aid kit and picking up the dirty rag, "just gonna get you some dry clothes."

"Thank you, for all of this. If there's anything I can do to repay-"

"None of that," Hakoda insisted, cutting him off with a raised hand, "you are in my territory and you are a friend of Katara and Sokka's. More importantly, their shenanigans put you in this position in the first place. If anything, this is an apology for their actions. No need to repay me."

He quickly went into Sokka's room and grabbed a spare set of clothes before bringing them back to the dining room table only to see Zuko resting his head on his arms.

"Zuko," he called out, setting the folded outfit on the table, "I've got dry clothes for you."

No response.

This had happened with Aang too, the first night he came to the South Pole after the war had ended, only Zuko hadn't fallen asleep face first into a bowl of seaweed stew. Hakoda tried again, his voice a little louder.

"Zuko, you really need to change before you fall asleep for the night. Also, it might be best for your neck not to sleep at the table."

No response again. Hakoda sighed and laid a gentle hand on his left shoulder, "Zuko-"

He didn't expect him to sit up quickly and pull his hand away in sheer determination with golden eyes glowering right at him and fire shining bright in his right palm.

But Hakoda was unable to speak before his wrist was let go and the flames dissipated, the anger turning into deep regret as he stood up and backed away with his hands raised in surrender.

"I am so sorry-"

"Zuko-"

"I've been unprofessional. You have been nothing but welcoming and kind and I nearly-"

"Zuko, it's okay-"

"I nearly killed you."

And Hakoda wasn't going to deny that yes, he could have hurt him, but the seventeen year old had tears in his eyes as he backed himself into the corner over being woken up unexpectedly.

"Zuko, take a deep breath," Hakoda instructed, managing to lock eyes with the teenager while taking a step forward, "It's okay. No one got hurt."

"I almost-"

"Almost, not did. I'm fine, you are fine and everyone else was sent out. We're all okay," he wasn't surprised by Zuko slumping to his knees on the floor with a nod while he extended his hand towards the teenager, "you need to change and get some real sleep. Can you manage that on your own?"

He nodded again and wrapped his left hand around Hakoda's right, giving him the chance to pull him to his feet only to frown yet again when he saw the sharp wince that crossed Zuko's face.

"What happened to your shoulder?"

"I just need to get some rest."

And Hakoda so badly wanted to push further, the parental side of him desperately wanting to pull the teenager into a tight hug.

But Zuko wasn't one of his kids and, with what he had heard about Ozai over the years, he had a sinking feeling that touch would only result in the young Fire Lord spiraling further.

So he used his best judgment and let go of Zuko's hand before passing him the clothes, "there is an empty bedroom on the right. I'll let your guards know where you are and I suggest having Katara look at your head tomorrow."

"Thank you, Chief Hakoda."

Having been a parent for sixteen years, Hakoda had also learned when to hold his tongue, especially around someone who was easily startled and just nodded in response while saying, "Sleep well, Zuko."

He went outside as soon as he heard the door shut behind the young Fire Lord to be met with three sets of frantic eyes and two sets of raised eyebrows.

"The Fire Lord is getting some sleep," he started, his eyes locked on the two guards, "he's in the third room on the right." He waited until the two guards walked in, a nod given by Tao, before he turned to the three teenagers, "his injuries aren't severe, I don't even think he's going to bruise."

Aang's sigh of relief wasn't lost on Hakoda, but he continued to press on.

"Sokka, you and I will be having a very long discussion in the morning about how the ambassador of the Southern Water Tribe should act around royalty, even if they are one of your friend's. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Sokka nodded, the tone being known by his son that it was time for him to turn in before he had a chance to do something else that would be frowned upon, "come on, Aang. It's late."

The young Avatar followed with Momo settled firmly on his shoulder, leaving Hakoda with just his daughter in the snowy wind.

"You said injuries."

And in that snowy wind, when Katara looked into his eyes, he could only see Kya for a few moments as she seemingly looked right into his soul.

"I advised Zuko to come to you in the morning, so you could heal his head wound which is why I'm also going to ask you a question," Hakoda stopped to take in a deep breath, because even if he wasn't one of his, the fact that someone may do this to a child who hadn't even reached eighteen yet…"has he mentioned anything about assassination attempts?"

