#once again it’s the incidental details…

[prettyboykatsuki]

lightning strike | h. iwaizumi

✮ tags ; afab + gn!reader, recently established relationship, mutual pining, pwp, dry humping + making out, nipple play, implied raw sex, super love-dovey, deliberate name change from iwaizumi to hajime 18+

✮ wc ; 4k (???????)

✮ a/n ; something deeply frightening happened to me in writing this but whatever. made it with ten minutes to spare happy bday mr iwaizumi

pls be nice if characterization is everywhere its been a while

He’s nervous.  

So nervous. 

You laugh at him over a can of beer, even harder when he visibly flinches at the sound. The room is too quiet since all of your company has left for the evening. Iwaizumi is tipsy but not drunk - though you think if he has another can he’ll get there just fine.  

“Your face is gonna get stuck if you keep frowning.”  

He shoots you a glare that makes your lips quirk up. “Shut up. You sound like my Ma.”  

“How is she by the way? Still good?”  

Iwaizumi snorts and takes a long sip of his beer. He tilts his head back against the couch, arm stretched along the seats. His muscles pull taut underneath the skintight material of his turtleneck. You find yourself sitting on your hands to calm down, but you’re too unfocused for it too work.  

“She’s good. She likes the countryside. Been growing squash and tomatoes and everything. Gonna try and stay with her a bit during off-season,” His voice is wistful and affectionate. An only son, filial and polite - you smile at him lovingly. “You should come visit with me.”  

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh? Guess it’s the same since we’ve already met but since we’re going steady I though you might be too nervous.”  

The realization settles in too late. Just when you thought he’d swallow the nerves down, they make an appearance once again. He sits up straight, clearing his throat, diverting his gaze to the coffee table separating you both. A blush spreads up, all through his body. His ears turn especially turn some shade of cherry red. Dusts all along his nose. He tsks at you, tongue clicking with a familiar petulance. You bite back a laugh.  

“Going steady? Seriously?”  

“Well,” Your face twists in mischief as you look up at him, your eyes locking briefly. “You’d get all hissy if I called us lovers.”  

His eyes go wide - in equal parts shock and mild disgust. You can’t hold the laugh back that time time no matter how hard you try. It bubbles up out of you, euphoric and hysterical. Your laughter is too loud to savor his displeasure, so caught up in it that it takes you a few minutes to calm down again,  

“I hate you,” Iwaizumi mumbles. A grin splits your face. 

“No, you don’t.”  

He frowns and his blush darkens just a touch  

The room goes quiet save for the sound of your heartbeat. You try and collect yourself. The house feels too quiet, all prior company absen. Not that Mattsun and Maki dragged out Oikawa to be considerate of your newfound love or anything. You’re sure you’ve already gotten a long text detailing your extortion related to the favor. Still, you’re glad to be alone with him.  

It’s easy to split your time between all of them separately when you’re all in the same place - but complicated to be all together. And alone time with Iwaizumi has always been hard to come by.  

You’ve been pining for him since highschool - the frequency you wish to see him tuned tuned by the passing years of your relationship and feelings. You’ve gone through the whole spectrum of desires. From wanting to see him everyday constantly, to hoping you’d never have to see him again. It took you well over a decade to make any progress, and the entire process (while surely heartfelt) has been unmistakably clumsy and so, so long.  

Spending alone time with Iwaizumi has thus always been complicated except for this one time. You got together, officially, just last week. The day he came home, where you incidentally found yourselves alone together. Something that’d been rare years prior due to said pining and trying to get over him. You don’t even really know how it happened. It felt like the most significant moment in your life thus far and incomparably anticlimatic at once. He was just sending you home since you’d got completely shitfaced, and before you left you grabbed him by the collar and announced it. Just like that.  

(You threw up half-way through the car ride back. Your Uber was nice enough to pull over so you didn’t do it in his car.) 

You went home after and didn’t speak for days. It took a few more days for either of you to work up the courage to sort things out forreal, but you made it work with the help of even more alcohol.  

Things get busy though, when Oikawa returns home and Hajime is off-season. It’s rare things line up, and when they do - it’s only natural you spend all your time together. You did today too, celebrating Iwaizumi’s birthday among the four of you with take-out and Godzilla movies on your nice flatscreen.  

But you haven’t been alone with each other since your chat establishing your relationship as not a pipe-dream, which was notably through text.  

He’s nervous, so incredibly nervous but so are you. Just a little.  

You look up after being lost in thought - to see Iwaizumi stare at you. The air shifts slow and steady, thick tension stirring in your gut. You bite the inside of your cheek, rubbing your feet together as you fold over yourself, chin resting on your knee. 

You wonder if you should be the one to break the distance. Iwaizumi beats you to the punch this time. You suppose you’re even.  

“Come ‘ere.”  

He pushes the coffee table farther away from him with ease, careful not to knock anything over. Your tipsy self swoons over his competence, but you’re sure you’d do the same sober.  

The look he gives you as you crawl over to him makes you feel bashful. You go over until you’re sitting side by side - stretching your legs out. Your thighs barely touches. Iwaizumi jolts, swiping a hand over his face in exasperation.  

“Sorry,”  

You shake your head. “It’s okay.” Because it is, then just to make sure. “Are we okay?”  

“More than okay,” He admits, a breath of relief following the words. “It was a good birthday, by the way. Thank you.”  

“They’ll get upset that you only thanked me,”  

He bristles immediately making you giggle. “I’ll thank those knuckleheads later.” 

You smile at him, wide and bright. He looks at you before quickly looking away, laughing a little humorlessly to himself. You wonder what he’s thinking about but decide against asking, comfortable letting him go at whatever speed.  

“Can I uh—“ He clears his throat. “Wanna kiss you. Just uhh… shit.”  

You’d love to tease him, but you feel like your heart might explode out of your body so there’s not really much room. Nodding, you sit up on your knees and turn a little to face him. His features soften with remarkable fondness. You flush at the sudden attention. He sits up straighter, turning his head to face you. His forehead knocks against yours softly, noses brushes. His eyes are so sharp. You have to close your own when you feel him leaning in to kiss you.  

Iwaizumi is warm. His lips are softer than you thought they’d be. His hands feel big as one snakes up to cup your neck. He gives you one deep kiss, followed by two pecks before pulling away to make you chase him. He rewards you by kissing you agai. The sudden pressure makes your head spin.  

You pull away dazed. “You’re… super good at kissing.”  

“Yeah?”  

You press your thighs together at his reply. So sexy it’s unfair. “Uh-huh.”  

He gives you a weighted hum. 

His reaction spurs you on then. You pull away from him momentarily. Iwaizumi stares at you in reply, worry making his brow furrow. Before he can get the words out, you seat yourself on his lap. He’s taken aback as he realizes your intent, your arms around his neck. It’s not even really the alcohol, as much as it’s everything else. Cramped in your living room together, pressed up against your couch. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, and shiver in his arms smelling his cologne. Spicy with a hint of pine. He hesitates, hands settling so carefully on your hips.  

He lets you stay like that undisturbed until you’re ready to pull away. Like he senses you needed that. He’s always been so good at knowing what exactly you need. Suddenly restless you decide you need to look at him again - make sure he’s real. That this is real.  

“Hey,” He mutters. His pitch is low, sends your heart hammering.  

You giggle, fluttering nervously. “Hi,” And then, “You like me,”  

“Pfft,” His voice is so tender, so soft, so comforting. “More than that.”  

Suddenly overwhelmed by your own giddiness, you squeak. You want to bury yourself in his shoulder again, but he’s quick to hold your wrist and stop you. He pins you under his gaze. It’s so intense you can’t help but feel like a deer caught in headlights. Your head is empty and all he’s doing is looking at you.  

But maybe that’s the whole problem. He’s looking at you, and you’ve wanted that for more than a decade. Now having it is too much, too suddenly - and you’re almost afraid of having it. It’s just a gaze, but it’s yours. He’s telling he’s yours in a way that’s just like him.  

“You…” He starts on something before letting you go. “For a long time,”  

He doesn’t need to explain. You already know.  

“Me too,” 

He calms down when you get it..  

“Really?” He follows up. He doesn’t look at you as he goes on. “How long?”  

You think on it.  

“Since we were fifteen?”  

“Same as me, then.” He’s clumsy with the follow-up. “That’s…”  

“Dumb? Ridiculous? Too long?” You say, filling in the words for him. “I know.”  

The extent of your own longing comes to you in waves. Love, like the sea trapped behind ice - so easily shattered. You’re drowning, your lungs aching trying to get adjusted to what is finally yours. The shock of it comes and goes, but you’re surrounded by it all the same. Iwaizumi stares at you and you stare back and nothing in the world exists except this desire you’ve kept to yourself for years.  

His name comes out like a whimper on your lips. “Iwaizumi,”  

“Hajime,” He corrects, so tender. So sweet to you. “Please,”  

“Hajime,” You test the name out on your tongue. It’s sweet.  

He doesn’t say anything after that.  

Your breath hitches as Hajime crowds into your space again. His hands are firm on your hips as he kisses you again. It’s different from before, lingers longer - his tongue pressing along the seam of your lips until you open them and allow him in deeper.The taste of alcohol is clearer on your tongue, bitter remnants of malt making you drool at the corners of your mouth. You kiss hungrily, your hands carding through the short, black hair with a longing sigh. Hajime groans a little when you tug at the root and the only thing you can think to do is try to sink into him further. .  

The hear raises without warning. Your skin under your clothes feels like it’s on fire. It feels different too suddenly for you to adjust and keep completely calm. Lust that borders cosmic engraves into your bones. Crumbling under the weight of it, you kiss Hajime like your life would end without it. In the moment, it feels like it would. Exchanged breaths are the only source of air for that space and time. You feel frantic, hazy - and Hajime who you know to be so steady, proves to be in the same place as you. 

His hands are so big. You can feel how tight he grabs you, his thumb pressing into your hipbones - itching to go lower. You don’t want to pull away but you want more. In the second you take a breath you tell him as much. Your own delirium might bring you shame if you were in any place to really feel it. “You can touch me. However you want.”  

“Fuck. Don’t say that.”  

“Hajime, please.”  

You mutter something but you don’t catch what it really. Your head is swimming with unrepentant ardor and your tongue feels too heavy for your mouth. Hajime kisses you again and takes the lead. The pleasure echoes in how you sigh, your hips rutting against his lap as his hands squeeze your ass. His hands are so fucking big - strong and kind and hold you with no uncertainty. The groping goes straight to your cunt, stomach starting to twist with familiar arousal. You push your hips against him again.  

You’re hardly thinking about it. Hardly thinking at all - no coherency or sense thrumming through your brain except his name. Hajime, Hajime, Hajime. An incantation of destiny. A love song.  

You feel his fingers inch up to go underneath your shirt - all of a sudden feeling burdened by all the layers between you. You can’t calm down. 

He pulls away from you first in that instance. Before you can ask, he nudges himself close to your neck, kissing along your jaw. You feel the fabric of your shirt tug. “Can I take this off?”  

You nod rapidly, then mimic him wanting him to do the same. His laugh is raspy in the follow through - your shirt and bra discarded somewhere on the floor. He stops suddenly, flicking his gaze up to you like he’s asking permission again. You just nod, not knowing how else to convey your desires.  

Your nipples pebble in response to the arousal and cool air. Hajime’s tongue flicks from his lips.  

His gaze makes you feel ticklish. He runs his palms over your tits with an appreciative noise. His eyes linger long enough to make your skin go hot all over, your spine prickling with heat.  

“Staring,”  

He looks up at your face, amused by your pout then kisses you as he feels you up, calloused palms brushing against your nipples, tits fitting perfectly in his hands. He smiles a little against your mouth. “Guess I am.”  

“Take yours off,” You plea. 

He obliges you, peeling the tight shirt away from his body and leaving his bare torso in full view. The proximity makes your lungs tighten like they can’t get enough air - heat radiating from his skin. His physique is toned, layers of muscle soft and comfortable He’s structured and gorgeous like a statue. You’re greeted by his broad chest and the corded muscles of his biceps. All sinew and strength, down his core. Strong and stable and big everywhere you could possibly look. You feel awestruck, mouth-watering at the sight - clit throbbing. Objectively attractive, you’re sure anyone in your place would feel the same. But this is your Hajime and the body he’s worked so hard on, full grown and yours. The trail of hairs down his stomach, getting coarse. The v-line of his waist makes you clench. 

 Too much.  

