#if i had art skills... shakes fist

[stormywanderer]

Tricks of an Ex-rogue

Summary: Balor decides to use his old skills with rope for more explicit purposes. This is smut. Rated: Mature Author Notes: Y/N reader, p in v sex, bondage, over stimulation. This is just a oneshot, not really edited. Above art is official concept art from the game. Art and characters property of Fields of Mistria developer group. Plot/writing my own.

Falling for Balor had been easy. Like slipping fine satin silk over one’s hand. All it took was a sudden rainstorm and you were done for. Running like chickens past the drop box he intended to stop at, right to the house. An offer of mulled wine, some left over tart, a fully stocked fireplace, and soon he had your thighs pressed all the way back as he fucked you slow and sweetly in the fire light. Neither of you were sure when the storm had passed. Only that he had a sudden appreciation for a sweaty body splayed out next to a hearth.

Ever since, you both had been at it like rabbits. Every trip of his to your farm to pick up goods is another excuse to have you alone. Neither of you could trust being caught at the inn, not after the kids had walked into his room for that prank. Instead, the soft double bed, or your couch, or the fireplace hearth, or any other surface in your house had become his preferred place to see you.

Today wasn’t much different, only it was especially different.

“What’s that? I’m not sure I understood.”

Balor damn well understood, you know he did. With the blasted vibrating stone pressed unforgivably against your clit, he knew what he was doing.

You jolted at the electric sensation the flashed through you from your clit. The vibrating stone was relentless and being hung from the ceiling while tied up like wild game in a snare meant there was nothing you could do about it. Except for whine and beg while your thighs begin to shake.

“I-I can’t take any more-“you gasped. Every muscle tensed against the ropes; sensation long gone in your toes though you’re sure they’re curled too. It was all you could do to keep breathing, panting heavily as your chest heaved against the rope that was strapped both under and over your breasts.

He had your legs bent, calves folded behind you and tied to your thighs. The rope made a suitable enough harness, but being suspended meant that you couldn’t close your legs in retaliation if you tried. Arms? Those were also useless now. Folded behind your back and restrained at your forearms, all you could do was clench your fists to manage the onslaught of pleasure.

The only thing free, really, was your head. Which was currently tilted back as the wave of pleasure crested higher, and higher, and-

“Oh- OH - I can’t- I can’t-”

“You can,” Balor promised, his breath ghosting over your ear. “You can, and you will.”

With that, the intensity skyrocketed. The magic stone in his hand pressed firmly to your wet pussy far too much for you to handle. Your thighs shake and hips jolt against the restraints, as another electric flash of pure mind blowing ecstasy shoots right up your center to your chest. Your mind shorts, a shrill shriek breaking through you as your vision flashes white.

And it doesn’t stop at that, pussy clenching around nothing as your orgasm releases on to Balor’s nimble fingers.

“That’s it pretty girl. Look at you doing so well for me.”

Balor slows the intensity to near nothing, a small mercy, as he rubs small soothing circles with it against your clit. It’s several moments before your muscles can relax, aftershocks convulsing through you as you pant. When you do finally fall limp, head rolling forward to rest of Balor’s shoulder, he uses his free hand to stroke your hair.

“I’m so proud of you, you know? That was impressive.” The merchant coos soft praises against your ear. “Such a good girl for me.”

Balor pulls away then, gently cradling your head in his hand still as he looks down between you. Soft, plush, peaks of skin bubble between each cross section of rope. Your breasts are heavy as they bulge out in the makeshift harness. His eyes roam the landscape of skin created by his own hands till his gaze lands on your pussy. Between your thighs, everything is absolutely drenched. The sight is mesmerizing as he plays with you by massaging the still stone between your thighs still. Watching the way it slips between your plump lips.

His distraction is short lived, the sight reminding him of how painfully hard he’s been and that he wants nothing more than to have it be his cock slipping through those perfect lips.

Balor takes your chin in hand, nudging your mouth open.

“Here, hold this for me?” Balor says as he takes the dripping stone, still faintly glowing where a rune etches across one side, and places in your tongue before pressing your mouth shut. Its fills your mouth, completely stuffed. Unfortunately, the act of having skin contact on both sides of the magic item reactivates it and it starts to buzz back to life in your mouth.

Balor pretends to not notice the muffled moan that escapes you. At how readily you take in your own essence as it dripped off his fingers over your lips. Instead, he leans forward to whisper in your ear again.

“Before I continue, are you still okay?”

You nod twice, remembering the explicit instructions he had asked you to follow to be sure you were okay. Two nods to continue.

“Perfect-“ Balor said as he trailed down to kiss your neck.

His kisses become sloppier as he lowers himself to lave over one of your nipples before sucking the pert peak into his mouth. He’s as unrelenting at this. Suckling and mouthing over your nipple till the skin blotches purple, before switching to the other side. His patience comes in spades, still having yet to pleasure himself as you squirm till your breasts bounce against his mouth. Its only when he’s suitably fished with the second, slowly pulling his mouth back with your tit bouncing back with an soft ‘pop’, that he finally pulls away to grip squeeze your hips in his hands. You’re ready too, have been more than ready, dripping slowly on to the rug below you in anticipation.

“You look so good like this-“ Balor hums.

Balor wraps one arm around your waist to support you as his other deals with the knot behind you quickly. You tilt forward, weight no longer supported by the rope as he holds you up. Despite his slim stature Balor is more than able to carry you to the bed. He lowers your gently, before using the rope to turn you around so that your face down on the bed and ass up.

His skilled hands leave your body briefly to relieve himself of his own clothing. First his white shirt, tossed aside, then to his blue pants where his bulge visibly strains for release. He makes quick work of his belt. Without breaking his ministrations across your chest, he whips the belt out and shoves his pants down allowing his aching cock to spring free. You can only hear the shuffling of fabric and the clank of his belt as it drops to the floor.  Next thing you know, he grabs the rope at your hips and yanks you back to the edge of the bed where his cock slips up against your ass as your thighs slip over the edge to frame his own.

There is a brief separation from him as he pulls back. His slips the tip through your folds twice before pressing forward, followed by the slow ache of him filling you to the brim. Practically over spilling from your metaphorical cup as your breath escapes you. You can help the way your muscles flutter around the length of him at his pulls back once again. Only this time, he leans forward to take a fist full of your hair before slamming himself back home.

“Bmmmff!” Or Balor, if your mouth was gagged on the blasted stone.

He chuckles behind you and pulls your hair back more, lifting your front off the bed and arching your head back. “You’ll need to be a little clearer darling, I'm not sure I understood you.”

He sets a purposeful pace. Precise as always as he take’s his time thrusting at just the right angle. Its deepened by your position, your tied bad legs pulling muscles in just the right way for him.

“Fucking perfect,” he breathes out.

It’s barely audible over the slap of your skin against his. Each thrust punctuated by how he pulls you back to meet them.

You’re babbling around the stone, eyes tearing as you feel your body turn to molten lead. Hot in your lower belly as he hits the perfect spot over and over. As his pace slowly increases, so does your panting resulting in the stone slipping from your mouth and landing wetly on the bedding.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes.” Comes your subsequent response to having your mouth free again. Babbling every time he fills the void only he can. “I’m so close, please~

It’s a small plea, a beg for mercy, He chuckles behind you as the pace quickens, his free handle snaking around your middle to massage firm circles into your clit. Its still far too sensitive, earning a cry from you as you clench around him. Its not long before your gushing around him again, the sound of each wet thrust growing louder and the molten lead of your belly flushes forward to seize you. Your eyes roll back, mouth open sluttily as you welcome each thrust that grows sloppier than the last.

“Need you to fill me, please fill me Balor.”

“Mmmph~ what-whatever my darling wishes~” Is all he can manage now, his skin slapping yours so loudly your happy you don’t have closer neighbors. Your muscles are still fluttering around his cock when he finally reaches his own climax with a soft groan before driving himself home and rutting in small movements inside your plush walls. He slumps over then, releasing your hair as his heads falls to rest on the back of your shoulder.

In the minutes afterwards,  still stuffed and catching your breathes, its like coming down from the sky. Your racing heart flutters back down to a normal pace, breath still a bit shaky put slowing as well. He rubs soothing circles in your hips with his thumbs before slowly leaning back up to appreciate the mess he made of your pussy. His seed spills form between your lips as he retreats

“Beautiful.” He murmurs softly, undoing the knot at your thighs and bringing circulation back to your lower extremities. Then your arms, helping you to bring them forward again despite the ache and massaging the blood flow back into them. Once satisfied that you could lay more comfortably, he gently pulls the red cord from the many twists around your body till your freed from its constraints. The moment he does so, he climbs back onto the bed to wrap you back into his arms where you melt into a relaxed puddle within them. A soft little nest made of your favorite ex-rogue.

[im-not-thinking-confetti-cannons]

Day 8: Daddy Kink

Warnings: none

Rating: E

Pairing: Raylan x Tim

They’re all sitting in Art’s office after a hell of a day, four glasses of the good stuff split among them, when Tim says it – casual, like Raylan’s stomach doesn’t flip at the sound of his gravelly voice curling around the words.

“At least you got to shoot your daddy.” He rolls his neck a little, and Raylan can see the way he’s tense, even with the alcohol and the late hour. “Mine had the nerve to die before I got back from basic with skills and a loaded weapon.”

And Raylan would think it didn’t mean anything, except for the way Tim’s eyes flick towards him when he’s done, a little dark, a little challenging, a little assessing, like he’s waiting for Raylan’s response and he’s going to judge him by it. Like he’s waiting for a certain kind of response.

Raylan swallows. “You didn’t miss much,” he replies, when he’s fairly certain his voice won’t give anything away. It's the truth, though. “I thought it was going to be way more fun than it was.”

Tim huffs a soundless little laugh, but his gaze doesn’t leave Raylan’s for a long, long moment. So, really, it’s not surprising when, half an hour later, Tim’s waiting for him outside, leaning up against the hood of Raylan’s car. He looks up when Raylan approaches, and if they were somewhere else, if Raylan hadn’t heard the way Tim said that damn word, he might think the man was looking for a fight.

“You tell me I got this wrong, I'll fuck off and we can forget about this whole thing."

Tim's voice doesn't shake, but the hands in his pockets are fisted and there’s the tell-tale twitching in his jaw that tells Raylan his teeth are grinding together. Whether or not he’s looking for a fight, he’s ready for one, and Raylan knows that’s the sort of thing that only comes from experience.

“You don’t have it wrong,” Raylan says, and Tim’s whole body relaxes just about instantly, his shoulders slumping as the tension bleeds out of them.

“All right.” He nods to himself, less like he’s trying to convince himself and more like he’s reminding himself, and something in Raylan’s chest twists. “Yeah, all right.”

Raylan drives them back to the motel while Tim sits in the passenger seat, seemingly torn between fidgeting and sitting with his back ramrod straight. And if it was nerves, if it was uncertainty, Raylan might call the whole thing off, but he’s familiar with the energy buzzing under Tim’s skin. He knows it well, what it’s like to spend god knows how long denying yourself something, only to have it offered up. 

(Raylan had to leave Kentucky to find that. Tim had to come there. Later, Raylan might examine that in the privacy of his own mind, might wonder if it means anything other than them being damn lucky to find each other.)

When they get to the motel, Tim follows him inside silently, but Raylan’s barely got the door closed before he’s got an armful of former army sniper, his fingers fisted in Raylan’s shirt like he’s trying to give Raylan a reason not to push him away. There’s desperation there, and Raylan’s never minded a little, isn’t the type to complain when someone wants him so badly it’s all they can think about, but there’s a difference between a little and the way Tim is clinging to him.

So he crowds Tim against the door, bracing his hands against it as he leans in, close enough that Tim has to tilt his chin up to meet Raylan’s gaze. And when he speaks, he makes sure his voice is soft, gentle.

 “How long’s it been since someone took care of you?”

Tim blinks up at him, and his grin is just a second too slow in appearing. “You mean, how long’s it been since I got fucked?”

Raylan shifts, wedging his thigh between Tim’s legs, and as far as admonishment goes it doesn’t do much, but it’s worth it for the way Tim’s eyelashes flutter, the way his hips roll against Raylan’s thigh. “If that’s what I wanted to know, that’s what I would have asked.” He leans down, so close he could kiss Tim – but he doesn’t. He stays just out of reach, even when Tim tries to chase him, though he can’t help but smile when Tim huffs in annoyance.

“Fine,” he says. “It’s… been a while.”

Raylan might even believe him, if he thought anyone had ever taken their time with Tim at all. But he’s not going to make Tim admit to that, isn’t going to force him to be any more vulnerable than he’s already made himself. He’s got an assurance on the tip of his tongue when Tim cocks his head back, looks up at him before licking his lips. “You gonna take care of me, daddy?”

And – somehow, even knowing where this was going, anticipating it, it still catches Raylan off-guard. Almost immediately, he wants to make Tim say it again, wants to hear what he sounds like when he’s begging instead of challenging, when an orgasm or two has wrecked his voice. 

“Baby,” Raylan murmurs, and it’s impossible to miss the way Tim’s eyes darken, the way his fingers tighten in Raylan’s shirt. “Baby, I’m going to take such good care of you.”

Tim’s a slim little thing, under the jeans and henley. It’s not hard for Raylan to pick him up, especially when the bed is six feet away and Raylan wants nothing more than to get Tim onto it. But Tim still sucks in a breath and clutches at his shoulders like he can’t quite believe it, and Raylan can feel just how into it he is, what with Tim’s interest pressed right up against his stomach. 

When Raylan lays him out on the bed, Tim turns his face up, clearly asking, and it's not something Raylan wants to deny him. He leans down and kisses him, sweet and slow, flicking his tongue over the seam of Tim's lips just for the way it earns him a soft little gasp. Tim melts under the kiss, goes all but limp against the mattress, and all it does is make Raylan more sure that no one's taken care of this boy in too damn long. 

He barely pulls back to get their clothes off, and Tim doesn't complain, letting Raylan fumble with buttons and buckles while licking into Tim's mouth, where he tastes like heat and whiskey. And Christ, the sound he makes when Raylan skims his palm up the length of his cock – Raylan already knows he's going to be playing that on repeat in his head for the rest of his life. 

Lube is in the drawer, and while Raylan warms it on his fingers he kisses down the line of Tim’s jaw, his neck, feeling the way his pulse jumps every time Raylan gets a little clever with his teeth. And when Raylan eases that first finger into him, he can feel the way Tim moans low in his throat, all sex and need and a hundred other things that have Raylan aching. 

“You don’t have to–” Tim begins, and Raylan doesn’t really care to hear the rest of that sentence, so he nips at Tim’s collarbone and curls his finger and feels the way Tim shudders. And almost of their own volition, Tim’s arms come up, hesitating for just a second before he stretches them out above his head and lets them fall to the mattress, wrists up – inviting, if Raylan has ever seen it before.

