#i have nothing to add . this drawing perfectly speaks for itself

[blyszczopies]

[thelaughtercafe]

BEN Drowned, Jeff the Killer, Homicidal Liu, and Doctor Locklear finding out their victim has a tickle kink

Tea Type: Rose Boba

Potential Triggers: Dubious consent (for tickling only) in BEN’s, and Jeff’s- Liu and Locklear are established relationships so it’s different.

Suggestive speaking of tickling especially in BEN's and Liu's and similar suggestiveness surrounding fear/enjoying being scared in BEN's.

For Liu's there's threatening and violence, though what's directed at Reader is not from Liu or Sully.

There is a graphically worded description of violence involving eyes though, towards the perpetrator though it's not dwelled on too long and the intensity of the injury isn't described, just implied.

Pairing: BEN/F! Reader, Jeff/F! Reader, Liu/Sully/F! Reader, Locklear/F! Reader

Length: 6.8k+

Summary: The Creeps find out something interesting about their intended victim and decide maybe keeping them around isn't such a bad idea.

A/N: So looking back this is much longer than I realized. Especially BEN and Liu's! They're my faves, tied for number one so I suppose I went overboard haha. HABIT from EverymanHYBRID is right up there though in second place. I already continued the self-indulgent BEN lead in, while including HABIT and Liu in the mix so we'll see if I post it. If you guys have any interest, let me know and I'll post it if enough people want to see it!

Also, please let me know if you want any additional triggers added; I think I got them all, but just in case!

BEN Drowned:

BEN was nothing if not meticulous when learning all he could about his victims. While typically he liked to do all his research at the start, he felt like a change of pace with you, doing it in the moment could be more fun and perhaps frighten you even more as he could go by your most recent searches and documents. That never failed to add an extra edge of panic.

It was inevitable he would find your dirty little secret; especially in a document with no password and nothing to guard it save the word twordish. 

“Foolish girl…” 

He took in the information easily, and couldn’t help the sadistic smirk that lit up his face, fingers twitching with sparks. 

“Not as innocent as you seem after all, huh?”

That good girl image you held was what initially drew him to you as prey but clearly…there was a side to yourself you hid from him. From everyone, in fact.  

A part of you liked being scared, and therefore what he was doing to you. Memories hit him then. The blush that would frequently appear on your cheeks, eyes darting to the side, half sighs and even the occasional clenched thighs all made sense now when put together. 

You’d recently decided to ditch your technology in an attempt to get rid of him, hence why he was looking for something to draw you back. Appearing in reality and making you frightened of things that aroused you, only to then turn that fear itself into arousal again made him ravenous. 

It’d been so long since he’d had a victim perfectly suited to his love of fucking with their minds. He couldn’t wait to have you screaming underneath him, the fear that would fill your eyes, the tears…

He bit back a moan and sighed in much the way you had. 

Oh, he couldn’t wait. 

—–

That boy was definitely stealing glances at you.  You were sure of it now. 

You were at the library again, comfortable in your reading corner in a secluded room when a boy walked in. He wore jean shorts, black converse, a dark green hoodie and a matching beanie on a cursory glance. 

You assumed he’d entered to look for a book in here and that he’d leave soon and returned your eyes to the book in your hands. 

You flinched a little in surprise as he suddenly spoke, making you look up again. 

“Mind if I sit here?”

His voice sounded older than you expected, in his 20’s for sure despite his shorter stature, but there was still a quality to his voice that called you back to childhood, an underlying playfulness. 

It…made you uneasy rather than comforted for some reason though and you felt dread in you that wasn’t there before. Hmph. You’d just be a little more vigilant.

Still, you smiled and nodded, as you would for anyone else and he smiled back, before taking a seat and starting to scroll through his phone. 

Your smile instantly dropped and you trembled a moment as memories assaulted you of that thing that’d been messing with you from every screen available. Another reason you picked this room. It was far away from the computer room and the only screen in the adjacent room was facing away, towards the library clerk. 

Using your phone for contact was unavoidable, but you’d had it on airplane mode for ages now, only taking it off to check email and communication once a week before putting it right back on. Given you were putting yourself through college which was currently in the off season of Summer while you worked to pay tuition meant you only had one person to keep in touch with, your Mom. 

The rest of the time when you weren’t working was spent here, in safety and solitude. Luckily, the boy’s screen was facing away, but you moved an extra seat away just for comfort’s sake before letting out a shaky breath and returning to your book. 

It took a few minutes but eventually you fully relaxed again. Until the back of your neck prickled anyway. You risked a discreet glance up, and caught the boys’ rushing back to his screen. Once was a mistake. Twice, perhaps a coincidence. Thrice, maybe he was checking you out? But four times? Now you were full on anxious. The dread since he’d initially spoken to you was now a solid, immovable pit in your stomach. 

You were debating how best to leave discreetly while pretending to read when he cleared his throat, much closer than you would like. You stood instinctively but he continued walking over until he was in front of you and smiled amicably. He seemed nice enough but why was your body screaming at you to run? Your gut typically wasn’t off…but it had told you to download that damned file in the first place so maybe you were just wrong. 

You smiled back, just as innocently, tilting your head to the side. 

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Just fine. I know this might be somewhat forward, but any chance you want to get some hot chocolate with me?”

That made you giggle. 

“Hot chocolate huh? How old are you again?”

You found the tease coming easy to you and relaxed. So it really was just interest. Hm. In all honesty, he was your type.  He was quite a bit taller than you despite being around average height, and his blue eyes were quite hypnotizing. His blond locks were messy but in that cute, wind tousled way and he had this roguish charm that was mischievous. You’d always been drawn to things she shouldn’t be. He was no different. 

He pulled an offended face at your question. 

“Who doesn’t like hot chocolate? Are you coming with me to the cafe or not smartass?”

He quipped, turning on his heel and walking towards the door. 

You hesitated a beat and then you let yourself smile, following after. 

“Yeah yeah, I’m comin’.”

—–

The walk to the cafe was comfortable and you found your earlier fears assuaged. 

He made conversation easily; you’d asked what he was doing on his phone and he’d said he was using an emulator to play Zelda. You had fond memories of the series and found he did as well, leading to a lighthearted debate over if Twilight Princess or Majoras Mask was better. 

The cafe was just as peaceful, with you both getting hot chocolate. It was summer, but you found you didn’t mind as he pushed you aside with his shoulder to pay for both of you.  It didn’t take much to make you swoon, and he was well on his way at this rate. Respect was hard to find these days and he was being such a sweetheart. He was funny too and you seemed to have common interests. What was there not to like? 

He motioned to the book beside you as you sipped your drink. 

“So you like Becca Fitzpatrick? Can’t say I’ve heard of her. The cover is interesting though.”

“Yeah! I’m a lover of supernatural romances. Even guilty pleasure stuff like this…probably not the most healthy relationship. It’s about a fallen angel and a Human who fall in love, but Patch at the start; he uses his powers to mess with her pretty often.”

He casually sipped his drink before tilting his head. 

“What kind of powers?”

“So far? Talking directly in her head, taunting her about intimate knowledge he shouldn’t have about her and her life, and messing with her memories. Making her think she’s crazy. He kind of almost killed her once already, but changed his mind last minute. It’s…toxic logically but as guilty pleasure fuel it’s hot. I guess. I dunno. I try not to think about it too much." 

You laughed sheepishly, embarrassed about rambling and about such a weird ass topic only to hear him laugh. 

"We all have our kinks right? I’d love to see your full collection back at your place. Think we could swing by if it’s close?”

You nodded at that, moving to throw out your now empty cups as you headed out with him following after. 

“Yeah sure. It’s mostly supernatural romance though but I do have some video game art books you might like that I can lend you, long as you promise to take good care of them. I’ve got a really big game collection too." 

Oops that slipped out. You didn’t want to tell him about your weird issues with tech. Not when things were going so well. Too late now though. His eyes had lit up as he asked excitedly. 

"Oh cool, really? What’s your favorite?”

“The World Ends With You. It’s kind of indie but-”

“The one with Neku right? I love that game too! Most people don’t know about it!" 

Your eyes lit up despite yourself. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad. As long as you were just talking about them and not playing them it should be fine. 

The walk from the cafe to your house was short so the distraction was nice. You were half tuned in to the conversation half dreading his reaction when you headed inside. 

“Alright here we are.”

You led the way inside, unlocking the door and headed to your room with him in tow. He closed the door behind him and looked around in awe. 

"Woah. You’re definitely a gamer.”

Given you had a ps4, a Nintendo switch and a ps3 all underneath your TV at once you saw why he thought that. But then his brow furrowed and you braced yourself.  

“Why is everything unplugged though? Even the tv looks dead." 

A glance over at your laptop on the desk, very intentionally unplugged from the charger. 

"Laptop too.”

Your smile was tight and anxious and you felt shaky. 

“I-um-”

He smiled amicably as he turned back to face you.   

“Don’t tell me you’re doing some tech detox! Those things don’t actually help you know; you’ll just get more addicted when you return to it later.”

He joked, and you felt like you could breathe again, laughing to hide your anxiety.  

“Y-Yeah how’d you know?”

Just as you were about to confirm his claim a loud, and most importantly familiar beep rang out and you panicked, breathing already getting harder as you searched frantically for the source. 

“That’s impossible.”

“What’s impossible? Hey, are you ok? You’re awfully pale and jumpy all of a sudden.”

He touched your arm lightly and your gaze moved to him. That’s right!

“I-um-God. I have a confession to make but first can you please turn off your phone?”

You knew it sounded crazy, even to you, but you couldn’t risk it. You’d happily have gone along with the tech detox excuse but…but you couldn’t risk giving it an in again. Better to be safe and tell an outsider in a tech free environment. 

“My phone? Uh…why though?”

“I promise I’ll explain but we’re not safe until-ugh I sound like a lunatic." 

You hid your face in your hands for a moment, cheeks burning in humiliation and panic. 

"You can leave if this is too weird. I know I’m not making much sense but I just-there’s a very important reason I can’t be near tech.”

A hesitant peek up and the boy was taking you in with such sweet worry…and then he sighed in defeat. 

“…Fine. If it’ll really make you feel better and you’ll explain.”

He looked at his phone and then pocketed it after holding down the power button and turning it off. His gaze returned to you, expectantly. 

“There. Now what’s got you so panicked? You love video games, that much is obvious. So why would you unplug everything like this?”

You still trembled. The fear lingered, along with hope. Finally, someone you could confide in. 

“I’m-again this is gonna sound crazy but…”

A broken laugh escaped you.  

“I have nothing else to lose, I guess. I’ve got some kind of awful…thing watching me. 

His face screwed up at the very thought like he was offended. 

"A thing? What, like some kinda hacker?”

You hummed, moving to sit down on your bed and fiddled with your fingers. 

“Yeah. Kind of. But it’s more than that. See, if it was on one computer and my phone, that’d make sense. It’s what I thought at first. The calling me by name, the popups to scare me and chat with me where even more personal details were revealed…all that could be a hacker.”

You clenched and unclenched your hands as you swallowed nervously. 

“But that wasn’t where it ended. It followed me. Any screen in my line of sight it’d taunt me. Send me pictures of myself. Display messages making fun of me for trying to escape. Even then. I thought…maybe just a really good hacker right?”

You risked a glance at him, and he looked down at you nodding encouragingly. 

“Yeah. I could see it being some black hat who just…saw you as an easy target and wanted to really fuck with you.  But something tells me there’s more.”

You smirked bitterly. 

“…it knew things it shouldn’t. Like; things I’d never said aloud or confessed online; so no mic work or camera or internet involved.”

“That’s impossible. Maybe you did and just don’t remember?’

You shook your head. 

"I mean…Gods I swear I head it in my head once.”

“Like Patch?”

“Yeah actually exactly like-”

“Like this maybe?”

You couldn’t help it. You yelped, and jerked looking around in fear, tears instinctively filling your eyes. You’d know that glitched, demonic in its deepness tone anywhere. It haunted your nightmares. 

He looked at you worriedly, grounding you again with a hand on your shoulder. 

"Hey, come back to me! You good?”

He frowned seriously as your eyes refocused on him  and you sniffled comforted by the kindness in his blue eyes. 

“It just did it. It-it-I just- I don’t know why this demon is doing this to me.”

That was what did it. You looking up at him, teary eyed and desperate, thinking he was your knight in shining armor when really he was the monster in your closet all along. 

He caressed your face softly, cupping your cheek so he could see every micro-expression and then he grinned. 

“Because it’s fun. Why else?”

His tone was so sweetly gentle that it took you a moment for the actual words meaning to click and when they did you shivered. 

“Tha-That’s not funny. I’m not playing around.”

He pulled back to swagger around the room, the same and yet completely different all at once, as he hummed. 

“Hmm… shame. Feels like a game to me and a fun one at that. Y'know, I never did tell you my name, and luckily your cute romantic naivete ensured you went with it when I told you they didn’t define us. Why don’t you ask me again now that I’m ready to answer you?”

You shook your head, eyes flicking to the door as you tried to hold yourself together. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t. 

“No.”

You stood and despite expecting to be stopped you made it to the door. Exhilaration and adrenaline fueled you and as you went to open the door-

“Ouch!”

You jerked away as you were violently shocked the second your hand made contact with the doorknob. Your mind raced. When had you closed the door?

“You didn’t.”

You flinched and reluctantly turned to face your captor trying to put on a brave face as he smirked and cornered you against the door, hovering over you with his hands on either side of your trembling frame. 

His entire demeanor had shifted on a dime. The sweet kind boy from earlier may as well never have existed.  This person in front of you- no this monster looked all too amused at your fearful denial.  But there was eagerness in his eyes too. More passionate than any he’s shown when engaging in your conversations before. 

“You’re so easy to predict. I charged the doorknob when I closed it; did you like my little mind trick earlier too? Heh " 

He snickered. 

"The only way you’re getting out is if I open the door first. Now then…”

He tilted his head condescendingly, blue eyes seeming to spark with the demand.

“Say it. I know you want to know.”

You weakly shook your head and flinched again as he hissed at you, raising his voice a little and drawing closer to your face. 

“Do it!”

“Fine! W-What are you?”

He pulled back to snicker, calm as if he wasn’t making you a frightened mess. 

“Tsk tsk, what a different question than who but I suppose I’ll answer both since I���m feeling gracious.”

He met your eyes and you whimpered as he grabbed your chin, forcing you to maintain eye contact. 

“My name is BEN. But you already knew that little mouse didn’t you~?”

His voice was a coo and your cheeks heated despite yourself even as you were filled with icy fear at the confirmation. He even used that stupid nickname that always flustered you. No-one else would know that. You ached with the want to look away but he was way too strong. Pushing at his chest did nothing but make him throw his head back in light laughter. 

“Ahahaha! Aww that’s adorable. Don’t make me pin your arms down darling, we were getting along so well earlier. Now! As for your other question. I suppose there is many things you could consider me. A virus, a lost soul, a villain, technically I used to be Human and those fools who know of me online call me legend, a Creepypasta but now, knowing what name you’d give me is what I’ll go by I think. What was it you called me? A demon? I can roll with that." 

Your breath hitched as he leaned down cooing lovingly in your ear. 

"After all you like demons, don’t you cutie? You can be my Nora and I’ll be your Patch. " 

You scoffed and he growled low, demoni- cruel, and glitchy. 

Yet you were so scared, so wound up over months of torment and anxiety that you just broke. Constantly being on edge and paranoid. Now you have a direct source to vent your frustrations.  Of course it’d bubble over.

“Get off me you psychopath!!”

You raised your voice, something exceedingly out of character and pushed him back harshly, right into the corner of your desk, making him wince. A brief flash of surprise filled his face and then he was snarling, and advancing on you.  

Luckily, you’d already used his shock to turn on your heel and go for the doorknob again and this time we’re successful. You crossed the threshold when a deceptively weak looking arm pulled you back as you struggled and tried to elbow him while his other arm held you to him with another arm resting casually against your shoulders by your neck. 

"No!" 

All pretense was lost  and he laughed openly against the side of your neck, relishing your squirming as he easily kept you in check.

“You actually caught me off guard. Guess seeing me in the flesh is a little intense huh? Even made a weak little thing like you go for fight just for an opportunity of flight. I suppose now is as good a time to mention as any.” 

His mouth moved to your ear where he whispered. 

“I know your secret~”

You frowned, wracking your brain for anything else he could use as ammo but came up empty so you called his bluff. 

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

And then his fingers squeezed at your waist and you squealed and jerked in his grip and it clicked what he meant. But before you could voice it, he spoke up. 

“Like this. Who’d have guessed a seemingly innocent girl like you would have a goldmine of kinks and scenarios for me to play with you with just waiting to be exploited.”

You shook a little, but this time the trembling wasn’t from fear alone, it was withheld arousal too, especially as you could swear his teeth, his fairly sharp teeth- grazed your ear and made you jerk, followed by his hiss in your ear. 

“Guess you really are a tickle slut. You like fear too which is just perfect for me.”

Your voice was admittedly breathless as you stopped struggling, simply holding his other arm, positioned around your neck. 

“What-What are you going to do with me?”

“I’m going to make you mine of course. I like you, so I’ve decided I want to keep you. I think you’ll find the arrangement to your liking, once you get used to the other inhabitants anyway. I’ll introduce you more intimately. I know you can get anxious in big groups so after your initial intro to everyone it’ll be smaller groups. And in our free time…” 

You quickly descended into giggles as the hand at your waist spidered up and down your whole left side, making you squirm and blush. You were distracted so you squealed as his tongue brushed your ear, making you shudder in lust before a hesitant moan left your lips at the cruel and exhilarating words that left his lips. With no need to maintain a facade, his voice deepened and sounded twisted, glitching as he purred. 

“I’ll take my time breaking you.”

Jeff the Killer:

Jeff would already be faltering. You’d been bullied for many a year by now. Of course, the bullies had already been disposed of, but Jeff was triggered heavily by the weakness he saw in you. He feels an odd sense of ownership. 

When you flinch in your sleep and giggle, Jeff frowns in confusion from where he had been watching you while he grappled with his thoughts. 

You mumble in your sleep, and his eyes move to your hands as you seem to try and push someone away before slapping the air, a grin and evident blush on your face as you squirm. 

"Mike s-stop- quit ihihihit!! Damn it no! Not thehehere!”

Jeff experiences a brief flash that has him stumbling back a step and swallowing hard. 

A much younger him, Liu, shrieking in laughter under his wiggling fingertips. 

Right. Tickling. 

Is there a weakness you don’t have? 

He frowns in discomfort and quickly moves to dig into your sides, covering your mouth with his free hand to muffle your squeal of laughter. 

As you struggle underneath him, Jeff glares as you eye him in fearful shock between gasps of forced mirth. 

“Gods, you’re so pathetic. Yet another weakness I’ll have to train you to cope with.”

Right. Training. You could serve as a good partner if he worked you hard enough. 

His voice is gruff, and he only pulls his hand away when you’re out of breath not moving from where he’s straddling your waist. 

“Who…f-fhuhuhuck me- who the Hehehell are you?”

Jeff snickers immaturely at your word choice before he smirks. 

“The man who saved you from those pricks sweetheart. Means you owe me and I’ll be takin’ you under my wing. You either come willingly or…”

He twirls his knife with practiced skills and watches you take in his offer, smirking with intent. 

“I’ll take ya by force and tickle you more in front of all my friends, soon as we’re home.”

Homicidal Liu:

You’d always liked Liu. He was sweet, attentive, attractive; truly the whole package.  You’d been getting closer to Liu for a few months now and despite Liu warning you that he had an alternate personality you hadn’t met you’d accepted him with open arms. At least now you knew why he’d been procrastinating on answering your request to date. 

He’d looked so shocked as you threw your arms around him.  

“You really don’t mind? Sully isn’t- he’s the opposite of how I normally am. He’s not exactly…palatable to most. He can be quite intense.”

You raised your chin confidently at that and smirked slightly. 

“Well I’ve dealt with you when you’re being particularly needy- I think I’ll be okay. Besides; he’s a part of you.  I’m sure I’ll come to love him too!”

Your confident declaration suddenly fell apart as you scrambled for the right words, going red. 

“Ah-well I mean- if he would be okay with that obviously!! I’d never-”

Liu cut you off with a laugh and tugged you into his chest, lovingly nuzzling the top of your head as you mumbled defeatedly into his chest. 

“I’m not very good at this huh? Sorry.”

Liu shuddered suddenly, a full body shake that made you pull back to look at him in worry. He firmly turned his face away from you, avoiding your concerned gaze before he was ready and clearing his throat as the tremors faded. He sighed in relief and smiled gently at you.  

“Sorry about that love. Didn’t mean to make you worried. It seems Sully is a little too eager. I don’t want you meeting until we’ve been dating a while first. I…well.”

He looked nervous before his blue eyes bore into yours. 

“Admittedly I want you all to myself. You fell for me first, not him. Can’t have him stealing my girl, even if he is a part of me.”

You couldn’t hold back your quickly growing smile if you tried. 

“So that’s a yes? Thank you thank you thank you!”

You laughed, giddy as you hugged him so tight your new boyfriend nearly spun. 

—–

It happened a month in, rather unexpectedly. 

Liu had come to pick you up from work at the movie theater as per your usual schedule. Your coworkers already were familiar with him from your past months getting to know each other and he waved amicably to anyone he saw, chatting a few moments as he waited for you to emerge from where you’d gone to put out the garbage for the night. When you didn’t return after several minutes, his brow furrowed in worry. 

He told your coworkers he was going to check in on you and they waved him off, distracted by their own closing duties. It was late, dark out and already, Liu was feeling anxious. He’d never liked the dark. Not after that night. He rounded the corner where the dumpster and hopefully you awaited and locked on a situation he never thought he’d see again. 

Someone he loved, with a knife to her throat. 

No-one would be taken from him again. 

You meanwhile, were petrified. Tears swam in your eyes that you refused to let fall as the man currently holding you captive against him hissed into your ear. 

“Here’s the plan sweetheart, you’re gonna lead the way inside with me and we’re gonna go right over to the cash registers. Take out every bit inside and bring it all out back here. All your little coworkers, the ones that are left anyway? They’ll be too scared ‘a me cutting this pretty neck of yours to do anything stupid.”

A deep voice you’d never heard before emerged, quickly followed by the love of your life. Liu had come for you! 

“That’s my pretty neck actually, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll let her go before I really get angry.”

Wait…no.

Green eyes, similar but distinctly different to Liu’s blue glared into the man. 

A knife being tossed casually as a children’s toy as he flipped it effortlessly between his fingers when you knew well Liu let you do the cooking because of his phobia and it clicked. 

“S-Sully-”

His eyes cut to you, sharp and biting for an instant before the man behind you laughed. 

“Oh you know each other, do you? Lovebirds. How sweet.”

Your breath caught as the knife pressed in enough to make a line of blood trickle down the column of your throat. Your tears fell too, unable to keep them at bay as you bit your lip to stifle the sobs. Like Hell were you giving him that much. But still. 

“But now ain’t the time to play hero kid. All the lass has to do is cooperate and she’ll be just fine. Once I get my just rewards I’m out of here and you can both be reunited at last.”

Sully appraised the situation, eyes still locked on you a moment more before that piercing gaze moved to your captor. He tilted his head with a strange smile on his lips before he hummed. 

“Who’s playing hero? We both want something. I’ll help you get your money, you give me my girl. Seems a simple enough trade to me. How much were you thinking? 100? 1000?”

Sully threw his knife casually to the side as if it was trash and instead easily instead slipped out his wallet, beginning to flip through bills as both you and the captor were bewildered. 

“Shit!”

Sully cursed as he dropped the stack of bills, rushing to pick them up, looking nervous and while the expression and clumsiness reminded you of Liu a moment you knew better. Liu scolded you for cursing when it slipped out. Huh. Seems you had a lot to learn about Sully. 

He approached once he’d gathered all the bills and though the man tensed a bit his grip was loose. You were tempted to fight but you had a feeling…saw something in Sully’s eyes that told you to wait as he shot you a quick look. 

“Is this enough?”

He held out one hand, filled with 100’s, hunched in submission with his head lowered and when the man couldn’t help himself and bent over your shoulder to look closer, slightly removing the knife a few inches from your neck Sully struck. 