"For Tui's sake," his daughter cursed as she pinched his nose before a shout tinged with sadness escaped her lips, "he promised to tell me if it happened again! That no-good, jerkbending-"

"Katara," Hakoda scolded, his hands on her shoulders, "regardless of what he said, it would be best not to insult him while he is in our territory."

"He's lucky I don't go in there and ask him what-"

"Katara, that is enough. He had his reasoning, no matter what it was. More importantly, he needs to rest," he stopped to push a strand of hair out of her face, not surprised that it was wet with tears, "and so do you, my child. It has been a very long day, for all of us."

"Y-you're right," she said, wiping her arm on her sleeve before pulling him into a tight hug which Hakoda instantly returned, "goodnight, dad."

"Gp get some sleep."

She let go and made her way to the campsite she had made with Sokka and Aang when they had arrived in Wolf Cove which left Hakoda standing outside of the chieftain building in the snow and his swirling thoughts about how to speak to the Fire Lord in the morning.

…

"So, what do you think, Sifu Hotman?"

"I think your posture needs more work than your use of outdated Fire Nation slang. Straighten out your back and extend your arms, you'll get more force in it."

Hakoda couldn't help but observe the three of them from where he had exited his meeting with Sokka. It had gone well, but he couldn't help but think it would be the first of many.

Aang was eager to continue firebending, showing off the different ways he could bend the flames, waiting for Zuko's advice as he sat next to the fire pit while Katara healed the gash on his forehead.

He was confident that she had already taken care of his shoulder and probably yelled at him a great deal as well while he had been talking to his son.

It didn't take long for Sokka to join the group with Momo on his heels as he carried their breakfast to them on one of the trays and soon enough the entire group was laughing about something that Appa had done the day before.

Hakoda wasn't sure when his parental instincts had spread from just Katara and Sokka to now involving Aang and Zuko as well, but what he did know was that the biggest thing they needed right now was to be kids.

And he was going to do his best to make sure that it happened.

(Want to read the Gaang penguin sledding? Part 2 below)

[anghraine]

I decided to watch Rings of Power and I still like it! General thoughts on the first episode:

This episode does a lot of heavy lifting to introduce everything in a somewhat rough and often disconnected, but engaging enough way.

The voice-over exposition at the beginning is obviously echoing the PJ FOTR one, but it's more awkward and sort of generically high fantasy. I still like it better because a) no Númenóreans were harmed in the making of this voice-over, b) retaining the Finrod-Galadriel age gap while simultaneously leaning into their sibling bond is really cute, c) Finrod using a heavy-handed metaphor in which the greatness of SHIPS figures largely seems entirely in character and also very Telerin (Eärwen's son!!!), and d) the overall story of how Valinorean Elves ended up in Middle-earth is so highly editorialized that it feels like the self-serving Noldor version of the story, which amuses me.

I enjoyed the introduction of present-day Galadriel. She's clearly the most impressive and competent person in the company she's leading while also being kind of unhinged, which I appreciate in a female protagonist. Good for her.

And I like that she's clearly this ancient being and her fixation on FIGHTING EVIL FOREVER is, in part, a product of being old and immortal and stuck in a singular mode of being. However, she's also right and the comparatively young people around her are being condescending assholes (like Gil-galad, but especially that one guy who semi-mutinied against her and is prodding her on the ship).

(Oh, and she has great hair. I actually don't care if the entire wig budget went to her specifically.)

The only one who seems to really feel bad about their dismissive treatment of her is Elrond, which tracks. The hints that he isn't seen as quite an equal ("Elf-lords only") feels silly, but it's not a huge deal for me. And I like that he and Galadriel are bros alongside the tension in her relationships with basically everyone. S2 Celebrían plssss

I still think the complaints about costuming/hair, and incessant comparisons to costuming in PJ!LOTR/WOT/whatever are largely pretty absurd. I particularly liked Arondir's armor and how dissimilar it is from the aesthetic of the Lindon Elves, everything Galadriel wears, and the weirdness of the ritualistic armor removal as they approach Valinor. The Elves spontaneously bursting into unsettling song was odd but extremely on-brand for Tolkien, so it was fun to see it actually done onscreen.

I also think the show is quite beautiful in general and a pleasure to simply look at (no, not only because of the budget).

