#that's a diff translation of her name too i think?

[hier--soir]

a lover's pinch | four

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: after a conference in new york, you and j miller phd take things a step further. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, i think i describe reader as having sweaty palms about 1500 times so it deserves a warning, alcohol consumption, the plight of being a woman in academia, oral [f receiving], unprotected piv sex [IN A BED ??? GASP] for you filthy animals, prone bone, a little roughness and then not much at all, uhhh pet names during sex.... uhhmm intimacy errrrrr.... soft!joel... feelings... okay bye word count: 9.3k series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: hey folks, thank you so much for all your patience as i took my sweet sweet time writing this. we get to know our prof a little better in this one so a fair amount of dialogue for you but yeah anyways i hope you enjoy it, and i'd love to hear what you think! [and if i Fell Off because of the depression, don't tell me lol] A WORD ABOUT THE TAG LIST: i will continue the taglist for this part and for part five, and after that i will rely solely on my notifications account @hier--soirupdates so pls follow that and turn on notifs to be told when i post writing x this is part four of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three.

Saturday.

The conference centre is vast.

A large space that protects you from the threatening clouds that loom over New York City, and exposes you to countless dense conversations.

An NYU teacher’s assistant is glued to your hip, parading you through the centre with a wayward index finger that points out the bar, the room where the keynote speech will be given [large, with an imposing stage], and the room where you will give your presentation [less large, with a far less imposing stage].

Your presentation.  

You fight the urge to pull up the email for the thousandth time while she explains how there will be fifteen minutes to set up beforehand, and advises on when the doors will open for guests, and reminds you that you have a strict allotted time of 20-minutes, do you understand?

But the email is branded on the inside of your eyelids after this morning’s flight was spent reading and rereading and rereading the words. So you nod and smile and placate her on the tour of the centre, as you run through it in your mind.

We look forward to welcoming you to NYU’s Annual Classics and Ancient History Conference. Our team was intrigued by the presentation devised around your translation study in Athens…

“Did you hear me?”

You wish she wasn’t dressed so casually.

Loose balls of lint are collected on the back of her cardigan like trinkets, weighty and threatening to fall off in a sort of bread crumb trail behind her every movement. It makes your dress feel all the more serious, all the more formal. Navy blue and a little tight, with sleeves that slant across the middle of your bicep and a hem that cuts modestly across your lower thigh. Professional, smart, sexy, but not too sexy. You and Nora spent two hours at the mall picking it out last weekend. And you can see people in suits, in blazers, in dresses, everywhere you turn, but your eyes keep returning to the TA’s cardigan. Little pills, sad morsels of broken fabric.

She says your name sharply.

“Yes,” you snap to attention, and clock her poor attempt not to roll her eyes. “You were saying?”

“It’s an open bar,” she continues from a few steps ahead, slowly back away while raising her voice to be heard over the countless others sprouting across the room. “And food is served after the Keynote.”

Finally free of her and her cardigan, you scale the edge of the hall, curious eyes glancing across faces familiar and not. You notice some other postgrads from UNE, and some professors from your alma mater. But it isn’t until three hours into the conference that you notice him.

You’re in a painfully long conversation with Professor Carmichael, an ancient history department head from Boston, when you notice them.

“Well you see,” he’s saying, slowly. “The First Roman Triumvirate was very unique. Surely you agree with me there, my dear?”

“Of course,” you nod amiably. A waiter floats past you holding a tray of glasses. You grasp one with a grateful smile, and turn back to face him with a sip of cold white wine moving down your throat. “The Big Three, it’s all very interesting. Although I must say, I am personally more interested in the second triumvirat—”

“Oh they all say that,” he waves his hand. “Everyone is so taken by Antony and Octavian that they forget about Crassus! So tragic.”

“A very tragic death,” you offer an exaggerated frown. “I agree.”

Carmichael hums, eyes narrowing as if you’ve said something wrong. Sipping your wine, your eyes float over his shoulder, determinedly trying to spot any sign of food, gaze spilling across countless faces and tables and waiters and professors until one set of people makes you pause.  Wild dark hair atop a floral dress floats in your vision, her pale hand hovering over the sleeve of a tall man in a suit. You watch the backs of their heads; the way the woman tilts her chin upward to speak to the man and laughs at what he says in return. That laugh. You frown, and feel yourself take a step forward, a step in their direction.

“Is something the matter?” Carmichael asks and you halt, flash him a sweet smile and shake your head.

“No,” you rush, practically tasting the opportunity to escape the conversation. “I’m sorry, Professor, I thought I saw someone waving me over. If you don’t min—”

“Always so many people to talk to at these things,” he says in a sing-song tone of voice, smiling obliviously. “All in due course, dear. You’ll find them later I’m sure.”

It’s not until fifteen minutes later that the tap comes on your shoulder. You turn and feel relief wash over you as you come face to face with Rachel, with her tangle of curls and bright orange dress. But then a jolt shudders through your frame, for you spot the man accompanying her; the man you watched her traipse around the room with, the man in the sleek black suit—Joel, hovering a step behind her.

“Rachel,” you blink. “Joel. Hi—”

“I didn’t know you’d be here!” Rachel says. Her eyes are wide, lips pulled back into a crooked grin that immediately sets you at ease. Joel, on the other hand, looks uncomfortable to say the least. You watch him tuck his hands in his pockets and then take them out again quickly, lips pursed together in a tight line as he glances between you and Professor Carmichael.

“Joel,” she grips the sleeve of his blazer and tugs him forward to stand beside her. You watch where her hand grazes him - the ease with which she jostles him around. “Did you know?”

“No.” He stares for a moment, lips parted and eyes darting across your face, shaking his head. “No, I didn’t know.”

“I’m giving a presentation,” you explain quickly, eyes darting between the two of them, fingers tightening around your glass every time your eyes settle on him. He trimmed his beard again; the hairs are shorter, neater—almost too short and too neat for your liking. His shirt is pressed and crisp, shock white beneath the midnight black of his jacket. He’s wearing different glasses. Tortoise shell glasses. Someone clears their throat to your right, snapping you out of your reverie. You apologise quickly, “This is Professor Carmichael.”

“Of course,” Joel nods, stepping forward to grip the older man’s hand. “Good to see you again, Professor.”

“And you, Professor Miller,” Carmichael chuckles, patting a shaky hand against Joel’s shoulder. “When was the last time we crossed paths? A year ago?”

“Must’ve been a year,” Joel smiles easily. His eyes slip to look at you every few seconds. “The conference in Ottawa.”

“The conference in Ottawa!” Carmichael cheers, nodding away. A weight sinks in your stomach like a cinder block as you watch the Professor gear up to wrangle Joel and Rachel into another conversation about Crassus’ untimely demise. But then Rachel slips away, called out to by someone across the room. And before Carmichael can open his mouth, Joel is speaking again, that honeyed drawl like music to your ears.

“Excuse me, Professor Carmichael,” he smiles again. Two of his fingers grip your elbow, tugging you a step backward. “Do you mind if I steal my star student for a few moments?”

Joel tilts your body to the left, and then the two of you are veering off into the crowd, wandering through throngs of people, his warm fingers pressed against the soft flesh above your elbow.

“Didn’t know you’d be here,” you say under your breath, glancing around warily, trying to spy any curious eyes that might notice the two of you.   

“Could say the same thing,” he murmurs, dragging you to a stop at the edge of the hall with his eyebrows raised. “When’s your talk?”

“At one. Overlaps with the Keynote, which I’m a little relieved about,” you smile, a pinched, tense thing. “Hopefully everyone will go to that, and I’ll have a smaller crowd.”

Joel’s eyebrows raise. You think you notice his shoulders stiffen. “S’that right?”

A persistent pang of hunger stabs through your stomach, you rub a hand over the front of your dress and nod. Curious brown eyes follow the movement.

“Here,” Joel reaches into his pocket and pulls something out. His fingers graze your skin as he tucks the shiny rectangle of foil into your palm. “They don’t put out any food until after the Keynote.”

It’s a granola bar. Peanut butter and banana. You stare at it for a moment, almost dumbfounded by the kindness of the gesture. By how attentive he is; how much he notices without you even having to speak.

“Thanks,” you say. Nestle it into your purse and give him an appreciative smile.

“Sure,” he nods jerkily. Adjusts the glasses on his nose. “I’m disappointed to miss it.”

“Oh?” you blink. Your eyes focus then, flitting downward to focus on the badge hanging from his lanyard.

Joel Miller, Ph.D.

University of New England.

Keynote Speaker.

“Oh, shit.”

“Mhm,” Joel squints at you. “Sorry if I don’t share the sentiment that everyone comes to watch me instead of you.”   

“Why didn’t you…” you gape. “You didn’t say you were giving a talk?” 

“You didn’t ask.”

“The Keynote speech is a big deal,” you say, as if he wouldn’t know.

“I was their third choice,” he shrugs you off with practiced ease. “First two weren’t interested.”

“Third time lucky then,” you smile, and he chuckles. Someone calls Joel’s name then, and you both spin to see Rachel across the room with a group of people, all eagerly waving him over. Something nasty curls in your chest – something bitter and unwarranted and cruel. You smother it with a mouthful of wine and a soft smile of farewell to him as he turns and walks in her direction.

A hand clasps down on your shoulder and you flinch, turning to see Professor Carmichael beaming.

“Where were we then, my dear?”

You eat Joel’s granola bar at the back of the hall five minutes before your talk and walk onstage with the taste of peanut and banana on your lips, brushing crumbs of dried oats off your fingers.

Fifteen people attend, spotted miscellaneously across the amassed rows of chairs. The slide clicker is damp in your palm, and your thumb hovers trembling over the button, awaiting each moment you need to press down.

“Working alongside some fantastic translators,” you tell them. “We focused on studying the disparities between how Greek texts are translated by men and women. Particularly, we aimed to delve into the way emotive language has been downgraded or elevated depending on the lens through which a text is being viewed.”

Professor Carmichael sits in the front row, those sun-spot covered hands clasped in his lap, offering an encouraging smile as you shift upon the stage. Rachel is a few rows back, and she nods intently whenever you glance in her direction.

“One of our main points of focus,” you continue. “Was to understand points of difficulty in translating while accounting for cultural nuances, and how the context of differing authors can impact upon this. In my next slide—”

It’s as you turn to glance at the display that you notice them for the first time. Three rows from the front, where a group of men sit. Two of them young, maybe around your age. You change your slide and watch them whisper in each other’s ears. One of them points at you. Or not you, rather—your legs.