When Raylan starts teasing him with a second finger, Tim says his name, whines, "Raylan," and lifts his hips, trying to make him go faster. And Raylan doesn't even think about it, just pinches the inside of Tim's thigh just hard enough to sting and curls his finger, hard and deliberate. 

"Is that what you're calling me now?" he asks. Tim's mouth falls open, though whether it's from pleasure or outrage Raylan's not certain – but whatever Tim was planning to say dies when Raylan gives him another finger. He moans instead, throwing his head back against the pillow.

And then, quietly: "Daddy."

Raylan curls his fingers, just to get Tim to whine and buck his hips, and then he's slipping his fingers out and slicking himself, gritting his teeth against the pleasure of his own hand. But it’s nothing compared to how it feels to push inside – slow and careful, but so damn good. Tim arches his back as Raylan sinks into him, his mouth falling open around a soft little oh that makes heat curl low in Raylan’s stomach.

His fingers flex against the sheets, and Raylan didn’t forget – he shifts, reaching up to take Tim’s wrists in his hands and hold them against the mattress. It’s a guess, and he keeps his grip light until Tim moans, his eyelashes fluttering. Raylan swallows, throat suddenly dry. “Yeah?” he asks softly, brushing his thumb over the inside of one wrist. “Like this?”

He rolls his hips before Tim can do anything more than nod frantically, immediately addicted to the way Tim reacts, the way his gaze goes hazy, the way his cock jerks against his stomach. And he’d only meant it as a tease, as a taste, but Tim is hot and tight around him and Raylan wants – and, judging from the broken, desperate little sound Tim makes, he’s not the only one. He’s careful, though. Deliberate. The kind of easy movements that might get him called loving or lazy, depending on who he’s got underneath him.

Tim doesn’t seem to have any complaints. His lips move wordlessly, his breath hitching beautifully every time Raylan bottoms out, and it’s not long before Raylan feels himself going a little harder, a little faster, chasing the pretty little sounds Tim can’t seem to help but make. He shifts, repositioning his knee to get a little better leverage, and when he thrusts again Tim keens, high and desperate. “Daddy, please,” he sobs, and Raylan immediately slows, leans down to brush a kiss over Tim’s mouth that’s half comfort, half want.

“You don’t have to beg, baby,” he murmurs as Tim pants harshly. “I’ve got you. I’m gonna take care of you.”

He stays like that, close enough that they’re breathing the same air, as he rolls his hips again. Tim shudders beautifully, a groan working its way out of his throat when he realizes that, like this, he can rub his cock against the hard plane of Raylan’s stomach. “Fuck,” Tim breathes, and when he yanks at Raylan’s grip on his wrists and finds he can’t move he repeats it, cursing as his cock smears precome all over their stomachs.

"That's it, baby." Raylan grinds his hips down, relishing the way Tim trembles, his whole body wound tight. Raylan spreads his knees, gets a little leverage, and then snaps his hips forward, finally fucking Tim properly. It's achingly good, from the first time he bottoms out, and he knows he's not going to last long, not with Tim all but mewling underneath him.

"Just like this," he says, and Tim's hazy gaze focuses on him. "You're gonna come just like this. I'm not even gonna have to touch your cock, am I?"

Tim whimpers, whines when Raylan adjusts the angle and hits the sweet spot inside him. "That's it, baby," Raylan urges. "Come on. Come for me."

Tim shouts when he comes, spilling between them, and the way he clenches around Raylan is enough to send him over the edge, too. He manages another handful of short, sharp little thrusts, just enough to fuck Tim through his orgasm and right into the aftershocks, before the oversensitivity becomes too much and he has to stop. And, even then, with the way Tim continues to spasm, to twitch his hips up like he’s trying to chase just a little more, well – it takes a long, long minute for Raylan to be able to pull out without his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

He’s going to go grab a towel to clean them up, but as soon as he moves to get up Tim grabs at his arms – and somehow that’s what makes color bleed across his cheeks, splotchy and pink. “It’s fine,” Tim pants, and Raylan’s spent just enough time around him to translate, to know that it’s fine really means please stay.

It’s no hardship. Raylan’s fairly certain that his knees are going to be jelly if he tries to stand, anyway, so instead he just shifts a little to the side and lays down next to Tim, trying not to let his surprise become verbal when Tim follows him, curls into his side and tucks his head into the crook between Raylan’s neck and shoulder.

Raylan can feel the way Tim swallows, and his chest is still heaving when he says, “Just, uh, give me a minute, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

Raylan can’t help the way his arm tightens reflexively around Tim’s waist, but judging from the soft, sweet little sound he makes against Raylan’s chest, Tim doesn’t mind much. “Like hell,” Raylan says, just to make sure his point gets across. ”Kicking you out of bed doesn’t really sound like taking care of you, Gutterson.”

Tim lifts his head just enough to show Raylan the mild irritation that flashes across his face. “I think last names are a step in the wrong direction, here.”

“Yeah, well, I think you trying to ‘get out of my hair’ is a step in the wrong direction.”

“...yeah, all right,” Tim allows, and with the way they’re pressed together, Raylan can feel the way he relaxes. “But – fair warning. I tend to steal the blankets.” He flashes a grin, sharp and quick, with only a little uncertainty around the edges, before laying his head back down on Raylan’s chest. 

It’s the kind of smile a man might fall in love with, if he wasn’t careful. And Raylan’s a lot of things, but no one’s ever accused him of being careful.

find this fic on AO3 here:

[systemadministratorclu]

🥤 - Their snack or drink getting stuck in the vending machine.

Milo just wants a chocolate bar...

//okay, first off, this mental image is fucking adorable. I wish I had the art skills to draw it, XD. Second, there's two ways this could go, and I'll share both because I find both very amusing. //

Way 1:

Stuck. Of course it is. Of course this would happen to him. He bangs on the glass. Nothing. He tries to shake the machine, though he really can't. He gets down on his knees and tries to reach up inside the machine, but he can't even reach close to where the damn thing is. He tries getting his money back and inputting his selection again. Again it's stuck.

"Dammit!" He exclaims. He's going to have to get creative. He looks in his pocket to see what he has that might help him and suddenly finds the multitool Lyle gave him. Plus some of his cartography tools. Using both of these, he gets to work and soon he has the lock picked and the door open. Finally! He grabs his chocolate bar....and then takes another out of spite for the machine that tried to deny him. He then locks it back and gives it a disdainful kick before he walks off with his snacks as if nothing slightly criminal happened here.

Way 2:

Milo stared at his stuck chocolate bar. He tried banging the machine, tried to shake it, tried everything. But nothing worked. He wasn't strong enough to shake the thing very hard anyway.......but he knew someone who was.

"Lyle! I need your help!" Lyle Rourke was there in an instant and easily figured out what was wrong when he saw the stuck chocolate bar and Milo's disheartened face.

"Stand back, Mi, I'll get it for you." Milo does stand back. There's the sound of glass breaking as Rourke throws a pile driver of a fist into the vending machine, successfully shattering the glass. He then pulls out the bar and hands it to Milo, then takes one for himself and walks away with his arm around Milo.

[silverskyy]

I need to talk about what happened last night in my cyberpunk red game because it was Crazy (long rambling post incoming)

Context: the party is a team of bounty hunters, finally closing in on our target, a mysterious murderer who has been leaving a trail of bodies across this district. We've discovered a connection to an underground fighting ring and reasoned that we can lure him into revealing himself if we present an enticing enough fighter as a challenge

Enter BR-549: a heavily augmented man filled with just as much trauma, decked out with weapons and an outfit designed to make him look imposing. His role in game is the Solo, which means he has many abilities geared towards fighting, a big pool of hit points, and is all around the obvious best choice to send into the ring

Enter my character: Glimmer ✨, a former fashion influencer recently turned true crime investigative reporter. Her intended contribution this session was mostly picking out everyone's outfits because, as a Media role, she primarily has socially focused skills. But. A girl has to protect herself right? So she also has a very high martial arts skill and an evasion as good as BR's (this will be important later). On top of that she recently picked up some karma, a homebrew miraculous material that can, among many other things, be mentally controlled to power up attacks (+1 to damage)

This all means nothing I'm sure

So the party gets to the scrapyard in which this fighting ring takes place and, not too surprisingly, discover we will need to prove ourselves competent fighters to be allowed entry. Things shake out so that BR and Glimmer go down into the pit to duke it out and hype up BR for the crowd. We pick out weapons beforehand, all sportsmanlike, and BR goes in with his baton and Glimmer goes in with a layer of glittering karma around her fists

The way fights in this arena work is there are five stones scattered around the pit. Cover a stone with your opponent's blood (mechanically, do enough damage close enough to a stone in one round) and a point is yours. Get three points and you win the match

Round 1: the other player and I decide to roll initiative each round to keep things spicy, but BR's is ofc better than Glimmer's so he goes first. Fairly standard turn choice, swings twice and gets a decent amount of damage in. Glimmer strafes around to be as far from the stones as she can and still attack, swings twice...and hits for more damage. Which means more blood on the stone

The ref calls 1 Point for Glimmer

Round 2: everyone is taken aback at how the last round went and I'm just happy I had a good showing. BR goes first again and backs up to another stone to hold his attacks. His player knows Glimmer's ranged attacks (throwing karma pellets) aren't as good as her melee and she wants to draw her to an unbloody stone. I decide I will not be baited and try to blast him anyway. I fail, but BR's turn is wasted, so the round is a draw

Round 3: wanting him to seem cool, BR's player has him try to rip away control of Glimmer's karma instead of outright attacking. While very close he does fail the opposed roll, so she has him move further away out of Glimmer's movement range. I could try again with the ranged attacks (proven to be risky and lowers my karma amount) or switch the karma into a shield (potentially useful but a waste if he just steals it next turn). Instead Glimmer moves to the center of the ring, shouts to the crowd that he's a coward for running, and holds her attacks. The round ends with no blood drawn

Round 4: this round starts slow with BR moving in, prompting some small hits from Glimmer and dealing a bit of damage in return. Then Glimmer's actual turn begins

Here is where I need to explain how crits work in the Cyberpunk Red system. Damage is rolled with d6s and the more powerful you are or the stronger your weapon the more dice you roll. To get a crit you need to roll two 6s, regardless of how many damage dice you get. This is a benefit of using stronger weapons; you reduce your rate of fire in return for a bigger damage pool and a higher chance for the crippling impact of crits

Based on her body score, Glimmer's martial arts attacks do 2d6 damage, which means it's extremely unlikely that she would crit...except on her second attack she does and when we roll on the crit table we find out that she broke BR's leg

Needless to say, the ref calls 2 Points for Glimmer

Round 5: We Are All Shook, and then BR rolls so bad on initiative Glimmer goes first! At this point I know I should back off, but the plan of making BR look powerful is pretty well fucked already and I can't pass up the badass opportunity I've been handed. Glimmer continues to attack and misses once, so I have her kick him and then walk away—BR's movement is reduced by 4 due to the leg, meaning he can't catch up to her. He shuffles after, on the brink of a full cyberpsychosis/PTSD meltdown, tries to steal the karma, and fails again. The kick didn't do much damage so the round is another draw

Round 6: BR is back to going first and his player and I have a quick ooc conversation over whether he wants to throw her into a stone or toss aside his baton and punch her to death. A throw would do a hefty amount of damage, but he would first have to grapple her and Glimmer's martial arts school lets her possibly break the arm of a grappler (we have delighted in this happening to enemies already). She decides to just have him punch and moves in to deal some hurt

The first attack misses by a mile. The second attack succeedes by just 2 points. In this system, you have a luck pool each session you can use to beef up rolls, and mine is a lot bigger than BR's. I spend it to make him miss again. It hasn't shown up yet, but Glimmer's martial arts school also lets her, if all melee attacks that turn miss, throw an attacker without grappling them first

To recap, Glimmer breaks BR's leg, walks away with a dismissive kick, then when he surges after to murder her grabs his arm and hurls him into the nearest stone

So uh, the ref calls 3 Points for Glimmer

And then BR continued to try to attack and Glimmer realized She Had Fucked Up and so had to run out of the pit to have our other party member talk him down and our entire plan of having the guy actually built for fighting draw out the killer was completely trashed but it was really really fucking cool and I will treasure the win forever 😊

[looneyleyle]

mad-eye moody ~ c. diggory

synopsis: who knew that going to the quidditch world cup with her two best friends would change ava's life forever.

warnings: character deaths

words: 6131

note: from my wattpad account, written nov 20 2020

ava's pov

i woke up to a wet, cold sensation washing over my body. wiping off what i hoped was water, i opened my eyes and glared at the culprits.

"nothing better than a good old-fashioned muggle prank." fred snickered. george fist-bumped him before handing me a towel. he then put down the bucket of water he had poured on me.

"if i weren't so tired right now, you two would be soooo dead." i mumbled, finally getting out of the bed and grabbing my clothes for the day.

"cheer up, save your sulking for when bulgaria loses." george taunted. i looked back at him and rolled my eyes.

"you wish. with krum on the team, the irish don't stand a chance." i got dressed in the bathroom while the twins continued to argue that the irish were superior. i walked out with my deep red jumper on and a pair of ripped black jeans.

"the irish haven't been good since o'hare left. their defensive skills are shit. plus, lynch isn't nearly as good as krum. bulgaria went up against the irish last year, and lynch fell for all of krum's tricks. he's too thick to see through krum's fakes, even if krum is equally as stupid." i said as we walked down the stairs. we each grabbed our bags and got a muffin off of the table before going outside. we were all waiting for ron and harry, who apparently kept falling back asleep.

"we have a ton of new products for this year. we'll mostly try them out on filch, but maybe we'll have another rubbish defense against the dark arts teacher that we can experiment on." fred explained as we all walked to the portkey.

"like that fool lockhart." george added.

"sadly, i won't have as many classes with you lot this year. i'm going to be taking mostly newt classes." i told the two.

"gross, you're willingly signing up for extra work."

"plus, you'll be with a bunch of the stuck up smart people." i just laughed.

"well, some of us take our education seriously." i said pointedly, the two looking away sheepishly. i held back a bit and joined hermione and ginny's conversation about the quidditch world cup. it was the first time going for all of us. our group kept walking for another half a mile before an older man appeared, leaning against a tree.

"ah, amos!" mr. weasley exclaimed. the two hugged before introducing everyone. i tuned them out, not particularly caring about this friend of mr. weasley.

"… and this strapping young lad must be cedric, am i right?" mr. weasley asked.

