#lest the world explode and all that

[t4tstarvingdog]

there’s something to be said about the attractiveness of a guy having a singular, all-important object of devotion like he’s some sort of loyal knight or hunting dog

[todayisafridaynight]

FIRST OF ALL DAIGO GAMEPLAY REAL

Second of all finished Chapter 1 <3 I watched an Xbox stream muted at 2x while skipping battles because I wanted to save the proper experience for my friend's stream and your stream but uhhhhh <3 without saying too much or setting any expectations <3 personal favorite Kiryu game no contest LOL but I figured it would be so no surprises there... I'm def taking note of how long individual chapters might take and stuff since this wasn't exactly an Optimal Playthrough but we'll get there when we get there

DAIGO GAMEPLAY REEEEEEEEEAL 🗣️🗣️🗣️ OBSESSED WITH HOW HE JUMP KICKS SON STOP THAT YOU'RE GONNA HURT YOURSELF--

but gottamn already done with chapter 1- VERY MUCH APPRECIATE MAKIN MENTAL NOTES ON CHAPTER LENGTHS if that gameplay wasnt optimal then heh 😏 i promise to be worse 😏

[riddlesrizzler]

At Least Out Loud

summary: Get off his case, he won't say it. characters: mattheo. gyrffindor! reader. mentions of slytherin boys and harry potter warnings: none! just some tension to lovers word count: 646

It had always been like this.

Since first year, since the moment you and Mattheo Riddle had locked eyes across the Great Hall, there had been an unspoken war between you.

Every class, every duel, every interaction turned into a competition neither of you could afford to lose.

If you brewed the best potion in Slughorn’s class, he’d find a way to top it next time. If he beat your score in Defense Against the Dark Arts, you’d spend hours practicing just to make sure you destroyed him on the next test.

It was exhausting.

And yet, neither of you stopped.

The rivalry had only intensified over the years, growing sharper, more heated. Even the professors knew to separate you when you started bickering, lest one of you end up hexing the other in the middle of class.

But everyone else saw something more.

"You two fight way too much for it to be normal," Theo had pointed out one evening in the Slytherin common room.

"That much tension?" Enzo had smirked. "They’re either going to kill each other or shag each other senseless."

"Over my dead body," Mattheo had scoffed.

"Sure, sure," Theo had drawled. "You can lie to us all you want, mate, but at some point, you’re going to have to admit that you-"

"Absolutely not." Mattheo had cut him off, glaring.

Because it wasn’t true. Right?

Right.

He hated you.

Which was exactly why he was currently sitting on his broom, waiting for the start of the Slytherin versus Gryffindor Quidditch match, and telling himself that the only reason he was scanning the crowd was definitely not to find you.

But then you appeared.

The Gryffindor team emerged from the locker rooms, robes bright red against the green field, and there you were, walking at the front with your broom in your hand, looking so damn smug that it made his blood boil.

You met his gaze instantly, and the smirk you sent him was nothing short of a challenge.

Bring it on, Riddle.

And he did.

The match was brutal. It was fast-paced, full of sharp turns, near collisions, and dirty plays that had the referees blowing their whistles every other minute. You and Mattheo had nearly knocked each other off your brooms at least three times, neither of you willing to let the other get ahead.

But then-

Gryffindor won.

The moment the snitch was caught, the stadium erupted into cheers. Your team tackled Harry in midair, shouting in triumph as the Gryffindor stands exploded in celebration.

Mattheo, still hovering in the air, felt his jaw tighten.

He should’ve been pissed. Furious. He was pissed.

And yet-

His eyes found you again.

You were in the middle of it all, laughing, cheeks flushed from the wind and exertion, eyes shining with exhilaration. You turned toward your teammates, throwing an arm around one of them, still grinning like you had just won the entire damn Wizarding World Cup.

And for the first time, Mattheo didn’t feel the urge to scowl.

Instead, something in his chest twisted.

It wasn’t fair. How could someone be so frustrating, so insufferable-and yet so…

His lips twitched-just slightly, just enough for Blaise to notice as he floated up beside him.

"You’re smiling," Blaise pointed out, raising a brow.

Mattheo scoffed, quickly schooling his expression back to indifference. "No, I’m not."

Theo flew up on his other side, smirking. "You so are."

"Shut up," Mattheo muttered.

"You like her," Draco said, far too entertained.

Mattheo rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "Absolutely not."

The boys exchanged a look, but Mattheo ignored them. His gaze flickered back to you once more, still caught up in the celebration, and something in him softened-just for a second.

Then, under his breath, barely loud enough for anyone to hear, he muttered:

"At least out loud, I won’t say I’m in love."

[yandere-wishes]

⭒ㅤׂ ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ, ɪᴛ'ꜱ ʀᴜɪɴɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ʟɪꜰᴇㅤׂ ⭒

⭒⌒★ Yandere!Dune Men x Reader ★⌒⭒

゜。♡ 𝒲𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝓁𝒾𝓏𝑒 𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒴𝑜𝓊 ♡ ｡ ゜  

☾⋆ Paul Muad'Dib Atreides | پل معادب آتریدس

He dreamed of you again tonight. Something cathartic laying across the sands. Your touch haunts his skin, tracing scars and stars across his cheeks. He wonders what you see him as, something sacred or something exotic. Neither matters so long as you love him...

Paul's a volatile star, always one breath away from exploding. You're scared to touch the golden boy, lest your fingers return burned and your skull rattles with the echo of the cosmos. Still, it's hard to miss the devotion when his lips grace your knuckles. Hard to miss the cacophony of his heart as it reverberates across the desert. 

ᯓ★ Leto Atreides | لتو آتریدس

Leto kisses butterflies into your shoulder, the taste of your skin feels like nectar on his tongue. His mind is always racing vying for your affection, your attention, your adherence. He traces your name across his star maps, each letter scribbled in a melancholy blue. You grace his chambers again tonight, it feels so wrong to only see your silhouette, to not feel your love bleeding like his does. He kisses you again, something akin to devotion. He needs to feel you under him again, needs to feel the softness of your flesh under his fingers. Something in him shatters, something inside him rearranges. You make him feel so erratic. Why must he love you this way?

𓆩⚝𓆪 Duncan Idaho | دانکن آیداهو

his lips taste of chaos, he pours his passion into you. 

He feels you rattle inside his bones. Feels you coursing through his veins like unaltered spice. He's on another mission, laying in the sand and daubing your essence into constellations. He dreams of your fingers running over his muscles pushing adoration into him with a rusted kitchen knife. Your eyes never gaze at him for long. And yet each stare holds the weight of a nebula. He falls asleep to the phantom melody of your sweet voice. Dreaming of returning to you once more. 

༺🕸༻ Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen | فید روتا هارکونن

There's a blade in his hand, blood marring pale fingers again. In every droplet, he sees your face. Phantom pains rampage when he hears your name. He dreams of you holding a knife to this chest, breaking the skin, and riving through muscle. Each night your ghost plagues him. Hurting him in all the ways he craves. He dubs you ecstasy, overdosing on everything he wants to do to you. Everything he wants you to do to him. He etches your name upon his bones, dedicating each open wound to you. He's going mad over the notion of you between his sheets, limbs entwined in a bloody mess. His tongue craves the taste of your flesh, starved like the trees on Arakkis. He must have you, he will have you. 

-`𖤓´- Stillgar | ستیلگار

Stillgar's love is a desert tune, the winds rustling through the grains before the breaching of a sandworm. He falls harder and harder with each soulful gaze. He's spent his whole life chasing prophecies that he's forgotten how to wholly love something not written in blood and legend. He prays upon every star, that the maker has written your names together. That maybe some prophecy exists where you are to become his. He watches you sitting across the dunes, watching as the sunset pales compared to you. He whispers prayers beneath his breath, hoping you'll be with him soon. 

݁˖☘︎ Gurney Halleck | گارنی هالک

He stiffens under your touch, under the sonority of your voice. His battered heart rattles in your presence, the air in his lungs freezes and he momentarily forgets that he is a soldier, a protector, a tool carved to fight for the Atreides. He's not meant to love, to crush, he's meant to kill, to teach, to follow. A weapon in every sense of the word. And yet he'd throw the world at your feet for a sliver of your attention. Gurney can't help the flames that grow within him. The raging pyro each night when he catches a rogue glimpse of you through the crack of your door. He wishes to kiss you, to hold you. To make you his in every way he knows he can't. 

[softgh0stbites]

Tethered ✨️

Pairing: Vincent x Reader

Warning: Super sloppy ramble smut ♡ minors dni heavily inspired by devils line ♡

Tags: monster-fucking, tail humping, hand job, voyeuristic, tongue sucking, drool, lots of other sloppy stuff.

-----------

Vincent feels as pathetic as he sounds. His skin is tingling from his scalp to the tips of his fingers. Your hands are so good on him, velvet against marble, and he swears he could see stars behind this blindfold snug across his eyes. There's hardly any sound in the dim room aside from the panting and soft gasps from the both of you. The entire medical team was watching from beyond a glass, discretly checking monitors to make sure everything was okay.

This was a test to see how far Vincent could push himself without restraining everything all at once. What triggered his harsh transformations most of the time was anguish, pain, but lately even adrenaline from desire was starting to have a similar effect.

The last time you had found yourselves alone together, tongues locked in a furious battle his hands had almost ripped their leather gloves as his claws slid through like butter. He had refused to be intimate afterwards.

There's no sense of humiliation here for now letting his monsterous features out— not much anyway. His tongue is lolling out, licking at any inch of skin you push his way, savoring the taste of your lotion, your sweat. There's no time to feel ashamed of it, of this pulsing madness between the both of you. He knows you don't have the luxury of a whole night to yourselves, you had talked him through the process with the medical team- even though they were ex-shinra scientists, they had been nothing but helpful towards your group.

A chortle rips from his throat, caught as his head begins to hang a bit, the collar around his throat tight, but not restrictive.

It's been too long, a crescendo of long kisses and heavy petting only to turn each other away— afraid. His inner thighs ache to part, to grasp you and drag you on top of his splayed legs to take what you want. The idea of you controlling all the movement, the entire entanglement turns him on to infinity. Your hands gripping him as you take what you want? He would simply explode much to his chargin.

Now his hands ache to grasp, to claw, to spread you open and drink you up like you're his favorite vintage wine. He can hear your soft moans as you touch yourself right in front of him, he can hear the slip and slide of your fingers coated in your own slick. The embers in his loins grow hotter with every passing breath. He's licking stripes along your exposed neck, tongue curling between the bars of the muzzle to make it work. Like this, it's safer for both of you. He laps like a dirty dog, too out of it to care to be non-chalant or insecure. All he can think, feel, smell is you. He wants it.

He'd been pent up for too many days, too many close calls of beasts bursting from his skin. At least now he was restricted, made to obey lest all temptations stopped. The carnivorous desire to consume all you offered, savor it, beg for it like an animal was all he had left. Ambitions, pity, self-hatred be damned because he would wear humiliation like a scarlet scarf- wrapped in your fingers for all the world to see.

Well, the medical staff would definitely see.

In this moment, he was truly your prisoner, a man succombed to carnal desire. His own voice is warbler and indistinct to him, ragged, panting.

"Hah- ah—...Taste...so good...I like it..." His groans grow deeper as you catch his slippery tongue with your fingers and rub it gently. This kind of touch shouldn't send shivers down his spine, it shouldn't soothe him, but it does,

"Mhh—..ore?" He asks, the restraints of leather and chain creaking in protest as he shifts his knees apart, giving his erect cock a chance to breathe in its confined leather pants.

His hands reach out, the pull of the chains rattling around his wrists, he wants to feel the plush of your breasts to squeeze. He wants to make you come like this, to show you he's still worthy. He finds your chest being pressed into his hands, the softness is so supple, sweet. Fingers twitching but controlling his pressure, reminding himself that he can't lose his composure completely or everything stops when he becomes non-verbal.