 The words tumble out of you before you can stop them, like water spilling from a broken dam. “I want you to fuck me so bad,”  

His brows raise. You can feel something twitch hard against your clothed pussy. At full mast underneath the confines of his pants. \Your eyes go wet when you realize what it is. Mind sticky, you draw your lips into a pout and silent protest. Despite your desperation, you almost want to say it again, pleasure thrumming through your body at his reaction. It feels like electricity sparking up from the base of your spine all the way to the top of your head. 

 Hajime presses his face to your neck all over again - hot, open mouth kisses trailing from jaw to chest. You gasp when his mouth closes around your tits, tongue laving over the tender skin and making your back arch.  

“Wanna fuck you so bad,” He mirrors. His voice is scratchy and his grip is tight. “Been wanting to fuck you so bad for so long, you have no idea.”  

There’s something true and well pathetic about the yearning that wells up inside of your gut and settles itself in your sternum. It spreads and grows and tangles in your ribs, curls around the vessels of your heartbeat. The kind of yearning that makes your whole being tremble, makes you want to preen and sing like a canary. It’d be good if time stood still so he could fuck you infintely - never being able to go where you can’t reach.  

You rock against him and Hajime holds you steady like always. His voice drops down to murmur - speaking with alarming clarity. You’re teary from the sound of his voice.  

“Let’s cum together,” He offers as reprieve, so sweet despite the harsh grip on your hips as he draws your weight down closer to him. You’re suddenly conscious of your choice in clothes - how thin the fabric of your shorts really as as the rough outline of his cock presses against the seam. You’re glad you didn’t wear underwear “And then I’ll make you cum again. I’ll take care of you,”  

“You always take care of me,” You say with no awareness of your surroundings. He laughs breathlessly. ‘ 

“Yeah..since it’s you, it’s easy.”  

You go wide-eyed but don’t get a minute to dissect. Not bothering to unbutton his jeans, you gape at the hard outline of his cock confined in black boxers. his  He picks you up with ease, your legs wrapping around his waist as your spine touches the carpet of your living room floor. You make a surprised noise as you’re let down gently. He doesn’t unfurl you from him. You spark back to life as his lips meet yours again chastely. The complaint you had dies on your lips when he trails down your jaw again. His voice is next to your ear, sinfully rough - warm breath tickling your skin. His teeth tug on your ear lobe and you shiver.  

“Tell me if it’s too much,”  

You don’t get a chance to ask about it.  

The sudden motion of his hard cock rutting and humping against your sticky, wet cunt punches the air of out of your lungs.  

There’s only a single layer of wet fabric keeping him from fucking you.  The very idea makes your pussy throb unhelpfully. You understand all of a sudden that this was what he meant about wanting to make you cum. But it’s Hajime, your Hajime - so making you do any work wouldn’t cut it. Humping you in missionary of all things like he’s already inside you.  

The thought overwhelms and you gasp.  

You don’t recognize the sound of your own voice, so high and pitchy with need. Pure pornography. But there’s no camera for you perform for, nothing but Hajime above with with a heavy gaze. Your spine arches at the sensation once it hits its stride, the angle of friction just right. The indirect touches makes your core throb. Your clit has been achingly sensitive for so long, and the release of tension in a single thrust is enough to make you shudder each time. It feels like you’ve been holding the feeling in your entire life. You wheeze his name out brokenly as he does it again - a sharp thrust, precise enough to be perfect like he already knows you that well.  

Your lower body feels week as the arousal starts to climb to a steady chorus. You pant for him like a bitch in heat.  

He’s not inside you but the smack of his hips against yours makes you feel like you’re getting fucked anyways. You imagine how it’ll feel when he really fucks you and can’t see straight after the fact. Each little movement spreads precum along your shorts, already wet with your own arousal. The friction of the damp fabric makes you cry out from pleasure,  animalistic with need. Your nails dig into his biceps as he kisses you all over, wherever he can possible reach. Along your neck, shoulders, collarbones chest. Any place he has accsess.  

You want him so fucking deep it’s frustrating, want him up to your throat - but the lack of direct touch makes you want him more desperately. And it makes it feel so, so good. The kind of pleasure that’s dull and throbbing but makes something in your spine go alight, like shoving your thumb into a bruise. You want Hajime to press himself into you hard enough to make the healed dull yellows vibrant purple and red all over again.  

You gasp helplessly each time he rocks his hips into you. He’s whispering such filth against your ear, into your mouth each time you kiss and you can’t reply with anything but his name. He praises you each time anyway, goads you into saying it again. Again and again and again until you can’t find your own voice.  

“Say it again,” Hoarse, punctuated by another thrust that nearly drives you over the edge and makes your eyes go wide. “Say my name again, baby”  

“Hajime.” So you say it- can’t think of any substitute since you’re not sure god would suffice. Locked between you in the warm sticky air is just Hajime, all yours.  

Every muscle in your body starts to lock up as you hit the final stride to your orgasm. You want to cum so badly for him and only him. All over his cock in any way he’ll light you. The thought pushes you over the edge. Over and over and over until you hang over the precipice of your own orgasm. When it hits, it hits like a crash of thunder on open plain. Like suddenly everything in you that’s every been grounded in Earth is scattered with sparks, skating and careening across your body. You feel him in the fiber of your being. Your toes curl at the sudden release, not able to voice a warning that isn’t just a soft gargle in the back of your throat. He doesn’t stop or stutter in his motion, instead gripping your hips tight as he can while lets you run through your high - nothing but praise and affection.  

You can feel him more than you can see him cum along with you. Sticky, hot seed flowing in spurts as his dick twitches for you - his ragged breathing covering your skin in goosebumps. You moan at the warm sensation drenching your poor, covered pussy and find the load to be wasted though you feel contented anyway. 

 You’re barely sane enough to catch your breath, but he eventually lets you down - though you can’t keep from hugging him. You pull back to look at each other.  

You brush the sweat matted hair away from his forehead with a lovesick sigh and giggle. He looks down at you with a grin, pressing his forehead to yours with.  

“Can’t believe I came in my pants like a teenager,” He says through a laugh.  

“It’s like making up for lost time,” You say warmly, all floaty. “Plus, the way you were fucking me but not fucking me…definitely a man. It was really hot, you know?”  

He groans. “I’ll get riled up again.”  

You smile at him. “Let’s fuck lots for your birthday, Hajime.”  

“Is that the present you mentioned earlier?”  

You pretend to think on it. “Mm..no. Not just the sex, anyway.” 

He looks at you confused as you lean in closer to him. “It’s safe so there’s no condoms anywhere in this apartment, unless you wanna go stop to get some.”  

He gives you a blown out look of lust with a soft breath, voice bordering a growl. “As if I’d make it through the door now.”  

You laugh helplessly happy and kiss him. “Happy birthday.” And then a little quieter. “I love you.”  

He softens visibly but doesn’t say anything else. You don’t need to hear him to know.  

You think the spare copy of your keys might make him cry. So you decide you’ll give it to him later. 

 The clock hasn’t hit midnight yet, anyhow. You have plenty of time.  

Now and always.  

[gravehags]

at the altar of venus

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x f!Reader (Curator!Reader)

Rating: EXPLICIT, MDNI

Tags: body worship babyyyy, self-consciousness, body issues, handjobs, fingering, crying, possessiveness, two fools in love and lust, two fools being gross and making each other laugh

Words: 4,251

Summary: When you watch your beloved turn and turn in front of that mirror, you know something is off. Lucky for him, you have much to say on the matter.

