#let it be because I post art of him wearing only this shield

[shieldhero-brainrot]

I just think it’s neat.

[hoseoksluna]

CHERRIES | jhs ft. jjk

pairing: soon-to-be-boyfriend!hobi x oc (feat. ex-boyfriend!jk)

genre: heavy, heavy, obnoxious smut

word count: 12.7k

summary: you don't know how he does it, but hobi makes you forget about the life you led before him, using his tongue.

playlist: hobi's playlist ; hobi's the weeknd playlist 

pinterest board: cherries / taglist: join

warnings: oh my god—dd/lg but differently, businessman!hobi, dominant and emotional and fucking possessive hobi, oc is horny... a lot, praise kink, breeding kink sdflhldghfdklaxjkfghskfg, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, female and male masturbation, use of a sex toy, cum eating, ass eating, religious personification, mentions of anal sex, thigh and ass slapping fuck

note: my babies, i'm so happy to be posting PART TWO OF BERRIES for you, oh my god. i had the time of my LIFE writing this, had to take breaks every 20 mins, was horny beyond my fucking mind BECAUSE THE SMUT IN THIS? FUCK. THIS IS PURE FILTH. 12K WORDS OF FILTHY HOBI SMUT. IM DEAD. HAVE BEEN DEAD. i missed writing so much that i spewed this out in 3 days... literally how? but i'm so happy to be back. i hope you enjoy this part. make sure to let me know what you think! i'm in a severe (hehe) need of your feedback. I LOVE YOU, MY BABIES. MWAH.

side note: this part has the entirety of my being in it. from the first word to the last. it means a lot to me. very special chapter! <3

By the time you come out of the art museum, it’s storming. A sound so cacophonous that it spreads dots of gooseflesh along the perimeter of your skin underneath your silk dress and the layer of your heavy trench coat. Loud and violent like your heart’s deep drum that stills once you see Hoseok leaning against his glossy car. Arms and legs crossed in the same fashion, clothed in the coupled shade of blackness, a mop of tousled hair swept back and rippling in the unforgiving wind that flushes his cheeks with its rosy coldness and then clouds pull in, darkening his stare fixed on you. 

A shower of sudden rain finishes its touch on his countenance. 

Eye contact broken, Hobi’s shoulders raise as he feels the iciness of the slender raindrops falling upon him, eyes flicked up to the shadowed heavens. A heartstring of yours snaps and you don’t really know who gave the command to your aching legs to run towards him with your coat suspended over your head—whether it was that weakened heart of yours or basic human decency. Emotion versus logic. 

You find soon enough the verdict of the winner. 

Because when you have to stand on your tippy toes to cover him from the rain, despite the fact you’re wearing your high-heeled boots, and Hobi takes the makeshift shield from your hands and shrouds you both from the wetness, an identical flush crawls from your left cheek, upon the column of your nose right next to your other cheek, warming you up from within. 

Emotion. The string that ruptured grows again to its full length during that fleeting moment and you’re aching to take him home. 

No rain in sight—just him in this close proximity, in this gray cocoon, smiling down at you lopsidedly, a dimmed light flickering in his inky pools, faintly, barely, only there for you to see. To catch and cling to like his patchouli scent does to you, a whiff of dainty wildflowers leaning in and enclosing around you, forcing away the thoughts that are erect in the corners of your mind, waiting for the adequate moment to strike. Thoughts of how you sense Jungkook’s life entwining around your world again; his companion perfuming the air with petrichor, the inner turmoil she must be facing the very strength that pulled those clouds in, causing a storm to stretch across the skies. You figure each beat of her confused heart must be the grumble of the thunder, but then Hobi’s outer film of softness amidst the darkness is a force way greater, because firmness broods right underneath it, and it is an energy that keeps those thoughts pressed against the walls of your mind.

He did turn you into a locked orchard—and the threat of another declared war isn’t even a wind that brushes past your fruit trees and berry bushes. 

In fact, the more you deepen your exchange of gazes and Hobi cages you in between his shirt-clothed elbows, the more you want to show him the stain of your juices upon your panties. 

You’re aroused—blooming, in need to be picked. It outweighs the past and you’re glad for it, deem your newly born sexuality more important than the doomed normalcy of your life. 

You sink your manicured nails into that newness, adamant on not letting it go, regretting that you agreed to see your ex-boyfriend later tonight, regretting that you grew soft at the hint of his own normalcy, even though you said to yourself that you wouldn’t. It’s one of the reasons why you dig your nails deeper, maximizing your closeness to Hobi—it’s done in an effort to erase your foolish moment of weakness, to better yourself like you encouraged yourself to do earlier when you had perceived that you misinterpreted him. You curl your lips under your teeth to stifle back a sigh, wishing you were as firm as him, as stable in your decisions and your way of living as him. Wishing your weakness wasn’t a putty you play with, leave your fingerprints of your bad decisions on that blemish until you hate yourself, until the paste hardens and there’s nothing left for you to do but to watch it. Watch the evidence of your failure, your brokenness and your imbecility like still life—the curse, the doom of your life, haunting you. 

It almost slinks in, threatening yet again to desiccate your orchard, the movement akin to a wave rolling in, but then Hobi speaks. And his voice sears those thoughts to nothing. Not even their shadows are left behind. 

“Did you say hi to your friend?” he murmurs, reaching behind him to open the door of the passenger side for you, the coat that’s propped on his forearm lowering until it rests back around your shoulders. 

You can merely nod, your empty mind focused on the absence of your selfishness—for once again, you want to be close to him for his sake, even more so when Hobi places his palm on the top edge of his car so you don’t hurt your head. 

A prince, an orchardist, and a gentleman. 

You’re feeding him and sucking his dick before he goes to work—you don’t care. Hope to God he fucks your brain out of your head and plants a new one; one that isn’t so stupid. 

Seated inside his car, you glimpse profoundly at the way the rain kisses the crown of his head as he rounds his vehicle, sitting right beside you and carrying inside his heavenly skin fragrance, now accentuated by the residue of petrichor that all of a sudden doesn’t have anything to do with what you just bore. No hints, no thoughts, no wars. How he does it is something you’ll never have the capability of understanding—a fracture of attention of the intimate kind and he binds you to him, erasing your still fresh past as if it never happened. 

You flex and relax your hand on your lap, a gesture that depicts that you cherish it to the point that you yearn to submit to it and remain submitted. And you will. You’ll figure out a way to stay stable, even if events appear to try and revolutionize you. A way to keep your fist clenched in his presence. 

Hobi lets the car warm up a little bit before he turns on the heating, angling his rear view mirror just right, from which two purple, plush dice swing back and forth, colliding once and never meeting again. 

How inspiring. 

And then you watch his hands. Watch them dominate the car, spur it to life as he drives through the drenched street, parting the rain like a curtain, stepping in, taking you home. 

As if he sensed your thoughts, he glances at you. “My place or yours?” 

A red light halts his control and Hobi uses it to tap on the screen of his dashboard, dousing the space in a sultry, wet ambiance as slow, calm music breaks the silence. While it was comfortable for you, now you feel even more at ease and you wiggle in your seat, sinking deeper into the leather. 

Quite useful material for the lecherous saturation of your mind; for the lustful layer of sweat lining your skin. You feel so hot. Feel the need to be ridded of your clothes right now. Feel a certain kind of vivacity that drives you to do things you wouldn’t normally do. 

You take his hand from the shift stick, cradling it with both of your own hands, a finger tracing the veins that paint a slender but a strong temple—a temple for his beauty and character, you suspect. 

“My place,” you say, yearning to make him feel at home in your space; cook for him, make him come, stuff like that.

Green light blinks and Hobi doesn’t withdraw from your hold. No, he tells you what to do, quickly. 

“Keep your hand on mine,” he instructs and you listen, sinking your fingers between his and gripping him like in an effort to grip onto stable submission. “Just like that.” 

Your stomach flips at his choice of praise and you lick your lips, tightening your hold hard enough that he peeks at you with a smirk while he shifts the gear stick with you and speeds down the road. The heat worsens and you don’t think you can take it anymore.

That alone is the most attractive thing you ever experienced with a man. 

And when he plays with your thumb, you can’t help but to squeeze your thighs together. Watch him intently sneak a glance as you do so, knowing your dress has ridden up a little, exposing your tanned thighs, swathed with the brown leather of your boots. Your position also provides him the intriguing reveal of a secret—you’re wearing knee socks underneath. They were invisible to his sight this whole time and now that he sees them, his eyes linger there for a few seconds longer before he drags his teeth along his bottom lip, flicking his gaze back to the road. 

“You’re wearing knee socks under those?” he asks, his voice low and tortured. Doesn’t look at you as he does. Only shifts the gear stick again, stiffly. You imagine something else is stiff, too, and you smile, a tendril of confidence clothing you in allure and sinful, dark joy. It beckons your vivacity to drive forward. 

You move his hand to let the pads of his fingers feel the smooth fabric. His body twitches, his lungs inhaling a short, soft air, mouth parted, eyes unblinking, gloomy just like the heavens above. A thunder sounds and you feel like roaring just the same. 

“It matches my underwear,” you murmur and the thunder prolongs, echoing feebly. You drag his hand down your thigh with the intention to also make him feel the nylon material of your panties, but he halts your movement halfway, hand gripping your flesh, trembling ever so slightly, stirring your confidence. You almost moan at his brusqueness. 

“Don’t,” he scolds, brows furrowing, chest heaving in that slow manner. His lips dry and he wets them. Doesn’t spare you a glance. Turns the wheel with that one hand as he takes a left turn, his posture slouched, thighs spread, a small tent evident in between. His arousal for you grows and it only propels you to finish the job, knowing his scolding was merely a warning, not a portrayal of his discomfort. And he proves you right with his next words. “If you do that, I’ll crash this fucking car.” 

You laugh through your nose, your confidence and your own arousal fluttering in you, begging to be let out. Your favorite artist starts playing and you’re not surprised by the way your body reacts. Your thighs naturally spread and you move your pelvis forward. Feel your slick dampening your panties even more, trickling down your needy seashell just as The Weeknd begins to sing about your desire. 

“I wanna fuck you slow with the lights on…” 

You lick your lips, inhaling deeply and exhaling with a soft moan. Hobi digs his fingernails into your skin, coaxing another one out of you and he calls you by your name in a sterner warning. You caress the edge of his hand with the thought in mind that you’ve always loved the crescent moon, so it would only be illogical for you to not want more of it imprinted on your skin. 

“You shouldn’t praise me then,” you croak out, doused in adrenaline-tinged lust, your sweat heavy upon you. You clutch your cherub necklace, needing to be touched, a habit of yours that you’ve had ever since you were a teenage girl. Your fingers graze your collarbones, lingering in the dip between them. “Besides, you’re such a good driver that I think you can handle it.” 

Hobi hums out an endearing laugh, that smirk of his reappearing on his mouth. He rubs the moons he impressed into your thigh from side to side and your hips buck, asking for that movement down low where you need him the most. 

“You have a praise kink?” he questions and you catch him bite his lip, catch him enjoying that information, sinking it into his flesh. You want to kiss it, bruise it, make it permanent for a little while. You revel in such a dirty, yet gentle conversation and you stop yourself from bucking your hips again. 

“A severe praise kink,” you correct him, emphasizing the adjective with a bit of a bratty tone to divulge to him what he does to you and how much he needs to pay for it. And before you can go on, he catches you off guard. 

“If you want me to keep praising you then rub your clit,” he negotiates with you, taking your hand and moving the gear stick, leaving it there. “And you’re wrong. I can’t handle you like this. I can’t touch you when I’m responsible for your life.” 

Daddy. The title would’ve slipped out of the tip of your tongue had a moan not been first, coating the ambience with a sultriness that makes you tug at his hand in order to do as he says, in order to be praised, to be gratified. But Hobi doesn’t budge. He tightens his grip around the shift stick, clicking his tongue. 

“No, baby. With your other hand,” he orders, his breath shaking and amidst the enveloping of his fatherliness around you, strengthening you and binding you with ropes of safety, girlishness and seductiveness, you scrunch up your brows, wanting his hand to be there when you make yourself feel good. 

And you tell him. 

“I want you to help me.” 

The rain thickens, creating a sensual background noise to the next slow song playing and Hobi sighs, disliking your attitude. Your arousal grows to highs you’ve never seen before, a sweet, pleasing darkness consuming you, sprinkling you with glitters of appetite and craze. 

All because your sexual chemistry is so good, so strong—so natural, despite the fact you just met and don’t know each other enough for it to be possible. It exceeds the laws of human connection and the feeling of it is heady, intoxicating you with wine of the ripest cherries. You even feel as though this is your first alcoholic drink. Feel as though you’re an unspoiled virgin on the cusp of her very first sin—the Virgin Mary with long hair, cherub necklace, tanned skin, knee socks and high-heeled boots. 

Hobi erases your past life. Paints a new one with watercolors; paints you anew. You know the dulcet taste of fatherliness and manliness from Jungkook and while it was what you needed at the time, sexually that is—as it wasn’t often that he used this kind of energy day-to-day, and if he did, it was to tease you—what Hobi does runs deeper. It surpasses your need; it’s not a filling that will decompose soon enough and ask for it again. It’s something else entirely. 

It’s something that falls upon you and stays. Clicks and connects with no way out. It’s another layer of skin, strands of hair growing out of your scalp, the drum of the vein upon your neck. 

It began in the museum and uncoils here. It’s not worth it to juxtapose it with what you had before—it’s laughable to do so. Hobi has established his fatherliness the moment he held your coat as a heathen in a church, not taking his gaze off of your intimate prayers for even a split second. Unkinked it with his honesty and by expressing his responsibility over you, listening to the murmur of the sea of your sexual need but not diving head-first into it, knowing better. And now it is ready to bloom with flowerets, with fruits, with leaves to accompany you. 

“It’s this or nothing,” Hobi decides, squeezing his fingers against yours to also emphasize the gravity of his words and you purse your lips in response, finding the ultimatum so attractive. “You live thirty minutes away, so you either rub your clit on your own or you wait. It’s up to you.” 

It’s mind blowing to you how he went from being timid to now ordering you to pleasure yourself. You’re sweltering beneath your clothes and Hobi notices, looking at your body through his rear view mirror. He turns the heating up and you laugh, blush deepening, eyes crinkling at the corners. Your heart thuds heavily in your chest. 

“Why didn’t you put your seatbelt on?” he mutters, letting go of your hand and giving you a mean look that makes your walls clench and your throat let out a low, almost soundless moan. 

You never put a seatbelt on. As dangerous as it, you hate the way it chokes you due to your small stature and you tell him. “It chokes me, Hobi, I don’t really like it.” 

Hobi doesn’t respond. He reaches over and drags down the seatbelt adjuster without taking his eyes off of the road, driving steadily. His patchouli scent hits your nostrils and you nuzzle your nose into his bicep, fingers curling around his arm, smelling him in a simple, comfortable manner. Hobi gives you a quick smile and you hear the sound of him pulling on the seatbelt, but then a pedestrian runs across the previously empty crosswalk, forcing him to stomp on the brake abruptly and your heart nearly skips out of your chest. Almost flying forward, Hobi holds you in place with his strong arm, which you cradle against your quickening chest. 

Exchanging a look, you both pant in tandem and Hobi shakes his head at you. Panic lines his dark eyelashes and he immediately grabs the seatbelt and, tugging harshly, he sinks it into the buckle, placing the belt behind your back. He doesn’t acknowledge the pedestrian lifting his palm in apology and neither do you, too preoccupied with the fact he just saved your life. 

“You wear a seatbelt in my car. No buts. Understand?” 

Too shocked by the twist of events and too touched by the gesture and the sternness of his words, you nod. He pats your thigh, the one he marked, fondling the skin with his thumb, and it drives you to say something. “I’m sorry, Hobi. I’ll wear the seatbelt from now on.” 

You mean it. This has never happened to you before as you usually take the public transport, but you do understand now how dangerous it is to not wear one. Your heartbeat calms and the aftershocks of the adrenaline come to the surface, scattering along your figure. Numbness melts and your arousal returns at full speed. 

Hobi nods, smiling gently, pleased with your apology, and you feel so peculiarly gratified that you managed to do something like that to him. He sinks his fingers under your thigh and you marvel at the size of his hand because his thumb still remains there on the top of the flesh, even as he wraps his digits around you like that. Kneading just once before he lifts them and begins to tap on his screen again, shifting the energy with the voice of your favorite artist. He moves the gear, accelerating. 

“Why you rushing me, baby? It’s only us, alone,” The Weeknd sings and you sigh, your body loosening up. You hike the seatbelt around your hips higher, curling lower on the leather, thighs parting until your knee taps his hand. You miss his touch and you long for it again, finding its warm ghost on your skin not enough. 

“You like The Weeknd, don’t you?” Hobi says, his pinky finger brushing along your sock-clad knee, causing you to almost twitch. 

You smile, relishing in the love you have for the singer. “I’ve spent ten years of my life loving him.” 

Liking your answer, Hobi skims his fingers along the side of your inner thigh until he finds yours, intertwining them—this time his palm closed over the back of your hand, placing it to its former position on the stick. It’s warmed by him and you love it so much that you search for his thumb, playing with it. 

“I could tell,” he breathes, his tone deepened by a heartfelt emotion that moves through you. You raise your brows in curiosity and question, wondering how that has come to be. Glancing at you to see your reaction, Hobi laughs softly, his heart evident in the sound, coated with it entirely, and you catch his thumb, holding it, on the verge of bursting. “I saw what you did when I put him on.” 

You round the tip of your tongue along your top lip, recollecting well what you did when you heard him. “What did I do?” 

A beat of silence between you and him, he lets the singer sing his elegy. Then, his index finger traces your manicured nail on the same digit. “You spread your legs. Made such a pretty sound that I almost stopped this fucking car and fucked you until the whole city could heard it.” 

Your breath hitches in your throat and you’re too late to halt the moan from slipping out, a fire coursing down from the top of your head to your toes. You want a taste of his desire so bad that you’ll do anything for it. Even let the seatbelt choke you to death. 

Hobi gives you a look, one that chills your blood this time. But it feels absolutely exhilarating.

He calls your name. “Don’t do that to me. Not here.” 

Your breath trembles as you scurry to regain your composure, sliding up in your seat. Hobi, too, stops that movement by cradling your thigh, putting it back to the stick once you get the message. 

Why does this feel better than if he gave in? 

“What if I want to?” you challenge and Hobi rubs his eyes, slapping his hand back onto the steering wheel. Frustration, it looks so good on him. “What if I want you to fuck me here?” 

He shakes his head, just once, biting his lip, reddening the pillow. “No, I don’t share.” 

Fuck. 

This is a point of no return. You will never be the same after what he said and you feel your attachment melting into his chest, dissolving there into leaves from your fruit trees. Your imaginary wings flit, aroused from his possessiveness. 

“You know what to do,” he adds without looking at you, turning up the volume as if to subdue your incoming moans. 

A cherry on the top of the fucking cake. 

You don’t waste a precious second. Lifting the hem of your dress, you expose your drenched panties, a large wet spot in the center darkening the black fabric. Hobi doesn’t spare you a glance. No, he takes your intertwined hands and fixes his rear view mirror, tipping it down. Dangerous, but smart. Responsible. 

It’s those glimmering flecks of his character that drive your fingers to pull your panties to the side, but Hobi, once again, stops you. 

With words, this time. 

“Do you want me to die?” he rasps, tortured—horribly tortured and you cup your femininity, coaxing a groan out of him. “Do it over your panties, baby. Please.” 

He begged. You don’t think you ever heard that word come out of a man’s mouth in your life and you break, whimpering, pulling your panties back in their place over your pussy, dragging the tip of your middle finger up and down your dripping slit, sighing. Adding your index, you put pressure to the sides of your clit as you slide your digits in the same direction, over and over, teasing yourself, breathing out little moans that make him grip the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. 

Hobi glances once at what you’re doing and swears. “Fuck, rub your clit. Don’t tease yourself, baby. Make yourself feel good.” 

With a mewl, you stick your fingers together and begin a series of circles, doing as he says. Your eyes roll back, head knocking back into the leather, satisfaction seizing your body and sweetening it. The material of your panties is so flimsy that it feels as though your fingers are stroking your bare flesh and when you tug the fabric to your hole to wet it and rub your clit harder, your moans gain volume, mingling with The Weeknd’s poetry seamlessly and magnificently, dethroning the rain. 

And then Hobi shifts the gear stick with your hand and drives so fast that your pleasure deepens, thrill rushing in your veins. You match your circles to that speed, your sounds becoming obnoxious, whiny squeaks when you look at him to see his jaw clenched, chest heaving and the tent in his pants larger than you last checked it. 

Hobi skims his fingers along your forearm, back and forth, cradling it. Senses your stare and reciprocates it, catching you at your best when you find your spot and buck your hips, furrowing your brows. He moans, clutching your thigh. 

“So good. Such a good girl, rubbing her clit for me to get praised. Fuck, baby. You’re doing so good.” 

You lift your fingers in order not to come, the aftershocks of your ripped away orgasm quivering throughout your whole body and you squeeze his hand, letting go—wrapping it around his tent, instead. You figure he deserves it for praising you like that. 

He finds your lidded, mischievous eyes in the rear view mirror and he flattens his lips, a brutal expression on his face that should make you scared, but it doesn’t. It only spurs you on. You graze your palm on him, causing his breath to quicken, and you whimper when you search and search for the tip of his cock. He’s slender, but big and your mouth dries. 

“You almost made me come with what you said,” you say, truthfully, retracing your path down his length, his breath, now hardened, wafting over you. You love the way he focuses on the road with every fiber of his being as you’re toying with him. Love watching him grit his teeth, narrow his eyes; love watching sweat adorn his flushed chest and neck. You ache to bite him there. 

And you would—had he not buckled you in place. 

You don’t notice you’ve arrived at your apartment until he stops the car and turns to face you, leaning his elbow on the center console. Nobody could gaslight you into believing that ride took thirty minutes. Nobody. 

Hobi made that fifteen. Ferally. For you. 

You can see it in his shining face—his need for you, his desire, the fact he sped down the road because you’re so horny. And you ache to kiss him. 

“You really do have a praise kink,” he says, mutedly. Must be thinking the same because his gaze flicks to your lips. You lick them for him, encouraging him to do it. “Almost coming from me praising you. Such a good girl.” 

You hiss, the drum in your clit returning, stealing your attention. Hoseok grins, pleased to be proven right, pleased that you make it so easy for him. You squeeze his length and he makes the same sound, gritting his teeth briefly before he pouts. 

“What’s this?” he asks, speaking of your hand placement. “When did I allow you to do this?” 

You breathe heavily, descending your fingers to his full balls, feeling them perfectly due to the silky fabric of his dress pants. You knead them and he moans, the sound traveling right to your yet again needy bundle of nerves. Your hand automatically flies to it, rubbing it, and Hobi curses, eyes narrowing, fixed on the movement of your fingers. 

“It’s asking for me, isn’t it?” you murmur, sliding your hand back to his manhood and his pools almost go cross, head tilting back. Your pleasure from your motions expands, your nerve endings burning. 

“I’m so hard for you,” he agrees, his hand clasping over yours, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows with great difficulty, the column of his throat such a thing of beauty for you that it forces you to unclip your seatbelt. You’re about to crawl onto his lap, but one darkened look from him makes you decide against it. “Show me that pussy, baby.” 

Your moan has a certain elation to it, giddy at the fact you get to expose such an intimate part of you to him, giddy that he’s taking this to another level. 

You slide your drenched panties to the side and at the sight of your glistening pussy Hobi groans deeply.

“Lean against the door,” he commands, wiping at his mouth and you tremble all over, more than delighted that he’s reacting to you this way. 

You swivel, propping your back against the leather of his door and Hobi lifts your legs, spreading them. You hook one of them around the back of his headrest while the other dangles in his hold. His gaze zeroes in on your pussy and as he bites his lip, he acknowledges himself with her by tracing the flesh with his thumb. Your clit, your lips before he circles your gushing hole, groaning, bettering the song you barely can hear. Your confidence and your allure skyrockets and you follow his digit, riding it, begging for more of his touch. He plays chase with you until both of you and him can’t take it anymore and when his thumb is completely soaked, he lifts it to your mouth—only to fuck with you, though, because he plunges it inside his, leaving your own parted for nothing. 

You’re embarrassed, but he likes it. Whimpers around his finger. Pushes your knee to your shoulders and dives right in. 

You yelp, grabbing a hold of his hair as he licks over your clit, closing his lips over it and sucking until your eyes roll back, until all your still parted mouth knows is his name and your thick heel digs into his shoulder. 

But you moan the wrong variation and he’s quick to correct you with a dripping chin, his hands on either side of you, face merely inches away from yours. “That’s Hoseok for you, not Hobi.” 

Red all over, you can only moan in response, gripping his hair until he hisses in pain. He strums your clit without breaking eye contact, so slippery and swollen from his attack. The orchard in you grows, brims with fruit that is on the cusp of bursting, the berries in you big and full. His eyes narrow furthermore, pupils dilated, causing his gaze to darken in ways you’ve never thought could be possible. 

“Moan my name, baby. Show me how good I’m making you feel.” 