"yes sir." a male's voice said. i looked up to see an extremely handsome boy, probably around my age. hermione, ginny, and i all shared a look with each other. we continued with our conversation, but my eyes would drift to cedric every once in a while. noticing this, ginny purposely pushed me to the spot next to cedric when we got to the portkey. i was going to glare at her, but cedric looked my way and gave me a smile.

"hello, i'm cedric diggory." he said, extending his hand for me to shake.

"ava carpenter. nice to meet you." i introduced, shaking his hand.

"the pleasure is mine." he smiled, and i knew this boy must have hundreds of girls at his feet. we all grabbed the portkey, not minding the slight odor coming from the manky old boot.

"let go kids!" mr. weasley yelled. i let go, but felt a hand grab mine before i could start falling. cedric smiled as i gripped tightly onto his hand. following his lead, i started walking on the air.

"couldn't let you fall like that." cedric said as we landed. a smile crept its way onto my face, and i already could tell this guy would be the death of me.

~ ~ ~

after our encounter with the malfoys and our ascent up the hundreds of stairs, we finally made it to our spots in the stadium. spotting amos and cedric, we made our way over to them. coincidentally, my seat was next to cedric's. we both were wearing red and black clothes, and cedric had a red stripe on one cheek and a black one on the other.

"a man of taste, i see." i told him, sending a pointed look at the green-and-white colored twins. they just glared back as cedric laughed.

"you can barely tell you're rooting for bulgaria! where's your team spirit?" cedric teased. i rolled my eyes and pointed to harry and ron.

"those two left the face paint at home." cedric reached into his pocket, producing two small canisters of face paint: one red, one black. he opened up the red canister and dipped a finger into it.

"may i?" he asked. trying to will down my blush from this handsome near-stranger getting closer to me and offering to touch my face, i nodded. he put a stripe of red on one cheek and one stripe of black on the other, matching his face paint. he then smiled before turning to watch the irish come in. fred and george were cheering loudly as i rolled my eyes, slow clapping. the bulgarians came in next, totally outshining the irish.

"krum! krum! krum!" i yelled, joining in on the crowd's cheers. even the twins joined in on the chanting, despite being fans of the irish. the game ended just as fast as it started, and soon we were all descending the stairs and making our way back to the tents. we said goodbye to cedric and amos before entering our tent.

"there's no one like krum. he's like a bird the way he rides the wind. he's more than an athlete. he's an artist." ron exclaimed passionately.

"i think you're in love ron." ginny teased.

"viktor i love you, viktor i do~" the twins started. harry and i joined in.

"when we're apart, my heart beats only for youu~" we all burst out into a fit of giggles. loud bursts of noise came from outside the tent. fred said something about the irish, and before i knew it, a distraught mr. weasley was ushering us out of the tent.

"get back to the portkey everybody, and stick together!" almost immediately after mr. weasley said that, we were all separated. in the mess of people, i couldn't find any of the weasleys or their friends. i made my way back to the portkey, hoping everyone else would be there. instead, i found amos and cedric there, anxiously waiting.

"ava! are you okay? where are the rest?" cedric questioned, coming up to me. he scanned me up and down for injuries before making sure no one followed me.

"i'm fine. we all got split up, but mr. weasley told us all to meet up at the portkey. i'm sure they'll get here soon." i explained. soon enough, fred, george, and ginny made their way to us.

"where are the others?" ginny asked.

"we don't know." amos said doubtfully. after a couple minutes of waiting, mr. weasley showed up.

"you all get home. ron, hermione, and harry are still missing. i'll stay here and find them, you all get safe. i'm sure mum is worried sick." we all nodded and grabbed the boot.

back at the hill we left on yesterday morning, it was oddly peaceful compared to the ruckus at the world cup.

"you kids get home safely, okay? have arthur send us an owl once he gets back." amos told us. we nodded before saying our goodbyes.

as we were leaving, i looked back to see cedric still looking at us. he gave me a small smile, to which i returned and waved. he then left to catch up with his father.

~ ~ ~

"… and lee found a deserted bathroom end of last year. it's the perfect place for our operations!" george yelled happily. i chuckled at the two. pranking had always been their specialty, and i'm glad they're planning on making a career out of it.

"percy's been going on and on about some spectacular thing going on this year at hogwarts." fred said, changing the topic. i nodded. i had spent the last couple nights at the weasley house, as my parents were out on my mom's muggle business trip, so i had heard percy's incessant bragging.

"probably some prick alumni reunion. 'prefects only! whoever can be the biggest stick in the mud gets to kiss dumbledore's arse!'" i mumbled. the twins burst out laughing, agreeing.

once we all unloaded our things into the dorms, a large crowd started running outside. following the commotion, i saw a large carriage almost wipe out hagrid. to the left, a tiny ship was visible. said 'tiny ship' started emerging from the water, revealing a massive vessel.

"whaddya suppose that's all about?" two voices asked from behind me. i didn't even have to turn to see who was talking to me.

"i dunno. let's get to the great hall before the crowd."

~ ~ ~

"hogwarts has been chosen to host a legendary event. the tri-wizard tournament. now, for those of you who do not know, the tri-wizard tournament brings together three schools for a series of magical contests. from each school, a single contestant is selected to compete. now, let me be clear: if chosen, you stand alone. and trust me when i say these contests are not for the faint-hearted." dumbledore explains. i look over to see fred and george with wide smirks on their faces.

"but more of that later. for now, please join me in welcoming the lovely ladies of the beauxbatons academy of magic, and their headmistress madam maxime." dumbledore continued. the doors to the hall opened, and out came a group of girls with tight blue uniforms. the guys all ogled at the girls as they scurried to the front of the hall.

"and now, our friends from the north, please greet the proud sons of durmstrang, and their headmaster igor karkaroff." now, a bunch of guys came in, hitting their staffs against the ground before doing some gymnastics. at the back of the group was viktor krum, and i let out a gasp. murmurs swept the room, the name "krum" repeating over and over again. as i watched the durmstrang students pour in, my eyes landed on cedric. he had hufflepuff robes on, in contrast to my ravenclaw ones. noticing my stare, he gave me his signature smile and waved. i returned both gestures before listening to dumbledore and barty crouch drone on about the tournament. this type of thing wasn't really my place, especially with the whole deadly, this-is-a-stupid-idea-but-we're-wizards-so-to-hell-with-caution vibe it was giving. i could tell fred and george would try to put their names in the goblet, even though they are too young to participate.

~ ~ ~

"by half a bloody year!" fred exclaimed.

"this is rubbish!" george continued. i only laughed at the sulking twins, the three of us making our way to defense against the dark arts.

"what can you do? it's not like you can magically make yourselves older." the two stopped in their tracks.

"that's brilliant ava!" the two yelled before running the other way.

"we have classes right now!" i yelled after them, but they were already too far away. i sighed and heard a chuckle to my right. i whipped around to see cedric, books in hand.

"hello again ava." he greeted. i started to walk with him.

"morning cedric." i greeted.

"those two seem to be quite the handful." he joked, motioning towards the area the twins were a moment ago. i groaned.

"you don't even know." cedric opened the door to the classroom, and we made our way in. mad-eye moody was standing in front of the classroom, murmuring to himself. cedric and i were the last ones in, so only two tables were left. i took the one in the middle, cedric asking if he could sit next to me. obviously, i agreed, not passing up the chance to sit with him. a couple hufflepuff girls glared at me, but i paid no attention to them.

"alastor moody. ex-auror… ministry malcontent… and your new defense against the dark arts teacher. i'm here because dumbledore asked me. end of story, goodbye, the end… any questions?" mad-eye introduced.

"well isn't he delightful." i mumbled, making cedric let out a snort.

"i heard that ms. carpenter." mad-eye said without turning to look our way. i looked at cedric with a mischievous smile, to which he returned, both of us trying to hold in our laughs.

the rest of class was filled with mad-eye using the unforgivable curses on a poor little spider. i pursed my lips, unsettled by the class. don't get me wrong, it was hilarious to see lee jordan get a spider shoved down his robes, but mad-eye seemed to… enjoy using the curses. an uncomfortable pit sat in my stomach as i left the classroom, mad-eye's glass eye following me the entire way out.

~ ~ ~

i sat on one of the bleachers surrounding the goblet. i needed to do some herbology homework, but i wanted to see who all would put their name in the cup. plus, fred and george had promised that they had some genius way to get in, and made me swear i'd be there to witness their 'greatness'. so, i sat next to hermione, writing down notes on the venomous tentacula. when i looked up from my homework, a couple hufflepuff boys ran in, pushing a grinning cedric. i watched as he put his name into the goblet. he then looked over and saw me. his friends started pulling him away, but he made sure to give me a wide smile before he ran away with the others. i just smiled to myself, going back to my homework. however, i felt a nudge in my side, interrupting my concentration.

"what's with that smile?" hermione asked teasingly. my smile became even wider.

"is it a certain hufflepuff golden boy who's caught your fancy?" she continued.

"mayyybe." i replied, knowing fully well that she was correct. before she could say anything more, the twins ran in, cheering.

"thank you, thank you. well lads, and ladies," george started, tilting his head towards me and hermione, "we've done it."

"cooked it up just this morning." fred added. hermione rolled her eyes.

"it's not going to work." she sang. fred and george crouched down next to her.

"oh yeah? why's that granger?" fred asked, acting super interested in whatever she'd say next.

"you see this? this is an age line. dumbledore drew it himself." she explained.

"so?" fred asked.

"so," hermione said, closing her book, "a genius like dumbledore couldn't possibly be fooled by something so pathetically dimwitted such as an aging potion."

"that's why it's so brilliant." george countered, a large shit-eating grin on his face.

"because it's so pathetically dimwitted." fred continued. the two drank the potion and hopped inside of the age line. hermione just huffed, obviously disappointed that their plan worked. however, just after they put their names in the goblet, red sparks flew and hit them backwards. when they got up, they both had white hair and beards. a playful fight commenced, the crowd gathering around them.

hermione shook her head before looking at the doors. krum, karkaroff, and one other durmstrang boy came in, watching krum put his name in the goblet. he made eye contact with hermione, who started blushing.

"oh ho ho, what's that on your face. a blush?" i teased.

"shut it." she whispered with a smile on her face.

~ ~ ~

once all the names had been called, whispers went around the great hall. i cheered loudly for cedric, but the giddiness i felt for him being one of the champions was replaced by fear for harry. ron looked especially pissed off, so i'm assuming he knew nothing about harry putting his name in the goblet.

hermione suffered the most from this feud between harry and ron. she started to stick with me much more often, usually ranting about how stupid the boys were.

"and ron wouldn't shut up at breakfast! it was all hypocrite harry this and pesky potter that. it took him an hour to come up with those names, and they aren't even good!" hermione yelled, exasperated. we got a couple looks from those we passed in the hallways, but hermione didn't care.

"granger, do you mind if i take ava for a bit?" a voice asked from behind us. cedric stood there, rubbing the back of his neck. hermione gave me a subtle smirk before going to the library, leaving me and cedric together.

"i never got to congratulate you. you've been swarmed by people ever since your name was called." i told him. his cheeks turned a light shade of pink.

"sorry 'bout that. i've been meaning to spend some time with you, but we only have a couple classes together." he said sheepishly. i assured him that it was fine.

"so, where are you headed?" i asked him. i had an open schedule, as it was the weekend, and most of my friends were cooped up in the common room.

"ah, i have some interview with the daily prophet." he told me.

"don't get too famous on me ced." i joked. he smiled at me.

"ced?" a faint redness swept over my face. before i could say anything, he cut me off.

"i like it." he stopped in front of a door, and inside, i could see fleur and rita skeeter.

"meet me in the great hall for lunch?" cedric asked. i tried to stop my smile, but it didn't work.

"yeah. see you there."

~ ~ ~

i sat at the breakfast table the next morning with hermione and ginny. harry and ron were still having their petty fight, and ginny didn't feel like hanging out with her other friends. ginny took out the daily prophet and handed it to me.

"read it." she said, an unreadable expression on her face. i warily took the article, reading it out loud.

"'harry potter, age 12, suspect entrant in the tri-wizard tournament. his eyes swimming with the ghosts of his past' what rubbish is this?" i said in disgust. ginny rolled her eyes.

"no silly, under that." my eyes drifted until, shockingly, i saw my name.

"'cedric diggory, age 17, hogwarts tri-wizard champion. a strapping young boy with no shortage of admirers. rumored to be going around with ava carpenter, daughter of famous potions-master robert carpenter.'" i read. hermione started giggling, while ginny nudged my arm. my face was a bit hot, and it was even hotter when a hand landed on my shoulder. looking up, i met a familiar pair of grey eyes.

"can i talk with you for a minute?" cedric asked. i nodded, and he took me out of the great hall and into a little cranny in the hallway.

"hey, i'm, uh, sorry about what rita wrote." he said awkwardly. i tried to laugh it off.

"it's fine. she writes whatever she thinks. more than half of the stuff she writes isn't true anyways."

"yeah." he said absentmindedly.

~ ~ ~

the first task. dragons. i had wished cedric luck before he went into the champions' tent, but my nerves were starting to build up.

"don't worry." george said, taking the seat to my left.

"your boyfriend will be fine." fred assured, taking the seat to my right.

"i- he's not-" i babbled. the twins smirked at me.

"it's quite obvious, really. waltzing around the halls," fred said.

"rosy red cheeks, pulling each other around with smiles on your faces," george continued.

"we may be idiots, but we're smart enough to tell that you two fancy each other." fred finished. i was about to rebuke their statements, but cedric's name was announced. he came out and looked around for the dragon. when he took a step forward, a swedish short-snout jumped out at him. he took a step back before transfiguring a rock into a labrador. as the dragon followed the dog, cedric makes a run for the golden egg. however, after he grabbed the egg, the short-snout lost interest in the dog and made his way toward cedric. the dragon let out a blast of fire, which burnt cedric. i yelped, terrified for him. nevertheless, he held onto the egg and ran out of the stadium with it. i saw madam pomfrey waiting for him at the exit. i watched as cedric was escorted into the med-tent. i wanted to go over to him, but i knew it was no use. they wouldn't let me in. so, i stayed with the twins and watched the rest of the champions. harry's match nearly scared me to death, with the horntail breaking free of its chains and them flying around hogwarts.

once harry got the egg, people started to make their way back to the castle. i stayed behind with hermione, fred, and george, who were waiting to congratulate harry. harry came out, holding the golden egg, cheering. the four gryffindors ran back to the castle, leaving me behind. as i was about to go and catch up with them, cedric emerged from the med-tent looking normal, save for a couple cuts. once he saw me, i ran up to him and hugged him out of instinct. he returned the hug chuckling.

"you okay? i thought the dragon hit you with the fire?" i asked, scanning him for any burns.