a/n: I JUST THINK HANDSOME OLD MAN APPRECIATION TIME with yknow. a side of total filth and desperate desire.

~~~

What a day.

You wiggle your nude body in Copia’s soft sheets, nuzzle into your pillow and look across the room. Your lover is standing before the full-length mirror next to the dresser - also nude - turning his body to consider himself at different angles in the low lamplight. You watch him for a moment, watch the way his fingers card through his graying hair, loose from the grip of the day’s pomade. He runs his hand down his chest thoughtfully and comes to rest at the slight paunch of his belly. He cups the skin and his lips tug downwards into a frown.

“Amore?” he asks quietly, “do you think I’m eh, nice looking? Handsome?”

Any other time you’d laugh out loud at such an absurd question but you can tell from his slumped posture that he’s feeling downtrodden and that simply won’t do.

“The most handsome man I’ve ever seen. And that is not hyperbole. You’re the only man to ever turn my head.”

He sighs heavily through his nose and looks back at his reflection.

“You don’t think I’m…too old for you?”

Now it’s your turn to frown.

“My love…come here.”

He turns to look at you again and you crook your finger and throw back the covers. Fidgeting awkwardly he ambles over and slides into bed and you waste no time in pressing soft kisses to his jaw.

“Shall I tell you how handsome I find you? In great detail - from tip to toe?”

He scoffs and moves to pull the covers up over his chest but you gently rest your hand on his to stop him.

“You eh…you would do that?”

Now you do laugh.

“With pleasure,” you murmur, “let me just–” you pull yourself up and swing your leg over to straddle him, “--there we go. Let’s start here.” You rake your fingernails through his soft, wavy hair and smile when he shivers.

“I love your beautiful, full head of gorgeous thick hair and I love the bits of silver threaded through it most of all. I’ve told you before I’ve always had an, ah, thing for older men and well…what sort of older gentleman aficionado would I be if I didn’t love graying hair? I love the way the light catches on the silver and how it feels between my fingers when you’re uh…busy between my legs.”

He laughs softly through his nose, which is incidentally where your journey takes you next.

“And speaking of when you’re between my legs,” you say, waggling your brows as you drag your fingertip down the slope of his nose, “when this beautiful, stately, elegant thing nudges at my clit…oh. Copia I’ve always loved your nose since day one but what this thing is capable of…”

Your eyes unfocus for a moment as you lean in to kiss it absentmindedly.

“You’re getting distracted, amore mio,” Copia murmurs, eyes glittering. Eyes. Those pretty, mismatched eyes and those long brown lashes…

“As always, you are too kind to me,” he chortles, reaching a hand up to stroke your hair. Sathanas, you didn’t even realize you had said that out loud. “I used to hate my eyes when I was a kid, you know? Always a reminder of the bloodline I was a part of but never really a part of…not according to Nihil anyway. Where others thought the white eye was ‘commanding’ on Secondo or ‘alluring’ on Terzo, it was always eh, ‘unsettling’ on me.”

“Hmm,” you say thoughtfully, “I certainly don’t think you need them but did you ever consider contact lenses?”

“Oh, sì, sì,” he nods, “tried them once too in my twenties but eh…something was just…off. Personally I thought I looked creepier with two green eyes.”

You lean back a little and raise a hand to cover his white eye, and then the green while tilting your head.

“Shoulda got a white contact for the green eye instead so you could go around looking like some sexy demonic husky.”

Copia bursts out in laughter, his chest shaking beneath your palms.

“I thought this was supposed to make me feel better?”

“It is! I made you laugh, didn’t I?” you say with a grin, leaning down to place a slow, soft kiss on his lips that has his hands settling on your hips.

“Love these too,” you breathe when you finally separate, “love how soft and plump they are and I especially love the little freckle right here–” you place the pad of your thumb on his full lower lip, “--God you have no idea how it drove me mad day in and day out whenever we’d work together. Driving me to distraction. All I’d ever want to do when you got close to me is…” You lean forward once more and catch his lip gently between your teeth, sucking on it until you feel his cock twitch against you.

“Mmm,” you pull off him with a wet noise that has him panting into the dimly lit room, “is someone starting to buy into the truth that he’s the most handsome man in the abbey? Perhaps even the world?”

“Don’t push your luck, dolcezza, I’m just eh, excited to have a beautiful, soft, young thing on top of me. One who is very good with her mouth, I might add.”

“Oh, that’s too bad you still don’t believe me when I say you’re beautiful. Try harder and maybe I’ll give you a little treat, hmm?”

He chuckles and tilts his head back.

“I’ll do my best. Done with the face, then?”

“And skip your glorious little mustache and impeccably crafted sideburns? Cardinal, you know I’m a woman who pays attention to the details. To say nothing of the freckles that are scattered over your face and down–” you trail a finger down his throat and tap on his clavicle, “--over your chest and shoulders? I’d kiss every single one if I thought I’d live to accomplish that.” You amuse yourself for a moment by playing connect the dots with the marks until your fingertip slides over and traces the lines of his tattoo.

“You never did tell me the story with this.”

He smiles, thumbs brushing soft circles on your thighs.

“Terzo did it. I had just entered the priesthood and he came to my quarters and got me drunk and convinced–”

“Wait, when you say ‘Terzo did it’ you mean Terzo gave you the tattoo?”

“Sì,” he nods, “He knew how much I loved the Omen movies and always complained that I never did anything wild so…”

You lean forward and inspect the ink.

“That looks…a lot better than anything I would have expected from Terzo.”

Copia snickers.

“His lines were surprisingly steady, but his hand not nearly strong enough. I had a professional touch it up later but that stays between us, sì?”

You give him a salute and lean back, raking your fingernails down his chest.

“Back to the topic at hand,” you murmur, “unholy fuck I love your body hair. It’s so thick and soft and I love the way it scratches just right at my nipples when you’re fucking me into the mattress.”

He sucks in a breath so fast he nearly chokes.

“You’re really not holding back, are you cara mia?”

“Nope,” you confirm, watching the way the tip of his tongue slides out to wet his lips as he eyes your breasts. Briefly, your hands abandon his torso to come up and cup them, thumbing across your hardened nipples. You pull away and grab his hands, placing them where yours once were. Greedily, he palms the flesh as your hips make little circles.

“These,” you breathe, your hands covering his, “these gorgeous, big, strong hands with these thick fingers…I can’t even count how many times I brought myself off to the thought of them.”

“O-oh?” he pants, removing one hand and bringing it up to cup your face, “with the gloves a-and everything?”

You lean into his touch.

“Especially with the gloves. Copia, the way I’d fantasize about being able to feel every stitch and groove of those things when I’d picture them inside of me…” You turn your head to place a kiss to the scar tissue at the center of his palm and his thumb strokes your cheekbone. “Mmm, you got me distracted again. Where was I?”

You look down and remember, scooting backwards down his body to settle in between his thighs. He whines now that you’re only touchable if he sits up, too tired to make an effort. Not, however, too tired for other things, you think as you look down at his hardened cock resting heavy against his belly, smearing pre on the hairs there.

“We’ll address this,” you say, gesturing to his erection, “in a bit. But for now…this.”

Your word is punctuated by the way you run your hands over his slight paunch, grinning as you knead the flesh. Copia’s shoulders twitch as if he’d like nothing more than to fold in on himself, eyes trained up somewhere over your shoulder.

“Your soft tummy is so sweet and perfect and–” you make a noise like a big cat growling, “--I just want to eat it up.”

“Clearly from its appearance I’ve eh, done enough eating for the both of us.”

You frown deeply.

“Copia,” you say, your tone deadly serious, “since when do you have problems with a belly? I hope you don’t have problems with my belly and mine is a lot bigger than yours—“

“Amore, never!” he gasps, horrified, “You…you are perfection. You are soft and plush and-and a goddess. This–” he says, gesturing lamely to his paunch, “--is the result of old age. Old age and too much spaghetti.”

“Yeah, and that’s exactly why it’s hot,” you say, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “My love, this little belly shows that not only have you enjoyed life, reveled in it the way Sathanas intended, but that you’ve survived. Endured. I love this belly the way I love every single line on your face. You wouldn’t be my Copia without them. I didn’t fall in love with some guy in his twenties with a waxed six-pack. Quite frankly…ew. Respectfully, beloved, I fell for the kind, smart, handsome, distinguished gentleman in his almost-fifties. Who is sort of goofy and really good with his tongue. I mean…really good.”

He laughs softly through his nose, regarding you with watery eyes. His lips form the words to thank you but no voice comes out. That’s alright, though. You’re not telling him these truths for your benefit.

“Shall I continue?” you ask gently, smiling when he nods.

Your hands slide down to his thighs, where you massage the flesh.

“You know I hadn’t even seen these - like, really seen them - until our first official date? When you wore those tight, tight pants? Lord have mercy these things are thick. I’d be content to gnaw on them like a dog with a bone if you’d let me.”

“Who says I wouldn’t?” he murmurs, cocking an eyebrow at you.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” you say with a wink, “I’d compliment your juicy ass too if I could get to it so just remind me to give it a healthy smack next time you’re standing, huh? The first time I saw you in profile in your cassock I almost passed out. Goddamn.”

He laughs and tilts his head at you.

“Ti adoro follemente,” he says, “thank you for making this old man love himself, even if it’s just a tiny bit.”

“I’ll take a tiny bit for now, we’ll work on the positive reinforcement.”

“Oh? And what kind of positive reinforcement did you have in mind?”

You ghost your fingers along his half hard cock, wrapping them around the shaft and leaning forward to spit thickly, your saliva landing on the head. The act has Copia moaning and shifting his hips up into your touch as you stroke him back to full hardness.

“Ah, dolcezza,” he sighs, half-lidded eyes watching your hand slide along the shaft, “if only you had known what I fantasized about with your hands.”

“Well go on, bello mio,” you purr, swiping your thumb along the slit to gather the pre leaking from the head. “Tell me.”

He grunts and ruts up into your touch.

“W-we’d be in your office…working on some…some administrative thing. And I’d watch the way those clever little fingers would fly across your keyboard–ah, fuck–and I’d imagine you leaving your desk a-and settling on your knees between my legs. Lifting my cassock up and palming me through m-my trousers. S-sometimes you’d use your mouth too but…always your hands. Always those s-soft fingers wrapped around me j-just like this. I–oh, cazzo–”

His voice cuts off with a moan as you spit on him once again, the wet slide of your pumping hand and his harsh breathing the only sound in the room. With your other hand you reach down to cup his balls, gently caressing them as you continue to stroke the length of him.

“I-I’m not going to last, amore,” he rasps out, thrusting into your grip, “just like that bellezza mia.”

“You’re beautiful,” you murmur, “you’re beautiful, you’re beautiful, you’re beautiful, and I love you just as you are.”

You know the last handful of words will send him over the edge and send him they do, until he’s coming in spurts over your knuckles and gasping your name. You continue to stroke him until he has nothing left to give and when he’s spent, you raise your hand to your face and fastidiously lick every drop of his spend from your fingers as he watches with his mouth hung open. When your tongue passes over your middle finger for the final time he grabs at you, eagerly hauling you up his body and slotting his lips over your mouth in a slow, decadent kiss. When you finally pull away, it’s with a smile and you nudge his nose with yours. Gently, you roll off of him and nuzzle into his side, lazily kissing his shoulder. When he rolls onto his side to face you, you move to do the same but he presses you back down into the mattress.

“Copia, your stamina is impressive but you literally just came I don’t expect–”

He chuckles, gently dragging the bedsheets down to expose your body.

“Your turn, dolcezza.”

“My turn–oh.”

The realization hits you as the fingers of his right hand tease at the underside of your breasts and against your belly, dipping further down to cup at the wet heat of you, driving a gasp from your lips. He leans towards you to inhale deep along your neck, lips ghosting over your hair.

“I wouldn’t even know where to start in praising you, bellezza mia. Sweet - in both disposition and taste, tender in body and heart, beautiful in all ways. Tongue and mind as sharp as a tack and ridiculously amusing. Perfetto–” two of his fingers dip down into your labia majora and you see him smile out of the corner of your eye at how slick you are for him. “My perfect girl. Kind. Perhaps too kind and indulgent to this old man but…” his fingertips circle your clit and your hips spasm, “he will show you just how thankful he is nonetheless, sì?”

You whimper as his fingers tease at your entrance before sliding inside you knuckle deep, palm pressed flush against your clit. An echo of how you would touch yourself to the thought of him not that long ago.

“I’m not wearing my gloves but eh, I hope this will suffice for now?”

Your laugh comes out breathy as he begins to fuck into you at a decadent, leisurely pace, pressing open mouthed kisses to your shoulder.

“I never dreamed at my age I’d find someone like you,” he confesses, “Like you were–like we were made for each other. Every morning and every night I thank Sathanas for bringing you to me, thank you for allowing me to worship you. Anima mia, I adore you so much I wish to devour you. To join our bodies and minds and souls together for eternity and further. I told you before that I love you so much I fear driving you off but…I think we are equally matched in our passions, sì?”

You let out a delighted sigh, spreading your legs further to better accommodate him. It’s nice like this - lazy, unhurried - and he smiles as you clench around him.

“Perfectly matched,” you breathe, meeting the languid thrust of his fingers with the tight circling of your hips, “Copia I am yours in every way - yours to use and fuck and–ah–consume as you please. All yours. Always yours–oh fuck.”

The fervor of your words makes his breathing and his fingers quicken, pumping in and out of you with greater force.