And you yearn for it to be meaningless. A meaningless gesture between colleagues. Meaningless legs, meaningless dress, meaningless curves and slopes and dips and spins. But as you continue, you know it can’t be. The way they talk through your presentation, as if they aren’t bothered to be heard. The way they leer at you over Carmichael’s shoulder, grinning to each other. Your words in one ear and out the other—simply a talking point for them, a blue dress, something to stare at. Your dress feels hot, tight, and your chest feels hotter, tighter under the lights as those eyes glaze over you. You glance back towards Rachel. She gives you a thumbs up that doesn’t serve to cool your nerves.

“When translating word for word in our field, it’s uncommon,” you stutter to a stop, eyes flashing warily. “Sorry, it is not uncommon to find that narratological creativity dwindles.”

You hear a chuckle to your right and swallow down the urge to shoot daggers in the direction of the sound. “Translators struggle to maintain the in-depth imaginative expression that the original Greek text inspires. But through my discussions with Professor Samaras, we found that…”

It’s in the final minutes that you notice him. Tucked away in a back row of the room, arms folded across his chest. You pause for a moment, words caught in your throat. But Joel merely gives you a short nod. The faintest hint of a smile, of the corner of his eyes slanting upward, and it’s as if a cool breeze washes over you. Hands steady, knees lock, and you push through. You don’t look at any of their faces until it’s over.

And when it is, and scattered applause decorates the air, you can’t help but cast a smile in Joel’s direction. A smile that slips and wavers when you spot the broad expanse of his back, that sharp black blazer, as he slips out the doors without wasting a second.

The rest of your audience follows suit, a slim line that wanders out the doors without a second glance—spare Carmichael, who tells you he was quite taken with how you presented yourself, my dear.

You hear your own name and turn to see Rachel approaching, a burst of floral frock and swinging earrings. Her smile is wide and crooked, and you can’t help but smile back.

“That was wonderful,” she cheers, squeezing your shoulder. “I was so taken by how you spoke about the importance of linguistic quality assurance when translating emotive texts. Brilliant!”

Your face warms. “Thank you,” you shake your head quickly. “It was… thank you. That’s very kind.”

You glance over her shoulder, wondering if he’ll reappear – perhaps share her sentiments, maybe shower you with praise. He doesn’t.

She catches you looking. “Joel was in a rush,” she offers easily. “Lots of people wanting to talk to the man of the evening.”

“Of course,” you swallow thickly. Another smile.

Rachel stares at you curiously. “He’s very impressed by you, you know.” Her voice is warm, gentle—soft spoken like a mother who can sense the slightest flash of insecurity. You cringe immediately, feel your arms cross protectively across your chest. Don’t give the game away now. “Honestly, I think he read your comparative paper on the katabasis three times. Practically raved about it when I asked what it was.”

“Oh,” you blink, shifting uneasily under her gaze. “That’s… wow, I’m flattered.”

“He sees a lot of potential in you,” she says.

“Right,” you nod. “Well, he’s a grea—you’re both great teachers. I’m very lucky to be learning from the two of you.”

She doesn’t speak for a moment, and you fear your face grows warmer in the silence. Can feel the slick on your palms returning, the flash of heat in your chest, the longer you sit in it. You make a quick and tumbling excuse to flee the scene, spitting a mess of thank you so much and just need some fresh air, before you’re stumbling out of the hall and wandering outside on newborn deer legs. You snag a flute of something bubbly off the bar on your way, and find yourself on a secluded bench in the breezeway behind the conference centre.

You sit there alone and watch the grass, the way the light from inside shines out across the green. Feel the chill of the wind slip past you, rustling your hair and raising goosebumps on your bare legs. Sip dry Cava and contemplate how many more of these things you can feasibly imagine attending in your career. There’s a single text from Nora on your phone, asking how the presentation went. You tuck it into your purse, leaving the message unanswered.

By the time you hear the door hinges creak, the glass is near empty. You spy a shadowy form snaking its way down the path, headed in your direction.

“Mr Keynote Speaker,” you hum. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“Funny,” Joel mutters dryly, knees cracking as he falls onto the bench beside you. A heavy sigh slips from between his lips, fingers lacing together in his lap as he gazes across the breezeway. You down the last of your drink and place it on the concrete by your feet. “Needed some god damn peace and quiet. All that chit chat drives me insane.”

You murmur in agreement and stare at the side of his face – the neatened beard, the thick frame of his glasses. Purposeful or not, the side of his body is pressed against yours. Thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder – he’s sat directly in the centre of the bench. Heat radiates off his body and it’s almost too warm, and yet you find yourself relaxing against him.

“First time at one of these?” Joel asks gruffly. He’s still not looking at you, his eyes trained on a pigeon pecking at a discarded foil wrapper on the grass.

“Is it that obvious?” you grimace.

“Only because I’ve been to twenty of the damn things,” he says. “Y’learn how to smell the nervous energy comin’ off the first timers.”

“Twenty?” you mutter. Feel your stomach curl and twist at the idea of doing this day nineteen more times.

“Somethin’ like that.” Joel glances at you from the corner of his eye. “Went to a lot during my second degree. Had to get good at talkin’, fast.”

“Ahh,” you say. “So, you weren’t always such a sweet talker then?”

He lets out a low chuckle, as if amused by the thought. “Sweet talker, huh? That what I am?”

You shrug, suddenly emboldened by him following you outside, by how close he is, by how open he seems.

“I suppose,” you say slowly.

“And what gave you that idea?”

“You here alone?” you offer a poor imitation of him, voice low and breathy with your awful take on a Southern twang. “Meet me in the bathroom.” You wink, quietly delighted by the way his lips have tightened into a flat line.

“Funny,” he says again, entirely unamused now.

Something warm shifts in your lower stomach. Something wet—a vivid memory of him on the ground behind you in the bathroom of a bar, of hands spreading you open, of his tongue pressing inside you, of The Eagles playing faintly in the background.

“You do that kind of thing often?” you ask.  

“Do what?”

“Approach young women at bars,” you wiggle your eyebrows, smirking. “Rob them of their virtue in the bathroom and then hope you never see them again.”

“You? Virtuous?” Joel rolls his eyes. You can see the corner of his lip curling upward. “Must be gettin’ yourself confused with somebody else.”  

“Maybe,” you smile.

“Sometimes,” he casts you a look, after a moment. “Not… often. And not young.”

“Younger,” you counter quickly.

“I didn’t expect you to be…” he trails off and shakes his head. “It’s not a thing I do, alright?”

“Of course not.”

“It’s not.”

“You don’t date then?”

He tilts his head at you curiously, eyes planted firmly on your face now. “Not for a long time.”

“Why not?”

“Been busy,” he grunts, clearly growing impatient by the line of questioning.  “Spent a lot of time studying. Working.”

“Where did you study?” you press.

“This twenty fuckin’ questions?” he snaps, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “Came out here for—”

“You came out here,” you interrupt. “Because I came out here.”

He glowers at you, but doesn’t try to deny it.

“Night classes at Texas A&M for my undergrad,” he grits out. You smile sickly sweet, pleased. “Did my postgrads part time at UT Austin,” Joel says.

Your eyebrows kick up again, the teasing pretence all but forgotten. “Sounds… unconventional?” you offer softly.

“That’s one word for it,” he agrees vaguely. “Spent the better half of a decade at school just to end up teaching at one. Ain’t that somethin’.”

“And before that?” you press.  

“Before that,” he continues with a wry grin, one full of distaste and frustration and resentment. “Was a contractor for a long time. Houses, buildings.” He rests a hand against his shoulder, fingers pressing against the muscle there, as if working out a decade old knot.

And for a moment you can see it. Can almost taste it. Collared shirts and glasses replaced with hard hats and hammers and dirt in the lines of his palms. Joel carrying a plank of wood on his shoulder, wearing a toolbelt. Joel on his knees, sweat shining on his forehead while he wields an electric drill.

Your dress feels too tight suddenly. Too warm.

“A contractor,” you say distractedly, and hope he doesn’t notice how your thighs press together.

“Mhm,” Joel nods. “With my brother.”

“You have a brother?”

He ignores that. “Where did you study?”

“San Diego State,” you flash him a grin. “Go Aztecs.”

“Good school,” he hums. “You’re a long way from California.”

Only a little further than Texas, you think.

“You did good up there,” Joel adds.  

Your smile dips and wanes into a scowl, uninterested in the change of subject.

“What?”

“It was…” you shake your head slowly, face warming as you glance down to your lap.

“What?”

“It just wasn’t what I expected.” You pick at a loose thread on the hem of your dress. “That’s all.”

“And what did you expect?”

“To be listened to,” you grunt. “Not gawked at by some ancient jerkoffs that were only there to stare at my ass when I turned to change a slide.”

Joel nods, quiet.

“I wanted it to matter,” you mutter. “Wanted to… fuck, I wanted to impress them.”

“I was impressed.”

“Oh yeah?” you snort, finally looking up. “You hightailed it out of there pretty quickly.”

Joel shakes his head and stares back at you, gaze heavy. His hands tighten into fists against his thighs, knuckles lightening to white as he squeezes. You shuffle on the seat—ignore the flare of heat that erupts where your shoulder nudges firmer against his. 

“I guess you could say,” he speaks slowly. “I’m tryin’ to keep my distance.”

You arch an eyebrow and attempt to swallow the laugh bubbling up your throat.

“Well, you’re doing a great job,” you smirk.

Joel laughs and your smile falters, mouth going slack at the sound. How rare it is, and how much rarer to have it all to yourself like this. For all of his sharp angles, his sweet talking, his harsh words, and harsher touch—that laugh is the cruellest part.  

He jostles his shoulder against yours a little. An acknowledgement; perhaps a glimpse inside. Something that says, I know, I see it, I feel it, I can’t stop either.

“You make it hard,” he says then, and his voice is soft—almost a whisper.

“How’s that?” You match his tone, as if you’re two little kids who’ve snuck outside to share secrets where no one else can hear them.

“You bein’ here,” he murmurs, eyes searching. “Startin’ to feel like you’re everywhere I turn.”

A breeze swims past and you shiver, locks of hair floating in a mess around your face until you pat them down. Joel moves almost imperceptibly, curling his side tighter against yours to shield you from the onslaught.

“I know the feeling,” you admit.