The wrong variation slips again, all due to the mind numbing pleasure he’s giving you. He adds more pressure to his fingers for a second before he withdraws and slaps your thigh. And slaps it again. 

“I can’t praise you if you don’t learn well, can I?” he mutters and you whine so loudly that his eyes round, body growing boneless. “Fuck, baby, if you keep making sounds like that I’m gonna come in my pants.” 

You scramble your words, find it the most difficult thing in the world. And he doesn’t help you. Not when he sinks a long finger inside your heat, fucking you slowly until you can take him. You lose your mind altogether. 

“You’re making me feel too-too good,” you breathe out, hiccuping as he adds a second finger in, silencing you when he gives you long strokes. You follow his gaze down and perceive that he’s watching you soak his digits. He twists them, moaning, a litany of mad, mad curses falling out of his mouth in a hushed tone. 

“So wet just from me praising you, oh my God,” Hobi comments and you squeeze your eyes shut, taking it as he begins to pound you to the hilt, his arm bulging, his whole body moving. “Eyes on me. What do you call me when I make you feel this good, hm? I already told you. Just remember.” 

You know which variation he means and wants to hear, but your tongue curls, aching to utter a different name that he deserves to be called by. 

And you say it, opening your eyes and boring them into his. “Daddy.” 

And you don’t stop saying it. Not when he closes his eyes for a split second, agonized by such saccharinity. Not when he undoes the button of his pants and pulls himself out while thumbing your clit. You gasp, legs quivering, what you touched brought to reality and your orgasm nears, especially when he fist-fucks his length. 

Hoseok draws back down to your clit, licking it over, nuzzling his face in it as he drinks your nectar right from the source, his wet fingers from you making squeaky sounds around his girth, causing you to scream, the intensity of the moment running so deep and you’re too weak to take it, overwhelmed by his arousal. 

He lifts his head for a moment. “I want you to call me Daddy when you come on my tongue,” he rasps amidst his growls, never stopping the movement around his cock, and you nod your head, vehemently, willing to do anything for him.

“I’m so close.” 

Hoseok pouts. “That’s so good, baby. You know what to do?” 

You swallow. “I’m gonna call you Daddy when I come.” 

He grins at you and the expression breaks when he fucks his tip, his brows casting a shadow on his face. You break along with it, shuddering—pleasured from watching him pleasure himself. And you break again when he praises you for your good answer. “Such a good girl. You’re gonna come hard for me?” 

You don’t get to say your yes because when he sucks your clit into his mouth and groans against it as he flicks it with his tongue, he’s a witness to it himself. The fruits in your orchard explode and he drinks their juices, running the muscle all over your pussy, his mouth smacking, enjoying every drop. You squeal the title, forcing pleased growls out of him that deepen when you swear, repeating the name over and over again until your orgasm smooths down the perimeters of your body, slowly dwindling away.  

You can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t see. White dots flood your vision and the only thing that grounds you is Hobi taking your hand in his. The dots swim away, revealing him on the verge of his own orgasm as he tugs on his length, rapidly now. 

“That was so good, baby. You came so well for me. Called me Daddy like I wanted. Good girl,” he praises and your moans are an endless stream, enveloping around his cock, which he guides your hand towards. The weight of it, his warmth, the protruding veins, you could come again just from the feel of him. “Jerk off your Daddy. He’s close, too, from the way you came for him.” 

The third person, fuck. You bite your lip, focusing on his tip as you grip him, twisting your wrist. His skin is sticky from your nectar and you spit onto your hand, earning a praise from him that makes your mind spin, even though you heard those two words plenty of times throughout your sinful date. 

It will never get old—it will only make your femininity wetter for him. 

And his growls, the same could be applied to them. They propel you to fuck him faster while your fingers sneak over to your sensitive clit that he provokes, rubbing circles that cloud your vision with a mist, painting him to be an angel—like the one you saw in the museum. 

And when he comes, he grows a pair of glorious wings. Black, with hints of rose gold and pinks. His body doubles over, hands propped on the dashboard and the passenger seat as he spills for you, ropes of cum painting your stomach in that eternal ivory color that serves as skin for those sculptures. In a way you become them once he praises you for making him come, his breaths a legato rivulet that gives you life, his hips snapping, fucking your hand. 

He smears his cum on your tanned stomach, fingers dipping below the waistband of your panties to discover a lighter shade of skin, marveling at the difference. Light passes through his eyes before he covers your pussy with the fabric, opening the glove department to fetch some tissues, cleaning you up, dragging down your dress and helping you sit up.

It’s at this moment, as he’s kneeling—towering over you and you’re sitting on your bum with your hands folded on your lap like the good girl he made you into, that he clutches the back of your neck and smashes his mouth into yours, moving it against you with such strength and vigor that you struggle to devour him in the same manner. It causes you to claw at his sides, to long to see his body in its full, bare beauty. His imaginary wings wrap around you, sealing the resplendence of your orgasm profoundly inside your skin and when he tastes you, his growls traveling down your throat are the raindrops that the orchard inside you needs in order to grow. You help him by moaning back, the aftertaste of you the sunlight. 

Piercing his gaze into yours, he caresses your hair, messes up your diligently fixed updo. Catches your ribbon as it falls, wrapping it around his hand, the wisps dangling from his fingers like your leg was just a few moments ago. 

You’re so satisfied that you could cry. 

You don’t even understand what just happened and how it came to be. Don’t remember what occurred before you sat down in his car—Hobi has completely and wholly erased it. 

And it’s him who notices that your hand still carries the remnants of him. You don’t care to look—you can’t rip your gaze away from the shine on his face, from the gratification smoothing out his features, from the pink flush decorating the perfect redness of his swollen lips. But Hobi forces you to, in the tenderest of ways. Looks lovingly at your palm, cooing, shooting that look into your eyes, where it unfolds, creates something new that you never experienced before. And when he grins, your stomach flips, winged creatures intoxicated with madness inside. 

“You see what you did?” he whispers, the love in his eyes expanding, growing warmer, burning you faintly. “I want you to lick it up. You deserve every drop.” The breath you let out causes him to tremble and you cradle the fabric of his shirt in your fist. Hobi kisses your fingers, looking at you through them, his smile quivering. “Stick out your tongue for me, baby.” 

You do and he slides your palm over it, his salty nectar the sea that swam against your body a week ago in your healing time and you moan, devouring his taste like he devoured your mouth, licking it up, collecting it until there’s nothing left. You show him your tongue, then, and Hobi plays with it, using his thumb, your ribbon wrapped around his hand tickling your chin. He rubs it on the muscle, playing chase with you again until he tells you to suck it. And the sound that descends from his lips once you do makes you squeeze your thighs together, your own wetness dripping out of you. 

To end it, Hobi kisses your forehead, lingering there for a few seconds longer. Caresses your mouth, tracing each line, tracing your cupid’s bow, making you glisten with your own saliva. A shining, lively angel—just like him. You whimper. 

“Swallow it, baby.” 

You do, showing him the evidence that you obeyed after. 

“Good girl.” 

You take the underside of him, semi hard, into your hand, giggling, heart thumping. “You just made me horny all over again.”

Hobi hums, brushing his ribbon-clad fingers through your hair from the crown of your head. You want him to do that once you suck him off. “And you’re gonna make me hard all over again if you touch me like that.” 

You mimic the noise he made, squeezing him. Hobi curses, delighting you. “Let’s go inside. I owe you that breakfast, don’t I?” 

He kisses you, softly, with a hint of harshness that causes your nipples to harden painfully against your bra. You almost rub your clit again, so fucking out of it, crazed. 

“You do, baby.” 

You got everything you wanted in such a small amount of time that your vision twirls. Hobi is holding your hand as you’re leading him to your apartment, your ribbon still hanging from yours and his intertwinement, and your heart hasn’t stopped beating feverishly in your chest. Not even once. 

You’re facing the inevitable as you watch Hobi unlace his dress shoes on his knee, his cock stiff and uncomfortable in his pants. You’re brazenly falling for him. You know your hormones swirling your system from the lustfulness you indulged in aren’t to blame—if there’s anyone to blame, then it’s Hobi himself. You consider him to be such a beautiful person that you would be absolutely stupid, blind and deaf not to fall for him. And what’s more, you sense your decline to be safe. Stable. A leverage that won’t ever break. A ribbon that won’t fray. 

It’s as strange as it is inviting and your submission comes naturally to you. And this time, you don’t fear it won’t last. Don’t fear you’ll let up. There’s a sense vibrating in you that assures you that Hobi will take care of it. Put it back where it belongs if it ever strays. You don’t have to monitor it. You don’t have to do shit. 

You were wrong about one more thing. Hobi isn’t Daddy. 

He’s Father. 

It’s this thought that drives you to take off your dress and leave it in the middle of the floor that leads to your kitchen. You’re barren down to your soaked underwear, bra and knee socks, your feet basking in the way they don’t have to ache in your boots anymore. Pulling a plate of eggs out of the refrigerator, you set it on the counter, preparing a pan by oiling it on the stove. You hear Hobi’s feet pad on the floor as you pop some bread in the toaster and you turn your head, seeing only his dark silhouette standing behind you, your dress and your ribbon in his hands. 

Your heart quickens, abnormally. 

“How do you like your eggs?” you ask, resuming your cooking as you break the shell of an egg on the lip of the pan, spilling the delight into the bubbling oil. 

Hobi crosses the distance and you can only feel the softness of your ribbon when he places his hands on your hips, letting them travel until they stumble across the pooch of your lower belly. He groans, holding you there, pressing his hard, silk-clad cock against your nearly bare bum. 

Self-consciousness creeps in as he kneads one of your insecurities and you quiver, clasping your hand over his, your confidence wavering. 

“However you like them is how I like them,” Hobi flirts and you laugh through your nose, shaking your head, waiting for the egg white to fade into that milky color he painted your stomach with. 

Sunny side up it is. 

“Hobi, your game is out of this world,” you flirt back, sliding your spatula under the egg to check if it’s done before you can flip it. 

Hobi lowers himself onto his knees and you gasp, soundlessly. He begins to scatter violent kisses along the dots upon the flesh of your bum, sucking it into his mouth as if it were an orange he was sinking his teeth into. You have to grip the counter in order not to fall over, willing strength into your weakened legs. 

He bites the supple roundness of your ass cheek, smoothing out the pain with a flick of his tongue and kisses, gentle ones this time around. Hums. “Is it?” 

He glides his nose along the inner of your thigh, rooting right in the center of your pussy, burying his face there. You turn around halfway, arching your back, latching onto his hair that you’ve ruined, egg long forgotten. 

“Your thighs are wet again, fuck,” he whispers, mouthing your clit before he descends once again to them, licking them over, drinking your nectar that he’s created. Trails his tongue back up and, sliding your panties to the side, he takes you into his mouth, growling as he sucks onto your lips, playing with them using his tongue, hands spreading your ass cheeks, so he can have more space to make you absolutely lose yourself in him. 

And it’s working. Even more so when he begins to swirl his tongue around that other, tiny hole, causing your eyes to go cross before they roll back. Your head dips into a dreamy daze, where time doesn’t exist as he switches between flicking your clit and eating your ass and it isn’t until a certain burning smell suffuses your nostrils that you snap out of it. 

You’ve burned his egg, its edges black like the feathers of his imaginary wings, and you yelp, turning off the stove, pushing the pan away. 

“Hobi, I burned your egg,” you exclaim and he bends you over the counter while still remaining on his knees for you, sucking your clit with all the strength he possesses. Your climax pinches you in warning, lovingly, promising to melt over you like rain soon, so very soon. 

Hobi doesn’t give a fuck about his egg, it seems. 

“Just a little more, please,” he begs, moving his flat tongue from side to side on your bud, hands descending down your wet thighs until he reaches your knee socks, stopping there. Whimpers. 

That would’ve thrown you over the edge had he not pulled away, fingers wrapping around your knees. 

You turn around and the sight of him on his knees with his glazed nose, mouth and chin, with his cock pitifully erect in his pants, creating a print that makes you salivate, absolutely and irrevocably breaks you. You can still hear his plea ring in your mind, begging you to give him a few more seconds of your pussy, and your brain malfunctions. Numbness tightens around your fingers when you cradle his face and it feels so real when you do so—the fact that you’re wanted, desired; the fact that Hobi is the one in submission to you, dominant yet attentive to you to the point that he would never want do anything you wouldn’t. He listens to you, carves his life around you… and he hasn’t even known you for a month. 

You messed up his hair—and when you run your fingers through his strands, you feel your powerful ruination sifting through them, feel your seduction and your confidence, alive and breathing in that thick, dark brown mop of his. And now you crave to mess up his skin. Bruise it. Stain it with the pinks you can see in his imaginary wings. Watch them turn yellow like the rose gold in their flecks over the following days. 

You’re not letting go of him. 

Not when he looks at you like you’re Virgin Mary and he’s a sinner. 

You pull him up by the collars of his shirt, wrinkling the fabric, adding to the ruination, and it’s electrifying. He’s the cleanest sinner you’ve ever had the grace to see and you want to stain him. Beyond the stickiness of your juices. And when he towers over you and cages you in between his buff body and the counter, hands on either side of you upon the marble, his patchouli scent making you bloodthirsty, you don’t kiss him. No, you go straight for his neck. 

He didn’t expect it, groaning when you lick a stripe over his vein, sucking the skin inside your mouth. Over and over again until the sucking noises make him twitch and fist the ends of your hair, pressing his cock against your stomach. You’re feral, you’re inhuman, scattering kisses along that column like you’ve never had a man in your hands before. And it’s true. You never have. It was always you who had been in men’s hands. Never the other way around. 

Your fingers gain feeling when you undo the buttons of his shirt, ripping some of them, secretly preventing him from going to work after you’re finished with him. Unless you plaster your correcting concealers on him, he really can’t step a foot outside. The bruise you left on his column is huge, purply red, and the only thing it’s missing is bite marks. A joy rotates in you, rooting from the fact that you’re changing his plans, that you have an effect on him, and you unfold that emotion when you tug that shirt down his broad shoulders and press a kiss in the middle of his chest. 

But then Hobi grips your hair on the crown on your head, making you look at him. 

And you can’t explain it to yourself, why you like being manhandled like that, despite the freedom you just experienced. Like a child, whose father let her run free before he scolded her and told her to stop, for she ran for too long and it’s getting cold. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, lowly, and the tone etches itself onto your own throat because your answer is ready on the tip of your tongue, unabashed, dirty, throbbing.

“I need you to fuck me.” 

Hobi blinks, his brows rising, a light like a comet shooting past his irises before an unbounded, starless night shrouds them. 

You’ve done it. You’ve stained him. Now he needs to come all over you. Make a mess. Paint you again. 

He slackens his hold on your hair. Runs his hand down the length. “If I fuck you, I’ll breed you.” Curls his hand around your throat, where those words form a new necklace, plated with that rose gold. Your mouth parts, a moan falling past, your nectar in tandem, mind dizzy from the idea of being stuffed full of his cum. He flattens his palm over your sternum, hooks his fingers over the band of your bra in the middle of your breasts. You hope he chisels the lines of his hand into your skin. You want to wear him. “Are you on birth control?” 

You stopped taking it the moment you were broken up with. Didn’t think you’d need it so soon. Didn’t think you’d have a man in your life again, let alone sleep with him. 

Your body desires to please Hoseok so resolutely that a wisp of your regret swathes around his wrist—regret that you threw away those pills that are the driving force in his sexuality. He might have been okay with not taking this any further, but you’re not. You’re far, far from okay. 

You want to be bred. You want to be bred so much that you could cry. 

Your mouth pouts, but your sadness doesn’t touch your seduction. It merely heightens it. 

“You have a breeding kink?” you ask, mimicking his former words, causing him to drag his tongue over his lips slowly, divulging his arousal. It’s another tree that begins to grow in your orchard, planted by your bare hands. A cherry tree, its pink flowerets the flush that spreads across his prominent pecs. You want to make them shiny with your tongue. 

And you do. 

You place wet kisses over the underside of his left pec, nibbling on the skin, your small stature making it easy for you. Hobi inhales a sharp breath, sneaking his fingers under the cup of your bra, grasping your breast, squeezing until you whimper. 

“A severe breeding kink,” Hoseok corrects you, just like you did in his car. He pulls down your bra straps, his hand quick to undo the clasp on your back, disposing you of the undergarment, dropping it onto the ground. Gooseflesh spreads across your skin and you let him feel it, let him feel the effect he has on you by pressing yourself against him, twisting your arms around his torso. 

A tender hug, in the middle of a bonding moment. You’d be so happy, you’d laugh, you’d skip, if you had never thrown away those pills.

You wonder if he feels the drum of your heart, if he feels how it’s creating a brand new music that no human, no celestial being has ever heard before. 

“I stopped taking birth control several weeks ago, Hobi,” you say, your regret and your sadness lowering your tone. Hobi coos and it makes you want to sob. “Did you bring a condom?” 

He caresses your bare back, your hair a stream of a waterfall that he parts with his hand. “No, I didn’t expect this to happen.” 

You do the same for him, burying your face deeper into his chest, perceiving that you’re embracing a pure angel. You engrave patterns into his skin, feathers of wings that are dripping with the fire of stars. Even though you’re dying to get fucked, this tenderness is, little by little, appeasing your darkness in a way you don’t really understand. 

“We don’t have to do anything. I can make you come with my mouth again,” Hobi says, drifting his nails along the perimeter of your shoulder blade while his other hand grips your waist. The memory of the moons to the sky you paint on his back.

You lift your head. Meet the gray clouds in his eyes. “You want to breed me that bad?” 

A smile curls one end of his mouth. “It’s what you deserve.” 

The same smile finds a way to your mouth, then blossoms into a grin, your heart a heavy music, and you press it into the middle of his chest. Bite him there, his growls another instrument in the song. He clutches the hair at the nape of your neck, coaxing out a similar sound, your darkness a wave that ebbs to and fro. 

“Put it in my ass, then.” 

Hobi calls you by your name, sternly. 

“What?” 

He sighs. “You want to get fucked in your ass on the first date?” 

You don’t know what part of his sentence makes you hiccup. Whether it’s his purity, the fact that such an angel voiced out that lewd desire of yours and didn’t jump head-first into its sea—or whether he acknowledged, once again, that this is a date. Hobi laughs, endearingly, and you blush. He kisses your cheek, lifting your chin, placing a chaste kiss onto your lips and you could die right now and know you’ll be entering the pearly gates. He’s saved a spot for you there, negotiated with God that you’ll spend your eternity there like the businessman he is. 

It’s what propels you to get on your knees. 

“Baby.” 

And it’s him stopping you each time you want more that makes you fall for him harder. 

“You’re so good to me, Hoseok, I can’t help it. I want to give back to you as much as I can.” 

He utters a low, deep curse, tipping up his chin as he cradles your face in both hands. Helps you stand to your feet, kisses you with something that doesn’t resemble the chastity of before and you moan into his mouth, digging moons into his back. You press your pelvis against his thighs, frustrated that you can’t reach his manhood and Hobi hears you, lifts you up and you wrap your legs around him, grinding your femininity against his manliness, squeaking the same curses down his throat. 

“Fuck, baby, grind that pussy on me like that. Just like that, yes. You learn well, don’t you? You’re such a good girl, you just need to get fucked, don’t you, baby?” 

You agree with every word, your expression of pleasure saying the words for you, and Hobi moans, pushing your hips down on him while he meets you each time. 

“Where’s your bedroom, baby?” 

“Down the hall. First door to the right.” 

You suck on his neck as he takes you there, plopping you down onto the edge of your bed. You watch your hands undo the button of his pants, but then he accidentally kicks into something and you know exactly what it is. 

An orange Nike box filled with the two toys you own. 

And Hobi wouldn’t have crouched to get it had you not started giggling. 

How thrilling it is—to see him holding something so private, something no one has ever seen before. 

He palms his cock once he discovers what’s inside, rolling his eyes back. He throws the box next to you on the mattress, pushing you back and ripping your panties out of your body in a split second. Your giggles die, replaced by whimpers, replaced by the beat of your clit and his vulgarities as he pins your knees down, gazing, lovingly, at the way your nectar trickles down to your other hole. He bends to lick it up and you die, too. 

“Naughty fucking girl. How can you be so naughty and so good at the same time? You’re making me lose my mind,” Hobi snarls, putting his entire weight into the back of your knees and you gush for him, gasping, not able to take his praise, your hips instinctually raising for more of his tongue, which he slaps your thigh for. Once, twice, three times, four times until you whimper so loudly that there’s nothing else left for him to do but let up, grab your pink hitachi and lay down on his back, guide you to sit on his face. 

It’s now that he takes the time to ogle your body. His night-tinged eyes glide along your tan lines, his fingers tracing them, making you shudder and rotate your hips above his mouth that he wets and keeps wetting as if it’s not enough to quench his thirst. 

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he chokes out, brushing the pads of his fingers along your stiffened nipples. Fireworks shoot out above your orchard, casting a rainbow of colors upon the trees and bushes. “I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve you to have you like this. You belong to that museum, baby, but I’d die if someone were to look at you in my place.” 

His possessiveness coated with so much affection and admiration for you elongate your imaginary wings. And you can’t halt the rounding of your mouth, the pool of tears that line your eyes, the cracking of your heart as you take in his precious words. You feel like flying; you feel like soaring free with the knowledge that with the two beats of his own wings he’ll catch up to you, fly with you like two doves. 

You want to kiss him. Pay your gratitude that way and when you begin to crawl down his body, he stops you by grabbing your waist, immobilizing you above his face. 

“Stay where you are. You’re not sitting on my cock until you come on my tongue. Is that what you want? Ride Daddy’s cock until he covers you with his cum?” 

You can’t take it anymore. You simply can’t. 

Hobi turns the vibrator to life and its buzzing sound makes you quiver. You lower yourself onto his mouth that he quickly opens for you, darting out his tongue. He lets you ride the muscle, guiding your hips to twirl in circles, and you hold onto your breasts for emotional support as you sense yourself slowly disappearing in him, in the pleasure he gives you, in his warm, dark aura. 

Your mouth has no lock, no force to stop it from speaking. 

“I was wrong, Hoseok,” you start, changing the direction—swinging your hips back and forth as you grab onto his hair with one hand while the other stimulates your nipple, making you pant, whine and so terribly out of it. “It’s not your game that’s out of this world. It’s your fucking dirty talk.” 

Hobi hums, flicking your hand away and pinching your nipple, causing you to tip your head back and pour more vigor into your movement, his mouth too busy to respond. 

“If you ever talk to anyone like this that’s not me, I’ll kill her, you hear me? She won’t live to see the next day.” 

It’s Hobi now that can’t seem to take it anymore. 

Holding you steady by the waist, he sits up, sucking on your clit with so much strength that you scream, your body shuttering so violently that you completely lose yourself. He throws you onto your pillows, raises your hips until they’re at level with his mouth and finishes his fucking job. Alternates between sucking and licking, stars flooding your vision, the ones you traced on his beautiful, broad back. 

You come and you don’t stop. 

Hobi spits on your clit and presses down the hitachi on it, moving it from side to side, your orgasm prolonging, reaching highs beyond the heavenly kind and all you can see is him, doused in colors that glimmer and his name, the right variation of it this time, falls from your lips like a prayer. Right variation, right prayer. 

Virgin Mary that is looking at her God. 

Setting the toy and your bum on the bed, he takes both of your hands into his fist as you’re still convulsing, in the middle of your undying orgasm. He lines his cock at your entrance, changes his mind last minute, and glides it along your sensitive pussy, holding himself at the base. Back and forth, the ebb and the flow of the sea. The sight does anything but calm you down. It supports the continuation of your orgasm. 

“Listen to me very carefully,” he whispers, lowering your hands to his manhood until they wrap around him. “This cock has been yours the moment you came out of this fucking building to meet me outside. Every ridge, every fucking vein is yours.” He squeezes your hold against him, moving it up and down in an agonizing way that makes him shudder just the same. God at a very breaking point. “And these—” He groans as he uses your hands to cup his balls. “These fucking kids are all yours. Yours to swallow. Yours to decorate this beautiful body with. Yours to stuff your little hole with.” Your chest doesn’t rise with any inhalation of breath. You’re motionless, bloodless, paralyzed through and through. Scorching to the touch. Horny beyond your senses. Hobi pins your hands above your head, lining himself up, at last, at your entrance. Sinks inside you in one swift, but vigorous motion until he’s buried in deep to the hilt and he consumes your scream, kissing you so hard that he sucks every last drop of life you had in you. Then, he nudges his nose against yours, kissing its tip as well. “So don’t think for a second that these eyes are for anyone else but you.” A brutal thrust. A yelp. A loss of time and surroundings. “I’m yours, pup. I’m fucking yours.” A mad, mad laughter. “I’ve known you for a week. Ate your pussy first before I kissed you. And you touched yourself in my fucking car because you got horny from the way I praised you in that museum. How could I not be yours?”

The pet name, the magnificence of his sonnet, the stillness of his cock as you clench around him—the very cozy feeling of him being at home, being at the mountain of Athos that you blessed. You feel so small beneath him, so taken care of—and you’re at loss for words, though only one remains in your otherwise erased vocabulary, and from the top of your lungs, you utter it.

“Daddy.” 