“I would have you all night if you let me,” he growls, his breath hot in your ear, “Say you’ll let me, per favore. Please give me this gift. On my fingers, tongue, cock, it doesn’t matter I need you amore, need to watch you come undone and help mend you back together. Please, I–”

He’s crooked his fingers inside you, pressing against that sweet little spot that makes you whine and cant your hips eagerly. You can feel the tears prick the corners of your eyes and you’re breathless as you nod.

“Copia, please, please, please, need you, need all of you–oh, fuck baby that’s it, don’t stop, don’t–ah!”

Your moan is pitchy and borderline desperate as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm. 

“Mine,” he growls, “Solo mio come sono tuo. La mia bellissima ragazza perfetta. Il mio cuore e la mia anima. Il mio riflesso. La mia luce e il mio buio. Per sempre. Mia scellerata benedizione, non ti merito. I love you more than anything. Anything.”

Panting, you blindly reach down to still his hand between your legs and he sobs into your shoulder. Gently, you extricate his fingers from you and bring his hand up to your face, tongue darting out to taste yourself. Tears slide down his cheeks as he watches, entranced, as you suck each finger into your mouth before dragging the muscle up the center of his palm. His eyes are wet and bright, pupils blown as you lean up and place a soft kiss to his lips. When you pull apart, you thumb away the tears remaining on his cheeks and smile softly at him.

“I-I’m sorry,” he stutters, sniffling, “I don’t know what got into me, amore, I–”

“This was a lot,” you murmur, reaching up to push the loose strands of hair off his forehead, “but I hope you know how loved you are by me - everything about you, all of it - and that there is no one more beautiful on this planet to me than the man I see before me right now. And I’ll remind you of this again and again and again until the end of days and even further. You are so special to me, Copia. I hope that even for a little bit tonight you got to see yourself through my eyes.”

When he leans forward to place a kiss to your forehead, he’s trembling.

“C’mere,” you say, drawing him into your arms as he drapes his body over you, arm around your waist. The weight of him is solid and comforting as you press kisses to his hair, enveloping yourself in the orange blossom scent of what little remains of his pomade. 

“I promised to ravish you all night,” Copia murmurs, his voice comically muffled by his lips squished against your breast. You snort inelegantly.

“We’ve got many nights ahead of us for that, my love,” you say with a smile, hand stroking along his freckled shoulders, “I’m not going anywhere and neither are you. But more importantly - are you alright?”

He pulls away slightly to rest his chin on you.

“I don’t think I have been for a long time,” he says quietly, “Not really, anyway. But ever since you arrived…columba mia, it’s like I have a purpose again.”

Now it’s your turn for your eyes to get watery.

“I know exactly what you mean. Exactly. I…I really need to thank Sister Imperator someday for bringing me here, in the end. I mean yeah she had nefarious intentions but…in a roundabout way she kinda helped save my life.”

“Amore, I don’t mean to sound like some kind of eh, Christian but…Sathanas has a plan for us. And it doesn’t involve any of that child bearing bullshit that was being spewed at you…no. He brought us together for a reason and for that I am thankful every day. Thankful every day you did not run screaming from Imperator’s office the day of your interview. Thankful you saw this…peculiar, awkward, old Cardinal…and saw not only a friend but a-a soulmate. I thank Sathanas but like I said earlier - I thank you more. I would forsake my Unholy Father in a heartbeat for you, amore. You are my true religion now. Know that.”

The noise that comes out of you is wet and embarrassing as you cup Copia’s cheek and rest your forehead against his. After a moment of shared breath, you pull away.

“My love, I’m so sorry to ruin the moment but I desperately need to blow my nose.”

He laughs - one of his weird little “ehehe” numbers - and the sound makes your heart swell in your chest.

“Anything for the woman I love,” he announces grandly, leaning over you to grab the box of tissues on the nightstand and present them to you. You pluck one out and hold it to your face while Copia watches fondly from a very close distance.

“Uh, hon?”

“Mmhmm?”

“You might want to back up a little? I don’t trust the integrity of these things and you do not want to be in the splash zone.”

Copia rolls off you making the most revolted noise as you laugh and struggle to breathe through your congested nose. Sitting up, you blow into the tissue while he watches looking supremely disgusted.

“‘Splash zone’,” he grumbles, shaking his head, “Amore, you are not well.”

“Yeah, I think that’s been established in our year of knowing one another. And, I’m sorry I didn’t realize I was speaking to the pinnacle of mental health over here.”

He pinches the meat of your thigh mid-blow and it makes you choke. In retaliation, you throw one of your crumpled, used tissues at him and it bounces off his chest.

“Augh, it’s wet!”

“Duh, that’s my snot,” you chirp pleasantly. “What you don’t like it? What was all that before about how I’m ‘your beautiful, perfect girl’, and ‘your reflection’, and ‘your heart and soul’ and–”

“...You understood all of that?”

You smile.

“Not all of it, but most. I’ve got a pretty impressive Duolingo streak going from all those nights you have confession duty, you know.”

He props himself up on his side and stares at you with a goofy smile.

“Amore mio, I take back my disgust. You could use me as a tissue and I would say thank you.”

That makes a horrible noise come out of you.

“Copia, I’d call you a simp but I think there would be some pot calling the kettle black action going on there so I’ll refrain. Ugh, what a fucking day.”

You gather up your used tissues with the intent of heading to the bathroom with them but Copia turns to you with his hands cupped expectantly. Gently, you smile before depositing them and watching him get up and pad over to the garbage in the other room. When he comes back after washing his hands and climbs into bed, making his delightful old man noises, you grin.

“Thank you for indulging me tonight,” you murmur as you nestle into his side.

“Indulging you? As if I wasn’t the one getting showered with compliments by a beautiful, nude, young woman?”

“You know what I mean,” you say, trying your best to stifle a yawn. “For hearing me out, for letting me show you how perfect you are to me…all of it. And thank you for the very kind things you said about me in turn. I…will not easily forget that.”

“I certainly hope not but like you, I am prepared to remind you over and over and over of how precious and perfect you are.”

“With fingers, tongue, and cock?” you ask innocently, parroting Copia’s earlier promise. He snorts.

“Dolcezza mia, however you want it.”

“Mmm,” your eyelids are getting heavy as you listen to Copia’s steady breathing, “I’ll hold you to that.”

“I would expect nothing less from such a demanding mistress.”

“Oh you haven’t even seen my demanding mistress side yet, beloved.”

He’s got his eyes closed but makes the dirtiest, most intrigued noise you’ve ever heard and it makes butterflies ricochet around in your stomach. His hand trails teasingly up your arm, causing a shiver to roll through you.

“Well, Padrona,” he murmurs, low and enticing, “I’m not entirely sure I’m ready for bed just yet.”

You’re already sitting up with a sigh and straddling his hips for the second time that evening as you say: “Insatiable as always, Your Eminence. Hmm, do I get to wear your grucifix and biretta? Perhaps I’ll get that pretty red rope out too?”

“Oh amore…I insist.”

[meanbossart]

Hi!! Since you've mentioned baby Drow recently it got me wondering about his name (again). Did his 'caretaker' ever bother giving him one? If so, did he just decide he didn't want it or is there another reason for him simply going by 'Drow'? Alternatively, did you ever think about giving him a name?

His drow mother called him Phyrnathiira'Uss, after her first-son who had died (and believe it, or not I didn't pull that name out of a hat five minutes ago, this is certified DU drow lore LOL) and yes, I chose a particularly inscrutable drow name to discourage people from calling him that.

He was only ever really referred to in this way from ages 2 to 12. The early two year gap due to the mother herself not being sure whether she was even going to keep him or have him sacrificed to Lolth. After DU drow revealed himself to be a resilient toddler (never crying, feeding himself, never complaining about the way he was treated) she decided he made for a promising jaluk replacement for her dead child. Even then, both due to the detached nature of matrons and his status as an adopted son, he was often just "child" or "boy", even "pet". Either way, he never felt any connection to the name and probably straight up forgot it after a while of being up on the surface.

In-between his late childhood and late teens he was just "liege", "little lord", "master", etc to Sceleritas. To anyone else he came across either in the woods or towns he was yet again just "the drow", since he was practically mute and didn't entertain people with any of his (scarce) personal details otherwise, name or lack thereof included. Plus, he was often the only drow wherever he went.

In his Bhaalist years he continued to refuse abiding by any name and people referred to him as Bhaalspawn, Bhaal's child, Bhaalist, or kin to those within the temple before he ascended to become head of the cult. In the event he needed to be discreet, anything would do including fake names he came up with on a whim.

During and post-campaign he obviously remembers none of this. I know the game implies you have memory of your name in the very least, but I didn't expect to get this into Baldur's gate - so when I made my character I just called him "drow" out of laziness. Once the plot revealed to be one about amnesia I just thought, well, I guess that incidentally makes sense 🤷 this has kind of become a core aspect of his character's identity and I have no plans of changing it.

[dorkofclanlavellan]

Giggly Sleepyhead (Fallout Preference)

Fandom: Fallout 4 Request: x Pairings: Cooper x Reader, Danse x Reader, Hancock x Reader, Valentine x Reader Trigger Warning: Tooth rotting sweetness.

Cooper Howard

His reaction depends on a couple of different details, honestly.

Pre-War!Coop would just find you adorable and smile as he totes or leads you to bed.

He'd make you giggle some more, both accidentally and on purpose. And of course he'd tease you a little about it.

If you're together after he becomes a Ghoul, he's not as amused by it. He'd seem annoyed and huffy though the longer you're in your relationship the more his annoyed demeanor becomes an obvious act.

He'd roll his eyes and pull you closer to him with a groan but the corners of his mouth would subtly quirk up.

Danse

This man would definitely raise an eyebrow. Sure Danse is familiar with some people being giggly when sleepy but he doesn't really get it.

He's not really grumpy when sleepy but he is more no-nonsense.

Although he can't deny that you are kind of adorable giggling and grinning for little reason. And your giggly nature has taught him how to tell when you definitely need some sleep.

The second you start giggling more than normal, he'd make sure to get you to bed and no funny business.

And he's learned to choose his words very carefully when you're sleepy. Otherwise you'll be cackling for several minutes at any incidental double entendres.

Hancock

Oh he would definitely enjoy you being giggly when you're sleepy.

In fact he enjoys it almost too much. Absolutely revels in the knowledge and you're going to regret him finding out. In the best way of course.

He'd egg you on until you're clutching your sides and red in the face from laughing so much. You'd definitely end up out of breath.

Only then would he show you any sort of mercy and pull you onto his lap or closer to him if you're already in bed.

Then he'd start rubbing your back or playing with your hair and occasionally, usually right as your eyes close, he'd say something else that gets you giggling again.

Valentine

He's aware that some people get giggly when sleepy but nothing prepped him for you giggling at everything while struggling to keep your eyes open.

He'll set aside his work and usher you off to bed once he realizes what's going on.

He'll be shaking his head and suppressing a grin but he makes sure you're tucked in with a bottle of water nearby.

"If you don't stop giggling, I'll just have to read you all these reports and paperwork that I'm working on." It's a threat he ends up having to carry out every time.

And it works...almost every time. The more boring the reports, the quicker you nod off.

[cleo-fox]

Come Back, Be Here

Summary: Conrad has been away on a job for two months. Perhaps the welcome home will make up for it.

Pairing: James Conrad x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, p in v sex, fluffy sex.

Series: A Girl Back Home (I don’t have a masterlist for this yet, but this is what I’m calling this series). Technically, this is preceded by Wildest Dreams, but it can be read on its own as well.

A/N: Once again, I got carried away. Curse this man and his ridiculous biceps!

Conrad has been away on a job for two months.

You knew you would miss him, but you didn’t realize you would feel it in so many places—in the empty space next to you in bed, the shaving cream he’d left in your bathroom, the absence of his favorite cereal in your grocery cart. You sleep in his sweatshirt like surrounding yourself with a physical reminder of him will ease the ache in your heart. 

You wonder if having a girl back home feels equally strange to him. He has a photo of you in his wallet, a candid black and white with “I love you” scrawled in your handwriting on the back. The night before he left, you tried hiding a love letter in the billfold, with the idea that he’d find it while he was gone and think of you. It was the most romantic idea you’d had in the course of your relationship…and he found it almost immediately.

“What’s this?” he’d asked, holding up the letter with a quietly amused sort of expression that made you miss him already.

You sighed. “How did you already find that?”

He raised his eyebrows, like you were being silly. “It was hard not to notice.”

“How? It’s a piece of paper.”

“It completely changes the look and feel of the entire wallet.”

You couldn’t tell if he was being serious or just teasing you. “Well, it was supposed to be a romantic surprise.”

He’d smiled fondly and tucked the note back in the billfold. “I’ll read it later, then. The moment I start missing you.”

(He will tell you later that he read it as soon as the plane took off and that fact makes you want to hold him tighter than ever).

You’d gathered that this assignment is much like the last job—the one that has sent him to your doorstep late at night with his heart in his hands and confessions on his lips. You have his itinerary—or as much as he could give you, anyway. He’d said he’d call when he could—and he does. The line is crackly and you can hear a strange humming that reminds you a little bit of crickets, but just a little bit off. The calls don’t show up on your phone bill—it’s a new technology, he’d said. Something with satellites. Technically, it wasn’t supposed to be used for personal calls, but he’d told them he wouldn’t take the job unless they made an exception.