The muscle in his jaw ticks and he clears his throat, looking out across the green again. For a moment the pair of you sit in silence. Not as professor and student, but simply a man and a woman on a bench. Breathing the same air, soaking in a shared silence that only the two of you could understand. And there are so many more questions you want to ask him, so much more you feel compelled to know, but instead you settle for this—sitting on a bench together, shoulders and thighs and chests pressed side to side, two frames moulded around the welcoming shape of one another. For now.

“It gets easier,” Joel says then, jaw tense as he spares a glance back in your direction. “This stuff, these people, all the talkin’.”

You acknowledge him with a small smile, just the slightest twitch of your lip. Don’t bother saying, maybe for you. Maybe for a man.

“You know,” you suck in a breath and give him a lazy smile instead. “I think this might be the longest conversation we’ve had without ripping each other’s clothes off.”

“Mm.” He leans his head back to rest on the wall, eyes focusing up towards the sky.

“I like it,” you say quietly. Hear how vulnerability chimes in your voice – a wobble that begs to be ignored and understood all at once. “It’s nice… talking like this.”

Joel’s head tilts towards you, dark eyes locked on yours. He doesn’t say anything, but you can see that wariness in his eyes. The same wariness that poured out in flecks of brown and amber and gold in the light of your bedroom a week ago, when he told you he was fifty. A hesitant curiosity, an incessant suspicion, a bark of disbelief. You feel the desire to pluck the feeling out of him and swallow it whole. To lock it safely inside yourself and make it so he never has to feel it again.

So you lean in a press your lips against his. Painfully soft, just a whisper of two mouths slotting together. Chapped and dry from the wind, he tastes like bitter sparkling wine. You sigh into him, uncaring. Hook your ankle around his, place your hand on his thigh, and sink closer, deeper.

He pulls back an inch, mouth still hovering over yours, the tip of his nose pressed into your cheek.

“Shouldn’t do this here,” he warns quietly, eyes still closed. His breath is hot against your face, and you inhale the taste of mint and Cava and Joel.

“I know.” You grip the lapel of his blazer and kiss him again. Firmer this time, grazing your tongue along the seam of his lips until he welcomes you inside to taste behind his teeth. The frame of his glasses presses into your nose, your cheeks, and you smile into his mouth. Rough palms and lazy fingertips graze the skin of your bicep, your neck, until they find a home at the nape of your neck. His thumb presses against the hinge of your jaw, hot wet tongue working your mouth open until you’re whining, teeth nipping at his bottom lip and fingernails digging into the meat of his thigh.

Only when you move to press a hand beneath the collar of his shirt does Joel pull back again, this time to stand and take a step away from the bench. A tinge of scarlet creeps its way from the hollow of his throat to the apple of his cheeks. He clears his throat and glances over his shoulder, towards the door. When he looks back, there’s something new there. Some dangerous that flashes in his eyes and lingers when his gaze dances down the curve of your body against the seat.

“Where are you staying?” you ask, breathless.

For a minute he doesn’t answer. Simply stares, contemplating, broad chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The lenses of his glasses are fogged, and you watch them slowly clear.  

Then— “The Pendry.”

Joel reaches into his pocket and retrieves something small and laminated. You take it from his outstretched palm carefully. “Fifth floor.”

You stare at it for a moment. Turn it over in your palm once, twice. Read the room number printed on the key card before tucking it safely into your purse. When you look up again, Joel is already walking back inside.

It’s nearing midnight by the time you arrive at the Pendry – a high rise in Manhattan West, the kind with a fancy lobby and a doorman in a neat black suit. The polar opposite of the hotel where your suitcase lies unopened across the city. You feel out of place in an instant, but you’re still in your dress, and the staff don’t bat an eye at your presence. The key card he gave you is hot where your fingers curl around it, plastic damp and foggy with the sweat from your palms. By the time you reach his door you have to wipe it on your dress before the sensor will recognise it.

A hollow beep echoes through the hall, and his door presses open with a soft hiss.

The room is enveloped in darkness. Moonlight shines in through a slim gap in the curtains, highlighting vague edges of the space. A desk against the wall, a large bed on the left of the room. For a moment you consider that he isn’t here—that he got caught up at the conference, sweet talking into the midnight hour with other professors and alums. You can hear sounds from the street, music and car horns blaring, even from the fifth floor. But nothing else. No Joel.

Tentatively, you take a step inside the room. And then another. Kick your heels off and feel rough carpet hairs sift between your toes. Holding your hands out into the darkness, fingertips ghosting the wall for support, you venture further into the room, only pausing when your shin thumps against the corner of something sharp and sturdy.

You spit a surprised curse and stumble into the wall, hands falling to grip your leg where it throbs and smarts.

“Jesus fuck,” you hiss, smoothing your fingers against the already forming lump.

A lamp flicks on, and the room lurches into view, tinged in a soft yellow light. You jump, eyes squinting against the sudden brightness. Bed sheets rumple and shift, and Joel is frowning at you from his place amongst the pillows, a hand raising to drowsily scratch his chin.  

“The hell are you doin’?” he rasps.

Heat flares in your face as you straighten up, mirroring his frown. He moves slow, a sluggish stretch out of bed, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, and he looks almost concerned. It gives you pause for a moment, eyes unsure of where to settle, as you note just how much of his body you’ve never seen before. The soft muscles in his legs, the dark hair over tan skin. You can see the slight round of his stomach through the thin fabric of the shirt.

“Were you asleep?” you accuse.

“Thought you weren’t coming,” Joel mutters, and the sound is a fractured medley of words and yawns. You feel a dull pang of disappointment in your chest as you watch him rub sleep from the corner of his left eye.

“Were you hoping I wouldn’t?”

He doesn’t respond.

“You gave me a key.”   

“I know,” he sighs.

“Of course I was going to come.”

He nods. Yawns again, hand snaking upward to cover his open mouth.

You turn your back on him slowly. Take a glass from the little kitchenette and let the faucet run a cool burst of water into it. Little specks of water splash up, dotting against your hand. Your feet ache from wearing those damn heels all day, but you wilfully ignore the pain, gulping down half the glass while staring at your reflection in the splashback. Blue dress, hair tucked behind your ears, charcoal smudged around the curve of your eyes.

Joel’s fingers wind around yours, peeling the glass from your clutch so he can steal the final few sips. He discards it on the counter and leans against it. You try to make out his expression in the shadowy light, wiping your water-dotted arm against your side.

“S’a good dress.” He looks more alert suddenly, eyes sharp and focused, wide shoulders squared.

“Yeah?”

“Mm.”

“Didn’t say anything about it earlier.”

“Was tryin’ not to think about it,” he says plainly. “And how badly I wanted to take it off.”

Your hand stills. That misplaced disappointment slips out of the room, an unwelcome third party, and you grin at him. A sleazy, sleepy smile, and walk backwards in the direction of the bed without taking your eyes off of him.

“So take it off,” you challenge.

Your heartbeat is a steady thrum against your breastbone as he crosses the room. Badoom, badoom, no less than three strides and he’s there, gripping your waist to turn you so his chest is against your back.

Your zip is a low whir in the air, spinning downward slowly, slowly, from the nape of your neck to the sloping base of your spine. Deft hands trace skin, grazing every mark, every freckle as they are revealed to him, until the material of your dress is a gaping smile across your back. You shiver as the air rushes to meet your bare flesh, and then careful—cautious—you feel a pair of lips press against the top of your spine, soft pink against steely vertebrae. You say his name, low and surprised, and he doesn’t say anything. Those hands push the dress down your arms, and you watch it tremble and fall, a mess of blue at your feet.

You can hear his breathing; the way it stutters and jumps as he traces the clasp of your bra, the arch of your spine beneath it.

“Take it off,” you say again, and feel a sharp scratch of desperation that perhaps this time he won’t deny you this. This something that you’ve not experienced even once, and yet you find yourself missing.

The idea of his skin against yours is something prophetic, something inevitable, something divine—something determined far before the two of you met in that bar. It’s out of your control or his, irrevocable—a beast bred from desire that claws and snaps at the bars of its cage, calling you kicking and screaming into each other’s arms.

His fingers pluck at the clasp, and you smile. Sigh in relief as your bra hits the floor and the weight of your breasts are borne to the increasingly warm air. Joel is still behind you, still not seeing you. But broad palms splay across your back, massaging and flexing into your skin as they roam your sides, your stomach, up your front to cup your breasts. You gasp, eyelids fluttering as he squeezes softly, palms warm and solid against the stiff peaks of your nipples.

“Fuck.” Joel’s nose buries itself in your hair, his forehead against the back of your head. Your legs shake, and you lean back into his chest, your body a soft and tremulous thing that would surely float away if he weren’t here to hold you up.  

His hands are on your breasts, sweet and tender and finally, and you wonder how long this wanting will feel like burning. Like nicks of flame that gloss over you and spit embers at anyone who dares to get too close—at him, sparking and sputtering as they collide in a spitfire symphony. This man who lives set ablaze in his own right. This man who welcomes your flame every time—swallows it whole, and lays kisses against the back of your neck with lips still warm.

Calloused fingers roll and circle your nipples, playing gently, listening for every gasp, every sigh, before diligently repeating whatever it was that called the sound forward. Your underwear is all but ruined, already damp and clinging to the slick skin between your thighs. And you can feel him against your lower back, albeit unmoving—not grinding against you, not pushing you down onto the bed, but waiting – for what, you can’t be sure.

You turn around faster than he can stop you. Hook fingers into the band of your panties and drag them down in a swift movement before straightening, holding his gaze all the while. And Joel—

He looks in pain. Dark eyes lock onto on your face and don’t stray. Don’t dip downward, don’t glance around the room. His hands hang by his sides, palms facing upward in a dejected fashion, jaw slack as he just—waits.

“Why won’t you look at me?” you whisper.

“You don’t….” he shakes his head. “If I look, I won’t be able to forget. And I—I can’t—”

There’s a flash of that memory again. Sweating in the dark bathroom of a bar in Portland. Joel wiping stained lipstick from your chin. The words I’m gonna remember this dripping from his swollen lips.

You take a step forward. Feel your nipples graze the soft material of his shirt. “And what if I don’t want you to forget?”

He says your name quietly, shoulders tense. But when you grip the hem of his shirt, he doesn’t stop you. Rather, he lifts his arms and lets you drag the fabric over his head. You marvel at the bare skin, eyes dancing across jutting collarbones and the soft swell of his stomach. Watch the way his chest rises and falls as stilted breaths flurry inside him before spilling into the air between you. Admire the trail of dark hair that rests between his bellybutton and the soft band of his underwear. His eyes don’t leave your face as you push the boxers down his legs.