I don't like how heavily and visibly made-up the main female characters are, however, especially Bronwyn (who also has my least favorite costuming of any of the mains tbh). It reminds me a bit of how Padmé Amidala's heavy and perfect make-up in her death scene in Revenge of the Sith always distracts me from the pathos of the scene. God forbid she wasn't hot as she died, you know? I don't care about middle-aged and older men being cast as Elves, but I'd like to see more older actresses, too!

The Harfoot stuff has an interesting mixture of cuteness and underlying menace. It doesn't interest me as much as what's going on with Galadriel, Elrond, and Arondir/Bronwyn, but I like Nori quite a bit and the whole aesthetic they have going, so I don't mind spending time with them, even though it's kind of detached from what's going on everywhere else.

Speaking of Arondir, the Southlands stuff is interesting because there's so little to work with in terms of canon (even if they had rights to everything) and the canon that does exist wrt them is super racist. So having the textual racism towards Southrons actually be brought up in-story, and rejected by an Elf protagonist who is being played by a Black man, is like ... there's a lot going on there and other people are probably better equipped to talk about it.

Personally, I would have liked to see Arondir fall in love with Bronwyn rather than being presented with it as an established thing, especially with the conversation about how this almost never happens etc. His actor does a great job with what he's given, though, and I laughed at the other Elf who is like "do you know how rarely romances between Men and Elves ever happen? do you know they always END TRAGICALLY?!"

Arondir: mmhmm

Other Elf: THEY DIED, ARONDIR

Arondir gives off big "distracted by drawing hearts around Bronwyn's name in his Trapper Keeper" vibes in that conversation and, idk, it was just really entertaining to me.

Bronwyn herself is all right thus far. I did really like the moment when she's talking about how she's from the allegedly creepy village and the people there are her relatives and friends. By and large she seems the most normal person in the cast, honestly.

I also enjoyed how deeply ominous the "approaching Valinor" music was, lmao. A bit overkill by the end, but I rather like the idea of Valinor being scary if you're not supposed to be there.

ETA: cutting between the different plots via the Middle-earth map is a bit silly as well, but functional enough. Interesting to see Calenardhon on the map before Gondor even exists!

[snapeaddict]

A parent-teacher conference

"Now, Mrs Smithton, I do believe there is room for improvement, but only if your daughter understands that sleeping is best done at night, not during my classes."

"Have you considered she might not sleep well at night? There can be lots of noise in the dormitories, as I'm sure you're aware."

Severus raised an eyebrow. He blinked twice.

"Ah, I see. She, too, comes up with many excu-" but he paused unexpectedly, glancing to his right. His nostrils quivered slightly.

"I can certainly tell her Head of House to look into it", he corrected, tight-lipped. "That is a valid concern."

The lady before him nodded, looking very much satisfied.

-

"In conclusion, I advise that your son drop my classes as soon as possible, Mr Foy. I see no other -"

The man in front of Severus raised his hand, silencing him arrogantly. There was a big silvery ring on his middle finger.

"He needs to take Potions, you know that. As his Head of House, I'm sure you can do something about it - I would compensate you, of course."

Severus smirked slightly, but it was almost inconspicuous, merely a tiny movement of his jaw muscles.

"One would have to be a billionaire to make up for the number of ingredients that have been lo-" he frowned, straightening up in his seat uncomfortably. "I meant to say that the number of hours wasted-" but he fell silent again, clenching his teeth. "I am afraid there is nothing I can do" he resumed after a short pause, handing the man back his son's grade report. "We have very strict requirements for our N.E.W.T.S students. I am sure you understand, Mr Foy… The headmaster has high standards."

That was not true. He had high standards.

-

"She is perfectly able to follow instructions. Have you considered you might be the issue? A teacher so young, what were they thinking -"

The Potions Master folded his arms, smiling sarcastically. The man in front of him had an insufferable high-pitched voice.

"Oh, I could not agree with you m-" But again, he bluntly interrupted himself, blowing annoyingly through his nose. The man did not seem to notice.

"And Elie tells me you favour Slytherins. Then she has been out of favour from the start! Do you think I'm an imbecile?"

He raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I suppose-" This time, Severus winced.

He paused. Then spoke again.