"madam pomfrey healed up the burns with a nasty orange paste. the dragon only got the side of my face." he explained.

"i'm glad you're okay." i sighed. he smirked at me.

"oh yeah? why's that~" he teased.

"shut up." i laughed, hitting his shoulder.

"by the way, i like the color yellow on you." he complimented. i had totally forgotten about my outfit. i had a yellow sweatshirt on with a black coat and leggings. i blushed as we walked back to the castle together, talking about his performance.

~ ~ ~

"the yule ball has been a tradition of the tri-wizard tournament since its beginning. on christmas eve, we and our guests gather in the great hall for well mannered frivolity. as representatives of the host school, each and every one of you are expected to be able to dance." flitwick explained. he tried to demonstrate what how to dance with luna, but he was simply too short to do it properly. luckily, we didn't have trouble picking up what to do. roger davies, another ravenclaw, asked to practice with me. it was a bit awkward, but it was done fairly quickly.

that night, everyone knew about the yule ball. some were waltzing down the hallways, while others were trying to get dates. i saw cedric, and was going to go up to him, but a flock of girls soon surrounded him.

that went on for a whole week. every time i saw cedric, a swarm of girls were following behind. the most prominent of them was cho chang, a fellow ravenclaw. she often would tap cedric's shoulder or initiate conversations with him. people started speculating that he would ask cho to the ball. i tried to not let that thought put a damper on my mood. i was hanging out with fred and george a lot, now that ron decided to stop being so pissy and made amends with harry, which meant hermione could hang out with the two again without picking favorites. she still talked to me a lot, especially after krum asked her to the ball. she was over the moon when it happened.

"what about you? have you picked out a dress yet?" she asked. i shook my head.

"i haven't even gotten a date yet. i'm not going to buy a dress before then." she let out a gasp.

"cedric hasn't asked you yet? i thought he would've asked by now." she said, jaw slightly dropped.

"nope. we've barely talked the past week with his swarm of girls flocking him at every waking moment." i sighed. hermione assured me that he would ask me, but i didn't want to give myself any false hope.

"speak of the devil…" hermione mumbled. when i looked up, cedric was coming toward us, his expression going from searching to relieved when he spotted us. hermione excused herself, leaving me with cedric in the empty hallway.

"hey ava." he said, slightly out of breath.

"hi." i said with a small smile. cedric frowned, furrowing his eyebrows in thought.

"are you okay? i'm sorry for not hanging out with you lately, i've been a bit busy." he said.

"i've noticed." i said, before wincing at what i said. i didn't mean to be jealous and petty, but the words escaped my lips before i could stop them.

"i'm sorry, i didn't mean-" he cut me off.

"no, i understand." he sighed. "i've been a crappy friend lately." a silence set over us. he opened his mouth and closed it a couple times, wanting to say something. i waited for him to get it out.

"uhm… okay, here it goes." he said quietly to himself. i had to refrain from chuckling at that.

taking a deep breath, he asked me, "would you go to the yule ball with me?" i was a bit shocked for a second. he stood there, a nervous smile on his face.

"i thought you were going with cho." i said. his face scrunched up for a second.

"no, where did you hear that?" i shook my head.

"nevermind. i'd love to go to the ball with you, ced." his nervous smile grew wide and confident. out of reflex, he hugged me. as he was about to pull away from the hug, realizing what he did, i returned the hug.

~ ~ ~

"wow hermione, you look gorgeous." i said, looking at her from head to toe. she blushed.

"i could say the same for you. i love that dress." she replied. i twirled around in my blue tulle dress, pleased with my selection.

"who are you two…" a voice started.

"… and what did you do to ava and hermione?" an almost identical voice finished. hermione and i turned to see the twins, each with their dates.

"i'm sure diggory and krum will be all over you two." george winked. the four of them descended the stairs in front of us, promising to meet up with us later.

"shall we?" hermione asked.

"we shall." i answered, taking hermione's arm in mine as we went down the stairs. i saw cedric talking to a couple other hufflepuff boys, while krum stood awkwardly at the entrance of the great hall. harry and parvati stood at the bottom of the stairs, gaping at us. soon enough, cedric and krum turned around to see us. cedric made his way to the bottom of the stairs, his eyes not leaving me. a permanent smile graced his beautiful face, and i couldn't help but return it.

"you… look… amazing." cedric said breathlessly, taking my hands into his. there was this look in his eyes that just filled me up with happiness. it was a look of unrestrained joyfulness and care that made my heart melt.

"you look absolutely dashing." we stayed in awe of each other until mcgonagall took us to line up with the rest of the champions and their dates. first was fleur and roger davies, then krum and hermione, then me and cedric, and finally, harry and parvati. cedric held my hand as we walked out into the great hall. it was like a winter wonderland. once out on the floor, cedric put his hand on my waist, still not looking away from me.

the night went on, the two of us dancing almost the whole time, only stopping for drinks. by the end of the night, we were laughing with each other, prancing through the halls, spirits still high from the night's activities. he walked me to the ravenclaw dormitory, and i could tell he didn't want the night to end.

"that was amazing." cedric said, pulling me into a hug. i nuzzled my face into his chest, not wanting to leave his arms. as he pulled away from the hug, he kept me close. we stared into each other's eyes for a moment, subconsciously moving closer.

"may i?" he whispered. instead of answering, i leaned up to connect our lips. the kiss was happy and carefree, and by the end of it, we were both smiling, not pulling away from each other.

"sleep well." he said softly.

"you too." with a final kiss to his cheek, i went into the ravenclaw common room, a smile never leaving my face.

~ ~ ~

"the black lake? merpeople?" i repeated. he nodded.

"mad-eye suggested that i take the egg with me to bathe, and when i put the egg underwater, the screeching turned into singing." cedric explained.

"mad-eye told you?" i asked apprehensively. i had told cedric that i was suspicious of mad-eye, and him tipping cedric off on the second task didn't help his case in my mind.

"he's an ex-auror: of course he's going to be a bit creepy." cedric assured me. i just shrugged, still wary of mad-eye.

"and the merpeople are going to take something from you? better hide your lucky badger underwear." i joked. he lightly shoved me.

"i told you that in confidence." he whisper-shouted.

"and now i'll never let you forget~" i gloated.

"you just want to see my lucky underwear." he said suggestively, smirking.

"i know you were trying to be seductive, but that was a pretty weird way to put it." i smiled cheekily, laughing. he just blushed and pouted. rolling my eyes, i leaned up and kissed his cheek before putting my mouth close to his ear.

"i would love to see your lucky underwear sometime. maybe a bit more-"

"grossss!!!" two voices yelled from around the corner. cedric was blushing profusely as i went to go check on the voices. sure enough, fred and george were crouched around the corner, some rope attached to an ear thing in their hands.

"you two are nasty." fred said. cedric just wrapped his arm around my waist as we talked to the twins. soon enough, we had lost track of time, and it was almost night.

"ms. carpenter!"

we all turned to see flitwick running toward us.

"professor mcgonagall would like to have a word with you." he told me before walking off.

"okay, guess i have to go. see you tomorrow before the task." i told cedric, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

once in mcgonagall's office, i saw hermione, ron, and fleur's little sister. i stood next to them, wondering what this was all about. before i knew it, mcgonagall was casting a spell, and i blacked out.

~ ~ ~

i woke up freezing cold, gasping for air. for some reason, i was sopping wet. an arm was wrapped around me, helping me float. it was daytime, and all i could hear were loud cheers. i looked to see cedric smiling down at me. we swam to the ladder before we were given towels and robes.

"what happened?" i asked cedric, shivering.

"the merpeople didn't take my lucky underwear." he joked. it took me a second to realize what this meant.

"i was the stolen item?" he nodded and smiled, bringing me into a hug. i leaned into him for warmth.

the rest of the contestants came up from the water, with only fleur not completing the challenge. soon, we were all standing around dumbledore, waiting for the results. i stood next to cedric, along with some of his hufflepuff buddies.

"attention! the winner is… mr. diggory! for showing unique command of the bubblehead charm." dumbledore announced. i immediately started jumping up and down, cheering for cedric. his friends all started slapping him on the back, and he leaned down to give me a quick kiss on the lips.

~ ~ ~

the weeks leading up to the third task went by in a flash. i spent most of my days with the twins, hermione, and ginny, and my nights with cedric. he started sneaking me into the hufflepuff common room. we would do some homework and revising, but mostly, we would cuddle up in front of the fire and fall asleep on the couches. most of the hufflepuffs didn't care. only the jealous hufflepuff girls, and a couple guys, didn't like me being there, but professor sprout wasn't going to say anything against golden boy cedric.

on the day of the third task, i spent my time with cedric. he was practicing defensive and offensive spells. a couple hours before the task started, he needed to go meet up with dumbledore and his father.

"ava?" he said before leaving. i hummed, acknowledging him.

"this might be a bit early but… i care about you. a lot. i might even love you." he confessed.

"i care about you so much. i'd even wager that i love you too. please stay safe out there today, and win this thing." i whispered on his lips. he smiled and gave me one last, long hug before running off with the happiest smile i've ever seen on his face. brimming with happiness, i skipped off to the library, where hermione would be. however, as i was walking, i heard a low voice mumbling.

"yes, the dark lord will praise me for my work." the voice whispered. shocked, i went toward the voice, which seemed to be coming from an empty classroom. inside, i saw mad-eye moody transform into some other man. he was kissing a black tattoo inked on his arm. trying to hold in my gasp, i started to sprint toward the stairs to warn dumbledore and the others.

"crucio!" the man's voice yelled after me. shit. an excruciating, searing hot pain seized my body, forcing me to the ground. i was shaking, trying desperately to rid myself of the unbearable pain.

"going somewhere?" he asked. as he got closer, he recognized me. "ah, diggory's little girlfriend. off to go save your boyfriend?" he smirked evilly.

"sadly, you know too much. the dark lord wouldn't be pleased to have his plans foiled by a little girl."

he took a step back, and i knew what was about to happen.

"avada kedavra!" he hissed, and everything became cold and dark.

3rd person pov

"avada kedavra!"

cedric's body froze before totally blanking out. when he opened his eyes, he saw himself, lying on the grass of the graveyard. he watched as harry was forced onto the tombstone, as voldemort was reborn, and as harry dueled voldemort.

"harry, take my body back, will you? take my body back to my father, and tell ava i love her." he told harry, who sullenly nodded. after cedric formed a shield in front of harry with whom he presumed were harry's parents, he was teleported back to hogwarts. he watched as harry cried over his body, and as his father's heart broke for his precious little boy.

"that's my boy! that's my son!" he yelled agonizingly. cedric looked all around, but he couldn't find who he was looking for.

"cedric!" a voice yelled. it wasn't sad, like all of the others calling out his name, but it was… slightly relieved?

"ced!!" he whipped around at the sound of that familiar voice to see the girl he was looking for jump into his arms.

"ava! but, if you're here, that means-"

"mad-eye. it was polyjuice that he was drinking. he was a death eater." she explained. cedric pulled her in for the tightest hug.

"you're dead." he cried, burying his head into her neck. she had already had a couple hours to accept her death, and no one knew she was dead yet. cedric had to watch as his father and friends wept for him. surely, he was extremely overwhelmed. ava simply ran her hands through his hair, trying to calm him down.

"shhh, it's going to be okay." she whispered into his hair. he nodded, starting to take deep breaths. as soon as he calmed down, he pulled ava into a kiss.

"i love you." he told her.

"i love you too, my champion."

[nobodysdaydreams]

Part 3 of my MBS Quiz Feedback, but it’s just the Chris Person This Time (featuring a story about Baby Bods)

Hello mysterious Chris person, who apparently DOES follow (or lurk) on my tumblr. 👋🏻 Thank you for your wonderful entertainment; I had a very lovely evening.

Part 1 and Part 2 Here.

The Chris person came back to clarify that they were speaking not to me, but to the hypothetical people out there who "think Chris Evans is a DILF." Apparently, despite never posting about any Chris, some or maybe even just one of my other followers believes he is a DILF, and Chris wishes to use me as a middle man to set this misguided individual straight on the matter. At this point, if I had to guess who the Chris person was, I'd say Gert, because he's the only person I've seen refer to Nicholas and Milligan as DILFs, but hey, I've been wrong before. (Regardless Chris person, I think you should follow Gert, because they would probably agree with many of your DILF thoughts). The Chris person also stated that they would vaporize Curtain with their tiny body and pure rage, which confirms my suspicion that they are the same person as "Why do I always get pigeon". And unfortunately, after taking the quiz this time, they did, once again, get the pigeon result.

2. But the Chris person came back determined. Coming back to A) pick all the salad answers and b) scream at the sky and shake their fists at getting dead pigeon again. Both of which happened. I will say that the Chris person did come close to getting the Alpaca on this attempt, but they fell into a trap that I myself have fallen in before. So let me help you out random stranger.

Story Time: You see, many years ago, when I was but a young whippersnapper, little Bods briefly enjoyed the 39 Clues book series. Now, I don't remember much of the plot at this point, but I do remember that it was one of those book series that sorted you into groups, and there was this fun little test online that you could take to determine what group you were in. The groups have weird names, but basically, there was the intelligent group, the athletic group, the artistic/musical group, and the evil group. Like literally, the evil group. I guess they're also known for "Spying" and stuff, but if you google their Wiki page, "Lying" and "Poison" are literally listed as being their special skills, while the others groups have stuff like inventing, sports, and art. So baby Bods knew she wasn't getting in the athletic group (nor did she want to be in the group, the feeling was mutual), and as much as I loved acting, my singing and dancing left something to be desired (with the something in question being talent or even an average level of skill). Which left me with the evil and smart people groups, and I was just so sure I was gonna get the smart group. I was a good student, and I'd never poisoned anyone. I wasn't a bad person, at least, I didn't think I was. I didn't want to be. But imagine the shock and dismay of little baby Bods, when I took that quiz and got the evil group. I was shocked. Dismayed. Humiliated. Baby Bods took it personally. I wasn't evil. I was a nice, intelligent person, surely. In fact, I thought I was quite clever. Clever enough to realize that this had to be a mistake, and that I was probably pretty close to the intelligent group result, so surely, if I wanted to change my result, all I had to do was retake the quiz with a few small adjustments. I kept all the answer choices I was 100% sure were "me" the same, and changed all my "on the fence" answers, hoping this would push me in the right direction.

But alas, the same result. And that's when little Bods realized, to her horror, that it was not the on the fence answers that were pushing her into the evil group, but the answers that she was putting consistently. The ones she was sure of. To make matters worse, this quiz was on a website (that I don't think exists anymore), but it had games that went with the different groups. And baby Bods discovered, to her dismay, that she actually liked the games attributed to the evil group. They were code breaking and pattern recognition games that she was actually really good at. And as baby Bods accepted the sad truth, she also reflected and considered that maybe this wasn't a horrible result. Sure, she didn't like the way the group was characterized, but there wasn't anything inherently bad with being good at these sorts of things. Perhaps this really was where baby Bods belonged after all, despite her repeated attempts to run from the truth and run from herself.