His imaginary wings flutter, the pink swelling over the black, and he growls, letting go of your hands and folding you in half, leaning his weight on the back of your thighs. Props an overlapped pillow beneath your bum, so you’re at the perfect level for him to start fucking you properly.

And he does, coaxing out your screams, causing your legs to shake on either side of his shoulders. 

“That’s right, pup. I’m your Daddy. You’re doing so good, screaming for me the way I like it.” 

Hobi pounds into you, giving you a half of his length that’s more than enough. Bends at the waist to scatter wet kisses along the back of your thigh, filling you to the hilt as he does so, your juices squelching around him, making such a serene, glorious sound that forces him to bite down hard onto your flesh. No alleviation after, just long and ruthless strokes while he stares down at you, eating you with his eyes. The ghost of the pain lingers, adding to the experience, adding volume to your whiny noises. 

“You’re taking it so well. You’re a good pup, aren’t you?” 

You sob, the pressure gyrating deep in your lower tummy, the pet name the thing that will throw you over the edge if he calls you by it again. “Yes, Daddy. I love it when you call me that.” 

A hum. “Oh, yeah?” 

There he fucking goes again. 

A dam rushes to break and you’re defenseless.

“Yeah, I love it so much that it’s gonna make me come.” 

Hobi sucks in a breath. “Tell me you’re my good little pup and I’ll let you come.” The same breath he inhaled lodges in your throat and you watch him with a blurry vision reach over for your hitachi and turn up the intensity until the vibrations are so loud that you hear them echoing within your headspace.

He fucks you faster, ridding you of any chance to speak. Teases you with the toy by placing it, barely, on your stiffened nipple, leaning over to moisten it with his tongue before doing it again. And you can’t stop it and neither can he, the way your orgasm overtakes your whole being. It’s at this moment, when he thrusts become sloppy, that you manage to croak out the words he wanted you to say. 

“I’m your good little pup, Hoseok, oh fuck, yes, yes,” you whisper, your sentence blending into an efflux of legato moans—and this, this is his very undoing. 

And Hobi does something you didn’t expect him to do. 

As colors burst in your perspective and your orgasm drags you under, he stimulates your clit with the toy, pulling out of you and pressing his tip against its vibrating side, growling so deeply that it forces your juices out of you, sprinkling him with its iridescent drops as he tugs at his length. He paints your stomach, paints the hitachi, his nectar so enormous that it lands upon your breasts, even as far as on your neck. His body glistens in sweat and now your essence—and looking at him with your hazy vision, another orgasm rolls in. 

You thrash your body so hard he has to pin you down, ripping the pillow out from behind you, laying down his weight on you. He kisses you and the lip lock lasts, seemingly, for a century. He moves his mouth against yours, basking in the feel of your puffy mouth as he alters between kissing you harshly and kissing you gently, getting to know you this way. 

And when he lets up to breathe, he brushes your hair away, flings the vibrator out until it falls off the bed. 

“Say it again,” Hobi says, affection flashing in his now rounded eyes, its warmth thumping. “Louder, for me.” 

Your throat is dry, but you manage to do it with a sleepy smile. Think you would do anything to please him. “I’m your good little pup.” 

Cupping your face, he kisses you with such tenderness that you begin to cry. Your tears soak his cheeks and he whimpers into your mouth, moved just the same by the depth, the vibrancy of the energy thickening between you. 

And when he looks at you, his own tears rush in his waterline. 

“That’s it, baby,” he whispers, pausing for a second. “What have you done to me?”

When afternoon rolls in, Hobi is still tangled up in your sheets. You brought him breakfast to bed, one you didn’t burn this time, while he rested, naked and gratified, still flushed in pink, but clean from your shower. His patchouli scent intermingled with your body wash, cinnamon and lemon, concocting something intoxicating in you that made you see him with a halo above his head. He became a saint by giving in to his desires, by coming so hard that you still feel his hot ropes of cum singeing all those sensitive, intimate parts of your body. Hobi took his time tracing and smearing each and every drop, rubbing it deep in you as if he was digging a grave for your past. And you watched him do it, with tear-stained cheeks, acknowledging yourself, just as intimately, with the information that this is something Hobi likes to do.

You plan to put that into practice the next time you get to touch him. 

He’s grazing his fingers along your arm as you’re laying halfway on your side, halfway on him, your leg in between his. Seems to be lost in thought, seems to be searching for his words when he widens his travel across your body, going as far as to the peaks of your shoulder blades before returning back. You feel an inkling to help him, feel like it’s the least you can do. 

“What are you thinking about?” you try, dragging a finger across his collarbone. Hobi sighs, so terribly reactive to your touch, your head lifting in such a calming manner as he breathes in and out. 

“Did I scare you with what I said?”

His heart under your ear begins to hammer and right away you understand the gravity of his question. He’s lost himself in a flashback of today’s sinful events, but stumbled across a high, overpowering mountain of his bared emotions—the blessed mountain of Athos. And it seems as though he’s forgotten the way back, the trees around him growing dense, the trees of panic that whisper to him that, maybe, he made a mistake. 

You hope, with every fiber of your being, that he doesn’t regret those words of beauty that have come to live under your skin like planets in the universe that you and he have created. 

That would ruin you. That would break you—and not in the pleasant kind that you like. That universe would drop upon you and you don’t think you’re strong enough to pick up your own half of your creation, shake it off and learn to live again. 

You straddle him and he covers you with your duvet. Not your naked breasts, but your torso, inviting you into that island. You thought he did to prevent distraction from weakening his focus, but he doesn’t regard your body like that—doesn’t regard it as an instrument of lust. Something about that moves you, enough for you to take his hands, your thumbs in the middle of his palms, and spatter your soft kisses on them. On his fingers, his knuckles. And when you reach the back of his hand, you halt, boring your gaze into his, catching that comet flying past his eyes again and staying this time, staying in the glint that appears as his brown pools wet. 

“Your words mean a lot to me. I carry them in my heart. You know that poem?” 

Hobi shakes his head, flattening his lips, closing his eyes for a brief moment. 

You don’t mind. You’re delighted to enlighten him. 

“I carry your heart with me,” you recite, keeping the heel of his palm against your lips. “I carry it in my heart. I am never without it. Anywhere I go, you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling,” you finish the first stanza of the poem that has not left your bloodstream ever since you were a teenage girl. Sharing that with him brings out a sea of feelings you remember your past self invariably longed to swim in. Tenderness, closeness, passion. Having it now feels as though you’ve passed a milestone. Hobi’s halo flashes with a rosy pink hue and your softened heart constricts. “The things you said were my doing, Hobi.” 

He caresses your side, starting from your armpit, going down the side of your breast, your waist until he arrives at the fleshy part of your hip, which he grasps. His chin quivers as he opens his mouth to speak and a lump forms in your throat. 

“You’re a poem, pup,” he whispers, circling his thumb over your tummy. “You don’t mind that I said those things?” 

You kiss his hands again, upon the same places to make your affection last longer on his skin. Your clit awakens at the pet name and naturally, you scooch over until you’re sat on his soft manhood over the duvet and you begin to move your hips back and forth. Hobi hisses, but doesn’t stop you this time. Lets you do what you want in the safety you conjured around him. 

“Say them again.” 

You speed up your movement. 

Hobi moans. Pauses. Swallows. Thinks. “I’m yours.” 

You grind harder in reward, moaning with him, feeling him stiffen under your clit, feeling him comprehend that you love those declarations. 

“My cock is yours,” he breathes out, his other hand joining the other and gripping your hip, digging in his nails. Another half moons, another beauty, intensifying the pleasure. You lick your fingertips and pinch your nipples. Hobi shudders, visibly, underneath you. “If you keep this up, I’m gonna have to cancel my work meeting.” 

You laugh, meekly but seductively, prolonging your thrusts, slowing them down, coaxing pained groans out of him. A delight. “Who said I wanted you to go?” 

Hobi curses, switching places with you on a whim that surprises you, bends you over, arches your back by lifting your bum in the air. The duvet falls, sadly, off of the mattress—and your soul, for him, falls equivalently. 

He slaps the side of your thigh. One, twice, thrice. “Who’s pussy is this?” 

You long to see him, your soul begs for it. Whispers to you to grab your phone and you do, swiping your finger on the screen and angling it so your camera has a blissful view of him. Of him fixed, darkly, on your ass and your femininity in the middle. 

Curious to know what’s taking you so long to answer, his brows rise as he discovers what you’re doing and he bites his lip, pulls on your legs to straighten them and you plop down on the mattress with a loosened breath. He gets in the same position. Licks over the swell of your ass cheek. 

“Film it. Film yourself telling me who’s pussy this is,” Hoseok commands and in a millisecond, without a thought spared, you click on the red button, excitement tingling your nerves. 

“My pussy is yours, Hoseok.” 

His eyes flick to the camera, meeting your stare, and your breath hitches, the view so attractive as he mouths that skin, marking it. He sneaks a hand to your clit, lifting his body a little, and spanks the spot he bruised. You gasp, elated, humming in a high-pitched tone, causing him to smirk. 

“Ride my hand. Whose pussy is this, baby, hm?” 

You snap your hips, furrowing your brows at the faint pleasure, at the desperation that courses through your veins. 

“Yours, Hoseok, ah, fuck. I want you inside me, please.” 

And he takes you, right there on camera, from behind—immortalizing your inside joke as you and him mention it and laugh about it together, immortalizing the way he paints your wings that ivory color and the way he rubs it in, sinking it deep within its membrane. 

And when you’re so spent that you can’t keep your eyes open and Hobi is drifting his mouth over your breasts, he tells you to send it to him. And with one cracked open, you do. 

It’s later in the evening that you find out that it wasn’t Hobi you sent that video to and your blood freezes. 

Your phone rings and Jungkook’s picture fills the screen. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah, @fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist | READ part one

[yourpenpaldee]

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ WHEN ART TALKS: THE INTRO

When a girl meets a boy who sees the world as his playground, and she has to learn how to let others in her space.

if you would like to be tagged, please let me know! frequent updates will be coming soon after the character intros are up :) this is quite a lengthy post, but i hope you'll enjoy if you choose to stick around until the end.

BASIC OVERVIEW

GENRE: — romance

POV: — first person, present tense

STATUS: — rough first draft in progress

TROPES: — friends to lovers, opposites attract, slowburn, forgiveness

WORD COUNT: — making a last minute decision to (somewhat) start fresh because why not. starting at 0. will update this everyday :)

WARNINGS: — smoking. will update this along the way.

SUMMARY:

Aniyah Hope is a wishful thinker who wants more than what she has. As a reserved poet, she has documented her most inner personal thoughts and feelings inside her poem journals. Her poetry contains the most critical parts of herself, and exposing that to a world beyond her own is not a risk she’s often willing to take. So when Aniyah meets Noah Ford, an outspoken musician who proudly wears his heart on his sleeve, around the same time her journal goes missing, she initially hides further in her shell. What she doesn’t expect is how quickly she comes out of that shell, and the unexpected comfort she finds from what she usually shields herself from.

CHARACTERS, SNIPPET, PLAYLIST, AND MOODBOARD UNDER THE CUT!

CHARACTERS

ANIYAH HOPE has always kept to herself, finding more comfort in poetry than she ever has in people. She never wanted to cruise through life in the shadows, but she couldn't take another rejection of friendship due to superficial judgments. When she discovered poetry, she found the safe haven she needed to explore every little piece of herself. Because she couldn't connect with others as easily as she hoped, she'd put the pen to paper and write down all the things she wished she could say. Aniyah’s heart desires nothing more than to have these words spoken through a microphone. Unlike the boy who sees the world as his playground, she just isn't ready to let her guard down.

NOAH FORD has been on a mission to prove his parents wrong ever since he’s gone off to college to pursue music. His father always expected him to follow in his footsteps of becoming a well-respected lawyer, despite the countless times Noah emphasized his fiery passion for music. Instead of supporting his dreams, his parents brushed it off as a silly little phase he would eventually grow out of. It’s been a year since he’s gone no contact, his uncle and younger sister being the only familial support system. College provides him the freedom to make noise, to be reckless, and to meet a girl who has yet to experience the spotlight’s glow.

JACQUELINE TRẦN has never been the type to back down easily. She’s always up for a challenge, which often makes her appear intimidating to those on the outside looking in. Everyone in her life knows the opposite to be true, as she’s the kind of person everyone wants to have around them. Jackie is self-assured, loyal, supportive, and will be the first to defend those she cares about against any and all wrongdoings. However, taking advantage of her genuine kindness results in getting cut off with no hesitation. Now that she has her core group of people she knows she can rely on just as much as they rely on her, she pushes them to thrive and win, even if it means going beyond the safety net.

NADIA "EVIE" LOUIS has a curious mind that is eager to seek knowledge everywhere she goes. She isn’t afraid to let her curiosity take direction and lead, especially when a new opportunity presents itself at her front door. The world has too many offers for it to remain unexplored. As much as she enjoys diving into the unknown, she still needs some sort of certainty when it comes to her personal life. She has her future mapped out down to the last detail. With her ambitious nature, she puts in the work to show up on time for every milestone with ease. But not every meticulous plan is meant to be rigid when unexpected curveballs exist. When she can’t find the answers to her own crisis, she doesn’t shy away from finding help from others.

ELENA FORD is one year away from starting a new chapter in her life as a college student. She’s a go-getter that knows what she wants, and will find a way to make it happen. Ever since her parents have cut Noah off, she's made it her duty to sway their minds. She's had no success with it, and it bothers her a great deal. Ellie is used to getting her way— and in a timely manner— without having to suffer any consequences. Her persistence on the issue came with the cost of her relationship with her parents, which has left a strain that might never be repaired. Even though Noah has accepted the fact that he won't ever get his parents' support, Ellie continues her attempt to be the voice of reason for her brother and his future.

(VERY ROUGH) SNIPPET

Another silence falls upon us, and I come to the conclusion that our silence isn't an indication of the end, but rather an ellipses. It's a momentary pause for us to gather our individual thoughts and feelings. A continuation of savoring the moment without forcing ourselves to speak when it doesn't feel natural. The silence catches all of our spoken and unspoken words when they fall and speaks for us until we are ready to talk again.

PLAYLIST

Here's the playlist on YouTube for those who don't use Spotify.

MOODBOARD (coming soon!)

TAGS: @pixies-love-envy @honeybewrites ♡

[lenardslittlemeowmeow]

Hello again! This is a post for people who have read my recently published fic "To The Unfriendly Neighborhood"!

I promised, didn't I?

This is an art piece I did while writing the fic! Major spoilers for the fic underneath the read more! Please give it a read and then come back and check this out :D

Now that only people who have read the fic (or are willing to spoil themselves) are here…

I proudly present: Jewel!

Yep! She needed a different name during the concept and ideas process because half-Unfriendly Junebug was too long, so we (me and a friend) decided on Jewel! Because Jewel beetles look very similar to Junebugs and are closely related.

And this is her!

This is her normal everyday wear! Her hair is tipped bright green because she convinced Gordon to buy her hair dye. Her skirt is long because it helps to hide her legs without them getting tangled up (I wanted to show them off lol). She's supposed to be disproportionate by the way.

This is her jacket outfit. She wears it when she's having a bad day and needs more of a "shield" from the world. It doesn't quite fit perfectly because it's an old employee's jacket.

And now the fun part, details and extras about Jewel and the story!

Story details:

- The reason Norman and Lenard thought Jewel didn't actually meet Gordon is because they hadn't encountered him themselves and made assumptions.

- Pearl actually knew who Gordon was, but she didn't think he was coming back and thought Jewel was just being wishful and naive.

Jewel details:

- Absolutely despises Norman. Particularly the Norman who wasn't aware of Gordon's existence and was the first to tell her he wasn't real, even when he was. She's sorta indifferent and standoffish to the other Normans, but she's downright aggressive to the original.

- When it comes to the puppets, she gets along best with Lenard, since he helped her through her transformation and the whole ordeal afterwards. They're very close.

- Struggles with delusions and hallucinations, often Lenard and Gordon are the only ones who can help her out of them.

- Very protective of Gordon. Almost constantly by his side. On bad days she'll growl at anyone who gets too close to him. Can and should be likened to an overprotective attack dog.

- Will sometimes just. Pick Gordon up. Like when you hold a cat by the armpits. Carries him around like a teddy bear. (He learns not to fight it lol)

- This is made funnier by the fact that she's 6'3, and I HC Gordon as 5'2.

- Has chronic pain in her legs and missing eye.

- So many body insecurities. So many.

- Intrusive thoughts galore. Do you know how many times this girlie has vividly imagined tearing her friends apart? Hates it with a passion.

- She becomes pretty cynical, but she tries to see the best in others regardless.

- Picks up cursing from Gordon, gains quite the potty mouth. I HC that the puppets are literally incapable of cursing until they turn Unfriendly, and Jewel is just Unfriendly enough that she's not blocked from it.

- Pretending to be friendlier than she is is incredibly difficult, so sometimes she'll go deeper into the studio, find an abandoned room, and just tear it to fucking shreds. Goes absolutely apeshit. Sometimes she just needs to let it all out.

And with that, I am done! Please ask questions about her or this AU if you have any, I love her lots and would adore if someone else had an interest in her!

I'm sort of working on a post-TTUFN fic about that last point on Jewel, so stay tuned! No guarantees cause I'm burning myself out a little, but I should have a short one out sometime, at the least :3

See ya!

[mask131]

Egyptian gods: Bes

Bes is one of the Egyptian gods most noticeable by his physical appearance. Unlike most of the Egyptian gods, which were depicted as tall, thin, beautiful human/humanoids (and always on the side!), Bes was a stout, potbellied and ugly dwarf (and always depicted from the front!). His face is bearded, his eyes round and bulging, his tongue constantly out of his lips, his head abnormally large, and he keeps contorting his face into all sorts of grimaces… Add to that the mane/ears of a lion, a leopard’s tail coming out of the leopard-skin-loincloth he wears, and a headdress made of ostrich feathers, and you have a truly bizarre deity… But far from being scaring, Bes’ twisted and deformed physique was meant to be funny and hilarious. Bes was a jovial and happy being who acted as the jester of the gods, amusing them by his strange physique, his constant jumps and acrobatics, his hearty laugh and his music (Bes is often depicted holding a drum, and in the Late Period a lyre).

Legend claims that Bes was a deity from Nubia, who was brought back to Egypt by the Eye of Ra, when it returned, appeased and joyful, from her exile – Bes was following her (no matter if the “her” is Hathor or Bastet). As such, Bes was a god of dance, of laughter, of joy, of drunkenness, entertainment and parties – women dancers of Ancient Egypt had the habit of tattooing him on their thigh, since they considered him their patron god.

But more than just a bringer of merriment and fun, Bes also had an apotropaic function, in a similar way to Thoueris (that I described in a previous post). By his wild music, his twisted dances, his grimaces and his grotesqueness, Bes was thought to scare away evil spirits and push demons away from their victims. This protective role was sometimes highlighted by Bes holding weapons, such as a knife or a bow. Thought to be a god of the house and the family, Bes was especially renowned as a protector of newborn babies and mothers in labor. He also was prayed to so robbers, murderers and other criminals would not enter the house – and his protection extended to shielding Egyptians from dangerous beasts (scorpions, crocodiles, snakes…). His face basically worked somewhat like the face of the Gorgon in Ancient Greek art – as a hideous protective sign/spell.

Bes was a VERY popular god, with a widespread cult among every Egyptian house: his face was often carved on beds, since he was thought to defend the sleep of humans against nightmares. His face carved on beds was also supposed to protect men against… let’s say “sexual failures”, as he boosted their bed-prowess. In fact, Bes was thought to have (and often depicted as having) an enormous penis, contrasting with his dwarfish size – even in the most SFW depictions of the god, where he wears a loincloth, you can guess the large size of his genital by his bowed legs… It was because Bes was a god of all the forms of joy, and all the ways of enjoying life – ranging from music to the “pleasures of the flesh”. More surprisingly, Bes was also associated with prettiness, or rather the art of makeup, makeovers and every-day preparations of women. This is why his face was depicted on things such as perfume bottles, blush/rouge boxes, or hand mirrors. The ugliest of the gods was in charge of making women pretty…

His importance grew so much that, when depicted with a shield or a sword, he became one of the forces supposed to defend Egypt as a nation against its enemies! Mind you, Bes never had a true temple or sanctuary to himself – he was a god with a « home-worship » and « house-cult », present everywhere in the shape of amulets, little statues, paintings, carvings and other depictions easy to place on a vase or a furniture. His only altars were found for a very long time within one’s home… But his immense popularity made it so that, by the New Kingdom, Bes gained his own oracle, in Abydos, in the funeral temple of Sethi the First: people came from the four corners of Egypt to ask the god questions, and obtained answers through dreams. Egyptians asked Bes all sorts of questions: how to heal my sickness, will I find a wife, will my travel go well, will my troubles at work soon end, how can I help my family who is in a bad situation currently… As you can see, these were mostly day-to-day concerns, since Bes was one of the gods of daily life; and apparently the answers people received were so good that the oracle kept working all the way up to the fourth century CE! Bes even grew to become one of the protectors of the dead in the afterlife – with a fame rivaling the one of Osiris himself! Bes also had a special relationship with Horus, especially in his form of “Horus-The-Child”. The two were often depicted together, with Bes acting as either the protector of Horus-the-Child, or as his servant/assistant in other functions (such as healing/medicine-god ones). In the home-altars I described above, you often found an incantation engraved on a back of a depiction of Horus (as a young naked child depicted from the front) crushing crocodiles with his feet an strangling snakes or lions with his hands – his head surmounted by Bes’ face. This was an “Horus of the crocodiles” depiction, and pouring water on the depiction while reciting the incantation, before drinking the water, would make one protected against things ranging from lion attacks to insect bites and the venom of snakes. And during the Late Period, the relationship of the two grew so much that some amulets or protective images depicted Horus-the-Child with the head of Bes…

Bes’s immense popularity was such that he survived for a brief time the Christianization of Egypt, in the form of a local legend of Karnak – though it is a warped and much more demonized version of himself. According to this tale of early-Christian Egypt, Bes haunted/was hiding inside one of the doors of the Karnak temple, and if anyone mocked his ugliness or deformities, he would strangle them ferociously…

I will end this brief post with two gods I do not know much about, but which are important to understand the figure of Bes. One is Beset, who is basically the female double of Bes and thought to be his wife – as you know by the “triad logic”, Egyptians thought a male god could not exist alone, and so were always prompt to invent him a wife. Egyptians first did so by literally creating a feminine double for Bes, Beset, a deity that protected the household and was depicted as a woman with the head of a lion, holding snakes in her hands. However, as Bes was associated with Taweret/Thoueris, the two forming the duo of deities protecting women in labor and newborn babies, some people decided to make Taweret his wife instead of Beset. The second name I want to mention is Aha. Aha is an old good spirit/benevolent genie, maybe even minor god, of Egypt, whose name was known and invoke all the way up to the Middle Kingdom. Aha is thought to be the “ancestor” of Bes, as in one of the prototypes of the god that ended up “absorbed” by his descendant: Aha was a warrior-spirit (his very name means “warrior”) as well as a fecundity spirit, whose job was to protect pregnant women and children. Similarly to Bes, Aha was depicted as a dwarfish or gnomic humanoid, half-monkey (or half-distorted human with a very round face and long limbs) and half lion (mane, ears, and tail).

[iwasforceedagainstmywill]

I posted 1,457 times in 2022

That's 1,457 more posts than 2021!

38 posts created (3%)

1,419 posts reblogged (97%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@zeegeetee

@fanchengsgf

@funnytwittertweets

@a-republican-mind

I tagged 1,199 of my posts in 2022

Only 18% of my posts had no tags

#someone's art - 106 posts

#memes - 96 posts

#naruto - 88 posts

#twitter - 73 posts

#for some reason - 69 posts

#rottmnt - 68 posts

#humor - 53 posts

#pokemon - 50 posts

#rise of the tmnt - 41 posts

#kakashi hatake - 37 posts

Longest Tag: 114 characters

#i̶ ̶m̶e̶a̶n̶ ̶h̶e̶'̶s̶ ̶a̶l̶s̶o̶ ̶b̶l̶i̶n̶d̶ ̶i̶n̶ ̶o̶n̶e̶ ̶e̶y̶e̶ ̶b̶u̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶'̶s̶ ̶a̶n̶o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶ ̶t̶a̶l̶e̶

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

How I finesse Naruto lore

I imagine it like: Sand = Defense (still good defense wise) Gold = Offense/Defense and Iron Sand = Offense

The Third Kazekage and Shinki both have Iron Sand and because Third's dead and Shinki's young both in and out universe nobody knows what Iron Sand is best with. I say offense because it counters(?) parallels Gaara who is known for his Ultimate Defense

Rasa (The Fourth Kazekage) seems to be specifically known for his Gold/Magnet Release and he stated he used to use it so Gaara/Shukaku couldn't use their sand because it was too heavy (which is kinda weird because Gaara apparently also has magnet release I'll get back to that later)

Okay so Rasa counters the Defense, that doesn't give me squarely offensive and in itself seems defensive, so half in half.

So you remember when Gaara's sand did this? Replicate his Mother.