He lunged, his free hand holding the man’s head down forcibly; using your shoulder as leverage to better press his neck down and then instantaneously letting the money scatter as he reached his hand in his pocket a moment only to ruthlessly shove it straight into the man’s eye. Somehow, he was still alive. Screaming but alive and when Sully reared back his hand to finish the job, the man having dropped the knife in his agony and fallen on his ass, you shook off your shock to rush him and nearly topple him over in a bone crushing hug. 

“Oof! What are you-he’ll get away!”

He hissed, trying to tug you off him but you didn’t budge, holding him tighter. 

“L-Liu wouldn’t want this. I don’t either. What you did was enough please Sully, you already took his sight- he’s crippled and not going anywhere and I’m safe. Isn’t that enough?”

“No. For me it’s not. He was going to kill you. Ready, willing and able to rob you of your life…why should I not do the same to him?”

Your reply was simple and you pulled back to look into his eyes. They didn’t hold the same softness Liu tended to, instead expectant and frustrated.

“Because that’s too good for him. Think about it. He was going to make Liu be alone the rest of his life. Murder me in front of him. In front of you.  Leave you a lifetime of Hell. Let him learn to live with a disability in a prison cell.”

He stared you down a moment and just as nervousness bubbled in your gut he pulled you in for a bruising kiss. You heard the crying behind you peak as one of Sully’s hands left you and jerked in his grip to try and see. He didn’t let you even as he broke the kiss. When you frowned disapprovingly at him he smirked, slow and measured. 

“Well now. I think you and I will get along just fine. Don’t look so cross. ”

His smile widened, eyes alight with enough glee to make you shiver. His voice dropped just as it had when he’d first appeared, sounding almost demonic in comparison to Liu’s lilting intonation. 

“He dared to not only take what is mine, but also had the gall to steal a sight for my eyes alone. You, vulnerable, with tears in your eyes. It’s only fair he lost his.”

A thought hits you suddenly and you can’t resist asking it. 

“…You planned this from the second you came out of those shadows didn’t you?”

Sully smiles mysteriously before he sighs. 

“It seems our time is running out. Ah, yes. Liu apologizes in advance for this, by the way.”

And just like that; Sully passed out, all of his weight going on you and nearly sending you tumbling to the ground. Luckily Liu recovered fast and blinked several times as he reoriented, looking around before hugging you tightly. 

From there, the man now passed out from the pain was arrested and everyone vouched for Liu along with you, claiming it must’ve been self defense because he was such a gentle, nonviolent and calm guy. 

Liu was ecstatic once the hectic night was over and you finally made it home, a little after daybreak. 

“I can’t believe it!! Sully loves you!!! I knew he would!”

He peppered kisses all over your face, making you giggle and blush.

“I’m gonna have nightmares for weeks, but I confess I’m so glad I finally got to meet him. He’s so different to you, but he’s also my type. As if one of you wasn’t bad enough for my heart and libido both.”

“What was that?”

You stiffened as you realized the last thing you’d said and swallowed nervously. You hadn’t talked sex things yet but with Sully riling you up earlier it just popped out. 

“Forget I said anything it really doesn’t-”

 Liu made you turn to face him on the bed and you gasped as you saw one of his eyes was green, and the other blue. 

“You really want to go there? You’re positive?”

You nodded shyly at Liu and jumped a little as Sully spoke up after a moment, all casual nonchalance. 

“So does this mean we can finally make you come undone with tickling like you so desperately want us too?" 

You gaped at him before moving to scramble out of the bed in your haste to get away, a nervous grin on already at the edges of your lips. 

"H-How did you-”

Sully barked out a mocking laugh. 

“Oh sweetheart you really are too trusting. I’ll have to teach you to delete your search history once you’re done on our laptop. You panicked and had a blush on your cheeks, slammed our laptop closed when we came home from work one day. Liu said to trust you but I confess I was curious and snuck a peek.”

His grin widened and his voice dropped to a husky purr as he stood, cornering you against the wall before cooing into your ear.

“Imagine our surprise when we saw what a naughty little slut you were being~” 

“S-Sullly, Liu I-”

At your anxiety, Liu was already smiling and cradling your face, pecking your lips and you sighed, somewhat soothed. 

“Don’t be scared baby. We love you, both of us.”

Sully agreed, voice more mature than you’d expect. 

“Every part of you; including the cute kinky side.”

“I-It’s not cute…” 

You grumbled a little, bright red and the sound of their laughter mixing into one was so beautiful you just had to raise your head to savor it. His expression was even better, and with the green and blue eye he sported, the pure joy on his face, you only blushed darker. 

“Sorry love. Anyone who says they’re not cute, is adorable. Them’s the breaks.”

Liu cooed affectionately, hugging you and nuzzling the top of your head. 

Sully chimed in after a few moment’s peace.

“So; what’s the deal Liu? Take turns tickling in 5 minutes increments to see who can make her either cry uncle or moan first?” 

The smirk he shot your way was wolfish but the way your thighs clenched had Liu smirking too, albeit in a kinder way. He was older than you after all and given he was your first everything, along with Sully, he wanted to treasure every second. 

“Deal. If I win I get a whole day with her alone.”

“Ditto for me. Better pray cause your weak ass technique-”

But Liu didn’t need his mouth to tickle and you soon found yourself laughing  as he dug right into your hipbones without a trace of the mercy that was so characteristic of him.

You heard Sully scoff before reluctantly giving Liu total control but you didn’t really care who won. 

All you knew was that you were incredibly lucky, had two stunning men to keep you safe when you were in danger, and one thing for absolutely certain. 

There would be many more laughs in your future.

Dr. Locklear:

You pace nervously, awaiting Locklear and chewing anxiously on your nails. 

He was late. Ever since that hang up saying “a situation had arisen” you’d been anxious. You knew you shouldn’t care. You should be glad, especially since you weren’t 100% sure if the victim he chose was really guilty without a doubt but-

You found you trusted him more. 

Gods, what had he turned you into? Tears burned your eyes and you sniffled at the thought of losing him, rubbing at your eyes angrily. 

Your door opened with a 'BANG!’ and the man of the hour waltzed in, flowers in hand which quickly dropped along with his smile as he saw your state. 

“I’m fi-”

Yet he was already pulling down your hands from your face and gently wiping the remaining wetness himself, crystal blue eyes taking you in with worry. 

“Who made you cry? It’s been mere hours since we last spoke who could have-”

“No-one that matters. I’m fine.”

You were dismissive as you could manage but he wasn’t having it, seeing through your half truths and bluffs as always and cutting to the heart of the matter. 

“So me, then. Explain.”

His eyes and expression were both serious as he guided you to the couch. 

You frowned and turned your face away, going silent. 

His tone turned playful in response and out of the corner of your eye you saw his own hold a glimmer of playfulness, returning to his old self now that he knew you were unharmed. 

“Ah, the silent treatment, hm? How am I ever to cope with such a thing?”

His voice was teasing and you fought a blush back with difficulty as you 'hmph’d’.

He made a show of tapping his sculpted chin before his eyes darted over to yours and you quickly looked away fully, not wanting him to know you’d been peeking. 

Of course, that was what he wanted, if his enticing chuckle was anything to go by. 

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you against his chest, between his legs as he nuzzled into your neck. 

“C'mon love of mine~ I can’t make it better if you don’t talk and I’d just hate having to make you.”

He sounded so gleeful. Stupid sadist. So much for fighting your blush. You were sure it was crawling to your ears by now-

“Oh? What have we here? Seems the blood has risen to your ears. How adorable. You must be really embarrassed for that to happen~”

His lips against your ear so incessantly had left you squirming a little in his grip as you fought back a smile, swallowing the urge to giggle. 

“If you’d like me to stop, all you need do is talk my dear.”

You were tense as a spring, barely holding yourself together as he cooed, blew air and teased your neck and ears. 

“Of course…I feel a trade off is in order as well. I made you cry so making you laugh feels like a fair retribution to me. Don’t you think?”

He began squeezing at your sides and exploring your torso and you were gone, trying desperately to curl up and hide your snickers and squeaks as he messed with you. 

“You’re such a jehehehehrk! You k-knew what you were-nohohoho!!”

You whined, throwing your head back against his shoulder in mirth as he spidered his fingers ticklishly up your back. 

“Of course I did sweetling. Intelligence aside for a moment, I’m a doctor. I touch people’s bodies and elicit all manner of reactions. Do you know how many people I’ve had to restrain so I can work properly due to over ticklishness? Too many. Now then, enough distracting. Unless of course…”

His nimble fingers picked up speed and danced their way into your underarms and ribs until you were kicking helplessly and laughing openly.

“You’d also like to see how mean I can really be.”

“Fuck yhohohohou!!”

He tsked despite the smirk on his face and shrugged nonchalantly. 

“What a naughty brat you are. Such vulgarity too. I’ll have to add a punishment to your care plan~ Fine then. Don’t say I didn’t warn you though, sweet. I’ll just have to replace those initial tears of fear with tears of laughter. Tickle tickle tickle~”

[mha-quotes-and-such]

Hey! I love your OCs.

So, about the Grim Riper's villain... what about Sick-ler?

Okay, sounds tacky, but hear me out! It's a pun with his weapon of choice (a sickle, opposed to the Riper's scythe), and also expresses both how the hero society views him and the rest of his "clients" (as sick evil people) and how he views the society itself (sick, pitiful, hypocritical, with a good chunk of Stain's ideology)

Also, since the Grim Riper likes puns, it's ironic that his trademark villain uses puns too.

As for his power, I think it'd be cool if his quirk allowed him to make crows and ravens out of thin air! They're not actual birds, just energy/aura/shadows/something ethereal in the shape of birds. He always makes either crows or ravens (it's unknown if it's a preference or a quirk limitation) and that's the reason for his scarecrow-like costume (again, he really likes puns and irony)

Since his crows aren't made of actual physical material, they can be used to infiltrate through small cracks, retrieve heavily guarded objects or just plain old spying. But they also have a more combative side, since they still have their beaks and talons.

The reason he is the Grim Riper's "trademark" villain is that a huge swarm of crows can reduce crops to nothing, so his energy birds can deal some real damage to the Grim Riper's plants. The downside to the Sick-ler is that, the more crows he makes, the more energy is sucked from him. Also, he has trouble commanding his crows to do different things (two groups doing different actions or even hitting two different targets if they are too far apart)

Hope you liked my idea! Your drawings are great! 💟

I literally cant thank you enough for this oh my god I love these ideas so much. You put so much thought into these and they fit so perfectly!! I love that you managed to tie in both his relation to the Grim Riper, and his story with his outfit. I had such wildly different ideas when making him (I doubt anyone associates lawyers and scarecrows, but what can I say. Im a little biased and wanted a fun scarecrow character) but you managed to pull it all together with his quirk

Speaking of his quirk I love it its so creative. Reminds me a bit of dark shadow but I think its really cool that it leans more into the bird theme and inspires his costume

And puns! How could I not love my pun-hero having a pun-villain?? The meaning behind the name is actually really cool. It is a bit tacky but honestly it reminds of a name a comic book villain would have which I love. And I think comparing him to Stain adds so much to his character, that he was defending criminals because he believed in them more than he believed in heroes

Again thank you so much and Im so glad you enjoy them/the drawings!!

[thebowynntradition]

The Bowynn Altar

The Bowynn traditional altar {Baear} bares no resemblance to a Wiccan altar at all. The altar is the “sacred table” so to speak, which is a focal point for prayer time between us and the gods. Therefore, the altar should not have clutter on it at all. In the simplest form, the altar consists with the altar itself, which can be a table of wood (which is best used indoors) or if erected outside made of logs and/or stone, which is best used outdoors. I personally find two end tabled put side by side works best for me, as there will be draw space and a small shelf or two to place other scared objects. Concrete works fine, like a birdbath or poured concrete garden bench, especially outdoors. In some cases, a carved tablet works perfectly, which can even be carried in the pre ceremonial procession and placed on a log or stone. The altar should also be of at a good height; about the same height of any table. Avoid having yourself and other people having to bend down to place something on it if you can.

Once the base of the altar is erected, the acting priest/ess should sanctify it with holy water {Maten'Sumon} and holy oil (Maten'Jefer) and then a general invocation to the gods (this will be discussed later in more detail. This should be done before anything else is placed on it.

Outdoor altars need not an altar cloth. This is mostly reserved for indoor temple and home altars. But that does not mean you can not use one. Most folks think that the altar cloth is nothing more than a piece of fabric that keeps the altar itself clean and makes it pretty. The truth is that the cloth is symbolic. It represents the veil that separates the mortal world from the world of the gods. It also symbolizes the veil between the world of the living from the dead. The cloth should be something special and made of non-polyester material. Silk, wool, cotton are the best. Leather and suede are good so long as it is soft and subtle enough to lay flat on the altar. What decorations are on the cloth is up to the owner of the cloth. Color does not matter but some take into consideration the colors of the season.

A simple layout of objects on the altar, are as follows: The Septagram Tile, {Bowrod} which graces the center. It should be big enough to be seen from where people are sitting. A wood tile with a septagram {Numatam} painted, carved or wood-burned on it is great. Behind or about the tile are seven candles {Kaelu}, one for each element/virtue. White candles or just naturally colored bees wax but you can use colored candles if you desire. An incense censor {Temnetellon} of some sort is also on the altar. This can be as simple as a small bowl of dirt. This is the simplest and most traditional set up. One can add an icon {Dyol} of the god/s if one wishes; often that is set on the tile or behind it. A basket, bowl or plate may be present for holding offerings of food and a chalice or drinking horn to hold libation. But normally, these are not left on the altar.

If the altar that is erected is very temporary and needs to be taken down, one should have a large basket or wood box to store the sacred objects in.  this basket is sacred and called a {Mystara Khabbat} When stored away, each item should be wrapped in cloth. The basket and its contents should never be handled by anyone except by its owner and/or the artifacts-bearer. All objects should be left in the basket and taken out only as needed. Flowers and garlands can be used to decorate the altar as well, seen as gifts to the gods.

[ggukbabyy]

bro... idk about the whole plot of the drabble but it definitely should have some sexual tension going on but i'm not talking about a quick tension, you know... it could take hours or days idk i feel like you would kill it

“No, never,” you comment with a small shake of your head. Taehyung looks indignant.

“Everyone has done something outside of the bedroom at some point.”

You simply shake your head. “Not me.” Your eyes flick to Jeongguk briefly, his gaze drilling holes into the side of your face. He leans forward, forearms resting on the table.

“You’ve never needed someone so badly you couldn’t wait?” His voice is deep and husky, a hidden implication giving his words weight. You hold his gaze.

“The waiting is the fun part.” The corner of his mouth forms a faint smirk.

“That’s where we’ll have to disagree,” he replies, holding your eyes as he takes a long pull from his drink. Everyone breaks off into different conversations, the intrigue of your reluctance to perform sexual acts in a public space no longer the most interesting thing to discuss. Jeongguk appears to be the only one not ready to let it go.

You sit opposite him in the pub, enough people occupying the space that the din of background conversation makes it hard for others to hear as Jeongguk leans across the table once again.

“Do you really believe that? About waiting?” You’re not quite sure why he’s so interested but you entertain his line of questioning.

“100 percent,” you reply without hesitation and Jeongguk nods slowly as he considers your answer.

“You don’t think the desperation to have someone near you, in you, there and then is fun? How is that not better than waiting?” His eyebrows are drawn together in skepticism. He can’t for the life of him understand how you could enjoy waiting. It’s disheartening to hear when he’s spent the better part of the night trying to figure out a plan that would get you to follow him into the toilets. You’ve been acquaintances for about 4 months and he’s spent an embarrassingly large proportion of his time in your company thinking of all the different ways he’d like to spend his time with you if he could get you alone. And not for one second would he want to wait.

“I enjoy the anticipation,” you begin, moving to mirror his position. Jeongguk gets a wonderful eyeful of cleavage and he takes his time appreciating it.

“Wanting it so desperately and knowing you can’t have it now makes it all the better when it does happen.” For most of the sentence Jeongguk is picturing his dick between your tits so he only half hears what you say.

“Anticipation doesn’t change shit,” replies Jeongguk, leaning slightly closer. A small smile plays across your face, head tilted to the side slightly.

“It’s my favourite,” your voice has turned sultry, the alcohol muddling Jeongguk’s brain preventing him from noticing the change immediately. “The person is so close and not close enough, almost touching where you want and you could scream in frustration because two centimeters to the left and it would feel so fucking good, but they make you wait,” your voice is soft and captivating; even with everything happening around Jeongguk you’re the only one he can hear. His whole body feels jittery yet he’s glued to the spot, his chest beginning to rise and fall just a little deeper as you draw the perfect picture for him. “And wait some more, until I could cry, until I’m begging for the slightest touch or kiss in just the right place, so desperate and needy.” The switch from describing a situation to talking about yourself doesn’t go unnoticed by Jeongguk. In fact, it makes the room seem a little hotter, his pants feel a little tighter, his brain seems a little more clouded as he tries to focus on anything but the sounds you’d make as you beg or the words you’d say to get what you wanted from him. Saliva pools in his mouth at the thought of you spread below him close to tears with desperation. Your eyes are alive and wild yet the rest of your face is the picture of innocence and he’s not sure how much more he can take. You’re inching closer to his face across the table as you speak.

“But you don’t like waiting, do you Jeongguk?” You ask and he can faintly feel the warmth of your breath against his lips from this distance. He swallows thickly.

“You don’t want to keep me waiting, don’t like the idea of making me beg for it? For you?” You add on innocently, eyebrows raised as though you’d asked a perfectly simple, appropriate question. Jeongguk can barely form a coherent sentence with his head so full of everything you’ve just said. You stay there leaning on the table for a few more seconds, Jeongguk’s eyes flicking down to your lips, the air around you both suffocating and heavy. You grin widely before leaning back into your chair triumphantly. Jeongguk’s eyes are clouded with arousal, not trying to hide where your words have taken him and his reluctance to return to the real world. By the time he does you’ve moved on to a conversation with Jimin, giggling at his shit jokes. You don’t look Jeongguk’s way once for the rest of the night and it drives him insane.

-----

Two weeks later and you’re at Jimin’s place for a barbecue with a friend. Only Jimin’s housemates are Yoongi and Jeongguk, and no one told Jeongguk you were coming over. Ever since the night at the pub, Jeongguk has fantasised about you more than he would care to admit - even to himself. More than a few times his hand wandered south with pictures of you flashing behind his eyelids, replaying the conversation you’d had over and over, vividly picturing you doing the things you’d described. So when he walks out of the patio doors into the garden to see you laid across a towel on the floor, the smallest bikini he has ever witnessed wrapped around your body, to describe his feelings as shocked is a gross understatement. From his vantage point he can watch you while you remain none the wiser, so he takes the precious time to appreciate everything that you are. Your legs go on for miles and are toned to perfection, your tits fill out your bikini with some left to spill over the side and yearning burns deep in his stomach to have his lips against the smooth flesh, dragging his tongue leisurely across your nipple. Images of you begging for him flash violently across his mind, and he’s itching to return to his bedroom for a few minutes. But then you turn over and notice him, a lazy grin creeping slowly across your mouth.

“Can I help you?” You ask innocently, eyes dancing with amusement at having caught Jeongguk staring. He saunters over to you, arms braced behind him as he sits down.

“You’re in my garden, I should be asking you that question.” Your eyes are glued on the way his biceps tense to support his weight. It should be illegal for Jeongguk to walk around shirtless, even if it is the height of summer. For the sake of your own sanity he should walk around in a full wetsuit - but you’re sure he’d manage to make that look sexy. His broad chest is on full display, the golden skin pulled taut against the toned muscles of his abdomen. Your eyes continue their journey down his stomach, thoughts swirling at the dusting of hair beneath his belly button, following it down until it disappears beneath his shorts.

“Are you nearly done?” Amusement drips from his words as you pull your eyes from their pleasant detour. You fight desperately to keep the heat from your face.

“Almost.” Jeongguk’s tongue pokes the side of his cheek at your answer. He’s used to girls fawning over him, melting into a puddle of shy giggles and doting compliments. Not this. The idea of having you begging beneath him becomes more and more appealing the more you demonstrate all the ways you need to be taught a lesson.

Both of you bask in the heat of the sun in silence, music drifting out from the kitchen, Yoongi’s contagious laughter bringing a smile to your face. Surreptitiously you peek one eye open, looking sideways at Jeongguk. The perfect definition of his jaw is showcased with the way his head is tilted towards the sun, little beads of sweat developing at his temples and clinging to the nape of his neck.

“You should really put suncream on,” you state, shutting your eye before he can catch you again.

“Are you offering?” His tone is bored but excitement thrills through his chest.

“Not really.” Jeongguk fights the smile threatening to reveal itself.

“If I end up burning, it'll be all your fault,” Jeongguk complains, and when you say nothing in return, his arms buckle under his weight dramatically, his back thudding against the grass.

“I can feel the blisters forming already,” he groans, rocking side to side. You suppress chuckles as you watch his performance.

“Unngh,” he groans, turning his head to look at you, a fake pained expression pulling against his features. “I need you to put suncream on me,” he whines, “please.” His lips jut into a pout.

“Only because you asked so nicely,” you reply with an eye roll, Jeongguk all but ignoring it as a delighted grin lights up his face.

While you grab the cream, Jeongguk arranges himself into his original position, a satisfied smile gracing his plump lips as he basks in both his small victory and the heat of the sun. His smile vanishes, eyes snapping open, when he feels the cool of a shadow passing across him only to be faced with you straddling his lap. Your expression is the picture of innocence, eyes wide, head tilted, soft lips slightly parted as you hold to bottle of cream in one hand expectantly, but a flicker of wickedness flashes across your eyes, there one second and gone so quickly Jeongguk could almost convince himself that you’re clueless to the effect your close proximity has on him. But the way your back arches into him gives you away.

Jeongguk hisses a breath through his teeth at the first contact of the suncream against his warm skin and you giggle. There’s no hint of amusement on his face. Having you so close and yet unable to touch you has his mind reeling and frustration bubbling like acid in the pit of his stomach. You smell incredible, sweet and floral, and your hands are delicate as they roam his chest and stomach, eyes completely focused on the task at hand. He sighs deeply as he lets himself become lost in the way you touch him, the way your hands rove confidently, traversing low enough to have him forcing down the urge to buck his hips against you.

Nothing in the world is going to pull your gaze from the path your hands trace against Jeongguk’s skin. From his broad shoulders and collarbones you would be happy to drag your tongue across, to your palm grazing his nipple, noting the muscle in his jaw jumping at the contact. Down, down, down his stomach as low as his shorts allow, over his hips and waist. All amusement has vanished as your fingers explore. Jeongguk’s breathing is deep as you toy with the waistband of his shorts, slipping the tip of your finger just underneath. He’s watching you like a hawk, nostrils flaring as he wills you to just reach down, give him the look so he can take you upstairs and show you there’s no fun in waiting. Instead you raise your eyes to his and breathe out, “I need to do your arms.”

He shifts his weight forward, one arm held out for you, the other sliding around your body, hand resting gently on your arse. Raising your eyebrows questioningly at the placement, Jeongguk simply shrugs, a devilish smile flashing at you.

“What’s the matter, darling?” His deep voice questions. You forego a reply, squeezing cream directly onto his arm. He watches your face with delight as you continue.

“Turn around so I can do your back,” your voice is barely above a whisper. Having him so close for so long is starting to prove difficult. You can’t get your thoughts away from his hands, how strong and big they are in your own, how they’d wrap perfectly around your neck or how easy it would be for Jeongguk to prod and massage your g-spot until you were exhausted from overstimulation. It hasn’t slipped your notice that he’s been getting progressively harder beneath you, every inch of him pushing against your core. It’s getting hard to breathe, hard to look him in the eye - he relishes every second of your struggle with a cocky grin. His eyes are heavy and clouded with arousal and he drags his gaze leisurely down your body and back again.

“I’m sure you can reach from here, darling.” The determined look in your eye has Jeongguk chuckling. The action of reaching your hands over his shoulders and down his back has your chest pushing into his face and a small groan rumbles in Jeongguk’s throat. Your stomach burns with desire at the sound, a desperate need to hear the sound over and over, louder and then whispered into your ear, claws mercilessly at your insides, threatening to suffocate you. Without thinking you push your hips down in an effort to garner some friction against your swollen clit. The manoeuver doesn’t go unnoticed.