He’d told you that casually over breakfast, like it was an incidental detail. You knew better, though—you knew it meant that he loved you.

You don’t ask too many questions when he calls. You tell him about your day, what you made for dinner, the progress of the squirrel that has been trying to get into the bird feeder.

He doesn’t talk about what he’s doing—he speaks in anecdotes that could happen anywhere. Something funny that Weaver said, a story Brooks had told him. You could almost believe he was away on a regular business trip from these conversations—sometimes you try to imagine him in a suit in some shitty hotel a few hours away, living off of stale drip coffee and mediocre takeaway.

He always ends his calls the same way: “I love you. Speak soon.”

You’d told him there was no such thing as safe and you know that’s true, but it feels different when you’re the girl back home.

He wasn’t quite sure when he’d be coming back. In theory, it wouldn’t be longer than three months; in practice, you don’t really know. You’re bracing yourself for a longer timeframe in the hope that you’ll be pleasantly surprised instead of crushingly disappointed.

Two months and three days after he left, the sound of the lock coming undone wakes you in the middle of the night.

Right away, you know it’s him. And even though you were dead asleep mere moments ago, you’re on your feet immediately, running down the hall in the dark, heart full of hope.

The sight of him is like a feast in a famine and your eyes rake over his frame with a fervor. He’s barely locked the door behind him when you throw your arms around him, burying your face against his neck.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” he says, which you both know is a lie. It’s been two long and lonely months—you couldn’t sleep through this and he’d be hard pressed to let you. 

“I missed you,” you say. You tip your head up and he meets you halfway, drawing you into a kiss that feels like home. His mouth is warm on yours and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him as close as you can.

It’s a minute later when he pulls back, eyes hooded. “I missed you, too.” He catches sight of his sweatshirt and grins, tugging at the hem. “Though I must admit, I didn’t realize I’d be relinquishing my possessions when I left.”

You arch an eyebrow. “Don’t you think it suits me?”

He hums, his hands sneaking up beneath the hem to squeeze your waist. “You know I prefer you in other clothes.”

“What other clothes?”

“Absolutely no clothes.”

“Your preferred outfit is the absence of an outfit? Doesn’t really make sense,” you say, barely suppressing the shiver that runs up your spine.

“Jet lag,” he says, pulling you flush against him, his grip firm on your hips.

“Should we go to bed then?”

He kisses you sweetly on the lips. “I’ve been waiting two months to hear you say that.”

Your capacity to tease him is limited in the best of circumstances, but after so long without him, it may as well be nonexistent. You lead him into the bedroom and the two of you descend to the bed in a tangle of limbs, his cock pressing hard and heavy against your belly. He fits his hips against yours and it feels so right, it’s almost as if he never left.

“God, I missed you,” he breathes against your lips as he rocks his hips against you. “I missed this.”

“James.” You say his name like a prayer as you fumble with his belt buckle. “I need you.”

And in truth, it’s not even that you need sex so much as you need to feel him. Safe. Home. Yours.

“You need me?” he asks with a bit of a playful smirk, even as he tugs your sleep shorts down and off your hips.

You nod, unbuckling his belt. “Right here, right now.” 

His smile is sharp as you free his cock. You run your hand up and down his length and a low, pleased sound rumbles in his chest as you line him up at your entrance. He pushes inside you immediately, groaning as his hips slide into place, flush against yours.

He rests his forehead against yours, his eyes fluttering shut. “Have I mentioned how much I missed you?”

“I don’t mind hearing about it again,” you say, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“I thought about you every day,” he says. “Every night.”

“Did you think about this?”

He groans. “Constantly.”

His mouth is back on yours as his hips begin moving in short, shallow thrusts, like he can’t bear to be parted from you for even a moment. There’s something graceful about the way he moves on top of you, body rolling like waves on the sea. You pull yourself even closer, your arms winding around his neck. 

He’s holding back and you don’t want him to. You want him to take you hard and fast, until the ache of his absence is little more than a memory. 

“James.” You think he hears the desperation into your voice because he shifts his hips and hits that angle that makes you see stars, his fingers slipping between the two of you to circle your clit. Your head lolls back onto the pillow as you whimper. It’s been so long and the relief of him finally easing the ache inside of you is almost too much.

He grits his teeth, head tipping back just slightly. “Fuck. I love this. I love you.”

A tingling pressure is building in your hips, your muscles clenching tighter and tighter around his cock.

Conrad groans. “God, yes, that’s it, that’s so good, darling, that’s so fucking good—”

You mouth his name like it’s a magic word that will cause the tension inside you to finally snap like a rubber band and take you to bliss.

And suddenly, it does, with all the rush and roar of a river dam bursting. Two months of a longing, aching need finally reaching its spectacular conclusion. You surrender to the tide, letting it pull you under as you cry out over and over again.

He keeps going as your orgasm moves through you in waves, his thrusts growing more frantic as the rippling shocks of your pleasure drag him closer to his breaking point.

“I’m sorry, darling, I’m not going to last.” He’s panting, hips stuttering in their rhythm as he sucks in a shaky anticipatory breath.

“Come for me,” you breathe and his face contorts in ecstasy and a low, perfect groan falls from his lips as he empties himself inside you. You barely have a moment to appreciate the transcendent expression on his face before his mouth covers yours and he kisses you so slowly and deeply it makes your toes curl.

It’s a minute or two before he stills, savoring the afterglow and the feeling of you underneath him.

“I love you.” He breathes the words against your lips, like they’re a secret only for you to know. It’s not the first time he’s said this, but it feels just as new, just as thrilling nonetheless.

“I love you, too.” You press a kiss against his lips. “And I’m so glad you’re home.”

[chloecherrysip]

A detailed list about everything I adore and cherish re: Mario and Luigi's reunion in the Mario Movie (to pair with this post of mine)

Luigi almost DYING but then happily, cutely laughing two seconds later once he sees it's Mario who's holding him because HIS BROTHER'S HERE, HE KNOWS HE'S SAFE NOW, NO MATTER WHAT

The way they just stand there and LOOK at each for a split second to register that this is really happening, and all the joy and relief on their faces!!!

How Luigi looks startled briefly when he lands on the ground but Mario is just :D :D :D :D personified and then Luigi mirrors him

How Mario is still powered up (obviously) so he moves SO FAST to grab Luigi in a big hug, and him being the tanooki, it must be such a nice, strong, soft, fuzzy hug, like a big blanket all around Luigi :)

How it's not just ONE really good hug, it's TWO really good hugs!!!!!!!

I WILL LITERALLY NEVER SHUT UP ABOUT MARIO HOLDING LUIGI'S FACE SO SWEETLY WITH THOSE BIG, MISTY, DEEPLY LOVING EYES

Just EVERYTHING about the way they framed it!!!!!!! the way the shot spins around them!!!!! it's beautiful!!!! like, at first i wished they had shown more of Luigi's reaction because it's SO focused on Mario but now I love that, i loveeeee watching Mario's truly heartbreaking and tender face journey without any cuts

Speaking of, it's amazing that Mario is SO emotional, even more than Luigi! The man is very choked up and just SO CLEARLY FLOODED WITH BONE DEEP-RELIEF AND JOY AND LOVE AND EVERY LAST SHOT OF HIS FACE MAKES GRAVITY LITERALLY ABANDON ME BECAUSE HE LOVES HIS BROTHER MORE THAN ANYONE AND HE NEEDS HIM BY HIS SIDE LIKE HE NEEDS TO BREATHE

FOREHEAD TOUCH FOREHEAD TOUCH FOREHEAD TOUCH FOREHEAD TOUCH FOREHEAD TOUCH FOREHEAD TOUCH

The way their noses bump together cutely as a result of the forehead touch, SOB

The way Mario initiates the forehead touch with his hand on the back of Luigi's head so GENTLY, everything about the way he interacts with Luigi here is SO GENTLE and i cryyyy

The quick shot when they both have their eyes closed in the forehead touch!!! Maybe incidental but the screenshot of it has ended my life, i'm a ghost now, goodbye

Mario rocking Luigi back and forth a little when they're hugging the second time and his hand gripping tight on his back ;____;

MARIO SWINGING HIM UP INTO THE AIR, JUST BECAUSE HE HAS TOO MUCH HAPPY ENERGY AND HE CAN

Luigi's BIG sigh of relief, so big it's like he's been holding in the breath since they were first separated <3

THE WAY MARIO IS LOOKING AT LUIGI ONCE THEY SEPARATE THE SECOND TIME. THIS BIG, DELIRIOUSLY HAPPY GRIN LIKE HE JUST WANTS TO HUG HIM MORE. CAN HE HUG HIM FOREVER???? MARIO IS SURE GOING TO TRY

Luigi finally registering what Mario is wearing and immediately, affectionately grabbing at him/teasing him like brothers do!

That Bowser is literally being forced to watch them hug from his ice prison atop the stairs LOLOLOL

That they're framed by the wedding arch that's a heart at the end because their relationship is the TRUE HEART of the movie :) :) :)

Basically just the fact that you can literally see these two brothers, who have been lost and sad and struggling for all this time, become WHOLE again right before your eyes because they have each other back and that's all that really matters

[vaguely-concerned]

sitting here with my head in my hands over just how much coalecroux is exactly tfgraves except tf incidentally happens to be a warlock alligator (a minor detail that changes surprisingly little overall tbh). I stand humbled once again before my own immense and unspeakable predictability

[tobiasdrake]

While you’re on the subject of underexplored Dragon Ball trivia, could you tell us something on the Dragon Balls themselves?

Hmm... not sure how much underexplored trivia I know on the subject. I think most of the details about what the Balls are and how they work are pretty well known. But I can go into a run-down.

Originally based on Journey to the West, the core purpose of the Dragon Balls is to provide a sort of miraculous quest of worthiness to their seeker. On Namek, the planet they come from, each one of six Balls, stars 2-7, is carried by the Choro or "Elder" of the village. To make your wish to Porunga, you must visit each village in turn and pass some great test of virtue that the Choro demands of you.

With the final Dragon Ball, the One-Star Ball, resting in the hands of Saichoro or "Grand Elder". He is the final arbiter of worthiness for your desire to receive a miracle from Porunga.

Krillin, incidentally, is the only person during the campaign on Namek to successfully pass a Namekian elder's measurement of virtue rather than taking a Ball by force. For escorting Dende to the safety of Saichoro's home and for having genuinely good intentions for his desired miracle, Krillin is judged worthy and given the One-Star Ball.

300 years ago, after the Nameless Namekian ascended to the lofty position of God, he was able to make Dragon Balls of his own. Though he didn't have the same organized structure that Saichoro put into his Dragon Ball system, the idea was similar: the Dragon Balls would provide a means for people to produce great deeds when in need.

It didn't pan out. The Dragon Bal ls were a mistake and brought nothing but horror to the Earth, and he regretted ever making the stupid fucking things. After Piccolo killed Shenron, God was more than ready to wash his hands of it.

By the time we meet God, it's hard to disagree. Oolong thwarted a maniac's wish for world domination by spending Shenron's world-shaping miracle on a set of women's undergarments before he could make his wish. A jackbooted warlord shot up multiple regions of the world to claim the Dragon Balls because he wanted to be taller. Bulma shot a child in the face with a gun so she could have infinite strawberries. Or a boyfriend. Either/or.

Honestly, infinite strawberries sounds pretty valid for a wish, NGL. Still wouldn't impress God, though.

There's also a piece of obscure Dragon Ball trivia says that the Dragon Balls were once used to successfully make a wish for world domination. This is why the entire Earth is a one-world nation under the dominion of King Furry. I think it comes from a Toriyama interview? But I don't recall the source so take that with a grain of salt.

In any case, God feels that the Dragon Balls were a horrible mistake and it's hard to disagree. The only thing that convinces him they're worth remaking is Goku's nobility. He sees in Goku the great virtue that has thus far been missing from anyone else who would seek the Dragon Balls, and that makes it all worthwhile.

The process of assembling the Dragon Balls is meant to be difficult. However, Bulma's invention of the Dragon Radar more or less trivialized it.

Notably, as a sign of her genius, the handheld radar that Bulma carries around outstrips the competition every time. She's far from the only person ever to make a Dragon Radar; She's just the only person ever to make a portable one.

That huge wall console is the best that the world's most powerful rogue paramilitary organization could manage. And it's still a hell of a lot better than anything Vegeta or Frieza had. They had to track people and hope a Dragon Ball was nearby.

Though I would be remiss to bring up Bulma's invention of the portable radar and not mention that, fun fact, the Radar that we often see passed around throughout the series wasn't built by her. Bulma's Radar was stolen by General Blue.

It's never seen again after this scene. I guess it was probably still in HQ when Goku stormed the place?

No, the Radar Goku finished the RRA arc with and then continues passing along from character to character is actually this one, created by - I shit you not - a cameo guest star from Toriyama's gag manga Dr. Slump.

Having seen the inner workings of the Radar while it was being repaired, Turbo the flying genius baby is able to reproduce a second copy. This copy would become the main Dragon Radar going forward after Bulma's original Radar was lost and forgotten.

Yeah, Dr. Slump canonically exists within the world of Dragon Ball and has directly impacted the story of one of its most iconic elements. However, this Radar still remains Bulma's genius design. She completely obliterated the entire test of virtue concept. I need you to understand that Bulma is the greatest heretic in the history of the universe, and that she and Vegeta deserve each other.

And now she uses Shenron for plastic surgery.

God was right. Earth isn't worthy of power like this. It was a mistake to bring Shenron back.

With some limitations, the great dragon summoned by the Dragon Balls can grant any miracle that is within Shenron's power. The main restriction this places is simple: Shenron or Porunga may not grant a wish affecting a person more powerful than Shenron unless that person consents.