"I assure you, sir…"

-

"Did you really have to do that? Two hours! Two hours without you letting me be! "

Minerva closed the door behind her and came back to their desk, gathering her notes. She looked pleased with herself.

"It's the first time in two years you've not almost ended up throwing hands with several parents simultaneously, Severus. You should thank me", she said innocently.

"Surely you could have just spoken to me when -"

"You said you didn't want those parents to think I babysat you."

"And kicking me repeatedly below the desk sounded like a better alternative to you?"

Minerva smirked, yet again.

"It's not my fault if you're behaving like a 15-year-old at a parent-teacher conference. One sore leg is entirely worth the safeguarding of the school's reputation, if that is what you're asking."

"All the bruises -"

"You're swallowing your own potions for fun every other Saturday, Severus. Don't start complaining to me about bruises."

Severus folded his arms, looking suspiciously sulky. Minerva glanced at him ironically: the shadow of a smile flickered over her lips. A skilled observer might have guessed that she was trying hard not to laugh.

She lowered her voice.

"And next time someone offers you money for a service, Severus, you might want to consider it. All those budget cuts... Also, you wouldn't believe how costly my ongoing bets with Pomona have become."

It was Severus' turn to smirk. He stood up gracefully, putting his chair back below the desk with a lazy flicker of his wand.

"Oh, I know. I'll get 35% if you get past a certain threshold: that is why I refused Mr. Foy's money. I am not that greedy, you see."

One all, it seemed.

[tripleyeeet]

CHOKEHOLD, BABY!

PAIRINGS: Loki Laufeyson & Female Reader

SUMMARY: Loki and Reader with a mommy kink. That’s it, that’s the fic. 18+ MINORS DON’T INTERACT

WORD COUNT: 2,251

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I’d like to formally apologize for this one boys...

MASTERLIST

-

All thoughts are abandoned once you feel your knees begin to give, threatening to submit to Loki’s hands that greedily fall to your face, cupping your cheeks in desperation. Against your skin, they feel like ice, simultaneously fuelling the warmth that pools between your legs and the shivers that sprint along your spine, making you sigh against their owner's face, reaching for the fabric of his shirt. 

Hastily you bundle it in your hands, using the sudden force of grip to pull him closer, as you feel his breath line the length of your face. 

“Thought you said this couldn’t happen again?” Loki chuckles darkly, looking down to watch you dip towards his neck, lightly taking a bit of skin between your teeth before releasing and kissing the wound. 

“It can’t,” you admit. 

It can’t, but it will because you’re weak —too weak to ignore the feverish thoughts you get whenever you’re forced to be around him, unable to escape. 

He’s got a hold on you that nobody else does. A way of coaxing you out of the usual professional shell that never seemed to falter. Before him, you were normal, patient and appropriate, forever fuelling your desires in ways you were meant to. You were everything you wanted to be: a hero, a friend, a person people could look to and know they were good.

Now though, with your hands roaming to unbutton his shirt and your lips locked tenderly against his throat, sucking forth blooming bruises, you feel anything but because now instead, of innocence you’re sin. Beautifully, decadently wrapped sin in tight, fancy dress looking to get fucked by a man who consistently betrays your trust. 

It’s a mistake you often make whenever he offers you that usual look of interest. That one where he seeks you out among the crowded room, upturning his lips with the cock of his head. It brings you to your knees every time, moistens your lips and tightens your chest. Without fail, you always answer —responding to the question in the form of quick strides that follow him into the deepest corners of the compound, hidden from the rest of the team as if you’re teenagers again. 

Except instead of young love, there’s only lust. Primal instincts that make you impatiently rip the buttons from his shirt and slide your hands across his bare chest, moving your mouth further down the plane of his alabaster skin in order to worship his structure. 

Loki’s chest heaves into a sigh the further you move down, reaching to grip the roots of your hair, tightening around them as he feels your fingers flow down to hold his hip and palm his cock, eliciting from him the very air he breathes.

“Couldn’t wait another second, could you, pet?” Slowly, his hand moves from your head to your neck once you’re fully kneeling on the ground, pausing to rest at the nape as he watches you wildly grin and run your fingers across the front of his pants.

“You kept looking at me.” Applying a bit of pressure, you tease him and trail your palm back and forth, releasing and holding the bulge that practically aches for your presence, forcing yourself not to laugh at the way he grinds against you. 