Jeongguk’s mind is blank. Your arse is pushing back into his palms, his fingers massaging the supple flesh delicately. With your tits so close to his face he determines it would be criminal if he doesn’t lean forward just a little more. His hair tickles your cheek as he moves, his nose brushing your chest as he gets closer. He flattens his tongue against the swell of your breast, licking a stripe against your glowing skin before sinking his teeth into you. A small gasp escapes your lips, hips rutting against him of their own accord. He groans again, using his hands to push you into him harder, desperation and frustration intermingling at the clothing separating your pussy from his bare skin. He pulls back to look up at you, the muscles of his jaw jumping as he restrains himself. Your lips are so close, both of your chests rising and falling rapidly, each waiting to see what the other will do, the atmosphere suffocating as the tension rises. Jeongguk’s gaze is intense and his eyes flick briefly down to your lips, his intentions and desires clear.

“Come to my room.” His voice is gravelly and shoots heat directly to where you need his touch the most. “Let me touch you, make you feel so good, princess.”

“We can’t,” you whisper back, lacking conviction.

“Why not?” Whines Jeongguk.

“Everyone will see and they’ll know.” It’s a feeble excuse and your resolve to stick with it is crumbling quickly.

“I’ll happily fuck you out here if that’s what you’d prefer.” Your cheeks flame at the idea. “It would be easy,” he continues, mind so consumed with you and his need to have you as close as possible. His fingers skim the apex of your thigh, toying with the edge of your bikini. “I’d just have to pull this to the side and then I’d see your pretty pussy, but I bet you have a tight cunt, couldn’t take my cock all at once.” Your core clenches reflexively at his words and you know you’re absolutely fucked.

“Come to my room,” he states, moving your hips over his with his hands. You smile devilishly, leaning forward until your lips almost brush.

“I’m sure you can wait a little bit longer.”

an; so i clearly don't know the meaning of the word drabble and you said i'd kill it so the perfectionism took over and i couldn't stop until i thought it was good

[chifuyusfingers]

Im obsessed with ur coloring in the boys tattoos works!! Could you do the reverse? Where they color in yours? With whoever u want!

~Tokyo revengers members Coloring Their S/O Tattoos.~

Mikey | Draken | Baji | Chifuyu

{Heya! I didn't put much into it but I hope you like it! And thank you though!}

----------------------------------------------------------

M i k e y

You had no hesitation letting him color your tattoos. “Have fun, babe.” You pinched your cheek and relaxed under the big tree you were both sitting under. Today you had thrown all your plans away just to be with mikey all day.

The wings on your forearm was now stained in hues of purple and green with accents of yellow. “So, besides today, how have you been lately?” Your gaze swayed from him to the inside of your eyelids as you were drifting to sleep slowly. “Okay, I suppose. School is annoying.” He laughed and your heart twinged with love.

You chuckled and looked down at your arm. "Mikey you done?" All you could hear was just a "hm".

“Let’s just rest for a little bit I'm tired.” You pushed the markers into the grass and your arm wrapped itself around his waist as you pulled him down and into your side. Mikey couldn’t fight it as his ear was filled with the sound of your mellowing heartbeat. Your fingers danced in his hair till you knew he was fast asleep.

You stayed awake just looking at his angelic features as the sight of your multi-colored arm shifted your focus. It was so meaningless to him but you loved it as you knew that it came from his heart and mind.