This limitation serves the narrative purpose of explaining why we can't have Shenron pop any enemy that shows up into oblivion, which had been the Muten-Roshi's plan for dealing with Piccolo originally.

Though I occasionally like to joke about an AU where Bulma uses Shenron to solve the Saiyans. Can't teleport them into the sun or something? That's fine. I wish for you to teleport their spaceships into the sun.

No, I know you still can't teleport them even if you teleport their vehicles. That's fine. I'm asking you to teleport only the ships.

And then everyone lives happily ever after. Until about six or seven years later when the Androids kill us all.

But Shenron's and Porunga's power limitations also mean the story can have fun moments like this.

Goku is able to resist Porunga's attempt to warp him back to Earth because he's too powerful for the dragon to move involuntarily. He must consent to the teleport.

Of note: This particular piece of context doesn't come up in the DBS: Broly film directly, but it provides a fun bit of context to its finale.

When Cheelai used Shenron to save Broly, he had to consent to that. He could have told Shenron to go fuck himself and kept fighting instead.

But he doesn't want to. You can feel it just from looking at his face. Gogeta broke Broly's legendary berserker rage. In this instant, staring down Blue Gogeta's Kamehameha, Shenron asked him, "You want out of this, my dude?" And he said yes please. I'm done. I'm ready to go home.

The power restriction is also the reason why Shenron couldn't revert the Twins to normal humans.

But he can pop those self-destruct devices right out of their bodies, no sweat.

The other key limitation that Shenron has is an inability to resurrect the same person twice - Something Goku just sort of throws in as a new rule at the start of the Saiyan arc.

It's interesting to note that it's not specifically a prohibition against repeated rezzes, but against "granting the same wish twice". This never comes up in any other context, but it's interesting to think about.

Good thing Porunga doesn't have that limitation. Like. At all.

Hey, look at that. He was able to bring back Piccolo, Krillin, and Yamcha even though he'd already revived those two before.

Before the Buu arc, it could be assumed that he could raise people twice because those people had previously been raised by Shenron. Different dragon, different wish history. But no. Porunga's just better.

Our bootleg wish-dragon is a pale imitation of the real thing. I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you that. But ours can do multi-rez so suck on that Poru--

Oh, never mind. Muri found out about multi-rez and gave him a tweak. Porunga remains the superior dragon. Of course, he's not the only person to upgrade their dragon. We have Dende to thank for Shenron's upgrades too.

This is a point that I've seen people get confused on. Dende's Shenron grants three wishes like Porunga. However, a multi-rez is so costly that it expends two of those wishes. So you can have three individual wishes or a multi-rez and one other wish.

The language here is super ambiguous, admittedly. It's easy to interpret Dende as saying "If I activate multi-rez then I have to set the limit to two." Like. We can configure Shenron for three wishes OR configure him for two wishes but make it possible to do multi-rez.

But subsequent chapters and authorial statements have clarified the matter. As long as you aren't multi-rezzing, you get three wishes.

It's just. Nobody ever uses Shenron for anything but multi-rez so it rarely comes up. This is not helped by general inconsistency, which Toei is particularly bad about but Toriyama's guilty of too. In the DBS: Broly movie, Shenron inexplicably is back to granting only one!

My dude. What happened to your upgrade? You were upgraded, you defective knock-off! DX

I think he just wanted to get the fuck out of there before Frieza realized he can still make his wish for improved tallness. He grants enough of that shit for Bulma as it is. He doesn't want another person muscling in on it.

This is what his life has come to.

It's also interesting to note that with multi-wish dragons, you can bank a wish if you don't have anything else in particular that you want.

Speaking of inconsistency, they made a multi-rez wish so shouldn't Shenron be down for eight months, not four? Either way, point is that you can cut down Shenron's recharge time by not using some of your wishes. Which makes sense if you think about it, but is more user-friendly than a lot of magical reality-warping macguffins typically are.

Shenron's great about that in general, concerning himself with making sure that the miracle he grants is in line with the intent of the wish, not just the letter. Unlike that bastard Porunga. He knows what he did.

In fairness, that's as much Dende's fault as Porunga's.

That about covers it for the Dragon Balls and their Wish Dragons, I think.

[ser3nityst4r]

Seventh Dethroning

The books in the library was thick with tales and stories, the only sound the rustling of pages and the occasional sigh. Ace, his face flushed with anger, was on the verge of exploding. 'So it's all your fault, Riddle's like this!' he accused, his voice shaking with barely-contained fury. 'Riddle didn't get to choose his parents, but you knew what they did to him, and you knew it was wrong, right?'

Trey, his shoulders hunched under the weight of guilt, could only nod. 'I... I tried. I tried to show him there was another way, but...'

'But now Riddle's making the exact same mistake his parents did!' Ace interrupted, his voice rising. 'You're going easy on him because he had it rough as a kid? Don't you see where that's leading? You're letting him make a pariah out of himself!'

'This is a library, shush!' a stern voice boomed, silencing Ace abruptly. Principal Crowley, his face a mask of annoyance, appeared before them.

Yuu, watching the scene unfold with growing unease, couldn't help but wonder what had prompted Ace's outburst. He looked to Crowley, who, despite the reprimand, seemed oddly amused. 'Mr. Crowley, what are you doing here?' Yuu asked, knowing Crowley's aversion to anything remotely resembling work.

Crowley beamed, his eyes twinkling with mischief. 'Well, I'm glad you asked! I'm researching methods to send you back home. Precisely as I promised I would. Oh, but I AM gracious! And the library, of course, is an ideal place for serious research. It's not as if I came here just to secure the newest book in that popular series of novels. No, certainly not. *Ahem* Incidentally, what are you all discussing with such grim faces?'

Ace grimaced at the mention of Riddle, his anger momentarily forgotten. With a sigh, he explained the situation, detailing Riddle's tyrannical rule and the impossible task of apologizing to the Housewarden. 

'So to my understanding,' Ace continued, 'you're against apologizing, but you can't find any other way to remove that collar. Well, there's two other methods, such as transferring dorms or challenging them to a Housewarden battle.' He paused, an idea sparking in his eyes. 'I don't like the thought of running away with my tail between my legs by transferring dorms, so... Wait! What did you say?!' Ace shrieked, his voice filled with bewilderment, before being shushed, once again, by the exasperated principal.

'You mean I can duel Riddle for the Housewarden position without breaking the rules, like fighting with magic?' Ace's eyes sparkled with excitement. 'I'll give it a shot!'

Crowley slumped back, his enthusiasm draining away and regretting his previous suggestion. The thought of more paperwork, more responsibility, and more headaches was enough to make him groan in agony.

Yuu's unease deepened. Ace's plan was ludicrous, a desperate gamble that could easily backfire. 'Housewarden Riddle is quite powerful,' Yuu pointed out. 'Didn't he learn his signature spell at the age of ten? How do you plan on beating him?'

Ace smirked, his confidence unshaken. 'I'll find a way somehow to put that tyrant in his place.'

Yuu sighed, his concern growing. Ace's stubborn determination, fueled by anger and a misguided sense of justice, was a recipe for disaster. Yuu’s feeling of unease slowly crept up again, seemingly only getting worse within time. Drip Drip

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Sara Boboltz at HuffPost:

Donald Trump has been working hard to distance himself from the Heritage Foundation’s Project 2025, a blueprint for a second Trump administration that would radically reshape the federal government and American life. Among other proposals, such as dismantling the U.S. Department of Education, the plan outlines how the government could keep detailed records on abortions and even obtain pregnant patients’ medical records without their consent.

As a whole, Project 2025 is highly controversial. Trump’s campaign leapt at the chance to disparage it once again on Tuesday, with the news that the project’s director, Paul Dans, was stepping down.

“President Trump’s campaign has been very clear for over a year that Project 2025 had nothing to do with the campaign, did not speak for the campaign, and should not be associated with the campaign or the President in any way,” Trump spokespeople Susie Wiles and Chris LaCivita said in a statement. [...] But reporting indicates that the ties between Project 2025 and Trump’s campaign run deep. At least 140 people who worked in the Trump administration — including six former members of his cabinet — have been involved in the project, according to an investigation by CNN. At least 31 out of 38 people named as authors or editors on the 900-page plan are tied to Trump, USA Today reported.

[...]

The letter signed by Vance claims the Biden rule “unlawfully thwarts the enforcement of compassionate laws” against abortion and “directs health care providers to defy lawful court orders and search warrants.” “Abortion is not health care — it is a brutal act that destroys the life of an unborn child and hurts women,” the letter reads. A Trump-Vance presidency could see the Biden administration’s rule erased, allowing police and prosecutors in states led by Republicans to more easily go after people who decide to end their pregnancies. The rule also only goes so far — it doesn’t protect data from mobile phones, where many people track their menstrual cycles using apps. (The rule modifies the Health Insurance Portability And Accountability Act of 1996, known as HIPAA, which does not cover digital data.) “Donald Trump and his allies want to monitor people’s pregnancies in order to track and prosecute people for their pregnancy outcomes,” Jenny Lawson, executive director of Planned Parenthood Votes, told HuffPost.

Project 2025 indeed calls for such government tracking — under penalty of loss of federal health funding for states that don’t comply. “Because liberal states have now become sanctuaries for abortion tourism, HHS should use every available tool, including the cutting of funds, to ensure that every state reports exactly how many abortions take place within its borders, at what gestational age of the child, for what reason, the mother’s state of residence, and by what method,” it reads. “It should also ensure that statistics are separated by category: spontaneous miscarriage; treatments that incidentally result in the death of a child (such as chemotherapy); stillbirths; and induced abortion. In addition, CDC should require monitoring and reporting for complications due to abortion and every instance of children being born alive after an abortion,” the plan stated. The recommendations on abortion were written by a Trump-era HHS official, Roger Severino, according to Rolling Stone.

A potential Trump/Vance “Presidency” would be a disaster for pregnant people, as the Project 2025 document has endorsed the proposal of government-mandated tracking of abortion and pregnancy records.

[conventionalwisdomcomic]

Weekly Digimon Comic: Digimon Tamers - page 2

Just before anybody asks: my brain only has room to learn the name of any given character ONCE.  Thus, even though I'm actually watching the subbed version of Tamers for these comics, I'll still be referring to characters by their Saban dub names where applicable.  So it'll be Rika and Henry, not Ruki and Jian.  I'm not saying that's how it SHOULD be, I'm just recognizing the factual reality that it's how thing WILL be.  You have been warned.

Incidentally, I just finished watching episode 5 to do the first of those pages for Patreon (Yes, it'll have more than one page. Again.) and I just noticed Takato and Henry wearing stuff over their eyes and they run into the digital field there as well.  Was this, like, actually a thing?  I sure don't remember it being a thing.  Did the show drop that detail after a while, or was I just that unobservant as a kid?

Conventional Wisdom / Patreon

[pen-and-umbra]

do u think sephiroths redemption arc is possible?

(Spoilers & wall of text alert)

Sure, why not, anything is possible. Currently, only two things are certain. One, despite fan backlash, Square Enix continues to take creative liberties. Second, regardless of what SE does, some fans will be upset.

For better or worse, SE's handling of the Remake in this regard leaves plenty of room for a 180-degree turn on Sephiroth's case. The character's portrayal has steadily shifted since the original, which appears to have served the purpose of painting him in a sympathetic light. It begs a question: to what end? Crisis Core, Ever Crisis, and FFVII Rebirth all depict Sephiroth as a decent person, with Rebirth showing him influenced by Jenova during the Nibelheim massacre (as discussed here). Here hardcore fans like to bring up old Ultimania publications, citing that Sephiroth's will overpowers that of Jenova after falling into the Lifestream and learning everything there is to know about the Meteor/Cetra/Jenova. While how SE handles that episode in the Remake remains to be seen, it's worth noting that official lore is neither immutable nor free of contradictions on a variety of details, including seemingly important plot beats like romantic lines. Additionally, certain details diverge over the course of compilation. As a result, we've already seen SE absolve AVALANCHE as an eco-terrorist organization by shifting the blame to ShinRA in the remake. They've made changes to Rufus and President ShinRA's plotlines. We've seen them make extremely bold decisions regarding Gold Saucer that were unthinkable in the OG. Furthermore, the inclusion of the Whispers and the theme of "Changing the Fate" demonstrate SE's willingness to take drastic and controversial steps, sometimes diverging significantly from the original material. The point is, developers' previous statements aren't set in stone and are subject to change as FFVII project grows.

As previously stated, SE left some space for a turn, most likely on purpose, if they decide to take a risk. The Rebirth already explores the idea of Sephiroth as little more than a passenger after leaving the mansion. In addition, the entries on Jenova monsters we fight in parts one and two sufficiently expand on the scope of Jenova's mind-interfering abilities, which may allude to Jenova's larger role in the Remake. When combined with the Temple of Ancients hologram and snippets from Gast's journal Sephiroth quotes, it could indicate that Jenova has been "awake" and out of slumber since its discovery at the dig site, potentially manipulating Gast and the team behind the Jenova Project.