“So handsome,” you say and Joel exhales, hands hovering a hairsbreadth from your waist. The weight of the moment hangs heavy between you. This moment of more. To be with him like this feels like more. To be naked feels like more.

You grip his hand and raise it to your breast again. Squeeze your fingers over his. His thumb flicks across your nipple and you gasp. His eyes darken, nostrils flaring as he fights to restrain himself.  

“Joel,” you whisper. “Look at me.”

Finally, he does. Those brown eyes flickering downward to rake in the sight of your body.

He’s on you in a second, mouth slanting desperately against yours while his hands drift aimlessly across skin, untethered in their access. Fingers pinching and grabbing and squeezing, teeth searing at your lips, and you gasp as his cock presses against your stomach. The long, thick weight of him, drooling and needy. Your fingers slip around him, rub softly over the underside of his head, the vein on the underside of him. Joel grips your wrist and pushes you backward a step, his lips leaving yours with a wet smack.

“Sit on the bed,” he orders firmly.

You wander backward, stumbling onto the edge of the bed when your calves collide with the heavy wooden base. He watches you, hand drifting to wrap around the base of his cock. He strokes himself gently, black eyes tracing vigilantly over every inch of your body. And you expect him to push you down, to crawl on top of you. Instead, you watch with bated breath as Joel drops to his knees in front of you. His knees crack as they bend but he ignores it, nudging your thighs apart so his broad frame can fit between them. Hooded eyes gaze between your thighs, roaming across all of the bare skin on show. Slowly, he lifts a hand and rests it gently on your mound. Calloused fingers stroke over the dark hair there, stroking through the short curls. You sigh and cant your hips up, but Joel only grunts, his free hand squeezing your thigh to hold you against the mattress.

Before you can process it, he’s leaning forward, nose nestling in your hair as his warm tongue parts your folds. You groan in unison, your fingers carding through his curls to hold him against you. He murmurs something that you don’t quite catch over the roaring in your ears, but you don’t care. Too caught up in a smooth slide of his mouth slotting against you. The flat of his tongue glides up and down your sex, smearing a mess of slick and saliva in his wake. You gasp as it flicks sharply across your clit, your jaw tensing at the harsh sensation. Joel notices—pulls back.

“Tell me,” he urges.    

“Slower,” you say quickly, voice feeble and desperate.

“Slower,” Joel repeats with a nod, and he massages your thighs as he licks into you, fingernails scraping your skin as his grip tightens and loosens and tightens and loosens. He traces slow circles around your clit with the flat of his tongue that have you gasping and bucking against his face. And when his tongue presses inside of you, you moan, fingers twisting in his hair and tugging.

“Fuck,” he growls into you, and he likes that. You do it again and his eyes flick open, pupils blown, gaze darting wildly across your stomach, your arms, your breasts, your face – watching, admiring, taking in every detail of the offering that you’ve laid so generously at his altar. The tip of a finger curls inside you and he grins when your thighs tense around him. He rears his head back to watch how you welcome him inside, eyes locked on the way your weeping cunt clenches and drips around one of his fingers, and then another.

“Yeah,” you sigh, nose scrunching at the slight stretch. “Yeah, like that, fuck.” 

“Look at you,” he mutters. “Christ.” And then the cut of his wet red mouth is back on you, lips parting to suck against your clit until you’re crying out, voice a hoarse shout as you speed rapidly towards your end.

“Shit, Joel,” you gasp. One of your legs kicks out straight and his hand drops from your thigh, one set of fingers working you open while the other comes up to part your lips, giving himself more access. As he lathes wet kisses against you, the coarse hairs of his beard scraping your inner thighs, you can feel it. That liquid heat that coils and stirs in the base of your stomach.

“Joel, I—ohh—I think I’m gonna come,” you whimper, hand shooting out to grip his shoulder. Your nails dig into the tense muscle there, using the leverage to rut your hips against his face.

He groans into your sex, fingers moving faster, unforgiving against that spongy spot deep inside that sets you alight. His teeth graze against your clit, the lightest brush, and your stomach is tensing, every muscle in your body locking up.

“Give it t’me,” he says gruffly. “That’s it, come on, baby.”

A choked gasp falls from your lips and then you’re coming, twitching against his face, pussy bearing down on thick fingers that stoke you through the high. Your hand leaves his shoulder to grip the back of his neck, holding his face against where you’re aching for him still. Joel moans, a low sound from deep in his chest, dragging his fingers away so he can drink down every heady drop of your orgasm.

Baby.

The word rings in your head, bouncing inside your skull, a fierce ricochet. Baby.

Trembling fingers feather across the cowlick at the crown of his head, twisting and petting soft wayward curls as his mouth pulls back, a wet drag across the skin of your hip. You catch a glimpse of his cock, heavy and throbbing between his thighs.

Joel’s teeth nip at the sensitive skin of your thigh, a sharp pinch that makes you flinch. Tired muscles tensing, face twisting up as he sucks and licks, hot tongue soothing over the stinging red mark. He breathes your name, mouthing the sound into your flesh once, twice.

“I’ve been tryna remember this,” he murmurs. “Only ever had it for a second.”

You whimper as he licks into you again, slowly. And you’re so sensitive, and maybe—maybe—it’s too much, too soon, but he doesn’t care. He grips your calf and tucks it over his shoulder. Holds it there in a vice grip.

“Wasn’t enough,” he says. Dark eyes look up and you’re rapt in them—bound and boneless simply from having those eyes on you you you nothing but you all he sees is you and he loves it, you can tell. Thrives on the way you melt beneath his rough fingertips, the wet drag of his tongue. “Remember that first day in my office?

Remember, remember, remember, how could you forget? I’m gonna remember this this this.

“Yes.” Your leg trembles against the side of face, the coarse hairs of his beard scratching your skin. The tip of his tongue lathes slow circles around your clit. A cruel, leisurely slip of flesh on flesh that has you gasping and twitching beneath his hands.

“I wanted this that day,” Joel rasps. “Needed it. But you were gone so soon, ‘n’ I couldn’t help myself.”

“What—oh fuck—” He flicks his tongue faster, hot swipes from side to side that have your thigh clamping down against the muscles in his neck. Your mind is a blur, eyebrows furrowed as you try to make sense of his words.

“Fucked my fist the second you left,” he growls. “My fingers in my mouth, the taste of you—Christ, couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout it.”

“Joel,” you gasp, impatient. “I—get up here. Please, just—”

Strong hands push you up, push you back, further onto the bed until your head hits the pillows. His hair is a wild fray around his head, knotted and mussed from your fingers raking through it.

“I don’t have anything,” he says.

“I don’t care,” you say.

His knees press onto the mattress on either side of you and his eyes glance down your chest before he grips your waist and he’s turning you. Your stomach meets the sheets and you move to arch your back, to tilt your hips up towards him, but a firm hand rests on the small of your back, and keeps you down.

“Like this,” you hear him say. “Trust me.”

His chest is flush to your back, and you can feel him there, knuckles brushing the flesh of your ass, spreading you apart so his cock can press inside. The pillow swallows your wet gasp, and your eyes pinch shut against the stretch as he sinks deeper and deeper. Every delicious inch splits you open wider, further, carving out that space that’s just for him, and it’s more. Your vision blurs and you clutch at the sheets, fingers tangling in linen as Joel’s breathy groans fill the air.

“God,” he grunts. “Always so fuckin’—tight.”

You cry out as he begins to move, pressing you further into the mattress. The stretch of him is so broad—so deep—it has hot tears pricking in your eyes. Your legs are straight, almost clamped together, leaving the smallest gap for him to break through. His chest melts against your back, sweet sweat sliding from skin to skin. And his stomach is soft against the base of your spine, but his teeth are sharp where they nip and smart against the skin of your shoulder, your neck. He sets a pace that has you biting down into the pillow to muffle your groans. It’s almost overbearing how good it feels, how he surrounds you. Flat against the mattress, there’s nowhere to hide from the pleasure, no way to twist or curl your body away from how good it feels. A choked moan is muffled by the pillow.

And then his fingers are in your hair, dragging your head up.

“What are you fuckin’ doin’?” he grunts. You gasp, eyebrows furrowed and mouth ajar as you take take take. He pulls your hair harder when you don’t respond, presses his chin against your shoulder, lips curling against the skin of your neck as he speaks. “Don’t do that, not here. No more hidin’, I wanna fuckin’ hear it.”

He grips your hips and drags you upward so you’re on your knees, bracing against your forearms, and then his hand snakes around the front of your body, fingers dragging between your thighs as he begins moving again.

“Oh fuck,” your eyes widen in surprise, jaw hanging slack as he rolls his finger in expert circles over your clit. “Fuck, fuck.”

“Yeah?” he gasps.

“Fuck,” you repeat, mewling every time one of his thrusts sends your face forward into the pillows. “Yes, oh god.”

“Yeah, you fuckin’ like that.” Each word is punctuated by a thrust of his hips. “That’s it, lemme hear it.”

“Joel,” you cry out, voice cracked and broken. “So good.”

“I know, baby,” he grunts. “I know.”

“You’re so—deep,” you gasp.

“I know,” he soothes.

“I missed this,” you babble, mouth moving faster than your mind. “Missed you.”

“Christ,” he spits, pulling you up until you’re leaning against his chest. His fingers are a blur against your clit, cock a fast wet shift in and out in and out.

You tilt your head back against his shoulder, mouth hanging open as you press your ass back into him.

“Missed me?” Joel says, and his cheek is warm against yours. Wet. Your face is wet. “Gonna show me how much?”

“Yes,” you moan. His free hand grips your breast, squeezing and pinching.

“Need to get my fuckin’ mouth on you,” he growls.

“No,” you beg. “Joel, don’t—fuuuck, fuck, don’t stop.”

“Wanted to,” his hips stutter against you, losing momentum for a second. “Jesus, wanted to take my fuckin’ time.” You snake a hand behind his head to grip his hair again, to press his face into your neck. His mouth latches onto your skin, spit mixing with sweat where his teeth and tongue trace your roaring pulse. Your thighs are trembling, knees weak and wobbling against the mattress as he pistons into you, unrelenting, unforgiving.

“I’m—” your eyes start to roll back. You can feel your back arch and twist against him, toes curling into the sheets. “Oh my God.”