It was him– perfect.

~~~

B a j i

“Y/n! ” Baji called as he stepped into the large house. “I believe she's in the gazebo or her office, Mr.” One of the worked associates greeted baji at the front door. He grabbed the bags from baji's arms as he started walking. He was off towards the back of the house to find his fiancee.

“Y/n-!” he called as he rounded the corner of the house and into the back yard. The gazebo was empty. He stopped and stared for a moment. He was sure that this is where she'd be.

“Up here, my love.” A voice said as he looked up to see Y/n at her office balcony. “Hey there” he waved as your eyes squinted in a smile. “How was your day out?” you asked as you brought your teacup up to your lips. “It was okay~I have something to show you!” he called and held up a small shopping bag in his large hand. “I’ll be right up!” he raced back into the house and up the stairs to where you already stood waiting for him in the doorway to your office.

“What’s so amazing that you found today?” your eyebrow raised and he opened the bag quickly. “But first-” You interrupted you as you grabbed his face gently and gave him a passionate kiss. “What’s this for?” he asked as he continued to stare at your face lovingly. “Just happy to see you is all.” You smiled.

“Now, show mee.” he motioned to one of his hands that was stuck in the bag he held. He was brought back to reality and pulled the plastic package out of the bag.

“…Markers?” you asked and your tone of voice made him laugh. “Not just any markers. They’re tattoo markers. They’re safe for the skin.” He corrected you and you rolled your eyes. “You’re still on this?” You asked with an amused expression. “Of course I am! This was the deal and my love for you is way too much so.” he said shoving them into your hands so you could inspect the box.

You read the back and you had to admit he was right.

“You said I could color your tattoos IF I found tattoo markers. Safe for the skin and everything!” You knew he did it and that you had to hold up your part of the deal. “Okay fine.” You sighed as you handed the package back. “Yay! Beautiful Thank you!” He jumped and laid a gentle kiss on your nose.

“We can do it later before dinner.” You agreed.

—-

“Finally! You take forever.” He sighed as you moved your sunglasses up your nose. The grass tickled your bare legs as baji sat next to you. “I couldn’t help it. Chifuyu that jackass didn’t want to hang up the phone.” he stood on his knees and moved behind you. His hands gently rubbed your shoulders as your head fell in an exasperated manner.

“I hate to burst your bubble, Y/n. But, I called you out here for the deal. Not a massage.” You whined as you flopped down on the grass, your t-shirt lifting on your back.

“If this stains, I will make sure to throw out all color in your life. Your life will be a dull kaleidoscope-” “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, you big baby.” He laughed and opened his pouch full of the tattoo markers.

He lifted the back of your shirt more till the full picture was revealed. A dragon with demons following was the full picture- a dark reality…that he were going to make colorful. What can he do he loves your tattoos so much.

He sat on his lower back and got to work filling in the different parts of the dragon. Every once in awhile you would spasm and try to make him mess-up. Yet, with a slight tug on your hair, you would become limp and obedient again.

“I’m almost done.” Was the phrase that almost made you weep with joy. “Finally.” You let it slip and you felt a tug on your hair again. “Ow.” You rubbed your head. You could feel him draw and move the felt-tipped weapons on his back.

“Finished.” He cheered and grabbed his phone to take a picture. He showed it to you and ombre scaled decorated the dragon with the demon’s faces were colored red and blue. It looked nice. You saw a couple of smiley faces hidden in there and felt like everything looked complete.

“Okay, my turn now!” You yelled and grabbed his arm. You struggled and pulled him to the ground and grabbed the black marker that was in his hand. “Y/n, no.” he said strictly. “This wasn’t apart of the deal.” He expressed. “Excuse me? Sorry, I don’t speak Japanese.” Your english rambled off quickly from your tongue. He decided to just deal with it as you took your time drawing a mustache on his face along with random doodles you could think of.

You finally stopped your antics and took a picture with your phone to look at afterward. “You look so cute, look!” You pulled up the picture and shoved it in his face. “I look gross man!” He ridiculed but you wrapped him up in your arms quickly,

“My gross man.”

D r a k e n

You were on your period and hell you were pissed, your mood swings were just making the situation more shitty.

Draken on the other hand was just trying to help you but every now and then you'd snap at him for absolute no reason. "Oi, can you stop whining for once?"

He said with pretty much no emotion at all. And that's all it took for you to break down in tears.

Draken was taken aback, "babe hey, hey, I'm sorry I didn't mean it like that please stop crying- I". “Wanna play tic-tac-toe?” He asked and you looked around, surprised he was asking. “Um-” He didn’t wait for an answer and grabbed your legs– pulling you closer to where he sat.

Draken took the permanent markers out which was on the floor for god knows why. You wiped the rest of your tears and grabbed the orange marker out of his hand. He lifted the sleeve of his long shirt and created the grid in black ink. “Wanna go first?” He asked and you took the opportunity to land an 'X’ in the grid.

“Fine. You win this tournament. But, I know I’ll win next time.” You said laying back and closing his eyes.

The bottom of your shirt lifted and he could see the familiar black ink on your side. “Stop staring at me like that, pervert. I have rights.” You pulled your shirt down and he let a laugh rip through your chest.

“Chill. I was just looking at your tattoo.” He said and you shrugged. “What about 'em?” You asked as his eyes closed once more. “Nothing. Just looking,” he sighed, “I wanted to be a tattoo artist before all of this.” One eye peeked open and you looked suspiciously at his figure. “Are you any good?"

Draken just chuckled at your question.

~~

“Give me one!” You lifted the side of your shirt and waited patiently.

He shrugged, finding nothing else better to do. You already had black ink staining your skin so he decided to add on. It was another simple dragon but it fit your character and personality perfectly.

Time seemed to slow as you tried to take a sneak peek of the masterpiece he were currently working on. You planned to take a picture later and get it done, yet, it would have to be in secret.

All of a sudden, the bedroom door popped open. “Welcome back to Earth.” Mikey greeted. He capped the marker and helped you up.

"Why are you here" You asked while getting up, "Rude Y/n Chan, I'm still gonna answer your question though POLITELY, Ken-chin called us here so that we can go on a short trip or something to make your day better. Right ken-chin". Mikey looked over at draken, "Right whatever, can we go now?" He looked over at you for your response and all you did was kissed his neck because of your damn height and tagged along behind Mikey.

“Woah. You got a new tattoo?” Hina said as she lifted up your shirt and you shooed her hands away.

“Eventually.”

C h i f u y u

"I GONNA THROW UP ON YOU WITH ALL MY MIGHT IF YOU TRY TO GET NEAR MY TATTOOS MISTER " You exclaimed loudly as he started following you like a lost puppy around the kitchen, where you were busy making your 'grilled cheese'.

"Babe C'mom little color won't hurt and it's not like I'm trying to bite your tattoos off-". " See, there you said it, you're exactly gonna bite my tattoos off" Chifuyu sighed having enough of your nothings, he suddenly back hugged you, you can feel his large hands wrapped around your hip.

"What do you think you're doing?". You asked as you turned around to see his face,

"If you're not gonna let me color your tattoos then I prefer to stick with you like a koala, and you sure as hell know I ain't letting go." Chifuyu said and you eventually gave up because you knew nothing will change even if you don't agree with fuyu.

So now here you are sitting on chifuyu's lap as he continued to color the wallflower on your shoulder. "You done?". "Hold on a minute babe it's almost over, -All done" Chifuyu replied.

You sat up and started making your way to the mirror to see what he actually did " Y/N!!! Wait" chifuyu voice said and you turned around to see your boyfriend running over to you.

"Wha-", before you could finish your sentence he lifted you up and threw you over his shoulder. "The actual fuck chifuyu, what did you do! PUT ME DOWN YOU ASS"

"It's just better if you don't see it ya know, and I'll make sure you don't see it until I leave" Chifuyu chuckled quietly as he continued making his way to your bedroom.

-------------------------------_-----_-------------------------------------

[cozycryptidcorner]

Avery the Fae/Reader, Lemon

You don’t dress up for Halloween.

Not your fault, though, really, because your professors show no mercy for holidays, especially not ones that don’t land them a day off. Classes go on as usual, and so you wake up the latest you can without risking a tardy and go off in the comfortable clothes you slept in. Except for some cat ears and one superman, everything is perfectly normal, and the day passes like almost every other, save for a ‘spooky drink’ coupon at the local cafe.

I probably don’t even need a costume, anyways, you think as you catch your reflection when passing those special mirror-like windows on one of the campus’ buildings. Frankly, you look like you crawled out of hell itself. Dark circles under your eyes from lack of sleep, hair all askew and uncooperative, mouth in a permanent stressed line.

A zombie, probably, you decide, taking a sip of that hot caffeinated mess you ordered from the cafe. A hot zombie, for sure, but a zombie no less. A part of you wants to skip your next class and take a nap, but you’ve already used up your one absence, and you aren’t in a position to risk your grade for sleep. No rest for the wicked, right? Right. Everything else goes as smoothly as can be expected for being sleep deprived, and the night class seems to drag on for a fully stretched eternity, but you are finally free to go home and do your five hours of homework. Maybe if you’re lucky, you can squeeze in two or three hours of sleep.

It’s because you’re tired, you think, stopping for a hot minute when you realize that you’re lost. You hadn’t been paying attention to campus’ many twists and turns in its paths, and so you must have wandered away from the buildings and onto the forest trail that hugs the dorms, except there’s no cement beneath your feet. Not even a dirt trail marks a way out, and you take a full moment to come to terms with being lost, on your own damn campus, no less. You aren’t any kind of simpering pansy, so you turn around and begin to retrace your steps. Which doesn’t work, unfortunately, because after a couple of minutes of walking, there’s nothing to suggest that you’re only a couple of paces from civilization.

Except a drum beat, behind you. It’s faint, probably a half-mile away, but it’s the closest thing you have to a way back, especially since your phone can’t seem to pick up any signal. Maybe one of the school’s many bands are practicing? Right, you’re just going to stumble out into the football field, twigs in your hair, looking very much like you’ve gotten into a fist-fight with the entire forest…

And… Not a band, you realize, stepping into a clearing, but a party.

A costume party, too, by the looks of it, with everyone in soft, flittery clothing and fitted masks. Interesting how everyone seems to be on the same page with the dress code, there’s usually that one dick who shows up in a hotdog suit, regardless of any previous agreements. Elegant is the word you’re looking for, you decide, running into something tall and solider, correction: running into someone tall and solid.

“Oh, hey, sorry,” you apologize, shifting your weight on either foot, “I’m a little lost.”

“I think that you are right where you want to be,” your stranger says, mouth turning up into a strange, fanged smile. His black mask is trimmed with gold, and it doesn’t seem like he’s costuming as anything specific; rather, it appears to be just for anonymity.

“I think I really want to be in bed,” you say, trying to share a mutual we’re in college and want to die of exhaustion moment, but he doesn’t respond with the same energy.

“Perhaps a drink of wine before you go?” He offers, holding out an actual goblet of some kind. Maybe the metal-working students pitched in? Or accepted a particular commissioned order? It looks like genuine gold, which adds to the whole aesthetic of the party.

“Uh,” don’t accept drinks you haven’t seen made, “I’m good for now, really. Just trying to get back home to study.”

“Hm,” he says, taking a good swig from the goblet he had just offered, “good question. Through the trees from whence you came, most likely.”

Of fucking course, he’s drunk and doesn’t know left from right. Great. What an excellent position you’ve put yourself in. Frustrated and confident he wouldn’t roofie himself, you snatch the goblet from his hand and down several large gulps of shockingly sweet wine, maybe a sangria? Or something sugared up to be palatable?

Swirling the goblet around, to seem sophisticated, you ask, “so is this some kind of rich person party? Like an Illuminati meeting or something?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you speak of.”

“Right.” You draw out the single syllable, landing hard on the t. LARPers, probably, but not unattractive ones. Those masks don’t hide everything, and the shape of his jaw is not something to balk at, and those lips? Not to be forward in your own brain or anything, but they’re certainly decent to look at. This has to be some kind of weird-ass club, or like a rich dumbass ritual or something, definitely not your average frat party with a variety of random drugs mixed into the mystery punch. “Do you go to school here?”

He looks down at your university sweatshirt, cocking his head slightly. “A place of learning, is it? No, I’m afraid I have not attended such an institution, but I must admit that I have been tempted.”

“Well,” you take another sip of wine, “it’s not bad, as far as universities go. With decent financial aid, too.”

“Best not to drink too much of that,” your stranger says, “it’s much stronger than it tastes, and it’s best you stay clear-headed for the evening’s festivities.”

“One cup can’t hurt,” you say, and then realize that he’s just volunteered you to join in on the fun. Which is kind of weird, you guess, but then again, you aren’t going to complain. This is a way more interesting place to spend your evening, but might as well prop your backpack underneath one of the tables, hiding it beneath the skirt of the pale white cloth. You eye the unmarked bottle that one of the party-goers holds, but set your goblet down by the expensive-looking chinaware, flexing your fingers as they begin to tingle with the warmness that comes with alcohol. “What’s the party’s theme?”

He cocks his head, as though confused.

“Like a…” you try to think of a different way to phrase it. “A topic you pick, and everyone has to adhere to it. The people here all look like they’re, like, what Victorian thought the fairies looked like or something. I think it’s the clothes.”

“We are Faeries, though,” he says, the sides of his mouth curving upwards.

“Hm,” you say, “of course you are.”

“Join me for this dance?” Your stranger asks instead of any rebuttals, holding out a hand.

You look over at the band that plays, masks of distinct animal-like features flickering in the light of the bonfire roaring in the center of the clearing, all instruments vaguely familiar, yet not. Some of them you think you’ve seen before, at maybe renaissance-themed festivals, but the others must be from some kind of distinctly obscure genre of music.

The heat from the fire seems to lick out at your fingers, or maybe it’s the alcohol, already making its way through your system, but you stare, transfixed, at the way the lyre player plucks at the strings of their instrument. The quick movement plays too much with your eyes, you barely see anything more than the blurs of fingers, and you suddenly realize that you are swaying in place.

“I don’t know how,” you say, snapping out of whatever trance you had been in.

“It’s rather simple, come here,” he takes one of your hands, shockingly not unwelcome. Perhaps the warmth of his skin against yours brings you a kind of peace that you need during this period of your life. “I will teach you.”

Your stranger is correct; the dance is fairly simple to learn, mostly because there are very few rules. Sway your hips. Let your feet bounce against the soft forest floor. Let him spin you around and around until your head almost feels light. You’ll be honest, he’s the one doing all the work, guiding you, adding more flair to your steps, one hand resting on your waist, the other weaving its fingers with yours. Now, you may not be one to go out and ballroom dance on the fly, but you would be alright admitting that this is kind of fun.

So you dance. And you dance. And you continue dancing, letting the music remove you from time and space, everything else fades away except for the thrumming drumbeat, the wind in the trees, and your partner. You don’t feel the need to gasp for air, nor do your legs give out and collapse, but you aren’t even aware of how much time has passed. You dance out your pain, your stress, and any alcohol that lingers in your system, a layer of sweat keeping your body cool in the autumn night’s air. An eternity, perhaps, a small piece of infinity shared between you and this stranger, or the briefest of moments that still yield the most intimate bit of time that two people can share.

The song ends- or perhaps, the band finally runs out of music to play. You don’t know what time it is, but you aren’t finished with the party, not yet. The stranger sets his hands on both your hips, eyes as red as the fires of hell, and offers you a promising smile, his shirt loosely clinging to his body, having lost the fancily embroidered vest at some point while dancing.

“Do you want to get out of here?” You ask, making a snap decision not to let the night go to waste.

His smile widens.

The trees are your only audience when he brings you away from the rest of the party, the moon staring over the tops of the red and yellow leaves. The chill of the night might have discouraged anyone else, but you are broiling with energy and ready to continue moving wildly to keep warm. Despite barely being out of sight, you’re already working on his clothes, trying to find velcro or snaps of a cheap costume and failing rather miserably. He seems amused with your attempts, guiding your hands to find a variation of ties and buttons. Soon enough, you have his shirt off, his pale skin gleaming in the moonlight, revealing a chest etched in dozens of tattoos, red like blood against his pale skin, though it’s too dark to make out precisely what they are.

He seems to have a destination in mind, even though you steal most of his attention with kisses and touches. Even though you are in a place you’re sure no one would bother finding you in, he still seems determined to herd your desperate body further away from the camp, until the both of you get to a clearing, free of roots strangling the ground. Jupiter and Saturn stare blankly down from their perches in the sky, the stars surrounding them twinkling, as though applauding your conquest.

“I didn’t catch your name,” you gasp after a breathless kiss.

He pauses, almost put off by the request, like he’s startled you would even ask. Before you can even regain the ability to feel nervous, he says, “Avery.”

“Avery,” you repeat, running your fingers through his hair. “That’s a nice name.”

“And what may I call you?”

Like a fool, you give up your first name without much thought, but you are too excited about where the night is going to remember what you said even a second later. It doesn’t seem to matter, though, because his mouth is against yours, and your back is on the cold, dewy grass before you even register that he pulled your legs off balance. He’s a good kisser, you think hazily, his lips traveling down from your mouth to your collarbone. His mouth is nice and hot against your skin, already sending pleasant little shivers down your spine as he works, and you find yourself grasping at the cold, dying grass of the earth in order to pull your spirit back to reality.

The insides of your belly melt as he lifts your shirt up over your breasts, and you’re quick to discard the garment as he sucks at the skin just above the hemline of your pants. He needs help with the button and the zipper, his lithe fingers struggling to figure out the mechanics, so you undo everything for him. After letting out a thankful grunt, he leans forward, pressing his lips right on your stomach, sucking hard enough to leave a red mark that may bruise in the morning.

Then he kisses the skin just above where your underwear ends, a jolting shiver pulsing through your core at the contact. When you glance down at him, the barest light emanating from the roaring bonfire only a few meters away, he seems so… focused, you think, at his task of slowly stripping the last bit of fabric away from your body. Methodically, he tugs, fingers threading through the straps at the side, his eyes glimmering in the light bleeding out from the moon herself.

Slowly, steadily, he presses his mouth where your leg and torso meet, nibbling at a bit of flesh before moving ever so slightly downwards, opening your legs and seemingly liking what he finds down there. Carefully avoiding any of your puckered, wet skin, he instead moves his lips just to the side, clearly enjoying the act of driving you to the brink of insanity. You can feel the smile he wears as he teases you further, switching over to your other thigh.

Almost impatiently, you wrap one of your legs around his shoulder, arching your back when he finally lashes his tongue out to trace the outline of your flower. A heated spark ignites through your nerves, a charge of fiery need flooding your body and into your core. He seems to enjoy the breathless whine you offered in response because he does it again, inching closer and closer to your clit.

Roughly, you tangle your fingers into his long, flowing hair, pulling him closer and begging with no words for him to stop teasing and finally give you the pleasure you need. Avery finally complies, pressing his tongue right up against your clit and tracing little circles on and around it. The heat of his breath only helps further stir the coals in your womb, your back arching against the gentle curve of the world as you cry out.

He seems to deeply enjoy your keening, popping off your puckered flesh in the brief moment it takes for him to smile up at you, like a beast satisfied with the tortured screams of its prey. The way his tongue moves up, around, and down your clit makes you want to die, dirt clinging underneath your fingernails, bits of grass tearing as you claw at the ground. Still, he takes your keening reaction to double his efforts, using his fingers when his mouth is busy elsewhere, rubbing gentle little patterns in the opening of your slit.

There, you can feel your orgasm approaching as he begins to explore your core with his thumb, pushing and rubbing against the throbbing folds with some level of curiosity in his eyes.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, a passing observation.

You’re so beyond the point of return that you could barely even draw in the words to thank him before you’re overcome with shaking trembles emanating from your very core, your insides quick to bend and break at his beckoning. It doesn’t take much more teasing from Avery before you’re crying out for him, voice cracking with pleasure and desperation, your fingers threading through his hair so tightly you don’t know where you end, and he begins.

When you are nothing more than a heaping, teary-eyed mass of trembling flesh on the ground, he crawls up from between your legs, kisses your stomach, your ribs, your breasts, your collarbone, all the way up to your mouth once more. You can taste yourself on his tongue and lips, warmer than the wine and almost twice as intoxicating, and by the wild stare in his eyes, he’s drunk with your nectar. And, quite frankly, ready to devour you, his kisses all teeth and heat, mouth dexterous against the curves, rises, and plateaus of your body, like he knows so very intimately every square centimeter of you.

There’s a hard rock length against your stomach, one that you can feel, almost tragically against your skin as he lavishes your lips and chest with his blessed attention. Even though you walked into this situation expecting a one-night stand, you don’t know, this feels light it could rocket through your life and end up becoming

“More,” you rasp, surprised that your voice is even working, ” more.”

He understands that rough and demanding command, stroking your hair with one of his free hands, mouth offering up a myriad of kisses to your neck and collarbone, an odd, overcoming need to please you emanating off of him, one like you’ve never dealt with before. Out of the corner of your eye, you think you see the familiar masks of those at the party earlier, but Avery turns your wandering gaze back to him with his insistent, feral kiss, his chest trembling with heated need.

“Do you want my cock inside you?” He asks, wanting to hear you say it.

“Please,” you almost snarl, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Hmm,” he almost manages to fool you that he could care less, but by the way his body grinds and presses against yours, he’s so, so close to traveling the radius of the earth itself to comply. You can hear the rustle of fabric as he strips away what’s left of his ensemble, moving away from your body and leaving you almost horrifically cold.

It doesn’t take a lot for him to angle your legs properly, your thigh rubbing up against his throbbing member. He’s at least gentle with how he impales you, his entrance slow and gradual, kaleidoscope eyes staring so intently into your very being that you wonder if you’ll survive the next time pleasure crashes down around you. And he feels so good, the crisp, autumn grass against your back the only thing keeping you from becoming so lost beneath his trembling body.

He must share your thoughts because even though he’s only eased in, his forehead pressed against yours, his breathing is short and shallow like he could hardly believe the pleasure your body gives him. Once he’s fully sheathed, he swears, voice quiet, yet filled to the brim with lust. You wrap your legs around his waist, hoping to feel him further, your voice and your body begging him to continue, to move, but he’s almost in a trance.

You’re impatient for movement, for that slick friction between your thighs, so you quickly take matters into your own hands. With no finesse, fueled only by spite and determination, you shift, switching positions using your legs and arms. Avery simply rolls with it, a ghostly smile on his mouth as you pin his hands to the ground, chest heaving from the effort, a layer of sweat misting your skin despite the chill of the night.

That seems to break whatever space he had retreated to, eyes lit like a roaring forest fire as he beholds your body from beneath your legs. His voice is raspy, but the demand is calm, collected, like he’s waited for thousands of years for this, for you. “Use me.”

You let out a breath, steadying yourself on his body to comply, and grind. His eyes roll back as you do, starting slowly, his back arching off the ground, his chest heaving with pleasure at the loss of control. Careful to control the pace, you let yourself be taken by the pleasure, the joining slick and hot, your core roaring with approval and greed. More, more, more.

Everything is suddenly vibrantly alive, the forest rustling with a wind you don’t feel, crickets singing hymns in the open field, the moon herself licking at your bodies with her soft, precious light. You think you hear chanting in the distance, your brain muddled with his delicious praises and lust that you don’t try to investigate, too focused on feeling his length pulse and move through your folds. Tears prick at your eyes, not from sadness, no, and you couldn’t possibly know their purpose because this feels so good, like his body was made for you.

This climax almost hurts, you felt it approaching and you knew it would be a lot, so you brace yourself, both hands gripping his shoulders like a lifeline. You look into his eyes, and you see… more, than just fundamental attraction, more than pure, unadulterated lust, but you’re so far gone you can’t pinpoint what it is, exactly, before you’re overcome.

Everything in your body is aflame, your core quaking enough to make you think, for just a brief moment, that the earth itself is tearing apart, you cry, you whine, you scream for him, and he’s there, holding onto you for dear life. Telling you that you’re perfect, you’re beautiful, that you’ll never want another man so long as your legs are wrapped around him so tightly like this. You think you believe him, gasping for air, fingernails digging into his skin hard enough to draw blood, though he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

It takes a lot of concentration to bring yourself back into your body, your soul and spirit so besotted with desire, but you manage it, feeling his hands grip your thighs so tightly his fingers may leave bruise marks. You bend forward, letting him take the reins as you try to stay present enough in the moment to kiss and nip at his neck, teeth tugging at his skin, the aftershocks still moving through your nerves like waves on a storming night. Still, though, you want him to feel what you did, to become undone by your hand.

And he does, his thrusts becoming so uneven that you begin to grind, ghosts of your orgasm weaving through your flesh and womb. A crescendo of noise seems to overtake the clearing, the air becoming like static, the hairs on your arms standing on end. Overcome, he curses and snarls in a language you don’t understand, his voice hard and soft at the same time, his hips jerking as something warm and wet pulses out of his member, filling you up and spilling out onto his pelvis.

Avery sits up, still joined within you, shaken, but startlingly and brilliantly alive, chest heaving with the effort of breathing. He presses his mouth against yours in a myriad of kisses, soft, possessive, tender, needy. There is still some amount of desire on his lips, but without the same uncontrollable yearning broiling just beneath his fevered skin like before.

Then he says your name, and a shiver goes down your spine, your very being somehow attentive to whatever he says next, as though your entire universe suddenly floods down and descends on this one, single person. He says it again, rolling it over his tongue like a wine taster, trying out each of the letters as though they offer a different kind of sweetness, his eyes just as wild as they had been when you held him pinned to the grass. A sliver of fear pierces your chest, making you want to push him onto the ground and take him again, but he has other plans.

“I’ll walk you back, dove,” he says, pressing his mouth against your collarbone, though he doesn’t kiss you again, not yet. “The sun will soon be up.”

[awhitehead17]

Batfam Alphabet: I - Injuries

Summary: When an offhand comment gets made about who receives the most injuries a big debate takes place to discuss this. Unable to agree on anything, the Bats decide to keep score of who gets the most injuries over the next 12 months. The results may surprise you. 

Enjoy! :D

The blissful silence within his apartment is rudely interrupted by the shrill of his phone suddenly ringing inside his pocket. Jason groans. Five minutes. Why couldn’t he just get five minutes of peace? Was that so much to ask for?

Cursing every god imaginable, Jason digs through his pocket until he finds and receives the device before scowling upon seeing the caller ID. Answering the call, he brings it up to his ear and doesn’t hesitate to snap a greeting, making it clear he isn’t pleased about being disturbed. “What do you want?”

“So there’s been a situation…” a hesitant voice speaks up on the other side of the phone.

Jason reaches up and pinches the bridge of his nose. That sentence alone is enough to start giving him a headache.

“How the fuck is there a situation? I left you guys not even fifteen minutes ago! I thought you were heading back to the cave?”

“Yeah, we were, but on the way back we heard gun shots and we found a gang fight happening. We intervened but while fighting Nightwing unfortunately got stabbed.”

Being told his brother has been stabbed makes Jason pause. There’s a remark on the end of his tongue that desperately wants to slip out but he doesn’t know if this is the right time for it. The tone of voice on the other side of the line makes it difficult to determine how serious the situation is.

“How bad is it?”

“Oh not that bad!” Tim chirps, Jason could now hear the amusement lacing his tone. “It’s just a stab wound on the thigh, more of a scratch than anything. Won’t need stitches or nothing. I figured I’d ring you to let you know because this now changes the board.”

Jason breathes out a long sigh and feels the tension leave his body. At least it’s not life threatening. This fucking family, he swears to God, if he hadn’t already been sent to an early grave he certainly would be now.

“So it’s enough to warrant a mark on the board?” Jason questions eagerly, already knowing what impact the answer will have. Now he knows it’s not serious he can think about other things.