I feel like this can be interpreted in multiple ways.

Kurura's love literally is so strong it can influence the sand to protect her son (rip to Temari and Kankuro I guess). So the sand in a way has a mind on it's own. (Canon, I think)

It's not Kurura at all, it's Gaara (subconsciously of course) he's always associated his Mother with protection even when it was Shukaku lying to him , he still called him "Mother". So basically the sand follows emotion.

(That's all I got)

Back tracking to Gaara's Magnet Release. It's described as Sparkling Metallic Sand I've always visualized it as silver but recently changed it to rose gold (because Rasa uses gold that's all) although realistically it's probably just sand colored. Anyway the Sand being rose gold explains why Gaara wouldn't be able to counter his Dad's gold dust by lifting it, if their Magnet Release is for different metals neither can truly get the upper hand.

Jumping back on subject.

Going with 2. Let's apply that (logic?) to all sand users specifically Shinki. The iron sand reacts to his emotions, it spikes when he's nervous or feels threatened, shifts a little or makes shapes when he's happy and Shields, Domes, Hands and Gaara when he's scared.

Yep that's what I said Gaara, just like Gaara with his sand mother Shinki can create Gaara out of his iron sand subconsciously simply because he equates Gaara with being protected.

After all He taught him how to use his sand, protected him even from little things (bugs, bad dreams the like ), raised him, and he is known for having the ultimate defense so his logic's pretty sound.

I feel think it would only present that way when Gaara isn't around meaning Gaara only knows about the shields and domes he taught him and the hands he makes sometimes.

(Random note Kankuro has seen it and he thinks it's adorable he's told nobody under the threat he'll no longer be the boy's favorite Uncle)

Unlike Sand Kurura, Iron Sand Gaara looks mildly annoyed depending on the situation as he's face changes ever so slightly i.e usually calm but irritated in high stress scenarios.

TLDR: I explain my personal thoughts on the Sand Kekkei Genkai of the Kazekages and Shinki to then elaborate that Shinki associates Gaara with defense and safety.

29 notes - Posted September 4, 2022

#4

Basic Megaman X fan with ZX: Oh no Zero doesn't remember X 😢

People of culture with ZX: Where is our boy, Axl? WHERE IS OUR SON?!

31 notes - Posted August 31, 2022

#3

So I looked up why "Your mother wears combat boots" was an insult...

Anyway 2012 Donatello called that Krang's Mom a prostitute

Specifically in a way it'd understand "The one who is called your mother wears the boots that are made for combat"

43 notes - Posted October 8, 2022

#2

Whether you look at them through a romantic or platonic lense Jessie and James from Team Rocket are PEAK relationship.

(They relationship is canonically of platonic)

That is all.

You know I'm right

96 notes - Posted August 21, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Dragon Speech

Dragons are much more affectionate in their language. When talking about the ones they love, dragons often add a chosen nickname to their name.

Note: These are (in universe) loose translations. And also how I'd write it.

Toothless has less a term and more so a tone as an he says Hiccup with a fond treble. He sometimes parrots back Hiccup's "Bud" with the same previously stated tone though it's more so translates to "Buddy"

Hookfang calls Snotlout something that either means "Fireball" or "Dud" depending on context.

Stormfly term for Astrid translates to "Astrid Dear" the term being at the end of Astrid's name.

Meatlug calls Fishlegs "Honey" similar to how an older woman may call someone such.

Barf and Belch have differing terms for Ruffnut and Tuffnut. Barf says "Ruff darling" and "Tuff dearest" and Belch calls them "Treasure Nut" for Ruffnut and "Cherish nut" for Tuffnut

"Soul Mate" is a term used by dragons to describe an exceptionally close Flock-mate. (I was going to say or mate but it seems dragon's don't commonly mate for life.

Meatlug says it the most with Fishlegs, Toothless uses it consistently for Hiccup, Barf and Belch use it for the twins often and Stormfly calls Astrid her soul mate as often as Barf and Belch do. Hookfang uses the term a little less.

Friendly reminder that Soul mate is NOT inherently romantic.

114 notes - Posted August 13, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[legendofzoodles]

LU Character Design Analysis 6

In case you haven’t seen the previous posts yet, I’m doing this thing where I’m analysing and subsequently ranking all the designs of the chain in LU. I was going to do it 2 at a time, but I’ve got so much to say that I’m doing it one a time.

All the designs are really good, it was hard to come up with a decent ranking system that I was happy with and even harder to apply it. The numbers I scored them are subjective and any one of them can be debated.

And now we have...

4th place: Twilight

He’s my favourite so it breaks my heart that he’s not in the top three but it had to be done. I might have let this bias lead me to placing him ahead of Time and Warriors. Eh, this is my list and I wanna praise wolf boi’s design.

Pros: It sounds shallow but I’m glad his hair isn’t brown and more of a dirty blond or almost caramel coloured. It also complements the chainmail.

The colour palette of his outfit is dark and muted, save for the waist situation, which is a fun nod to the art style of Twilight Princess. The dark tunic is a lovely forest green which stands out against the rich gold chainmail, it looks heroic and like he'd be able to blend into any sort of green scenery. I love the little embroidery details too and the ones decorating his boots. The ones on his tunic are much subtler than Sky's and I feel like either he did them himself (adding to the pictures over time) or Ilia got a hold of it and did them herself. The ones on his boots are amazing too and I feel like they'd be a point of pride for him. I can see his boots being a clothing item he cares about a lot.

Twilight like Sky unfortunately suffers from "blankie around the tunic" syndrome, however it's less egregious in his case. One, because it's held by a sash which unlike smooth leather would be less likely to slip down with movement and two, because it looks messier- which is a little more realistic and gives me the impression he has to adjust it whenever coming out of wolf form. I’d prefer if it stayed as part of his civilian clothes, but it does add a nice pop of bright colour. So, I’m not that mad.

Twilight's light blue waist cloth stands out so much that it's easy to miss the discoloured and patched up left sleeve. It actually took me a while before I noticed it. It's a darker green than the rest of the tunic and looks like it had been hastily stitched on, which is a nice reference to his Ordon clothes (the funny looking belted sleeve) and the fact that his arm gets chopped off in the manga. Maybe at some point the original sleeve was torn off in battle and Twilight had to mend it while on the road, hence why it looks so scruffy.

I didn't like Sky's tunic slits because they made the tunic material look delicate and seemed more ceremonial than practical, but they work in Twilight's case because they feel accidental. They give off the impression that they occurred during the heat of battle or during an adventure. Like the patched sleeve also shows, the tunic was worn and torn with extended use and Twilight had to mend it alone and on the go.

It has a sort of rustic homespun appearance which fits his character as a down to earth farmer from a small village.

It’s a brilliant idea to leave the only reference to the Twilight Realm be in the form of the shadow crystal. After all, not only was all that supposed to stay secret, but also Midna left without saying anything, so there’s no way he would have anything else to remember her by. As shown by his less than polished tunic, he’s not very good at making clothes, although he’s good at embroidery. That being said a twili cloak does sound kinda dope and I don’t like that the crystal is out in the open as a necklace- it’s a huge risk for such a cautious guy to take. As a guy who isn’t very open he’d surely hide it in a pouch rather than risk being asked about it, or worse having a member of the chain try to touch it.

He's the only one of the older members wearing a leather arm guard (on his non shielding arm so it doesn’t get in the way of the straps, very nice), which made me realise that he's probably not a fan of wearing plated armour. He could if he wanted to, he clearly has the strength and endurance to run around for hours in armour. Then again that extra weight would be hard on Epona since he rides her a lot. I headcanon that he just barely tolerates the chainmail because it’s for his own safety, but rips it off at the first opportunity once camp has been set up.

Cons: Twilight's fur pelt is another one of those things where it looks cool and is a nice visual hint at his hidden power to turn into a wolf (I especially like how it forms tail at the end, it's goofy but a cool detail), but it raises some seriously questionable things about his character.

Best case scenario it was a gift, maybe from Ashei who also wears fur, he then wore it to be polite but overtime it became part of his usual travelling clothes. But even still, he's the type who'd rather fish or forage than hunt and he can talk to animals...yet he wears the pelt of an innocent deceased animal. Worst case scenario he got it himself, and even if he had to fend off a wolf to save someone I don't even want to imagine him making it. Either way it doesn’t make sense.

Plus the way it’s tucked in at his waist looks like it would be a hassle to put on. To make it more visible it’s not tucked into the light blue material only the orange sash. Looks pretty but not very practical.

Wishlist: Regarding the chainmail, I’m conflicted (I...can never seem to make up my mind). The gold chainmail is unique and a nice reference to the golden sky seen during twilight, a time of day he’s grown to appreciate. It also fits well with his pale complexion, But like Wind I’ve always had the impression that he’d also be more tanned, from working long hours at the ranch. If he had darker and warmer colouring then the gold chainmail wouldn’t work as well and it would have to be a cool toned silver. Which would be a nice nod to his grey wolf form and more importantly would really make his grey face markings pop.  

I wish he wore his green hat. He was directly told by one of the light spirits that it was the same garb worn by the hero before him, who he ends up getting to know personally during TP and learns he’s family. Whether or not he likes it is completely irrelevant, because he would wear it 100% of the time while doing hero stuff to honour his ancestor’s legacy.

Twilight arguable has the scruffiest tunic, but the reason why I think he’s chosen to mend it rather than get it replaced is because it holds that much significance to him. Therefore, he’d value the whole thing and wear. the. hat.

The only excuse I’ll accept is that he lost it or it got destroyed during a battle, and even then he’d surely make a new one.

This isn’t important for character or practical reasons, but I’d like him to have longer hair. A shaggy wolf cut perhaps? A mullet situation? I’ve seen the fanart and it all looks amazing, so just...throwing it out there.

Score:

Aesthetic and visual score (/10): 8 Character representation score (/5): 4 Practicality score (/5): 4 Total (/20): 16