So what is the moral of this story? The moral is, Chris person, is that while I don't know you, it is possible that maybe the answers pushing you towards dead pigeons are the answers that define you the most (the Mr. Benedict character answer, wanting to live somewhere safe, missing the feeling of being alive, being well-intentioned and eager to help, learning morse code, trying to join the society and failing, never having been to Europe (although that last one applies to a lot of answers)). And that might not be a bad thing! It means you care about Mr. Benedict and you want to help the society! Sure, you might not be entirely successful in that task, but the pigeons as characters are heroes, martyrs for the cause. They were loyal and dedicated birds, who knew the risk they were taking when they signed up to help the society. Are they as beloved in the fandom as Madge? No. Do people think they're as cool or as powerful of an answer as the Yukon Wolves that raised Constance? No. Are they as iconic as the Alpaca? No. But the pigeons volunteered to help the society even knowing how vulnerable and small they were. They stepped up, and not for themselves, but for their friends, and for what was right. Even knowing what might happen. That is bravery, that is sacrifice, and that is something to be proud of.

3. But the Chris person was DETERMINED to get a different result, and I gotta say, I respect the hustle. So they took the quiz again, and got one of Dr. Garrison's lab rats. I think the feedback speaks for itself.

[rfaromance]

Hey..

Can I please please ask AE Saeran to (or how he would...?) comfort me whenever I feel anxious to the point of being so, so overwhelmed? I tend to even feel physically sick. It's just...such a horrible feeling.

I just totally break down, it's like a meltdown. It's awful and absolutely mortifying, for anyone watching.

...

Can Saeran please help me? I'm so ashamed of myself. I just...want him to be with me when I feel like this. I just need a whole load of comfort from blue rose boy right now 😅😅

Hello anon! I'm so sorry for the delay on this one. Please take care of yourself, and remember that Saeran loves you more than anything in the universe! ♡

He wasn't sure what had prompted it.

You'd been eager this morning to head to the craft store with him, in search of yarns and needles and books to help guide you two as you began your new quest to learn how to crochet. After you'd gone to a local arts and crafts fair and seen all the beautiful handmade goods, from jewelry to aprons to stuffed animals, Saeran hadn't been able to shake the idea of learning how to make some crochet companions himself. You'd encouraged him from the get-go, offering to accompany him and learn alongside him.

That was how your life had been, for the most part, ever since he'd left the hospital. Just spending every moment together and taking on new adventures, new activities, new skills, side-by-side. Despite the number of years Saeran had been alive, he'd never quite lived.

You wanted to be there for every new experience and see his smiles as he uncovered the hidden beauties of the world one day at a time.

Why then, had your hand suddenly gone cold and clammy in the aisle? Why had your grip loosened and you slipped away, when moments before you two had been perusing your options and trying to decide between pink and yellow yarn? Saeran couldn't figure it out.

He couldn't figure out what prompted it, but he knew what he needed to do to help you through it.

"My angel," he whispered, lowering himself beside you on the tile floor of the store. You had collapsed onto your knees, and your hands were making small fists, open and close, open and close, by your sides. He could hear your breath coming in ragged gasps, and the shaky rise and fall of your chest were almost enough to make him panic.

But he couldn't afford to be weak right now. Not when he needed to be strong for you.

"It's okay," he whispered, and you flinched, your hands immediately rising to cover your ears. He pursed his quivering lips, trying his best not to show how alarmed he was. Gently he scooted closer until he was right in front of you, and tenderly he reached his arms towards you. He went at a slow pace, not wanting to overwhelm you with any sudden movements or sensations. When he finally managed to place one hand on your back, he swiftly pulled you into his chest, murmuring apologies as he did so. "I'm here. Focus on me. Just me."

The sights. The sounds. The smells. He could understand how a store filled with color and light and chatter and candles could bring you down without warning. He couldn't be certain what had been the final straw, but he was all too familiar with the breakdowns that struck unexpectedly. Ray inside him was trembling, knowing the pain of collapse after working for too long when the bright screens and whirring machines became too much. The other Saeran was scowling, knowing that strength was nothing without care to temper it and keep it honed.

He could hear muffled sobs coming from you, and he could even feel your tears beginning to soak into his sweater. But Saeran had no intention of letting you go until he knew you were secure. With his free hand, he began to stroke the back of your head, humming softly as he did so.

Just see his body. Hear his voice. Feel his warm embrace. Saeran would shield you from anyone and anything that'd ever try to do you harm.

"My sweet love," he murmured. "My dearest darling. Even angels need to rest their wings from time to time." He lowered his lips to your forehead, barely brushing your skin with a feather-light kiss. "And when you need to rest before you continue to spread your love and your light, there's always room in my heart's garden reserved for you."

[huffle-dork]

Greetings! I’m not sure how this works, but I wish you would write about the first time Jackie met Zara please. P.S. I think that your art and writings are amazing. - The Cinnamon Roll Anon

(God like 2 years later way to go me |D but I’m trying to get back into writing so I’m doing older requests! I wish I knew who to tag for this one- I hope they can find it 😭)

Jackie nervously picked at his gi as he studied the others in his class. God- did he pick the right sports bra? Were people staring at him? He had just decided before coming to Uni he was gonna try passing more… he started taking T as soon as he turned 18. Still- it felt like someone would be able to see through him… He felt eyes on him while he tried not to panic.

He really wanted to take this class though! He used to be in a dojo when he was younger. It’d be nice to connect back to the sport he loved- even if parkour had become his bigger love as of late. Still, that means he’d be good at this right?

Jackie snapped out of his thoughts as the class began, his sensei started the class and introduced himself. Jackie looked at the teacher with starry eyes. What a cool dude… could he look like that someday?

After going through warmups, Sensei asked how many of them had been in a martial arts class before. Jackie slowly raised his hand and saw one other hand shoot up. He met eyes with a girl with short cropped hair and violet eyes that smirked at him. Jackie felt his cheeks flush.

Sensei wanted to see what their level was- so while his teaching assistant led the rest of the class through the first lesson, Sensei took the two aside.

“Alright, why don’t you two show me what you can do?” He asked, watching as Jackie and the girl eased into fighting stances.

Jackie felt more nerves creeping up his chest, thick in his throat. He shouldn’t have said anything! He hasn’t been in classes since like primary school! But… men don’t show weakness like that. He had to prove himself… right?

He squared up his chest and smirked at the girl.

“Promise I’ll go easy on you,” He boasted, even though he was screaming at himself for saying that right after.

Especially when the girl’s eyes flash with anger. She takes the first jab, punching near Jackie’s chest. Luckily, Jackie remembers how to block and side steps away with a hushed, “Woah!” escaping his mouth.

Jackie steps back and tries to aim a flat hand strike to her collarbone. But she side steps and grabs his arm and shoulder, yanking him towards her. He’s immediately thrown off balance and cries out. She goes past him and hooks her leg around his and then scoops and pushes down, driving him hard into the ground onto his back with her on top of him, still gripping his sleeve while her fist hits solidly on the mat next to his face.

Jackie has to blink stars out of his eyes as the girl smirks down at him. The lights of the practice room backlit her like an Angel. Jackie could hear his heart beat in his ears as his chest and stomach seemed to fill with butterflies, leaving him even more breathless.

Then she bursts into laughter and Jackie feels his face turn bright red.

“God! The look on your face was priceless!” She giggled.

Sensei’s voice drawled disapprovingly from behind them, “That might have been too much, Zara.”

She glances at their teacher then groans, “c’mon teach! He was begging for a humbling moment!”

“H-Hey!” Jackie squirms, feeling more and more ashamed. Plus… she was very close to his chest…. She couldn’t tell could she?

Sensei raised his eyebrow, “Be that as it may, your humbling moment didn’t give me enough time to see his skill set.”

The girl, Zara it seems, blows hair out of her face and sighs. “Alrightttt-“ She lets go of Jackie and hops to her feet, offering Jackie a hand. Jackie hesitates but then takes the hand as he’s unsteadily pulled to his feet.

The girl takes the opportunity to shake Jackie’s hand and smiles. “Sorry about that… cocky guys get on my nerves here. But… that wasn’t fair of me. I’m actually another student assistant here… cuz I frequent Sensei's dojo. Or- I used to… got caught up the past summer so… Sensei wanted to see if I was still sharp. Wasn’t cool of me to do that to you though… you’re a bit stiff for someone who’s done this before.”

Jackie blushes again, looking away. “I… might have fudged my knowledge… I haven’t really been since I finished primary school…”

He cringes, like he’s expecting to hear the girl’s cruel laughter at him. But instead she beams. “Well hey! You got a pretty great start for being so rusty! Still loads better than the beginners here! I can give you some tips, if you’re okay with trying again?”

Jackie blinks in surprise but Zara does look a bit more apologetic. He grumbles and looks away, wishing his cheeks would stop turning so red. “…as long as you don’t make fun of me…”

“I won’t. Promise! Now… show me your stance again!”

After a while, their session ended as the rest of the class packed up. Sensei said he’d probably give them a few more one on one sessions until they got the rest of class up to speed.

Jackie watched as Zara grabbed her shoes and bag as he carefully went over and coughed slightly, getting her attention.

She blinks and cocks her head at him, “Yes..? Did we forget something?”

“N-No! No I… I just…” Jackie played with the back of his hair as he tried to work up the nerve to say, “…m’sorry… for earlier. I… I didn’t mean to come off like that and I… I just want you to know I… I’m not that kinda guy… you know?” His cheeks flushed red again as he avoided her gaze.

Zara is quiet for a moment before she smiles warmly. “Well, clearly.” She replies bluntly.

“Huh?” Jackie looks at her in surprise.

She laughs, “A cocky guy would never admit he was wrong! They’re all tough and macho and big headed! Total meat heads I tell ya.” She slips on one of her shoes as they talk, “That’s why I stuck with martial arts for so long. Ain’t nothing sweeter than knocking a meat head down a peg for underestimating a girl.”

She straightens and gives Jackie a slight knowing look, briefly glancing down before meeting his eyes. “…you get that- right?”

Jackie doesn’t quite get what she’s hinting at though. But he quickly blurts out, “Y-Yeah totally! That’s why I… I didn’t want you to think of me like that… cuz I’m not- I swear!”

Zara finishes slipping on her other shoe as she giggles and lightly punches Jackie’s shoulder. “Well, you didn’t need to but… thanks… uh-“ Now it’s her turn to blush as she nervously laughs. “God I- I totally forgot to ask your name!”

Jackie laughs, “it’s Jackie… Jackie Mann.”

Zara seems to laugh a bit loud at that and claps a hand over her mouth as Jackie looks at her in confusion. She quickly tries to recover. “S-Sorry! Just… wasn’t expecting that last name.”

“Yeah it’s- kinda weird.” Jackie admits with a laugh.

“Sounds like a superhero name!” Zara chuckles.

“Oh huh… guess it does.” Jackie blushes, feeling his superhero nerd wanting to come out but he eagerly pushes it down. He was trying to make a good impression, not scare her away. “And you’re… Zara, right?”

Zara nods with a smile and holds out her hand, “Zara Caley, aspiring marine biologist and certified ass kicker.”

Jackie feels his chest and stomach flutter again as he takes her hand and shakes it. “…nice to meet you officially then, Zara.”

She grins, “You as well, Mr. Jackie Mann.”

She then grabs her bag and looks down at his still bare feet. “I dunno if you have another class soon but- this room is about to be filled again, I think. And I got a lecture halfway across campus.”

“O-Oh! Right right I… I won’t keep you then.” Jackie stammers quickly, going to grab his shoes and jam them on.

Zara giggles and waves at him. “See you next class, Jackie!” She then hurries out the door.

And Jackie can’t help but stare at her as she leaves, his breath taken away again.

[saitama-division]

Sayaka’s Thoughts on Shizuoka Division

Kanon Hojo

She frowns as she looks at the photo of the former scientist, a flash of guilt in her eyes. “Ah Kanon, she was the new scientist that would be working with me for the Hypnosis Microphones…or at least she was supposed to before the…accident.” She frowns harder. “I was already leaving by the time she joined Chuuoku but word travels fast and I was horrified to know what she did to the other members, I can’t help but feel like I had dodged a bullet.” She sighed. “However, much like with Nadya, she had faked her death before anyone could stop her and now here she is….” She trailed off, looking intensely at the photo in front of her. “I can’t say I look forward to meeting her…again but I can’t help but feel bad, knowing that once a kind and bright woman is now brought to…this by my father’s creation, the same creation he wanted to help people with.” She shook her head, sadness painting her features. “I know it probably won’t mean anything but I’m truly sorry, Kanon.”

Reika Aichi

She furrowed her eyebrows, “I don’t know much about this woman but apparently she and Lola are good friends, which is great but I also have heard…less than tasteful facts about Aichi-san here, the prominent ones being the fact that she killed five of her husbands and inherited all their wealth and that she was exiled from Aoyama’s upper class because of it.” She but her lip, worry etched onto her face. “I’ve told Lola many times to be careful around her but she doesn’t listen, I know she knows Aichi-san well and for a long time but I can’t help but worry, I know she can take care of herself but I just don’t want her to get hurt or worse.” She sighed. “At any rate, she’s an…interesting woman.”

Sakura Kito

Her eyes widen, “Kito…that’s the name of the Yakuza that’s been seen around here.” She mumbled. “We’ve had a few cases involving them but every time we try to contract the Shizuoka Police Department, it’s like talking to a wall, they won’t provide assistance and they always tell us that they’ll ‘handle it’ but the next day, nothing happens!” She scoffed. “Kaede told me that they won’t help because the Kito-gumi has all the power and influence over the entire police force in Shizuoka which is disheartening to say the least but I digress, so now we focus on keeping them out of Saitama.” She then frowned. “But that’s not all, apparently Kureha had a run in with them a while back, they had tried to intimidate her and a few artists at an art show she was a part of and things didn’t go so well…” She added, hands clenched into fists at her sides. “That was the last straw for me, I couldn’t stand aside while my daughter nearly risked her life so now I provide assistance to the few officers in Japan that are working on taking the Kito-gumi down. As for their leader…” she looked at Sakura’s photo and shakes her head. “I hope she’s happy with where she’s at, with her leadership skills, she could have done so much good for the world…”

Silent Tragedy

She rubs her temples, sighing heavily. “I think it’s pretty obvious that this team isn’t supposed to be originally representing Shizuoka. How they got their Hypmics, I’d rather not know but I do know that having them in this competition makes things even more dangerous, CodeX, Oculus, and now Silent Tragedy, there is no way Chuuoku can’t see how wrong this is, at this rate something is bound to go terribly wrong.”