“Oh yeah definitely.” Tim claims and Jason could easily hear the smile in his voice. “Even when it happened he muttered a curse and mentioned how it’s unfair because that now puts you ahead of him.”

At that Jason cackles. He bids his brother a goodbye before hanging up. Still laughing Jason moves through his apartment to his kitchen, digging through one of the draws he pulls out a large whiteboard and makes the needed changes to it.

This is something they all came up with at the start of the year from an offhand comment about who gets the most/least injuries out of their family. The comment triggered off a big debate and the result of it was to keep score of who gets the most injuries in the next 12 months.

They do not count life threatening injuries, because believe it or not they are not assholes and it wouldn’t be fair or even funny. Any minor injury can count (or at least minor for them). Any injuries done outside of the costume also count.

There are only a couple months left of the year but it’s currently pretty tight between most of them. Surprisingly Steph is winning with the least number of injuries so far. Following her, again surprisingly, is Damian. After him is Harper, Duke, Tim and then Jason. With his new injury today that puts Dick in last place, officially making Jason second to last. They hadn’t included Cass because firstly she didn’t want to be involved and secondly anytime she does get injured, which is extremely rare, it’s usually serious, so they collectively decided to not have Cass participate. Babs wasn’t interested and made it very clear on what her opinions of the competition was.

Before the new injury, Jason and Dick were in joint last place. His older brother now sustaining a new non-life-threatening injury changes the board. Jason couldn’t be happier, now he just has to make sure to not get injured at all in the next couple of months.

That in itself will be a challenge, but one not to be beaten easily Jason is up for it. He doesn’t care where he comes on the board, just as long as he beats Dick that’s all that matters.

---------

Like most of the year, the last few months fly by and before Jason knows it, it’s New Year’s Eve and he’s attending a party with all of his friends and family.

While the party is being hosted at Wayne Manor, so somewhere familiar, there’s tension in the air which can be felt no matter where you go. To most it’s probably the anticipation of midnight approaching, that excitement that comes along with the clock striking twelve and the supposedly start of something new.

To Jason, however, it’s a count down until the results are revealed.

Jason has a vague idea of what the final results are going to be, after all he kept track of everything himself. Then again, it’s vague because he’s been away on a mission for the last three weeks only having gotten back two days ago. He hasn’t yet had a chance to catch up with everything that may have happened in those weeks he had been gone. For all he knows the board may have changed significantly and he wouldn’t have a clue.

Not long before midnight, Jason soon finds himself in the library with his siblings and friends. They’re scattered around the room sitting on the sofas and the floor with the news on in the background.

Cass stands front and center with a white board in hand ready to announce the results of who has sustained the least and the greatest number of injuries in the past year. They asked Cass to announce it as she hadn’t taken part, that way it’s fair and not biased.

Looking around the room Jason could see a variety of facial expression on his siblings faces. Some wearing smirks, like they know exactly what the results are, while other’s wear an expression of anticipation, clearly unsure on where they’ve come on the board.

Cass announces the names in ascending order, starting with last place first. To Jason’s absolute delight, Dick is in last place. He’s so happy to hear that he had beaten his brother in getting less injuries than him in a year. Dick simply sends Cass a tight smile and nod, obviously knowing he had lost before anything was declared.

After Dick is Jason. If he’s being honest, Jason is actually happier about that than the principle of being second to last, he beat Dick and that’s all that mattered. He certainly made sure Dick was aware of his delight.

After Jason is Duke, followed by Steph which was a surprise considering she had been in first for a really long time. Apparently she had a bad couple of months, reckless behaviour and stupid mistakes eventually added to her total therefore dropping her down the leader board.

Taking third place is Damian. Jason looks over at where he’s sat and he finds the kid fuming, clearly unhappy with his final position. In second place is Tim, which seems to surprise almost everyone, including Tim himself. The teenager sits on the sofa looking completely baffled but thrilled at the news. That finally leaves Harper taking first place as the person to have the least number of injuries in the past year. She jumps up to her feet yelling with joy and dancing around the room excitedly.

After the scores are announced Cass gives out little awards just as something extra which makes it all the more entertaining.

The most out-of-costume injuries award goes to Tim, who instantly claims that most of his injuries are because his best friends are meta’s and because he skateboards. No one believes the excuses however they don’t call him out on it.

The most ridiculous injury goes to Dick, who then explains how he got said injury. Apparently he miscalculated a jump when chasing someone and ended up scraping his side on a metal bin. Everyone stares at him after that story, wondering how such an experienced vigilante and acrobat even does that.

The most badass injury goes to Steph. She had gotten into a fist fight in the middle of the mall after some guys started shouting out vulgar language. Not taking any of their shit Steph beat them all to a pulp but not without taking some collateral damage herself. That award felt well deserved though it could have gone to someone else.

After wrapping up their competition they all decide to stay in the library and chill. They cheer for the new year when the clock strikes twelve and all exchange “happy new year’s.” They don’t go adventuring out to the party again which inevitably leads to Bruce hunting for them, out of worry or suspicion Jason’s not sure but when his adoptive father eventually walks into the library he’s met with a loud chorus of greetings

Bruce studies the group with narrowed eyes in suspicion. He meets each of their gazes before straightening up and leveling them all a glare.

“What’s going on? I haven’t seen any of you in a few hours only to find you all gathered in here, not fighting may I add. What have you done?”

Dick’s the first to respond. Being the oldest of the group he probably feels inclined to, especially when no one else offers up an explanation. “Wow Bruce, give us a benefit of the doubt would you, we’re simply enjoying being with one another for a change. New year and all that. Who knows, this may the start of something new.”

Bruce’s disbelieving expression conveys perfectly what he thinks of that explanation.

The room falls silent as they all stare at one another. Gestures and nods are shared between them as they try to get someone else to speak up but everyone stays silent, no one saying a peep. They never told Bruce about the competition; they really don’t know how the man would take the news but they’re all certain it wouldn’t be taken well. He definitely wouldn’t see the funny side of the whole thing, even if they explain the rules to it and how they’re not actually assholes and wouldn’t include life threatening wounds to the count.

In the end it doesn’t matter because eventually Bruce puts his hands up and shakes his head. “You know what, I don’t want to know. Whatever it is just keep it to yourselves and if you make a mess, clean it up. The less I know the better.”

With no more words Bruce turns around and leaves the room. For several moments after the man’s sudden departure they each exchange baffled looks, silently questioning what just happened. It stays like that for a while until several members of the family simultaneously shrug. The action causes an eruption of laughter and all of them end up cackling until they couldn’t breathe and had tears running down their faces.

[jamiemackenziefraser]

All That Was Fair

Chapter 16: Say Could That Lass Be I?

x

Summary: “Here lies the heart of James Fraser. He learned how to feel, to love, only to lose her before they even had a chance.”

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Read chapter 16 on tumblr below the cut

Previous, master list, next

A/n: The final chapter of arc I. Buckle up, my loves 🖤

Chapter 16: Say Could That Lass Be I?

***

Heartbreak. Jamie had always thought that expression figurative— that people simply referred to the loss of love and the emotional suffering that goes with it. But as he led Claire toward the distant hill with her wee hand clutched in his, ready to send the love of his life away, the pain in his chest was as real and physical as if his heart had truly been cleaved in two. His chest clenched in agony, and the only thing keeping him moving forward was sheer, monumental will. 

Claire was oblivious. That morning, he had wrapped her up in a tartan blanket to keep her warm and simply herded her out to the car without more than a few words. She’d asked him where they were going, and he’d nearly broken down crying that moment. All he’d managed was a hoarse, “for a walk,” while his windpipe felt like it was being crushed. 

As he helped her out of the car, she took his hand— hers so wee and fitting perfectly into his— and smiled brightly up at him. 

God, he wanted to kiss her. 

His selfish, breaking heart wanted so badly to have that one memory to treasure for the rest of his life without Claire. He longed to draw her to him, press his mouth to hers, feel her soft lips on him, and then he would never ask for another thing from God. He spent nearly half the walk trying to talk himself out of it. 

He couldn’t do that to her. She was going home, never to see him again, and it wouldn't be fair. 

He turned back to her then, and she gave him the brightest smile that illuminated the dark chasm growing inside him. She was his sun, and looking at her— simply enjoying being with him and unaware of their parting in a few minutes— he felt dizzy. Being in the presence of such light only made the agony of losing her that much greater. 

The lump in his throat was so thick and stifling that he could barely breathe. It was all he could do to hold himself together and keep going. 

But he had to be strong, for her sake. He had to let her know it was okay to go. 

“Jamie, now will you—” 

She had begun to ask him for the tenth time what was going on when she suddenly stopped dead. He glanced back at her to see her eyes wide and fixed on the distance, all the blood drained from her face. 

Claire had caught sight of the hill. 

The heartbroken expression and the shake of her head as she looked at Jamie ruined him. 

“Listen, mo nighean donn, I—”

“Why are we here?” she asked in a dangerously low, even voice. 

He was regretting his plan instantly. Her expression wasn’t quite that of the devastation of betrayal, but it was something like broken trust, because she looked at him with a tiny glimmer of pleading in her eyes— begging him to tell her it wasn’t true. That look was eating him alive. 

“Sassenach, listen to me...” he started again, desperate. 

He tried to tug her onward in the direction of the hill, but she stayed planted firm. 

“I’ve found a way to bring ye home safely,” he finally blurted out. 

The reason he was able to drag her forward in that moment wasn’t because she was more willing than she had been a moment ago. Sheer surprise made her go unresistant and allowed Jamie to pull her back into motion. It seemed her feet were moving on their own accord, operating on instinct in response to him. 

“What?” she choked out. 

“Aye.” 

With a terrible rending in his chest, he explained everything to her. Geillis’ book. Travel between realms. The gemstones offering protection. 

She was silent the entire time, eyes wide as if that would allow her to see something intangible, trying desperately to wrap her head around everything he’d just laid on her. He didn’t even give her time to react; the words simply spewed from him in a heartbroken rush as he managed to drag her up the hill. 

They stood then in the shadows of the towering stones. To Jamie, the stones felt like grave markers— looming ominous and solemn. 

Here lies the heart of James Fraser. He learned how to feel, to love, only to lose her before they even had a chance. 

Claire’s face was white as a sheet. For once, her expression was unreadable to him. Perhaps it was because she was hiding it, or perhaps Jamie was simply blinded by the force of his own emotions and the all-encompassing longing for her to stay, but he couldn't tell what was going on in her brain. His only thought was that he knew she was terrified of the stones, and that only hurt him further. 

“Here is my father’s ring. It’ll ensure ye safe passage,” he found himself saying. 

He grabbed her hand and shoved the ring on her finger without ceremony. She studied it for a long moment, looking blank, and then turned her face back up to Jamie. It looked like she was about to speak, but he wasn’t sure he could bear to hear what she had to say. 

“There’s nothing for you on this side,” Jamie choked out, “nothing. Save a world ye dinna ken and people who arena yer own. Ye deserve tae go home.” 

He wasn’t sure if he was trying to help convince her or himself. 

While he was speaking, he had dropped her hand and was slowly moving backward. He had to harden himself if he’d ever be able to leave her. He had to turn off his feelings and let his breaking heart turn to ash before he did something selfish like fall to his knees and beg her to stay. 

The rushing in his ears was deafening. 

“There’s no use waiting,” he said in a low voice, “I hafta leave ye now.” 

He put more distance between them— Claire standing frozen in the spot where he’d put her as he stepped backward, her perfect lips parted just slightly. Every inch between them felt like another nail in his coffin, only a thousand times more agonizing because his heart was still beating. 

The voice that came from his closed throat was unrecognizable even to himself as he mustered a raspy, “goodbye, Sorcha.” 

He wanted to add a “I’ll never forget ye so long as I live,” or something— anything— that could possibly convey even a fraction of how much she meant to him, but his throat had closed so much that he couldn’t force it out. 

Claire just stood there, looking up at him with glassy eyes. Silent and swaying slightly. 

Before the tears could rush from his eyes, or worse, before she could say some goodbye that broke his resolve, he turned sharply and threw himself down the hill. If she called goodbye after him, it didn’t reach his ears. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t look back. He didn’t think he could go on, but his feet propelled him forward, away from the love of his life. 

She’s going home— he told himself as the first tears began to fall— back to her people. She’ll be happy. 

But he was suffocating on the lump in his throat and the world was feeling so terribly unfair; He couldn’t seem to get himself to believe his own arguments, caught up as he was in his grief. 

His whole body was shaking, to the point where his fingers went numb. He didn’t know grief could do that. He wished it could numb his heart and his mind. But his traitorous brain was slogging on, and it took everything inside him to repeat the mantra of “she’s going home.” She probably was home at this very moment, back with her people. 

Toward the bottom of the hill, his steps slowed from their frantic pace to a resigned shamble, heavy with the weight of what he’d done. 

Now that she was gone, there was no need to rush into a life of emptiness. He might as well take his time. 

When he reached the spot where the ground was flattening out, his feet stopped altogether. His legs felt like jell-o, and he wanted to fall to his knees and weep. He probably would have collapsed too, if not for the brittle feeling in his body that made him go stock still. Everything seemed almost distant as the tears gathering in his eyes overflowed to trickle down his cheeks. 

How could he possibly face a life without her? 

He found himself frozen under the weight of that terrible desolation. Jamie wasn’t sure he was strong enough to face it. 

Heartbreak. He knew now with visceral clarity how accurate that was. 

Then, in an instant— a second so fast Jamie was certain his mind had conjured it— something pulled him back from the yawning chasm of despair opening at his feet.

A sound from behind him that made every muscle in his body freeze. 

A shout of his name. 

It couldn’t be. 

He turned slowly, disbelievingly, and saw an image that would be burned into his mind forever. A figure— a familiar figure that couldn’t possibly be anyone but his beloved— was barrelling down the hill. Claire’s hair was billowing around her ethereally, giving her the most perfect aspect. The sun behind her illuminated her silhouette, as if nature itself was caressing her unreal perfection. As she ran, the tartan blanket around her shoulders came loose, and the moment was picturesque as it swirled up into the air behind her, forgotten. She simply ran faster, racing down the hill toward him. Rooted to the spot, a tear still tracking down his face, Jamie could only watch her in astonished disbelief. 

Suddenly, she was mere feet from him. 

“James Fraser, you fool.” 

And then she was flying into his arms. He barely had time to embrace her back before her mouth smashed against his and they were kissing.  

The world stopped. Truly, the planet must have frozen on its axis, and every person on it must have been halted in their tracks. Because she was kissing him— and he, her— with a fervor he’d never before experienced. 

As she kissed all the words from his mouth, the breath from his lungs, and the grief from his heart, a joy previously unimaginable rushed from his center to the very tips of his fingers. 

The kiss was everything he’d imagined and more. Her lips were so soft, so perfect, molded to fit his. Like coming home, there was an incredible feeling of rightness. It was a mix of scorching and tender, somehow perfectly his Sorcha.

His lungs constricted until he thought air would be obsolete in the reality of her. The electricity crackled, consuming them both in a cloud, leaving him dazed and stunned but somehow so amazingly alive. His nerve endings felt like they were on fire. He was aware of every part of his body, and every part of hers against his, but nothing so acutely as his lips caressing hers. 

Now that he was kissing her, he found he couldn’t stop. It must have been minutes, hours. He held her body flush to his, and he was shaking so hard with the strength of his emotions that his hand trembled where it cupped the back of her head. For her part, she had both arms wrapped around his neck and was holding as tightly as she could as he devoured her mouth. He was delirious with joy. 

Finally, when his lungs would surely burst, he parted from her lips just enough to gasp in air. 

“You said there was nothing on this side for me,” Claire panted breathlessly, lips barely brushing his as she spoke, “but there’s you. There’s you, you bloody fool. I love you.” 

The world was dropping out from under Jamie’s feet but at the same time he was more anchored than he ever had been— he was falling, but Claire was catching him. Giving him everything he’d ever dreamed of but had been too scared to risk. Here it all was at his feet— in his arms. How his life had changed in the matter of seconds. 

“I love you, mo nighean donn,” he told her, just as out of breath, “I’ve loved you all this time.” The words felt like a rush exploding from him, the truth of his heart suddenly bared for all to see. 

He brushed her wild hair behind her ear as a joyful tear escaped his eye. His fingers caressed her face for the first time without shame. Her lips were slightly puffy with the force of their feverish kisses, and her pupils were blown wide as she gazed at him with adoration. Indulging the desires he’d stamped down for days, he cradled her face with both hands and stroked his thumbs along her jaw as he spoke. 

“So ye’re stayin’ then?” he asked, a little shyly, barely able to contain the hope bursting from his chest. He could scarcely believe this wasn’t a dream, and he would have questioned his sanity if not for her very real body in his arms. 

“I’m staying,” she breathed reverently. 

And then they were kissing again. He held her tightly, clutching her wee body with greedy joy, and kissed her with utter abandon.

Lips desperate for connection and mouths fused, two hearts reached for each other to become whole.

***

a/n: Ahhh there it is! Arc I... mutual pining no more!!

Okay, I've been waiting to say this for like forever, but Jamie Fraser is often an unreliable narrator and a sweet, sweet dumbo!! He doesn't communicate with her well and often just assumes what is going on inside her head. Angst could have been avoided with some communication bbs!! So if you've been wanting to yell at Jamie at least a little during the course of the story, Claire's "James Fraser, you fool" is for you!! I have a lot more I would like to say about arc I, but in the interest of not making this note longer than it already is, I'm posting an arc I commentary on my tumblr. I'd love if you'd check it out! 

The story is far from over!! Arc II is coming along! I have like 12k written on it already, woohoo! Updates may be more like every Saturday ish but I’ll probably throw in a few weekdays to spice things up.

Next

[whentheynameyoujoy]

So the ATLA Movie Is... Good, Actually?

Just kidding, of course it’s not, it’s so bad it sucked the paint off my walls. But after ten years of people pointing out its glaring flaws, why would anyone bother talking about this garbage heap if not to go the other direction? So here’s a very brief and very superficial list of things the movie does get kinda... not atrociously wrong.

And they won’t be fake hipster pokes, like “It’s fun to laugh at”, “The Rifftrax for this is OK”, or “Kudos to the actress for managing to say we believe in our beliefs as much as they believe in theirs with a straight face”.

(though now that I mentioned it, it is fun to laugh at, the Rifftrax for this is OK, and massive props indeed.)

Rasta Iroh

Yes, I know it’s not exactly the aesthetic of the real Iroh or that it makes no cultural sense for him to sport this do when no one else in the racebended Indian “OMFG what were you thinking Shyamalan” Nation does but goddamn, long-haired dudes are my one mortal weakness and I will ogle the hell out of him.

Jesus is that a man bun I see that’s it mum I’ve been deaded

Yue’s hair

No.

Now we’re talking. Yue’s hair turned white when the Moon spirit gave her life, so it makes sense for it to go black again when she sacrifices herself to revive the koi fish. It’s a neat detail I find myself expecting whenever I rewatch the scene in the show. Yes, I realize it’d be a pointless hassle to animate since she, unlike in the movie, immediately goes on to become the Moon herself but still. I like.

The Blue Spirit’s mop

Zuko, hun, what’s with the dance-off?

First of all, I want to imagine that Zuko the Theatre Nerd was about to leave his ship with just the mask like in the show but then stuck his head into the cleaning cupboard and went, “Yeah, more coverage might be good, even though it do seem mighty fried to shit”.

Which makes me giggle. I like to giggle.

And secondly, the hair’s movement is what makes the static mess of the Blue Spirit’s solo fight scene appear at least bit more dynamic because God knows the cinematography isn’t doing it.

Any particular reason why it’s at the edge of the action, shot all boring-like?

Now, I get why circular shots would be reserved for Aang while he’s in the practice area and then used once the two join forces. What I don’t get is why Aang’s part of the action scene has a defined visual style while Zuko’s delegated to a few stationary wide shots from afar as though he’s a tertiary goon, meaning that when the time comes to combine the respective pieces of cinema language and visually convey collaboration, there’s not really much to combine.

But as long as Zuko is stuck in this static mess, it’s that awesome disaster on his head flopping about that draws the eye, helping me understand that something even is going on over there.

It also prevents me from paying much attention to how the extras are mostly just staying put and a lot of the hits don’t land, so that’s good.

The music slaps

James Newton Howard is too good for this.

Pls ignore that the word “gods” is used in the ATLA universe

I can’t be the only one who constantly uses this piece to daydream about writing specific fanfic scenes instead of, you know, actually sitting down and writing them. It’s just so good at communicating a sense of sorrow while speaking of rebirth that I find myself getting misty-eyed whenever I listen to it. Unfailingly, the soundtrack as a whole manages to break through the mile-thick crust of horrible acting, confusing writing, and uninspired cinematography and make me feel things. And considering how everything on screen is working against it, that’s no small feat.

Imagine what a powerful experience it would be if the score was used in service of an actual movie.

Dev Patel

No wonder since he’s the only one in the film occupying that crucial intersection between “is a good actor” and “was given something to work with”. It also doesn’t hurt that he breaks with the trend of actors starring in martial arts flicks despite never having done any martial art.

And all EIP-jokes about “stiff and humorless” aside, he’s a pretty decent Zuko considering how abridged this version of the character is. A while ago, I remember hearing a reviewer say that with his comedic chops, Patel should have been cast as Sokka. And on one hand, yes, god, absolutely, I need to see that asap. But on the other? He captures all layers of Book 1!Zuko, the desperate obsession, rage, and self-loathing, and at the same time gives you a peek at the soft momma’s boy dork that’s buried underneath. For Christ sakes, he exudes intensity and ambivalence even when acting against an emotionless hunk of wood that’s giving him nothing in return.

Oh, and I guess there’s a tree in the frame.

Ba dum tss

What can I say, the guy’s good.

Showing vs telling

OK, so this movie is all tell and no show, except for one single moment. And it’s the exact moment where the original goes in the other direction in terms of how information is conveyed.

See, I never liked this. The revelation is preceded by Iroh giving advice to Zuko who scolds him for nagging. Iroh then apologizes, moves in to say the line above, and is interrupted by Zuko who seems rather uncomfortable with Iroh laying his feelings out like this. And once they’re out, Zuko verbally confirms that he knew already and Iroh didn’t need to bother.

All this extraneous information and pussyfooting ends up weakening what should be a profound scene that reveals to us, the viewers, how deep the relationship between these two in fact runs.

Compare to the movie where Dadroh acts like a parent by fussing and worrying, with Sonion needing a single look to tell him and us that he understands what it’s all really about.

It’s genuinely efficient and just good.

No Cataang

Fine, a bit mean-girl bitchy from me since I only start minding the ship in Book 3. And probably unintentional on the part of the creators since there are moments where I think they’re trying to set the romance up? There’s a, well, an attempt to recreate the famous introductory shot of fateful meaningful destiny of meaningness, there’s some slight note of saving each other’s bacon going on, I’m pretty sure they’re the only ones in the film who smile, and oh, right, Katara’s shoved into her post-canon useless role where she doesn’t ever do anything, and is all about Aang right from the get go.

Yes, I will blame the “executive producers” because a) I’m incredibly petty, and b) it’s perfectly in line with their vision of the character so why the hell not.

Hilariously, none of it reads on screen because the actors are just... yeah. These poor kids are struggling so much with delivering their own lines and portraying their own characters they don’t seem to have any strength left to create something between them. To be fair, the bare-bones shot-reverse shot style of their scenes doesn’t exactly lend itself to the idea they occupy the same universe, let alone are friends or each other’s crushes.

And I enjoy this immensely because it allows me to forget the depressing horror show Katara’s life turns into post ATLA.

Yes Zutara

I need to delve into this because it’s fucking hilarious. So in a movie which fails to establish the original’s central romance so spectacularly that if Aang got lost in a crowd I don’t believe Katara would notice, SomEOnE thought it’d be a good idea to add an utterly unnecessary non-canon moment where Zuko for some reason feels the need to pause his character-defining hunt for the Avatar which otherwise has him ignore everything and snap at everyone, and explain his central conflict to an unconscious peasant he doesn’t know, complete with gently pushing the hair from the pretty girl’s the soulmate’s the Water Tribe Ambassador’s the Fire Lady’s the love of his life’s her face away, AFTER his uncle nagged him twice to find a girl and settle down.

I just wanted to make sure we’re all on the same page and this is what we really saw.

Celibate Avatars

I have no idea why the decision was made, if TPTB thought expecting viewers to understand the story through the lens of Buddhism would be too much, or if the “executive producers” already worked their retconny magic. What I do know, however, is that there’s a big shift in worldbuilding and Aang’s struggle with his role as the Avatar stops being a personal conflict defined by a) his grief for Air Nomads, b) his notion of being robbed of the loved ones in his life, and c) the selfish attachment to Katara he confuses with true love. Instead, what he has a difficulty to accept is apparently a general notion of who Avatars are supposed to be, i.e. a fantasy version of Catholic monks, no family and worldly relations, period.

I guess either someone understood the original’s portrayal of de/attachment as “hermit no freaky”, or thought the audience would so why not go there outright.

Now, do I like this on its own? No, God no, it makes the world infinitely poorer and changes the story from an exploration of ideas which aren’t all that ingrained in the West, to a cliché tropester about a Catholic priest going Protestant so that he could be with a girl.

At least I assume that’s where they were going to take this eventually.

I mean, I think the direction was “look conflicted, this isn’t the final stage of your journey”?

But consider this—the show went there, it built on the concepts of Eastern philosophy and touched upon the ideas of spiritual awakening, only to swerve in the end and strongly imply they’re bullshit and Aang should have never wasted his time with them.

So honestly, I much prefer scanty worldbuilding to an insulting retcon by a damn rock.

Multiracial Air Nomads

Probably the most substantial “no hint of irony” point on this list and a genuinely good addition to the universe’s worldbuilding.

See, the notion of the elemental nations being perfectly separate and never mingling before Sozin has always been sketchy but it’s especially ridiculous in the case of airbenders. It never made sense to me for all airbenders to be Air Nomads and for all Air Nomads to be monks and for all monks to be chilling at the temples all the time to facilitate a quick everyone-dies genocide should an imperialistic warlord ever decide to commit one.

Because committing everyone to a single way of life at a handful of places kinda goes against the central philosophy behind airbending. Like the freedom and nomadism part.

Instead, there should be more variety to the airbending culture, with some staying at the temples as monks, hermits, and teachers while others live as nomads, travelling the world and creating more airbenders, with the resulting children in turn being influenced by the non-airbending cultures they grew up in.

And thus, not only should airbenders not be modeled after a single culture to create a one-size-fits-all lifestyle, but they should have the most diverse and dynamic culture out of the four nations.

And it’d be precisely this diversity which would pave way for an eventual reveal that some of them survived, that their complete extermination is impossible.

Because they’re everywhere.

You know.

Like air.

[potassium-pilot]

Prompt 27: Benthos

Why am I back here again, Dia thought.

There was no reason, really. It felt right to her. Whatever the others might say of this place, whatever horrors she experienced here, Amaurot fascinated her. She traversed the city and listened to them, to her people…or to the people that she once knew, at least.

Why would Emet-Selch allow them their opinions still? Why would he not want them all to simply agree with the course of action taken by the Convocation? Would it have not made him feel more justified to rewrite history? These were questions that plagued her when she thought of Amaurot.

“This place creeps me out, you know”, Ardbert commented.

“Noted. Now where do you think we should go next?”

“Ishgard, if you would.”