He says your name in a panicked hiss and pulls out.

You gasp at the loss, eyes flying open in alarm. He moves your body, not wasting a second as he lowers you down onto your back presses inside again, hands gripping the underside of your knees, holding them against your chest. Practically bent in half, you tremble in his grasp, eyes blurred and wet as you sob his name.

“Lemme have it,” he goads you, voice a dull vibration against your chest. “Bein’ so fuckin’ good for me, yeah, just like that.”

And it feels like something splinters within you as heat floods your senses, vision whiting out until all you can see is the soft edges of his curls against your chest, the wet smear of his tongue over your nipple. All you can hear is the words he speaks against your skin.

I’m close, he warns, and you say yes, say please, say I want it, because you do.

“Where?” You call the shots.

And you say, Inside, say, I want it, because you do.

Because you want everything. Everything he has and whatever dark matter is left after that. And everything is a naked thought, a stark realisation, a frighteningly bare streak of madness that zips down your spine and melts in your belly, and you can feel yourself tightening around him with the enormity of it. Can feel your body squeezing and sucking and holding it holding it holding it and with black eyes, spheres of a night sky’s pitch, he stares at you. Unruly eyebrows pinched tight. Mouth slick and swollen and snarling, white teeth grit like prison bars, keeping everything contained inside himself, just out of your reach.  

“Fuck,” Joel spits, pleading, desperate. “Don’t—”

But his hips are bruising against yours and you relish in the ache. The jut of bone amidst the softness of his skin, a reminder of the coldness in him, the determination, the impatience. And you know that you can only have so much softness until there is stone. But you cannot understand don’t, you never have with him, so you grind upward. Meet him thrust for thrust, and shiver in delight as a tortured expression passes over his face. And when you come again he curses, broad palms bearing down on you, holding your frame into the mattress as he pushes you through it, prolonging that naked thought, that fearsome idea. You only hope that he cannot see how your own everything spills. How it cools and congeals around him with its palms spread open, longing to receive as much in return.

Joel comes with a shout, hips dragging backwards so his spend can spill across your stomach and the puffy lips of your sex. He grips his cock, milking himself for all he’s worth until wet ropes of his come are smeared across your thighs too. You gasp and writhe against the bed, trying in vain to keep your heavy eyelids open, not wanting to miss a second. The shine of your slick on his thighs and lower stomach is clear in the dim lighting, and you smile at the sight of it – your claim on him. Chest heaving, he follows your gaze, fingers swiping across his skin before sinking into his mouth. He groans around his fingers and you stomach lurches as he lowers his chest to the bed, mouth drifting between your splayed thighs.

You cup his jaw and hold him still.  

“I can’t,” you murmur, and your voice is cracked and broken. “S’too much.”

And he agrees, tracing the marks on the inside of your thighs with his mouth until your eyes drift closed.

Time passes slowly after that. You don’t open your eyes for a while. Too fucked out, too tired, too tender.

There’s a warm glide of something soft and wet over your stomach, your thighs, between your legs—Joel cleaning up his mess. You almost wish he wouldn’t.

“Sorry,” you mumble a few minutes later. “I’ll go in a second.” But your eyes are closed, and the sheets smell like him.

You feel the mattress dip beside you. Hear a soft click as he turns off the lamp, and darkness swells around you once more.

“S’okay,” he says, and his voice is so close, as if he were whispering against the shell of your ear, breathing the words into you. “Don’t have to go.”

And it makes sense not to go. To stay, to stay, to stay. To sink deeper into the hotel mattress, and let the sounds of his heavy exhales lull you further to sleep. He doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t come any closer. But you can smell him. Can feel his warmth, a radiating sun that shines across the side of your body closest, and you sink deeper still.

You think of the katabasis - the hero’s journey spiralling down into the underworld. Of Orpheus seeking the safe return of Eurydice, his love lost too soon. Of Odysseus, guided by Circe to discover Teiresias on his quest for homecoming. Of Aeneid, venturing downward to meet his father and hear his true destiny. This descent into the afterlife, into the realm of the dead, wherein upon return our hero is irrevocably changed. But to stay, to stay, to stay. So warm it is here, you think, so lovely and warm to descend wholly into this wanting, this burning, this everything.   

“Is this a good idea?” you murmur, voice a drowsy call into the darkness. “For me to stay?”

Joel doesn’t respond.

tags: @lovely-ateez @nana90azevedo @stevie75 @evyiione @dameron-grant-spector @brittmb115 @ashhlsstuff @casa-boiardi @bbyanarchist @hopplessilse @joeldjarin @anoverwhelmingdin @bluevxnus @kelp-dreaming @prettyinpunk85 @spacelatinos4life @iluvurfather @mrsquill @sarap-77 @sunnywithachanceofjavi @alleyy-katt @zeida @mendessi @love-the-abyss @myrealmofchaos @a-roving-woman @punkshort @gracie7209 @whichwitchwanda @fellinfromthetop @bitchwitch1981 @suzmagine @@lmariephoto37 @harriedandharassed @cumberpegg @tonysttank @ourautumn86 @my-tearsricochet @shotgun-shelby @5oh5 @psychedelic-ink @what-is-your-wish @sugadolly @elissaaa @nobodycanseeinsidemysoul

thank you for reading! x

[callsign-rogueone]

ok but!! ive been reading some fw theories in the subreddit, and one that has a lot of diff opinions on is whether liam has a second signet or if he was wielding ice in that scene, especially since deigh’s name means ice. what are your thoughts, do you think it was just a mistake?? and what about liam in your universe?

[insert that clip of Cardi B going: “I’m glad you brung it up because I’ve been dying to talk about this for a minute”]

FOURTH WING AND IRON FLAME SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT. this ramble is not going to be proofread, nor supported with textual evidence, because I have a migraine. but if anyone wants to jump in with page numbers and quotes or things I missed / got wrong, please feel free! 

in short: I think it’s possible that Liam did have a second signet.

first, my only hangup on this theory: what are the odds of two riders in the same squad, in the same year, having the same signet (Ridoc and Liam)? I know some signets are more rare than others, but that’s still a very slim chance when there’s 20+ signets out there that we know of, and RY will probably come up with more (fr, I need to know what Garrick and Aaric's signets are. I hope they're something unique, that we haven't seen yet.) but here are a few arguments in favor of two-signet Liam:

one: I don’t think it was just “RY putting the wrong name”.

Ridoc wasn’t there at Resson, so RY would have to have confused the two boys entirely for it to be a mistake. besides them both being perfect little bbs and adoring fans of Violet, they’re not alike in appearance, dragon color, nor backstory -- what is Ridoc’s deal? like why did he want to become a rider? I need to know for my next gfverse chapter 😭 and the mistake would also have to slip past multiple rounds of editors and proofreaders as well, which is possible, but not probable.  and was Ridoc's signet even confirmed at that time? maybe this is me forgetting things, because ADHD, and it’s been a while since I’ve read FW in full, but the first time I remember hearing about Ridoc’s signet is in Iron Flame — when they’re at RSC and he’s like “I could force the locks open with ice”. that confused me at the time because I didn’t know about (or remember) his signet. and then it really clicked for me later, when he makes an ice pack for poor Brennan after Mira decks him lmao. is it mentioned earlier than that? when I search “ice” in my FW ebook it shows me every instance of ��voice” and "nice" and “office” etc., too, and I'm not scrolling through all that 🙄 and neither of the reference sites I like to use have a page number listed for him getting his signet or the first time it’s mentioned. as another aside: look how gorgeous Ridoc is here. smash. EDIT TO ADD: it is mentioned in Fourth Wing, in one line on page 289 (as identified by @hockeyspiral23 - thank you!) but he doesn't actually use it. no wonder my adhd brain forgot about it when there were bigger issues at hand lol they also pointed out that it could still have been a mistake, if RY meant to have it be another one of the barely-mentioned marked riders who aren't part of the main gang, as ice-wielding is "a common signet" (FW p. 289), and there were a few students we never really met apart from Resson (including Masen and Soleil. RIP.) so it could have been one of them. another possible explanation that I just came up with for the mistake category -- unreliable narrator? the events of that day were incredibly distressing for Vi, and she literally gets poisoned and loses consciousness and doesn't wake up for three days (following the theory that FW and IF are her diary, written in an ancient language and translated by Jesinia later) so it could have been a blur / hard to remember and VIOLET could have gotten it wrong. If I were RY, and it was a genuine mistake, this is the explanation I would give lmao

two: Deigh meaning ice is another tally in the “not a mistake” column.

RY likes to have the dragons' names refer to their current rider's signets. (Tairn = thunder, Aimsir = weather...) but not all of them match (Tiene = fire, I think, and Mira makes shields.) Liam and the ice is only mentioned once, at Resson, but there are many characters who we don't see getting their signet -- really just Vi's sex-induced lightning, and a mention of Sawyer nearly killing someone in a swordfight on accident. and Sloane's siphoning, too. okay, maybe this isn't a great point. but I still want to hear how they figured these things out! especially Bodhi. and Xaden's second one. poor thing couldn't tell anyone, even his best friend, and had to figure out how to manage it entirely on his own (he had Sgaeyl, but that's it.) and maybe Liam didn’t realize he had the ice until Resson, and just started slinging icicles at the wyvern once he figured out that he could. though that's kinda unlikely, I guess, since he would have channeled in November or December and Resson wasn't until July... hm.

three: Deigh could have been the dragon of Liam's relative, giving him a second signet like Xaden has with Sgaeyl.

it’s my understanding that Liam, like all the marked ones (except my addition of Darling and her little sibs) were military kids, and his mom is mentioned in IF as being the one to weave the protection runes, which I believe requires a level of magic that only a rider would have. so he has at least one relative who was a rider, and therefore probably more. ngl, at first I thought it was mad suspicious that his parents were executed separately from everyone else’s, but then we didn’t meet them in Aretia, so I guess they really are dead. but how mf heartbreaking would it be if they were alive -- and the first time they see their son in a whole year of him being gone at Basgiath, it’s Xaden carrying his body into the fortress 😭 and Vi and X crying and apologizing to Mama Mairi for not being able to save him… I’M SO SORRY. IT JUST CAME TO ME, AND I HAD TO WRITE IT DOWN. if any FW writer wants to write that AU, go for it. we could all use another good cry. there seems to be a trend of the dragons who had Tyrrish riders purposely (and "illegally") bonding the descendants of their previous riders. - Xaden has a second signet from Sgaeyl as his grandfather was one of her former riders, allegedly, but he "didn't make it out of the quadrant"? so he had a kid (Fen, Xaden's dad?) before graduating? is that why Xaden mentions that his dad hated dragon riders in one of his letters to Vi? - and then I believe Imogen has the dragon of a relative, but not a direct relative, so she doesn't have a second signet, but the one she does have is just really strong? I feel like they glossed over that a little too quickly, and it remains unclear to me how that whole thing works. - and now maybe Liam, too?