“You wore the dress I like.” Forcing himself to share your grin through staggered breaths, Loki pushes himself further against you, placing a steady palm against the hallway wall as the feeling of building force radiates through his sex, begging for more.

“This old thing?” You raise your brow and bite your lip, watching his lips distressingly part, showing you that he needs more than what you're giving him. 

Which is too bad considering how nice he looks right now, struggling to subdue the obvious demand for you to fuck him. He looks so small despite his tall stature —so weak and pathetic under your touch, that as you let your fingers rise to unclasp the buckle of his belt, you wish you could keep him like this forever. That instead of giving him what he truly wants you could just draw this whole thing out and make him wait so that the chorus of heavy breaths and saddened whimpers can remain full in your ears. 

Because you love the sound of them —love how powerful they make you feel because for once they’re confirmations instead of contradictions. Praises instead of critiques. Reverberations of positivity. 

When he’s like this you’re his equal and you can do whatever you want with him, so long as the result remains the same, and it’s a feeling you’ll forever crave. Being able to overthrow a God. 

“Somebody’s desperate tonight.” Slowly, you slide his belt from the loops of his slacks and toss it aside before looking up to see narrowed eyes full of agitation. 

“Wouldn’t have to be if you’d just hurry up.”

Clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth, you shake your head and pout, immediately stopping your movements in protest. “Naughty boys don’t get to hurry, baby, you know that,” you chastise, and immediately he frowns, craning his neck to better look at the smirk you’re trying to hide beneath your pushed-out lip.

He hates it when you do that —when you switch to control him in a way he can’t control back. It makes him feel so unlike himself because, at this point, sex with you isn’t just sex. It’s an addiction. No longer is it just a casual course of action —an entertaining task of physical exertion— but instead a never-ending habit he can’t quite kick; the back of his mind always filled to the brim with thoughts of you and that tongue. 

At this point, it’s his only weak point. His Achilles heel. He needs your touch as much as he needs food or air, and it’s something he hates that you know, because, like anyone, you use it to your advantage —to exploit his authority in ways he often dreams of. 

“Sorry.” He also hates how pathetic he sounds, apologizing to you for a tone he constantly uses. Outside this space, he’s a God amongst men, a feared individual who strikes fear into his enemies, yet here, he’s stuck, praying you’ll take his words and deem them gracious enough to be considered worth the apology. 

Here, he’s frozen in place, one hand on the wall, one hand loose against his side, desperate to touch you —for you to touch him— as he stares and breathes and waits for your undying approval. 

And embarrassingly enough, despite the lack of patience that bubbles inside the depths of his throat, waiting to be released, Loki knows he’ll wait. He’ll wait and wait and wait until you’ve forgiven him because it’s all he’s able to do when he sees the contemplative look that brushes your features when he says that he’s sorry. And, of course, that hint of mischief coats your eyes before the acceptance pulls through and your hands return to their previous homes. 

Gently they unbutton his slacks, slide down the zipper and silently move to his hips to push down both his underwear and pants, fully releasing the length of his cock for both of you to see it’s end already swollen. Both of you let out held breaths once it’s out, your eyes briefly making contact before you look back down and take the base of it in your hand, working it lightly against your palm. Instinctively it twitches against you, pulsating against your skin, needing the friction you slowly give to test the waters.

Above you, Loki steadily breathes in through the nose and out the mouth, eyes locked on your lips and how he can see saliva collecting at the edges. 

Just the sight makes a slight whine escape his lips, forcing you to look back up again. “Oh, sweetheart, I know, I know,” you coo, carefully placing a quick open-mouthed kiss on his tip, watching the way he immediately presses his lips together and closes his eyes. “Mommy’s gonna make you feel good, okay? You just have to be patient.” 

He knows you’re telling the truth —knows that even though he feels his whole body tightening each time he convulses that you’ll treat him well, so he just nods. 

Except that just won’t do, you think, sliding your hand further up to trail your thumb across the space you kissed, feeling him push against you at the same time a raspy moan sounds through the air. “You gotta use your words, Lo,” you tell him, “Gotta tell me what you want.”

At that point Loki doesn’t care what you do to him, so long as he gets to come, which ultimately causes the silence between you to brew as he thinks of all the ways you could do it, prompting you to slow your movements and smirk. 