“Before that.”

“Urgh, I don’t understand you sometimes. Why can’t it be as simple as, ‘This place is creepy and dark and made by an Ascian; perhaps we should avoid it.’”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s more than that, and you know it. This was…our home once.”

“No, it’s a recreation of Azem’s home. It’s dead, Dia. Dead and gone.”

“I’m aware of that, thank you. I also watched the Final Days and we’re apparently due for a repeat. That doesn’t mean that a recreation can’t be found intriguing.”

“It can if you let it.”

She kept walking past Macarenses Angle. Azem’s crystal seemed to pulse as she walked in the same rhythm. She seemed to want something, to add her own voice.

“Azem, no more kissy-face with Emet-Selch, I’m begging you”, Dia whispered softly as she gripped the stone in her inventory. She bound for a nearby bench, and took a seat. The familiar pull of the past taking her away embraced her.

*********

“On that note, I would like to draw this meeting to a close.”

Emet-Selch’s voice rang across the assembly hall. The fourteen stood in respect before he dismissed them.

Azem dreamed of the day they would finally intervene, recognize that their duty to the world has always been plain. The circumstances which led them to this point, however, devastated her. Her fellow convocation members, her friends, her family- all of them were in danger. She needed to protect them, and although the matter was grave indeed, it was strangely refreshing for her to see the Convocation finally acknowledge the threat at their doorstep.

The solution was anything but.

A dark primal concept?! Azem thought, They want to kill half of Amaurot to save Amaurot?! Unacceptable! That won’t save anyone! The dark primals only want more power, more aether! Their dark primal won’t rest until it’s consumed everything whole. I saw it happen with the other primal concepts, bless Lahabrea’s heart; I will not see this primal of theirs consume everything I hold dear.

To that end, she marched to the office of Elidibus, and knocked on his door.

“Enter”, he called.

She opened the door and greeted him with a typical wave and smile. “Can we talk? Just you and me?”

“I’m a bit busy at the moment, but I can certainly find the time for you. What do you need, Azem?”

Azem stepped forward and took her seat. “That was…a more emotionally charged debate than I was prepared for”, she tried to calm herself with humor, and Elidibus gave a light laugh in return. “Indeed. I suppose the Final Days do bring out a different side of all of us. You paid attention in a meeting for once.”

“I know. I never thought it would come to this”, she joked before asking in a more serious tone, “But…are you okay?”

“I’m better than okay. I have a chance here, Azem. We have a chance. We can save Amaurot.”

“But…can we though?”

“Azem, we debated this for hours. Half of Amaurot is better than complete engulfment.”

She argued the point as firmly as she ever could have, which meant little compared to the masters of debate she encountered regularly. Primals demand much and more, and drain power and aether. Dark primals demand sacrifice, in particular. Unfortunately, she exhausted all arguments in the assembly hall. She had no rational argument left within her to turn them away from such an irrational solution.

“And we’ll use what’s left to bring them back.”

She had also argued that what these primals can bring back will be nothing more than husks; the amaurotines would be long gone.

Especially Elidibus.

“But why you?”

“What do you mean, Azem?”

“Elidibus, if you become the heart of this primal, that’s it. There’s no going back. You’ll be consumed whole, left with nothing to show for it. The only thing that could even have a shred of you is…” she didn’t finish the sentence. She couldn’t bring herself to do it.

“If I use the power of the primal to recreate my form, as we discussed.”

Azem shook her head, her face growing hot. “Elidibus, that won’t be you. That’ll be a creature, an abomination with one sole purpose.”

“Better that than to leave Amaurot in the hands of calamity.”

Damn this mask, she thought as her tears stung her eyes. She stood up, and stepped to his side, making Elidbus turn to her and gawk at her clear breach of Convocation etiquette. She fell to one knee, and took his hands.

“Please, Elidibus”, she choked out through the lump in her throat, “I don’t want you to die. You’re so young. You have so much potential. You have a future ahead of you, my friend.” Her voiced shuddered before she begged him, “Reconsider, give me time to think of a better solution. Stand with me as I’ve stood with you before.” Her tears were contagious, as the young amaurotine felt his own well up too.

“I’m sorry, Azem. But time is so precious, so valuable. My future means nothing if all I hold dear is brought to ruin.”

Her tears dripped behind her mask and rolled down her cheeks.

“Damn it all”, she seethed, and ripped the mask of her face to wipe away her tears. The face she kept from her young friend for so many years laid bare in front of him.

“Elidibus, look at me.”

“I-I am…”

“No, I mean without the mask. Please. I may never have this chance again. I beg you.”

He hesitated.

He thought back through the years. He respected her, treated her like a sister as she treated him like a brother. They dined together, enjoyed their leisure time together, she knew his family as he knew hers. Yet through it all, he did not remove the mask in front of her. It felt akin to baring himself naked to her.

But when he stared into her eyes and witnessed the sorrow emanate from her soul, the choice became clear.

He removed his mask and revealed to her the hazel eyes and cherub cheeks he concealed. It only agitated her further to see the man- barely a man- that would become Zodiark’s heart.

“I will not sit by and align myself with this madness. I will not associate myself with the end of our very star. If the Convocation should move forward with the proposal to summon this dark primal…I will resign.”

His tears burned in his eyes, and he wiped them away with his hands. “Don’t do this, Azem!” he sobbed, “Don’t make me choose between my loved ones and my world!”

“I chose my world when I argued against the summoning. Your loved ones are in this world, Elidibus.”

“Don’t you see I have no choice?!”

“You have a choice, Elidibus, and I beg you to make the right one!”

“I will not forsake my duty, Azem!”

There, the line was drawn in fire. Azem and Elidibus stood on opposite sides of it, and watched the past burn.

She turned her back to him and replaced her mask on her face.

“Then it would appear our business is concluded”, she stated coldly.

The door opened and closed. The rustle of her robe as she stormed out was the last thing he heard before he sunk his head into his arms as they crossed on his desk and cried softly into them. The salt water stained his desk.

The memories flashed too quickly for Dia to keep up, but the last memory was clear; Azem clutched a white robe and red mask, and wept into the cloth.

********

The tug of the past released itself from Dia’s soul and she returned to Emet-Selch’s paradise.

“It would appear the burden of Azem has unveiled itself to you.”

Dia jerked her head to her right and met her gaze with Hythlodaeus.

“Hello, my new old friend.” She couldn’t help but smile. “Hello to you, Hythlodaeus. How are you?”

“I am well. Forgive me for startling you; I was merely curious as to how the stone fares with you, and if it grants you the wisdom I had hoped it would.”

She let out a light laugh. “Yes and no.”

The amaurotine hummed. “Helios was capable of balancing her impulsive nature with implacable wisdom. This made her a great fit for the seat of Azem along with her combat prowess. Perhaps this was why Hades loved her so; his impulsiveness rivaled hers, thus do I find myself at the bottom of the sea.”

“You know where we are?”

“It’s difficult not to draw conclusions when fish people occasionally wander in.” She shrugged her shoulders.

“Did you know Elidibus, Hythlodaeus?”

“Not as well as I knew dear Hades, but I knew him. Helios loved inviting him over for drinks, the occasional card game, and park outing. He followed Helios like a lost puppy, and it drove Hades crazy.” Dia laughed at his recollection. Hythlodaeus turned his head to face the ground in front of him.

“When Elidibus sacrificed himself, she lost more than just him. Hades was also corrupted to Zodiark’s influence to the point where he never appeared in the apartment again. She knew only sorrow, and I could only be of such comfort.” He moved his gaze to hers.

“Dia, I barely know you, yet I can see you’ve suffered great loss and sacrifice. I can only hope you can keep those you hold dear. I can only hope that you will live a happy life. Most of all, I can only hope that those who find you dear shall keep you close. Already do I find myself holding you dear…both of you.”

“What?”

“I speak of the other piece of you that resides within; a strange thing, it is. He’s not rejoined with your soul, yet he’s perfectly aligned with it”, Hythlodaeus explained.

“Oh good, it can see me. Just the thing to give me nightmares”, complained Ardbert.

“He need not fear. Much like Hades, I am gifted with the ability to see souls. I mean no harm.” Dia couldn’t help but find herself amused at his squeamishness with the amaurotines.

“I see. Thank you, Hythlodaeus.” She rose from the park bench. “As a matter of fact, I need to tend to the ones I hold dear now.”

“Of course. May we cross paths again soon, my new old friend.”

She nodded with a bright smile and prepared Teleport.

“Thank the gods we’re leaving”, praised Ardbert.

Cram it, she whispered.

***********

The night sky glazed over the Source. It was 10pm and Dia only just left the Syrcus Trench. She called upon her black chocobo to carry her to the Rising Stones. The doors flung open at her command and she walked past them with what confidence she could muster.

“Ah, Dia, I expected you to be in Ishgard. Is aught amiss?” greeted Alphinaud. He sat at a table near the bar alongside Alisaie and G’raha with a deck of Triple Triad cards.

“Oh, uh, well, I had hoped to speak with you in private, but if you’re busy…”

“Nonsense. I’m happy to make time for you. That said, must it be in private?”

She thought about it for a moment. “I mean…I guess it’s not anything particularly sensitive…”

“Anything you can say to Alphinaud, you can say to me”, Alisaie added.

“As well as I”, G’raha chimed in.

She didn’t expect an audience, but she was presented with little choice.

“Very well”, Dia took in a big breath through her nose and let it out through mouth. “I just want to say…I want you to be okay, Alphinaud.”

His eyebrows furled in confusion.

“Sixteen summers is far too young to be dealing with any of this. Hells, when I lost my fathers to the Calamity, I could barely keep myself together and I was twenty-five.”

“You lost your fathers to the Calamity?” G’raha asked.

This shocked the other two as well. For as long as they’ve known her, they knew surprisingly little of her past before she joined the Scions.

“It’s not the point. My point is, you have experienced so much loss, and pain, and betrayal. The people you’ve lost, the things you’ve seen; no one your age should be subjected to such things, and yet you are, and yet you grow stronger for it. I want you know that I see you, Alphinaud. I see you and I am so proud of you. But I don’t want you to bear it by yourself.”

Alphinaud wiped his building tears away with his sleeve. “I don’t bear it alone”, he explained, “I never have. I’ve had you. You’ve been my beacon when the light of the dawn grows dim. You’ve been an anchor to keep me aweigh where I would find myself adrift. We’ve shared these burdens together, and I promise, wherever we go, we will always share them.” She couldn’t help, but drop down and wrap the young one into her arms. The other two rose from their seats and piled themselves onto the pair. Dia and Alphinaud released the floodgates onto each others shoulders, quietly sniffling.

“We fight together. These burdens shall be lifted by all of us”, said G’raha, “Come what may, we need not fight alone.”

“Dia, in the past, you’ve fought these battles in solitude, but our future will be shaped by all of us fighting at your side.”

They enjoyed this rare moment of closeness together. Dia’s not one for sentimentality, but she couldn’t stop herself. She wanted him to know.

Elidibus, I’m sorry you were led to make such a decision and that Azem couldn’t be there. That you should bear the burden of the ancient world at such a young age is a tragedy no one should experience. But I will make it right with this one.

This one will not walk alone.

[stopeatingwhales]

about a girl (pt.2) x kurt cobain

hi guys :) so sorry for my inactivity, but i’m here finally lmaoo, this is a part two to my kurt fic that i wrote about a month ago, due to school its been much harder for me to keep up writing as usual, but i will absolutely try my best to finish your guys’ requests soon! anyways, hope you enjoy this <3 Pairing: pre-bleach era kurt x reader

Warnings: nothing :)

Word count: 2.167

Requested by anon (the second part was my idea, but i felt like i should still credit the anon for giving me the idea for this x) 

༉‧₊˚✧

The wind exhales short, breezy waves as you lay there, engulfed in your dreams. From the night succeeding to your outstanding performance, you were requited to a favourable hibernation which by admiring you, was needed for not only the sum of a few hours. Your solemn features are painted still, the only movement stimulating from your body is heavy breaths accompanied by a light snore from time to time. I question whether it's righteous of me to allow my eyes to adorn themselves in your serene features, yet I simply cannot stop myself. I find it surreal to witness you in such fragility; for all the pain and sorrow you’ve had to experience in your life, it’s almost like you shouldn’t be sleeping in such a tranquillic state. I wonder if you prefer sleeping than being awake, I wonder if you think it’s a chore to get out of bed. Does the world haunt you? Every click, flash, snap of a camera, does it devastate you? The image you portray to the world is magnificent, yet flawed. It’s almost as if you’re hiding something, yet you don’t care what others think of you, so you do whatever you please. My heart skips a beat every time you shift slightly, cradling your body in the duvet. I advert my stare to your arms, sculpted perfectly in God’s chamber, the lankiness of your bones withering an appearance of discrepancy. You’re not like the rest of them. Your steady breaths softly ease in and out of your flawless torso, your hair so impeccable it looks untouched even when you’re shifting around in your slumber - the hair you willingly dyed and strained with a flavoured drink mix. As I admire you, sleeping beauty, it reminds me of how lucky I am to have you in my life - regardless of where we stand. When you’re awake, you’re the only thing keeping me sane during the day; spending even just a day without you would feel as if I had lost my legs, lost what’s kept me steady for all these draining years. In all my time of knowing and understanding you, have you never not known what to say, for you have such a way with words, it's unfathomable. You carry a sort of intelligence that no one can seem to obtain; you speak words out of a bible and it’s ironic I say that, Mr ‘God is gay’, but it’s true. You’re the reason I wake up in the morning. You’re like a hard candy, sweet and delicate, although the texture is very hard making it a burden to get through to you. I want to taste you on my tongue every morning, if you would like me to be honest. I crave for things as little as your scent even before I’ve risen from the cushion. Your grace must be envied by the heavens; there is and will never be anyone as alluring as you, not that I’m surprised. 

As my eyes continue to wander on him, a sudden stretch of his arms and a small groan echoing out of his vocal chords results in my body almost instantaneously sitting up. I watch him as he blinks his eyes a few times, his vision still not clear enough. “Good morning,” he whispers, his arms thrown to the skies; he’s like a baby, reaching out for their mother in the early hours of daylight, moaning and whining for affection, warming my heart with soreful ease. Quickly taking note of the small clock situated beside him that I was aware of for the many hours I had been trapped in thought, it read a bright and early 11am. My stare continues to linger onto him as I watch him shifting around, the heart situated in my upper chest now beating as fast as drum solos in heavy metal songs. A short silence stood in between both presences; I assume that he hadn’t taken note of my pondering state adjacent to him, though was that idea contradicted by his light greeting. “Did you sleep well?” he chirps, now using both palms to rub his what-seemed-like itchy eyes.

Now what is humorous from this scenario is that he asks this as if it means nothing; a simple conversation starter it may be, though, to me it means so much more hearing those light words roll off his tongue, compared to if someone else had said it, even if it was in the exact same moment living right now. A whiff of bad breath hits my face as I laugh lightly, shaking my head in a sort of admiration towards the man lying down ahead of me. He again blinks a few times, now in attempt to adjust the bright scenery to his view. For a couple seconds the room is frozen, Kurt’s alteration in position to sitting up becoming the only sound ringing through both our ears. As I find my gaze glued onto him once again, I subconsciously repeat the question he asked me, this time directed for him. However, from what I’ve seen, I’m certain he slept wonderfully.

A tired chuckle escaped his mouth. “I asked you first,” he mutters, the morning rasp still prominent in his vocal chords. This makes me smile. The raw, genuinity forwards the idea of realism that this moment was actually happening, coming like a pinch snapping someone out of their daydream, though my thoughts will never be known to understand how I was able to spend time with such a man. “I slept well, though.” he adds, a warm smile playing on his lips. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” I answered, my face now being cradled by my palms. 

I now feel the stare of Kurt burn onto my face. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” he asks, a hint of annoyance laced in his words. “We could’ve stayed up together,” 

A small chuckle breezes out of my nose. How considerate, how caring must you be to, even when you have performed such an exasperating gig, stay awake with me because of one night of my mind’s continuous ambles? For all I know, Kurt wouldn’t sleep for days if it meant I would be in absolute glee. It’s those sorts of traits in those who are lost which draw you towards them becoming the significant other to stay with for life. It’s that sense of attachment, connection you hold with someone, so strong that you would give up the roof over your head if it meant a smile to be drawn on their face. ”You looked so peaceful in your sleep,” I replied, staring directly into his loveable eyes, the shade of blue brightening as the sunlight melted onto his face. His hair was now a little more messier compared to how it was less than ten minutes ago, and the urge of me running my fingers through his golden locks only seemed to grow even more as time passed on. For a moment I decided to hold back my words, inhaling sharply to gain composure to my fatigued state. “I didn’t want to disturb you,” 

Kurt sighed - knowing that he needed sleep more than anything, though a hint of sadness dwindled in his stomach, his mind conflicted from the idea of me drowning in worry as I tended to do when I couldn’t sleep. Reaching his arm towards the table sat beside him, his fingers got lost in between the opened packet of cigarettes that slept reverently on the white wood, grabbing a random one at choice before placing it in a loose grip between his lips. With the known information that you need a torch to light a cigarette, I threw the one I had on his lap, a small laugh escaping my lips for no apparent reason. Actually no, there was a reason. “Who the fuck smokes first thing in the morning?”

Before he torched the lighter, he stopped, his piercing blue eyes locking in contact with mine. “Me, I do,” 

Another laugh tempted to flee itself from my throat, yet I held it back. If you would’ve said that to me the first night I met you, in that small, cramped room, littered with amps that Krist had dragged me into going in to listen to your material, I would’ve scoffed at your blown attitude towards such a random question. Watching you now as you’re admiring the cancer stick with pure attachment, my mind begins to wander over such a topic. I look at you and see a troubled, young kid who just wants love and affection because he seemingly never got enough from the people who designed his childhood; for you haven’t grown up since then. Perhaps in size and features, yes (and definitely the fact that children do not smoke), but hidden inside you is the same boy that was hidden away all those years ago - following onto your parents’ divorce. You say you’ve never been happy since then, you’ve never been able to think optimistically, and maybe you haven’t. Maybe the smile you give to me isn’t genuine; with continuous assurance I’ll consider it to be. Maybe I’ll never heal those bruises that were once your only source of living, and that’s okay, if you’re able to cope with the imprints. If you’re the Kurt Cobain that prefers smoking than having a normal breakfast, so be it; I’d give up my heart for you, and if anything, you’ve already stolen it. Words merely brush the surface of my adoration for you, and sometimes I believe that I’m just lying to myself, that nothing I’m saying in my head is true. Yet, as every minute, every second passes throughout the day, even in silent, contented situations with ceilings bright as yellow from the smoke like these, everything I say to myself simply strengthens in morality. My sweet, you deserve more than one could wish for. You deserve things that this world cannot give you, yet all you believe is that you are worthless. If only you saw yourself in my eyes, maybe then you’d realise, realise the impact you’ve sincerely doused onto me and my mind, you’ve got the moves to empower a generation and perhaps hundreds more - even if you don’t see that yet. 

“Give me one,” He hands me one, the strong gusts of cloud escaping his mouth creating a want for the rough substance to coat my throat in brutal ways; even if it’s slowly murdering me. It was a murderous addiction, nicotine, yet it kills us all, our addictions; and we are too blinded by the goodness it seemingly overshadows what we force to neglect in our minds - the bad in it all. We become so unbelievably enthralled by the pain we choose to accept it; we believe it is favourable, not disastrous and catastrophic. Drugs are frowned upon dearly, as they should be, but once you’re stuck, it takes more than simple courage to escape out of the deadly grip it chokes you in. Placing the cigarette in between my lips, identical to how he had just done, I reached my arm out to obtain the lighter that was in my clutch merely seconds ago, swiftly lighting it with one hand. As I breathed out the first tar-filled cloud from my cigar, I fixed my gaze onto him once again, sucking in my top lip as I allowed the droplets of ash fall onto my shirt. “I know I always say this,” I began as I studied his features, trying to identify any solemn, unpleasant emotions, noticing that there was none at all for the time being. “You’re going to make it big one day, I’m now for certain you’re going to take over the world,”

His eyes now locked into mine, a short chuckle leaving his throat as he blew out an even bigger gust of smoke. “I don’t want that,” 

Smiling, I took hold of my cigarette and inhaled deeply, holding it in my mouth until my body was unable to carry on without oxygen for longer - not that the air in the room was even oxygen; it was more corrosive chemicals than anything else, yet we’ve become so dependant on a small roll of tobacco to guide us to a path of slow death, its unnoticable. I watched as Kurt’s eyes drifted on to admire the elusive sunlight gleaming through the window, the whiffs of grey contrasting the happiness that was attempting to journey itself into the silent room. No matter how many times I may tell, his belief that he will never be as big as acts like the Sex Pistols will empower over anything I endevour on to phrase. It was inevitable though, whether he dreamt of it or not, that they will be big, bigger than anything they’ve ever seen. The path bridging onto it may cause destruction, heartbreak, and even more addiction, but the future is never in our hands - only until it is close enough for the present to capture it. Time is simply a mantelpiece, the light eventually burns out when there’s not enough coal to keep it going. You continue to refill it as the days go by until you simply cannot any longer, which is what all youths fear and avoid. Surprisingly enough, Kurt wasn’t one of the many crowds in devastating apprehension; he wanted to burn out more than anything else, for there were only small things keeping him going, or perhaps he was waiting for a longer, more agonizing death, hence the many packets of cigarettes vanished in a day.

There was nothing left to say in the room; there was no need for a response - it was only going to result in the same bicker as it resulted in many a time. The room, now physically undergoing a change in colour from the smoke, held a significant ambience, one so serene it left you more relaxed than the aftermath of a crazy high in drug use, though sometimes the relaxation is more pain than anything else. Even when my mind was so consumed in ideation earlier in the morning, my thoughts were louder than ever in this given moment. My mind was mulled over the concept of Kurt and stardom. He would never like it, nor does he even want it. It’s humorous to an extent; how much authenticity can one acclaim, to not even look up to the sugar-coated concept called ‘fame’? You’re not like the others. You don’t want fame, you want to create music. And in all honesty, I wish I lie through my teeth whenever I mumble those encouraging words of how you’re going to make it big; I can’t stand the idea of losing you, but like I said, it's inevitable, one day simple moments like these will just be memories to look back on when you’re old and laughing about your previous attachment to drugs. Maybe you won’t look back on times like these however, maybe you’ll remember the more vivid, buzzing moments like your first gig as Nirvana, and maybe I won’t remember this either, maybe these moments aren’t to be remembered, to be lived in instead. If only you knew how much I loved you, would you be surprised that I haven’t ruined my life because of it. You mean more to me than the stars mean to the night sky, more than a memory means to a person’s mind. It hurts my heart knowing I can’t heal you, though I dream that one day, you’ll wake up, just like you did today, turn to me and say, ‘I’m happy,’ because that’s all I ever dream of you to be.

[last-operator-standing]

Toll of the Bell

Chapter 2 - Tempestuous

> Ao3

> Chapter 1 (tumblr)

> Chapter 3 (tumblr)

Summary: What now? He could roll over and accept the fate thrust upon him and die as Adler intended. Starting a new life away from it all couldn't be that bad either. Or…

Or he could finish the mission.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: None apply this chapter

Words: 3.4k (5.4k total)

A/N: This took me a little longer than I wanted but I have the next few chapters thought out now, so hopefully I'll be able to get them done and shared soon!

It's bright and early when Lazar shuffles in and startles Bell awake. He offers a sheepish smile and holds up the tray in his hand as peace offering. "Thought you might be hungry." 

 Bell stares down at the tray Lazar sets across his lap. There's a small bowl of noodles in broth and a pack of unopened saltines along with a bottle of water. "You've been out for a while. Figured you should start with something light." A soft jingle fills the silence and draws Bell's attention. There's a gentle pressure at his left wrist and he tries to peer curiously at what Lazar's doing. 

 "Can't eat without hands, eh?" He playfully waves Bell's now free hand about. Bell can't resist the small smile that makes its way across his face. It falls quickly when he waits expectantly for his other arm to be released only for Lazar to awkwardly avoid his eyes. 

 "Eat up." The atmosphere turns tense and awkward. "We can, uh… Talk when you're done." It sounds more like a question than a statement. Lazar makes a quick retreat, leaving Bell alone with his bland breakfast. 

 Bell sits in silence. The meal remains untouched and he stares unblinking into the cooling bowl. His previous anxieties start to resurface, leaving him nervous and uncertain once more. One question in particular forces itself to the front of his mind.

 What now?

Lazar wouldn't save him just to turn around and execute him, right? He must want something. More intel? Perhaps he and Park were starting a separate investigation into Perseus. 

 "I just.. I feel like I owe you, Bell."

 Bell heaves a heavy sigh. All this thinking was giving him a headache. He finally relents and reaches his free hand for the saltines, bringing them to his still restrained hand to pull the package open. The plastic is stubborn at first and refuses to part. No amount of tugging or prying can pull the traitorous material apart. Bell is seconds away from gnawing the damn thing off when it finally gives, showering him in crumbs and scattering perfectly good crackers to the floor.

 The dramatic groan and loud Russian cursing is well justified, Bell decides. He angrily stuffs a saltine into his mouth and crunches it with a vengeance. The door is abruptly thrown wide, nearly causing him to choke in surprise.

 "Bell, are you-" 

 Lazar pauses to take in the sight of the wide-eyed Bell and his mess of saltines. 

 "I can explain."

 Lazar visibly relaxes and grins. "We thought someone was trying to kill you with all that yelling." From behind his shoulder, Park peers in, calculating eyes scanning the room. They both step inside. Lazar takes a seat on the edge of the bed and snatches a cracker from the open pack. Park remains at the door, leaning against the frame. Bell doesn't miss the way she discreetly holsters her gun. 

 "So, Bell." It's Park who speaks this time, catching his attention. "What do you remember?" Something about her tone feels familiar. Almost.. unsettling.

 "So close to Perseus."

 "I, uh.. Well.." 

 The room is dark. The overhead lamp is the only thing to illuminate the space. Lazar stands nearby. He faces Bell, but his expression is twisted in something akin to discomfort. "The CIA reinvented you, Bell." Adler stands directly beside the gurney he's strapped to, demanding all of Bell's attention. "If you believed you were someone else, we could lead you to a place where you'd give it all up."

 "Fuck this," he hears his voice waver with fear. It's the wrong thing to say. "I don't think so." Adler practically launches himself forward and roughly grabs the front of Bell's vest. "One way or another, Bell, we're gonna get it out of you." 

 "I mean, I remember up to Solovetsky."

 The bitter wind feels good against his face. It brings a sense of serenity to Bell's turbulent thoughts despite the tense atmosphere with Adler. 

 "It was never personal."

 Bell chews on his lip as the memories resurface. "And when Adler.. shot me. But nothing new with Perseus." Park's eyes narrow a fraction, further unsettling him. There's something else on his mind that's been bothering him since the first moment he saw Park. 

 "Ah, well, give it time," Park offers without much conviction. She opens her mouth to speak again but Bell cuts her off.

 "I'm sorry," he blurts. The apology seems to catch Park by surprise. "I should have been faster. If only I had been faster, I could have saved you, too…" Park suddenly looks uncomfortable.

 "It's alright, Bell. It.. It wasn't your fault."

 "How are you..?" 

 "Alive?" Park's expansion finally softens. "After the skyhook pulled you two off, I knew I only had seconds left before I was dead. I managed to stumble back inside and take cover in an empty room. Luckily, Perseus didn't seem interested in checking if the building was clear."

 Bell gets the feeling there's more to her story but he opts not to pry. A silence falls over the three. Lazar keeps picking at the abandoned pack of crackers while Park keeps a steady watchful gaze on Bell. Before Solovetsky, he would have matched her with his own unyielding stare. Back then he had no reason to doubt or fear her. But now he's not so sure. 

 "So kid, what will you do now?" Bell looks away from Park and over to Lazar. He's sitting casually beside Bell like he's unbothered by the tension but his easy smile doesn't quite reach his sharp eyes. It isn't lost on Bell that his words up to now have all been for show. 

 They don't trust me.

 He shifts uncomfortably, careful not to make a bigger mess of crackers and soup, and clears his throat before he speaks up. "Perseus is still out there," he starts slowly. Park's expression flashes and Bell tries not to flinch. Lazar simply watches and listens closely. "Someone needs to stop him. I want to stop him. He still has the codes to Greenlight, right? All he needs is a new location to activate."

 "Why?" Lazar is casual about his question but his eyes tell a different story. He wants to believe what Bell is saying.