It’s a really strong design: visually interesting, practical if a bit well-worn and full of characterisation. It tells you about who he is and what he’s been through just through what he’s wearing, like Time’s design. But better.

~~~

Thanks for reading! What modifications would you make to their designs? And do you agree with me or not? I’d love to know :)

Masterlist

9th place in the character design ranking

8th place

7th place

6th place

5th place

3rd place

1st place

Character analysis posts:

Hero of the Sky, Hero of Time, Hero of Twilight, Hero of the Wild, Hero of Warriors

[iconfusionwastaken]

1 large 'Ingo dumped into Minecraft AU' post

lots of stuff under the cut

If you want to make your own AUs/fics/art/etc. based on/inspired by/for anything on this post, you're beyond free to do so.

Ingo is not eeby deebied to Hisui but instead the world of Minecraft, maybe it's like, idk, Hermitcraft, Dream SMP, 3rd Life, Last Life, Afterlife SMP, Empires SMP, EvoSMP, Hypixel, a Pixelmon server or anywhere else.

Maybe the roleplay that happens in these worlds are just roleplay, all done for fun, maybe it's instead reality for the inhabitants, not an rp, or it's instead a mixture of both.

Maybe he's stuck in a single player world (maybe he finds out he can exit this world, create new ones, etc. etc.)

Nevertheless, Ingo is a man from a mortal world stuck in a place where unless the world is hardcore, immortality is indefinite.

Memory loss or not, Ingo is gonna have a difficult time adjusting to a Minecraft world, especially 1 that runs off of Minecraft Mechanics.

If we go 100% w/ the video game abilities, & Ingo gains every ability normal Minecraft players have, he kinda becomes what the Pokemon world would see as a godlike entity. All of this could be overwhelming for him at 1st.

What about adding mods like many of us do? Imagine Ingo finding mods that allow players to make trains in Minecraft & installing them all in his single player worlds if he has any.

Anyways, say after Ingo is long finished adjusting & is now used to Minecraft, let's say it's time for Emmet to discover his big brother is alive. I have 2 ideas for this.

Getting isekaied back to Unova, & the MCC

Getting Isekaied Back Home

So Ingo for whatever reason is returned to Unova. Whether Ingo holds any memories or not depends on you. I'm going w/ no memories.

Ingo gets a poor reintroduction to the world w/ the wrong sort of people crowding around him.

He does the only thing he can do, armor up in a quick few seconds, & draws his shield & sword.

This freaks everyone else tf out because they were expecting pokemon not a goddamn sword!

Ingo does a classic minecraft escape, maybe w/ an enderpearl/towering up.

Both freak out everyone around him, but the towering causes more chaos.

Eventually the news spread around about this freaky guy who armored himself up w/o having it on him before & the likes.

Ingo tries laying low somewhere away from people, figure out where he is.

He types in chat, something along the lines of, "I've wound up in the wrong station, can the admin of this world help bring me to my correct station?"

Since he's the only person w/ chat, nobody else sees his message.

Or maybe, instead, everyone within a certain radius sees the message infront of them/hears it somehow & are confused bcus wtf is this? Also who is using Ingo's name? That's fucked he's a missing person.

Ingo tries to lay low, but fiascos continue to happen & eventually it gets out that this weird person "wearing" Ingo's face that may be a psychic/pokemon in disguise because of all the weird shit he pulls off & this freaky stuff he has on him, plus he has no pokemon & when people try to fight him he brings up a shield & weapons?

Ingo meanwhile is a confused lad & wants to get home, even when this place feels weirdly familiar & nostalgic, as are these strange creatures who are clearly smart enough to make their own choices like players.

Maybe he befriends some mons & they travel w/ him.

As ingo learns, people apparently don't fight w/ swords or whatnot, but w/ creatures of immense power instead. Regardless, he'd rather not fight anyone & instead run away, because it's 1 thing to fight another person who also has a weapon, & another thing to fight someone who is basically unarmed w/o the powerful creatures by their side, & something deep inside Ingo abhors the idea of harming these creatures at all.

At some point Ingo hears about this guy named Emmet who people are calling his twin? Well, Ingo remembers nothing, & has been down on his luck recently, but maybe this guy has answers? They do look alike after all.

So begins Ingo's journey to Nimbasa w/ many misadventures along the way.

Emmet who's recently heard of this Ingo imposter also learns this guy has been heading towards Nimbasa.

Thus, Emmet, still in grief over his missing twin, decides to confront this person wearing Ingo's face.

In Nimbasa, Ingo's recognized & chased by police under the impression he's guilty of identity theft & Ingo takes the chase to roofs which he uses blocks on him to bridge between but then he's cornered, there's no nearby ledge or roof, he has no blocks left, but he has a water bucket, & can get away by jumping down.

Meanwhile, the very ledge where Ingo is cornered at happens to be the enterance to the building & Emmet just got there, he was gonna enter the building & sprint his way to the roof top until he noticed Ingo who jumped off the ledge holding something in his hand.

Ingo attempts an MLG Waterbucket as he's done countless times before and ends up dying.

Listen we all have our days where things just go wrong.

Emmet sees this doppelganger of his brother jump down, fall onto the pavement legs first, collapse to his side while flashing red for a brief moment only for the body to disappear in smoke.

Everyone around Ingo at the time hears the words: Ingo fell from a high place

Even if Emmet is certain that wasn't his brother, that strange sentence only terrifies him.

Also, every object, from weapons, to armor, to food, & more, is scattered on the ground, as are xp points which have no where to go because no players are nearby.

Wait I just came up for another branch in this AU

Despite being confused, the police decide to confiscate all of Ingo's stuff.

Ingo meanwhile, who was lucky enough to have a bed on him & set him spawn somewhere near Nimbasa city & promply goes to get at least some iron gear since there's a good chance he isn't getting his stuff back. He isn't as dumb as to stay armorless forever.

When people try to do something about the XP, they can't, it just stays in place, only jerking around in the same small area.

IDK where to continue from here.

Branch 2! Emmet absorbs the XP!

When Ingo dies and looses all his stuff & leaves some XP behind, Emmet is the closes person nearby. Despite not being a player, the XP goes to him.

Emmet doesn't realize what's happened until it's already occured, as he hears the jingles of XP.

He doesn't feel different & after a checkup which doesn't see anything wrong, he continues life as normal, as much as he can given all the havoc going on.

It's generally assumed that the doppelganger is good as dead for a while until he's spotted again.

That's not the only thing however, Emmet's been feeling strange lately.

It starts small, being able to pick objects up much quicker, even when his hand was no where near them. If he stood next to an object he wanted, it could suddenly be in his hand.

Then it became involuntary.

He discovered that if he just had a quick snack, his stamina would suddenly come back to him, & he could go back to sprinting.

Whenever he wanted to take something on/off, the clothing in question would already be worn/taken off.

When going to bed, he'd feel the sensation of falling asleep in a matter of seconds only to wake up to morning so suddenly.

Eventually he's start to wake up standing next to his better when he swore seconds before he was falling asleep in bed.

Soon he can hold up to 9 objects in some pocket dimension he aruptly has, & he can cycle between all these objects.

When Emmet tries to put something down 1 day, he drops it on the ground instead, it looks tinier than it should be, & it spins slowly, just like everything the doppelganger of Ingo scattered that day

1 day, Emmet wakes up to a line of text is his sight, that nevers goes away no matter what direction he looks.

Emmet has joined the game

<Ingo> Hello! Do you happen to know who's server this is? I'm kind of stuck here and can't log out of here.

(I also have this idea where Ingo gets stuck in Unova w/ some other players who have long become good friends of him & all of them causing madness together but this is long enoug lmao)

I imagine if Ingo kept his memories, he'd not just be estastic to be home, but would go straight towards Nimbasa city, misunderstandings & madness still happens, but it's a smoother experience.

Sidenote, would miltank milk function just like cow milk from minecraft, curing status effects like poison & the likes? Would it only apply to potion effects or do effects from pokemon & more count too?

The MCC Reveal

Ingo, after having long since adjusted to the world, gets an invite to MCC, which he accepts.

Unrelated to Ingo going to MCC for the 1st time ever, the universe of Minecraft has found & established communication w/ the world of Pokemon, where Ingo once belonged.

It's huge news for both worlds, w/ constant updates of what people have learned about the other world being released.

Once again going the Amnesiac Ingo route, Ingo can't help but feel that the Pokemon seem awfully familiar, & the Pokemon universe as a whole seems so nostalgic to him.

Since MCC is coming up, Noxcrew decide to set it up so that when the event goes live, even the Pokemon universe can see what's going on.

It's the most the MCC has ever been hyped up.

When the teams are revealed, everyone from the Pokemon world who knows anything about Ingo does a spit take upon seeing him in 1 of the teams.

When the pokemon universe contacts the minecraft universe about Ingo, the Minecraft world is like: Ingo? Yeah he's a good guy who unfortunately has amnesia, why do you ask?

That's when the pkmn world reveals Ingo's history & he's from Unova & the Minecraft universe is like 'oh, SHIT.'

& so Ingo is informed that it was discovered that he has a twin, is from the pkmn world, among other things.

Alternatively, ppl could somehow not get te news about Ingo being in MCC, the event starts, but then people find out someone who looks like Ingo is in the event. He looks like Ingo.

Mid-tournament, people find out where the missing twin of Emmet is.

I wanna write down ideas for if Emmet became a player instead of Ingo, or they both end up in Minecraft, maybe they go w/ Elesa or it's just Elesa. Maybe their pokemon come w/ them, the likes, but I've already used so much brain juice plus this post is already long enough.

[lilmissbacon]

Miraculous Ladybug Redesigns

So I've taken upon myself to redesign most of the new looks that have come out is season 4 of Miraculous 😅

I had completely accepted how bad this show was and how much a of a dumpster fire season 4 had been thus far but as an artist, Penalteam was the last straw. Also, I've already posted my redesigns for Marc and Nathaniel here.

I also really appreciate the love the comments, reblogs and likes I got for those redesigns. It really helped encourage me to keep on with these. So thank you 💕

Also just to note it here, Juleka's super-outfit is the only really great look to come out of this season but I would've named her Panthera than just Purple Tigress.

Let's Go! I wanna die

Dog Sabrina

She was the one I did right after Marc and Nate because her look was the most atrocious and as much as I don't have any feeling towards her character, I can't let it stand.

I'm never gonna let go of the fact that her final design in show was just her civilian clothes in a different font. Not to mention that UGLY-ass hat with the ears glued on.

So in my redesign I made her hair to be the ears and instead of giving her a literal collar, I gave her a belt to look like one. The miraculous itself is just hidden under the turtleneck.

I gave her 2 little tennis balls instead of one so she can throw them as weapons like Erina from Dingo Doodles' D&D story (if you don't know it, you can see it on YouTube.) I like to think that the balls can magnetize back into her hand like Captain America's shield and if you look closely you can see the palms of Sabrina's gloves are white.

Miss Hound is just a no for me in terms of names. Honestly, Miss Mutt would've been a better name. But overall I decide that Sabrina be renamed "Cavalier," which is a breed of dog that looks strikingly similar to how I ended up designing her.

Ox Ivan

His superhero look was once again, another look that was just fine but I'm upset they made his suit gray when the ox is literally the only hero that's blue. Also he looks like he's wearing a winter coat and the fact that they didn't change his hair despite how distinguishable it is, kinda makes me mad.

I kept the shoulder bits because I thought it was nice but flattened out the rest of his torso. He's already big and bulky, he doesn't need the extra padding.

I actually really like the superpower they gave him but the name Minotaurox is a mouthful. So I decided to rename him "Bullock."

Pig Rose

As cute as her design is in the show, I still had problems.

Mostly her bangs and the tutu. I didn't think a tutu was even really miraculous canon to how the hero costumes work and honestly, it still doesn't feel like so. Plus it was a slightly different shade of pink from the rest of the suit which is irritating. She looked more like she was wearing the miraculous of the lolipop than the pig.

So I 1) made the hoof patterning on her feet to be a dark brown so it looked like actual hooves. 2) Moved the lolipop thing from her chest to a belt buckle and made it look like a pig snout. 3) Changed her bangs to be more flattering and the pigtails to look more like pig ears. 4) Flip the colors on her mask.

Idk what the designers were thinking with Rose or Sabrina that made them choose to put the white on the top half of their masks. It's practically a rule of thumb that you put the darker colors on top because otherwise it looks like cancer. And it does, it makes Sabrina and Rose' eyes look sunken in and like they have cancer.

I mean can you imagine how the Hex Girls would look with their lip colors flipped?

I rest my case.

I did keep the swirls in her arms and legs because the curls are clearly supposed to be in reference to pigs tails. I didn't change her name or power. Pigella is a cute name and while her power isn't spectacular, it can be useful for distractions in battle.

Also I just didn't feel like drawing the ankle bracelet. I'm tired.

Bee Zoe

I hate this character's existence entirely but we'll ignore that for the sake of focusing on the art.

In her canon design, not only were the random black bangs stupid but she doesn't even remotely resemble a bee or wasp. She also has more black then yellow in her suit+hair and looks more like a villain then Queen Banana did. Also hate the shirt/pants color ratio and those dumbass sneakers.

So I cut off her bangs, gave her a thigh-high boot look and the same gloves Chloe had. I also kept the suit the same shade of yellow as Chloe's because the fact that they made Zoe's a warmer shade of yellow is not just such a copout, it actually makes her less distinguishable from the other heroes with gold/yellow.

I did take into consideration that the original designers were clearly trying to give Zoe's stripes a V shape to them since her name is Vesperia. So I kept that when rearranging the stripes in my redesign.

It's a much more simple design which is actually a blessing because it's on par with Queen Bee's and even Ladybug's looks. Her canon design has so much going on that it's a mess.

So I hope you like this

My redesigns will forever be canon in my mind/au because what is canon just sucks and I hope you enjoy this art post.

[jangofctts]

Mirrored Heart (captain rex x fem!reader)

rated: 18+ explicit 

word count: 5.6k

warnings: smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampies, fingering, blow jobs, clone space racism?  

a/n: ANYWAY HERE IT IS. ive had this draft saved since like a year ago and just now finished it. anyway kwjrkejh here YALL GO. also thank you @jango-fettish​ FOR LETTING ME BORROW SYRENA 

It's curious. 

Well, you, as a whole are curious—completely outside the realm of what Rex considers normal. As far as senators go, that is. 

You're grumpy for one—worse than Skywalker and far more snide than Kenobi—a near gargantuan task bordering impossible. Wit and cleverness come to you easier than breathing, but it's your unwavering kindness towards himself and his brothers that sticks out like a blaster burn against alabaster white walls.  

He passed it off as a joke—some sort of mockery. Rex’s existence has been full of them. The past year it’s been made glaringly clear as to what the clones are to the people of the republic—tools. Mindless war machines dressed with flesh and bone, heart and sinew instead of durasteel and a circuitboard. Humanity has been skimmed over with excuses and debates over the hollow argument that clones were created for the sole purpose of war—nothing more. Ignorance is bliss when you are not the one fighting tooth and nail for petty skirmishes and the survival of your family.        

Ithyea, your home monarchal planet, is a newer member of the Galatic Republic—one of the firsts to advocate for clone rights—cutting through each argument with the steel headed javelin of hope and determination. Controversial in the eyes of the galaxy but no less than true. Yet with controversy, comes chaos. 

Wedged between Takodana and the Cerean Reach hyperspace lane—it’s an essential key to accessing more neutral space sectors without stepping on any toes. While the planet does mirror the size of a larger than average moon, there’s nothing but grandeur with the cutting edge advances in space travel and military innovations. An arts district too, one that’s presented multiple times for the Senate apparently. Rex has yet to see it. It’s an easy guess as to why Ithyea has gone under pointed attacks from the Separatists—it’d be foolish not to try.     

And of course comes the intergalactic mess of politics. You are not Ithyea’s first senator. Or second…or third. Just in the last six months, three of your predecessors have been picked off—two disappearances and a suspicious poisoning sandwiched between them. Which sides these assassinations stem from is anybody’s guess—a mix of both perhaps—all to silence and stamp the voice of your people out.

Heavy are the shoulders that wear those abhorrent senatorial robes, and Maker did it take some convincing for another Ithyean to step to the chopping block. It’s just…no one thought  it’d be you. The infamous captain of King Arrian Felian’s elite guard—trained in combat levels high enough to contend some of those within the ranks of the Jedi Order. When your name comes up in conversation, it certainly doesn’t scream diplomacy.     

Rex is not surprised that you hold the current record of Ithyean senators for surviving the longest. Evading an astonishing two attempts on your life by the skin of your teeth. You were just downright lucky the third assassin missed their mark. Sure, the blade of Syrena Aster skimmed the right side of your cheek and left behind a nasty scar to remember her by, but kriff—even with your background and low levels of public presence, you’re a high priced target. Whoever placed an order with the Heretics, really wants to see you six feet under.     

Rex hasn’t been given the full report on exactly who the Heretics are—a rag tag bunch of untrained Force users and skilled assassins from what he’s gathered—but regardless, this attack is just the beginning. Until the Senate and the Jedi are able to retract the price on your head, you’re stuck under protective custody. Usually ushered away into the Jedi Temple or tagging along with General Kenobi and Skywalker. Despondently, no matter the circumstances of your protection, it can’t shield you from the dreadful invitations to senatorial luncheons.

 And yes, you tried to slip by for this one. 

You don't brush elbows with other senator’s like many of the members in the Jedi Order and your own cohort do. In fact, you actively avoid even speaking to them unless necessary, let alone stand in the same room with seven of them. Odd for an elected official of diplomacy such as yourself to be so cold shouldered—Rex would think senators wanted to mingle.    

It's curious because you're standing in plain sight and yet no one pays you any passing thought. General Kenobi and Skywalker hold the majority of their attentions, shoulders already taught with exasperation at keeping everyone from tearing out each other's throats for, kriffing five minutes. Yet you...you are completely at ease, leaning up against a stone pillar, observing the unfolding chaos from afar with a keen eye. 

Before Rex realizes he's stepping towards your position, you glance over and dip your chin in greeting. The ghost of a smirk pulls at your normally grim facade—his heart skips. "Captain."

"Senator," he mimics, posting himself to your right. There’s still a thin, healing scab from the assassin’s blade that extends from the swell of your cheek to your ear. Ouch. “Enjoying the evening?" 

You snort. "Hardly enjoying it, Rex."

Stars—you shouldn't be allowed to say his name. Your words are razor-sharp like a jagged vibroblade, meant to jab and pierce through armor—tear a person to pieces without having to lift a finger. Everything about you is rough, gritty, brutal, unbecoming of what a senator should be, but— 

You mouth his name, purring out the singular syllable with such tenderness that it's like a punch to the gut. 

It's hard to swallow and he needs to clear his throat—an embarrassing act on his part, but your attention has already returned back towards the meandering senators. "How d'you mean?"

"Well," you sigh, "let's just say smalltalk isn’t my strong suit." 

"Aren't you senators s'pposed to like diplomacy n' such?" 

Your thumb smoothes over your bottom lip in thought as you shrug. "Diplomacy? Sure. Politicians? Can’t say I like them. I just—"

You wave your hand around, gesturing vaguely to the crowd. "I just don't understand why they can't say what they mean. Telling someone to have a nice day shouldn't entail certain death, y'know?"

"Speaking from experience?" He teases, gently prying into that harder than beskar wall you've created for yourself. There's fissions in your foundation and he means to tear it down all for just a mere scrap of information. 

Your eyes flick over, your lips curling into a vulpine grin. “Perhaps...Though, it was partially my fault, I have to admit.” 

“You’ll have to tell me the story sometime, Senator.” 

You nod. “Yes, one day—when there aren’t so many political ears jumping at the chance of gossip.” 

A swell of laughter interrupts your chat, your attention gravitating to Obi-Wan—ever the charmer with the crowds. The end of your mouth pulls into a frown as you sigh and carefully scratch at your brow with the back of your thumb. Rex might be pulling at straws, but what he mistook as you being standoffish may just be your nerves. Socially awkward and flustered when speaking in such an intimate setting. 

Rex’s first instinct is to reach out and place a hand over your shoulder in comfort, but he’s not sure how you’ll respond to the touch. Flip him over your shoulder probably—

Instead he forces himself to jumpstart the conversation—something to distract from your anxieties. “I hope you don’t mind me asking—“ His heart beat kicks up into a flurry of wild beats as you turn you head. “What uh..wh—did you want to become a senator?”

He likes it when you smile—like you’re letting him on some sort of coy secret. You shift your weight and shrug. “The king asked me personally. I’m flattered he thinks I’m clever enough—insulted he sends me to these abysmal gatherings like some sort of show pony.”

Rex chuckles. “Yeah, can’t say I like ‘em either.” 

“Although…” Your thumb runs over your lip again, a sparkle of mischief igniting behind your eyes. “As a senator, I do get the occasional tidbit of gossip. Here, I’ll catch you up—“

The captain startles when you snatch his elbow and yank him closer. Maker he’s glad for his helmet because your lips brush against his earpiece as he leans down to reach your height. 

“Look." You whisper, nodding casually in the direction of a particularly young senator with a shock of white hair. She's swathed in a pool of royal blue silk, much too large for her tiny frame, and all but hanging off Skywalker's arm with glittered nails filed into points. "That is Senator Ceci Paare of Corellia. She looks innocent, no?"

She does. Wide, crystalline green eyes stare up at the Jedi Knight as a pretty giggle escapes past her ruby painted lips. Skywalker grimaces. 

"I quite like her," you continue with a sly grin. "Even if she does try to influence public opinion by an invitation to bed." 

There's no time to process as you focus in on an older man. His hazy blue skin, ash white lips and vermillion green eyes cut an almost nightmarish profile, accentuated by mountains of black robes. Rex can’t recall what planet the senator represents. The senator holds his head stiffer than rebar to keep the ornate golden circlet from slipping off, his white lips curling in distaste as Orn Free Taa of Ryloth places a meaty hand over his slender shoulder. 

"He is Lord Tal’en Sol Ra'ah. Cunning, but sympathetic to the pleasures of gambling."

It's a game to you—of perceptions and nuances only a trained eye can roll over. Rex expects nothing less. This sort of thing has been hammered into the very essence of your being since you were little—reading an enemy before they can strike. It works on politicians marvelously well. 

Truth be told Rex should be paying more attention—but the closeness of your face to his helmet is maddening. His heart twists and coils as your bare hand skims along his gloved one—kriff. He’s not gonna make it before he bursts into a thousand little pieces.  

Rex’s spell of lovesick yearning recedes as you swear under your breath. It was only a matter of time before someone approached your little corner.  

"Oh, Maker save me," you hiss under your breath as a young Mirialan saunters over, the swatches of rich red and brilliant gold accentuate his violet skin like a bloody bruise. "Pretend you're speaking with me." 

"I am speaking with you," Rex snorts. 

Your hand waves in dismissal as your brows stitch together, hands balling into fists. Your jaw clenches as the senator in question puts on a dazzling smile. You look downright panicked. Rex has witnessed you face down numerous senators older than dirt and close to blowing away in the wind with plucky fervor, assassination attempts, being held captive, and you're frightened…by this? 

This is too good. 

Rex has half a mind to help you, wheel you away from your little predicament, but his intrigue with seeing your oh-so-solid resolve crumble is much too valuable and entertaining to pass up. He's going to remember this for years.  

"Rex."

"Senator," he mimics, not at all frightened by your poisonous glare. "Some diplomacy might do you good."

You begin to snarl out a threat but are decidedly cut off by your object of horror planting himself before your hiding spot. You cower into the corner like a boxed in loth-cat. "Ah, my favorite Ithyean! I had begun to worry you would not make it, my dear friend."

"Senator Lin," you sigh. The smile you offer is tight and thin; a nervous one much in the same way one would be if presented with a box of toenails for a birthday gift. “How pleasant to see you."

Senator Lin’s deep violet lips part with an easy smile. He waves a hand in dismissal, his silver rings glinting in the warm lighting. "Please—call me Toluka. No need to bother with such formalities between companions." 

Rex suddenly understands your trepidation with the Mirialan—he’s slimy. And, not to mention, not at all ashamed with the lecherous looks as his eyes sweep down your body. Rex clenches his teeth and folds his arms behind his back. He’s regretting not heeding your warning now…  

Try as you might through brutal small talk and chilly answers, Senator Lin refuses to take the hint. A dark plume of venom green lashes through Rex’s chest as the Mirialan places a friendly hand over your shoulder. You grimace as Rex bristles and glares through the visor of his helmet.  

Senator Lin’s lips pull into a gaudy smile as he glances at Rex and then at you.“My dear, don’t you know? It’s not worth wasting your time with a clone. After all, they’re all the same person. How boorish—come join us at the table.”

Your teeth bite into your cheek as your temper, like the silver of blade through the darkness, cuts through your steely irises. With poised nonchalance, you lift your hand and pinch Senator’s Lin’s fingers between your own and pry them off your shoulder. “Is that so?”

“Your campaign, valuable as it may be,” Lin continues, “is a useless endeavor. They are not our equals and never will be--you must know that." 

Rex forces himself to remain calm—collected and certainly not imaging a thousand and one ways he’d like to see his fist breaking the fragile bones of the senator’s face.  

"Fine buttons stitched upon your shoulders do not compel your worth, Senator,” the harshness of your words is a blow straight to Lin’s ego. His well-groomed brows furrow drastically as his tongue struggles to play catch up and find words to repair his shattered pride. 

There’s no chance for Senator Lin to regain his footing as your snatch Rex’s wrist and sweep him out into the hall. Rex can feel your anger roll off of you in waves, frighting and holding the same caliber of roaring waves thundering against black, craggy rocks. It’s a miracle the night didn’t end with your hands wrapped around the senator’s throat or a blaster shot through the chest. 

When you reach the lower halls of the cruise ship is when you release Rex’s wrist. You pinch the bridge of your nose between your fingers and release a long, dramatic sigh.   

"You are worth far more than that pompous ass," you say with enough edge to slice through a droideka's shields. "He has no right to say those things to you." 

“It’s alright,” Rex soothes, placing a hand over your bristling shoulder. “I’ve heard worse.” 

Your features scrunch up into a wince. “That...that doesn’t mean you have to suffer through more of it, Rex.”

Sighing, you run a hand through your hair and loosen the heavy outer robes strung around your shoulders. You shrug out of them and fold the thick swaths of fabric over you arm—revealing the under layers of your uniform. You toss the bundle of fabric to the floor with a disgusted grimace and sit on the cargo crate closest to your left. 

“Really—it’s ok.” Rex assures again. “I—“

You hold up a hand and shake your head. His mouth snaps shut. “I won’t hear it. To me you are nothing short of perfect and I refuse to argue about it. Maker knows I already do that for a kriffing living.”

There’s a fragile lull in the hollow space—the distant chatter of voices and strange music collecting in the corners. You stand once again, toe to toe with the Captain and there it is again, that elated pitter patter of his heart thrumming through his veins. The nerves of being so close to you—you sweet face and not being able to touch you.  

“Let me see your face.”

His hands come up to the edges of his helmet without hesitation, a hiss of hair escaping the seal once he pries it off. You smile and take a step closer until the only thing separating you and him is his helmet. 

Rex’s eyes flutter shut, leaning into your hand you gingerly place over his jaw. “I wish the entire galaxy could see you through my eyes,” you whisper, the warmth of your soft palm radiating out and warming his entire body.  

It’s a matchstick to kerosene—his helmet clatters to the ground and there’s only a second to spare as both hands move to cup his cheeks, dragging him into a mouthwatering kiss. 

He hasn’t kissed many people—save for those rare times at 79’s, head swimming under the haze of one too many shots of Corellian fire whiskeys where he could barely distinguish his ass from his hand. Those drunken make-outs were nothing like this. 

No—this…this is what a kiss should be like.   

He dreams about you all the time—so constantly ravenous that all he can feel some days is pure ache. Every and all words that spin around his head starts with you and finishes with his pounding heart close to bursting free from his ribcage. Not in the same way a flood rips through an unsuspecting village—more like the brilliance of a thousand doves, marble white plumage thrashing free from their gilded cage. Your lips taste like the core of a newborn star—scorching and yet still so sweet upon the tongue the same way caramelized sugar sticks to the roof your mouth. You are his first and last everything. 

There’s a certain kind of tragedy hidden beneath your tongue, fragile promises and the eggshell thin shards of hope stapled to the roof of your mouth. Rex will take it—seize any threadbare strand and run with it—spool it into the palm of his hand until you’re wound so tightly together it’ll be impossible to untangle.     

Just when the dizziness sets in from elation and not enough air, you part and leave a sticky trail of warm kisses up his jaw. Rex groans and hugs you closer, you humid breath blooming across his skin. “Let me take care of you.”

The words on his tongue crumble to ash once he nods in agreement. Your kisses dip lower, not even stopping when the reach the edge of his chest plate. Stars, you’re…he never entertained the idea that your lips could look so divine in contrast to the battered plastoid. When you fold onto your knees his heart leaps to his mouth, a flare of arousal flashing through his groin. 

You rest your chin over his codpiece and smile. “Do you like seeing me on my knees, sir?”

Rex huffs and studies at the opposing wall—

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Your fingers find the claps over his codpiece. “Can I take this off?”

Rex jerks his head in a yes but grabs your wrist. Not a rough hold—a tentative one as hesitation swirls in his eyes. “Don’t—don’t have t’ do this for me—“

You quirk a brow. “I want to because I like you, Rexy.”

A rosy blush blooms over his sharp cheekbones. The captain nods again.

The codpiece clatters to the ground and immediately you move your hand to palm him through his blacks. He grunts and squeezes his eyes shut. There we go.      

Biting your lip, you pull down his blacks as far as the plastoid plating allows, greeted with the hard length of his cock, beautiful and flushed a rosy brown. Fuck—he’s thicker than you thought. You wrap your fingers around the base, delighted by Rex’s airy gasp as he throbs in your palm. A bead of liquid shines at the tip and just the sight of it makes your mouth water. 