“C’mon, baby.” Torturously, you press your mouth against his cock again, playfully licking the end in between words, stopping the movement of your hand altogether. "Use that dumb little brain of yours.”

At this, Loki swallows hard, his eyes searching your face, taking in the way your grin grows large and wet before eventually wrapping completely around him, your cheeks hollowing in the process. 

It makes him want to memorize the way you look in this moment —the way your hands delicately wrap around him, frozen in time, their lack of movement making it hard for him to focus, because all he wants is for them to work —wants them to move! To grip and slide and pump him for everything he’s worth. He wants to feel it happen at normal speed so that the binding inside his chest can subside and the release he so miserably needs can finally have a path to take, prompting him to sigh, almost in defeat. 

“Yes, mommy.” He says it in that tone you like —the one he’s been conditioned to use, all filled with thankfulness and grace. Disgustingly, it fills his mouth with promises of respect —ones he knows he’ll retract away when you inevitably part. “Please, make me come.” 

Upon hearing his please, you release and pull away, thumbing the underside of his length with heavy ministrations, noticing the way he immediately bites his lip to hide those pretty little sounds of his. “Come how?”

Again, he says nothing. 

“Loki, baby.” Releasing a frustrated sigh, you shake your head and absentmindedly play with the flesh in your hand, running your nails along it, squeezing and letting go, all while watching him suffer. “I won’t repeat myself again. Tell me what you need.”

“I need you to fuck me.” Thankfully, this time he wastes no time telling you as he uses his free hand to touch your face, his fingers lingering against your temple at the same time he gently bucks into your palm. “I need you to fuck me with that mouth of yours, please.”

Again, at the mention of his uncharacteristic politeness, you return all of your attention to his dick, slotting your lips over the end until he’s fully resting on your tongue and your hands are in place. Then roughly, you move him further inside of you, resting one hand on his hip to help him jut himself forward, feeling the fullness of him inside your wanting lips. 

It’s a familiar feeling, one that moistens your mouth and dizzies your brain, making you feel almost drunk as he forces himself inside, grunting and groaning, all consciously formed thoughts thrown to the wind. It makes you grin even harder as you lap up his juices, his body slightly shuddering against your tongue as you curl it around, drawing lines and swirls, switching positions every time he gets a little too comfortable. 

“Thank you,” you hear him say at one point, making you hungry and happy, hearing the breathlessness that accompanies his thanks because Loki's never thanked you. Not even in moments like this when you’re wrapped around his cock and both of you are coated in lust, no longer aware of the outside world. No, he always reserves those words for other people —people he likes outside the realm of sex and whatever this is between the two of you. And although you’ve always tried to ignore the way it makes you feel, right now it’s all you can think about because him saying thank you, even if just to get himself off, is almost like a blessing. Like a right of passage and a new level of intimacy that immediately makes you desperate to please, causing you to withdraw your swollen lips and pump him harder. 

“You’re being such a good boy, using your manners,” you say, gripping him so tight you can practically feel his orgasm growing —building and swelling, every muscle in his body condensing as it awaits the end. 

Because inside Loki is screaming —begging for release as he outwardly pants and grabs your face, thumbing your reddened lips with curious touches that say, “please, can I come?” 

At this point, he doesn’t have to say anything anymore. You know and he knows, so instead you just nod, feeling his fingers dip into your mouth, prompting you to suck their ends as you continuously coast your tightened palm along his flesh until he’s whining and whimpering, thumbing your cheek in such a gentle way that, as you eventually feel the ending of his orgasm come to, you swear through your dizzying state he whispers, “I love you.” 

- 

TAGLIST: @lovelysizzlingbluebird, @just-someone11, @linaax, @eleniblue, @cheekyscamp​, @ozymdias, @use-your-telescope, @liminalpebble (if you’d like to be added fill out this form)

[shoepolishpolice]

SIX OF CROWS SPIN-OFF PREDICTIONS

Part 1

I have thought this through and you know what..I think we can all get what we want. I’m going to breakdown how they can work with the storyline they’ve made and give justice to the crows.

(This is my jumbled non stop thoughts btw I’m not referring to the books really so I expect I’ll miss a few things)

To start here’s some basics:

• We won’t be seeing Per Haskell again, the Dregs and Crow club belong to Kaz and in the new season I expect we will see a much younger crew including Kesh and Anika compared to the random old dudes Kaz beat up in s2. Also the Crow and the Cup tattoos.