 "Because it isn't right." It seems so obvious to Bell that he's almost surprised by the question. "This is bigger than me. Millions of lives are at risk. I don't know who I was before, but.. I know who I am now ." Bell does his best to sell it, and to his relief they seem to buy it. 

 The truth is, the Russian doesn't know what else to do. He can't remember his life before MK-Ultra. Right now, the mission is all he has; stop Perseus. Without that, he has… nothing. 

 "I just want to stop Perseus before he causes a nuclear war."

   And maybe punch those damn shades off Adler's face , but he leaves that part to himself. 

 Lazar hums thoughtfully and Park starts to relax. They don't seem quite at ease yet, but it's a start. 

 Over the next few days, Bell heals and collects himself. After their talk, Park eventually gave in to Lazar's pressuring and agreed to allow Bell some freedom. Stretching his legs feels nice and the fresh air certainly helps him collect his thoughts. This safehouse was undoubtedly cleaner than the last, with actual rooms and furniture rather than a dingy warehouse. 

 "What about Adler?" 

 Lazar and Bell are sitting peacefully at the kitchen table, Lazar with a bagel and an open file, Bell with a cup of freshly brewed coffee. Lazar looks up at the question. "You sound like you're ready to fight him." The Russian huffs with indignance at his amused tone. "He shot me," he complains loudly. "Just one good punch, Lazar. Please ?" 

 "You'll have to get in line," Park grunts as she joins them in the kitchen, gravitating towards the coffee machine. "I think we'd all like to give that bastard a good punch." 

 Lazar grins. "I think you should avoid throwing punches for now, Bell, least he shoots you a second time." Bell pouts. Lazar flicks bagel crumbs at him. "Jokes aside, if you're serious about taking down Perseus, it's probably best if the rest of the team doesn't know you're still alive. For now, anyway. It'll only cause more problems and distractions, not to mention Adler probably wouldn't hesitate to kill you for real."

 Bell sighs dramatically. "Alright, alright, fine . But I'm definitely getting a swing in once Perseus is six feet under." He throws his head back and downs the rest of his coffee. "So where do we start?"

 Park leans against the counter with her mug of coffee. "Well, if you can remember anything about Perseus or his associates.."

 That tone is back again but Bell forces himself to not bristle at it. "I'm sorry. Nothing new has come to kind yet." Park gives a slow nod. "You were our most successful subject. Any old memories will be buried behind weeks of.. reprogramming. Now that the drugs are filtering out of your system, it should only be a matter of time."

 "Is there any way to speed it up?" Park squints suspiciously so Bell is quick to add, "Maybe if I can remember something, we'll know where to head next."

 An idea pops into Lazar's head. "Bell, do you recognize any of them?" He pulls something from the folder in front of him and slides it across so Bell can see. Park steps closer to watch curiously. "They're POIs we think are working for Perseus." 

 It's a group of photos. Bell sets aside his mug to spread them out and study them closely. The first three are men, but he doesn't recognize them. The next two are women and he feels discouraged when their images fail to spark any memories, too. There's one last one. He slides it close and is about to push it away when something scratches at the back of his mind. 

 The pub was lively tonight. Loud and rowdy with cheering, swearing, and the clanking of glass on glass. Bell too embraced the vibes; His spirit was high and he was most certainly past tipsy. He was sitting at the bar with his comrades, a still-full shot glass in hand. 

 "Aww, c'mon, give us the details!" The man to his left nudged him roughly. He grinned  wickedly and despite the sunglasses covering his face, Bell still caught him wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

 "Did he kiss you? Did you kiss him ?" Bell felt his face flush and he shoved back. No way in hell he was going to answer that. "I don't kiss and tell, Vang." 

 "Bell?"

 "Aww, you did !" Bell huffed and threw back his glass as an excuse not to answer. He did his best to ignore how hot his face was. "No, wait. He definitely kissed you, didn't he?" Bell choked on the shot. The man grinned wider. 

 "Leave the poor kid alone." Another familiar voice called out, not bothering to hide their amusement. "Now get over here so I can beat your ass. Loser pays the tab." Bell turned to look at his savior. Their figure is too blurry to make out, but he's so sure he knows them. 

 "Oooh bro, you're going down !"

 "Bell?" Lazar tries again, shaking his shoulder and startling him from the memory. "You alright there? You look like you've seen a ghost."

 "I.." The Russian glances between Park and Lazar before he stares back down at the picture. The person's face is completely covered, but the glasses make him unmistakable. Naga.

 "Kapano Vang," Bell offers quietly and taps the photograph. "They call him Naga." Lazar watches him a moment longer before pulling the picture back over. "You know him?" 

 The memory implied Bell more than just knew him. A feeling in his gut tells him so too. They were.. friends, perhaps. "Yeah.. We are- We were friends. I think." 

 Park remains silent as she observes. Lazar offers a slow nod. A gentle push and the picture lands back in front of Bell. "Do you remember anything else about him?" 

 Bell stares. The shades are so painfully familiar. He can't quite shake the sense he's seen them a lot. This shit is stressful. I need a cigarette. Something in his mind clicks. 

 "New shipment's ready." The nicotine filled Bell's lungs with a pleasant burn. He turned and offered the cigarette to Naga with a hum of acknowledgement. "Got a little extra if you're interested. On the house." The Laotian accepted the cigarette, taking a grateful drag while his free hand slipped into a vest pocket and produced a small package. He held it up to between his fingers and offered it to Bell with a small flourish. "Rest of it's headed out to some of my buyers, so don't get hooked."

 Bell hesitated. "I'm not so sure.." Naga pressed it into his hands anyway. "Hey, hey, it's quality stuff. How do you think my lines stay in business? Your boyfriend will certainly thank me." 

 " Not my boyfriend , man." Naga cackles. "Sure, bro, sure."

 A shaky sigh escapes Bell. The memories are blurry and incomplete, but there's enough there to put some pieces of the puzzle together. "He's.. a smuggler."

 "For Perseus?" 

 Bell gives a small shrug. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess so." Right now, Bell can't be sure about anything.

  "I'll make some calls and check with MI6." Park sets her empty mug in the sink. "We have a name now. That's a good start." 

 Not wasting any time, Bell muses as he watches Park leave. That's fine with him. The less time to dwell on his past transgressions, the less time he'll have to deal with the impending existential crisis. 

 "Meanwhile, I'll check in on the team." Gathering the papers and photos back into the folder, Lazar stands. "What about me?" Lazar barely even pauses to acknowledge Bell. "Stay put. Read a book. Do a puzzle. Embrace day drinking. Do whatever you want, just stay put ."

 "But I-"

 " No , Bell. Water's too hot right now. Just lay low, let it cool. You'll get your turn but not yet. Just enjoy being dead while it lasts." Lazar's wink is met by Bell's deadpan face.

 By noon, the Russian's already run out of things to do. He's showered, washed the dishes, and cleaned the space lent to him. Now he sits at the table once more, impatient tapping the surface and bouncing his leg. He briefly considers snooping but the last thing he wants to do is give Park a reason to confine him to a bed again. 

 Time creeps by. Boredom is barely kept at bay by the pen and paper Bell found discarded on the end table beside the couch. The doodles are nothing to write to home about, but it provides temporary amusement. When he gets tired of that, he abandons them at the kitchen table and opts for a nap. 

 It feels like he's barely just closed his eyes before he's woken by an insistent shaking. 

 "Bell. Get up. Bell ." 

 Bell groans. It's dark now so he has to squint to make out the figure kneeling next to him. "Lazar? What, man, I was sleeping ." 

 "We need to go. Now. C'mon." A hand wraps under Bell's arm and pulls, forcing the Russian to his feet. Lazar's voice was calm, but the firm grip on his arm made Bell nervous. "What's going on?" He has no choice but to allow himself to be guided towards the back door. 

 "Here, wear this." Something is shoved into his hands and he fumbles to grab it. Looking down, it's a thin black coat. Inside rests a matching beanie hat and vibrant blue scarf. "What's going on," he tries again. "You're kinda freaking me out."

 "Look, just put the shit on and I'll explain on the way. There's no time right now."

 Lazar snatches the hat and scarf from the pile and Bell flips the coat around to slide his arms in. He grunts when the hat is forced over his blonde curls and the scarf is wrapped high around his neck and face. Once the coat is zipped and all curls tucked messily under the hat, Lazar practically shoves Bell out the back door and follows close behind.

 The air is bitter and cold but Bell hardly notices past the adrenaline. A brisk pace is set. Squealing tires catch his attention but an arm around his shoulders stops him from turning to look. 

 "Park tipped off MI6." 

 The statement is unexpected. 

 "She called to warn me. Apparently, she

told them she was harboring a loose CIA asset with potentially valuable information that needed to be relocated immediately for proper interrogation. How they got an extraction team on a Soviet island, I'll never know." Lazar heaves a groan as they turn the corner and dip out of sight. "She's going to kill me once she figures out we ran."

 First Adler, now Park. I'm getting tired of proving myself. Bell sighs lightly. For all he knows, Lazar is just leading him to a CIA trap. Who gets the broken toy first, MI6 or the CIA? They walk in silence for some time, occasionally cutting through small alleyways and doubling back around others. 

 "Why are you helping me?" Bell finally speaks up. "Look, if you're just going to take me back to Adler, do me a favor and kill me now." I refuse to be shot by him a second time. 

 "Don't be so dramatic." Lazar gives him a rough pat on the back. "There's another safehouse not much further ahead. I got it sorted out on the way here. Told them I had a potential lead I needed to follow up on and that's all they needed to hear."

 "As for why? Well, I personally think when it comes to catching Perseus, there's nobody more qualified than you. I trust you, Bell."

 A quiet clank-clank-clank fills the silence. Bell's eyes were wide in shock. He wasn't sure he heard right. There were other, more experienced agents who would certainly make a better second-in-command than him. "But sir, surely there's somebody else who-"

 "Nonsense!" Perseus stood from his desk and marched to Bell's side. He swept his coat back and planted firm hands onto Bell's shoulders. "There's nobody more qualified than you. I trust you, comrade." Bell swelled with pride and childlike enthusiasm. "Of course, sir. I won't let you down."

 The memory hits Bell like a slap to the face but he remains nonchalant despite the rising dread. He almost misses Lazar that stopped and narrowly avoids colliding into the back of him. "Right, here we are." 

 Bell finds it odd that the safehouse is nestled in the middle of a public street but he's too tired and too cold to question it. Keys jingle as Lazar frees them from his pocket and unlocks the door. They hurry inside and lock it behind them. "Home away from home." 

 It's smaller than the MI6 house. It's just as neat and organized, though, so Bell can't complain. 

 "Kitchen's here. Bathroom is the first door on the left. Your room will be the second on the left, and I'll be across from you." Lazar gestures as he speaks. "Help yourself to anything you find. I, for one, need some sleep. We can talk about everything in the morning." He disappears down the hall. 

 "What about Naga?" The Russian calls. 'Did you find anything out about him?"

 " Tomorrow, Bell." A door snaps closed. 

 Bell clicks his tongue in annoyance but relents. The coat, scarf, and hat are left discarded on the back of the couch on his way toward his designated room.

Damn it all. As he lays tangled in the sheets and nursing his aching wound, Bell struggles to recall anything else about Naga or Perseus, but he comes up blank. Memories seem to be coming and going at their own discretion and it's infuriating . Now his mind is buzzing too much to sleep. Between Adler and Park and his renewed quest to stop Perseus, he doesn't know what to think. He can only hope Lazar has something to share in the morning to shed some light on it all. 

[ordinaryschmuck]

What I Thought About the Climax of "Reunion" from Amphibia

Salutations, random people on the internet who are already scrolling right past this. I am an Ordinary Schmuck. I write stories and reviews and draw comics and cartoons.

So, Season Three of Amphibia is coming pretty soon. And I am...excited, but not as much as most people.

If you've seen my reviews, you'll know that while I do like Amphibia, I wouldn't go so far as to say it grabbed me as well as a series like The Owl House. With a show like that, it took me until Episode Five before I realized The Owl House was something special that was worth remembering. For Amphibia? It took me until the Season One finale before I had a similar reaction. But, to be fair, that's because this series is really good at making an ending. "Reunion," for example, takes a lot of the small things the first season has been building up, taking plots from episodes I considered filler and tying it all together in a pretty satisfying ending. I know people are still reeling over the epicness of "True Colors," and all for a good reason, but I want to start the new season on the right foot by discussing a moment that made me consider giving the series a chance.

But it also contains spoilers, so if you haven't seen Amphibia yet, now might be a good time to check it out. It may not have grabbed me and might not even grab you, but trust me when I say that it's worth it just to get to that final scene.

Now, let's review, shall we?

Grime Explaining Flipwart and Bogjump: One thing I will always defend about this series is its humor. More often than not, it succeeds in getting a chuckle out of me with perfect timing and solid comedic delivery. And stuff like this? Where Grime takes a break from his evilness to explain how two board games work to two teenagers? Only to then give up and stick with a simple answer? Yeah, I'm sorry, but that's funny to me. A good thing, too, given how this show relies more on humor than anything else. It may have an overarching plot and its fair share of grim moments (I give you Marcy's maybe death), but Amphibia knows when to keep things light amongst the darkness, which I always appreciate.

Anne Pleading with Sasha: Here, the scene showcases Anne's own personal struggle with Sasha. We know Sasha's a bad friend, primarily because we have eyes. But Anne still needs convincing. Because while she speaks up, she still doesn't assert herself. Anne doesn't yell at Sasha or tell her she's going too far. Instead, she just begs and pleads, hoping to seek the bit of humanity of this girl that Anne sees as a friend. Only for Grime to cut things short in demanding Hop Pop.

Anne Grabbing a Sword to Defend Hop Pop: This, on the other hand, was a defining moment for Anne. She spent so much time with the Plantars, risking life and limb for their own personal health and safety in multiple episodes before this one. So in desperation and due to being backed into a corner, she yanks out one of the guards' swords and orders people to back up, including her "best friend." This moment is when Anne is right on the edge of standing up against Sasha, ready to do all she can to help a person, er, frog that treats her right.

Sasha Talking Anne Down: But she isn't fully ready to fight back yet. Sasha sees the panic and desperation and uses that to her advantage and takes control. She speaks calmly, attracting Anne with talks of going home and pointing out the ridiculousness of standing up for Hop Pop. And my blood boils with how easily she does it. It was like a light switch, turning off her intensity just so Sasha appears to be empathetic. Even though she isn't. You can tell just how cold hearted she can be with the way she says the line "End of discussion." Does the way she say that really sound like a person who has Anne's best interests at heart. I wouldn't think so.

Sprig’s Reaction to Anne Lowering the Sword: And neither does Sprig. I mean, look at Sprig's expressions when he sees Anne lower the sword:

First, there's shock and empathy in seeing Anne crumble to Sasha's will. And unlike the fake empathy Sasha offered, you can see that it's real.

Almost as real as the look of pure disgust he gives Sasha afterward. Personally, I can't blame him. Sprig cares deeply for Anne, as the two of them have the most real friendship out of everyone else in the main cast, one built on mutual trust, respect, and willingness to have the other's best interests at heart.

Sprig Standing Up for Anne: This only proves my point. By slingshotting mud (was that mud?) into Sasha's face and praising how incredible Anne is, Sprig proved he really is the true friend that Sasha can only wish to be. And it's just the boost Anne needed to snap out of her stupor and do, in her words, "something that [she] should have done a long time ago."

Anne Standing Up to Sasha: If standing up for Hop Pop was a defining moment for Anne, defending Sprig from Sasha was a moment Anne could never go back on. It was one thing to fight for her found family against soldiers she's never met before. It's something else to do that against Sasha, Anne's best friend, who she pleaded with earlier and was so close to falling into submission for. But not anymore. At this moment, Anne decided to think for herself and do what needed to be done. Rather than let a bully tell her what to do instead.

Grime’s Words of Warning for Sasha: Grime’s little warning is similar to how a commander gives tips to a fellow commander in leading the troops. Because that's what Sasha really seems like. Not a friend, but someone who takes charge and orders what Anne and Marcy should do rather than listen to the opinions of the group. You see it more in "Battle of the Bands," and that's why I think she follows his advice to "stamp this out." Especially with how he finishes his warning: "Fail, and nothing will ever be the same."

There are two things to take away from that.

The fact that Grime was right. Sasha failed, and nothing was the same because of it. Anne now stood up to her and won't take her orders anymore. The thing is, that would have happened if Anne failed or not. Sasha winning may have stamped Anne's spirit a bit, but it still shows a dark side to her that wouldn't have been forgotten for long.

The fact that Sasha vocally admits that she won't let things change. It proves how twisted her mindset on friendship is that Sasha would willingly partake in a sword fight with her "best friend" because she refuses to have Anne standing up for herself. She likes being in charge and refuses to lose her power no matter what needs to be done to keep it.

If Anne defending Sprig is a moment where she crosses the line for the better, Sasha listening to Grime is a moment where she crosses the line for the worst.

“Anne, you don’t have to do this”: I love how Hop Pop tries to talk Anne out of the challenge. It's his life that's on the line, but he cares just as deeply for Anne as she does for him, that letting her duel Sasha, her supposed "best friend," is a choice he doesn't want her to make.

“Yes, I do.”: But Anne isn't about that. She now knows the type of person Sasha is, and letting her get away with more control is something no one should allow. And Anne won't. Not anymore.

The Fight: The fight isn't all that special compared to other action animation, and even to a certain fight scene we see in "True Colors." But as is, it is still pretty tense. I mean, for f**k's sake, it's two thirteen-year-olds fighting each other with swords! It's a miracle that only Sasha got a small scar at the end of it. Plus, while not the show's highest standard yet, there is a lot of effort and attention put into this battle. Anne is a lot more inexperienced and frantic with her attacks, where Sasha shows she was trained well in her time with the toads and is rotten given that she cheated by blinding Anne to force a victory. In a way, it illustrates the desperation the two of them have for winning, making Sasha's actions, in particular, easier to root for Anne.

Anne Wins: So when Anne is victorious, it's all the more satisfying. Primarily thanks to the look on Sasha's face. Look at it:

That is the definition of shock and anger, mostly shock. Sure, Sasha might be ticked that she lost, but it's Anne's words that I think really hit a specific soft spot: "You're not going to push me around anymore." That's probably the first time that Anne called Sasha out on her awful behavior. Saying that she's standing up to her huts, but pointing out how Sasha basically controlled Anne and how that's something she won't allow anymore, could be an eye-opening moment that Sasha needed.

Grime Goes Against the Deal: Ok, full disclosure, while this post is meant to shine a light on how great a scene is, there is one complaint I've got to get out of the way. You see, Grime going against his deal to let Hop Pop go free if Anne wins was way too predictable. Because why the f**k would he?!

I mean, does this seriously look like the face of a man you can trust? This scene may excel at everything else, but this one predictable moment is just a little off to forgive.

The Tower Blowing Up: This predictable moment, however, is done flawlessly. Because there's a difference between a twist and a payoff. Where a twist is meant to shock the audience, a payoff has to, well, pay off a setup brought up earlier in the story. And Wally's boom-shrooms going off at just the right time, transitioning to the most iconic moment of the series? Yeah, that's a payoff done right.

(Also, Wally cursing his one eye is hilarious)

“Lean On Me”: By the way, NOT joking when I say what follows is the most iconic moment of the series. All of which is aided by the inclusion of "Lean On Me" by Bill Withers. I'm not a music theory major and have no idea if the song itself is actually mildly appropriate to the scene, much like how "All Star" and "I Need a Hero" work perfectly for Shrek and Shrek 2, respectively. With that said, "Lean On Me" really does add an extra Umph! power to what follows. And as Matt Braley, series creator, describes, it is the coolest thing, but it will never happen again.

(Apparently, the song was too expensive).

Anne Goes to Save Sasha: Believe it or not, I actually do love this decision. Sasha may be a bad friend...Actually, no. Sasha is definitely a bad friend, but that doesn't mean Anne wants her to die. Not after all the good times that they had with each other. Anne might refuse to let Sasha push her around, but she's not ready to cut Sasha out of her life. Not yet.

Anne Holds Onto Sasha, the Plantars Hold Onto Anne: ...I mean...just f**king that! Through this moment, we get a perfect idea of how Anne's relationships work.

To put it simply, the Plantars raise Anne up and keep her safe, where Sasha just weighs her down and risks her safety. And the saddest part is that Sasha knows this.

“Anne. Maybe you’re better off without me…”: Some say that this could be Sasha trying to get in one last manipulation, using her own sacrifice to stick to Anne for choosing talking frogs over her. While I could see that perspective as a possibility, I personally take this moment as Sasha finally realizing the damage she causes for Anne and admits her faults. Sure, Sasha might have backpedaled in later episodes. What with refusing to change and even directing her anger towards Anne instead of towards herself. But that's because she had time to process these events and unfairly aim her negative feelings at Anne for wanting something better. So it doesn't seem implausible to me that Sasha admitting that Anne's better off without her is something she believed deep down and, for just a moment, allowed herself to accept this heavy truth. I won't deny the possibility that she's still trying to manipulate Anne, but to me, with the tone and expression Sasha has with her admission, you can't fake that. And you can't fake what she does next.

Sasha Lets Go: This...shocked me right down to my core.

I knew Grime would go back on his word, and I assumed the boom-shrooms would pay off somehow. But Sasha, willingly and unhesitantly, letting go of Anne's grip and falling to an expected demise? I...I couldn't have ever predicted that. Not with what we've seen from her before. When I hear how people see this as one last manipulation tactic, I just can't see it. Yes, there are monsters on this planet who would go this far, but I don't think Sasha is one of them. Later episodes like "Battle of the Bands" (despite a rough start) show signs of a person who could be better, and the Season Three trailer hints that she might actually learn from her mistakes. So her letting go, with no way of knowing her survival, could be the first sign that Sasha would one day make that first step. She might not be able to become Anne’s friend again, thanks to burning that bridge in "True Colors," but she'll at least try to become a better person. She just needs to do one good thing in her life first.

Plus, whenever I see this image:

I’m reminded why I could never say that I didn’t like this show.

Grime Saving Sasha: A lesser viewer would say this cheapens Sasha's sacrifice, but not to me. She had no way of knowing Grime would save her, so to her, so this is still a bid decision to go through with, even if she couldn't have gone all the way. In no way does it take away from the sacrifice, just as much as it doesn't strike a chord deep in Anne's heart.

Anne Breaks Down: Because what else would she do?

It's true, Sasha isn't a good friend, and Anne would likely be better off without her. But that's not what Anne's thinking at this moment.

She's thinking about the good fun she had with her best friend.

She was thinking about the person she could lean on.

And she was thinking about how she almost lost this person forever.

So when it all comes crashing down on Anne at once, there's nothing left to do but cry. It is such a real moment that proves one thing: There was effort put into this finale.

IN CONCLUSION

Would I say Amphibia draws me in as much as The Owl House does? No. But it still has my respect. A finale like this proves how hard the writers try to give a good experience. Even if a Schmuck like me thinks that all the pieces don't come together, they still do all they can to make a beloved series.

Season Three is on the way, and while I'm not as hyped as others, I still can't wait to see how it ends. Because if "Reunion" taught me anything, this series really nails an ending.

(And if you want me to do a scene breakdown of the finale in "True Colors," I'll tell you now: I won't...alright, maybe I'll do something for the mid-season premiere. But no promises!)

[vosh-rakh]

meeting of the minds

Ku-vastei wearily steps inside from the rain, slamming the round metal door behind her. She begins to wring out her robes, swearing to every god and saint she knows under her breath.

A heavily-armored man draws his sword and points it towards her. “What are you doing here, slave?”

Too tired to speak, Ku simply glares at the cyrod as she continues to dry herself off.

“How did you get up here?” pursues the warrior, stepping closer. “These are Master Aryon’s private -”

Before he can take another step, a daedric spearpoint materializes in xanthous light at his throat, freezing him in place. “Come no closer, n’wah,” Ku declares, her tired voice deep and rumbling, “if you value your neck.” 

“Turedas? What’s all this commotion about?” calls a silvery voice from upstairs. A dunmer descends the spiral staircase, hiking up his robe so he doesn’t trip. He spies Ku-vastei with her conjured weapon pressed against his bodyguard’s gorget and his face lights up. “Ah, Turedas, settle down. This is the guest I told you to expect.”

The cyrod carefully sheathes his weapon, and Ku follows suit, the spear dissipating into tiny flecks of yellow floating to the ceiling and beyond. “I did not expect you meant to meet with a slave, Councilor,” says Turedas, his eyes still carefully trained on Ku.

“She is no slave of mine or anyone else,” replies Master Aryon, patting the warrior on the back. Ku-vastei notices he lacks the coarse Vvardenfell accent. “She is like Smokeskin-killer, a free argonian. We do not keep slaves in Tel Vos.” He smiles at Ku-vastei. “My apologies for the confusion. My man here once worked at the slave market in Sadrith Mora. Despite his Cyrodiilic origins, his heart was hardened to the abuses there.”

Ku-vastei grunts and goes back to wringing out her robes. “No, no,” interjects Aryon, taking a careless step closer. “Here. Allow me. You’ll feel warmer for a moment.”

Ku narrows her eyes but allows him. With a wave of his hand, vaporous orange light encircles her, pulling the moisture from her clothing and suffusing her body with a pleasant warmth. Her tail pulls itself taut with a cozy shiver. “Thank you,” she offers in return.

“Think nothing of it, muthsera. Come upstairs with me, I was just about to sit down for dinner.” He waves her towards the stairs with a practiced bow and flourish of his hands. “Turedas, if you would, please mop up the entryway.”

Turedas groans but nods in deference to his master. Ku follows Aryon up the fungal stairs, her tail “accidentally” slapping Turedas on her way past. As they climb, she begs the question, “See, you know what stairs are. No levitation necessary to go from one floor to the other. Then why do you require it to access this tower at all?”

“It is a longstanding tradition of the Telvanni,” answers Master Aryon. “We are a House steeped in wizardry, of course. So to reach our finest, you must prove yourself capable of such an essential spell, or at least resourceful enough to buy or brew a potion. This way it is impossible for lesser men to waste our often valuable time.” He pauses, then adds, “...Or so the tradition goes.”

“So you hesitate before tradition?” Ku observes.

“In its most outdated forms, yes.”

“Yet you keep the common folk of Vos a mile away from you. Very faithful adherence.”

The magister turns to look at Ku-vastei for a moment, then smiles. “...Some traditions die harder than others. Some must be followed so that others may be changed. It is a sacrifice. You are very observant, Ku-vastei, and that shall do you well in House Telvanni.”

They arrive at the second floor of the fungiform tower, where a table ladened with food awaits. “Be my honored guest, muthsera, and have a seat,” Master Aryon proclaims, throwing his arms wide with entreaty.

As Ku-vastei sets aside her pack and cautiously tucks her tail to sit at the table, she admires with salivating tongue the grand feast laid out before her: gleaming slaughterfish sashimi with an inky dipping sauce; an entire leg of mudcrab, plump and stuffed with golden meat; perfectly molded saltrice balls, neatly tucked into hackle-lo leaves; a bowl of bright blue roasted dovah-flies; and a large cup of mulled shein, steaming with an intoxicating aroma. She lifts it to her nose with both hands, inhaling deeply. The weather must have clogged her sinuses, because the blast of spices clears them right back out, like a fire removing a colony of its congestive kwama.

“Feel free to help yourself,” Aryon says, taking his own seat and separating his corkbulb chopsticks. “I prepared enough for the both of us.”

Ku takes a mighty swig of the shein before setting it back down. She forgoes her own pair of chopsticks and begins popping dovah-flies into her mouth with gusto, each one carefully pinched between her claws. Aryon watches attentively as he slowly dips a piece of sashimi into the black sauce.

“You knew -” Ku says between bite-swallows, “- that I would be coming.”

Aryon ignores this observation, instead making one of his own. “You approach this meal with proud carelessness. Who is to say I haven’t poisoned the dovah-flies?”

Ku laughs, picking up the massive crab leg. “A man of your status should know we argonians are immune to the poisons of men and mer.”

“Yes,” Aryon replies with a chuckle of his own. “Of men and mer, yes. But I know of at least three brewed in the dark depths of your homeland that are immune to your immunity.”

The leg cracks open violently, mudcrab meat scattering across the table. 

“But you needn’t worry,” entreats Aryon. He moves his chopsticks in a single calculated motion to pick up a dovah-fly and pops it into his mouth, savoring the crunch before continuing. “Such poisons have no antidotes. We are here as allies, Ku-vastei. We serve the same purpose. In serving me, you serve yourself.” He pauses to fish a piece of misplaced crab meat out of the murky depths of the sauce. “My Mouth told me you were coming.” He taps on a lavender-stoned ring on his finger as he chews.

“...Telepathic ring?” Ku asks, her pupils dilating slightly as she examines it. She gently takes a saltrice ball and nibbles on it, a bit more cautiously now, despite Aryon’s assurances.

“Close,” Aryon says after swallowing. “Teleportation. I prefer to meet face to face. I had Galos take the long way back to Sadrith Mora.” He rolls the ring under his fingers across the table towards Ku-vastei. “This is yours now, as I’m making you my new Mouth.”