You had prefaced that when you both agreed to this kind of test. When you led his hand to your sweet lips and kissed every knuckle, declaring your loyalty, your bravery to see him this way. To still choose him by the end of it, to try.

The way you patiently let him discover, watch him unravel over you with his dark locks falling all over his shoulders. In his half transformation, it had grown longer, pooling on the medical white sheets. His eyes were covered completely, but you could feel the heat of his gaze like he could still see you regardless with just his nose and flicks of that thick forked tongue hanging between his lips.

His fingers brushed over your nipples, a gasp releasing as you shifted closer, trying not to tow the line and get too close. He was panting, drooling like a dog, and yet your inner walls clenched around nothing. You wanted that primal part of him to take you to places you'd never dare to go. You wanted to shatter around him, to take and receive in this twisted nature.

A rough texture brushed against your leg, and in surprise, you choked back a moan as it slid between your legs. His tail had moved of its own accord, it was heavy and rough but the underside was quite smooth; it glided against your clothes clit deliciously as he continued kneading your chest.

"V-vincent...hah..." You panted, rubbing against his tail desperately, but trying to bite your lip to keep from exciting him too much.

"Yess..." He almost hissed out between his growing fangs, they were filling his mouth to the point it was hard to see his dark lips. He looked wicked, you wondered if it was more pain than pleasure.

"You're...hah—" You shuddered as he moved again against your soaked panties, the fabric catching on one of the plates of his scales, "Y-you okay?" You mustered.

"Mhmmm," He was shaking as he pulled his hands from your chest, curling them in his lap, his cheeks were red, ears absolutely torched. You could see the flush creeping around the open vest at his chest and around his forearms, "I'm fine, want you to come..." He almost whimpered, tongue flicking out between the muzzle bars again, tasting the air, tasting your arousal with a loud moan.

The sight of him pulling his own cock out from the waist of his pants and jerking it wildly was insanely hot. Your jaw was slack as you hooked a finger in your underwear to pull it over to the side. You wanted more friction to slip on the soft part of the tail. You could feel the muscles clenching as you touched it bare.

At this point his shoulders were shaking violently, spit flying from his mouth in half snarls as he rubbed himself almost angrily. You whimpered, that seemed to press him on as he curled over his thighs, hair pooling over his face. He looked to be in pain, there was an ambience there that you weren't sure about.

Against your better judgment you slid further up the tail, hand reaching out to grip some of the hair and tangle it in your fingers. You tugged lightly with a soft whisper of his name.

"Vin?" You coo'd gently, eyes half-lidded as he cocked his head at you, tilting his chin up. That delicious looking mouth parting with your name as well as you tried to get him to slow down, "Be careful, yeah? Don't hurt yourself."

He nodded, swallowing thickly as his hands continued on himself but less harsh. He could feel your knee knocking against his, sparks flying down his spine, "Miss...kissing you.." He admitted, brows furrowed.

"Stick your tongue out, silly." You chided, leaning forward across the invisible line you weren't supposed to cross. Your other finger hooked in his muzzle, tugging his face forward. You felt his tongue prodding against your lips, so you opened and let him in. You suckled gently, hips picking up tempo in grinding on him. You were grinding so hard, your own release came quickly, though you could barely focus on the white hot sensation between your legs. He was so beautiful in front of you, a man completely desperate.

Unable to speak because you were working sinful strokes along his tongue, he was crying. Tears slid from under the blindfold, collecting beneath his chin as the rush of emotion and pleasure overcame him.

Vincent cried out, tongue still trapped between your lips as you licked it slowly. You could see his body tense up, his hand stopping completely as he coated his abs and part of your leg in his cum. He was still rutting into his fist in desperation. The sticky trails were left all over his pants, his breathing staccato as he came down.

"I need to touch you, I'm fine...I can control it." His arms spread out reaching for you, needing to hold you after orgasming.

A part of you broke inside seeing him so lost afterwards, he was always seeking you out after now. It was an aftercare both of you needed. You looked towards the window, waiting to see if the team behind the glass would cut the session entirely or what they would say. As you waited, you could feel the tail beneath you sliding away, here the ragged groans of pain as Vincent was pulling himself back together.

Soft particles of magic rumiated where the limbs dispersed. He was returning to normal with every slow of his heartbeat. You took it as a sign and practically threw yourself in his lap, shirt rumbled half off your body, your pants still hanging off of one leg. You didn't care, you sighed in relief as his arms came around you.

"I'm here,"

"All I can smell is you," Vincent blurted out as he stroked the top of your hair, the coldcage of the muzzle pressing against your cheek, "was it...—"

"No it wasn't scary, you were still beautiful to me." You replied instantly, pulling the muzzle straps away from his face with care. As it fell away from his face you kissed him immediately. His lips were a bit chapped from biting them, but they were still so nice to feel against your own.

"I hate the muzzle most of all," He kicked it off the bed with his leg as you set it down to the side. You raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"That much huh?"

"You should wear it next time," He tossed back, pulling you back against his chest, legs pulled up around you to cage you in and shield you from the view of the one way mirror, "It's bad enough everyone on the other side gets to look at you."

You feel a bit of pride regardless, "But we did it, you controlled yourself again, we could work on this." You nuzzled closer. In a few moments a team of doctors would come in and take off the rest of his restraints, would physically check in on both of you, but you didn't care. Right now he was rocking you both, soft breaths stirring your hair and his fingers rubbing circles on your shoulders.

Vincent wasn't broken, just twisted and mangled. That didn't mean he couldn't enjoy what life had to offer, he just had to work through it. You would be there every step of the way.

[shurisneakers]

“i know we almost died just now, but… am i the only one who’s hungry?” is so harmless reader core… but what if it was Bucky saying this?

Also hi i love u

hi <3 hey <3 i love u too <3 harmless turns 4 years old next year she's like in school now

Catch up with the rest of the series here!

"Great job, team," you pant, raising your hand for a high five. "I think that was very well handled."

Bucky, still trying to process what exactly the fuck just went down, does not even respond when you match his indifference, dropping your hand to slap it against his.

"Is that how it always goes?" you ask him, looking around the empty lot. "I figured there'd be a lot more zing, y'know? Some oomph. That was like, fine."

The mission was going fine, calm even, until you managed to piss them off, leading to them calling in backup, leading to you both being severely outnumbered, leading to you deciding you'd gotten bored which finally lead to you ending it with a timeout-inator.

Things had exploded, Bucky had to pull down a door to shield you both-- it was a whole thing that he definitely did not mentally prepare for. This was just supposed to be a simple data extraction. He doesn't know at which point nuclear guns got involved.

"How--" Bucky stops mid-sentence, brain scrambling to put together things, "--how did you get assigned on this mission again?"

It wasn't like he claimed to be the expert on all things SHIELD, but he figured that a non-Avenger, non-agent needed a lot of clearance to be allowed on a mission, no matter how mundane the initial objective was. The fact that it devolved into madness was more on you than SHIELD.

"I wrote my name on the sign-up sheet," you explain, smoothing out your singed clothes.

"The what?"

"Fine, you caught me," you give in without even trying, dusting some ash off his shoulder. "I forged my name on some documents, used some white paint. Did an ol' switcharoo. You know how it goes."

"You faked your way here?" he shouts, dropping the damn door he was still holding. "What the hell was your plan?"

"Why does everything need a plan? Why can't I just tag along to see what you do for a living?"

"We nearly got killed. You--"

"But we didn't."

"That is not the point. You said it was a special mission, you said you had clearance from Nick to--"

"I said Nick would give me clearance for anything. And it is a special mission. I'm here, isn't that the specialest gift of all?"

"You didn't ask?" he screeches instead. "How did you get here? Who the fuck was supposed to be here in your place?"

"Clint," you say with a sheepish smile. "He told me he'd wash my garage so we swapped."

That fucking moron. "He'd wash your garage in exchange for you risking your life--"

"I didn't risk anything." You scoff. "I knew we would handle that like champs."

"We nearly got annihilated by a nuclear gun." He drags a hand down his face. "If he didn't trip over your stupid jacket in the last second, we would be dust."

"Well yeah, only if you put it like that," you relent. Bucky glares at you.

You look out at the empty room, one hand on your hip. Lot of rubble and shrapnel in places they had no reason being.

"Huh," you say after a while. "Guess we did just almost die."

"That's it?" he raves, still incredulous. "That's all you have to say?"

"That's crazy-sauce, man," you add, throwing your hands up when he glares at you. "What? What else should I be saying?"

"Where the fuck did you send them?" Bucky finally makes a move, wiping the dirt off his metal fingers onto his cargo pants.

"I put them in timeout," you reply, tapping the gun you'd put back into he pocket of your pants.

"Where is timeout?"

"Like, somewhere outside of time," you dismiss. "Time-out. You get it."

His eyes clench shut, taking a deep inhale in before exhaling, lest he pop a blood vessel.

"We almost died," he tells you again.

"If you say so," you nod.

He stares at you.

You stare right back at him.

The world keeps spinning.

"I'm hungry," he grumbles. "You want lunch?"

"I could go for a sandwich, yeah."

[roguishcat]

A welcome distraction

Summary: Astarion was not nice. Nothing about him was even remotely nice. Such a bland, plain word that carried little to no meaning. But perhaps, given the right incentive, he could be persuaded to be nice to the one person who he felt deserved it most.

Tags: Fluff, tooth-rotting fluff

Pairing: Astarion x female Tav

One-shot, 2.3k words

Set in the beggining of Act II.

Astarion stretched out languidly on Tav’s bedroll, watching her as she looked through their magic trinkets to decide which ones they could do without. Ever since Gale came to her, confessing everything, telling her of his folly, Tav has taken extra care to set aside an item or two that the wizard could consume.

Now, if this was done out of sense of self-preservation, that would be completely understandable. It would be quite unfortunate for that orb in his chest to get so volatile it would just explode at random. Such a waste that would be. The world would lose its most beautiful creature! And just as he was starting to enjoy his freedom! And he supposed the wizard had his uses too.

Astarion blinked slowly and sighed. As nice as it was to have no one try to murder them for a change, he was getting bored. And his favourite source of entertainment seemed to have no time on her hands for him.

And that just wouldn’t do.

He moved closer to Tav and lifted his hand to rest on her head, running his fingers through her hair and then lower down to caress the exposed skin of her neck. Astarion knew that he was distracting her, that was the whole point of the gentle, feather-light touches that made goosebumps rise on her exposed arms. And when that garnered no reaction, Astarion lifted himself up to press his chest against her back, snaking his arms around her middle.

“Darling,” he said smoothly, kissing her shoulder, making a move to lift her shirt enough with insistent hands to expose skin and trace slow patterns just above her hipbones, “don’t you think it’s time for a break?”

“As nice as that sounds, I still have to go through all the scrolls and potions.”

“Nice? I can’t promise anything that uninspired,” he scoffed. Nothing about him was even remotely nice. Such a bland, plain word that carried little to no meaning.

“Something wicked, however,” he drawled, his lips almost touching Tav’s ear “that I could definitely provide.”

“Well, as delicious as that sounds, I’m not moving until I get this done. But perhaps you could help?”

“Tsk, you are no fun,” he pouted, lifting a necklace with the tip of his finger. “What’s this one supposed to do?”

“Let me just check… Misty Step.”

“Keeping it,” he would have squirreled it away earlier, but a part of him felt a sick sort of dread at taking something without waiting for permission first. It was almost like a reflex more than anything. Not to take without permission, lest he be punished.

“If you want,” Tav shrugged with a smile. “Put it into your pile, it’s that one.”

Astarion inwardly preened when he noted it was one of the bigger piles. He spied a bow and two rings perched on top of a set of armour. He supposed getting nice new things was worth an hour of boredom.

It was still a novel concept. Having things of his own. Being given what he needed or simply wanted with no strings attached. And it wasn’t just him that got such treatment. Tav tried her best to make sure that everyone was taken care of to the best of her ability.