[firespirited]

Station Eleven

I very nearly tapped out - at the end of episode 1, I was dissociating heavily, remembering [redacted paragraphs on paragraphs of stream of consciousness trauma-dumping].

So you know by now that I was burned out on the post apocalyptic genre by my teens due to the ableism, misogyny and really bungled racial metaphors... but reviewers that I trust said this was different. Even so, I was going to drop this... but... uh since I was mentally spiralling thought maybe I could break it by pressing "next" and getting engrossed in whatever comes up... and boom: there was a disabled person front and center, not a skilled killer or doctor or anything superskilled, a disabled actor playing a disabled actor thriving in the future. If that had been in episode 1, it would have had me at hello. If there hadn't been an episode 2 on my hard drive, I was going to watch Dark City.

It's a hard sell, ten hours of people working through the wreckage of a pandemic with multiple timelines and puzzle pieces? But it's done in a way that keeps you hooked and not with cliffhangers and 'this is going somewhere eventually' mystery boxes.

I'm not going to lie, I was ready to drop it again by the middle, the type of person these kids had become due to their circumstances was reverting to the classic imaginary dystopia "primal state" (once supposed to critique the present state of affairs but has become a lazy trope). And then in episode 7, they turn that on its head. Our protag finds a way to forgive the child she was and we realize there is going to be real growth. Not just compounded trauma: healthy dealing with past, present and future fears.

The final episodes were amazing. And worth the 6 first hours which are not a slog because the pacing's good but still quite the emotional toil. You will probably cry at least 10–20 minutes of the finale if not a full 30-40 like me.

Miranda's arc and art is the backbone and heart of this show, she's already seen the end of her world, a pandemic is just the latest mess. That resonated with me and I suspect will for many of you, the ones for whom the pandemic was a huge deal but also at least your third time on the merry-go-round of human apathy to outright cruelty, getting your heart broken by losing people you trusted and facing bureaucracies designed to break you. I relied not just on art but seeing people who'd already felt like their world had ended before and gone through it who took this seriously with compassion not individualism guiding their actions and words. "Little apocalypses" like betrayal or poverty or a body falling apart.

And that's the story really, the art of people who've felt the world collapse and managed to put that into words and metaphors, it carries us. Shakespeare is used to heal multiple people's emotional wounds in this story but so does Miranda and her graphic novel.

This is the part where you go to YOURNAME.tumblr.com/archive/2020/12/ and look to see if you talked about any media that helped you during lockdown.

I recommend Station Eleven if you're looking for a twist on the dystopia genre, if you're ready to do a little exorcism on things you might not have dealt with yet (because it's ongoing *shakes fist*) and like stories written by women about women that also have a wide diversity of scope. A post apocalypse with no rape threats, no coercive pregnancies, no religious compounds with harems, no selling sex for food or shelter.

If you'd like to imagine TLOU's Ellie finds family with a travelling music and theatre group, deals with her attachment issues, is friends with her ex-girlfriends, learns enough emotional maturity to help others in crisis. This might be for you.

As always check doesthedogdie as there is violence, there is pandemic imagery, there is emotional violence and mental illness, there is a cult of traumatized children and teens who've grown up without parents and ethical frameworks and they're completely unfazed by death: that's some tough subject matter.

[littleapocalypsekitten]

I've never had the courage to vandalize my neighborhood and I feel a bit bad about it. So, I was just reading about someone who takes their dog out to have a poop in the yard of a neighbor with a pro-life / anti-choice bumper-sticker on their car as a form of silent protest. Reading the comments on that made me think about neighbors I used to have. It's too late to do playful vandalism now, as they've picked up and moved far away to Florida, but, ooooh, the temptation. So, on the corner near the sub-divided house where I live in an apartment was what me and my own referred to as The Trump House. We would shout "Truuuuuuump House!" while shaking our fists in the air when they had overly loud parties in in imitation of a scene in Futurama where the dean of Mars University complained about the Robot House fraternity. This house, man... they put a huge Trump / Pence flag out on their porch. I cannot emphasize enough to you how huge this flag was. It was the one where the logo looked like the T in Trump was anally-fucking the P in Pence, too. The thing lasted until it wore out and they got another one. They got them in different colors. When Trump lost in 2020, I saw a Trump flag with a lion-head logo, which I was informed was basically a kind of Trump-loyalty fascist flag, as in a "screw the electoral process, we want revolution" flag. The house had VERY loud parties. Every once in a while, loads of vehicles from Oklahoma (we are not on OK) would show up and there were huge family parties. Their kids would spill out into the streets and not let cars pass, just being purposeful, uncontrolled brats. They'd set off illegal fireworks and the cops came to the house more than once. I heard from neighbors that the father of the family was a candidate for local office - he was running for the state legislature. I looked him up and got one of his ads on Youtube in which he was ranting and railing about opening up schools again and being against masking during Covid - his whole thing was "Open up the state!" and it's like... as someone with a restaurant-job I *got* during Covid and living with someone who was retail and "essential" and had to work despite actual health problems and great risk of Covid, the state NEVER "shut-down," my guy. He was rumored to have torn up some Black Lives Matter signs that someone had put up at the local Starbucks, making an ass of himself. According to the neighbors I actually talked to, he was at the Capitol on January 6 and had taken a whole busload of idiots down there. Apparently, he wasn't one of the ones who stormed the Capitol, his people just hung back, were the outskirts protestors, but...still. He and the family moved, probably having taken a financial hit after losing spectacularly in the local-legislature vote. I had been tempted many times to, say, make silly flags out of large rolls of heavy-duty sign-print paper that we have and my art-skills to replace the house's flags in the middle of the night, or something of that ilk, but never had the courage to. You see, I worried I'd be caught on a security-camera and before we knew it, me and my own, being poor (we really are in a neighborhood that's too good for us due to a lucky apartment-find), we'd get in trouble with the local law and get kicked out. I'm pretty sure our landlord would side with Trump House on the matter if I'd do anything to goof on them.

[memphisfaith]

Hearts of Lust: Chapter 7

Pairing Kim Namjoon X Reader

Genre: Collage!AU, Smut

Word Count: 1.K

Warning: Cursing, mentions of smut, smut, consumption of alcohol, mentions of violence, violence, crack personality disorders, Chaotic energy.

Summary: College is any young adult's prime years, at least that's what Lee (y/n) and Kim Namjoon thought. The two are infamous for two reasons, by two very different crowds. Among the professors they are picture perfect students with perfect scores, attendance, and image. However, among the student body they're the very essence of lust with amazing bodies, sex appeal, and skill. The two, although strikingly similar, butt heads quite a bit with competitions of everything from grades to who can get a person to drop their pants the fastest. With the two of them ready to conquer the school year it's all a matter of Go Big or Go Home.

I glance over the group of guys beside me, the group of them doing different things in their own little sub groups. Hoseok, Jimin, and Jungkook are buzzing around making random spazzy gestures as they run in circles. Jin, Yoongi, and Taehyung sit at a table working on an assignment for their class. While Namjoon and I read the first book assigned by our lit. Professor.

I sigh, placing my book down and rubbing my eyes. The constant yelling and laughter coming from the three wild boys made it hard to focus on my book. I finally gave it a rest and marked my page before closing the book. 

Instead I took out my loose paper notes from my earlier class and copied them down in my notebook in a neater fashion. I pull out my colored fine tip pens and markers, notebook, and the papers.

I then muted the yelling boys out and began to copy down the notes, memorizing them as I wrote. A quarter through my notes, I glanced at the clock. We only had an hour of study hall between the 2nd and 3rd lectures, and from what I can tell I only had a few minutes to pack up before we had to go. I decide to go ahead and start.

I packed my stuff quicker than I thought I would have, so with the few spare minutes I have to spare I sit watching kookie and Tae playfight. However things started to get a little too rough. A collective sigh left Namjoon and I, unconsciously my hand reaches out in a fist, A muscle reflex I gained when things like this happened. A group agreement that if two or more can't agree on something or if we cant decide who is to do something we play rock, paper, scissors. Loser loses the argument or does the task.

With three shakes I pop my hand out revealing paper, I glance over at Namjoon's hand. He holds out scissors. Despite the fact he still has his head stuck in that book reading the pages, I can still see that smug smirk tucked behind the cover and pages.

I groan as I drop my bag and stand from my chair. I walk over to the two and wedge myself between the two. I cross my arms and glare sharply at the two. "Stop it, If you want to fight, wait until you go to your martial arts club." I scold. 

The two bowed their heads with a collective, "Yes Noona.". I nod my head in approval before walking back over to my seat. I sat in my seat but it wasn't long before the hourly bell rang. Namjoon and I walked to our lecture while the rest of them broke off to go to their other lectures. I sat in my seat beside the foul demon as class started.

I wipe my stray hairs out of my face with my wrist holding the paintbrush in my hand. Glancing down at my sketch book where I glued and taped in my different references. The hue of one of the vases is a little darker than what I'd had mixed on my palate. 

I walked back over to the paint station and began to mix that darker color. "(y/n)!" I hear Withrow call, "Yeah!" I call back. "I need you for a minute." she calls again, I put my palate down and grab a hand towel on the way out. 

I wipe paint off as I make my way over to her, but my eyes widen at the crowd with her, "What's all this?" I gap looking over the crowd. "Well the fund raiser for the club went better than expected." She huffs. "The one for studio time?" I ask and she nods, "And the one that includes the art lessons." She adds.

My eyes widen, "It's a joint event?" I ask in a slight panic. She nods her head, I set out an aggravated scoff "I'll have to talk to the admin and secretary about this." I mumble. "It's okay I'm sure you and I can handle this," I assure.

I run back over to my work station and grab my apron, I put it on as I hurriedly rush back to the main classroom. "Hello everyone, welcome to the open studio and class. Mrs. Withrow is passing out a folder full of art styles we can offer to teach you today for those who want to learn. Everyone else  is welcome to do as they please because this is an open studio. All we ask is that you behave maturely, don't disturb those around you, and keep your area as clean as possible." I smile. 

I hear sounds of agreement before letting the large group find their seat. "NOONA!!" I hear a familiar yell, My eyes widen as I see Kookie and Tae waving at me. "What are you two doing here?!? Don't you have dance practice with Hoseok?" I whisper quietly. 

The two grin at me childishly, "Don't tell Hyung we skipped. We heard your fundraising and we both could resist coming to see you." Taehyung spoke up. I sigh and rub my hand over my face "Fine, hurry up and sit down. Don't cause too much trouble you two." I warn as they hurry off to grab a seat beside each other.

I go back to getting everyone settled. Without much thought I wonder the room helping the occasional person, flirting here and there as well. Open studio was half way over when the door was busted open to reveal a pissed off Hoseok.

"THERE YOU TWO ARE!" He screams, My eyes widen as he marches his way over to the two boys. Oh hell no, he doesn't get to come in here like that. I quickly place myself between the three of them and glare at Hoseok. 

"Who the hell do you think you are coming in here like that. Can't you see they're working. you don't get to just come in here like that and snatch them up. So you best walk out that door and try again or so help me Jung Hoseok." I sneer. 

Hoseok stiffens up before bowing his head "Yes ma'am." He whispers before walking back to the door and closing it, only to knock and wait for a response. "That's what I thought." I mutter as I let him in.

<---- Prev // Masterlist // Next ---->

[lifetip901]

The Last Emperor Fyodor Vladimirovich Yemelyanenko

The Last Emperor Fyodor Vladimirovich Yemelyanenko

a Russian mixed martial artist During his heyday from his debut to 2010, he played as an "undefeated record" and gained great popularity among fighting fans in Russia and Korea. In his heyday, he carried many modifiers, including the emperor, one in six billion, and the strongest man in mankind, and is still said to have been the best player of his time.

As can be seen from the items of Hyo-pa and Hyo-ka at the bottom, he is a player who is especially overvalued and undervalued in Korea. The filial sons revere the undefeated Fyodor as the "best human weapon of all time" in their prime, and the filial piety dismiss him as a bubble of marginal (?) recognized only in Korea and Russia before UFC was activated. In conclusion, there is no doubt that he was the top heavyweight in the 2000s, and he is not a legend of MMA even in the West, which was not popular due to his bad player image, but he cannot deny that he failed to maintain his competitiveness and improve the overall level of other players after his heyday.

According to the National Institute of Korean Language's Russian notation, his name Fyodor is in principle, but he is widely known as Hyodor in Korea because he relies on Japanese notation and pronunciation while playing on the Japanese martial arts stage. Most fans call him Hyodor, including 20 years of media reports and Google search results. There is a difference between Japanese, which has less Jongseong pronunciation than Korean, and F-type pronunciation, which is not used in modern Korean writing, and many derivatives such as Hyopa and Hyoka have taken filial piety. However, in the 2010s, the number of signs that comply with the notation Fyodor is increasing. I once asked myself if Fyodor was right or Hyodor, but I said that Hyodor was similar to the actual pronunciation.

Based on Sambo, he was good at grappling and, above all, had a good sense of balance, so he hit punches with a lot of weight movement, but his center did not shake. His must-win formula was to approach with a powerful hook at a high speed enough to kick, link the take-down from the clinch to the top of the ground, and use the pound or finish with a submission. After the punch offensive, he liked to use his own unique attack of walking over his legs in a clinch situation, and he used his upper body or legs to make a fall from a high place and hit the pound more strongly. He was famous in Heath Herring match before Fyodor. (It was a technique with a high risk of fist injury due to self-attack.) In addition, Kimura Rock, Amba, and Rear Naked Choke were also fluent, and on the contrary, when he was laid down as a guard position, he succeeded in sweeping with his unique flexibility, using sub-mission, or pretending to walk.

When he played in the game, he was very good at creating a game in his favor without paying much attention to the opponent's style. Even if you win the game with a face that does not show your emotions, your expression will not change even if you win the title. The opposing players were confused because they couldn't read his expression, so the opponent felt psychological pressure. He also had good coping skills in each situation, but he responded to the worst situation without wavering, such as hugging and recovering from a groggy in the game against Fujita, and calmly responding to the worst situation even though he was caught by Randallman and fell off his head. "He has no fear," said Pat Milletic, UFC's first welterweight champion and renowned trainer. "No matter what fighter he is, he has an instinct for self-protection, but he doesn't see anything like that at all," he said.