• There will be a much bigger focus on family and particularly parents - every single crow has major shit w parents. I think something that is never given much thought even in the books is how young children are taken from the family’s to train as grisha and they don’t return- this happened to nina and it really wasn’t discussed much and should be.

• The eight episodes have actually already been written and we know there is an Inej centric episode and a Wylan one too. I expect Inej’s episode will be a standout as we’ve seen pretty much nothing about her past- definitely the hardest to watch but one that very much deserves telling and Amita is an incredible actress and I completely trust her w Inej

• We’ve already had an article saying sab3 is king of scars based plus the new Alina and mal!sturmhond story but the soc story would happen simultaneously. There’s a chance the last scene we see is s2 actually happens after the crows have already been to the ice court and they call for Nikolai around this time- meaning it can be dealt w before having Alina exposed to Parem which I don’t care for and they said they waited for the story as they didn’t want the darkling to use it

• also people seem to think inej is not coming back- obviously she is. Pretty sure they r sending her away to get a taste of what she could do and will return w a sense of purpose and revenge - I’ll explain why later. Also the writers have said she only goes for a few weeks so it’s cool

• we will see a lot of flashbacks for each crow- we’ve seen about two mins worth of Kaz’s and I want them to explore his rise through the barrel as a kid and show his life in lij to prove truly how cruel the world was to him. Obviously Wylan’s past is a major focus of this story but I expect we will get that in a Crooked Kingdom based series two which is also thr first time we got a wylan pov chapter. Hopefully we will get to see more of Jespers childhood but again probably a bigger focus for later when colm arrives. As for Matthias I hope we see how he was raised in a militant, angry cultish way after the death of his family. I don’t expect we will get much on nina but I hope we do as i always felt we missed out slightly on the effects of her past. And ofcourse Inej who I hope they take the most care with in their retelling.

Now getting the plot back on track is actual quite simple and people r freaking out for no reason.. so here it is

I expect the show will start w Kaz agreeing to Van Ecks offer w all that came along in his first book chapter and a longer version of the crows last scenes w just saw in s2

Next inej will return - kaz will call for her but I think what will also bring her back is the return of Tante Heleen. We didn’t see a body and we know pekka ‘killed’ her to frame kaz so who’s to say he bothered killing her and just paid her off but now serves as his way out of hellgate

With Tante Heleen alive, pekka is no longer guilty of murder and will be released from Hellgate. This is potentially how pekka and Van Eck connect- pekka will want retribution for wrongly being imprisoned and will receive a lot of money from the merchant council as compensation

This will set off kaz and inej and THIS will now be the CK ending where we get full closure with their pasts. The books kept Heleen and pekka alive so I think the show will see it through to the end. People felt we got Kaz’s revenge too soon so I expect them to find an even bigger, badder and more horrific way to fuck them over

The kanej reunion upon Inej’s return from sea is going to set the tone. Either kaz has begun to make progress in her absence or he’s closed himself off tenfold

Now helnik is pretty much unchanged, their scenes were basically word for word in s1 and I think it can carry on for soc. They’re most likely to be the most book accurate ship now and i hope there will be a lot more emotional depth and background to Matthias who I think is completely underrated and overlooked. He has an incredibly big character arc and I think we will see a lot more of what is costs him

So they break Matthias out of Hellgate most likely in a very similar way to the books.

Now we get the Wylan identity reveal. Wesper is already established so it’s going to be an even bigger shock. However I think jespers gambling addiction will have gotten a lot worse in a very short space of time and this has already been causing a problem + I think they gleamed over him coming to terms w being grisha too fast so they will back track a bit when Colm gets involved which reminds Jesper why he hid for so long

Now I think we could get the ck last chapter here w inej threatening pekka and Alby before they depart. However it will backfire a bit. He will actually get spurred on to take down kaz and he’ll realise there’s something between kaz and inej. He can team up w heleen and use it against them

Now the next part can actually carry on faithfully to the books - if Jesper is back in debt his slip up will get back to pekka and result in the harbour ambush and Kaz’s distrust of Jesper. Also perhaps they use the hummingbird rather than the ferolind