Astarion would probably never admit it unless faced with decapitation, but Tav has really started to grow on him. The pleasant manner in which she carried herself, the ferocious way in which she fought, the unwavering loyalty to those she considered friends.

That was yet another novel concept, having friends.

 “Darling, I can’t help but notice that you didn’t choose anything for yourself.”

“I don’t need anything right now.”

That was a lie. Her armour breathed its last when they went up against the goblins to protect the Grove. She could definitely use a new pair of boots too.

“As sweet as you are for thinking of others before yourself, I would rather you not become a pincushion next time we are ambushed. Here,” he picked a set of armour at random, “take this.”

“And Shadowheart will have to do without, I suppose?” she raised an eyebrow.

“She’s a cleric. She can heal herself,” Astarion gave a nonchalant shrug. He didn’t care much about what happened to Shadowheart.

Tav laughed, making something warm and pleasant bloom in his chest. He hated how much he enjoyed hearing her laugh.

“Well, this armour is a bit too heavy for me anyway,” she put the armour back and added a couple of scrolls that Shadowheart could make use of. “Maybe I will pick something up next time we need to sell stuff.”

She was right. They did amass quite a collection of useless nick knacks when they looted the abandoned houses in the Blighted Village. And lugging all the bits and bobs that Tav insisted on taking with them was getting rather tedious. Not that he carried much personally. However, he imagined if Lae’zel caught onto him having the lightest load, the gith would personally make sure that his pack would be stuffed to capacity.

Except when they went to sell the items, she once again did not buy anything for herself. Astarion could not understand her ridiculous altruism! Not that he cared that much, but still. Tav dying would most definitely throw a wrench in his plans. Therefore, with that in mind only, he bought Tav new armour, bow and boots.

Strange. The first time he spent money in years, and it wasn’t even on buying something for himself!

The next day, Tav woke up to find that someone had been to her tent. And that mysterious someone left her gifts. Brows furrowing, she picked up a pair of boots. They were clearly enchanted and probably not something they could afford at the moment. And that begged the question, who would splurge so much and not even give it to her personally?

She admired the armour and ran her fingers over the leather. As she shifted it slightly sideways to have a better look at the clasps, something sparkled in a stray ray of light that got in through the slight opening in the tent flap.

Tav noticed the necklace perched on top of the pile.

“Misty Step,” she murmured, a small smile tugging on her lips as her fingers ghosted over the rest of the gifts.

Changing and making herself somewhat presentable, she walked out of her tent and towards Astarion’s, greeting Gale as he prepared their breakfast. To their delight, the group recently stumbled upon a cellar filled with boxes upon boxes of food. Gale was especially pleased at having the opportunity to prepare proper meals for a change rather than have two or three odd ingredients to work with.

When Tav opened the flap of Astarion’s tent and walked in, the elf was already up and apparently deeply engrossed in his book, not even bothering to look up to greet her. Tav waited a beat, but Astarion pointedly refused to acknowledge her. Which Tav knew he had to be doing on purpose, because there was no way that he couldn’t hear her breathing and the staccato of her heartbeat as she grew more nervous by the minute.

Crouching by him, she put her hand on top of the page.

“Darling, as much as I enjoy your presence in my tent, you are distracting me from my reading.”

“I see. Good book?”

“It is. Absolutely riveting.”

She decided not to comment on the fact that he had already read this book twice, as they didn’t come across any new reading material that was of interest to Astarion.

“Help me put this on?” she smiled and handed him the necklace, holding her hair up and leaving her neck exposed, making Astarion’s mouth water.

“Tsk, can’t manage without me, darling?” he teased, but put his book aside.

“I can. But I’d much rather you did it.”

Gently, he slid the jewellery in its place, letting his fingers linger on her skin a touch longer than necessary and making Tav sigh contently.

“Thank you,” she pecked his cheek. “Thank you for looking after me.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about. But perhaps come nightfall,” he leaned closer and all but purred, “I could look after you in a-”

“Astarion,” Tav put her fingers on his lips, “thank you.”

“Oh, please! You thought it was me? Darling! Giving you a necklace? Out of all mundane, unimaginative things to gift!”

Astarion inwardly kicked himself. What was he thinking, trading her smile for a blunt comment like that? It wasn’t the way he usually operated. It was counterintuitive, it was stupid. He was supposed to be furthering her attraction to him, so what in the hells was he doing by telling her that the gifts came from another?

“Mmhh, of course it couldn’t have been you,” Tav agreed easily, laying a tender kiss on the underside of his jaw and then another just below his ear, “so sorry for the misunderstanding.”

“I -I argh,” he shuddered as blunt teeth nibbled on his earlobe, “apology accepted.”

“So… who do you propose I should thank then?” Tav breathed against his cheek and then looked him in the eyes.

“Excuse me?” Astarion frowned as she moved away.

“Well, if it wasn’t you that left the armour, the necklace-

“And boots!” he interjected quickly.

“Ah yes, thank you for reminding me,” she nodded, running her hands down his arms to take his cool hands into her own. “Who should I be thanking instead of you, hm?”

“I know! It was probably Shadowheart,” she said with an air of someone having an eureka moment.

“Shadowheart?!”

“No, it couldn’t have been her,” she mused, letting go of his hand to tap a finger on her lips as she pretended to think hard. “Shadowheart didn’t come with us to the vendor. Must be Wyll then, he did comment on my boots being worse for wear.”

“Wyll just spent half the journey flirting with Lae’zel!” Astarion spat with distaste, sounding rather like a scandalised virgin gossiping about a debutante with a questionable reputation.

“True, true. Well, that leaves Gale. Unless it was the only other person who came with me yesterday…”

Astarion swallowed and pouted but didn’t say anything.

“How silly of me to assume it was you. I’ll let you get back to your reading. Off I go to give Gale a proper thank you.”

Tav rose and let go of his hand, making Astarion panic a little. Like hells Gale would be the one getting recognition for the nice thing that he did!

Rising quickly, Astarion grabbed Tav’s waist. She squealed when he spun her round roughly, pressing her body to his.

“You are not going anywhere, you cheeky pup,” he whispered against her neck, his cool breath making Tav shiver involuntarily and grasp onto his shirt.

“And since you insist on thanking me, I will graciously accept your gratitude.”

He was a benevolent creature, after all. And since Tav was in the mood to shower him with affection, he supposed he could allow it.

“Thank you,” she kissed his cheek.

“Thank you,” his forehead, just under an errant curl that fell over his eyes as he tilted his head forward.

“Thank you,” she pressed her lips to his, making Astarion groan as he deepened the kiss, one hand steadying Tav whilst the other travelled lower. He nibbled on her swollen, pouty lower lip, enjoying the delicious mewling sound she made and then-

“Breakfast is ready!” Gale’s voice rang jarringly loud from somewhere outside the tent, startling Tav. She withdrew with a sigh, looking more than a little disappointed at having to leave. Ever the dutiful leader, ready to start her day and selflessly brush aside her own wants and needs.

Astarion was having none of that.

“Where do you think you are going, hm?”

“Um, well..” Tav began, but found herself to be quite mesmerised with the heated, predatory look he was giving her.

“I haven’t had my breakfast yet, and I am feeling simply ravenous.”

He pulled the collar of her shirt aside, admiring the way the necklace rested against her skin and then his eyes travelled lower down still as Astarion mused about whether he was being too traditional by drinking from her neck when there were such tantalising, mouthwatering choices to be made.

“May I?” he murmured, trailing his nose against her collarbone, then lower and lower still, brushing against the necklace that rose and fell with her breaths. Astarion felt Tav’s fingers gently thread through his curls, skimming along his ears in a way that had him suppressing a moan.

“Yes.”

She always said yes. And recently rather than thinking her a fool for it, Astarion felt… something else. He couldn’t explain what it was that he felt even if he tried. But Tav was becoming more than a means to an end. More than a target. More than a night that was better to forget.

Weeks later, he would find that she was the light that illuminated the darkest recesses of his mind and soul. The warmth that welcomed and comforted him, preventing him from retreating into himself when he was hit with the horror of what he had done in his years of slavery. She would come to be the only person that he truly cared about. But he didn’t know that yet.

As he drank, Astarion decided that perhaps he would allow himself to enjoy whatever this was. Not overthink it. For now, he would let himself linger on the precipice of making the discovery of what exactly Tav was to him without worrying of what would happen once he fell.

For now, he would let himself enjoy not having to worry about what tomorrow would bring. For now, she would be his most welcome distraction.

💖 Tag list 💖:

@ninty900, @ayselluna, @dajeong, @ravenswritingroom,

@misscrissfemmefatale, @clazberryk, @anukulee, @preciouslittlebhaalbae,

@sh3rl0ck, @mellowenthusiast2299, @fleetstreet78,

@starlight-rogue,

@obsessedwhyyes, @arzen9

[slowd1ving]

TALES OF A DISGRUNTLED CORVID ⁺ 　 . MOZE

Quite frankly, you've been assigned an absolute loser (unaffectionate) to work with after your dramatic exit from the Intelligentsia Guild. Whoever said this guy was too silent was wrong, as he verily proves himself as the bane of your existence with his ceaseless yapping. art credits to @code_tesseract on x!! and tagging @ilovechuuy4 as requested :3 pairings: moze + male cryptologist reader (will be part of a series methinks) warnings: male reader, mentions of assassination? may be a touch ooc since this is pre-release writing unfortunately, lowkey crack fic, pre relationship, business partnership of hating each other wc: 1.9k

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

There’s never a dull day when a certain Shadow Guard is your partner for an assignment. Truly, your life always sparkles brilliantly when the information pings on your Jade Abacus; without fail, everything gains just a bit more colour, a bit more vivaciousness. Pathetically fallacious, you might’ve described it as had you taken literature classes: mood hued with such dynamic chromaticity that you fear you might explode into little prismic rainbows. Always such a bundle of joy to be geminate with him. 

“Must you be so… disorganised?”

Oh, who are you kidding.

It’s always a dull day when you’re paired with Moze.

“Get out.” A particularly rude gesture materialises in your open hand as you stare at the door he practically kicked down. Apartments in this particular sector of the Xianzhou Yaoqing do not come cheap, and you half-wonder whether he’d eke out coin to console your landlord. Then, with an especially sour, lemon-like expression, you realise he would fork out his own money just to make your life more difficult. 

When you first got assigned work in the Yaoqing (read: kicked to the curb by the Intelligentsia Guild to gain real world experience), you really did expect your tenure to be plain office work. Letters, forms, public relations—these mundanities you anticipated. In fact, you would’ve relished such tedium; after decrypting endless scientific formulae and pondering your mysterious tomes, engaging in bureaucratic matters would be a piece of cake! A little treat for your weary eyes—if you closed them, you could still see faint imprints of equations in the theatre of your mind. 

But what you hadn’t factored into your (ahem) calculations was just how sharp the Arbiter-General Feixiao was: just how passionate she was about pursuing Abominations and ruthlessly eliminating them, just how frank and swift the Madam General was. You also forgot that out of all the flagships, the Yaoqing were one of the most militarily driven. A blunder most fatal. 

“Thy talents would be wasted in the mere administrative wing,” Feixiao gesticulated. “Come, child, put thy brain and brawn to use and track down these villainous curs most evil.”

“Goodness, Madam General!” you’d cried out pitifully. “My heart is thine for the keeping!”

Or something like that. Actually, it may have not all been like that. 

After all, you were kicked out (temporarily! temporarily!) partly due to your penchant for delivering heart-rendering performances to your professors to avoid taking on their extra work. Such moving renditions, that they had to let you go lest you broke their bleeding hearts. Had you known you’d be working in the shady corners of intelligence and decryption, you would’ve kowtowed to the Guild for utmost forgiveness. Probably. 

When your path first overlapped with the Shadow Guards’, you honestly couldn’t give two hoots about the rumours that followed silently behind their own noiseless steps. Your ears had perked somewhat at the gossip your colleagues threw back and forth—though, who could blame you. The job was no fun!