Therefore, the groundwork for introducing a villain more significant than Sephiroth may already be in place. Shifting the focus away from him and toward an eldritch cosmic terror should suffice, as the ambiguity about who is in control has already existed since the original script. The Nibelheim sequence from Rebirth played a role in this, as did the infamous ore/watashi pronoun switch. And despite appearing to be totally distinct, the outcomes of Sephiroth's goals (consume Lifestream and travel to a new Planet to be god) eerily mirror those of Jenova (consume Lifestream and travel to a new Planet, presumably to once again consume it's Lifestream, rinse/repeat). Incidentally, in the Temple of Ancients, there is a hologram suggesting a connection between Jenova and The Goddess from LOVELESS, so one has to wonder just who Sephiroth is taking after with that "to become god" complex of his.

Another thing to consider is that throughout the compilation, traditional methods of defeating Jenovaroth simply did not work. Sephiroth/Jenova returned after their defeat in OG, and if you consider the Remake to be a sort of sequel (that is, if you subscribe to the Remake!Sephiroth=AC! Sephiroth theory), Jenovaroth returns after Advent Children as well. Battling him does not appear to yield results or break the "rebirth" cycle, so perhaps a different approach is required. (This ties in thematically with the tagline "defying destiny").

Redemption arcs are often perceived as leading to a "happily ever after," but they can take various forms beyond this common expectation. A character's redemption can involve self-sacrifice to overcome evil, collaborating with the protagonist to bring about change, and more. Combined with the previous remark about the futility of conventional fighting methods, perhaps the way to defeat Sephiroth/Jenova for good is somehow linked to his redemption of sorts. To break the parasitic bond between the two, or to quench and release the spirit's anger. In some ways, this is what Aerith does to Kadaj in Advent Children, and the latter's "essence", cleansed by Aerith's Great Gospel trick, rejoins the Lifestream. Equally, the Gi subplot somewhat parallels the Jenova/Sephiroth situation, so SE is likely to implement a comparable strategy for a secondary plotline.

Speaking about the latest material in the compilation, Ever Crisis quite poignantly brings up the topic of breaking the cycle of hatred.

The latter pertains both Cloud & party (hatred toward Sephiroth, ShinRA), and Sephiroth himself in as much as OG painted him (hatred towards humanity for eradicating the Cetra and more). So perhaps the key to saving the world of FFVII is about showing compassion and acting out of mercy, not out of revenge.

Anyway, it is entirely speculative at this point.

Overall, a different role for Sephiroth should not be dismissed as a possibility as certain elements in the game suggest a potential twist related to Jenova. SE have proven that they care about their creative vision far more than about criticisms, so…no promises at the journey's end. Naturally, some groups of fans may strongly oppose SE if Sephiroth is sidelined or if significant alterations are made. On the other hand, there has been growing dissatisfaction since the first part of the Remake with Sephiroth being shoehorned as a boss fight so frequently that he becomes redundant as a "final big bad". While both perspectives are reasonable and offer valid insights into the situation, someone will still be outraged no matter what SE does.

From a personal standpoint, I maintain an open-minded approach. If Sephiroth remains a villain, that's fine. If he is revealed to have been Jenova's puppet all along, my world will not collapse. On the plus side, I'm excited to see Jenova play a bigger role. The entity is as fascinating as The Thing from the film, and the original failed to capitalize on all of its creepy potential. At the end of the day, it may be the case of familiarity breeding ambivalence: the game has gotten so old that I won't mind a new twist, even if all characters end up dancing to a hip-hop tune in the end. On that note, in a recent interview, one of the developers stated that they are planning the ending with characters being happy in mind, which is what I'd like to see after 20+ years. For the characters to discover happiness and peace. This includes Sephiroth. Finding a peaceful way to break free from Jenova and his anger once and for all.

👋 @pen-and-umbra

[pareidoliaonthemove]

DAY 20: truth serum - With Kayo and/or Penny

Tête-à-Tête

The punch to her stomach drove all the air from her body, allowing her captors to manhandle her onto a chair, and fasten thick straps around chest, wrist and ankles before she could recover.

Kayo Kyrano gasped behind the blackout hood and gag, desperately trying to get enough air into her body to allow her to fight back, even while part of her brain acknowledged that she was trapped beyond her ability to escape.

Her only hope now was her adopted family would be able to rescue her; and no, the irony was not lost on her.

All she could do was gather intelligence, enough to put her captors behind bars for a long time once she was rescued – provided the rest of International Rescue didn’t end up tied up alongside her. After all, she was their Head of Security, and Covert Ops Agent, and she had been scooped up like a bumbling amateur.

It was embarrassing.

Kayo grunted behind the gag as the fit of the bindings were tested, and extra straps pinioned her upper arms to the chair back, and her legs just below the knee to the top of the chair leg.

Absolutely no way of escaping. She all she could move was her head and her fingers.

It was more than embarrassing; it was mortifying.

Scott would never let her live this down.

A hand grabbed her breast and squeezed roughly, before suddenly being ripped away. There was a snapping sound and the sound of pain – male, if the tone was any guide – indicated that her assailant’s … ‘liberty’ had been noticed and objected to.

“I’m paying you – and handsomely – to bring her to me. Not to satisfy your animal urges. Get out of here. I will deal with you later.”

Kayo froze. She knew that voice. Virgil had once described it as ‘the aural equivalent of an oil spill in an ecological preserve’.

The Hood.

Her uncle.

The fabric covering her head was removed, and Kayo blinked in the light. The room she was in was a tacky exercise in overstated wealth. Clearly located in some kind of industrial facility, the back wall with its riveted metal, pipes, and louvre panels clearly showed that, the panels and riveting on the roof had been transformed into a kind of faux Georgian detailing with gold paint, with a row of Greek columns along the side of the room, transferring the half-pipe into a rectangular shape, and the immense Persian carpet – with the right degree of wear and raggedness to be a genuine antique – lay before an oversized wooden desk behind which hung an enormous gold-coloured ceremonial gong obscuring most of the metal wall. All told, it was the standard ‘rich villains’ lair right out of a B-grade movie.

“Is the light too bright, my dear niece?” her uncle asked, removing the gag.

Kayo looked up at the – undoubtedly genuine crystal – chandelier. “Only the light reflecting off your head … Uncle.”

His eyes flamed momentarily, before he got himself back under control. “Very amusing, I’m sure.”

A snap of his fingers and three minions hurried into the room, two depositing a red leather wing chair before her, and another with a carved wooden incidental table on which stood a bottle of water, a crystal decanter of amber-coloured spirit – probably some obscenely expensive whisky – with two crystal tumblers.

And a hypodermic spray injector and a phial of straw-coloured liquid.

Kayo felt her breath catch in her throat. Whatever was in that phial, it wasn’t anything good.

The Hood seated himself in the chair, crossing his legs and steepling his fingers before him. “Now my dear, I invited you here –”

Kayo lifted an eyebrow. “Invited? Don’t you mean ‘kidnapped’, ‘abducted’ … or is it just ‘stole’ to you? Am I just another possession, like your tacky self-portrait herm?” She indicated the waist high pillars with her uncle’s sculpted head in gold-coloured metal that sat between the columns.

Again The Hood visibly had to reign in his anger at the interruption. “I would much rather it have been an invitation,” he conceded. “But you persist in being … misguided … in your loyalties; so much so that if I desire a tête-à-tête, I am forced to take extreme measures.”

Kayo stared at him in disbelief. “What?”

“So tell me, my dear,” he continued, reaching over to pour a generous measure of the water into one of the tumblers and hold it out to her, “how are you these days?”

She glared at him. “Well, Uncle,” she said, injecting all the sarcasm she could into the title, “I’m a little tied up at the moment. It’s not the best time for your little catchup.”

He forced held the tumbler to her lips and tipped it slightly, Kayo kept her mouth closed and a dribble of water ran down either side of her face. He clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“This is, however, the best time for me,” he commented. “So I’m afraid we’ll not be … rescheduling.” He returned the tumbler to the side table and poured the spirit from the decanter into the other glass, taking his time to coat the inside of the glass with the liquid, before taking a sip. “How is your dear father these days?”

She clenched her jaw, glaring at him fiercely. “How dare …”

He sighed and replaced the glass before picking up the hypospray injector and phial. “Very well. I tried so hard to avoid this, Kayo, but if you insist on being stubborn …”

He expertly loaded the phial and uncapped the applicator end, before coming to stand at her left side, one hand firmly holding her head tilted toward her right shoulder to expose her neck. A soft pfft of sound, and a vague stinging in her neck told her the drug – whatever it was – had been administered.

Kayo worked to calm her heartbeat. A slower pulse meant slower dispersion throughout the body, meaning that whatever it was would have less time to work its undoubtedly malignant effect.

Her uncle recapped the injector and removed the phial, setting the injector back on the side table and resuming his seat. He held the phial up and thoughtfully rolled it between his fingers, the light catching on stray beads of the liquid to create a miniature halo effect within the bottle.

“It cost me a good deal of money and effort to source this,” he said conversationally. “Worth every cent, of course. A brand-new truth serum, guaranteed to make anybody tell anything, without those pesky side-effects of previous formulas.” He smiled, contented. “And of course, I’ve already made a handsome profit off this little investment.” He tutted. “You would not believe how many politicians and business-men indulge in dirty little habits that they would pay massive amounts of money to keep secret.”

Kayo snorted. “So that’s it. You’re back after the Thunderbirds. I don’t know any details of schematics, I can’t tell you anything.”

The Hood placed the phial back on the table. “No, but you know the security systems,” he said. “You know how to circumvent them.” He smiled, a self-satisfied, predatory smile, the cat that had the cream. “And you would tell me, willingly, with this drug in your system. I could take Tracy Island, the Thunderbirds, and all their secrets.”

Kayo snarled, but her mind was racing. She had had some interrogation training, at her father’s insistence. Even been exposed to different truth serums, so she could learn how to fight them, humiliating sessions which had involved her divulging her rather teen girl crushes. But this felt … nothing like them. The fuzziness, the ‘floating’, the disorientation … all missing. Nonetheless, she fell back on her old training, and clung to her anger. It had always seen her through in the past. It would work now.

And this time, it was easy.

He paused, taking another mouthful of his drink and savouring it, before swallowing. “And so, Kayo, my beloved niece … how are you these days?”

Kayo blinked, “What?” It took every ounce of her self-control not to blurt out an answer, but the utter absurdity of the situation gave her enough of an edge to maintain her control.

“I told you, my dear, I just want to catch up with you.” He stared at her, earnestly. “So, how are you?”

“Very well, thank you.” The words rose unbidden.

“The Tracys are keeping you busy? Not too busy, I hope. It wouldn’t do for you to be overworked.”

“Not so much the Tracys as your Chaos Crew. Any ‘overwork’ I’m experiencing is entirely your fault. Why not give yourself up? Give everyone a break.” That answer was easier, and much more satisfying.

Her uncle chuckled. “Unfortunately, I have plans – very intricate plans, that necessitate the use of those … rather blunt tools.” He eyed her. “Of course, you could always come work for me, and we could accomplish the end result with much less … collateral damage, shall we say, than Havoc and Fuse invariably create.”

“And what would that end result be, exactly?”

He smiled indulgently. “Why, power, of course. Wealth and power. The only two things worth pursuing.”

Kayo raised an eyebrow. “And here I thought love was the ultimate good in life,” she said. A thought struck her. “Haven’t you loved?”

The look he gave her chilled her to the bone. “Oh, yes, my child. I have loved. Three times, I have loved, and three times my heart has been broken. Two are beyond my reach now forever. But the third … I may yet have hope for the third.”

Kayo stared, as the Hood contemplated something only he could see. Her heart beat faster. Three loves, who could they be?

A distant memory of her father’s voice came to her. “Your uncle, he is not a good man, Tanusha. His avarice outweighs his sense of duty. One day, daughter, you will come to understand; but for now it is enough that you know that he would do us harm.”

Almost as if he could read her thoughts, her uncle spoke again. “And how is your dear father? It has been a very long time since I have had news of my beloved half-brother.”

“He is in good health,” Kayo responded, even as she tried to hold her tongue still. “But he still grieves for the people he has lost, and those who have betrayed him.” She managed glare at that last.

And was satisfied as the Hood gave in to anger. “Impertinent child!” He slapped her, a backhanded strike that split her lip and rocked her head to the side. “I betrayed no one!” he hissed into her. “Not even my brother! I was the one betrayed! Over, and over, I was betrayed by my so-loving family, my so-called friends!”

He stormed away to stand behind the desk, hands planted on its surface and leaning towards her, his face contorted in anger. “I was betrayed!” he repeated. “Time and again. And everything I have done, everything I have become, is to reclaim what is mine by right!” He glared at her. Daring her to contradict his claim.

Kayo smirked at him, and tested the damage to her lip with the tip of her tongue. “If you say so.”

“Anyone would say so – anyone who is not my betrayer.”

Visibly calming, the Hood walked back out from behind his desk. As he drew nearer he clicked his tongue in annoyance, and pulled the kerchief from his jacket pocket. Dipping a corner into the tumbler of water, he squeezed the excess off, and reached out to her face.

Kayo jerked back, trying to evade his touch, but he grabbed her head with his other hand before gently dabbing at the injury.

“I truly regret that,” he said softly.

“Regret what? Staining your kerchief with blood?”