Notorious kaz boyfriend of ripping eyes out will ensue

Now here’s something new. Kaz won’t stay away from inej now, it would completely eradicate everything that just happened in s2. So I expect we will get another bandage scene here or simply see kaz watching over inej as she heals

Now this is where I think the inej episode will fit (within the first 4 eps) it will delve into her past in ravka, her abduction, time at the menagerie and meeting kaz/being trained by him (that last one may happen throughout the series tho and perhaps more from Kaz’s perspective like in the books). And here’s where we see what inej has been doing whilst away briefly and how she felt bringing down slavers and her new purpose to track down those who hurt her and take down heleen

Now pretty much everything from this point onwards to the end of the Six of Crows books can remain the same. The differences are: established wesper, most likely pekka isn’t hired for this job, a more open kanej and a slightly more powerful kaz as a baby barrel boss

I’m not going to re explain the story here as they have used very little SOC plot so far

They have done a version of the prison wagon scene but I think they will do the book one too as inej will be there, kaz faints this time and ultimately it’s worse then the s2 one (which made me feel physically sick for kaz all within the first 15 mins of the show)

That’s the end of part 1! I’m feeling very positive thinking of all this. You stay for the characters in soc they are so wonderfully different and clever, a story of these kids who are expected of nothing but achieve everything. I expect the series will have a rather different tone compared to Sab and will truly show the significance of these six characters finding each other.

[idontknowreallywhy]

Random train snippet… unedited.

Ghost

Swiping the financial report closed Scott sighed in relief. It had taken three days but unless anything unexpected happened, he was just about up to date. If you didn’t count the IR paperwork for the GDF but hopefully Casey would give him a few days grace on that… right now they’d only read “arrived, did our job, left” and he suspected rather more detail might be appreciated.

How had Dad kept on top of it all? Surely he’d have managed it better? Eight years on and Scott still didn’t feel up to the job. He suddenly felt so very, very young and yet simultaneously so very old and tired.

He looked down at the desk and goosebumps prickled down his spine. He leapt up from the chair, suddenly unable to remain seated. He’d sat there for longer than his father ever had, that milestone had passed a couple of years back. Yet it was still unarguably Dad’s Desk.

He squashed down the flash of desperation that threatened to overwhelm him. This line of thought was counter-productive. Virgil would point out, again, that IR was completing far more missions than they ever had in Dad’s time, and that under Scott’s control Tracy Industries had expanded considerably. He wasn’t failing to do the same juggling act his father had always performed, he was just using heavier clubs. Some of which were on fire.

His brother sure had a way with a metaphor. He looked over at the piano with affection. The musician was in full musicking mode, in his own world, headphones on, fingers dancing across the keys and humming to himself. Scott wasn’t sure he’d heard him play this one before… it was… pretty, but a little sad. Kind of haunting. He was sure he knew it from somewhere and it was going to bug him… he wouldn’t interrupt though. Leaning down he pulled up the website that would identify a piece of music from an audio clip, Scott pressed record and waited. It took a while, because Virg had clearly hit a tricky moment and stumbled over a passage before repeating it a couple of times more slowly.

Eventually he got back into the groove and the requisite track popped up. “Ghosts” huh? Ha, how appropriate. His brother’s heart-melting baritone floated above the relentless piano, wordless. Little brother never seemed to notice the lyrics, preferring to focus on the shape of the melody to convey the story. His big brother took a more conventional approach to knowing what it was about and clicked through to the lyrics page. He read them through, his brow furrowed. The goosebumps retuned.

His knees buckled and he sank to the floor, unable to support the weight of his long-buried grief.

Resting his cheek on the seat of the chair, on the ghost of his father’s knee, he listened to Virgil unknowingly sing out his big brother’s pain.

🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵

Now and then

My mind drifts to a place where I find you

Lost in my head

There are unsolved feelings that haunt me

It's too late to heal, I'll lay them to rest

If I could bring you back

There are truths and confessions I'd tell you

I'd set things straight

And I believe that you would love and forgive me

I know it's too late, I need to let go

And how can I move on

When everyone I see still talks about you?

How can I move on

When all the best things I have we built together?

Here's to letting go

But I am trapped in a void with your ghost and our memories

Lest we forget the great reset

(Muse / Matt Bellamy)