“I’m not standing around in Sadrith Mora all day.” Ku’s hunger gets the best of her, and she finishes off the ball quickly. But the words have an effect - she takes her own pair of chopsticks and awkwardly fiddles with them to pick up a piece of sashimi. She does not touch the ring just yet.

Aryon laughs. “No, no, I won’t expect that of you. Galos will still take care of the minor clerical duties of the position.” He watches Ku’s attempts with a frown. “Look. See how I hold them? Like this,” he says, rotating his hand towards Ku-vastei. He deftly picks up a dovah-fly and pops it into his mouth.

Ku adjusts her grip and tries to pick up a dovah-fly herself. She manages to lift it a few inches from the bowl before twisting it out of the sticks, sending it rolling off the table. “Xuth,” she exclaims under her breath.

“Much better. You’re a quick learner.” He sets down his chopsticks and leans back in his chair. “I suppose they didn’t teach you proper etiquette at the Savethi Plantation, did they?”

Ku-vastei’s nostrils flare slightly. “You’re very well researched,” she remarks, biding her temper.

“Yes,” Master Aryon says. “I’m well aware of your past prior to arriving on Vvardenfell. Your role in the Arnesian War is particularly impressive. You’re quite the impactful character, Ku-vastei.”

“What’s your point?” Ku lays down her own chopsticks.

“You know, unlike most of my fellows in the House, I’m quite sympathetic to your plight, and that of your people.”

Ku presses a palm firmly on the surface of the table. “You know nothing of ‘our plight,’ n’wah. You live just the same privileged life as the rest of you house-folk.”

Aryon clears his throat and leans in. “I may not have ever been a slave, Ku-vastei, but I am fond of progress. The business of slavery is an ancient tradition, and ancient traditions must be abolished for a new society to blossom. Are you familiar with the teachings of Vivec?”

“No,” Ku-vastei lies. She’s read some of his sermons, but admitting familiarity feels treacherous.

“Ah, nevermind then. But as I said, in order for our society to flourish, it must be destroyed and made anew. This goes especially for our Great House Telvanni. You will find me just as progressive as the staunchest abolitionist.”

He lifts his cup of shein to his nose, inhaling the aroma of the spices. “I’m aware how your name translates from Jel to Aldmeris. ‘Catalyst for necessary change.’ It served you well in rebellion, and I think it can serve us well here. Working with me, you can once again be that catalyst, and forever change the face of Great House Telvanni.” With his offer pitched, he leans back in his chair and takes a sip of the wine.

Ku-vastei mulls it over for a bit. In order to advance within the house, it seems she has little choice. And perhaps he truly will end up a valuable ally. She picks up the ring and inspects it briefly before sliding it onto her middle finger. The magical ring glows in reaction to its new wearer, expanding and tightening to fit comfortably. “One condition,” she says. “Build some damn stairs to this place.”

“Well,” Aryon interjects, “with the ring, you won’t need-”

“I don’t care. Build some stairs.”

Aryon narrows his eyes briefly but smiles. He extends his hand over the feast. “Deal.”

Ku takes his soft hand and shakes it firmly, saying nothing. 

-

After feasting further and conversing about House politics and magical theory, Ku-vastei makes ready to leave. On her way out she meets Turedas again. 

“Good evening, sera,” he says, hissing the honorific.

“I’m Master Aryon’s Mouth now, n’wah.”

The color falls from the cyrod’s face. “Yes, serjo. Of course.”

Ku-vastei turns swiftly towards the door, slapping Turedas with her tail again as she does, before quickly marching out into the clear night.

[op-peccatori]

Selenophile (M) | IkeVamp Comte

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Pairing: Comte de Saint-Germain/Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit/18+/NSFW

Word Count: 5k

Summary: You’re just a girl who fell in love with the moon, and got lucky enough to have him love you back.

a/n: Always thought Leonardo would be my first, and then Faa happened (~˘▾˘)~ All those Daddy Comte conversations sent a hoe tumbling into love. Also told myself this was going to be short and sweet, and in doing so, played myself. Sorry about that. 

Also, for Thirst Purposes, we’re going to believe that Comte can bite her without turning her. 

Warnings/Tags: explicit sexual content, vaginal and oral sex, mentions of blood due to vampire bite, this is my love letter to Daddy Comte, pretend im v romantic, also another episode where I had fun with online translators French speakers please don’t kill me

Selenophile (n.) a person who loves the moon. 

“Here’s the next stack, and please, try to finish them before dinner?” 

Collecting the last of the stray envelopes on the desk, you jog them and place the stack in one corner. Narrowed, aurum eyes watch you over the top of a letter. “These aren’t quite as urgent, so you can have a look at them later.” 

“Mm,” the Count sighs into his cup for the fifth time, no doubt waiting for you to turn around to see what’s got him so down. Your eyes drift to the ostentatious bouquet of roses in the corner of the room, a soft, blush pink this time, before you squint at the seal on the last envelope. Placing it on top of the pile in front of him, you smile down at his pursed lips and pleading eyes.

You know the gentlemanly persona is just one of the many facets of the Count’s personality, and it seems to be the one he chooses to adopt when amongst company. Your relationship thus far has been nothing short of an adventure, complete with adversaries and sacrifices, and a man that can take your breath away with just one little smile.

He loves, and lives to spoil you. He delights in drawing you into his arms and kissing you as he stealthily clasps delicate necklaces around your neck and slips bracelets set with sparkling gems onto your wrists. It still makes you uncomfortable at times, but the way his eyes shine when he admires the way they rest against your skin, a pleased smile tugging at the corners of his lips–it kills any real motivation to protest. 

And when he undresses you, with a soft-spoken request to keep the jewellery on, you’re hard-pressed to find any real reason to object. It’s all part of his favourite evening game; with you completely bare, wearing just the priceless trinkets he’s picked out for you. His seat of preference is the armchair he pulls up to the front of the bed, from where he calls out his requests for you. You can say no, you’re expected to tell him if anything makes you uncomfortable, but when he tells you to spread your legs a little more, to finger yourself a skosh slower, nearly panting as the smell of your arousal–all you feel is hot, dizzying lust. 

To see the wild lust lurking beneath that noble veneer, to open your eyes, trembling through the aftershocks of an orgasm, and see the sheer hunger in his face as he strokes his cock. The way his fangs sink into you speaks of rapidly fraying control, sending agonizing ecstasy pumping through you as he makes you come again.

You enjoy teasing him. It’s a dangerous game to play in front of the ever-observant residents, especially a certain author who would love nothing more than to see you seduce their sire. You had nearly gotten caught just once, when he had had enough of your games. 

A brush of your fingers, over his shoulder. A stroke of your thumb over his knuckles, and if you were feeling bold, weaving your fingers through his hair. A lingering kiss on the corner of his mouth and feel the air between you grow heavy. Just a quick pet at the nape of his neck and pulling away before he could lean into your touch. 

He always catches on almost right away, and gives you serene smile in response, a gentle warning. Only once had his patience spun out of his control and he pinned you to a bookshelf in the library, slipping a hand under your dress as he crushed his mouth to yours, hissing when he discovered the lack of a barrier between your legs.

You were sure he would have taken you right there if not for the sudden, loud whistling of a jaunty tune–a hint that you weren’t alone in the library. Still, he had considered it for a moment. You could tell by the look on his face–all he had to do was make sure you stayed quiet. 

But then Leonardo started singing, completely off-key and almost insistently, as if warning him off. It was the confused whispers from Isaac, no doubt wondering if Leonardo had lost his mind, that finally had your beau stepping away.

Even now, as you pour him his afternoon tea, you can feel his eyes doing a full sweep of your figure, longing and wondering. He’d been away on business for the past two weeks and you’ve missed him terribly. He had only gotten back yesterday, and you’ve somehow had your hands full with errands and tasks for the residents and no time to spend in his arms.

Although, if you must be perfectly honest, you have had a little fun leaving him with affectionate kisses and tender whispers before you rush off to attend to the next task. 

“How is your day going, ma chérie?” he asks, accepting the cup with a soft smile. 

“Well enough, I’d say. Sebas is going to teach me how to make coq au vin, so please look forward to that!” you inform him, stars in your eyes. You pretend not to notice the way his smile grows just a tad strained, no doubt at the realization that you’ll have your plate full today as well. 

“I can’t wait to try it.” His sincerity is genuine, though, and you have to restrain yourself from climbing into his lap, striding over to the door instead. “Darling?”

You turn back to see him hesitating, searching your face for something before sinking back into his armchair. 

“Have a wonderful day.” 

There’s hunger in his eyes and your heart pounds within its cage. 

“You too. I love you,” you add, unable to help it, and you’re glad you did because of the tiny smile curling along his mouth as he echoes the words back at you. 

This waiting game can’t go on much longer. He hasn’t lost his composure the way you had secretly hoped to see, but it seems that his patience is running out.

You rarely find chances to spend together during the day, and today is no different. Dinner takes up much of your time, and after you find yourself swept up in conversation with Napoleon and Isaac, cleaning up takes more time than you had hoped.

As Sebastian shares what he had discovered about Napoleon’s sparring preferences, while you dissolve into helpless giggles at his enthusiastic reenactment as you scrub the dishes, the Count stops by for more tea. 

“Ah, still here? It’s quite late, you must be tired.” He watches over the rim of his teacup as you study at a plate, before wiping at a barely-visible smudge.

“We’re nearly done, Sir. Not to worry though, it’s always fun when we work together,” your companion assures him, and you shoot him a quick grin.

“That’s right. And we do make a great time, don’t we?” You raise your hand, and with a half-hearted roll of his eyes, Sebastian smacks his palm against yours. 

“I suppose we do.” 

You turn to Comte just in time to catch his small smile, and your own fades slightly as he turns to leave with a low, murmured goodnight. 

Even as you hurry through your bath, rushing to your room to change and don a thin robe, the hint of melancholy in his smile stays with you and apprehension courses through your veins. 

It wasn’t quite jealousy. It’s tempting to play that game, but usually, you avoiding it. He’s a gentle, benevolent man, but the Count does not wear jealousy well. Thankfully, the only resident you run into on your way to his room is Vincent, who asks no questions, only wishing you a pleasant night with a knowing smile. 

His chambers are empty and you find him standing in the balcony instead, the summer evening pleasant and soothing on your skin as you step out. His head is tilted back, and you realize he seems to be studying the night sky. With the soft, shimmering moonlight eager to paint him in its subtle tones, there’s an ethereal glow beneath his skin.

He shines brighter in the sunlight, but in this moment he truly looks like one untouched by the grasping hands of death in any of its forms, blessed by Selene herself or perhaps, she chose another form, one that is surely far more beautiful than any other. You wonder if that makes you Endymion, the spellbound mortal to his smitten immortal, desperate to do whatever it takes so you never leave his side, destined to be together forever–but only in your dreams. 

“Come join me, ma chérie.” He sounds almost distracted, and curiosity bubbles up as you step up next to him. 

He’s more underdressed than you’ve ever seen him outside his room; clad only in his white shirt and slim pants. He always appears to be svelte, but with the soft fabric stretching taut over his shoulders, clinging to his narrow waist, you can only try to keep your eyes off his backside. An unbuttoned collar reveals a slender neck, his tie hanging loosely over his chest, his sleeves rolled up to his toned forearms, a glass of half-finished blanc in one hand.

He doesn’t look away from the sky, staring at the stars as if they hold the answer to all his questions. You choose to look at the moon while it observes the stars, studying him quietly, wanting to get closer before thinking better of it and coming to a halt, waiting for him to gather his thoughts. 

Always out of reach, but always returning to you. 

Or perhaps you’re the moonflower instead. Yearning for the light, for it to find you. With its quiet, yet all-consuming love; too bright for you at times, but even if you close your eyes you know its there, its soft light embracing you, giving itself over to you and sinking into your bones, its love unchanging. You thrive in his arms, blooming to life at his touch, the marks left on your skin always fading but you’re content to keep the one left on your heart, a quiet claiming.

He sighs and rakes a hand through his hair, caramel bangs falling haphazardly over his forehead, before turning to you with a rueful smile that breaks you out of your musing. He finishes his drink with one last sip and sets the glass down to the side, on top of the balustrade.

“Forgive me, darling. I’m feeling a little out of sorts tonight.” 

The muted atmosphere falls away as he turns his back on the sky to look at you, and you wonder if the stars think him foolish for it.

“Anything I can help with?” You take his hand in yours, clasping it between your palms and watch as a hint of mischief upturns his lips. And you realize it doesn’t matter if all the planets in the sky call you fools, as long as he never stops smiling at you.

“Perhaps. All day, I feel as if my most precious, mon trésor, has been a tad elusive.” He reaches out to tuck an errant lock of your ear behind your ear, his finger trailing down the length of your jaw as you tilt your head, adopting a thoughtful look.

“That doesn’t sound good.” 

“Not at all,” he agrees, assuming a downcast expression, although his eyes still glint with purpose. “Every time I reach for her, she slips right through my fingers, leaving with me nothing but the memory of her warmth.” 

“Oh, but that’s dreadful,” you gasp, holding his hand up to your chest. “What fool would try to elude you?” 

He smiles a little, leaning in conspiratorially, his mouth ghosting the shell of your ear. You can barely keep from smiling as your stomach clenches in your anticipation. 

“One who takes joy in teasing her poor, desperate lover,” he breathes, winding an arm around your waist as you try to slip away, your palms braced against his firm chest. “All day, she smiles at me, and with every smile I’m left wanting nothing more than to kneel before her and take everything she chooses to give me.” 

His next breath leaves him on a shudder as you turn your head, your lips skimming the length of his jaw.

“With a man like you, is there really ever a choice? You make a woman want to give you everything she has.” 

His smile is truer as he kisses the tip of your nose, while the hand on your hip inches lower. His eyes are bright, almost glowing and you’re struck mute as you watch his long lashes flutter. “As I should. After all, when a woman holds the power to take her lovesick fool apart with a smile, the fool can only try to aim for the same.” 

“If this fool tries anymore, there won’t be anything left to take.” 

“And, perhaps, then I’ll stop fearing her distance.” His lips trace the length of your neck, his nose pressing to your skin as he inhales deeply. “And the fear of her being ripped from my arms will fade.”

You press your lips to his temples, love and sadness tight leashes around your heart. “Then I suppose I’ll keep giving you everything I have.” 

His palm slides further down to cup the swell of your rear. “Your love?” 

You kiss his cheek. “You have it.” 

His licks at the pulse point on your neck, and you tremble in his grasp. “Your body?” 

“Yours.” A gasp leaves you when he sucks at the skin harshly, satisfied at the mark blooming to life. There’s a scrape of something sharp against soft flesh, and your knees grow weaker when you realize it’s the sharp-edged tip of a fang. 

“Your happiness?” He tugs at the sash holding your robe together, loosening it to reveal your underthings. Brimming with his desire, his eyes are molten gold as they bore into yours.

“With you.” He kisses you, gentle and deep. Your hands meet at the nape of his neck, tugging him down so you can slip your tongue into his mouth. A low noise of protest escapes you as he pulls away to kiss his way up to your ear. 

“And yet, you’ve been denying us both the pleasure of each other’s company.” He nips at the lobe of your ear, squeezing your ass gently, his tone dipping into something sly as he continues. “Then I see you laughing without a care with Sebastian. I...I cannot help but wonder if I’ve robbed you of the happiness you deserve.” 

You can’t help the quick roll of your eyes. “Any happiness I deserve is the kind I want.” Your fist the hair at the back of his head, tugging it back to look him in the eyes. They waver in the face of your fierce affection, his lips parted as you tug harder, but you don’t back down. “And I want you.” 

He sighs, but his chest quivers beneath your touch.

“Such ferocity. And no power in the world could make me give that up.” He isn’t teasing anymore, but he slips a thigh between your legs, using his grip on your ass to pull you forward. Your fingers dig into his shirt as you try not to gasp. “Ah, I’m afraid you are stuck with me.” 

You run a hand through his hair as he ducks his head to pepper kisses all over your neck, and down to your collarbone. 

His tongue draws slow, maddening circles over your skin. “So earlier in the kitchen...that wasn’t an attempt to drive me to jealousy?” 

 “I barely have to attempt, but no, it wasn’t.” You hide a sly smile in his hair. “Why, were you actually jealous?” 

“I’ll admit I do find myself rather put out when I can’t have you all to myself. And knowing how deeply you’re coveted…” He pauses. “So you were playing games.” He lifts a breast from the soft fabric of your bustier, tucking the cloth underneath as he squeezes it gently. Even as your body begins to throb under his ministrations, you throw a nervous look over his shoulder to ensure nobody’s in the gardens. “And the roses you received in my absence?” 

You roll your eyes, half-hearted this time, even as your heart attempts to inch its way to your throat. “A gift for you, no doubt, from your oldest friend.” 

He chuckles, soft and dark, and it goes straight to your pussy “A gift for me they were not. Perhaps an attempt to entice my lady love while I was away?” 

“A failed one, then. My heart is perfectly content where it is,” you retort, a pleased smile breaking across his expression before he clears his throat and looks at you seriously. 

“Even so. The very thought of somebody else’s hands on you–a touch uninvited by us, that is–I will not stand for it.” 

“What do you suggest we do, then?” A soft palm slips down his abdomen, and he smirks down at you.

“I have a few suggestions. Each more depraved than the previous, and none you will approve of.” 

His mouth closes over a nipple, sucking harshly, and this time you do moan.

“So-somebody might hear us!” Even so, you push his thigh back to push your hips into his, your lips parting at the press of his clothed arousal between your legs.

“Good. I feel that they can all do with a reminder of who you chose. Including me.” He bites down and you’re helpless to your combined lust in the way you grind against his erection. “This should be a fact they can never forget.“ 

In a quick movement, he’s shifted your positions, leaving you half-sitting on the balustrade. And then he’s sinking down to his knees, urgently planting hot kisses on the inside of your thighs as he spreads them. You can’t tear your eyes away from the entrance to the balcony, afraid that someone will walk in. 

A soft click catches your attention and, incredulous, you look down to see him looking all too pleased with himself, holding your foot up to admire a delicate anklet studded with–

“Those better not be real,” you warn, and he simply smiles at you, pressing his lips to your ankle as his other hand slides up your leg. His tongue traces the skin surrounding the jewelled band, and all the fight leaves you, not that there was much of it in the first place.

He looks happy, after all.

He pets your clothed sex, moving on too smoothly for your liking. “Sometimes, I wonder. What would they think, if they smell you on my breath?” 

He pulls the barrier of your panties aside; you can barely suck in a breath before you feel his tongue, hot and deliberate as it sweeps along your glistening slit. 

“My, my. You’re nearly drenched. Does making me suffer bring you this much pleasure?” he teases, smiling up at you before closing his lips around your swelling clit. Your teeth sink into your lip as you hold your voice back, but he presses his teeth to the flesh, almost biting lightly and a loud cry forces its way out. Your hands are wrapped around the surface of the railing, knuckles white with strain, and with each second he spends sucking at your bundle of nerves your moans get frustratingly louder. “Good girl, let me hear you.” 

You freeze when voices from the garden reach your straining ears. His tongue pushes past your entrance.

He won’t stop. 

You can feel it building in you, the slow, familiar sweep of pleasure ready to greet you, and you know you don’t really want the others to hear you scream as you come. Your thoughts begin to cloud over, and you have to act. 

“Please?” you whimper, threading your fingers through his hair. He freezes in place. “Not here.” 

He peeks up at you, groaning when he catches sight of your face, lower lip jutting out and eyes pleading with him. “Princess, how am I supposed to punish you when you make that face?” 

“I’m sorry,” you say as sincerely as possible, your smile clear in your voice. 

“I shouldn’t be lenient,” he mutters, kissing the skin where your thigh meets your hip. “And it’s so lovely out here.” 

You reach down to cup his cheek, unwavering in the face of his pouting. It’s the Van Gogh brothers down in the gardens, and you’re sure one of them will end you if you subject his brother to the sight of the Count taking you in the balcony. “Do you really want someone to see us?”

He hums, kissing your palm. “Maybe.” 

You fight to keep the grin off your face as you school your face into something thoughtful and shy.  “I could...I could show you how I’ve been touching myself while you’ve been away. I’ve missed you so much, I...did it almost every day.” 

He stares at you. 

“You, mon coeur, are bad, bad woman.” Desire flashes, burning bright, in his eyes. “Fine, if that’s what you wish.” 

You can only laugh as, before you can feign innocence, he sweeps you into his arms, tugging your robe closed as he practically sprints through the doors. His growls at the way you lick down his neck are warnings, the flash of his fangs at you arousing you more than you would have once thought possible. 

“I couldn’t sleep last night, wondering if I should just give in and sneak into your room. Wake you up with a sweet kiss or with your cock in my mouth,” you whisper in his ear, sucking at his earlobe. “You always like that.”

“___,” he warns, even as his grip tightens. “I’m not joking, my love. Say another word and you’ll live to regret it.” 

You nod solemnly. He looks satisfied as you grow closer to his chambers. Just as the doors are in sight, you catch his attention with a quick oh! 

“I used the hairbrush you gave me once. Just a little bit–”

He kicks the doors open and tosses you on the bed, striding back to slam them shut. There’s that dark, unforgiving sort of lust in his eyes and it’s exactly what you’ve been craving. You slip your robe off your shoulders as his thumbs hook into the waistband of your panties, leaning over you to get them off as you pull the bustier over your head.

“On your back. Spread your legs, you know what to do. I want you ready for me.” He brushes your hair away from your forehead. “And darling–you will not come.” 

Your fingers pause in their light stroking. 

“Comte?” 

“I know you heard me. Your first for the night will be with me. Allow me this, please.” He runs a warm palm up the length of your leg, and to your slight surprise, he takes a seat next to you instead. “Go on, show me.” 

You’re inexplicably nervous at first, with him looming over you, but with the way his hands glide over every inch of your skin, tender yet possessive, and his mouth sampling wherever it pleases–it doesn’t take long before your hips are jerking up into your hand. His fingers caress your soft breasts, tugging at the pebbled peaks, sucking until they appear nearly swollen.

You peek up at him, catching the slight bob of his throat as he looks at the fingers sinking into your heat. You don’t think twice before slipping them out and holding them up to his mouth, and he takes them into his mouth with a soft groan and you take this wonderful opportunity to peek at the tent at the front of his pants.

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” he says, but doesn’t stop licking until your skin is free of your slick. 

“You just looked so hungry, I couldn’t help it.” He doesn’t argue and doesn’t fight you when you pull him down next to you. He just watches you, fervent and patient, breath growing heavier as you unbutton his shirt before shifting your attention to his pants, tugging them down his toned thighs, smiling at the wet spot in his silk underpants before you help him pull them off.

His hips jerk up when your tongue circles his nipples, his hands digging into the sheets as you lick a warm path across his collarbone, a choked groan leaving him when your hand sneaks past his neglected cock to cup his balls. But as you’d suspected, his patience is nowhere to be found tonight as he groans and yanks you up into a torrid kiss.

“I thought you were going to punish me,” you manage to ask in between his heated kisses, hot jolts of arousal sparking through you at his weak moans as you stroke his cock, spreading his slick along the length. 

“Later,” he mumbles, dragging his tongue along your jaw, his abdomen taut as he twists under your touch. “Later. I need you.” 

He sits up, his tongue still licking into your mouth, and his hands are everywhere. On the nape of your neck, down your spine, digging into your waist, squeezing your ass. Urgent, needy sounds escape his mouth and send your blood pumping through you. 

It’s one of those nights.

You hold him close, even as he moans at the slow rut of your hips against his, your dripping entrance sliding over his length and back, and his fingers dig into your skin as he looks at you through half-lidded eyes, lips never too far from yours.

There are times when he loves a slow, unhurried seduction, to woo you and take his time pampering you. And there are times when he all he needs is to lose himself in your heat, needs you to peel back his carefully crafted layers and dig into the man underneath, to pull him out and hold him to your chest. This man who loses his composure, who throws his head back on a near-silent moan as you sink onto his length, who clings to you as you begin a quick, harsh tempo. 

“I’ve got you,” you whisper, your voice breaking, spine arching when he slips in deeper. “I’ve got you.” 

He holds on to your hips when you falter, stopping you from rising up and keeping his cock deep in you. “Ma moité. If I could, I would stay here forever. I would keep you in my bed, bury myself in you and never move again.” 

“Fu-,” you gasp as he grinds deeper, as if trying to gain access to your very soul, to get his hands on what makes you you and hoard it for himself. He thrusts up, his grip on your hips helping you move against him, forcing you harder onto his cock.

“Mm. Je t'aime et je t'aimerai pour toujours.” You shudder as his honeyed tone roughens into a rumble. He kisses you, hard and fast, and your mind can’t muster up a coherent thought as he bounces you in his lap. 

Comte stops to rise to his knees and press you into the bed, hooking your legs around his waist. He continues to push deeper, with his cock and his body, until your legs are bent, thighs nearly touching your sides. 

“Hold on tight, darling.”

You’re going to need tomorrow off, you realize in a distant part of your mind as he rears back to slam his hips into yours. Your head crashes back into the plush mattress, muscles straining as you try to meet his thrusts. The refined persona sheds completely and his fangs slip out, and your breath catches in your throat, your cunt clenching tight in the face of the other side of him. His hair is in complete disarray, falling wildly around him, his eyes are all greed and lust, but his hands are gentle as they slip into yours and pin them above your head. 

“You’re so beautiful. So bright,” he murmurs, pressing rough kisses over your breasts, groaning at the taste of your skin.  And you can only laugh, at this moon turned man kissing his devotion onto your skin when you’re burning inside out with desire and elation, when you’ve managed to draw the moon down into your arms and hold him in your arms. 

“I love you,” you sob, trembling with the force of his thrusts and the ardour in his gaze. The anklet jiggles where it hangs over your ankle. You drop your head back, baring your throat to him and you can feel him struggle with his overwhelming need as he whines low in his throat and leans in.

“And I love you.”

His fangs graze your skin ever so lightly even as he pounds into you, and with one last thought of how there probably hadn’t been any point in retreating to the bedroom, you scream as his fangs break through the barrier of your skin. One of his hands slips between your legs, pressing insistently. 

“My name, ma chérie. Say my name.” 

It leaves you on a broken moan as you come hard around him, your walls squeezing him frantically, and his hips stutter as he continues to suck greedily, his sinful moans muffled by your skin. You can’t stop trembling as he pumps himself into you, mind-numbing pleasure stealing your mind away. His mouth leaves your skin just as he loses control, a warmth filling your trembling sex as you watch him swallow dazedly. 

His pupils are blown almost completely wide as his licks around the edges of his lips, hips slowing to a stop as you both look at each other, chests heaving, skin slick with sweat. His blinks rapidly at the taste of your blood, looking half-intoxicated, eyes raking over your flushed skin and wild hair.

“...are you alright?” he asks gently, and you can’t quite speak just yet, nodding mutely in response. He licks the puncture wound clean, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you up, shuffling around the bed until he relaxes back into the pillows with you clinging to him, his softening length still buried in you. “Could we stay like this for a while?” 

“Mm. Yes, please,” you finally mumble, and he holds you tighter, smoothing his hand up and down your back. “Feels nice.”

He laughs softly, and you muster up all your strength to shift up and kiss him straight on the mouth, the taste of copper strong on your tongue. You brush past it insistently, tangling your tongue with his as you swallow his soft noises. He keeps you there, breath mingling, smiling fondly as you fight to keep your eyes open, your skin pleasantly warm against his.

His skin is bright with the afterglow, every line of his face relaxed, and you marvel at how unguarded he looks right now. Even now, moonlight falls in through the windows, trying to reach him, but he’s content to kiss the tip of your nose with a soft mwah, repeating it despite your complaints about sweat. You return it, stretching up to reach his nose, and it turns into a swift exchange of kisses until you’re both smiling like complete fools.

“...Did you really use the hairbrush?”  He sighs softly, tucking your head under his chin. “I would love to see that, but I can always get you better toys.”

Your responding snort is more amused than disgruntled. “Would that include ones I can use on you?”

He’s quiet for a moment, before pressing his slow smile into your hair, the rise and fall of his chest steady under your cheek.

“Mm. Anything you want.” 

Translations:

ma chérie: my darling 

mon trésor: my treasure

Mon moité: my (other/better) half

Je t'aime et je t'aimerai pour toujours: I love you and I will always love you/I will love you forever

ending note bc I can’t shut up: the moon was so gorgeous last night, I actually stepped out to get a better look. It seemed to have an almost golden tint to it, which made me think ‘Ah, yes. Comte.’ And then I rushed back in. Yes I’m that b*tch. Romance, baby. its 6 am i havent slept