It maintains a weight of 182cm/105kg, but it was intentionally gained and was said to have been in the 70kg range in the early 20s. In fact, his height (182 centimeters) is smaller than light heavyweight Forest Griffin (191 centimeters) and middleweight Anderson Silva (188 centimeters) and welterweight Carlos Condit (188 centimeters) and Nick Diaz (185 centimeters). Many experts believe that Fyodor's proper weight class is about middleweight. It is not that there are no small-height players in the heavyweight division, but Mark Hunt or Roy Nelson are small, and their basic weight is close to 120kg, so they are not far behind by strength in the weight division. The problem is that Fyodor is a technical player who takes advantage of his speed, so he can't just put on weight. Compared to the UFC heavyweight, which has a small mire of 190cm/109kg, Fyodor's physique is a weakness. However, with this physique, he caught 203cm/118kg team Sylviana and 196cm/120kg Brett Rogers one after another, which is almost like a stunt runner.

Unlike now, in the early 2000s, the weight division of the players was less systematic in the mma game and the heavyweight players were thin, so it was possible to target them with an overwhelming technique due to large, slow, and poor technology. A similar case was the kaoklai of the k-1. At first glance, there are opinions that if you lower your weight class because you fight well with big players, you will fight better with big players, but Kaokly, who relied on speed and accuracy, did not play much in the main weight class, and so did Fyodor, who faced Dan Henderson. Even before his full-fledged defeat, there were similar expectations among enthusiasts, which, as will be described later, are revealed in the confrontation with Dan Henderson and others. However, this does not mean that it is advantageous for a small player to deal with a large player, but that the level of the heavyweight player was that low.

[slutfortrent]

if you can, perhaps a pillowtalk with trent where it’s a very soft, cute and whole moment between him and the reader. they share how their days went, talk about their feelings and subtle aftercare. hope this is okay 🙃

butterfly kisses- trent alexander arnold

HI <333 so i kinda wrote a few reqs into one????? hope this is okay! thank you so much for your req, always <3

“Hmm.” A grumble escapes your lips in result to the significant amount of kisses being pressed against the apple of your cheek. A subtle smile appears across your face, beaming with pleasure at the affection your other half had been appreciating you with at the early hours of 7am in the morning.

Gradually, you knead your fisted palms up towards your eyes, lethargically rubbing last nights sleep out of your system. Blinking heavily, you are met with the warm, chestnut eyes, as dreamy as ever, leering at yourself. The liquid pools you could stare at all day, just watching as his lashes flutter with adoration, or when his eyes are struggling to stay open and become puffy with sleep. Those features settle your heart with a mountain of flutters.

Trent smiles as his eyes interlock with yours, his hand raising towards your soft mane, fingers effortlessly threading down your locks. A shiver runs down your spine, from either the temperature in the early hours or the loving affection your Scouser kept pleasing you with. Prying the bed covers in your hands, you pull them up and over your shoulders, before attempting to scooch closer to the man beside you.

“Cold?” Trent questions beside you, to which you reply with a swift nod. He edges you to come closer with an open arm, pulling you into the fortress of protection and welcoming warmth. His defined chest never came into competition to a memory foam pillow, each night your cheek settled against the bareness.

No doubt, no question, Trent adored cuddles. The man was basically a human sized teddy bear waiting to be hugged and cherished. For you, of course you admired being close to Trent a great deal, nose scrunching at the delight of his scent whilst gaining the softness of his jumper pressing against your skin. Though at times, having a clingy Scouser practically hanging off your sides more often than should, it did cause you to let out a huff at his enacts.

With your body now resting closely to his heat, legs thrown over his thighs in order to gain as much warmness radiating from his skin. On a day like today, a day after a match where his clingy mannerisms come out. Where in his world, it was accepted as it was allocated as ‘rest’. The man was all over you, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“How did you sleep?” you question him, small vibrations against his chest. the soft breath tickling his skin.

“Surprisingly not bad, actually. Considering all the partying last night. Thought me brain wouldn’t switch off. Will probably feel the aftereffects later though, hamstring is already feeling a bit tight.”

You giggle at his answer, though a wave of sadness does soon shadow over. The night before he’d played against Chelsea in the carabao cup, a win he’d like to boast about. It’s not long after a match his body begins to cramp up and ache. Especially in his thigh region did he tend to get pain. You’d guess probably from his free kicks, and not defending skills.

“At least you’ve got a few days off to recover, babe. Was thinking we could take Prince and Kober for a walk later?” You mumble.

Trent hums in agreement to your thought, “Sound’s good, sounds good.”

Your fingers tread against his skin, circle after circle being drawn. “I saw you and Mr Havertz last night. Never have I seen that side of you.”

He’s quick to respond, “Just happens, art of the game I guess.” he sighs.

You nod, a giggle escaping your side. “Thought I was losing my boyfriend for a second then,”

And now his response is even faster, head shaking with frustration at your annoyance. “Shut up.”

His fingers soon find your sides within a few seconds of your language, pressing themselves against your skin to tickle you effortlessly. He gains an abundance of giggles, soon flipping you over so your body laid upon the bed, instead of himself, positions swapped. His legs straddle your own, hands coming into contact with your bare hips exposed from your t-shirt riding up. A repetition of ‘stop’ flows from your lips, trying your best to pry the scouser off your figure.

After a while, he does give up. Although, he’s still very much settled in contact with your side. His head rests touching your stomach, a hand placing on your thigh now this time for him to draw circles. You’re both gaining your breath back from the previous moment, the noise of the chirping birds outside flooding the silence.

Its not long for Trent to become bored in his actions, the boy you often referred to as a child, needing to be doing something 24/7. A pressure is felt against your lower belly region, the touch of a pair of plumpest, smoothest lips in Liverpool attach to your skin. You smile at his new discovery, eyes closing in satisfaction.

He notices your current state, eyes closing in pleasure. And soon, takes this as a sign to carry on. His lips place fluttery kisses to your stomach, head bouncing around the area to cover. A soft moan escapes from yourself, quickly replaced with a heap of laughter.

“What’s funny, I’m trying to have a cute moment with you here?” Trent scoffs, chin nestling on top of your chest.

“It tickles, your beard. Can I even call it that? The scruffy stuff on your-“

Before you finish your sentence, he’s back to tickling your sides as before. Fingers digging in your skin and causing a wave of twitching movements to occur. He’s not being as harsh with this one, letting you off easier than before. Soon, his body slots between your legs, arms wrapped around your body, head upon your shoulder.

Soft breaths are felt up against your skin, more often than not a kiss being placed on whatever part of flesh he can see. Your hand reaches back to grasp his hair between your fingers, gliding through the curls at the nape of his neck.

“Can we just cuddle like this please? No more bullying Trent.” The scouser hisses, pushing his nose up to find your scent.

“Fine, stop being a little baby.” You kiss the top of his head, closing your eyes in contentment of the current situation. You both just laze in your positions, no voices or words needed to be expressed, just the togetherness of both your bodies wrapped in one, was enough for you both.

A thought comes back to Trent’s head about his prior behaviour, causing him to giggle to himself. “Hmm?” You subject his laughter.

“Just thinking about me kissing your belly. Imagine if there was a little baby in there, they wouldn’t be happy at my disturbance.”

Your eyes crinkle in confusion at the scousers words, unsure where he has gotten that thought from primarily, but also puzzled at the baby talk. “What?”

“What if they were sleeping, and I just come along and woke them up?” His eyes widen at the thought, hand coming to cover his mouth in shock.

You aren’t positively sure at the point he’s getting at, though this wasn’t uncommon for him. He’s prone to randomly spilling out context. Whether it being a question, ‘Do you think at some point cars can fly?’ to ‘Can toes fall off from the cold?’. Admittedly, you did love his random topics, they always ended up in a fit of giggles not just from your presence. It was something that did cause you to roll your eyes to the back of your head at his daftness, but also made your tummy hurt from humour.

Fingers threading through his hair, “Babies don’t sleep all the time though. Like when the mother eats food, the baby eats it also.” You smile.

“You think the baby is like a claw grabber? Maybe they play a game in the stomach where they move around to eat the food before it disappears into air.”

You aren’t sure whether to laugh or question him on his oddness. But you do know before you can respond, he’s mentioning another weird topic.

“You think whatever the nationality of the baby is, it is their favourite food inside the stomach? Rocco’s favourite scran must have been Haggis or a deep-fried mars bar.”

With a hum, a chuckle following afterwards, you respond to his conspiracy. “For you, that’s actually not a bad thought. Guess you could ask Rocco himself what his favourite meal is. Though, have you heard of many 4-year old’s saying they’d rather tuck into a plate of Haggis over a chocolate bar?” A round of chuckles concluding from you both.

Trent curls into your side as before, snuggling as closely as he can humanly possible to gain your heat. His ability to cuddle was definitely a strong point for him. “Guess we can only ask.”

You nod for a moment, until a rapid desire to empty your bladder takes over, “Anyways, I have to go..”

At the sound of your words, his head rises from your chest, now known as a pillow to him, “What? Don’t leave me..”

A smile erupts from his reaction, watching as his lip juts out to gain your attention. You please him with a kiss to the nose, attempting to shuffle away from the weight of a 5’10 man. “I have to go pee, sweet.”

His arm quickly stops you from becoming free of your position, halting you down with a forceful strength. “But, I’m comfy. You can’t make me move. I’m a broken man, Y/N. My legs are tingling, body can barely move from the amount of distance ran. And I had to see Robbo’s face more times than anyone should, instead of your pretty face.”

You laugh lightly at his pray for you, the aching in your lower region pleading to burst at any given moment. “Seriously T, if you don’t let me move within the next 30 seconds, a patch of wetness can easily form over you.”

He does, with a huff of irritation, allow you freedom. Watching as you swiftly escape into the bathroom not even a few meters away. You can hear a series of grumbles coming from his figure as you wash your hands, preparing yourself to be unleashed back to the lack of independence.

“Hurry up, I still need to tell you about Hendo and Milly yesterday. Oh! And mine and Robbo’s cross bar challenge. My god, is that scot bad at aiming high-“

Your head shakes at his mannerisms, smile beaming at the scouser who you loved, adored at all costs. Even if he was a clingy little shit, you still treasured the company always. And no matter what, would be lost without him. “Go on, lecture me baby.”

[cyborg-franky]

Thank you patreon!

I had so much fun doing this one!

Ace x GN Reader SFW Prompt: BBQ Word Count: 614

“I think you got a little ambitious with how much you could cook all at once,” Marco said as he peered around the chef’s side seeing all the food already packed onto the grill.

“I forgot about how much some of us eat.” Thatch said with a defeated sigh as he squeezed the handles of his tongs, the ends making an irritating clack, clack as he did so.

“Okay but, you guys are forgetting we have the perfect grill with us, make him earn his food.” You suggested as you walked over to the two commanders.

Marco and Thatch looked at you with quirked brows before you nodded over your shoulder to your boyfriend who was currently collecting shells along the shore, picking up the nice pretty ones before the sea chased him back onto dry land.

The doctor picked up on your hint before Thatch and chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief but he couldn’t deny it would be a good use of the other’s skill. They did need more room to cook things and Ace was the one being impatient.

“Alright, go get sparks and I’ll see what I can do.” Thatch agreed, a smile on his face, amused they were really going to do this.

“Hey, Ace!”

You called him over, he perked up at your voice, grabbing his handful of shells as he trotted along the sand, the slippery grains causing him to stumble for a moment, he gave you a nervous smile, wondering if you’d seen his little trip. You said nothing as you leaned up to kiss his warm freckled cheek.

He set down his newfound collection of junk next to the blanket you and he had brought along to share. Ace wasn’t sure he liked the look he was getting, all eyes on him, Marco’s half-lidded gaze and lazy smirk making him more uneasy than you or Thatch.

“So, you want to eat faster right?” you needed to sell the idea to him before you just announced he was going to be used as a human BBQ.

Ace nodded his head, nose wrinkled as he tried to detect the mischief as it unfolded. You saw Thatch bring over a few skewers with meat and vegetables all along them, another with just pineapple chunks. Thatch made a gesture for Ace to open his hands and grab the blunt ends.

“Alright, get cookin’ hot stuff!” Thatch winked at Ace.

“I don’t think I like you calling me that..” Ace narrowed his eyes at the chef before you wrapped arms around his waist, kissing his back, across his shoulder blades, you could feel his resolve melt away.

“Just got to stand there for five minutes, maybe rotate them every so often, Thatch will keep an eye on you. Plus, if you do this we can eat.”

That was all the extra motivation and talking into it the commander needed as he waited for you to step back. He ignited himself, a roaring human flame as he held the items. Thatch went back to work on the grill, watching Ace and making sure nothing seemed burnt. Ace was having a hard time not eating everything right away, the smell of the chicken in the special glaze that Thatch had created was becoming too tempting.

It wasn’t long before you were all sitting around the campfire, eating the delights that Thatch had prepared, and Ace had helped to cook. Marco passed out the bottles of beer as everyone took their first few bites.

This was nice, being around your partner, your friends, enjoying good food on the little beach as the sun started to set. You wished this summer would never end.

TAG LIST:

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[comphy-and-cozy]

NHL!Michael Blurb // "Let's have a baby."

For the anon who requested #49 ("Let's have a baby"). I took the liberty of making this deliciously filthy and smutty.

NSFW/Smut under the cut. ~3.5K words. Breeding/pregnancy kink. Some daddy kink, too.

Unofficial part 2 here.

#49: “Let’s have a baby.”

You’re in the kitchen when he says it, unbuckling your heels from the team function you just came back from. Facing the counter, one hand supports you as you slip your feet out of the shoes.

“Let’s have a baby, or let’s make a baby?” you ask, brow quirked to yourself. “There’s a big difference.”

You feel the warmth of Michael’s body approach behind you, hands resting on your hips. He presses his lips against your shoulder in an affectionate gesture that you know has more meaning behind it. He hums, lips sliding toward your neck. “Both?”

You turn in his arms, stopping his movements as you look him in the eyes, trying to gauge how serious he is. “Michael —“

“If we start trying now, there’s a better chance that they can be born in the offseason,” he explains, voice logical.

You raise your eyebrows, surprised at his thought out rationale. “Oh, so you’ve thought about this.”

“I always think about knocking you up.”

You roll your eyes, and he grins. Michael’s arms wrap around you, holding you close, and he adds, “I’m serious, though. I want to start a family with you.”

“Babies are a lot of work,” you point out, not convinced that he really understands the magnitude of bringing life into the world; you assume he’s just trying a new tactic of getting you naked. “It’s different from Gus.”

“I know.”

“We have to feed it and bathe it and teach it life skills and lessons and —“

“Y/N, I know.”

You pause, biting your lip as your arms circle around his neck. You’d wanted to be a mom for as long as you could remember, that feeling only becoming more prominent as your relationship with Michael blossomed. Now, the ring on your left ring finger holds a different weight, symbolizing the security and stability you didn’t realize you had been waiting for.