Weirdo with the crow feathers, they’d murmured. He’s so quiet. What a reticent chap. 

Of course, you’d disagree, and perhaps tack on a loser to the descriptions of Moze. You’d disagree not with the ‘weirdo’, but rather with the quiet and reticent adjectives—partly because he really does need to shut up more. 

And he needs to stick to his rumours more. If this loner’s made it a point to not work with people, then why oh why did the honourable Madam General decide your ancient science and study complemented his shady skillset? And why oh why does he never refuse her request? (You’ve conveniently forgotten how you always fold when it comes to her.) You’ve always worked alone too, for as long as you can remember; decoding the ancient equations in ruins and solving their gimmicky puzzles using your boundless wits is a job for one. 

As it stands, the people he investigates, the work he takes care of, sometimes intrudes into the realm of questionable rituals and summonings the Abominations and their ilk oft partake in. Thus do you find your career verging into some gruesome form of forensics as you stare down what would commonly be considered a murder scene: sigils and ancient alchemical algebra staring right back at you. He deals with the human aspect of intelligence: the psychology, the crime, the covert espionage. You deal with the technical fallout: the analysis of antique sciences is your specialty, after all. This has culminated in a begrudging partnership where both parties wish nothing more than to leave it. 

A business relationship, of sorts, founded on the mutual dislike (a weak description) of each other. 

“No.” He doesn’t budge from where he leans against the doorframe, but he does have the decency to swing the door closed behind him. Yet, it’s not out of any respect for the hallowed sanctity of your abode, but more because he’s sooo Mysterious and Aloof that none of your neighbours are allowed to view his visage. 

“You are—” a quick glance at your watch proves your point. For someone obsessed with keeping tidy, he sure does have messy time management. “—eighteen minutes too early.”

“And you still aren’t ready,” he counters, pointedly eyeing the loose shirt and comfortable cotton trousers slung over your hips. You yawn, tired already from his yapping. He’s been compared to a crow for as long as you’ve been here—and perhaps far longer—but to you he’s always been more like a little dog. Yap. Yap. Yap. 

This is precisely why I don’t work with others, you can almost taste his words—his thoughts. 

“You are currently the biggest hindrance to my getting ready,” you grimace. Casting a quick glance over his intricate garb, it’s no wonder he feels getting ready is such a lengthy endeavour: all straps and buckles and tough layers that makes him the walking fortress he is. “I’ll be on time.”

He doesn’t reply: laconic only when he acknowledges your point as unequivocally right, which is seldom. 

“Are you going to keep staring?” you snap as you sling the worn shirt from your body. Beneath the soft clothes is muscle hard-won through your frequent collaborations with the Armed Archaeologists in the Guild: days filled with more sparring and their stupid callisthenics than actually finding ruins. 

“Do you have to dress right here?” he counters, but it’s a futile argument—this apartment is barely big enough for you as it stands. Currently, he’s situated by the doorway, but you’re on the unseen boundaries of the living room and the tiny kitchen. Beyond is your bedroom and miniscule bathroom, of which neither have enough space to move comfortably to change. And you certainly aren’t going to sacrifice your comfort to appease his poor eyes; he’s seen worse for sure. Though, you doubt he’s ever seen a naked body that wasn’t in the context of assassination and the anatomy classes you know he’s meticulously attended for his shady work. Surreptitiously, you snicker at the thought: that there aren’t any lovers lined up for this weirdo. 

You toss the garment onto your couch, precisely because you know he’s grinding teeth over it; and there’s that tell-tale click of molar against molar. You even whistle a bit as you untie the neat bow holding your trousers to your hips; the fabric pools on the floor, and you don’t make any move to pick it up. 

There it is. His glower—red-hot and piercing through the flesh and sinew of your back—is heavy in this small space. What you don’t see, however, is how his eyes flicker briefly across your body, down the firm step of your legs as you step out of the trousers. Out of context, watching muscle ripple and twist as you strip forces crimson to seep into his face. This is an implication he’s absolutely disgusted with—with you. 

“If you have any more input as to what I do in my home, you’re welcome to pay my rent first,” you finally deign to reply, rummaging in the dresser in your hallway—which he knows has never been neat with all the clothes spilling from the edges. His eye twitches. 

“You’re an incorrigible man,” he retorts, carmine flush now from irritation rather than anything else. Irritation from the beginning, because it was never anything else. 

“Wow,” you blink, weighing your options between shirt A and shirt B. The cherry-red with straps, or the Prussian blue with straps, you muse, holding the shirts against your beloved grey cargoes. “You sound exactly like my professor. Same adjective and everything.”

When it comes to shameless people, there comes the very real risk of insults being nullified by the insulted through them simply agreeing. 

“No wonder the Guild kicked you out.” As you’re pulling the scarlet fabric over your head, you pause—it seems he’s finally hit a nerve. There’s a rare smile toying with his lips at the victory: one he doesn’t notice, but ghosts across his face nonetheless.

Now, there are many things you could reply to that with. Such as, did your parents give you a reason when they abandoned you? Nay, that is too low of a blow. No wonder you don’t have any friends. But he probably grapples with that bitter reality each morning, gnashing his teeth and beating his chest. 

“Bold of you to speak of being unwanted,” you comment matter-of-factly. Both insults it is then, wrapped neatly into an ambiguous tale of these eight words. His smile fades. 

With a slight gasp, you finally wrangle the tight material on—it’s armour, after all, a specific textile development by the Yaoqing for the protection of civilians and tourists alike, though you aren’t considered a tourist by your special work-abacus-plaque. It fits snugly against you: straps for knives sit tight against your forearms, while the harness that provides extra support for your torso rests neatly beneath your chest. The garb’s almost like a compression shirt from your home planet, except the Yaoqing has far more violent uses for it. 

“Didn’t Guard Zhí reject you?” He bites out, and it takes a minute for you to realise he’s talking about Zhí Hua, the best friend you’d made on the flagship—and your Shadow Guard drinking buddy. 

“Huh?” Dumbfoundedly, you pause in doing the buckles on your trousers, losing far more time than you’d bargained for. “A-hua is my friend.”

The diminutive doesn’t go unnoticed, which rankles him far more than falling prey to the rumour about you and his fellow Guard. No, both rankle him—likely because hearing about a workplace romance about you just disgusts him in general. 

“Pfft,” you snort out, finally done with the laborious task of adjusting the materiel and various other gadgets attached to your body. “I have got to tell her about this. Who knew your ability to gather information would be stopped by a rumour?”

The tightness in his chest lessens somewhat. 

“Besides, everyone already knows my heart belongs to the Madam General,” you sigh, clasping your hands to your chest in a dreamy gesture. It’s an ongoing joke: you professing your deep adoration of Feixiao after she gives you a pay raise for putting up with the so-called ‘reticent’ Moze. “Woah, what’s with the sour look?”

“Gross,” he mutters. 

As you step near the doorway to grab your boots, you lean into his space mockingly: and he recoils back in even more revulsion. 

“Of course, you wouldn’t know.” You pat his shoulder once, condescendingly, then promptly slip your heavy boots off the shelf. “Since there’s no one who loves you.”

And his glare as you shuffle your shoes on is poignant. 

 ₊  ⋆   ☾

[minhosimthings]

Cherry Chapstick

Synopsis: Chapstick being the most romantic part of your wedding ceremony was something you had never planned. Even so when the session that came afterwards was the best you had ever had

Pairings: Jake × fem!reader, non idol au

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, fluff at the beginning, smut with plot, fingering, overstimulation, oral (f.recieving), overstimulation, dacryphillia, rough sex, unprotected sex (not for you baby), Jake calls reader many nicknames, there's a wedding scene and a very sappy vows scene because I am a simp

A/N: to simply put it I wanted to write a Jake wedding scene so I wrote it and then I proceeded to add some more plot to it AND THEN I wrote some nice wedding sex at the end because why not? Also please tell me how yall feel about this I NEED TO KNOW.

How could we ever know that the stars love us? How could we ever tell that the constellations form pretty panoramas just for us? How could we ever tell that our souls are just parts of those stars that have been broken up into two and that we have to find the other half just to keep going?

The answers to questions which have been unanswered for centuries can never be revealed to the world, lest everyone knows what was needed for you to find those answers. Might it be a little boring of me to say the only answer to all those questions is love? But of course love is powerful.

Love is the word you'd used to describe the time your mother used to braid your hair. Love would be the syllable coming out of your mouth when you took a scent of the new book Amazon so amazingly delivered you. Love would be the fluffy haired boy sitting next to you, leaning against a tree and trying to understand what's written in his physics book, while biting his lips voraciously.

"Jake for God's sake-" you rolled your eyes, fumbling with the straps of your bag, "-stop biting those pretty lips of yours."

Jake tilted his head to look at you and grinned. "You know I can't do that darling." He cocked a smile, edging ever closer to you, "I bite my lips when I'm nervous and if a pretty girl is in front of me all the time, how could I never not be nervous?" You tried to gave him a stern look as you pulled out a pink coloured tube from the interior of your bag. "You and your flirting skills aren't gonna get you anywhere Sim Jaeyun." You scoffed, uncapping the lip balm. Bringing a hand up to his cheek, you held his face in position as you carefully applied the lip balm onto Jake's soft albeit broken lips. He popped his lips together after you let go of his face and took the lip balm from your hands. "baby I already have my lip balm on." You sniggered, trying to escape from his hands. "Nuh uh how will I taste the lip balm properly then?" Jake argued, sticking his tongue out in concentration and carefully applying the lip balm onto your lips.

He brought his lips to yours as soon as he was finished and pressed then tightly, trying to taste the lingering bitterness of the balm.

The kiss didn't last as long as you would have liked it too, as Jake pulled back and closed his eyes, a picture of him in deep thought. "Ah ha!" He snapped his eyes open along with a snap of his fingers, "It's blueberry isn't it?"

You hung your head and sighed dramatically. "Yeah it is." You grumbled to which Jake positively exploded. "I knew it would be blueberry!" He giggled and pulled out a tiny green notebook, frantically writing something in it.

"You're still keeping track of all the lip balms?" You peeked inside his notebook, which had beautiful cursive writing sprawled across the pages.

"How could I not?" Jake scoffed, looking up at you with a cheeky grin, "I have to keep track of my girlfriend's love for me don't I?" "That book is almost full Jayeun." You rested your head on his shoulder, breathing in his sweet cologne, "Plus the only reason you write in that notebook is to note all the times you've tasted the lip balm from my lips." "It tastes better that way!" Jake defended himself, earning himself a giggle from you.

"How many flavours of lip balm do you think exist on the world?" You asked him, head still rested on his shoulder and hands warmed by his. Jake laughed softly and wrapped his arms around you. "No matter how many there are, I promise to buy every single one of them and apply them on those pretty lips of yours so I can taste them."

Yet another giggle escaped your lips at your boyfriend's flirtatious nature. The air around you seemed to cool down as the evening slowly set in. Time never seemed to pass when you were with Jake, carefully applying lip balm to his cracked lips and him kissing it off of yours, like a sun sweet lullaby.

"I am so fucking proud of you." Jake hugged you tightly in his arms, providing you with warmth, and pressed soft kisses to your head. Your graduation cap hung clumsily on your head as everyone around you hugged and cheered loudly.

"Valedictorian huh?" Jake grinned at you, not letting go of your waist, "My smart little baby." "Not little anymore Jaeyun." You looked at him, "We're finally 21!" Jake chuckled and pulled you in for another hug, stroking your hair gently. "Oh I have a surprise for you." Jake pulled you aside from the screaming frat boys ripping off their shirts. "You mean a surprise other than the ten million surprises you've gotten for me since yesterday?" You giggled while Jake glared at you playfully.

"This is going to be the best surprise and oh best part?" He poked his cheek with his tongue, "It's up at our tree."