I might tack more stuff on below as it comes to me, or RB with commentary, but I think that's all I've got for now.

but regardless of if it was a mistake or not, I’m not planning on putting it in Liam and Spark’s story — just his farsight, which is confirmed multiple times. if Spark believed in the gods, she’d thank them for not giving him something as destructive and deadly as her water, but Li’s still gonna have some issues with it, because I feel the need to project my issues onto my fave characters, and everyone loves some mild hurt/comfort that’s resolved with cuddles and a nap, right? 🥰

[axieta]

Hungry eyes

Henry Winter x reader |

Warnings: in this part there are non but later parts are going to hit diff so mdi

Summary: Richard is the newest member of the bizarre, isolated classics course. There is seven of them in total, every personage strange and intriguing in their own way. But there is this one girl who’s sheer presence unnerves and simultaneously compels his whole being. What secrets do those sharp eyes of her hide? And what is her relation to the ever stoic Henry Winter?

Chapter 1

| In the eye of a predator |

I think I noticed it first during my second week in the Greek class. We were sitting, all seven of us, in the school library; all but Henry whining and breaking our heads over a particularly dreadful translation of Arrian. Something about Alexander, I’m sure of it.

It was then she looked at me for the first time. And it wasn’t just a throw-away glance, or a squint-eyed half-smile. No, it was the truest, fullest and most precise stare of all the stares I have ever witnessed in my life.

She tasked me with her gaze, her eyes slightly hooded, with long, thick eyelashes. From head to toe and then from toe to head. Said eyelashes fluttered, when she came to scan my face and then her eyes met mine. And I saw it, hidden deep inside of those abyssal irises, the electrifying glint that sent shivers down my spine. The moment our gazes crossed, I knew I was done for. I was vanquished in the matter of seconds, quickly submitted into the reign of that cool look, enslaved by its ferociousness, the sheer intensity of it; and I didn’t even know that I was competing. Something in that stare compelled me to give in.

It was a spark of folly, pure and hot like a furnace in the middle of December and for a second I thought it to be burning deep into my cheek.

I remember Hampden in a magnificent blur. A splash of red, gold, white and green. To me it is a mystic collage of places, objects without a name or an owner. It is an onslaught of faces, Greek letters and Latin phrases blending intangible into each other.

But there is something in particular that constantly managers to break through the heavy mist of stimuli and fogged-up memories. It burns and freezes me up every time it reappears deep in my mind and I can’t seem to get rid of it.

The shining, primal and dangerous pair of eyes. Looking from underneath furrowed brows, right through my physical shell. Etching the uneasy, thrilled feeling of the consciousness right into my bones. They haunt me up to this day. And they shine beautifully amidst the conflagration their stare fires up inside of me.

It was far too hot, for a lad as uptight and uneasy as I constantly was at that time. I remember starting to sweat profusely the minute that stare anchored into my figure. With time I learned to ignore the uncomfortable feeling, to push it down and bottle it up like the rest of things in my life.

But that first time, the initial first-degree contact with that stare had sent me into a hellish spiral of sweat and as I thought a feverish seizure.

Looking back, I was probably exaggerating, it was however extremely unnerving to feel those vibrant, lively irises bearing right into my flesh as if they could dig up my deepest, most shameful secrets.

She was, the proprietary of the eyes I mean, one of the latest additions to the class, however junior to me in age, she’s been a semester ahead of me in context of education in Hampden’s Greek and Latin course. Outside of the school walls, she was eons ahead of me.

I think there wasn’t a subject she wasn’t interested in. Like an encyclopedia, you could start any topic, most random or niche, and she would already have had formed an opinion on it and delight you with a lengthy explanation to her stance. She wasn’t like Henry, who had clearly dedicated himself solely to the classical arts, and passionately ignored anything other than that, or Bunny who in turn ignored everything that wasn’t forced into him or served to him on a silver platter.

No, she was a titan of knowledge. Hungry for more and eager to bathe you in some of the goods she had already acquired.

But she wasn’t loud in that strive for knowledge of hers. She would rather engage in one-on-one conversations, get to know her interlocutor, synchronize with him and conduct a debate that would also engage, and with luck, completely devour him as well.

Although her favorite subject were the many a conquests of Alexander the Great. Yes, it was an endless topic for her.

Once even I saw her shed a tear while comparing Alexander and Hephaestion to Achilles and Patroclus, wailing over the poetic tragedy of the Macedonians’ situation in light of Alexander’s love for the Iliad.

‘He even had his oven copy of the damn book. He slept with it under his pillow!’

I remember her voice breaking every time someone prompted her to start this particular topic. And I remember Bunny rolling his eyes every time she undertook it.

Maybe that’s why I recall that particular evening so clearly. We were translating The campaigns of Alexander after all; but instead of her usual glossy eyes and melancholic stare I was faced with that.

The malignant gaze of a demon.

Well, now I might be exaggerating a little. But it is true. There was something hot and unnerving about her. Maybe it was the stare. Or maybe it was something much more clandestine, like the sharp angles of her face, the way her eyebrows set or her mouth shaped her syllables. Maybe it was the distinct play of light and shadows on her face, or was it the bird-like tilt of her head. Or the fluid, swift movements of her body. As if she was pure water, nothing more nothing less, flowing gracefully from one place to the other. Never faltering, never tripping over or halting.

Or maybe the fact that sometimes, when she looked up at you, with that bird tilt to her head and a deep cut smile to her face, one that would reveal a dimple on the left side of her face, and a slight tightness at the corners of her eyes, she looked almost sweet. Alluring in a mischievous way, the way all things primal can be. Polarizing and pulling you in like a magnet. Like a fox, looking you straight in the eye as he bites through the arteries of a wild goose he just caught. It is a tragic, gruesome scene, but something in the cruelty of the deed makes you unable to look away. And maybe it is the blood dripping down the fiery red fur, or the last high pitched quacks of the goose, but there is something forbidden and for it enticing in the scene.

I could never realy put a finger on it. What was the true source of that mystic, almost electric aura she seemed to be oozing out of ever pore of her body.

My bet would be on the totality of those little quirks I’ve already mentioned.

There was something profoundly primeval about her. She would mask it of course, but I’ve seen it on several occasions. The animal ripping from within her. Hiding in her wolfish grin, lurking in the glint of her eyes.

It made my hair stand on my head.

She was a perfect predator. Disguised into a frail, sweet girl. With big, seductive eyes, soft lips, and the sweetest nose. Her voice deep, melodic like streams of old Greece and her laugh all rumbling summer thunder. She seemed just so… so good, so poetic, so beautiful.

It was that crude cunning that made my stomach churn. Burrowed deep under her skin just waiting to jump out of her.

If I had to pick someone, out of us seven, who most resembled a Greek god or goddess I would choose her. And not because of her skills in greek or Latin. No, Henry surpassed her as well as the rest of us in that department. It also wasn’t for her beauty. In my eyes, no one could compare to Camilla.

No, that would be for the feral fierceness that constantly boiled over in her. Her restlessness, the passion that oh so often consumed her and the emotions upholstered with velvet of indulgence I would later see her throw herself into with abandon. She looked like she belonged right in the middle of Dionysus’ cortège. At times she was senile and pleasant to the mortals that wished to mingle with the lesser gods such as the classical course class. But she also looked like the type of girl to identify herself not with the quick-feeted nymphs or graceful dreads that formed the procession, but rather the wild and menacing maenads. She made me feel as if only she’d drunk too much of vine she would gladly and eagerly rip my head off clean of my shoulders, and she would later laugh about it, as my corpus-less head would be forced to sing to her à la poor Orpheus.

And I knew I saw the shine of her teeth not because I was a good observer, or because she had grown careless and didn’t bother masking around me. No, I saw it because she wanted me to see it. Because she wanted to mess with me, mischievousness running deep in her veins, chaos being the only thing for witch she could feel real passion. Because she was sure, no one was going to believe me. The truest of predators, as I said.

And it was true. Back then, even if I told myself from a week before, he wouldn’t believe me. After all, she looked fine. She wasn’t a great beauty like Camilla, but she was rather easy on the eye. Maybe it is because of that true, cruel nature of hers that she was so kind to reveal before me, that her imagine remains rather distorted in my head; but I can tell you one thing- what she lacked in beauty, she made up in charm and charisma. Even without the glint in her eyes an indescribable aura of mystery veiled her existence. And when she started talking, and I mean talking with you and not to you, her deep, melodic voice could put you in some kind of a trans, like the ones conducted in Delphi. I think she gave people courage to speak with that voice; somehow untangled their tongues and compelled them to converse far more easily than if they would without her.

She had this weird soothing quality about her, if only she wanted to seem soothing that is.

Once I saw her enraptured in some sort of a quarry with Simon Sharon, a scrawny boy with a stutter, who at the time of the exchange did not stutter at all. On the contrary, he seemed to be standing his rhetoric ground against the onslaught of her own arguments quite gracefully.

She was like a magnet for guys. And while Camilla seemed to be almost boy-repellant, the opposite gender swarmed to her peer like flies to honey. Not only that, girls would also cling to her as if she was their guru or something.

I always thought it was weird. After all, she did nothing so special. Nothing that would attract this much attention, and as I’ve seen later in the year, she would go as far as to actively rid herself of the following.

And yet, up to the very end she remained our school’s sweetheart.

She dressed rather modestly. Mostly in long dresses, sometimes skirts and cardigans, although ocasionally we would also see her sporting a pair of pants. During those days Bunny seemed to be most cold towards her.

Either way, most of her clothes were kind of airy, ghostly even. Sometimes when she would walk through the corridors and a gust of wind gathered the ruffles of her dress she resembled more an apparition rather than a human being.

She was rather palie, and so the whole atmosphere of Hampden as well at the fraily clothing played into the elusive nature of her beauty and further thickened the cocoon of mystery around her.