Moons—you should’ve done this sooner.

With a stuttering inhale, Rex trails his forefinger along your cheek and tucks a stray hair behind your ear. The pads of his fingertips skim lower and lightly pinch your chin between his forefinger and thumb. Your eyes lift to meet his. “You—you sure?”

You answer with a kiss over the dip of his navel, the skin searing hot under your lips. Rex curses and rolls his head back onto his shoulders when your palm slides up the length of his cock and then back down. Your grip is firm and tight as Rex slumps onto the crate, goosebumps rushing up his exposed flesh. Stars, when’s the last time he’s gotten release like this? 

You lean forward and lick a languid line from the velvety skin of his balls all the way up to the tip. Rex’s hips jolt. You purse your lips and suckle at the head, dipping your tongue over the slit then down to trace the ridge of his frenulum all the while your hand rolls up and down his shaft. Rex tangles his fingers into your hair with a hiss. You open your jaw a bit wider and take him down a few inches into the wet heat of your mouth, feeling your lips stretch around his cock. You you drag the flat of your tongue along the underside of his shaft to make the thickness easier to swallow down, but he's still only halfway into your mouth when he hits the back of your throat.

“Fuck—" Rex moans as his hips strain to remain still. “S’good—such a good girl.”

You glance up, eyes devouring the attractive length of his clean shaven throat and the underside of his chin. Rex swallows and let’s out another little sound. You whine softly in return and slip a hand into your pants, pressing your fingertips against your throbbing clit as you start to carefully bob your head up and down. Yeah—your jaw already aches just from holding his cock in in your mouth but fuck it—it’s worth it.   

Rex's chest heaves with exertion as he mindfully rocks his hips up, pushing and rolling his cock deeper into your mouth until his shaft is nearly seated all the way in. Ditching your own pleasure entirely, you swallow around him, forcing down the urge to gag and simply hold him here. Allowing him a moment to just enjoy the soft warmth of your mouth before launching into the main event.  

Rex murmurs your name and strokes his thumb over your cheek. “You’re beautiful—so pretty like—like this..ah—” 

You pointedly hollow your cheeks and suck, his flattery warming your chest with pride. You swallow around him another time, squeeze his shaft, your fist following your mouth as you lift up then back down to the base. You grunt at the abrupt jolt of his hips. There’s no distinctive rhythm you can follow as you pull halfway up and let Rex rock his hips into your mouth—seeking out his pleasure without a coherent thought in sight. Just a cacophony of gasping breaths and rough moans of your name. 

Soon enough he’s twitching in your mouth, his eyes fluttering shut as his head tips back onto his shoulders. The gloved hand sweetly cradling your cheek slips to the nape of your neck, tangling his fingers into you hair to anchor himself. He’s close—quiet gasps and broken curses tumbling out, hips unconsciously rocking into your mouth in search of release.

Rex whimpers your name, his leg jolting as you work your jaw wider and swallow him down, the dark curls tickling your nose once it brushes his groin. “Oh, fuck.” 

You hum around him, delighting in the mumbled praises. Almost there…That’s it. 

He’s dangling on the precipice—on tiny shove away from euphoria—

“Wait—“ Saliva dribbles down your chin when his cock pops out from your swollen lips, throbbing from the unintentional tease. “Maker—shit.” 

If not for the gloves covering his hands, you’re sure they’d be turning white from how tightly he grips the edge of the crate. His eyes are squeezed shut, slightly bent forward as he falls away from the edge of his release. Rex sucks in a steadying breath, amber eyes meeting your confused ones. 

“I don’t—can we—“ Rex’s eyes flit and focus on anything but you as he stutters and works up the courage to ask for what he wants. “Do we have time—“

You rolls your eyes and rest your cheek on his thigh. Silly man. “You wanna fuck me, Rexy?”

“Kriff, yes.”

You smile and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “I don’t think they’ll miss us."

Rex doesn’t complain when you take his hands and yank him onto the grubby floor and over your senatorial robes. He props his back against the crate as you shuck off everything below the waste and clamber into his lap. His hands, warm even through the leather, land over the swell of your hips and wrench you closer until your front presses up against his chest plate. 

The rough prickle of his stubble is, in all sense of the word, addictive. He tilts his head to kiss you, the slick touch of his tongue on your bottom lip adding jet fuel to the fire low in your belly. Rex groans and cups your jaw, holding your mouth open to dance his tongue along the length of yours. You whine and shudder as he purses his lips and lightly sucks on your tongue before you both part. 

Rex drags his teeth over your bottom lip as you both pant for precious air. His dark lashes sweep up his cheeks when he looks at you. This close you bare witness to the dazzling color of his eyes—crystalized pearls of amber over the crackled bark of pine tree in the midmorning sun. Muted gold threaded through the brown like fine lace and the slow shimmer of the sun dappled through water. To think such a man like him is dredged through the bloodied mud of war is despicable.

You blink away the swell of tears prickling at your eyes and kiss him once more. Sighing, you whisper down, mouthing soft nibbles and teasing kisses over his jaw and down his neck. Rex squirms and rock his hips up, your cunt clenching around nothing. You need him.   

“Rex,” you groan. You slide your hand between your bodies and grab at his thick length. Rex gasps into your mouth, long fingers clamping onto your waist in a death grip. “I want you.”

“I’m yours.” 

Your nibble at his earlobe as you grind your hips against his length, the folds of your cunt teasingly out of reach. “Touch me, Captain.” 

Rex tears off his vambraces and gloves, hand wedging between your thighs, touching the very tips of his fingers to your throbbing clit. You whine and clench your jaw—the pleasure is raw—sizzling electricity that crackles with the deadly promises of your pleasure. It’s as if you’ve had the breath knocked out of your lungs the second he bears down a bit more on your clit, drawing tentative circles, each completion sending a shockwave of tightly spooled ecstasy through each and every nerve. You nearly sob as his fingers slip away. 

“So wet already,” Rex moans as you tip your head back when two of his fingers begin circle your dripping cunt. They’re thick and long and perfect. Your hips stutter as your cunt easily accepts his fingers, the heel of his palm slotting perfectly against your pussy to stimulate your clit. 

Maker you’re seeing stars as Rex rocks his hand into you—the bend of his fingers the perfect angle to catch all the right places that make you tremble. He kisses your cheek and moans your name into your ear, all low and gravelly— 

Your body seizes up tight as you soar, plummeting off the edge only to tumble so fast and so hard that tears prick the corner of your eyes. Rex peppers kisses over your cheeks and runs his free hand through your hair, purring praise and adoration as you shudder—your mouth parted in a silent cry as you cum and dissolve into his hands. 

When you suck in a steadying breath and open your eyes, Rex is gazing upon you with starstruck eyes—pure adoration that makes your cheeks flare hotter than the surface of two mini suns. Your teeth catch your bottom lip. You’re not sure you deserve to be looked at like this…

However, you’re impatient and running on stolen seconds. As much as you’d like to just simply stare at him—there’s not enough time. Rex wraps his fingers around the base of his cock and slides the tip of himself through your soaking folds. Each stroke against your still throbbing clit makes you buckle into yourself, but the angle that your knees are propped over his hips means you're stuck here. 

Rex pauses and cups your cheek. His thumb scrapes over your cheekbone. “You want this?”

You place your hand over his and turn your head to mouth a kiss over the lines of his palm. Oh, fuck yeah. Kind of him to ask as if hadn’t just cum over his fingers but—no. “I need you to fuck me, Rex. That’s an order.”

Rex huffs out a low chuckle and bumps the crown of his forehead against yours. “As you wish, Senator.” 

Rex runs the blunt head of his cock through your folds again, slicking himself up with your arousal. You mewl and dig your nails into the hard plastoid as the wide tip of him pushes into your entrance—he shudders as you clench and wiggle. It doesn’t hurt, but he’s in no small. You’ll feel him for days, you’re sure of it as your cunt swallows inch after inch. 

You both groan as he finally bottoms out. His jaw his clenched tight as sweat beads at his blonde hairline—Stars above, he’s a sight, struggling not to loose control the second he’s buried inside of you. Desire tickles up your spine, tugging at the fabrics of your being until all you can focus on his how Rex isn’t moving. You shift your hips in tiny, almost imperceptible motions, and squeeze around him. 

“Damn—“ A ragged moans slices through his words as your gentle rocking morphs into needy jolts. It’s easy to fuck yourself onto his cock like this, but the measly thrusts are meant to tempt him. “Fuck, cyare, you’re tight.” 

You smirk and grab at his sculpted shoulders—it’s the push he needs. Rex snarls your name, cups his hands under the globes of your ass and pulls you off his cock nearly all the way out only to slam back in. There’s no time to adjust before Rex sets a pace, fevered and rabid All pent up energy collecting over the weeks you’ve known each other. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own end after being denied for what feels like ages. 

You squeal in surprise as Rex pushes you onto your back and hoists your legs around his hips. Rex buries his nose into the crook of your neck and moans your name like a sweet prayer wrapped in honeycomb. Rex shifts his weight, widening his knees to sink deeper into your cunt—his stubble tickling your throat as his staggered exhales burn hot over your skin. 

You choke out a groan and feel your arousal begin to drip down your thighs—hear the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter. Electric heat sears down each vertebrae in your spine, scorching through each and every veins with the catastrophic brilliance of an imploding star. Shit—

“So good t’me—so perfect,” he huffs into your ear. Rex turns his head and steals a kiss. “Feel fuckin’ good stretched around my cock."

You clench around him hard as Rex’s hand sneaks between your bodies and rubs tight, little circles over you swollen clit. There’s barely any build up to your orgasm—just a blinding surge of devastating warmth that sweeps through your body, from your aching center down to your toes. It steals away all the air left in your lungs and leaves your clutching his arm and shuddering for a hold in your own reality—the steady warmth of his body that’s unburdened by armor a much needed anchor for the madness that threatens to drown you. 

His gentle, and pliant kisses morph into little pricks of his teeth over your neck and collar bone as his hips struggle to keep a definitive pattern. Rex’s curses string together and blur into nonsensical noises and loose tongue admittances that are comparable to moving inches from an imploding star.   

“Where can—can I?”

You grab at his head and whine his name. “Anywhere—in me—you can cum in me.”

With a loving caress over back of his neck and a sweet whisper of his name, he reaches release. Rex’s moan is airy as his eyes slam shut and captures your mouth in a sizzling kiss. He’s twitching in your arms as his hips erratically jerk, hot spurts of his release coating your insides and beginning to leak over your robes you lay over. Whatever. 

Rex nips at your skin as the last dregs of pleasure jolt up your spine. Neither of you say a word as Rex’s hips come to a slow. Time trickles through your fingers like sand through an hourglass half empty but instead of rushing to dress, you choose to lie on the ground—two halves of a mess someone’s been meaning to clean up for the better part of a long while. You feel at home here—content as your fingers run up and down the back of his head, a bit irked by the armor still covering his back. You’re terrified of the months to come—but at least you have each other. After all, gardens will bloom and flourish with fresh blooded love and wild mistakes sculpted from passion forever if you believe hard enough…wont they?

[writingsofhubris-a]

Bunny

[AO3] < | > Rating: Explicit WC: 3.8k Tags: Caning, BDSM, Subspace, Clothing Kink, Wall Sex, Height Differences, Established Relationship, Aftercare Fandom: Sorcerer's Apprentice (2010) Ship: Maxium Horvath/Reader Disc: Fur, Wool, silk, Maxim knew just what looked good on his body, and the only thing in your mind was the thought of wearing his coat, all alone, in the room you shared with him. The only part of the plan that went array was meeting his eyes in the mirror. 

A/N: @the-realharleyquin asked me for a fic based on this prompt: reader gets caught wearing one of maxim's coats and is like ❛ want me to model these for you? ❜ probs cus he just got some more coats or something (i think that man is vain and likes dressing nice/up) and maxim who totally would call his partner kitten or bunny is like yes let me sit down quick, lil show for maxim starts and the reader grinds on him a bit and then wall sex because height dif and i am seeing a horrible lack of wall sex with any of Alfred's characters. And I saw a post about being canned and then used on tumblr by Horvath so please, without any further ado. 

The door slid open to show off the selection of coats hanging on hangers, all properly stored with obvious care. Maxim chose exactly what he cared about, and these coats were without doubt one of the places he put his care. You’d never be one to complain; the sharp lines and smooth elegance of the fabric complimenting his personality in just the ways he wanted it to. He was a Victorian man through and through, obsessed almost to a fault with his appearance.

Fur and wool danced under your fingers, contrasting textures ringing through your bones. Memories of each time he’d worn each flashed through your mind. memories of nights and days too cold for skin, nights with your hand in the crook of his elbow.

His things weren’t, strictly speaking, off limits to you. He’d never specifically told you you were not allowed to touch his things, that was sure. You just simply understood his position every single time you’d made the joke of stealing a coat. His death glare was all you needed to see to know just what his opinion on the matter was.

So the moments of solitude you had, whilst he was out, you took with greed. How couldn’t you, when he seemed to spoil you in every other matter of life?

Your hand slipped over the one that laid fur over his shoulders, volatile every time he wore it. There was little sound around you as you heard it slip off the padded hanger, only to slip over your nude shoulders.

The fabric nearly swallowed your body as the silk rested on you, shielding you almost fully from the wool. Your eyes glanced down your body, only to see the edges of the coat resting only an inch or two from the floor.

You carefully shifted the couple steps needed to view your body in the mirror propped against the wall. The dark gray complimented your skin perfectly, hints of black in the fur flickered just so in the mirror. You saw the fur shake as your body shivered, a feeling of opulence shaking through you. With the power you felt, as large as the garment was, you suddenly understood what it was that drew Maxim to the type of garment; you felt rich and powerful.

Your eyes flicked up at another sight in the mirror, a motion behind you in the doorframe. Dark, impassioned eyes locked with yours in the mirror. You knew it wasn’t any sort of magic that froze you to the spot, only the intensity that rang through the reflective surface.

He had a perfect view of you, as well, your hand resting on the fur at the collar of the coat, your leg bent just at the right angle for modesty.

illusion and hubris often would make one shed any hesitations surrounding fantasy, to imagine one’s self as a work of art untouched by the changing of culture. That was to say, you knew that you were alluring in only the way one could be in their head.

Seeing his eyes connect with yours induced a surge of panic in you, a knowledge that  you’d been caught breaking a rule you very well knew not to.

So much for the twenty minutes you thought you’d have before Maxim returned.

Each step that echoed in the room was measured, was deliberate. His eyes didn’t leave yours, from the moment the door opened, to the moment that his front was pressed against your back, the silk pressing with the slightest bit of scratch as the wool pressed through as well. His hands clasped onto your hips, guessing only slightly due to the fabric covering you. It was clear that each time he’d memorized your body had paid off. Your mind flashed with the other times his hands had found their home there, fucking into you from behind, or simply controlling your movements as you rode him as hard as he’d allow.

All too familiar with his action of turning you by your hips, you faced the man with your chin tilted high enough to look him in the eyes, ignoring the difference between you both. One hand left your hip as the other proceeded to pull you closer, wrapping around your back. A tiny thread of fear appeared in your spine, unsure of just how far of a line you’d crossed by doing this.

You felt the inches his arm pivoted over your back, thumb and fingers sealing over the back of your sensitive neck, nerves lighting on fire from the possessive action. The leather separating his skin from yours almost coaxed a moan from your throat, nearly enough to verbalize the wave of lust.

“Now,” His dangerous voice started, demanding your attention. “Imagine my surprise when I come home, ready to decompress for the night, and I happen upon a little fashion show just for me, in my bedroom.”

“I…” your words were lost on your tongue, knowing better than to try and excuse your actions to him.

“You…” His tone was nothing but a rude mock, a sticky sweetness to coat a venom that would sink deep. “Decided to play with an object that you have no claim over, that isn’t yours, didn’t you?” The tone in his voice was addictive. You’d be willing to bend to whatever he suggested at that moment, you were nearly certain.

“I just wanted to see what they felt like. You’re always so…” Your breath caught in your lungs as you searched for the right word, your words leaving your mind as soon as his hand tightened the slightest on your skin.

“So… What?”

“Hot.”

“So you took something that wasn’t yours? Something of mine? For shame.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” whispered from your lips, unsure of just what you could offer him.

“Sir? So you do remember some protocol.” It was with his hand that he guided you to the bed, his backwards steps sure. Your eyes burned from the contact, wanting nothing more than to look away from his intense gaze.

“First, you took my coat.”

“I’m sorry. I thought…” The apology fell from your lips before you could think, hurried to try and avoid what you knew was coming.

“And that was your first mistake, wasn’t it?” His words overpowered yours without much effort, excuses dying on your parted lips. Tears nearly threatened to spring, but you held yourself fast for now.

“Yes, sir.”

“I assume you know what the next one is?”

“No, sir.”

“Lying.”

“I didn’t lie.”

“You lied to me about your desires.” The last word was dipped in venom, and it was all you could do to not fight back against his words. You had been honest about wanting them. You’d just coated every single attempt in a thick layer of irony, of defensiveness that you clearly shouldn’t have. His hand finally fell from your neck as he sat on the side of the bed, thighs spread.

“Over my lap.” His voice demanded submission, demanded your actions to mimic his words.

His thighs balanced you well, soft material of his pants rubbing against your chest. You didn’t even consider not obeying him, too excited for any punishment he may offer you. A whirl of fabric, and the coat was flicked over your top half, effectively exposing your backside.

“Now, do you think you’ll actually learn anything from me doing this?” He heard the start of a word from your lips, but he interrupted you before any word could get out. “No, don’t answer that. You’ll only be lying to me in the end.” Your face pressed into your arms, trying to hide the embarrassment on your face. He was right, after all; you wouldn’t forget the night for a while, but you knew you wouldn’t learn a damn thing from his treatment of you from here on out.

His hand rubbed over your ass, sliding from the fold of his coat over you down to the curve of your thighs, mapping out the area he was intimately familiar with.

Even with the warning of his hand pulling from your skin, you let out a shocked gasp when his hand made contact with your ass, a crack of leather against skin reverberating around the silent room. Another crack joined the first one, a moan falling from your lips at the action.

“Already, bunny? That certainly was quick. Moaning over the only contact you’re given, pain.” The last word dripped with the familiarity of a lover, of a man who had inflicted enough to offer it freely, of a man who had been inflicted by too much pain in his life.

The next time his hand made contact with your skin, he held the flesh with a firm grasp, the pain quickly intensifying. Your groan was choked, and if you’d been standing, you knew your knees would have given out. The next hit was a mirror of his previous; holding onto the other ass cheek with a painful grip.

“is this what you wanted from me? A bit of attention, however negative it might be?” Your head nodded against your arms, shame blooming. Any attention would do from him, so long as you were his focal point. With how often he was yours, you could only rationalize it as a fair play.

His hand left your ass only to connect again, his grip only that much more painful. Your head pressed into your arms, trying and failing to keep the couple tears that had escaped from showing. Maxim knew how to pluck all of the restraints clear from your head, making each hesitation vanish until you were nothing more than his.

“Give me your wrists.” The command entered your head with nowhere to land, jumbling into the fog of your head. When you didn’t move, his hand took one wrist and turned it to rest on your back. You were quick to mirror the action with your other arm. His hand wrapped around both of them to pin them against your skin, under the long back of the coat. You knew the long arms of the coat were brushing against his hands, only reminding him of your gaffe, of your misstep in the rules.

You realized just why he’d made the choice when his hand connected again, effectively holding you from sliding at the contact. Your gasp rang in the room as the hit rang through too intensely.

It wouldn’t have taken a smart man to realize just why you squirmed, thighs almost pushing together, almost trying to find a source of friction.

Your efforts were rewarded with a leather finger slipping between your folds, finding a slick wetness. His finger brushed against your clit, that wave of pleasure you’d been looking for shot straight to your spine.

“What is this? I thought this was a punishment for your digressions. I thought you were supposed to learn something from this.” His tone was achingly teasing, cocky in an infuriating way. his body shifted just slightly on the bed, and when he returned to his previous position, you felt the familiar pressure of his cane against your thighs. The cool stripe wasn’t going to stay so for long, you knew that with a fact.

“Perhaps I shouldn't spare the rod.” The line, growled, landed just right in your mind, head quickly nodding in excitement. Maxim knew just how to play you, after all. Just like the slaps of his hand, the slice of pain on your thighs ricocheted through your body, gasping softly in pleasure at each of his strikes. Cries fell from your lips as you started to lose track of each additional hit.

“Your sounds are always so beautiful,” he suddenly praised, a contrast just enough to ripple through your body. The next stripe against your thighs forced another gasp, and a hum from him. “Just like that.”

“Sir…” The title was the only thing that you could possibly find in your head, pain and pleasure sliding through your body. Submission beat down your walls with each strike, his ministrations turning you into little more than a whimpering mess with a wetness between your legs.

A single bead of liquid traced its way down your nose, dripping off as you tensed in his hands. In that second, you weren’t entirely sure if it was a tear of pain or if it was a drop of aroused sweat.

“No, you were doing so very well being pliant for me.” You felt his hand tighten on your wrists again, cutting through the soft skin to tighten on bone. Your hands fell lax in the only way of submission you could manage, brushing against the sleeve’s hem on your other arm. “Do be quiet and shut up again for me.”

Your eyes snapped closed, and you quickly nodded. You could be quiet for him, as he wished you to be. You could be good for Maxim, slipping back to the wordless noises that had been falling from your lips for him. The strikes of his cane were enough to make you forget every word in your mind, anyway.

With one final strike from his cane, your cry finally let out a trail of pain, mingled deeply in the midst of the lust. You felt him shift enough to set his cane to the side, always so caring of the object. You whimpered at the sudden realization the punishment was done, even though you were certain your body couldn’t take too much more from him.

Your wrists were freed suddenly, and without any way to support yourself, you started to fall into the mattress on the other side of him. You were saved by his hand, no longer covered by leather, catching your chest, and pulling you back. The rough treatment mostly over, his hands guided your still pliant body to rest on his legs, knees on either sides of his hips, and chests pressed together. The air around you seemed to trick you into a small bubble of Maxim, his presence the only thing surrounding you. His fingers played over the edges of the marks he’d just given your thighs, trailing along the abused flesh almost with reverence.

“Did you learn your lesson, bunny?” His silken words promised a violence you’d love to feel more of tonight, but your head nodded as what you realized were tears fell from your eyes. Even if you wanted more, you couldn’t take it. “Good. You did so well for me.” One of his fingers traced a raised welt to find your core, two fingers slipping into you without any resistance. “Do you think you did well enough I should take care of you?” His question made confusion bloom in your head, a cloud passing between rational thought and desires. Instead of trying to find the words he’d so easily stole from you, your lips dared a press of a kiss, to the skin shown over his collarbone. It was just a timid peck, an effort to show submission without words, just as he’d demanded of you earlier. He started to massage your walls, curving his fingers in sensitive places with a whisper of pleasure.

One of his fingers trapped the lining of the coat against one of the welts, the sensation of smooth fabric ripping through tender flesh. It was the barest bit of affection you’d get in this, and it was a nectar you drank in.

“Open my pants.” The three words were whispered in your ear, trailing over your skin in a shiver. You were quick to reach between you both. Leather of his belt, another element of his outfits that was familiar with your body, was pulled open, then you popped the button of his pants to reach the zipper. Careful not to catch him, you felt each tooth of the zipper open, shaking through the bone. His next instructions were given in the exact same manner.

“Good. Now take me out.” Your fingers slipped into his pants, daring a quick drag of your fingers against his cock. Your lip was caught by your teeth as you pulled him from his confines, a soft sigh falling from his lips at the contact. His fingers curved into your g spot, grinding direct pleasure into you. But it was gone too quickly for you, his cock pressing into you slickly, finding an all too familiar home in you.

Your forehead pressed against his shoulder, trying to nearly smother yourself with him.

“Breathe with me, bunny.” It wasn’t until his words that you realized you were merely puffing breaths against his shoulder, gasps mixing into them. Your eyes tightened closed, and you let your lungs match the rise and fall of his chest. As effectively as he was surrounding you, it didn’t take too much work for you to do so; his hands pressing and running over your skin, his scent the only thing in your nose, and his skin the only thing in the slit of vision you allowed yourself.

You felt his hands urging your legs around his waist, carefully shifting you on his cock as he pulled you into another position. He stood carefully, allowing more of him to slip into you.

The cold of the wall he pushed you to was muted by the wool around your shoulders and his, that sensation not even enough to tamp the arousal in your body only he could control.

Maxim’s hand finally moved between you, sliding up your chest under the silk of his coat, still on you. His thumbs paused over your surgery scars, sliding over a sensitive spot he was more than familiar with. The ridge was focused on for just a few moments longer than you wanted, your hips demanding movement with a press into him as much as you could manage. A roll, anything to help the fire in you.

“Calm yourself, bunny.” The slight reproach in his tone was enough for you to still, the confidence that you always wanted to tear from him only compounding the instruction. “I haven’t even used my mouth on you.” His hand shifted over your smooth pectoral, resting on your shoulder, thumb resting just at the base of your throat. A promise, and a threat that was obvious. It was the most basic instruction he’d given thus far; don’t move.

The threat was nearly forgotten when he  bent his head down to steal the spot his thumb just had been, his hips sliding out and into you at last. But it was a torturous pace, one that only whispered when you needed a scream.

“Please.” The plea fell in a whimper, need vibrating through your body. You needed the strength he’d just used on you, impatience riling you up further.

“If you’re not careful, I’ll have to punish you again for begging.” Despite the threat, you knew he’d never. He enjoyed your slips of control too much to ever endeavor to punish you for it. The need, unable to be controlled, your desire only for him. You couldn’t tell if it was his teeth biting a constellation into you, or his cock, suddenly quickening its pace, that made you cry out first.

You could tell you were dripping with each thrust he offered you, wetness audible between you. Maxim’s cock fit every spot inside you that needed to be hit, singing pleasure into your body without much needed extra effort. It only reinforced just how much of your immediate world was swallowed by the sorcerer in front of you, a man of magic and power.

One who was pulling fire into your veins and static into your head.

With the slightest slip of his hand, you felt his fingers pressing into your carotid artery. The sudden lack of air made your body soar to a new height, hips suddenly bucking against his.

“There we are.” The only thing on your mind now was the thought of him finishing in you, even despite the pleasure you needed to find. He’d infected you too thoroughly to help it; anything he could want was his to take from you.

“Find your finish, my dear bunny. I need to feel you cum on my cock.” The permission was all you needed after his work, finishing on him with a surge of wetness. The sudden rush of air from his hand moving only made the waves continue until your legs were tight around him, trying to keep him buried deep in you. His hip’s movements, stuttering into you as he finished, only barely registered in your head. You couldn’t keep him still if you’d been in your right mind, allowing him seconds to fuck into you easily.

He didn’t even wait for you to catch your breath before you were pulled into his arms, moved to the bed he’d just had you laid over for a punishment.

Maxim’s hands were gentle as he pulled his coat from your body, taking a second to hang it up with the one on his shoulders, only to find his way back to the mattress holding onto you. It wasn’t every day that Maxim would stay, his study often calling his attention from you.

It was clear that tonight, you needed him. He could tell by the jump of your body when his hand moved to your hip, curling into your own body.

Maxim’s hand pulled the covers back, sliding them under your smaller body before once again returning them to cover your body.

You tried to convince yourself that you’d be fine with your own warmth under the sheets, that if he decided his attention was needed elsewhere, you’d at least wait to cry your heart out until you heard the door latch closed.

You felt his hand slide from your waist to your stomach, pulling you to his side of the bed, and slotting your back against his chest. You felt his thighs pull up to press against the raw flesh of your thighs. You were once again in a world of just Maxim and you, your bodies pressed together as they should be.

“Did you learn your lesson, bunny?” His words were soft, lips pressing to your neck with gentle pressure.

“Yes.” Having spent too much time not talking, the word was hoarse. “No more taking your coats without your permission.”

“Good.” You felt a hand on the top of your thigh, gentle ministrations to remind you that he was still there for you, that his body was against you. “Fall asleep. I'll keep you safe.” The words stuck, the promise already settled. Maxim would keep you safe; he wouldn’t allow you to be found by any harm.

You weren’t entirely sure what you had with Maxim was love. That was something too foreign to either of you to actually ring true in your relationship. You knew you had a deeper connection, at the very least, and you were certain that his arms was the only place that you would be able to figure out just what that connection spoke of.