"Jake this is....." You gasped, "So beautiful." The tree had never looked prettier than it had now. A mighty willow tree, it had always stood strong, letting you and Jake lean against it, cooling down from the shade of the leaves. You hadn't ever noticed it's true beauty until now. Fairy lights and white satin ribbons hung from the tree like dangling angel wings.

"You like it?" Jake looked at you with uncertainty clouding his expression. "Are you kidding?" You laughed, "I fucking love this. And I love you." You booped his nose, causing a giggle to come out of his mouth. "Oh but that's not the only thing!" Jake clapped his hands excitedly, "I got you a new chapstick too!"

He reached into his bag slowly and bought out a purple coloured tube, handing it to you. You took it from his soft hands and examined it. Lavender probably, you thought, before your eyes went to something else on the chapstick.

A ring.

A beautiful emerald ring.

"Earth to Y/N." Jake waved his hands in front of your face, snapping you out from your staring contest with the chapstick. "Jake I-" "Y/N I don't think I can tell you in words how much I truly love you." Jake kneeled down in front of you, as tears enveloped your eye lids, "But if I had to choose two words to tell you, it would be-" he took the ring from your hands,

"Marry me?"

The rest of that evening passed in tears, cheap beer, and showing off your ring finger, beautifully decorated with the piece of emerald to your friends and family, earning big, warm embraces from there. But nothing was better that day than Jake's bright smile engulfing his face, as he kissed you over and over again. Every second seemed to be precious to him, as he wasted not even a grain of sand in peppering kisses to your face.

You had always heard from your mother that the days leading upto the wedding must be cherished and remembered forever. But for some reason unknown to you as well as the world, you didn't even have a single morsel of memory from those days. It was a wedding dress fitting one and the cake the other day and suddenly it was the day of the wedding.

The venue was beautiful, blue satin decorating the seams just like you had wanted, with everyone dressed in baby blue, well almost everyone as your older brother, Heeseung admired your beautiful white dress.

"You look beautiful Y/N stop worrying." "Im not worrying Heeseung." You scoffed, as you clutched your flowers tightly, "Alright I'm ready."

Blur was a proper word to describe how you felt while you walked down the aisle, arm looped around Heeseung's. You did not notice the tear stains of all your relatives and friends, nor did you notice your favourite melody playing in the background.

All that was on your mind was Jake. Standing beneath a beautiful arrangement of lilies, dressed handsomely in a white suit, with a big goofy grin on his face, and a few crystals in his eyes, he looked like heaven's incarnate. Well atleast your, heaven's incarnate.

"Baby~" he cooed as you stepped in front of him, "You look like an angel." He caressed your cheek as a single teardrop fell out of its prison.

"The vows." Sunghoon whispered from behind Jake's back as he cleared his throat loudly and looked down at a piece of paper, his hands trembling. You placed your own hand on top of his, providing him a sense of calm as his hands stopped shivering and he took a deep breath.

"You know I never really understand why people wrote vows and everything when they get married. I mean-" he chuckled, "What more words can describe the person you're about to be with for the rest of eternity? But when I was writing this, going through my cringy diaries for inspiration, and getting drunk on the whiskey Sunghoon so graciously gifted me-" the crowd laughed, as you giggled at Jake unseriousness, "I realised that these words are not to you, and not to the entire world to hear, but to me." He paused and took a breath, "They are to tell me what I truly fell for. Because if I'm going to be honest, I fell for a lot of things." You felt tears form in your ears, which you struggled to hold back, "Pinpointing the thing that made me tell you that my heart years for you is a difficult thing. It could be sitting with you under a tree, relishing the autumn sunlight. It could be gazing at all the stars in the sky with you, knowing you're the prettiest one out of all of them." You let out a choked sob at that, and wiped a tear from your ear. You saw Jake's eyes soften more as he caressed your cheek gently. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, you're a panorama of all the things I didn't know I had been searching for my entire life Y/N. I love you. God I love you so much. I'll write my love for you in the waves, if it means you'll be satisfied. I'll etch it onto my very heart if that means you'll fall for me again." The chirping of the birds and the honeycomb scent never seemed sweeter that they were now, as they played to the melody of Jake's voice, " You, my dearest, are the sunlight falling through the trees, the joy breaking through the sadness, you are my descent to madness, my chaos and my peace, my black and white. You are my world and if you weren't in life, I would still be alive, just not living."

Your world has never seemed so pretty before, so filled with flowers and pink satin and whatnot, as you looked on at Jake's eyes, always filled with Saturn's rings, at his hair, which reminded you on Sunday dates and lazy Monday mornings, at his lips, yet again cracked and dry.

"Oh and I almost forgot." Jake perked up, reaching into his breast pocket and taking out a red coloured tube. You recognised it. Cherry Chapstick.

"You've always taken care of me, my Y/N, and more so of my lips. I think they're grateful for you to have entered and saved their lives, otherwise my lips would have been blood by now."

"We've always had this pretty tradition, where I'd kiss the chapstick right off of your lips, pretending I can taste it better like that. Which is not entirely a lie, because things always taste better when they're filled with love don't they? So my dearest-" He pressed the chapstick into your hands.

"Would you like to kiss it off of my lips today?"

Your heart had already erupted into a million shards of pink and red and it seemed that Jake reached into your soul now, tearing it apart and placing himself inside it, wrapping it around him like a blanket. You looked down at the chapstick, slowly uncapping it. Cherry, of course, the first flavour of chapstick you had ever applied on him.

You caressed Jake's cheek gently and applied the lip balm onto his lips, as he looked down at you, holding your universe in his brown orbs. You leaned forward to him, getting drunk on his cologne.

Kisses were your favourite part of the day, brushing your lips against his, his arms holding your waist ever so gently as yours wrapped around his neck. And now, as you kissed him in a slow dance of sensuality, with every ounce of love in you, fingers searching for him and only him, as everyone cheered in the background, you knew that this was something your memory would remember even in death. Till death do us part, right?

"Angel?" Jake whispered, as you climbed onto the bed, your veil and dress now deposited on the ground. "Yes Jake?" You answered as he got on top of you, cologne still poisoning your nostrils. "I love you so much." He said as he bent down to you neck, kissing it with the same lips that you had enjoyed today. "I love you too Jak- ah fuck." You moaned, as Jake left deeper kisses and marks onto your collarbone.

"I'll prove it." Jake whispered again, fingers digging into your waist, "Prove my love." "Jake ngh-" you moaned again, as his bulge pressed against your panties. You had thought that buying new lingerie in Jake's favourite colour for you to wear on the night of your wedding would be a good idea and it was, as Jake carried you upstairs to the bedroom, eyes faltering as you revealed what was under the layer of tulle.

"Are you ready Mrs Sim?" Jake looks at you with darkened eyes. You whimper in response to him, trapped under his body, your cunt itching for something.

He kisses you more desperately than before, his hands finding your hips as he gently grabs them, pulling you so close that you can feel his erection. You gasp so softly, but he hears it anyway, and you settle on his hard cock so it’s right against where you want it to be.

Jake's taking his sweet time at first, kissing down your thighs and even smelling you before he finally brings his tongue to your entrance.

"Jake- don't tease." You whine, feeling his hair brush against the skin of your leg. He chuckles and rests your legs on his shoulders.

Jake doesn’t waste more time and properly starts to fuck you with his tongue. He’s not too quick, nor too slow with his moves, and you’re shocked when he brings his fingers to your mouth. 

He says nothing, making sure to lick your slit before getting his tongue inside you again, his fingers, glued to your lips. You take it as a silent agreement and you open your mouth, suck his fingers, and let him wet them. When he thinks it’s enough, he gently takes them out and brings them right to your clit. He doesn’t touch it directly at first, teasing around it until you move your hips a little, needing to feel your clit stimulated.

Your skin was so soft under his touch, so warm. You smelled so good. He could get lost in the scent of your skin, melt underneath it. He wanted to feel you all, touch you all and as you ground your hips back and forth and your nipples brushed his chest, your husband felt like he had bought a piece of heaven all for himself. 

Your whines and tightened grip on his curls must have alerted him as he loosened his grip on your pussy and looked up at you.

"Tell me what you want darling." He rose up to your level, admiring your moonlit face, "Your fingers- please." You said, feeling his warm breath on your skin, the veins on his hand turning you on.

Your whole body is on edge, and it almost hurts. Every fiber of your body aches for his touch until your breath gets stuck and breaks through your throat in a moan. His long fingers start to move in and out of you with a rapid speed. He massages your walls, stretching and filling you while your clit burns and makes your hips jerk. You grind against his palm, forcing him deeper and deeper.

Jake can almost feel the hot coil in your lower belly. It stretches to the point your lips part in a throaty moan, breathing in and out his name repeatedly. He closes his eyes at your prayer, biting the soft spot between your shoulder and neck as you cum on his fingers. You suck him in, trembling in his strong arms until you are limp and sated.

"Don't worry baby." Jake gasped, a thin line of sweat enveloping him, "I'll finish you good."

He pushed himself into you inch by inch, your warm folds wrapping around him perfectly. Jake groaned at the damp and tight feeling surrounding him, head falling back in pleasure as he settled perfectly within you.

You moaned once more, loudly this time as he started thrusting, his rhythm steady yet forceful. You repeatedly called his name, hands gripping the edge of the bed as you shake in pleasure. Your husband looked down to watch himself disappear inside you, eyes filled with darkness and pride every time his hips meet yours. He grabbed your thighs and pushed your legs forward, almost keeping them against your chest.

"Just like that baby." Jake whispered to your whimpers, "Moan for me come on now." "Jake -ah - want-to cum." You moaned, tears forming from the overstimulation.

You knew you were close when you started to feel something up in your lower stomach, the urge to cum increases with every thrust. You knew Jake was close too when you felt him twitch inside you, a warm liquid beginning to leak.

“I know, baby. Cum with me. C’mon, pretty girl.” He whispered closely in your ear, maintaining the speed of his thrusts as he rubbed your clit faster. You could feel the amazing sensation of warmth touch your clit gently as Jake's cum shot into you.

You almost screamed when you reached your orgasm, Jake following shortly after with a deep groan. Neither of you moved for a while, still breathless and shaking.

Jake rubbed your back and slowly pulled himself out of you, both of you moaning in the process. You sighed as he collapsed on the bed next to you, pulling you into his arms. The moonlight was in her full glimmer now, as it illuminated both of your faces.

"That-" you breathed out, "was quite possibly the best you've ever fucked me." Jake chuckled lowly and kissed the top of your head gently.

"Anything for you, my dearest." He whispered, as you felt sleep coming into your corneas.

"Jake?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you." You giggled.

"I love you too angel."

[lovebugism]

shy reader you say???

i’m obsessed with eddie and shy reader 🥹🥹maybe like her being afraid to present during class and him pumping her up and mouthing words of encouragement during a presentation at school😭😭sounds stupid but i’d love this

this is a wee bit different but i hope you like it anon :D — eddie helps calm your nerves before a presentation (shy!reader, hurt/comfort, tw for mentions of panic attacks, 1.2k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Study hall turns into an impromptu panicking session.

You break down on the rotted park bench outside the football field, surrounded by textbooks and falling leaves. The only thing keeping you halfway tethered to reality is the crisp autumn air filling your burning lungs. Everything smells like rain and very distinctly of Eddie.

He’d been a good enough sport to help you prepare for your history presentation, but he certainly hadn’t signed up to coax you through a nervous breakdown because of it. 

Your boy’s a good enough sport even now, though, sitting beside you at the creaking wooden table — chin on the crown of your head, ringed hand over your heart. 

You tend to dig at your chest whenever your anxiety attacks get real bad. You’re not sure why. Maybe to soothe your palpitating heart or to pull it out entirely.

“What were you trying to do, babe?” Eddie laughed into your hair as you came down from your panic, lightening the grey mood and smoothing a warm palm over your tight chest. “Pull your damn heart out?”