His eyes watch you, as if he’s trying to hear the train of thoughts chugging through your mind; he gauges how long he should let you ponder.

“Angel,” he presses on after a moment. “I want to be a dad. I want to be a parent with you. I’m ready. If you still are.”

Your eyes slide back up to his, and you see the sincerity in his gaze. Suddenly shy, you shrink in his arms as the realization hits you that this is real.

“What if you think I’m ugly when I’m all bloated and pregnant?”

Michael’s large hands flex slightly on your hips and his gaze becomes more intense, but his smile is the opposite, full of love and adoration as he looks at you. “I could never think that, baby.”

You’re not convinced, but then his hips press into yours, letting you know exactly how much he likes the image, and suddenly the mood in the kitchen has drastically changed. His hands move to grip your hips tighter, and he leans in to kiss you; it’s sweet, but you can feel the heat behind it that he’s trying to contain, waiting for your ‘official’ approval.

You’re ready; you know you are, and it really isn’t much of a decision — the source of your hesitation is more that you sort of can’t believe you’re really going to do this. With just a simple nod, you let him know that the light is green. You feel his lips curl into a grin against yours before he’s kissing you with full force, letting the hunger inside of him take over.

Michael’s tongue meets yours, carving out a space in your mouth as his hands pull you against him. His mouth is quick to move to your jaw, pressing open mouthed kisses along your skin before he murmurs in your ear, “You’re going to look so fucking sexy carrying my baby.”

A shiver runs down your spine, going straight to your core at his words. Michael walks you backwards until your bottom hits the edge of the counter, and he effortlessly lifts you up until you’re sitting on it. He pulls his mouth away from yours to smirk at you for a moment, then spreads your legs and steps between them, pulling you close once again before seeking out the skin on your neck.

You hum with pleasure, each kiss earning more goosebumps along your skin as you feel the wetness between your legs growing.

“Michael,” you whine. “Please.”

“Needy already, are we?” he teases. “Have patience, angel. Gotta get you nice and ready for me, yeah?”

Michael follows through on his statement by tugging your hips forward, placing a hand behind your back to gently lay you down against the granite countertop. It’s cold against your skin, but you’re distracted quickly when he kisses your calf, trailing his lips up your leg as he bunches the skirt of your dress up your thighs. Your back arches when his mouth presses against your core through the fabric of your panties, his tongue licking the material barrier.

Soon, but not soon enough, his fingers curl into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down your legs. Your eyes watch him as he takes in the sight of your bare pussy in front of him, and you wish that you could see into his mind and hear all of his filthy thoughts.

“She’s so gorgeous,” he murmurs, settling between your legs and allowing them to drape over his shoulders. He’s speaking to you, but his eyes haven’t left your core. “Such a pretty pussy.”

You shiver under his praise, eyes fluttering shut when he presses a kiss to your lower lips, slowly and sensually dipping his tongue in your entrance. “Taste so fucking good, baby.”

Michael’s tongue explores your pussy as if it’s his first time, taking his time even though he knows each and every spot. He’s always been the kind of guy who genuinely enjoys eating pussy, treating it like an art rather than a chore. He kisses your clit before flicking it gently with the tip of his tongue, drawing delicate circles around it that have your head spinning in no time.

Large hands hold your hips in place as he all but makes love to your pussy, tongue delving inside you and through each fold. His nose nudges your clit, and you stifle a moan when his tongue flattens against you. One hand trails to meet his mouth, dipping a finger inside you to work in tandem with his lips wrapping around your clit.

Your mind is blank, empty save for relishing the heated euphoria Michael is providing you, working you with his practiced rhythm in the way that always leaves you breathless. He said he wanted to get you ready, but with the cadence he’s set, you know he wants to make you come, and hard. By the way the heat is flooding your belly, it seems like he’ll achieve his goal quicker than expected.

“That’s it, baby,” he mouths against you, his voice muffled by your thighs wrapped around his head. “Can feel you.”

Fingers curling upward, he all but grins at the cry you let out as he strikes your g-spot, probing it while his tongue continues it’s assault on your clit. The pressure inside you snaps, hitting you like a freight train, and your body goes rigid as your release rips through you. Michael doesn’t relent, his fingers and tongue working to drag out the waves of your orgasm that have now dulled to an intense ripple.

Once he’s satisfied with your weak whimpers, he slows his movements before gingerly removing his hand, inserting the same fingers into his mouth to suck off the remaining excess.

“Michael,” you moan, the sight nearly too much to handle in combination with your climax. “Need you.”

He chuckles softly, standing to lean over you. His mouth is coated in a layer of your slick, but you reach up to kiss him anyways, tasting yourself as he wastes no time in plunging his tongue in your mouth the same way he had done to your pussy just moments prior. In an instant, the action has your orgasmic haze clearing, making way for a fresh, and strong, wave of desire.

“I don’t think the kitchen counter is the right spot to make a baby, do you?” he asks, hands sliding under your ass to lift you into his arms. Wouldn’t be the worst spot, you think to yourself, but you tuck your arms around his neck anyways.

“Nah,” he says. “Want to do it properly, in bed.”

If your lips weren’t so busy seeking out his, you might be embarrassed that you said that out loud, but instead you’re focused on wrapping your legs around him as he begins to carry you through the house. Eventually he makes his way to the bedroom, gently dropping you on the mattress, crawling over you in an instant.

Michael’s hands slide up your sides, helping you to remove your dress, then your bra, and he pauses to take in the sight of you naked beneath him.

“Never gets old,” he comments, eyes staring at your breasts.

“Michael, you saw them this morning,” you laugh, and he shakes his head.

“Doesn’t matter. They’re still perfect.”

You respond by tugging at his shirt until he pulls it over his head, and as your eyes trail over the cut muscles of his body, you suddenly understand his sentiment — you will never grow tired of this view. You’re distracted, though, when he unzips his pants and kicks them down his legs, leaving him in nothing but his boxer briefs with a sizable tent in them.

Dragging your bottom lip between your teeth, you do your best to quell the moan that bubbles in your throat, anticipation thrumming through your veins. Michael knows, and he gives a cocky smirk. “You want it, don’t you, angel?”

You drag your eyes up to his, giving your best sultry ‘fuck me’ eyes as you nod, refusing to give into the temptation to yell, “Yes, please, please, please.”

Your feet slide up his legs and make their best attempt at pushing his boxer briefs down his legs, half succeeding before he’s smirking again, leaning back to help you remove them completely. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, finally naked and bare for you, just as you are for him.

He’s in a teasing mood, you can tell, and instead of letting him, you take matters into your own hands by reaching out to fist his length. He’s hard in your hand, skin soft as velvet, as you pump your hand while maintaining solid eye contact with him.

Michael isn’t pleased with your act of defiance, but your hand feels too damn good to ignore, and a groan of pleasure sounds from his chest as you give him a squeeze. His eyes watch you, glittering, while you shift onto your knees on the bed to take him into your mouth.

He groans out at the feeling, hand moving to tangle loosely in your hair as you work your lips around him. He’s heavy, and big, and you have always enjoyed the challenge of fitting as much of him into your throat as you can. Steeling yourself, you relax enough to take him deeper, tongue flattening against the underside of his dick.

“Jesus Christ,” he grunts out. “Such a perfect, pretty mouth you have, baby.”

You bob your head, finding a rhythm, tongue working sinfully in tandem with your lips and the suction of your mouth. Even after all these years, he is still in awe that he married the world’s best dick sucker, and that he’s going to get blowjobs like this for the rest of his life.

Slowly, your rhythm melds into his as he begins to gently move his hips, thrusting into your mouth cautiously. Once he’s sure you’re ready by the telltale sign of your fingers flexing on his thighs, he takes over the movement, fucking your mouth as he hits the back of your throat each time.

“Mmm,” he hums, fingers gripping your hair a bit tighter. “So good for me.”

Each thrust and groan from his mouth draws more arousal to your own core, thoroughly enjoying how much pleasure you are providing to him. With one hand bracing yourself on the bed, holding yourself steady, you move your other hand between your legs, rubbing circles over your clit. Michael, of course, takes note of this quickly, chuckling darkly. He knows how much you enjoy this, and it turns him on wildly to know that getting him off also gets you off.

Pulling away from your mouth, Michael bites his lip at the sight of his dick emerging from your lips, swollen and covered in saliva, as a string connects your mouth to his tip even as he pulls away.

“As much as I love to fuck your pretty little throat, I’m afraid I won’t be cumming there anymore. Have to save all of this cum for your pretty little pussy, yeah?”

You let out an unabashed moan at his words, feeling yourself clench down onto nothing at the thought. Michael presses forward, leaning down to kiss you as he gently pushes you backward, tangling your legs around his hips while he crawls on top of you.

He settles between your legs, his hard cock resting so close to where you need him most, but instead of giving you what you want, he cages your head between his muscular arms, gazing down at you.

“You like that, angel?” his voice is low as he weaves his hand down your body, toying teasingly at your entrance; he smirks upon feeling just how drenched you are for him, welcoming his fingers greedily. “Oh, yeah, you fucking love it, huh? You can’t wait for me to fuck a baby into you, can you?”

If his grade-A pussy eating skills don’t have you soaked, his words certainly do, and you feel your muscles clench weakly around nothing, aching for him to be inside you.

Michael kisses you deeply, and you can’t help the whimper that he swallows down as he grinds himself against you. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, fingers clutching onto him as you try to focus on anything but the throbbing between your legs. You’re desperate for him, needing to feel some sort of friction and the delicious stretch of him inside of you.

“Michael, please,” you whimper, “Please.”

“Please, what, angel?” he asks, teasing you as he leans back to rub the head of his cock along your dripping slit.

“Please, fuck me,” you moan, and Michael hums in approval.

“That’s my girl,” he praises you, enjoying the effect he clearly has on you.

He adjusts, bracing his arms on your sides before he slides into you slowly, eyes glued to your face as your mouth opens in a silent moan. The sex was always good with him, but there was nothing quite like the first stretch around his thick length as your bodies connect into one.

Your nerves tingle as he works himself into you, leaning forward to touch his forehead to yours in a sweet gesture that you’d normally appreciate more if you weren’t desperately in need of more. His hot breath fans over your face, but you’re too busy focusing on the way he feels moving in and out of you, igniting the fire in your core with each thrust of his hips. Breath is caught in your throat, hips rising to meet each push, and Michael kisses you as if to suck the air out of your lungs for you.

For a brief while, all that can be heard in the privacy of your bedroom are your heavy breaths and the gentle sound of Michael’s hips hitting yours. He feels so fucking good, and you are perfectly fine to enjoy the sensation rather than rushing to reach your peak. Somehow, it feels different — and even better — knowing that this act is more than just passionate lovers, but making love — and making life.

Your hands graze over the skin of his shoulders, accepting the heat of his flesh into your fingertips, and, likewise, transferring the thrum of your chest until your hearts beat in tandem as one.

Michael, though, has a different idea in mind, and soon, the pace of his hips speeds up as he begins to thrust into you harder. His lips find your jaw, sucking into the spot just below your ear, muffling the sound of his groans as he feels you clench tightly around him.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he murmurs. “Can’t wait to fill this pretty little cunt up with my cum.”

All you can do is whimper in response, the arousal you feel at his words and his matching actions almost overwhelming. Your fingers tremble along his shoulders, nails digging into the flesh as you hold on for dear life.

“Yeah? You like that, baby? You want to make me a daddy?”

“Fuck,” you cry out, both from the way he presses the head of his cock right against your g-spot, as well as his erotic words. “Yes, Michael, yes, please.”

“Yeah? You gonna take all of my cum, aren’t you? Not gonna waste a single drop, huh?”

You shake your head, not trusting your voice to come out, and he rewards you by moving his hand to circle at your clit. He knows you’re close, hanging on by just a thread, your cunt clenching desperately around him.

“That’s it, angel,” he praises, eyes glassy as he watches the bounce of your tits. “Take it so good, don’t you? Fuck, it’s like you were made to take my dick, baby.”

Between his hot praise, forceful thrusts, and calculated rub of your clit, you’re spiraling over the edge before you even have a chance to cry out, the euphoria washing over you in overwhelming waves. Your head falls back and legs tremble with the strength of your orgasm, clenching tightly around him as he groans at the feeling.

“Good girl,” he purrs, removing his hand from your clit to take its place back on your hip, gripping it tightly as he seeks out his own release.

He pumps into you, losing himself to his own rhythm as his eyes close. A deep groan rumbles in his chest, almost animalistic, and it has you clenching tightly around him.

“Fuck,” he exclaims. “Gonna come, angel. Gonna fill you up with a fucking baby.”

“Give it to me, daddy,” you moan, encouraging him. “Come inside me.”

The sight of him coming is always something — head thrown back, eyes closed, muscles flexed — but it’s even more beautiful knowing the intimacy of the act. It’s more than a release, it’s the start of a family with the man you’re hopelessly and deeply in love with, souls connected in more ways than one.

You feel the hot spurts shooting into you, and it’s almost enough to send you into another orgasm, your cunt greedily taking every drop from his cock. His hips stutter against yours, hands loosening their grip as he comes down from his high.

Michael looks down at you, panting, and smirks at you before pulling out halfway, only to push back in and make you clench weakly around him.

“Gotta keep it all in this pretty little cunt, don’t we? Don’t wanna waste a single drop,” he says.

He takes his time, lightly fucking you, gently sliding in and out of you. Between your two orgasms and the feeling of his warmth deep inside your womb, your core is on fire in the best way, and your fumbling hand reaches quickly for your clit. One, two, three circles later, you’re crying out in your final orgasm of the night, legs trembling weakly as your insides contract tightly.

Michael watches in awe, cursing under his breath as he lets you work through it, keeping his gentle rhythm steady. He eyes the swollen, wet lips of your pussy with a deep appreciation. “Look so fucking pretty taking my cum. All filled up with our baby, yeah?”

He presses kisses to your hairline as you come down slowly, as if to tell you to take your time. When he finally pulls out, you whimper slightly at the loss, feeling the emptiness, but you know you’re not really empty.

With his release, the darkness in Michael’s eyes has disappeared, and now he’s looking at you softly, eyes full of love and adoration. His lips curl into a smile, leaning down to kiss you gently as one hand trails over your belly. No words are needed; you know what he’s thinking, as you imagine the little seed growing inside of you.

He shifts so that he’s laying next to you, pulling you into his arms, and he presses a kiss against your forehead.

“Have to say,” he murmurs after a moment. “I think I like being daddy already.”

“A daddy, or just daddy?”

Michael hums, hand trailing over your stomach again, as if there’s already something there, invisible to everyone but him.

“Both.”