The Hood sighed, and slumped back into his chair, Kayo stared. She had never seen her Uncle look so … defeated. There was no other word for it. Even when captured, in handcuffs, hell, even in gaol, there had been a defiance, an air of control, as if it was all part of his plan. But now …

“You won’t believe this, but I do care about you, Kayo. I miss you.”

I miss you, Uncle, rose in her throat, but she managed to swallow them down. She missed the man he had been when she was ten. That man was dead, killed by knowledge of his actions. By what he had done.

Who he had killed.

“And I worry about you. I know Jeff Tracy is gone –”

“Which was your doing! You killed him!”

Another sigh. “If he hadn’t been trying to play the hero, Kayo, he would still be alive.”

She stared, disbelieving. “Millions would have died. If the Zero-X had exploded …”

“But it did, didn’t it? A great big giant explosion, turning both the Zero-X into atoms, and Jeff Tracy along with it. But where was the wreckage? If the explosion was going to be as big as they said it would be, how did Tracy get it far enough away? He was only gaining altitude for seconds. Not enough time for the blast radius to clear the earth, not at the speed it was doing, even if he accelerated. So where were the fatalities? The GDF planes were right underneath it, why did they survive?”

Her Uncle stared at her now, earnest. “Unless the explosion was never going to be as big as they said it would be. Unless they lied, Kayo. Why would they lie? What would they get out of it?”

Kayo just stared. She had no words to fight him with. It was a lie, she knew that, but it would be so easy to believe it.

And that scared her.

“You were young when this happened, Kayo; you believed your father, what he told you. I understand that. You didn’t really see Jeff, but I did. I was once his friend, but we fell out. He says it was my fault, but Kayo, I could see. I could see him. I could see where his path was heading, and it scared me. I tried to stop him. I’m still trying to stop him.”

He paused, calming his breathing. “You live with his sons, you call them your ‘brothers’. You think they are good men. I hope they are, Kayo, I really hope they are. But all I can see is their father, posturing and posing and seeking out the fame. Maybe they are good men, their mother was a good woman. A good person. But they were so young when she died, and they were left with him.”

A sigh. “And you were left with them.” Softly, sadly.

He paused, and checked his watch. “Our time, my dear, is nearly up. I wish we could talk longer, but as they say, time and tide wait for no man. There is just one more thing I would ask you.”

Kayo stared, struggling to understand what she had just heard.

“I love you, Kayo, my little Tanusha. Do you still love me?”

Her head still reeling for his previous words, Kayo was only half aware that she spoke: “Yes, Uncle. I still love you.”

Notes:

I had this PLANNED, dammit! But the Hood went off on a tangent and started his rant.

The standard disclaimers, I do not own Thunderbirds, either the Original Series, the Movies (both Supermarionation and Live Action), or the Thunderbirds Are Go Series. (Although I do own copies on DVD.)

I do not do this for money, but for my own (in)sanity and entertainment.

[gayleviticus]

not news to anyone but i feel like a big issue for adults making friends (or romantic partners) is erosion of community groups, but not just in terms of meeting people in the first place, but also just in terms of the social 'stickiness' of seeing the same people on a regular basis.

i can think of a fair few people who i got along well with and made an acquaintance of, we added each other's contact details, talked for a bit, and then i never saw them again bc we just had no reason to run into each other. even at uni all my friends were from clubs rather than classes bc once the lesson was over everyone would just dip; it took an active effort to invite someone for coffee to even initiate a friendship.

and that's probably not helped by an increased culture of people being socially awkward, not wanting to intrude on strangers, fear of rejection. but i think it's also probably overestimating the degree to which people historically would just bail up randoms.

ofc, if you're sufficiently invested, you can try to build up a one-off acquaintanceship into a friendship. but i think that involves a degree of commitment that not only the other person might not want, but you might not even be bothered investing into.

it takes time to get to know people, and while sometimes you can meet someone and instantly get along like a house on fire - it's not always like that. and if we take an adult working 5 days a week, probably too tired most nights to go out, with chores and shopping to do on the weekend - you have maybe a day, a day and a half of socializing time to yourself. are you going to devote it to getting to know someone new you might get along with? or does it make more sense to stick with familiar faces?

community groups - clubs, religious gatherings, sports groups, old fashioned dances, cultural associations - all provide a lowkey way to invite someone you want to get to know better without the pressure of one-on-one. and i feel like that kind of incidental exposure to people is really important.

and granted, most people are getting at least one form of consistent exposure to other people at work. but there are also problems inherent with work being your primary means of socialisation and expanding networks

[fruitsofhell]

I still think about this post I made anytime I see someone talk about Sephiroth Like That. It's still so weird to me, do people realize a character being designed to be hot doesn't automatically mean they're supposed to like… sex-y? With Kuja and Sephiroth I mean this as in their attractiveness is meant to be aesthetic more than sexual, it's like that shit Greta Gerwig was saying about Barbie to me.

I remember something that really struck me when I first played those two's respective games was the way their beauty was treated. I had never taken a game with bishounen characters seriously before, so there was a slight culture shock at how much aesthetic weight was put on them, especially combined with the angel motif in both their characters. Two interesting details about angels (archangels or guardian angels specifically) this brought up in my mind was 1) that traditionally these angels are meant to appear as incredibly attractive people, and 2) that they're traditionally portrayed as androgynous men. Which hey, they nailed those both on the head with their "One-Winged Angel" and "Angel of Death".

But with angels, that humanity and human attractiveness is kind of just a guise for a creature, ancient, divine, and terrifyingly powerful - sort of far beyond the actual functions of a human skin. So their attractiveness is not because they're sexy or sexual, but because its an aesthetic representation of that divinity - a way to make that appalling level of power more palatable and, attractive.

And I find that really fun and interesting, a lot in a gender way because, once again, angels traditionally being seen as masculine, and that sort of "sexy for no reason even if its a de-sexualized non-human being" is only ever an excuse for flaunting a feminine form and not a masculine. And I tell you boys, I am on my hands and knees scraping at the dirt everyday for representations of male beauty.

Which is why for Sephiroth and Kuja this was so striking to me. The way their designed beauty incidentally or purposefully invokes the beauty of angels is just so cool. They are characters not at all presented as having any sexuality of their own, but that It-Factor they got encompasses their character and how they are popularly perceived. Like what would Sephiroth be without his imposing form, long silky hair, and cat-like eyes? Or Kuja without his doll-like face and, well, everything else about him? But that beauty is not FOR us or the characters - it's attractive, even captivating, but venomous. Those mako eyes only hold emptiness, to then be set ablaze by an otherworldly, alien hatred; Kuja's lips only purse in a sadistic, callous grin before twisting into the tortured scowl of a disgraced angel willing to destroy creation out of spite.

And that cruel beauty is mesmerizing to players and a lot of what they're remembered for. Which once again was amazing to me cause they're guys and seeing men get that level of attention warms my cold bisexual heart, but also because MAN it ties in so well to their motifs. I straight up think you get less out of them by assuming that being designed to be hot and being a character with sexuality are synonymous. At least personally I am way more enamored with this dynamic of these beings made to catch our eyes (either narratively or meta-textually) in order to tease our senses and twist our hearts, as they move whole celestial bodies and crumble empires with a smile. I'm Just Obsessed.

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

Rules of the Harem (Rule 2)

Tensions start to rise in the house, so a method of resolving conflicts is proposed.

Steve-O X Fem!Reader, Chris Pontius X Fem!Reader

(Fluff, Angst)

1k Words

Warnings: Highly suggestive content, nudity, violence, fighting, alcohol, electrocution, BDSM mention, use of honorifics (Ma’am)

An: Hello again! I’m really enjoying this series so far, and I hope you all are enjoying it as well! Fun fact: I wrote all of these chapters in the same week while on vacation! If they read slightly differently, it’s because I couldn’t get in contact with my usual beta reader during that time, but let me know which style you prefer! Thank you for sending in your requests, and please keep them coming! :)

That afternoon, your backyard was a scene straight out of one of those Greek myth stories with all the flirty nymph girls giggling and splashing around naked in the streams. You were about a month or so into the six of you living together, and given how close the guys had gotten. They decided out of the blue to go skinny dipping even though they had their trunks on hand. Chris said something about getting rid of those pesky mankini tan lines, but you knew they were putting on this show for you because how could the lady of the house expect any less? You had a huge yard, anyways- five thousand square feet of carved marble and intricate stonework, fenced in with meticulously groomed shrubbery- and your neighbors at this point knew not to try and steal a peek, so it’s not like anyone would see them. You sat back poolside in your lounge chair, in your long, silky robe, and watched.

Now this would be all fine and dandy and the kind of thing you would revel in if you hadn’t neglected one detail: Steve was gone. Well, not gone gone, but out of your sight. He was, as you would come to find out, on the roof, and yes, he was still naked. As he took a running start to leap into the water, the only image you saw was the glowing halo of his silhouette from the sun. His landing and the resulting splash were both incidentally directly in front of Ryan, completely soaking him. Standing up, he jumped in after Steve, but you were distracted chatting up Chris, who was sunning that spectacularly muscular body of his to notice. You didn’t exactly see when the play fighting transitioned into real fighting, but It was probably around when Steve stuck his head out from the froth and yelled to Chris, alerting your attention to the way Bam and Ryan had been ganging up on him. Rushing to his buddy’s aid, Chris dove in after him, and you still sat exactly where you were sitting twenty minutes ago, just watching.

Of course it was Johnny, the most responsible of the five, that broke up the fight. Reaching into Steve’s backpack, which was sitting slumped against the leg of a pool chair, he found something he knew would get the guys’ attention- firecrackers. So before they tore each other limb from limb, he lit them up and beamed them down onto the pool deck. Under the same logic that works on dinosaurs in movies, the loud cracking and sparkling was very effective at breaking up the brawl, turning aggression to confusion. It was like when the lifeguards call adult swim, only a lifeguard would probably have a little more grace than Johnny, who unceremoniously grabbed Bam by the hair and yanked him to sit on the edge of the pool. That left the rest of the guys in the water, trying to shrug off embarrassment.

You actually had one of the other guys go grab Steve due to the fact it was hard to predict where he was at any given time: normally sleeping in a closet or on the floor somewhere, sometimes in an actual bed, and once hanging from the French cast bronze chandelier by his ankles. But wherever he was, he was in your room, now in his usual outfit consisting entirely of his too-low pants that showed off his flannel boxers. Steve crept into your room like a kid who was just called into the principal’s office and didn’t feel bad in the slightest for what he had done. “You are unbelievable…” He snickered, getting that mischievous glint in his eye as he sat down on the bed next to you, “What’s the matter? You’re gonna punish me?” He was lucky he sounded cute all waterlogged, but even though you would typically be down for that, you put your foot down. “I’m serious! I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we have rules here.” Guilt crept onto his face as you kind of lectured him. “If you keep this up, I might have to kick you out.” Usually he wouldn’t fall for this kinda thing that easily, but under the pressure of your scrutinizing gaze, Steve sighed, relenting, “Alright, I’m sorry, ma’am…But- I’ll make it up to you!”

In exchange for starting the fight, you pushed the responsibility of determining a less violent way of settling disagreements onto him, and Steve whipped up with an idea straight out of the Middle Ages. It came from, of all places, an episode of Wildboyz they filmed in Argentina, and a stunt that boiled down to him and Chris dueling each other with cattle prods. The matches would be staged in the backyard, two men to a duel, no shirts (per your request)- but instead of the winner being designated by who was still standing, it was more of a game of electrical chicken seeing who could stand getting shocked the most before they threw in the towel.

This gave you something new to watch. Going back to that Ancient Greece metaphor, it was as if you had your own personal gladiator ring, and this image was in any way dissuaded by the fact that the first time you tested it was with Chris and Ryan, who both had that sort of strong, warrior build. See, they were having a disagreement over a game of pool because Bam leapt onto the green felt of the table before either could win, and after you suggested it, both were happy to go back and forth nailing each other. The way they stood across from each other silhouetted by the setting sun made them look like cowboys preparing for a duel before Ryan made the first move, lunging at him. And as the duel raged on, they actually seemed to be enjoying this, the atmosphere turning less aggressive and more playful with every yelp or surprised laugh. Even the spectators- Johnny, Bam, Steve, and you- were all having a fun time watching this sport.

Ryan gave in, dropping his cattle prod in a sign of defeat, “Dude- dude, I’m done. Fucking Christ- that sucks.” Rushing to his side, you wrapped your arms around Chris’ shoulders and planted a kiss on his cheek as he chuckled triumphantly. Oh, he would be getting a reward from you later, both for winning and looking so good while doing it- and hell, Steve deserved one too for coming up with that plan. What a smart guy.