You can breathe halfway normally now. The hurt in your chest has lessened to a very distant one. Now you’re just left with the post-panic shame. You feel like a little kid again, making monsters out of the clothes on your desk chair.

“I don’t know why I got so scared,” you confess, as quiet as the autumn breeze, rubbing your cheek against the soft lapel of Eddie’s leather jacket. “It’s not even that big a deal.”

The boy shrugs, jostling you accidentally. “Well, your brain thinks it’s a big deal. And your brain’s just telling your body that it needs to protect you.”

You don’t know much about your own anxiety and maybe that’s a fault in itself. It’s not the sort of thing you wanna poke with a stick, lest you wake something up that should’ve stayed sleeping. You just ignore it as best you can — let it fester until it explodes into moments like these. 

Normally, Eddie isn’t around for them but you’re grateful he is now. ‘Cause he loves you and because he cares enough to learn all the things about you that you don’t even want to know about yourself.

He didn’t know much about anxiety before you. He just knew that his mom had it when he was real little, and that social anxiety is scared of him and not the other way around. But then he fell in love with you and learned everything he could if it meant he could treat you better.

Now, it’s practically in his nature to be as gentle with the rest of the world as he is with you — which is totally not one brand for him.

“But you don’t need protecting, right? ‘Cause you’re safe.” 

You nod wordlessly. 

Your throat tightens again like you might cry, but it’s not because you’re scared. It’s because you love him so damn much you think you could explode. He fills your chest with sunshine, banishing the swirling shadows completely.

You could probably light up a whole galaxy with how happy he makes you feel. 

How adored. 

How safe.

“And it’s okay to be scared about this stuff, you know?” Eddie continues when you stay silent. His chin grazes your hair when he pulls back to look at you. “Everyone’s scared of something. Like Steve— I’m pretty sure he’s, like, deathly afraid of quicksand.”

He keeps his arm around your back when you lean away from him, keeping you warm when the crisp breeze brushes between you. You sniffle and blink at him with wide, wet eyes. A hint of a smile quirks the edge of your bitten mouth.

“Quicksand?” you repeat incredulously.

Eddie grins back at you, happy to see you smiling again. It’s pink and lopsided and terribly unkissed. “Yeah,” he affirms through a sputtered laugh. “And I’m pretty sure quicksand isn’t even real, so— at least you’re afraid of something that actually exists.”

Your own giggle tumbles suddenly from your mouth. Both because quicksand is obviously real and because Steve is one of the bravest guys you know.

As usual, Eddie’s totally oblivious to how much of a dumbass he is, but he beams anyway. He’s just happy to be a distraction for you when the rest of the world gets too much — a life vest when you’re drowning. 

Your smile ebbs into a quieter one. Your glassy gaze flits to the clammy hands you wring feverishly in your lap. “I just… I know it’s dumb and everything, but— speaking in front of everyone like that— it makes me feel… I don’t know. It makes me feel way more scared than a person should ever be, like… ever.”

“I mean, yeah, it’s scary. But you can handle it,” Eddie shrugs with all his practiced nonchalance. The absentminded confidence he has — that he has in you — makes you feel all warm. “You’re the smartest person I know, and you know this shit like the back of your hand.”

He waves a pale hand to the cluttered picnic table you sit in front of. Flashcards, clumsily written notes, and open textbooks scatter the top of it.

You know all of it forwards and backwards now — so well you could probably do the presentation in your sleep. If only you weren’t so dreadfully frightened of opening your mouth in front of people you don’t know.

Eddie gives you a warm, reassuring squeeze on your arm with one hand. He smoothes a rouge wisp of hair from your forehead with the other. He could see you getting distant again. It’s important to keep you grounded when you get like that — he read that in a magazine once.

“And by the end of the day, it’ll just be you and me and an empty trailer, and you will have much better things to worry about than this,” he continues. A mischievous smirk blossoms on his rosy lips. His chocolate eyes sparkle with it, too. “I’ll have you so damn distracted, you won’t even think about this stupid presentation again.”

You meet his boyish grin with a challenging squint. Smiling despite yourself, you knock your shoulder into his side at his teasing. 

The sentiment is still there, though. Presentations are stupid and fleeting. Eddie’s here and forever.

“Yeah,” you murmur under your breath. “I guess you’re right.”

He scoffs. “Of course I am.”

You shoot him a half-hearted glare that he meets with a more sincere beam. 

“You’re gonna be the bravest scared person the world’s ever seen,” Eddie tells you, more serious now. 

He isn’t telling you not to be scared or distracting you from the fact that you are. He’s affirming your fear, reminding you that you can be brave in the face of it. 

“And you’re gonna show every single one of those losers what a super genius looks like.”

You roll your eyes at that last bit, pretending you’re not as comforted by his presence or the words he says partly in jest as you really are. 

Because he’s right. It’s not about forcing yourself not to be scared. It’s about being scared and doing the shit anyway — being brave and giving a stupid presentation even if your voice trembles and your hands shake.

And god, nothing makes you feel braver than Eddie.

[codename-adler]

on Kevseth and Enemies-to-Lovers

i think there are ships where the characters feel as if they’d been atoms next to each other when the universe exploded into being.

i think there are ships where the characters feel as if they’d been godly creatures cut right down the middle when they seemed too powerful united as one.

and then there are ships where the characters feel as if they’d been this great entity once upon a time but something happened and the core was ripped bloody from the inside by a burning iron fist. and now the shell of it walks hollow and aimless in the world, waiting to feel, to lose, to cease; and the core, it runs exposed, too bright, too extraordinary, each step seizing, a trail of blood behind it, feeling everything too much too deep all the damn time, flayed alive, a raw mess aiming for the top lest it gets stomped into the earth.

so when the shell and the core meet, what happens? can they really fit back into each other? how does that even work? it’s not glue. it’s not about recognition. it can only be painful. they’ve got to dive head first into one another no questions asked or they’ll hesitate and make the landing worse. maybe deadly, even. they’ve got to have a tight grip on each other, and hold on, and meld, and meld, and meld. it’s about hits and pushes and marks and struggle and claws driven so deep into the flesh and blood that they dissolve into the one matter.

they hate each other because it’s not easy, never. because it hurts. because it shouldn’t have been this way. because it seems impossible. because it’s endless attempts. because it’s unfamiliar. because it’s strange. because it feels wrong. because it demands and demands and demands, more and more, always more. because it’s ugly, and time-consuming, and loud, and dirty, and jarring, and too big too small too fast too late too much.

you have to let him in. you have to make space for him. you have to fit with him. inside and around. you have to relearn how to feel and how to move and how to speak. you have to shelter him. shield him. make his heart beat. make his lungs breathe. you have to be there. you can’t walk away. you need each other. you have to accept that need. and the want too. that despite the wreck and the alarm bells, the blood matches. that this is it. this is him. this is you.

what will you do?

keep away? fight from a distance? burn him to ashes and yourself too? or embrace him? and your whole self?

[adrift-in-thyme]

Febuwhump Day 1: Vocal Chords (Wild & Twilight)

Read on Ao3

I didn't get a chance to hop on Tumblr for the last few days so I'm posting these now to catch up!

CW for burn wounds, axe wounds, and a spell taking away a character's voice

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

The forest is quiet, save for the soft hoots of owls and far off chirps of keese. Wild walks on silent feet, careful to avoid fallen branches and piles of decaying leaves. Autumn remains year round in the Akkala region. The air is forever seized with a damp chill, the earth forever laden with the burden of fiery foliage.

Its beauty cloaks danger as the hills of Faron hide flashes of distant lightning. 

In this moment, that danger feels closer at hand than usual. 

No sooner had the Shadow’s latest portal deposited the heroes in Wild’s time, than the reports had begun pouring forth. 

“Monsters!” One positively petrified looking man at the stable had cried, wringing his hands. “Mysterious and horrible! They twist the mind and take what they cannot return!”

“No one’s seen anything like it before!” Said a woman, running a comb through a horse’s silken mane. “We’ve always dealt with monsters around here — you know that better than anyone, Link — but these…these don’t belong to our world.”

And so, the heroes had split up into groups of twos and threes and began their journey to the very corners of Akkala’s wild woods. None had been able to guess what exactly they were looking for or what they would face in the end. But such mystery was nothing new to any of them. And it had never stopped them before. 

The prospect of the discovery had been a bit exciting at first, if also tinged with fear. Now, however, Wild finds that his eagerness has diminished. In this place peppered with the fallen corpses of guardians, freckled with water settled long enough to attract bothersome clusters of mosquitoes and gnats, it feels as though the world holds its breath.

He walks forward, Twilight by his side, padding softly upon giant paws, and the beasts and creatures of his overgrown land watch with bated breath. Awaiting the imminent crash of thunder.

Wild reaches out, places a gentle hand on Twilight’s back. Upon his fur, droplets of suspended water have fallen, turning the thick, dark layers cold and damp. A huff of breath through the chilled nose that nuzzles him creates a wisp of fog that takes its time dissipating.

“They’re here.” 

It is a murmur, almost a whisper. Wild is no stranger to the feeling that the disturbing of a quiet place is a sin most severe. Many a time he has hardly dared to breathe lest he awaken some monstrosity, harm some delicate beauty. But the sensation now is different. The air is electric. To speak aloud, to shout, would be to invite death.

“I don’t know what they are, but I can feel them. Can you smell anything, Twi?”

The rancher lifts his nose to the air, takes a few audible inhales. Then, to the ground he goes, nostrils blowing small bubbles in the puddles beneath their feet.

He walks forward several more steps before his ears prick up. 

Wild’s breath catches. “Did you find something?”

Twilight ducks his head in the affirmative. Wild draws his sword, hefts his shield firmly into his grasp. Together, they start forward. 

For what seems an eternity, all is quiet. Not so much as a squirrel or a fox dares to raise their head above the waving grass. Birds do not sing in the trees. Even the Guardians, often prone to rising revitalized from their shallow graves, remain still as the death that binds them. 

Perhaps, that is why, when the sound finally comes, it is deafening. 

It explodes from behind the two heroes in tongues of ravenous blue-white flame. Pain accompanies them, so cold it sears. 

With a shout, Wild tries to lunge sideways. But his foot catches on a smoking log. He stumbles over it and his own feet, lands with a sodden, sorrowful splash. 

Quickly, he shoves himself upward on arms that tremble. His back burns. The smell of burnt flesh and charred hair wafts nauseatingly.

Somewhere, someone is crying. Their anguished sobbing fills in his ears, mingling with screams so terrible he feels their echoes in his soul. 

The hairs on the back of his neck rise as Wild does. Wiping tears born of smoldering foliage and pain, he stumbles forward. Already, flames have begun to surround him. Even the rampant puddles cannot douse them. 

He cannot see their attacker. He cannot see Twilight.

But he can hear him. Over the sobbing, over the screams, is a distinctively sharp yelp. 

Laughter splits the air like a cleaving axe. 

“Twilight!”

Wild tries to say his name, tries to shout it. His lips form the word, his tongue moves to push it forth. Yet nothing escapes. No sound of his own pierces aching ears. 

Already raging panic shoots up to a fever pitch.

He begins to run. 

“Twilight! Twilight!”

Speech is an art he can no longer perform. His body is uncooperative. His breath comes so fast it escapes in hiccups. 

Eyes glare from the cerulean gloom, eyes that see too much but lack the means to do so. A dark hood, a gown of splotchy gray, a lantern that swings like the pendulum of a grandfather clock. The figure comes forth as though from nothing and drags its claws across his face. 

Wild backs up, spluttering, tasting iron. Behind him, someone giggles and it sounds like the cry of one in the throes of death. He does not have time to turn. Something sharp slices through bone and sinew, muscle and veins, and nestles mercilessly into his shoulder blade.

His mouth opens in a scream from which there is no sound. Wild whirls, slashes blindly. The axe falls and slices further as it does so. The ground tilts beneath him. His strikes do not make their desired contact. Air meets them, air thick with smoke and flame.