Her eyes were intelligent, big and bright when she needed them to be, and narrow and nigh all-sing when she didn’t. Her face went in and out of those two states so easily, as if she didn’t even think of it. The transitions between her moods were so natural that sometimes, after some time even I couldn’t really point out when or even if the change occurred.

It was like having a shapeshifter living right next door to you, and noone conscious of that but you.

Henry, Francis, Bunny, Camilla and Charles, they all were too blind or too focused on themselves to discern this duality, although I think out of all of them, Henry came the closest to the truth.

Out of all of us, he was the one that she tolerated the most. Sometimes I would see the both of them sitting together in the library. Most of the times they would be silent. He would be translating something, and she would be scribbling away or reading. But a few times I was able to witness a heated debate between the two of them, upheld both in perfect Greek and later on in Latin as well.

I thought Henry kind of liked her, in his own way. I thought he tolerated her, and vice versa simply because of the obvious equality between them.

Only later I found out how stupid and oblivious to the true nature of this relation I was. And that the signs were all around me. And that I was just too dense to not pick up on them.

[dungeonbf]

ohhh that’s so coool!!!! xenogender blogs are the backbone of our society I love gathering xenos tbh and ppl make the most gorgeous flags it’s awesome! that’s so cool that ur boyfriend does that! anti-centrism probably only lets you follow his xenogender blog. u and maybe ancom. I think ancom wld appreciate it. bahahaha… ur relationship is so beautiful & silly /positive it’s like. when ur right hand man wants to know all of you. like.. “no one knows me. no one knows who i am” vs “i want to know you. let me meet you.” ykwim? it’s something SOOO intricate & personal, I think.

BTW YES WE PLAY COD TOGETHER! i think if we ever played modern warfare authright wld get jealous bc chrislib wld be like “oh könig is so fine.” and he’d be like “he’s okay. he’s not a REAL man.” and chrislib wld be like “doesn’t matter. i want him.” and authright knows it’s just her being thirsty over a videogame character but he’s still jealous <\3.

chrislib, while playing cod: I love a man in uniform lmao authright, the next day, in full military gear: hello. chrislib: lord forgive me, authright, what in god’s name do you have on?

outside of cod & videogames in general, i think they’d both enjoy soccer. can’t explain why but it feels right that authright wld like that sport, not to play but to watch. he rooted for germany during the world cup yes but he probably has beef with psg just like I do. he wld look cute in a german jersey.. smh…. (chrislib cried uncontrollably out of joy on the floor when argentina won and messi got his worldcup trophy /hj) but anyways, they both share interests in wars except authright focuses on ww2 and chrislib reads abt ww2 & the cold war (& the russian revolution). i think authright wld focus on the data / numbers of ww2 and chrislib enjoys discussing the more psychological / social side of matters, the less concrete aftermath like the way ppl thought of the war during & after. also he likes looking at the military weapons.. they wld be pretty civil when talking abt it I think just bc they’re both genuinely interested even if it’s for diff reasons.

MY HEADCANONS FOR AUTHRIGHT HAHA glad u asked

he cannot dance at all but i like to think he has a good singing voice that’s genuinely enjoyable. I wld love to sing a duet with him one day.. he’s got that like frank sinatra / paul anka type of voice

he watches reality tv like those trashy reality tv shows, he’s all on em. he convinces chrislib to watch them too so that he’s not alone

I think he wld want a doberman dog, he reminds me of dobermans and maybe him & chrislib adopt one but I imagine he’d like them

likes getting his nails painted but keeps his nails in good condition regardless of whether or not their painted..

he enjoys poetry, reading & occasionally writing it. “classic” writing. I think he’d even look into translated versions of poetry in other languages like portuguese or arabic (which, from my limited experience, both have EXTREMELY romantic poetry out there)

he can swim really well. chrislib can barely swim, barely.

— @boykujou

okay hear me out.. i know this seems unlikely but… authright writing you poetry. i feel like he’s not super poetic and he deems expressing his feelings effeminate but he has a “moment of weakness” as he calls it and he starts just pouring out all his feelings for you on the page. it’s rough, unpolished, but incredibly sincere. his love for you spills out in verses, each stanza more romantic than the last… yeah… just my thoughts.

i also think he’s a pretty good listener when he wants to be — he’ll eagerly, happily listen as you talk about the russian revolution. he likes hearing you talk, yk, your voice is soothing to him!! he finds comfort in you!! i feel like since he doesn’t have a super close bond with the other extremists, he gets lonely easily and being able to be with you is a real comfort to him!!!

also i hope you know what you said about anti-centrism is making me lose my mind… like yes i’m jris right hand man, whatever, but i’m also the only one who truly understands him, yk?? i think the feeling is mutual, too, cuz an-acc isn’t superrr close with the other wacky ideologies or extremists (except ancom, i think, ancom is me but also my best friend forever at the same time.) so being able to truly confide in someone is a rarity — so having that connection with anti-centrism is even more special, yk what i’m saying? AND YES i’m the only one (except ancom) who knows about the blog. it’s our little secret :3

[spaceyflowers]

lua im rambles/thoughts !! (based on ch 398)

um. be warned this kind of turned into a very informal mini essay ^_^;;

first impression of her is... okay! her character design is very pretty tho 💖 anyways she was just introduced so i dont want to say anything too harsh yet; gonna wait until more of her is shown before making a real opinion. still, im still mad at how ptj is currently handling her and worried for how her future will look.

first i will start off by saying that when she did this i laughed because i love how dramatic she is <3

confusion and curiousity

ok now onto stuff i wanna say: her only super amazing skill is gathering information, so much so it was even praised by gun. does she know this or is it word of mouth only? has she ever met gun or has he ever told this to her personally? how did she get so good at gathering information and how does she do it; how will it be shown? whats her background like?

speaking of that, based on whats currently been revealed; im... really confused? jake and jerry speak as if they dont know her at all, even referring to her with the wrong pronouns like they've never met her before but they still trusted to leave her in charge while they were away saving sinu...?

they also speak like theyre intimidated of her and deadass ran away when they heard she was coming which is... kind of funny but like. why. jerry's word choice is also pretty harsh 😭 even if this translation is off so the wording seems more cold, the tone is pretty set in stone for how he feels about lua

and im confused for how she came into big deal? jerry says she was able to come inside big deal with info gathering skills like she wasnt a member that they welcomed in like family--she just snuck in/blackmailed (im using that term VERY lightly) them into joining and they just let her in with no other choice??

but then in these panels jason speaks fondly of her:

does he, brad, and lineman all personally know her while jake and jerry dont and are scared of her....? and it seems like shes been a part of big deal for some years seeing as shes probably 17-19 in current time but in the flashback shes probably 14 at the youngest or something.

the girls on the street are also implied to have raised her so surely shes met jake and jerry at some point but they talk like shes a secret agent theyve never seen in their entire life while she talks like she knows them and has met them before ?? how come only jason, brad, and lineman seem to know her enough to be comfortable with meeting and casually chatting with her ?? (also lineman being a chair for her 😭😭😭) am i misreading or missing context or something ?????

complaints and concerns

once again i will complain about ptj being too much of a coward to make the girls be strong and able to fight. like the second i saw this panel i was bashing my head on the wall. shes introduced like "shes good at muy thai" and then immediately after "shes not good at it tho" fuck off 💀

secondly i feel the same concern a lot of other people have already expressed ! it's her involvement with johan, of course

like this post says here, im worried if johan actually ends up trusting her, he'll feel upset knowing she only grew closer to him to make him an ally of big deal. even if her feelings for caring about him do eventually grow genuine, im pretty sure johan would be upset either way. i guess the best outcome would just be for him to forgive her and then i guess they start dating? 😭

urgh but thats the thing, too... she just exists as a love plot device to help the men of big deal and to serve as johan's love interest ?! nothing for herself ...? unless she does something jaw dropping to help advance the story with her info gathering skills alone then im convinced she just exists as a love plot device to advance the story 💀

also sucks to say but her gender definitely plays into her character. if its not as this post theorizes that ptj just changed big deal no.5 from a guy to be a girl to have more girl characters "that can fight", then big deal no.5 was definitely made as a girl to play a love interest. why tho...? i know this can just be countered with "why not?" but i feel like johan is in way more need of a friend than a lover 😭

could be a friends to lover thing of course but it just irks me that no.5 could've been a guy and johan couldve just made a new friend (theres still worries about manipulation ofc). unless ptj somehow only keeps lua and johan just friends... maybe in another timeline lol but im pretty sure the direction is heading towards a romantic thing

and yet i still have to ask Why. was a new character necessary? will lua play a bigger role other than this obvious love plot device thing? if so, i'll be more willing to look past her plot device concept but if shes just relevant to make johan friendly with big deal and immediately tossed into the background right after because the plot is gonna go back to focusing on the guys fighting again once johan probably trusts big deal to join their side, i will... be frustrated, to say the least <3

and if she does just serve as a plot device then i guess she's just excuse for filler(?). why couldnt we have just seen johan slowly befriending big deal over time tho? 😭 i think thatd be way more fun to see; the big deal guys awkwardly trying to befriend johan who is cold to them at first but eventually befriends them and becomes like a lil bro to the guys ?? like damn let johan join big deal family ???? it would be a nice twist too because of how he almost joined them in the past until samuel rejected him but now he's basically part of the gang? (but again, johan would probably still be upset if he finds out their first intentions)

or hell, bring jace back on the scene! wouldnt it be fun to see jace somehow stumbling into friendship with johan again and big deal taking advantage of the situation? like they go up to jace and say "hey so youve been hanging out around johan lately do you mind telling him big deal is trustworthy and stuff ^_^" and jace realizes hes suddenly in some kind of dilemma?! maybe burn knuckles gets involved too and big deal befriends them all. we could see vasco and jake interacting again, have a bunch of these dudes become good buddies and bonding over how much they love their leaders (big deal with jake and burn knuckles with vasco ofc) i think that would be fun.

...i miss the j high kids so much.

on another note. if lua is still on the scene, i still think it would be fun if jace got involved again. like considering jace's intelligence, im curious to see if he would find out lua's intentions and how he would handle the situation. would he understand? would he warn johan? (maybe even speaking from past experience of when he got manipulated by that one girl 😭😭)

conclusion

i dont have much hope for lua plot-wise, just bare minimum with wanting some of my questions answered. i do hope she's shown having friendly banters/interactions with big deal though, it'd be great if i could add her to my big deal family agenda !! for now she's outside of it tho... ;;

[misterbitches]

no1cares buuuut this is my blog and i can procrastinate cos im cuteand cool. i am thrilled, truly, that there's respect for women and there's two women that (ostensibly? idk about the kid and where that goes but lets assume lol) like each other to the point where even if i do not feel connected i am glad. and from what emotion i can extract there's things that are fluttery like her looking at the hand

THIS SHOW IS A FUCKING CUTE FUCKING SHOW FULL STOP and its content is consistent and cute.n

it can't mean totally much even in its own standards. but this is how i feel. a critique or critical thinking negates none of that or how lovely it is and they seem.