[kinsey3furry300]

So how the heck do the Avengers pay for stuff, and how rich are they?

So, in the wake of “Falcon and the Winter Soldier” There’s a lot of debate about why Sam didn’t seem to get paid well for his work in the Avengers (at least in the MCU continuity), and this has got me thinking: we’ve got no evidence that the Avengers are, financially, anything but a hot mess. So lets break it down, Avenger by Avenger, using real-world pay scales for the ones who have jobs.

Tony: a billionaire, so clearly he’s a financial genius, right? Well….. his actions say otherwise. He’s shown to be wildly irresponsible with his money. He inherited a lot of wealth form his parents which was managed by the first Jarvis, Obadiah, and Pepper for him, he buys and then gives away not just woks of art, but entire collections by major 20th century artists on a whim, destroyed his own cars and home without concern, he tanks the value of his own company in the first Iron Man with a bad press interview, gets kicked of his own bord of directors, and ultimately, in Iron Man 2, gives control of his company to Pepper. He’s insanely rich, and insanely smart, but man, he’s not smart with his money. So all the cool stuff, his suits, the Avengers tower, the facility up-state: that’s all paid for by him, but Pepper is holding the purse-stings.  So, does he pay the others? We have no evidence for most of them… but we do with Spidey. Peter Parker is in the Stark Internship Program a euphemism to hide the fact he’s training and mentoring him as a super-hero, but I find the wording interesting: he refers to Spidey, his surrogate son and chosen heir, as an intern. I.E., Unpaid.  I’m guessing this is Howard’s influence over him, some sort of ‘make you own way in the world, son’ attitude, but  if he’s not paying Spidey, is he paying anyone else? He certainly pays for stuff super heroes suits and things, equipment, fuel, the base, but does he pay anyone a wage? No one ever mentions it. You think it would come up.

So, if he’s not paying them a wage, where do Avengers  (and thier allies) get their day-to-day money from, and are they rich? Using google and https://www.federalpay.org, lets find out.

Cap: Well, before Civil war, he’s a shield operative, and he presumably still holds his military rank: he’s a US Army captain, with (well) over 40 years service, so USD$88,142.40 per year, with $237.71  drill pay (pay per drill you have to do on weekends, on leave or outside of normal service) and $175.00 per month hazard pay (which I bet is interesting) on top of that. As a WW2 veteran, he’d be eligible for a war pension if he:

Was not discharged for dishonorable reasons; and,

Served 90 days of active military duty; and,

Served at least one day during wartime ("wartime" as determined by the VA); and,

Had  countable family income below a certain yearly limit; and,

Is  age 65 years or older; or

Regardless of age is permanently disabled, not due to wilful misconduct.

As he’s still receiving 90k per year, he’s ineligible for a pension as his countable yearly income is above the limit.  So if shield pays him in accordance with his rank and years of service, about $90, 600 per year incuding hazard pay.

After civil war, he’s a fugitive on the run, so presumably flat broke. I’d asume he gets his pension returened to him after the snap.

He’s also just gone from the 40’s to the present day, so 70 years of inflation probably makes buying things very confusing for him: everything would seem insanely expensive at first. He’d also not know what the correct prices are for anything invented after 45. You might get used to how much more expensive food and coffee is, but how much is a smart-phone worth? $200? $2000 $20000? Who knows? I bet the others have to facepalm a lot when he either refuses to pay for what he sees as clear price-gouging, and at the same time regularly pays insane amounts of money for goods and services because he doesn’t know better. He also has no known assets other than his pay: he rents an apartment making him one of the few American males in his age-group who isn’t a home-owner

Thor: Does Asgard even have currency? It’s depicted like a “Crystal spires and toga” type utopia with no poverty: even working class Asgardian’s like Scourge seem to be pretty well-off and want for nothing, so he’s from a post-scarcity society where actual magic is a thing. His “Another” coffee cup smashing and the fact he doesn’t have a computer of phone in Ragnarök might indicate that, no, he just doesn’t have, need or understand money. Splitting a bar tab with him must be a nightmare. His breakdown post snap indicates he’s got some cash, but not a huge amount, and is probably skiving of Valkyrie and the other Asgardians.

Banner: Okay, so a PhD could make you a lot of money from patents… in pharmacology or engineering. Theoretical physics? Not so good. And if Banner did have any patents, they’ve probably been seized under eminent domain by the US military.  At the start of The Hulk film, he’s working a entry-level factory job at a botteling plant in Brazil. The minimum wage in Brazil is 1069.62 Real per month, that’s 12,835.44 Real per year, or around $2437.79 US per year, before everything goes wrong for him! He then runs off to India, works for Tony for a bit and then gets shot into space. Spidey may actually make more in allowance than Banner does, and Banner is a gown ass man with bills to pay: I’d imagine he loses a lot in ripped clothing.

Natasha and Barton: Pre Civil-war, both are government spooks, so how well does that pay? The salaries of CIA Intelligence Analysts based in the US range from $25,838 to $685,701 , with a median salary of $125,340, so let’s assume that Shield pays in a similar range: $685,701 per year for Director Fury, around 125,000 for Natasha and Cliff, which explains Cliff’s nice, middle-class mid-western home. Post civil war, presumably not great: we know that Natasha spends a lot of her savings running and hiding all across the world, and Cliff takes a deal and presumably lives of his savings, pension and his wife’s income.

Rhodes: Full USAF colonel with over 10 years service? $105,562.80 per year, plus $293.23 drill pay per drill and $175 per month hazard pay, and because he’s team Stark and not Team Cap in Civil War, he’d not lose any of that. He presumably also gets an injury pay-out after his accident. After T’challa and Stark, he might be the best paid avenger.

Dr Strange: spends all his money he made as a surgeon on trying to cure his hands: spends literally his last dollars heading to Nepal to train. Wong even jokes with him about their lack of worldly money when asking for a tuna-melt. But, can use illusion to make people think he has money, and his home and clothes etc. come with the job, so in the same boat as Thor in that he has no money, but needs none AKA, he’s a bastard to try and split a restaurant bill with.

Wanda and Vision: No know source of income, just sort of live in Tony’s hose and eat his food, and on top of that Wanda goes on the run after civil war… yet they can stay in fancy hotels in Edinburgh, a relatively expensive city, and Vison apparently bought them a house to retire in, so one of them has some source of money. Maybe Tony gave Vision years of back-pay form when he was still Jarvis, or maybe the vison has a day job, which is, frankly, hilarious. Could you imagine him as a barista? I can, and it makes me very happy.

Scott Lang: I’d assumed he’d be super, super broke, but apparently the average pay for a private security consultant in the Bay area is $85,430 per year. Not bad. Pity he gets sucked into the quantum realm just as his business is taking off, so presumably, flat broke again.

Bucky: no known income, and I doubt Hydra paid him for being the Winter Soldier so he probably has no savings, but he should, technically, qualify for a military pension. As a single veteran, he’d be  eligible for federal tax-free pension of up to $1732 per month, or $20,784 tax free per year. Not much for someone who lives in NYC. He may also be eligible for medical benefits over the loss of his arm. Whether or not he got to see any of that money given how confused his life has been over the past 10 years is unclear, but on paper he’s eligible.

T’challa: He is, quite possibly, richer than Stark, and as an absolute monarch pays no tax and has access to his Nation’s vast wealth in vibanium. It’s good to be the king!

Captain Marvel: USAF captain, and a test pilot; the test pilot school only accepts applicants with a service length of less than 9 years 6 months (10 years six moths of helicopters) as they don’t want older applicants. With 8 years service, $79,538.40, plus drill pay and hazard.  However, no know (human) pay since 1990. Flat broke.

Guardians of the Galaxy: no data, but I’m assuming “Cowboy Bebop” levels of perpetual never-ending poverty given the way they choose to live. I’d also assume Rocket has taken all their cash into some sort of Ponzi scheme of his own creation, because just look at him, of course he has.

Spidey: he’s got about $10 of his aunts’ money at any given time, so he can buy lunch… which may in fact be more than Banner or Lang, and we know it’s more that Strange or Thor.

 So, here the big one: how rich or how broke is Sam?

Sam Wilson: annoyingly, we’re not directly told what rank Sam held in any MCU film. USAF pararescue “Maroon berets” are generally NCO’s (but there’ are officer-ranked pararescue) , and he’s seen working on his wings at one point, where as officers don’t generally work on or maintain airframes. He’s shown wearing a Nation Air guard grey while jogging at one point to confuse the matter further. The general consensus on redit is he’s a former USAF tech sergeant (E-6). But how long was he in the air force? With six years service (the minimum sensible time he could have served to work in pararescue based on his age), that would be $41,464.80 per year, plus drill pay and hazard. As Anthony Mackie, the actor that plays him, was 36 as of Civil War, and assuming the character is the same age, and assuming he retired from the air force that year, and he joined the USAF at 17, the youngest you can join, he’d have served 19 years, giving him a pay of $51,566.40, the maximum pay you can get at this rank before promotion to Master Sergent,  but meaning he left just before he’d qualify for the 50% final salary pension you’d qualify for after 20 years. Which seems weird. So let’s assume the character is one year older than the actor that plays him and served 20 years (ages 17-37), that means Sam has a military pension of $25,783.20 per year (20,784 of it tax-free), plus any injury benefits. He councils other veterans, but doesn’t get paid for that. He also chooses Team Cap in Civil War, so would become a wanted criminal, and so lose his income between 2016 and 2018, and then gets snapped and has no income for 5 years, which would destroy his credit rating. Like the rest of Team Cap, he presumably gets his post snap pardon, and goes to work for the US government at his former pay and rank. However, given how Captain John Walker treats him as an equal, it’s possible he’s been promoted to a captain when the  hired back, giving him a pay of between $54,176.40 to $88,142.40 (with 20 years experience, depending on if they take into account his prior service or not, and how much prior service he has), but either way, he’s just starting this as a new job after being legally dead for 5 years: no savings, and no credit.

Commercial fishing vessels cost about 10% of their total value per year in maintenance alone. I can’t identify what sort of boat the Wilson’s have, but some quick googling indicates that the cheapest  15m long wooden in-shore shrimp trawler costs around $140,000, so that’s $14,000 per year in maintenance costs alone, minimum. And that’s a lower estimate, assuming the rest of the business is sound, which we know it isn’t.

So, in concussion, yes, Sam is in some serious financial trouble until he can re-build his savings and credit, but the scary bit is he’s not alone in that: he’s probably better off than Lang, Banner, Danvers, Strange, Thor, Bucky, Wanda and Parker. Only Clint (if he gets a full pardon and gets his full pension), Rhodes, Stark and T’challa aren’t in some sort of potential financial problems. That asshole bank teller was right: despite the fact it seems to pay well on paper, with a few exceptions, the Avengers financials are probibaly a mess. EDIT: Rocket is running the Ponzi scheme, if that’s not clear from context. The others know they have money somewhere, but not where it’s gone. And It’s been pointed out to me that as he’s technically a POW while he’s the Winter Soldier, Bucky is owed over 70 years back-pay, equal to over 3 million dollars, details in the notes.

[moonloredraws]

I just found your blog! Do you have a list of your setting’s gods, their names, and info about them? I’d love to learn about the gods related to those holy symbols :D

Hello and welcome!! Glad you've taken an interest in my lil homebrew setting, and since you're not the first person to ask, I guess it's time for me to make a CHUNKY post about all the info I have so far on my Setting's gods! Now, these are the most commonly worshipped MAIN gods of the setting, I also have other pantheons, and there are local smaller deities that different cultures have, but these 20 are just the main ones that can be found around Manala.

Please be aware that these are the pantheon for my world, you can take ideas but I'd appreciate it if you didn't copy them word for word, thank you in advance!! Let's see if a read more works

Oki doki! Let me copy and paste everything from my google docs that I have for the setting!

Satha, The Lady of Dawn

Alignment: Neutral Good

Domains: Light, Life

Names: Satha, The Lady of Dawn, The Matron of the Morning, The Grand Morrow

Holy Symbol: A ribbon tied around the rising sun

The Lady of the dawn, Satha, is seen as an incredibly gentle deity who eases in the morning light after the harsh uncertainties of deep night. Her followers describe her as gentle and comforting, and her blessings are said to feel warm and kind, and as if the gentle hand of a grandmother had soothed away their worries.

Satha generally appears and is depicted as a elderly woman, with long white braids held together by overly long yellow ribbons. She dresses herself in many layers of clothes, with several shawls, coats, jackets and all other manner of overclothes seeming to bundle her up, and she generally has a very cozy look. Her colours are yellows, oranges, and warm browns.

Kass, The Lord of Dusk

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Domains: Arcana, Trickery

Names: Kass , The Lord of Dusk , The Boy of the Stars, The Tricky Moon

Holy Symbol: A Star over the Setting Sun

The Lord of the Dusk, Kass, is a mischievous deity who’s presence is said to soothe the minds of those who fear the dark of the night. He has few followers, as the few who have come across him don’t know what to think of him, as his actions in front of mortals vary wildly from small pranks, to epic performances of song and dance, to straight up whisking someone away to a place they have never seen before. A select few understand these actions to be distractions, to get people to stop worrying about the horrors that nights on Manala can bring.

Few descriptions of Kass exist, and most of the time he is depicted as a youth, no older than 18, to no younger than 7. His actual appearance varies wildly, to having long brown unruly hair, to short curled locks of white, though one descriptor is a constant: He is always wearing an indigo vest of silver embroidered stars. His colours are said to be bright blues, silver and white.

Aramana, The Glow of the Day

Alignment: True Neutral

Domains: Light, War

Names: Aramana, The Glow of the Day, The Searing Sun, The Everlasting Blaze

Holy Symbol: A sword in front of the Sun

Aramana is the primal deity of the sun and it’s light. Many worship her with an intensity that rivals the shine of the sun itself, and though she is seen as a positive force by many, it’s only her most devout worshippers who know she is cruel in her indifference. Aramana is also seen as a deity of war, and many pray to her and drink toasts in her name before a hard battle. When she reaches out to individuals, she does so because their intense passion for the arts of war have caught her eye, and those blessed by her are most often non-magical generals of great kingdoms.

Aramana has not shown herself to many, as most mortal affairs do not faze her, but the few exceptional warriors who have seen her describe her as an incredibly tall woman with a heavy build, her face always obscured by her helmet, a golden tower shield in one hand, and a platinum greatsword in the other. Her armour is incredibly intricately carved and she has an aura of grandeur. Her colours are Gold, Blood Red and Maroon.

Shalis, The Soothing Night

Alignment: Lawful Neutral

Domains: Knowledge, Order

Names: Shalis, The Soothing Night, The Wise Moon, The Hope of the Dark

Holy Symbol: a set of stars joined to form a crescent

Shalis has many followers in the far northern and far southern continents, where nights are long in the dangerous winters. Compared to his solar counterpart, Shalis is actually very invested in the lives of the mortals who inhabit the world of Manala, and his blessing has been received by many. His most zealous worshippers are researchers and sages who aim to gather as much knowledge to arm themselves against the unknown as possible.

Shalis has appeared numerous times in front of people, and each of the accounts has described him as looking the same. His physical form resembles that of an elven man. He has white long hair, slicked back and bewitching purple eyes. Under his simple navy overcoat he wears a white button up shirt, and black trousers and boots. The only sign that gives away his divinity is the glittering band of stars that seems to be drawn onto the skin of his neck. His colours are navy, dusty purple and black.

(Venn is the Avatar of Shalis!)

Haurak, The Roiling Sea

Alignment: Chaotic Evil

Domains: Tempest, War

Names: Haurak, The Roiling Sea, The Lord of Storms

Holy Symbol: Two waves crashing away from each other

Haurak is generally known as a war-like god that inhabits storms. Many northern countries worship in hopes that their voices would dissuade his storms passing through their lands, though it never works. He is likened to a madman, thrashing and flailing, causing destruction in his wake. Barbarians and Raiders in the cold lands drink a brew known as “The Heart of Storms” before battle which causes them to go into a violent frenzy, and they lose themselves to the chaos of battle easier.

Haurak is seldomly seen, though when he is, this hulking pale grey figure, with a tall crown of interlocked antlers is described as wearing ragged pelts of greys and browns with completely white eyes, and seeing him is now seen as a bad omen, with many people immediately getting ready to flee the impending storms. His colours are cold browns and greys, and his worshippers wear ragged furs and torn cloaks.

Veranis, The Sweet Winds

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Domains: Nature, Trickery

Names: Veranis, The Sweet Winds, The Sailor’s Lover

Holy Symbol: Rippling water.

Veranis is the gentle god of the winds known mostly to the people inhabiting the warmer coastal areas in Manala. Veranis takes on many forms, and accounts of them vary, at times they take on a feminine form, other times a masculine form, though almost always fey-like with solid glittering emerald eyes. They are applauded for the gentle winds that allow for safe travel between ports, for the cooling winds on a hot day, and for providing good weather in general.

Veranis has been seen by a fair few people, though accounts of their appearance vary with their mood. They always have long straight brown hair, regardless of form, and their green eyes that have no pupil or iris are what they are recognized by. Their colours are spring green, yellow, brown and white. They are the twin of Tharanis.

Tharanis, The Tempest Winds

Alignment: Chaotic Evil

Domain: Grave, Tempest

Names: Tharanis, The Tempest Winds, The Whirlwind, The Death Winds

Holy Symbol: A Whirlpool

Tharanis, unlike their twin Veranis, is the god of deadly winds, tornadoes and hurricanes known to the peoples of the warmer regions of Manala. Just as there must be good weather, so must there be storms, and they are often said to be fighting their twin, trying desperately to tip the scales of the winds either way. Few worship Tharanis, and for good reason, their worship grows their power and produces more storms. The few cults who do worship this god usually vie for the destruction and “cleansing” of the world.

Tharanis has not taken on a mortal form before, but descriptions from Veranis describe them as a very gaunt looking figure of ambiguous gender, wearing a mess of sheer overlapping fabrics that never cease to stop moving, with eyes of solid black. Their colours are Blue, Grey and Black.

Kerk, The Bladeforger

Alignment: Lawful Good

Domains: Forge, Order

Names: Kerk, Bladeforger, Steel’s Fire

Holy Symbol: A hand grasping the hilt of a blade

Kerk is the patron of blacksmiths and crafters of blades. Many forges have a holy symbol hanging over their front door, and many smiths pray to him before they start their work day, in the hopes that their work will go smoothly and come out as good as possible. His more devout worshippers build temples near volcanoes in the hopes that their god would be able to hear them better, as he is said to have built his Star Forge where “The Ground spills itself out from inside The World”, and as such, Volcanoes are said to be his holy sites.

Sightings of Kerk have been rare in modern times, but many who have seen him describe the god as being extremely tall in their physical form, with cracked skin through which a molten core seems to move around. He has a bald head and a dark complexion with soft golden eyes, and he is describes as being very kind and patient, teaching his techniques to a few exceptional mortals. His colours are Gold, Orange, Brown and Black

Harme, The Whisper of Words

Alignment: Chaotic Evil

Domains: Knowledge, Trickery

Names: Harme, The Whisper of Words, The Spiller of Secrets

Holy Symbol: A pair of open lips with stitch marks

Harme embodies all the dirty secrets people keep, and is the main reason why “politician” is a bad word. He latches onto people’s insecurities and comforts them until secrets are spilled, which he then goes around and plants into the hands of the wrong people. He is the patron of criminal masterminds and relishes in the feelings of despair as people’s worst secrets come to the surface.

Harme does not have a physical form, he only appears as a disembodied voice, and often a flick of shadow from in the corner of one’s eye. His associated colour is black.

Mourne, The Gravekeeper

Alignment: True Neutral

Domains: Grave, Nature

Names: Mourne, The Gravekeeper, The Inevitable

Holy Symbol: A yew sprig with berries

Mourne is a peaceful god, who’s symbol is always carved into the entry arches of graveyards. Across all of Manala, she is worshipped by all who want to have a peaceful passing. Many pray to her in times of plague, to be spared, and if not, that their ends should come swiftly and painlessly. Though she is unaligned, she is seen as a benevolent goddess of death with no desire to cause suffering to bring the inevitable to the present. She abhors undead, as they go against the natural order of the world. “If you do not die, then you stop new life arriving” is a mantra said by many priests and graveyard keepers. She is the god who is seen most commonly in Manala.

When the dead and those who have had near death experiences all describe Mourne as a willowy woman wearing exquisite black robes with white embroideries of various plants. Her physique is much akin to a mummy, her skin pulled over her skull and hands tightly, though most of the top of her face is obscured by a lace veil. Her colours are White and Black, though sometimes her worshippers wear the greens and reds seen on yew trees.

Lailanne, The Mother

Alignment: Neutral Good

Domains: Knowledge, Life

Names: Lailanne, The Mother, The Hearthfire

Holy Symbol: hands crossed over, palms up

Prayers to Lailanne come from all over, since there is a multitude of people wanting a happy home, and safe births. She watches over people having familial troubles and her blessings soothe over and worries parents may have for their children. She takes care of children, and is often seen by small children who she has saved from a spot of trouble, be it stopping them from getting lost in a forest or eating poisoned berries, to stopping potential kidnappings.

To most people she appears as a dishevelled new mother, slightly tired looking but always glowing with an unnatural light. Every person who sees her in this form always gets this feeling that she looks like their own mother. Often, though, she walks through the streets of towns, in various forms that fit the situation, keeping children out of trouble. Often the children do not realize they were helped out by a god until they look back one day, when they’re with their families, and remember the strange glow from a woman who helped them. She does not have specific colours associated with her, but she is always seen with brightly coloured clothes.

Reike, Bringer of Love

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Domains: Arcana, Light, Trickery

Names: Reike, Bringer of Love, The Sweet Kiss

Holy Symbol: An Eye within a star

Reike works in strange ways, a chaotic force that blesses new lovers, often sowing seeds of feelings between people who should not conceivably develop these for each other, but Love works in strange ways. Not much is known about this mysterious god, but many know that she’s up to no good, making people fall in love with anything conceivable. If someone has an obsession that takes hold of them suddenly, the blame often falls on Reike. She acknowledges that love comes in different forms, and for different people and things, so she’s known for being quite creative with where she uses her powers.

The descriptions of Reive vary wildly save for the incredibly long rose gold locks she wears in various styles, and her clothes are always impeccable in terms of their quality. She often appears to incredibly lonely people and personally blesses them with something they will end up loving, be it another person, a hobby or craft, or a place. Her colours are Gold, Pink, Red and White.

Yemek, The Shepherd

Alignment: Neutral Good

Domains: Life, Nature

Names: Yemek, The Shepherd, The Farmer

Holy Symbol: A Stalk of Wheat

Yemek is the god that the shepherds and farmers revere and pray to in hopes of good harvests, easy births, and luck in avoiding famines and plagues. Not much is known of the god, and few outside of farming communities pay him any mind, so any temples to this god are small things, often at crossings on roads and in fields.

No person who has seen Yemek knew that he was a god, as he shows up with very plain clothes, the only thing that can give him away is his boundless wisdom and knowledge on techniques to keep crops alive, and where the best pastures are. His colours are forest greens and browns.

Thane, The Dragonslayer

Alignment: Lawful Neutral

Domains: Knowledge, War

Names: Thane, The Dragonslayer, The Beastslayer

Holy Symbol: A sword passing through scaled skin.

The patron of monster hunters across the whole of Manala, Thane is most often prayed to by adventurers about to go in for a very dangerous attack against a dangerous foe, in the hopes that they would be blessed with a killing blow and that their companions would not fall in battle. Thane, though war-like in his essence, praises strategy and being aware of your prey’s weaknesses and strengths before making any moves. His doctrines encourage that anyone looking to slay a foe be well informed on everything they can glean before charging to battle.

Thane has sometimes been seen by bands of adventurers after slaying a particularly powerful or dangerous beast, having performed a service for humanity. Thane always appears as a seasoned adventurer, with a collection of weapons and well worn armour, but his face is always obscured by a helmet of some kind.

Sherbhek, They of Many Eyes

Alignment: Neutral Evil

Domains: Grave, Knowledge

Names: Sherbhek, They of Many Eyes

Holy Symbol: Five eyes in a cluster

Sherbhek is the patron of necromancers, often encouraging particularly strong necromancers to continue on their chosen unholy path by blessing them directly. Many places of unholy power arise from worship of this twisted deity. They like seeing the natural order of the world torn asunder and changed into a shadow of it’s former self.

When they appear, they are described as having a vaguely humanoid form, with robes of green and black, and though the bottom half of their face is vaguely normal, the top half of their head is just an amalgamation of eyes, all moving independently of each other. Their colours are Black and Green

Ianti, The Forest Lord

Alignment: True Neutral

Domains: Nature

Names: Ianti, The Forest Lord, The Wolf God, The Panther King, The Black Tiger, The Mane

Holy Symbol: An Oak Leaf with an Acorn

Little is known about this god who roams the places most untouched by civilization. He often stops advances by civilization in an attempt to preserve exceedingly important natural places, and he is known to become incredibly aggressive if his words are ignored.

In his physical form, Ianti changes to fit his surroundings, wearing the skins of the animal at the top of the food chain. When enraged, he shifts into a giant form of the animal and hunts down those who purposefully ignored his words. His colours are Greens and Yellows.

Elestra, The Lady of the Mountain

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Domains: Arcana, Tempest

Names: Elestra, The Lady of the Mountain, The Snow Woman.

Holy Symbol: A single peak in front of the crescent moon

Elestra is a mysterious god, mainly due to the fact that she answers to no prayers, and that she acts erratically when seen. She is one of the deities who has a habit of appearing often in front of mortals, and she is known for appearing in front of single mountaineers who are lost. She would ask the mountaineers to join her, if they refused, they were left to die of frostbite, and if they joined her, they would be whisked away to an opulent cave home. Few would be able to leave, she would keep them there forever, those who did manage to escape don’t recall how they did so, and it must have been the luck of the ages that befell them that they would be able to escape.

Though she does not answer blessings, which makes people believe that she is just an incredibly powerful spirit than a deity, there are those who believe that she can bless them to stop them getting lost in the mountains.

Elestra is always described the same way, human looking, with white hair and electric blue eyes, dressed in warm brown furs, with climbing gear at her side. Her colours are Browns and Blues.

Shix, The Golden Sands

Alignment: Lawful Good

Domains: Life, War

Names: Shix, The Golden Sands, The Dragon King, He of Gold Scales

Holy Symbol: A Gold Dragon Facing forward with 8 crown-like horns.

Shix is the patron deity of all metallic dragons, and all dragonborn, despite their colour. He is said to be a giant hulking Gold Dragon with horns that resemble a crown atop his head. Like the dragons that are said to have descended from him, he is a paragon of justice and is always fighting all sorts of evil, but most often stories of him depict him fighting Vuhz, the patron of all chromatic dragons.

Clerics and Paladins of Shix believe that it is always worth fighting for hope and justice even in the face of overwhelming evil, and will keep fighting even when it seems that all hope is lost. There are no documents describing what Shix looks like asides from his horns, and there are no records left of anyone having seen him in person. His associated colours and white and gold. (Elerath is the Avatar of Shix!)

Vuhz, The Diamond Scaled One

Alignment: Lawful Evil

Domains: Trickery, War

Names: Vuhz, The Diamond Scaled One, The Rainbow Serpent

Holy Symbol: A dragon coiled in on itself into a knot

Vuhz is the demonic dragon deity that is patron to all chromatic dragons. She feels that she has been robbed of her station as primary deity of all dragons, and is in a fierce never-ending battle to dethrone Shix and claim her place as the ultimate dragon. Her body is not that of a true dragon, she is incredibly long, has one pair of wings and 3 pairs of legs, and looks more like an amalgamation of a dragon, centipede and lindwurm. She has white iridescent scales, and two long horns that sweep back elegantly, but far too many teeth for any mouth.

Vuhz does not have a proper clergy, but more clever individuals will pretend to be clerics of another deity and infiltrate the ranks, often corrupting the priesthood from the inside, before moving on to new places to sow dissent and chaos in other places. Because of how Vuhz looks, any and all colours are associated with them, and their clergy wear what they wish.

Thalia, The Muse

Domains: Light, Arcana

Names: Thalia, The Muse, The Inspirer

Holy Symbol: A ribbon laced around a curled piece of paper

Thalia is the Goddess of the Arts on Manala. She is said to be the fountain of inspiration that feeds into everyone’s creative pursuits. Many Artists, Musicians, Actors, Bards and all other manner of creative person usually worships Thalia, though her worship comes in many forms. Most people simply dedicate a piece or two towards the Goddess, since her official clergy do not ask for any active worship, and simply ask that people create to make her happy.

Thalia takes on many forms, typically feminine but is also known to take on more masculine forms, it depends entirely on who has encountered her, as she takes on the forms most inspiring to them. She has no set associated colour, but most agree that dedicating bright colours to her makes her most pleased.

---- That's that for the main gods of the Prime Material Plane! In addition to these I also have the Everwild and Shademurk (the Manala version of the Feywild and the Shadowfell) but those ones yet don't have holy symbols, and the Shademurk ones are a work in progress because I only have like... 6 gods? Yeah there needs to be more. I'm able to answer more questions, just ask! Or you can have a look at my D&D sideblog @cantrollthatperfect20 of the tag #The World of Manala!

[catebees]

Hello hi I found the post with the elven LI’s and I have taken your recommendation to ask about clothing references. I would very much like to see said folders. Also your art is very pretty :)