And from it come countless other lanterns. They bob like barrels on the turbulent waters, approaching with relentless determination.

Any emotion he had harbored before is gone now. Terror is all that is left. 

Wild throws himself into a spin attack. His surroundings blur. Heat eats at his face, his body. Fire licks at the edges of his cloak. 

The lanterns retreat slightly. 

Again, laughter sounds. 

Again, pain splinters through him. 

Wild crumples with an axe in his thigh. 

Find Twilight. 

It is all he can do now, the only command he can give himself. It is enough to make him rise, enough to make him draw his own weapon of flame. Balls of fire surge forth, bouncing gallantly in every direction. Their searing crimson is welcome in a sea of cold. 

They must hit something, because a screech splits the air. Encouraged, Wild swings again. 

This time, he sees it hit. From the hands of a creature sewn like a haunted doll,

drops the axe that had very nearly relieved him of his head. 

He flings more flame, sees an opening, and moves towards it as fast as his shredded leg will allow. 

Blood rains in his wake, replacing the vibrant crimson of the leaves that have long since turned to ash. Agony lights up his every motion. There are tears in his eyes, pounding in his head. Still, the creatures come. Their lanterns converge, signaling their surrounding him on all sides. With reckless abandon, Wild swings at them.

“Twilight!” It would sound like a sob if it was able. Yet, still no sound escapes.

A spell of some sort, it must be. His jaw aches from its bindings.

Where…where is he?

He does not want to imagine the rancher lying limp in a bed of flame. He does not want to think of him suffocating on smoke. He cannot entertain the idea that Twilight has perished amongst the very stuff that sends him into a panic. 

Gasping, Wild stumbles, falls. Claws find him instantly, ruthless in the way they pierce him. They scrape his flesh, expose his bones. He chokes. His weapon falls from his hand. Just as fast, their nails are in the back of his hand, digging through and into the mud beneath. 

He looks up into the endless darkness of their gaping eye holes and sees death. There is no escape from it. He wants to run, wants to fight. But no strength surges miraculously within him. No salvation flits down from the heavens in hues of gentle, glittering pink. Nothing arrives to shatter the spell that holds him speechless.

Wild closes his eyes, grits his teeth. He begins to drag his hand through the claws, ripping through his palm. Spots of deepest black and brightest white explode against his eyelids. He opens his mouth and…

Screams. 

His eyes fly open. His breath sticks in his throat. Through the stars exploding in his vision, through the tears and ash, dirt and blood, he sees him.

Twilight lunges in a blur of gray, stark against the pearly flame. Jaw wide, eyes flashing, he leaps at the creatures. Blood spurts through the air in furtive arcs, rising from the torn throats of the dead. It drips from his maw as he whirls on them like a beast possessed. 

Though they try to tear at him with claw and axe, he is far faster. He weaves between them with expert precision. One after another they fall until all that remains of them are their lanterns and the crackling flames. And even these are smothered by the sudden coming of rain.

Dismal drizzles transform into a true Akkala onslaught within seconds. Smoke rises in graceful plumes. The scent of it melds with moisture and blood. It burns Wild’s throat and eyes.

Twilight limps towards him. The wounds he had fought through before now weigh heavily upon him. When he transforms in a cloud of shadow, he nearly collapses.

But he manages to make it to Wild’s side, to kneel beside him. What little energy the champion had clung to flees so quickly he practically falls into Twilight’s waiting arms. The steady beat of the rancher’s heart fills his ears. Relief floods in, turning leaden limbs weightless. It is almost enough to push aside the nauseating cacophony of screeching pain.

Almost.

“You’re alive,” he croaks, and the relief increases so much that it is dizzying. His lips form the words, his tongue pushes them forth, and they fall audibly upon the smoldering remains of their battle. 

The spell, it seems, has broken with the collapse of the last opponent.

“Oh, cub.” Gentle fingers brush back wayward strands of hair. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize they were behind us. They must have cloaked themselves. And then I tried to find you, but with all the smoke I couldn’t smell you and I couldn’t hear anything and…”

His next inhale hitches. He holds him tighter. 

“I thought I’d lost you.”

Wild presses his face into the rancher’s chest and tries to drown out the agony. 

“I thought I’d lost you too,” he breathes. “I tried to call for you and I-I couldn’t. Twi, I couldn’t speak.”

He doesn’t mean for it to escape as a choked sob, and yet, it does. The pain pulsing through him, the remnant screams of his terror — it is all too much. 

“I know those monsters,” Twilight says, voice hoarse and unsteady. “They’re from my time.  But they’ve never been that powerful before. They’ve never had spells. The Shadow must’ve enhanced their abilities.

“But to have taken your voice…oh, cub. I’m so, so sorry.”

A tear slithers down Wild’s cheek, nudging aside dirt and grime to make its way to his neck. It joins the blood pooled in dark splotches upon his tunic. He clings to Twilight as his consciousness slips through clawing fingers.

“It’s not your fault,” he whispers, words slurring as he begins his descent. “I’m just glad…that you’re here now.”

[artemismoorea03]

DP x DC or Marvel: The Help of The Dead

I won't lie this could work for either

When Phantom joined the team almost everybody had the same thought; "He's just a kid, how could he help?"

They insist on protecting him in fights, especially when he makes it clear more than once that he wont fight living humans. So when it comes to armies of people they have to deal without the child on the battlefield, which is fine by them. One lest child on the front lines is one less ass to save when shit hits the fan.

But then one day that suddenly changes.

An evasion with scales unlike anything they had ever seen before which is saying something. Together the teams had fought countless battles but in that moment things seemed truly like they were too much.

Until Phantom finally clapped, jumped off the table. "These aren't living humans right?"

They weren't human, far from it. The team had mentioned this more than once but it was hard to tell if he was just double checking or if he hadn't been paying attention to anything.

"Great. Pull the team back, I got it."

"You really don't expect us for you to fight this alone, do you?" Superman or Captain America would ask as Phantom just laughed.

"Don't be ridiculous, who said I would be doing it alone. Now pull them back. I won't say it again." Then Phantom simply vanishes.

The orders are given, timidly but their given. Moral of the people left in the 'danger zone' drops and things seem to drastically change when a massive green cloud begins to swirl in the sky before ripping open into a portal that sends chills down the spines who see it.

The heroes fear it's a second wave or some kind of superweapon going off, but then a figure flies out, does a flip and strums a guitar.

"HELLO, WORLD! WELCOME TO THE SHOW! FOR THE BASTARDS TRESSPASSIN' I SUGGEST YOU GET CRUISIN' BEFORE YOU GET ONE HELL OF A BRUSIN!"

The team is confused until the portal explodes, a large mass of things fly out filling the sky blocking out the sun to the city. The heroes panic, the heroes don't know what to do. But the mass isn't attacking, in fact there's a wave of movement until who shows up at the front of the lines, a regal cape, a flaming crown and a glowing ice covered ring.

"Phantom." Nobody knows who breathes the name when they all realized what was happening.

Phantom simply waves his hand, a green megaphone forming out of thin air as he speaks into it.

"Attention invading forces. You have trespassed on territory claimed by the King of the Dead. You were given your chances to leave, and since you chose to stay then this must mean you have enjoyed your visit and wish to make your stay permanent. Don't worry, we'll help you with that. If you wish to leave, now is your chance. Either evacuate or drop your weapons of we will drop you."

The invading forces refuse, hell they even go so far as to scoff at the idea. Phantom simply shrugs then gestures to the one with the guitar, as she begins to play again and Phantom bops around for a second before he holds up his hand.

"By the order of the King of Death you are here by to protect the living souls of this world and destroy any who are not human, animal, or under our protection. There will be no ransacking, no obsession chasing, and no harming of the living. This is the decree now... take out the trash."

The slaughter is over before the one with the guitar finishes her third song. Two days of fighting over in less than nine minutes with no human lives lost in the attack, more captured enemies than dead, and without Phantom having to lift a finger.

The team is surprised, not only was Phantom working for the King of the Dead but the Army of the Dead was fuckin' terrifying. When Phantom was confronted with this information later, he simply laughs, shrugs and says;

"What can I say? Sometimes you have to let the kids outside to play or they'll go stir crazy."

"Why didn't you fight?" Another one of the heroes would ask as Phantom looked at them.

"You heard the decree, didn't you. 'No obsession chasing', my obsession is 'Protection'. I stayed back because if I was involved I would have probably caused more damage then our enemies."

After what the heroes had seen... this threat was terrifying.

Suddenly they realized that Phantom did help - by staying back - and the day he was actively in the fight...

Not even the mysterious 'King of the Dead' would be able to save the souls who went against Phantom.

[booksandabeer]

Ramblings on Fandom: Peggy Carter, Steve Rogers, Delusional Shippers, and Alleged Misogyny

So with the release of Season 2 of What If…? emotions are once again running high, the outrage is outraging, and people are up in arms about the whole Captain Carter situation. While I do think that some reactions are a little overblown, even needlessly aggressive in tone to the unfortunate detriment of their otherwise convincing arguments, I share the confusion and frustration about the sudden centering of a long-dead & never excessively popular character, the sidelining of the Steve-Bucky friendship, and the as-inexplicable-as-it-is-total exclusion of Sam Wilson as Captain America. However, I’m not here to talk about the show because (1) I haven’t watched this season and have no plans to (why waste time torturing myself with something I know I’ll hate?) and (2) other people have already written dozens of metas about it, so what could I possibly add at this point.

What I do want need to talk about (lest I explode) is something that has irritated me for a long time and that is now happening again: Every time someone even mildly criticizes Peggy Carter, expresses doubts about her suitability as a heroine, or even just questions her disproportionate importance to the franchise post-EG, inevitably a certain section of fans will come out of the woodwork to immediately throw around accusations of misogyny and yell about how we’re all just a bunch of delusional Stuckies who are mad that she got "in the way" of our ship. Sigh.

This is gonna be a long one, so I’ll put it under a cut. Rant incoming. You've been warned. If you don't want to read, simply keep scrolling.

First of all, let me state very clearly that I’m not debating the existence of misogyny and sexism in fandom spaces—or in the media from which these fandoms originate. At all. It exists, it’s a thing, I’m not denying that. Which is exactly why it frustrates me endlessly to see these accusations thrown around as a gotcha! argument to shut down any and all critical debate around a female character. All it does in the end is escalate rhetoric and radicalize attitudes.  

In the case of Peggy Carter, specifically her treatment by Stucky shippers, I’ve always found 'misogyny as a motive' to be a largely unsubstantiated accusation.¹ Now, I neither presume nor do I want to speak for the entirety of Stuckynation, so I will not claim that there aren't corners of the fandom where people discuss her in ways that I find off-putting and deeply unserious, but I will say this: If you genuinely believe that disliking one (1) fictional female character equals “hating all women” and wanting to suppress and marginalize their presence in fiction and real life alike—then I think we need to take that word away from you until you’ve learned its true meaning.

You might also want to ask yourself how exactly reducing a female character to a mute trophy wife or a heroine who has to act out her love interest’s recycled storylines helps your feminist fight.

As for the “getting in the way of your ship” part of the argument. Very simply put: No character can get in the way of something if there never ever was “a way” to that something to begin with. “Being mad” implies that there was a reasonable expectation that wasn’t met, a substantive hope that was crushed. Now, I’ve said this before and I’ll gladly say it again a million more times: No Stucky shipper in their right mind ever truly thought that there was even the slightest chance that Marvel Studios owned by the Walt Disney Company would allow Steve “Captain America” Rogers and Bucky “Winter Soldier” Barnes to be canonized as an explicitly romantic pairing in their billion dollar franchise. Be serious. That was never in the cards. I wish we all lived in a world where it was, but we don’t, and it wasn’t. The best we could ever hope for was for Steve and Bucky to get a good, satisfying, in-character ending. And if, in Steve’s case, that would’ve included hints (or more) about a possible rekindling of his, uh, aborted romance with Sharon—then so be it. But we never got any of that. The characters never got any of that. Instead they sent Steve into 1950s suburban hell, literally trapped him behind a white picket fence, and condemned him to a life of passivity and lies, all so he could be married to a woman he barely knew a long time ago in a completely different world; who built and ran a top-to-bottom Hydra-infested organization, but apparently never noticed that there was anything wrong with her life's work. For decades. Great. As for Bucky—well, we’ve all seen the devastatingly grim-faced, utterly lonely, and deeply sad version of him that was presented to us in TFATWS. Happy endings all around, I guess.

So. Am I mad that Steve didn’t get to ride into the rainbow-colored sunset with Bucky at the end of EG? No. Because that was never going to happen anyway. Would I have been mad had he ended up with Sharon or another female character in the 21st century? Also no. Granted, I wouldn’t have been ecstatic about it, but mad? No. But am I mad that Steve ended up with this specific female character under these specific circumstances as presented in canon? Fuck yeah, I am.

The thing is: I personally believe Steve and Peggy to be fundamentally incompatible when it comes to the way they view the world and their respective places in it; their morals and values; their capacity for compassion and empathy; their ability and willingness to compartmentalize, compromise, and collaborate with people and institutions whose ethics and/or politics do not align with their own. I have a real hard time believing that a relationship between these two (or worse, a hasty marriage) could be either happy or long-lasting.

I don’t believe Peggy to be inherently evil, I don’t hate her, I simply think she operates within a different moral framework than Steve (and even genuinely believes it to be a righteous one).² Your mileage may vary, but I personally happen to find that framework reprehensible, even indecent, and ultimately dangerous. After all, over the course of the 20th century, we have seen exactly where that kind of “the ends justify the means” brand of pragmatism leads—over and over again. Not to mention that the people who use this line of argument to defend characters like Peggy (or real-life politicians for that matter) never seem to want to look too closely at who gets to define what "the ends" are in the first place and who decides when they've finally been met.

(Never. The answer is never.)

And to be clear, there is absolutely nothing wrong with depicting, and even centering a narrative around a morally (dark)gray character—oftentimes it’s actually the more interesting option—but you cannot at the same time claim that they are purely good and should be only admired as such when their actions literally tell an entirely different story.

So, no. I will not accept Peggy Carter as the shining aspirational heroine that the MCU so badly wants to sell her to me as—while simultaneously continuing to reveal things that paint an increasingly darker picture of her character. And I will certainly not celebrate seeing one of my favorite characters of all time—whose defining trait was that he couldn't ignore "a situation pointed south"; who used to fight for the little guy and against the establishment; who once said about the very organization that Peggy Carter helped build that it was so corrupt, it all needed to go—rendered morally inert for some hollow happy ending that may as well be a conservative’s wet dream full of false nostalgia for an America that never really existed. I cannot find it in me to be anything less but mad about that.

But that does not make me a misogynist. It does not make me a delusional shipper. It makes me someone who looks at what the MCU has been telling me about Peggy Carter for years now—over and over again—and takes them at their own word.

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¹ If you’ve actually read a a fair number of Stucky(!) fanfics you will have noticed that the reverence afforded to and "page time" devoted to her character and her relationship with Steve is somewhat disproportionate to anything that's backed up by canon—well, up until EG, where she was suddenly reanimated as The Great Love of Steve’s Life—and in my experience, it's highly unusual for any fandom to put so much (mostly) positive attention on another character, let alone a potential love interest that is not part of the endgame ship.

² I also want to emphasize that if you love Peggy and she's your fave: good for you! I genuinely have no beef with you. People can agree to disagree. All I ask for is that we maybe stop willfully ignoring the less savory aspects of her character. You don't need to pretend she's perfect to justify your affection for her. I LOVE Steve, and yet I have no problem conceding that he is FAR from perfect.

[sehtoast]

No Time Like the Present [For a Present] - (parentified!OC, Ryan Butcher)

mild s4e7 spoilers, ben gives ryan a present, ben being the cool parent, ben x homelander, spidersona oc | Fic Directory

It’s a soft, breathy laugh that gives him away.

Ryan whirls around, picture frame held tight to his chest.  He’s like a child protecting a toy he knows he shouldn’t have.

“Relax, buddy.”  Ben says with a sympathetic smile.  “I ain’t gonna take it from you.”

“I don’t–”

“And I’m not gonna tell your dad either.  I’m not the Grinch, y’know.”

It’s a Christmas miracle in and of itself to see the boy’s eyes light up and a joyful grin settle into place.  A real smile, not the ones he fakes for cameras these days.

Ben reaches out and ruffles Ryan’s hair.  “He’s out anyway.  Lemme see ‘em?”  

Ryan tilts the frame his way and he takes in the full sight.  Butcher, before becoming, well… Butcher, and Becca.  His heart tugs at the sight of her, remembering the times they’d spoken.  Back when he would help Ryan with his physics homework at the kitchen table while Homelander pouted over getting less of the boy’s attention.  Ben always felt so terrible for how on edge Becca was around Homelander, but somehow she never seemed to hold it against the bug for being involved with him. Kind, caring, genuine…  

Just like her son.

“You’re a good kid, y’know that?”  Ben murmurs.  His eyes sting and he looks up to find Ryan’s lined with tears as well.

For as much as the world has tried to rip it out of his chest, Ryan’s heart was practically made of sunshine.  Ben’s already sworn up and down to whatever cosmic forces may be that he’ll preserve that light in the dark as best he can.

He sniffles and swats at his own fallen tears.  “Man, Christmas is somethin’ else.  I got one for you too.”  He scans the mountain of gift boxes and fan packages, shooting a web at one in particular wrapped as if someone gave tape and paper to a jackass who’d never wrapped a present a day in his life.  “Sorry about the outside.  The day I figure out wrapping paper is probably the day the planet explodes.”  He gestures for Ryan to sit, then hands it off.

As soon as he lifts the flaps on the box, Ryan goes silent.

Benjamin just waits while he processes it.  It was no easy feat, and finding someone talented enough to both sculpt and paint it perfectly without anything more than a few satellite images and classified Vought records had been… well.  The look on his face is all the bug needs to know it was worth it.

Ryan lifts it out and sets it on his lap, fingers running over the edge of the roof.  He seems almost baffled at the intricacy of detail, right down to the mailbox at the edge of the lawn.  “S’my old house…”  He murmurs, thumbing gently over the front door step.  “I almost forgot what it looked like.”

“Mm, well we can’t have you doing that.”  The bug’s voice cracks with emotion.  “I just– I figured you still do your legos and you could, y’know…”

By the time Ben’s gaze rises, Ryan’s already thrown himself into a hug, squeezing so tight the bug practically can’t breathe.  Except he can, because he’s learned how to weather those embraces.  It’s the same way Homelander hugs him when it’s all too much or when he needs a rock to cling to lest he become a castaway in his own sea of miseries.

“Sorry,” the boy mumbles as he pulls back.  The shame on his face is the worst part.  Watching him apologize every time he forgets his strength, becoming stronger with every passing day while the world remains unchanged, has been nothing short of heart wrenching.  “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“Get back in here.” With a huffed laugh and a roll of his eyes, Ben pulls Ryan in for another hug.  “You didn’t, and I know you never would.”  

They spent some time chatting after Ryan hides the photo in his room.  The clickety clack of VS5 controllers fill the air while they duel in Tournament of Heroes, and Ben groans as he loses for a fifth time.  Things like this used to be his forte as a kid, but he’s probably in for another loss anyway. 

But that was fine.  Homelander would be back soon and the three of them could spend Christmas Eve together as a family.  Even though that family is small and just a liiiittle bit messy, it’s still good.

“That makes six!”  The boy hoots, rising to his feet with a beaming grin and excitement in his eyes.  “I don’t think you’re cut out to play as dad’s character.”  He teases.

Nevertheless, Ben picks him again.

Yeah.  Still good.

[adultish-momma]

High Horses and Lashing Vipers

Two prideful people fight in a kitchen. That's it, that's the fic.

Warnings!(?): Jamil and Yuu curse. A lot. Nothing too extreme (at least I don't think), but there are quite a few f bombs. I headcannon that Jamil curses a lot in his head so when he feels safe enough to speak without a filter that translates to real life.

A/N: Can you tell which trope Yuu and Jamil would be after this fic? No but honestly I mentally come back to this fight all. the. time. I've had most of this dialogue in my drafts for almost two years? So I figured it was finally time to put this piece to bed. Hope you all enjoy!

As always please do let me know if there's any warnings you think I've missed!

"How's it feel?"

They startle him, appearing like a ghost to haunt him with his failures. He cuts them a mean side-eye, glare intensifying at the disappoinment radiating off of them.

"How's what feel?" He hopes his words drip venom. He feels like he can still feel the poison from the ink racing in his veins. Part of him hopes they still feel it too.

"How's it feel knowing you had the entirety of the Scalding Sands in the palms of your hands, and you threw it all away?"

They can't be serious.

"Threw it away?" A derisivie scoff. "You took it from me. I had it, and you and those meddling mer-fucks ripped it away from me!"

"Please, your little coup hissy fit was nothing. You threw away any ounce of power you had when you decided to betray Kalim."

At this point Jamil is seething, that same viscous and angry feeling from the Overblot seeping into his pores. His vision blurs at the edges, eyes narrowing in on the insolent street-rat that dared oppose him.

"I have more power than Kalim could ever hope to possess. That pathetically naive child -"

"Owns your whole world. Your broken, fucked up caste system is maintained by those at the top, and it can be demolished by those at the top. And that child would have delivered every bit of social change you ever craved for on a fucking silver platter with a beaming smile on his face if you had asked for it when he trusted you."

"You have no idea what you're talking about -"

"No Jamil, you don't. You're still too blinded by your ridiculous need for what? 15 minutes of fame? Recognition? Validation from strangers who know nothing about you?"

"It's what I deserve!" he hisses. With every word, he steps into the prefect's personal space, backing them up until they have nowhere left to go. "That sniveling fool gets praised for being able to wipe his own ass, while I slave away keeping his dumbass alive and running this whole dorm and upholding my own grades and clublife and catering to his every fucking whim! So yes, Prefect, I do deserve to be worshipped and idolized just as much if not more than my master."

"YOU WERE!" They explode, forcing Jamil retreat lest he end up even more in their crossfire. It's the first time they've lost their composure, voice echoing off the kitchen tile. "You were idolized! This whole dorm never shut the fuck up about how good you are, how talented and disciplined and hardworking you are. And Kalim?"

"Stop." It's uttered threw gritted teeth. He can't bear to hear it anymore, not from anybody, but especially not from them.

"Kalim damn near worshipped the ground you walked on."

"Just stop."

"No. Because you're still not listening Jamil."

"Stop. Talking."

"You were number one in the eyes of everyone who mattered Jamil". It's said softly, whispered into the charged space between them. Damning words. Everything he's ever wanted to hear, and yet the straw that breaks the camel's back.

"GET OUT!"

It isn't until Jamil can't hear the prefect's receding footsteps that he thinks over their original question. "How's it feel?" Looking around the school kitchen (the only place that feels safe from the disdain of his dormmates on this entire campus), his eyes fall on the still dirty pots from the last time he was in here.

Jamil closes his eyes, and he can hear the Ramshackle residents laughing over the sounds of crockery clanging and pots bubbling. He can see it, the way they looked him in his eyes that first night, agreeing and trusting him before he could even think to use his unique magic. He can hear the smile in their voice over the din of the welcoming feast, and he can see them almost glowing under the moonlight.

Closing his eyes allows Jamil to recollect the way Kalim looked at the prefect.

He opens his eyes and still sees them backed into a corner, sees the self-righteous fire still burning behind their eyes. Eyes that stared him down. Despite knowing exactly what Jamil is capable of, Yuu still looked him in the eye, trusting him.

"How's it feel?" he ponders aloud. And slowly, a smile spreads on his face. "Freeing".