Hello! first of all, thanks so much <3 very appreciated! Second, this is gonna be long, so let me add a read more

Alright I'm gonna try to keep this brief but I think I'll fail

Like with all of the other character art I did, I referenced a bunch of real world folk/traditional costumes and mixed them with fantasy stuff. City elves are a bit more mish-mash than, say, the dalish, especially considering that these three travel a lot and some of them don't feel very connected with their hometowns.

Zevran

He was probably the easiest to do, since I had already drawn him before

His clothes are inspired by castillan traditional clothes, which I sort of turned into an excuse to give him those torero pants with the highest high waist I ever saw.

The boots are supposed to be the antivan leather ones the Warden can gift him, and they're inspired by spanish half chaps (from the lower left picture, that's a costume from Granada)

The dalish gloves are also there, but they're a bit less detailed, I just added some little Mythal trees to make them dalish-y

He has little strings of pearls in his hair because it's another renaissance Spain/Italy thing i really like

My favourite thing i gave him is the hip chain with the little charms. I forget where I saw this headcanon but it basically talked about how Zevran holds small trinkets very dear and that he probably uses the metal you can gift him by melting it into keepsakes of his adventures. they're really tiny but you can see the Denerim shield, the Circle symbol, a hammer for Orzammar, the Redcliffe windmill, the Dalish mask and of course the Grey Warden griffin

Fenris

He's the least traditional one, I doubt he'd want to wear Tevinter clothes after years in Kirkwall.

I used more-or-less accurate references for the armor, mostly for the wide use of leather that seems to make up most of Fenris's canon outfit. Still gave him a gambeson because I'm not a savage.

Originally I wanted to dress him in looser clothes, considering his marks might hurt from all the friction on his skin, but It's very hard to give loose fitting clothes to someone wearing so many straps, so I stayed sort of middle ground

I still kept some of his original design details, like the clawed gauntlets, the feathers in the braces and the bare feet, plus! Hawke's red favor and the Amell crest (it's on his shoulder now, where crests usually are)

Also he has a regular big sword instead of a fuckoff big sword because uh I'm a stickler for rules

The tip of the scabbard has a little metal hawk decoration :)

Sera

She doesn't like speaking of Denerim, but at the same time I feel like she would sill hold on to some of the little fashion quirks from there (which I also made up by making my Tabris wear Kurdish-inspired clothes and spreading it to the whole alienage)

So yes, the vest and some of the jewellery are inspired by Kurdish costume, while the rest comes mostly from her concept art

There is a Lot of Sera concept art, and I get it! cause it's very hard to keep to one singular idea while designing her. I brought back some of the combat archery armor that she had at some point in her development, plus the makeup stripe over her eyes (which I added at the very end and forgot to save the picture i took it from)

The asymmetrical gloves are sort of what an archer would wear, with the arm that holds the bow being more covered to avoid injuries from the bowstring and the drawing hand only covered around the fingers.

The pants are inspired by the medieval multicolored hose because listen, she's a little jester at heart and she would totally wear those

The HAIR was hard to decide, because the bowl cut is nice, but the side-shave is also very badass. the mullet/ponytail one was very close to being the final choice though.

[applerubyy]

Ciao Adios

Summary: When you find your boyfriend cheating on you yo decide to expose him in the pettiest way you can think of.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader (some Loki x Reader if you squint)

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Cheating and cursing (I think that’s it?)

A/N: Hi! So this is my first time writing and posting anything here so if its terrible please tell me nicely :). This is some AU where everyone lives and all is happy ok? Also english is not my first language so I apologize in advance for any grammar or spelling mistakes. Anyway, if it turns out that some of you like it I think I’d be willing to do a part 2 if you like. Hope you enjoy it! <3. Btw, the gif is not mine so credit to whoever made it.

Crack. That’s the sound of your heart breaking, ripped to pieces in just a few seconds. And no, you were not exaggerating. Seeing your boyfriend kissing someone else while taking off their clothes would do that to a person. And in his office of all places.

How did you not see that coming? They had a lot in common and they did spend a lot of time together but you were just so naïve thinking that he was the most trust-worthy person ever that you looked the other way and believed him when he told you she was “just a friend”. 

Just a friend my ass you thought as you calmly walked to your room. No running, that would draw attention to you and you didn’t need that. No crying either, because once you started you wouldn’t be able to stop. Walking down the hallway and taking the elevator to your floor feels like it takes forever. 

Time is funny that way. It has that annoying tendency to slow down or speed up at the worst times. Like when you were in college and the clock seemed to literally stop, you would look at the time and it was 10:20 am and check again after what felt like half an hour for it to be 10:25 am. Or like when you are having fun with your friends at a club and you see it’s 12:30 but when you look again a few minutes later it’s 2:40. Right now it feels like the former, time seems to have slowed down. Maybe Dr. Strange did something to it? No, that’s stupid, he wouldn’t play with time that way.

Finally the elevator pings open and you rush to your room. Well, it’s not only your room anymore. You share it with him and everything is a reminder of what you just saw. The art supplies on the desk by the window, the famous shield leaning against the wall near the door, the messy bed where you sleep together every night …

And every single thing brings tears to your eyes until finally, the dam breaks and you let the tears fall down. You bring your hand to your mouth to muffle a sob that brings you to your knees. Crying is the only thing you can do right now because your brain is stuck on a loop. All you can see is Steve kissing her, unbuttoning her shirt with one hand while the other grabbed her ass. And all you can hear are their moans, Sharon’s whimper when he touched her and his groan as he did so. 

And now you are full on crying and choking on air because that scene keeps replaying itself over and over no matter how much you want it to stop. And you do, Gosh you do because there is so much your heart can take and this is too much. It shatters you in more ways than one. It makes you question everything you thought you knew about him, about her, about your relationship and about yourself.

You remember the first time you met him. You were already in college and looking for an internship. Luckily you happened to be the niece of the one and only Pepper Potts. And who wouldn’t want to work near Earth's mightiest heroes? You sure did. You were studying journalism and communications in New York and working with the Avengers was the ultimate dream, one that was about to come true.

Your first day was uneventful, it consisted mainly of coffee runs, delivering files and passing messages along. That was until your third coffee run where you ran straight into a wall, well actually it wasn’t a wall but it felt like it. The coffee spilled everywhere, on your clothes and his, and you were going to fall on your butt if it wasn’t for him grabbing your arms to steady you. Imagine your surprise when you looked up to see Captain America himself.

And that’s the moment your love story started. It seemed like something straight out of a romantic comedy and you loved it. It started with flirting, a date and then another, him asking you to be his girlfriend and finally asking you to move in once you graduated. It felt like a fairytale.

Tony wasn't very happy about you and the Capsicle but he saw how happy you were so he tried to be happy too. Tony was your uncle even if you didn’t share any blood. Growing up you would visit your aunty Pepper in New York and he was always around, you even stayed at his house when Pepper and him had to work. So, you two became really close even before he became Iron Man and started dating your aunt. 

The same thing happened with Rhody. Your close relationship with Tony meant you were close to him too, seeing as he was one of the most important people in his life. Rhody treated you like his niece and was the only one he didn’t make fun of which you took as the ultimate compliment. 

So those three you knew before you started working at the compound and before Steve. But once you started working there you met the rest of the Avengers. Being Pepper and Tony's niece and Steve's girlfriend meant they all wanted to get to know you. 

You met Bruce Banner, the Hulk, and you became really close. But that was thanks to his close relation with Tony and all the time you spent with him working on his social media presence to make sure people saw him as more than just the green monster who smashes things. After a while of working there they promoted you and now you manage the Avengers social media.

Nat and Wanda became your best friends from the moment you met. You just clicked and hung out as much as possible, being the only girls on the team meant they were really happy to have another female added to the mix. As for Vision, he liked you because Wanda did, simple as that.

Bucky and Sam were the funniest people ever, their constant bickering always brought a smile to your face and they welcomed you with open arms. Happy that their friend had finally found someone to be with.

Thor and Clint were like the fun uncles you got to see every once in a while. The God of Thunder was like an excited puppy and would hug you till you couldn’t breath every time he came to Earth and Clint would joke around with you and FaceTime you when he was with his kids because they loved you (“best babysitter ever” that called you).

You met Peter when he started working for your uncle. He was a sweet kid and your love of memes, vines and pop culture made you instant friends. He would ask you for advice on girls and tell you science jokes.

But we all know not all fairytales have a happy ending and this one definitely didn’t. You’re feeling so many things at once. There’s anger, sadness, jealousy and something else you can’t put your finger on. You keep crying and are unable to move from your kneeling position on the floor. Checking the clock you realize you’ve been on the floor crying for an hour so you stand up.

Taking a shower seems like the best thing to do, your head is pounding and your face is all puffy. As you shower it hits you, that other feeling swirling around is inevitability. In a way you always thought he was too good for you, you always thought he would eventually get tired of you and trade you for someone else. 

It just hurt too much that it was her, the woman he shared so much with. The niece of Peggy Carter, his first love. An agent of S. H. I. E. L. D.  Someone who risked their life for the world like he did. Someone prettier. Someone better than you.

Yeah, you were definitely on a self-pity party. But you needed to be miserable for a while, to cry it all out, to hurt so that you could move on to the next stage of grief: anger. And when that came, there was no stopping you.

You weren’t a mean person, or a petty one. You gave everyone countless opportunities and forgave way too easily so you never really got angry. But when you did, when you said enough is enough, yeah, you better watch out. That could be the meanest bitch you ever met and she had no mercy.

So you got out of the shower, dried yourself and started getting ready. Tony was throwing yet another party about who knows what and you were not missing it. You liked parties, they were the perfect excuse for wearing pretty dresses and putting on make up. And tonight you were going all out. 

Your inner bitch was concocting a plan and you were going with it.

You hear the door open and prepare yourself to put on the best acting of your life. You take a deep breath and in the sweetest voice you can muster say: “Steve is that you babe?”

“Yeah doll it’s me” you hear him say. A few second later he pops into the bedroom and gives you a peck on the lips as you continue with your makeup.

“How was your day?” Steve asks as he takes off his clothes, probably to take a shower. “I missed you today, i went by your office but you weren’t there” he says with a small frown between his eyes. You could stare at his blue eyes forever but snap out of it when you remember what he did. 

“Oh not much, i left work earlier to get ready for tonight” you answer. Shit your work. You really did leave like that, but after tonight hopefully they’ll understand. “You should start getting ready, the party starts in thirty minutes”.

He smiles at you and tells you he’s going to take a quick shower before getting dressed. He goes to the bathroom and you feel like breaking the mirror but instead take a few deep breaths and remind yourself he’s getting what he deserves later on. With that in mind you finish applying you makeup and smile at yourself, you look good. Moving on to your hair you decide to do some loose waves and that’s it, you really don’t know how to make those complicated updos.

Steve gets out of the shower and starts putting on his suit. Men really do have it easier you think to yourself when you see all the work you had to do and he just showers and that’s it.

You take your dress out of the closet and admire it. It really is beautiful. It has a deep plunging neckline that shows a lot of cleavage and is skin tight with a slit on one side. The fact that it is silver with sequins makes it even better. Pepper helped you pick this dress. 

You put on the dress and admire yourself in the mirror. You look good. Behind you, you hear a whistle and turn around to see Steve watching you lust in his eyes. He comes closer and grabs you by the waist, pulling you to him.

“You look stunning” he says as he wets his bottom lip. “I can’t wait to take it off of you when we get back”. Lying cheating bastard.

“Can't wait” you lie as you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him. This is just a kiss goodbye you tell yourself. One last kiss before he’s out of your life and probably runs to her. Tears threaten to fill your eyes but you hold them down. Not now.

You break the kiss when the need to breathe is too strong. Grabbing his hand you start walking towards the door and say: “Come on, we’re already late”.

——————————————————————————

The party had already started once you walk in and in true Tony fashion it is elegant and extravagant. Everyone is there: S. H. I. E. L. D. agents, the Avengers themselves, politicians and a few famous people. 

You and Steve walk to the bar and order drinks. A whiskey for him and a strawberry daiquiri for you, yes you are that basic but hey, it tastes awesome. He offers you his arm and with drinks in your hands you start looking for your friends. A lot of people stop you on the way, nobody wants to miss an opportunity to talk to Captain America.

One thing, or rather on person, catches your attention: Loki. He’s sitting on one of the cushions alone with a drink in his hand. It’s weird to see him there. Sure, he was redeeming himself for what he did in 2012 and Thor said he was doing better but he rarely left Asgard (he “hated mortals”) and when he did come to Earth it wasn’t for a party.

As if he could feel you staring he turns his head and locks his eyes with yours. You weren’t going to lie, he was gorgeous. He was incredibly tall, had those charming green eyes and was actually funny (but you’d never admit that to anyone). But you were in love with Steve and never saw him as anything more than Thor's hot brother. And everyone in the Avengers was hot so that’s not saying much.

You turn away from him and see Nat and Wanda on the dance floor and you tell Steve you’ll see him later and to go find his friends. He’ll need them after tonight you think to yourself. You greet the girls and start dancing with them, for a moment forgetting about what you saw today and putting Loki out of your mind.

The three of you decided to take a break and order some more drinks. Once at the bar Wanda orders for you and when your drinks arrive you go back to the dance floor. You spend the next few hours dancing, talking to your friends and pretending that nothing's wrong. Talking to Steve and pretending that nothing's wrong. Hugging Steve and pretending that nothing's wrong. Kissing Steve and pretending that nothing's wrong.

The fact that Sharon is at the party doesn’t help at all. When you see her talking or touching him you feel like you’re gonna lose it but you remain strong. You remind yourself of your plan and try to keep them out of your mind.

There’s a small stage at the far end of the room and you see your uncle Tony step on it and grab the microphone.

“Hello everyone and thank you for coming to another one of my amazing parties. I hope you are having a good time and taking advantage of the free bar over there” he points to the other side of the room and continues, “Now for what we have all been waiting for: karaoke! And yes, i want everyone to sing something because that’s the whole point of this. I'm looking at you Manchurian Candidate, you’re singing”.

With that he gets off the stage and passes the mic to Sam who decided to sing a Marvin Gaye song. He’s pretty good actually but you can’t fully concentrate on him because your mind is going a thousand miles an hour for what it’s going to happen later.

More people go up and sing their songs and you applaud when they’re done. Nobody is talking much, they're all too busy either laughing at the others performance, drinking or actually listening to the songs. You’re sitting with Steve to your right, Bruce to your left and the rest of the Avengers nearby. You’re your own little group.

It’s finally your turn and as you walk to the stage you can hear your friends whistling and cheering you on. Once you’re up on the stage you choose the song and start singing. 

Ask you once, ask you twice now

There's lipstick on your collar

You say she's just a friend now

Then why don't we call her?

So you wanna go home with someone

To do all the things you used to do to me

I swear, I know you do

Used to take me out in your fancy car

And make out in the rain

And when I ring you up

Don't know where you are

'Til I hear her say your name

Used to sing along when you played guitar

That's a distant memory

Hope she treats you better than you treated me, ha

As you continue singing you get more and more confident and take the mic. You walk off the little stage and over to your friends while dancing and you can see them smiling, clapping and having fun. They have no idea how much i mean all of this you think. You look at Steve and he’s completely oblivious. Good, you want to take him by surprise. You arrive at your little circle of friends and start singing the chorus.

I'm onto you, yeah you

I'm not your number one

I saw you with her

Kissing and having fun

If you're giving her all of your money and time

I'm not gonna sit here wasting mine on you, yeah, you

Ciao adios, I'm done

Ciao adios, I'm done

Ciao adios, I'm done

You keep dancing and go back to back with Wanda who’s also singing along. You then turn to Nat and she grabs your hand and makes you do a little spin. 

After three, after four times

Why did I bother?

Tell me how many more times

Does it take to get smarter?

Don't need to deny the hurt and the lies

And all of the things you did to me

I swear, I know you did

And now you take her out in your fancy car

And make out in the rain

And when she rings you up

She know where you are

But I know differently

Now she sings along when you play guitar

Making brand new memories

Hope you treat her better than you treated me

You go up to Tony and he starts dancing around you busting out some dad moves. You laugh and keep on singing and dancing.

I'm onto you, yeah you

I'm not your number one

I saw you with her

Kissing and having fun

If you're giving her all of your money and time

I'm not gonna sit here wasting mine on you, yeah, you

Ciao adios, I'm done (I'm done)

Ciao adios, I'm done (no, no, no, no)

Ciao adios, I'm done

If you're giving her all of your money and time

I'm not gonna sit here wasting mine on you, yeah, you

Ciao adios, I'm done

And now you take her out in your fancy car

And make out in the rain

And when she rings you up

She know where you are

But I know differently

Now she sings along when you play guitar

Making brand new memories

Hope you treat her better than you treated me

You walk back to the stage as you sing and step up. You put the mic back into place and sing the last part of the song.

I'm onto you, yeah you

I'm not your number one

I saw you with her (with her)

Kissing and having fun (and fun)

If you're giving her all of your money and time

I'm not gonna sit here wasting mine on you, yeah, you

Ciao adios, I'm done (I'm done)

Ciao adios, I'm done (you get on with your life, I'll get on with my life)

Ciao adios, I'm done

If you're giving her all of your money and time

I'm not gonna sit here wasting mine on you, yeah, you

Ciao adios, I'm done

When you’re done people are clapping and cheering and you look to your friends to see them all smiling. You look at everyone and make a little mock bow and when you straighten you see Loki sitting on the same couch as before. But this time he’s looking at you and he’s laughing, not smiling and cheering but actually laughing.

You look back at your friends and say “Thank you, thank you” with a smile on your face. You continue , “I wanted to dedicate this song to my boyfriend Steve” you point at him.

“In case it wasn’t clear enough, i wanted to tell you that i saw you with Sharon”. You could hear a pin drop. No one was talking and all eyes were on you. This is what you wanted, to humiliate him as much as he did you. And what better way to do it than publicly? Oh but you weren’t done.

You could see Steve's face going pale and nobody knew where to look, if at you or at him. Tony look ready to murder him as did Rhody, Pepper, Peter and Bruce. Thor, Clint and Vision looked shocked. But Bucky, Sam, Nat and Wanda looked guilty.

Your heart breaks a little more when you realize they knew. You can’t really blame Bucky and Sam for not telling you, they were Steve's friends after all. But you thought the girls were your friends, that they would have told you. Apparently you overestimated that friendship.

You keep on smiling and continue “So… I’m breaking up with you. Hope she was a good fuck and wasn’t uncomfortable with the fact that you were once in love with her aunt”. You do a dramatic pause and make a little disgusted face. “Anyway, if I’m lucky i´ll never see you again. Have a great life!”

And with that, you walk off the stage and make your way to your friends. Steve is rooted to the spot and his face is red with embarrassment. You walk up to him, look him straight in the eye and give him an evil smile. He gulps and opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something and then closes it. He does is two more times and still nothing comes out.

You turn to your group and look at Wand and Nat, who can’t seem to be able to look you in the eye. You sigh and say: “Who want enemies when they can have you as their best friends right?”. They look up then and start talking. Telling you how sorry they are and to please forgive them. You raise your hand to silence them and they do.

You go to your aunt and uncle who look like there should be smoke coming out of their ears and say: “I’m gonna stay in a hotel for the night, can’t stand to be here anymore”. Tony scrunches his eyebrows and look at you like you’re crazy.

“Hell no. You’re staying here. We can find him another room to sleep in but you’re not leaving. If anyone’s leaving is Mr. Star-spangled over there” he practically screams the last part as he points at Steve.  

You take a deep breath and hug him. It takes him by surprise but he puts his arms around you. “I appreciate it uncle Tony but i can’t stay at the compound, it just hurts too much” you say as you let go. Turning to your aunt you hug her as well and say: “Thank you for everything but I quit”.

The moment those words leave your mouth everyone starts talking at the same time telling you how crazy you are and to think about it. You just smile at them and tell them you already made up your mind. “I'm gonna go pack a bag and ask Happy to take me to a hotel nearby. Please make sure he doesn’t follow” you say as you point to a still red-faced Captain America. 

With that you turn around and leave. The room is silent for a few seconds before you hear your friends all screaming at Steve. You look around for a second and notice that Loki is staring at you with a smirk on his face. When you look him in the eye he raises his glass at you ant takes a sip. 

You give him a small smile and walk through the doors towards the elevator.  

[cdroloisms]

more of the mutually assured destruction duo, post-prison this time! this one was really fun, thinking about what this dynamic might be like in the future gives me SO much brainrot, im so excited. this one’s also a little dark, so make sure to read the warnings + tags !! :D 

tw: implied prison abuse, starvation, toxic relationship, touch starvation, manipulation, panic attack, trauma, blood, injury

Dream hasn't been the same since he escaped prison.

And it's ironic, because Wilbur hasn't even been around, has been in hell for fuck's sake playing Competitive Solitaire for nine-odd years, but even he could've seen the self-destruction hanging like a cloud around the other's head from a million miles (and several months? years?) away. Perhaps, he thinks wryly, you can only see the signs when you've lived them, or maybe red flags don't raise alarm when you’ve painted the entire figure in blood, but it doesn't really matter, in the end, because the final result is the same.

Still, it's just a little funny when he's stopped in the middle of his journey through the Nether, not a piece of armor on him per usual and an unused netherite sword slung over his hip.

"Hello, Sapnap." The kid is standing in front of him, eyes gleaming in badly-hidden anger and desperation, smoke rising from the mottled red-black skin on his hands. "Fancy seeing you around."

"You-" Sapnap sputters, unable to speak as his face flushes red in frustration, and Wilbur smiles at him condescendingly. The expression on the other's face is one he's seen before - one Tommy had been particularly inclined to give him in the past, when his emotions raged so heavily that there was nothing for the pressure to do but build, too thick and heavy to force themselves out of his throat. "You're monsters," Sapnap manages, finally, and Wilbur quirks an eyebrow.

At least we're self-aware, he thinks, the all-too-familiar twinge of irritation at Tommy's - and apparently, Sapnap's particular brand of reckless naivety pulsing at the base of his skull. He lets none of these thoughts show on his face as he cocks his head to the side, smiles wider - and Sapnap, just like Tommy, takes the bait.

'Why are you smiling?" He looks achingly young - they all do, really, their expressions and reactions dripping with a sort of innocence and sincerity that dissolved from Wilbur's own face somewhere around the fifteen-hundreth game of poker, and it really does feel ironic, how quickly the outside world can fall apart compared to the unending constancy of the void - but he digresses.

He didn't know Sapnap well before his whole death thing, and as much as he wants to use his partner to get information on the other members of the server, he doesn't really think Dream is really even lucid enough for that - the man clearly hasn't been thinking clearly, not for a long time. It doesn't matter, though, because you learn to read people when your life becomes nothing but running the same broken-edged memories over and over again in your mind and smiling jaggedly over the same few card games - Wilbur had always been a people watcher, and Sapnap's feelings are stamped on every corner of his face.

"Monster, huh," he says, saying the word slowly, rolling it over his tongue like he's tasting it for the first time, watching from the corner of his eye as Sapnap squirms, "Interesting word you've got here. You use it often?"

Sapnap bristles, smoke curling from his nostrils - "It's what you are, dickhead."

Rolling his eyes internally, Wilbur keeps up the act, humming as he fiddles idly with his cufflink. "I mean, if you really believe that," he rocks forward on his right foot, stifling a smile at the way the younger draws back, "But really, it's all a matter of perspective." He twists himself around, pivoting around his heel, beginning to walk in an arc around Sapnap's left side, watching as he spins around, shoulders drawn up to his ears. "What do you think?"

"I think that you're full of shit," he says, voice flat, and Wilbur laughs. It's genuine, really, because well - Sapnap's different. He's fun; the entire server is, after so long in the void. You can only spend so much time with the same two people before they drive you a little up the metaphorical wall, but Sapnap's reactions are fresh and new and different, still saturated with vitality that hasn’t been leached out by the same deck of cards in the same scarred hands shuffled and reshuffled for eternity. He's interesting, and new, and most of all, predictable.

"Say, Sapnap," he continues, blowing over the other's anger, knowing that it'll only make the frustration build more. He lets his hair flop lazily over one eye, lets his smile grow wider, lips pressed together in amusement, turns his face so that it's lit eerily by the lava lake beneath them. "If we're monsters for, I don't know, setting off a few stacks of TNT," he waves his hand flippantly, watching the muscle of the other's jaw jump in poorly-hidden rage, "What does that make you for what you did to Dream?"

Sapnap's eyes go wide, and Wilbur knows he's struck the jackpot. He lets his lips part to reveal bared teeth, jagged and glinting in the light. "I'm sorry, did that hit a nerve?"

The kid's mouth opens- closes- emotions warring on his face, fists curling and uncurling at his sides, lip trembling. "We- we had to-" his hands come to his face, palms digging into his eyes, and while he's not looking, Wilbur draws his expression back a bit, becoming softer, more welcoming. When Sapnap looks back up, his eyes are shining, hands shaking still; he steps forward, then rocks back on his back foot like he doesn't know where to go. "What do you mean?" he throws the words like they're meant to be a threat, but by the end his voice has devolved into something high-pitched and keening, overflowing with desperate grief that Wilbur latches onto like a starving man (ha) with his last meal.

"I'm sorry, it does seem rather insensitive for me to assume," he resumes pacing around the other, voice lilting, soft, "I just mean, it seemed pretty obvious, don't you think? I don't think I've ever seen someone so skinny, really, but I guess that is what happens when you get starved,"

"Shut up-"

"Not to mention the whole panicking thing, I mean, he's like Tommy sometimes with all of the fucking shaky breathing and mumbling around like creepers, not that I'd know what all of that's about," he watches Sapnap through half-hooded eyes, darkly amused, "and pickaxes, oddly enough, but oh well. Who am I to judge?"

"Shut up-"

"And all of the scars - I thought they were from you, honestly, he told me about the whole 'taking his last life' thing, but then he jumped into lava one day - I guess there wasn't much to do in that cell, huh? He didn't even scream, it's really pretty fucking incredible - I thought I'd actually have to break him down a bit, but really, you've made my life so much easier-"

"SHUT UP-"

Wilbur watches with a too-wide grin as Sapnap finally, finally charges, a netherite sword appearing in his hand as he races blindly ahead, tears shining on his cheeks, his words more pain than thought as he brings the blade down-

A blur of purple, the sound of crumbling netherrack and metal meeting metal, flesh hitting flesh - Wilbur moves smoothly out of the way as Sapnap crashes to the ground, an armored figure bearing down an axe against the shield he's raised between them.

Dream, hair tangled and long, wearing armor that is far too heavy for his skinny frame, every inch of him shaking in panic, should hardly be a threat - but this is Sapnap, weakened by Wilbur's sharp words and crippled by the shock of seeing his former best friend's face again, eyes still unfocused from the rage and tears that had clouded over them moments before, so he can do little but raise his shield as the netherite slams into it, again and again. Not a word falls from Dream's lips, but he brings down the weapon at a ruthless pace - ever since he's been free, his attack style has changed greatly from the defensive style he used to favor, even to Wilbur's untrained eye - there's no skill, no art to the way he attacks anymore, just the fearful ferocity of a dog trapped in a cage for far, far too long.

He finally kicks Sapnap down the netherrack cliff that they're on, the other man left to nurse his wounds below them - Wilbur doesn't bother sparing him another thought; Dream's far too weak to cause any permanent damage. Instead, he approaches his partner, weapon, with a smile, watching, satisfied, when he whirls around with a manic expression.

"I'm alright, see?" he croons as Dream's shoulders move up and down with his heaving breaths, eyes fever-bright, teeth bared. He brings a hand down on the other's shoulder and watches as he flinches at the movement, breath hitching, every muscle freezing, knuckles pale on the handle of his axe, before moving again, stumbling forwards, hands reaching for Wilbur's head and stopping halfway. Wilbur tips his head forward, lets the shorter brush his face with trembling fingers, checking his unmarred skin for blood through the purpling bruises already forming on his cheek, and thinks how powerful he is to have a god at his beck and call, a perfect attack dog brought to heel, death itself obediently at his side.

Dream hasn't been the same since he escaped prison, and as Wilbur runs his hand up and down his back, feeling the way his spine arches at the touch, at the fluttering pulse under the skin-and-bone wrist under his fingers, he thinks how fortunate he is to be the first to notice.