(as an aside, the real estate agent in episode 2 was so cute to me idk she was hot i have a tendency to think older ppl r hot even tho i dont want them around me. and pran's mom....goaspjihugoaijpg listen LISTEN her face is like serving bitchy-cute and i love it. the girl on the rooftop was beautiful too! and who is that fat girl in the show? idk her name but we love to see it and have eyes (now if only fat people were respected in film and media lolz anyway.....))

rep means nothing and yet so much which is another issue/factor of culturalism as capitalism but it still exists and that means something but is that something enough? well, no. when we think it is is where the distraction comes and the belief in the system and not the people. and i know people are dedicated and not beholden to capital but it's more of what we have ingested in the environment, our own inherent privileges and hierarchical formation inside ourselves and out and how, in an artistic lens, that interacts with the demands of bosses and what one believes their art can propel. it isnt futile to make things—i like some great shit, some bullshit, it's about being entertained or aroused by a work and that means so much to diff ppl—and i am not nihilistic but i am critical of the presentation and the interpretation and the interaction between our interpretation and the too oversimplified connection to societal progress that is needed from this system. everything has meaning whthere we like it or not.

it's just complex and representation as solely visibility or existing in a story but not self determining (and somehow that translating in real life) meaning social progress as default byproduct is not true and it engenders myopia. life comes first, then culture or artists make new ways to get new thoughts out of there and try not to clash the messages and unfortunately that is hard and almost impossible to get right (parasite is a good ex; film about capitalism and buying in [making ppl give u money without you bending instead of selling out and usually that comes with a break when the demands ratchet up from the benefactor so they part] is what radical artists do however he is a misogynist, it still was tons of money, a cost to the environment, and fed into the same imperial hands it criticized with a nihilistic output; the awards circuit alone shows contradiction and that's something we as ppl and he as an artist must contend with. do we want the system or not? or is it simply impossible to leave the rat race?)

we are not ethical under capitalism we just have to try our best to be what we decide we want from the world/future. mine just so happens to be liberation. individual humans = / = society but they are inextricable so we all play a part in these systems/functions and they all have pitfalls and challenges of neoliberalism's formation in identity. another ex: beyonce and the BPP imagery. it was visibility but it was also commodity which directly defies the BPP project and ideology. so what did it do? (shes rich so i love her as she exists but like not her as a black capitalist so i am not interested in the political heaviness it brings as her life is contradictory to it. sorry it's girlboss teas.)

this is a bunch of interconnected thoughts between the show as artistic content and my view and society~(~(~(~(~(**~* because i dont expect much but me thinking and thinking about ways it could have made a stronger impact from a writing-directing standpoint and for a transgressive (IE shaking up and reforming the status quo not reacting to it.) none of this is srs i'm just putting off work and i have adhd and i like to think too much. i know this isnt like grand cinema but still it's a solid show for what it is; for the young'ns and teens! anyway:

but that is never enough and i feel so bogged down by the capital pressure of diversity in media because it is culturalism instead of the human in all its complexities. but i guess this shows a fundamental issue in these dramas and with women and a partner, regardless of gender, that it's kind of...empty to watch. i felt this way for lovely writer too (the girl and boy couplé) because i feel sort of soulless looking at ink and pa together outside of a sororal rship (note1)

as an artist and the closest political identity for me is libcom i am not a person that likes to force things but i think my blackness requires me to understand that i am my center even if others think we are adjuncts. capital treats us as such.

i do not feel a need to see women in shows if they fundamentally disrespect us and don't take into account what women, thai women all thai women in this case being the most important, go through. i do not want "diversity" to be shoved in because it is empty and dictated by not shifting of material conditions and the zeitgeist but just by being around as a need dictated by capitalism to build off of (2)

sexuality is not the end all be all to characters and relationships, it is a facet and it has many things to build off of. just like a man and a woman (heteronormativity) or two men (fetishism by fandom and the commodity of baiting audiences) standing near each other means nothing, it goes for two women (ESP bc for women the formations of friendships socially and culturally all have different ones) and all genders. i do not believe in queer exceptionalism either so just because it isn't exactly cross-gender means nothing in its effectiveness or goodness (3)

that is not to say pairing whoever you want together or wishes is futile or something one cannot do because everyone does!! who the fuck am i?* (4) but i am just saying that sometimes it is just two existences—even if it is supposed to feel like more or is, on paper, more but it isnt achieved.

another thing is that in these shows there is a true lack of two women being friends (and other genders or formations of social gender that are common in thailand btw) because it circles around men. WHY? the androcentrism lol the assumed sexual nature of us all before interpersonal relations not revolving aroudn such

1. to be clear, i see the inklings and sprinklings (i loooved when pa got so flustered and they were laughing and then she leaned back and looked at her) but the establishment wasn't there really for 8eps beyond some of the dialogue 2. this is not one's total goal and i do not believe everyone feels that way but i do believe we have to and do bend to the demands by also ingesting the neoliberal mindset. that being said this is not the total issue at hand here but it is something i see in fandom and i understand wanting that but wanting and the result and its context are v diff things. my critique comes from what is the most important: the material that we see so just because it is novel, and good for the show, doesn't mean i have to enjoy the existence. 3. i don't feel this is happening so directly here and i expect absolutely NOTHING from corporations and dominance in media (/art? but like idk i get iffy on that) but this means that i have a reaction to the content and not just because these people exist in these spaces. believe it or not, women don't just have singular rships dictated by men (BL in this case is assumption of patriarchy, with cross-gender it is the assumption of a women being up for grabs and constant rape) so the cross-gender relationships both platonic, romantically, whatever have to be reworked and worked on and i know that there are attempts and i like it when they mention the modern age lol but the issue is they need to subvert it still! just bc u mention it doesnt mean it's there 4. (unless ur being disgusting with kids but i digress like.) i think two youtubers that have never even met and will never meet and dont know of each other would be cute so like lmaoooo it's natural to be like aw. i mean i am not gonna write fic but ykwim; i get it. there's things i have liked and are on this blog but looking back i see cheap intimacy and shudder (i think history4, 2gether, why r u are big ones to the degree where it is embarrassing to me)

[this bY NO MEANS is me suggesting no romantic rships in BL for women particularly with women so do not misinterpret and even tho i am qu**r (i do not like this word and do not identify with it but it is easier to say) i am still critical otherwise ~art~ even if it's escapist doesn't do its job and it would be absurd to think i have to accept or enjoy everything just from it seeming so. identity ONLY goes so far. later i should probs talk about the idea of these shows being posited as "qu**rs of color"

because they are not of color in their homogenous societies and that is a misunderstanding and a very western view (hows that for people that love to use the word western wrong along with decolonization to underline a false better society before white supremacy and kyriarchy and then include black ppl in the term western bc theyre racist) of race formation ]

btw america is by no means exceptional and i want to insist that every. single. country. in. the. world. has the same issues because of kyriarchy, hierarchy, white supremacy, capitalism and they are all tied together. all of us have different ways of expressing oppression and there are pluses and minuses. america is not exceptional in fact we are fucking trash and no formation of interaction is necessarily better than the other (fatphobia in asia being bonkers insane but part of a larger issue; TERFism in the uk being BONKERS INSANE but part of their colonial bloodshed and a larger issue)

something i have always liked and been jealous of for asian cultures (something as a black person i do not feel often because i like to be respected in my race) that women (and men or people) are a lot more tactile in asia in friendships than in the west particularly in cities. i'm black so it is unfathomable for black men to be at the level of visible intimacy (we have different modes of it) that non-black people do esp those who aren't black americans. for women here, even though we are allowed to be more tactile and that is more normal, it is nowhere near what i have witnessed in shows and in reality. ink and pa holding hands is by absolutely no means uncommon in their society to the point where it confounds me lol

i'm jealous about the way women are allowed to show camaraderie that way and there's so many underpinnings that are terrible in life but i wish that i could easily show love in all the ways i want. the way i have seen women be able to be with other women in asian dramas and the physical connections that mirror it. like it is beyond me and i feel so sad that part of growing up and who i am we have to self-regulate that way. esp when slipping your hand into your friend's when you're younger (kid) meant nothing but love.

catallena by orange caramel is not a song about women in love it's about loving a woman. that doesn't mean we can't build off of that, we can, but me and all my friends that are mostly girls or non-men and qu**r are not IN LOVE even if it would be easier to be. get it? not every interaction is based on what we can get from others in terms of love and sex or that possibility. the lyrics could have deeper meaning easily since that's exactly what it says on the page but that doesn't mean it. in korean media i have seen the term "even as a girl/even as a guy" even though they are very tuned in to gender roles to the point of annoyance (act like man ho ho ho) it's interesting to see the ways we get around that.

I’m bewitched, I’m bewitched I’m bewitched, I’m bewitched The hands that brush by are warm Is she actually nice once you get to know her? My temperamental Catallena Everyone is falling for her Chic and proud, Catallena (Red Sun) (Chic Catallena) Jutti meri oye hoi hoi, I’m bewitched Softly, softly Melting, melting Shivering, shivering Trembling, I want to follow her

it isnt necessarily about her wanting because that's not what life should be about — when we look at someone and think they are pretty or gorgeous it does not mean we have to obtain them or that it means something deeper. i know there are women that are so gorgeous and you know the idea "i don't know if i want to be them or be with them" but with, say, megan thee stallion everything about her is so attractive and i know my attraction comes from a sexual[ity] place but i dont want to be with her. why? (besides the obvious of like not knowing her and her not caring abt me lmao) i am almost 30 and she is 25 and 25 yr olds are annoying. i hate capitalism and celebrity culture so subsequently i dont like any of her famous non-black or terrible black friends. i wouldn't be able to stomach her pop music, i don't tolerate boy bands. i can talk about why i like her but i know it isnt about being with her or wanting that. it wouldn't be possible. we don't know people either so the first conclusion we jump to in our society being obtaining is a farce. i want to be around megan thee, be her friend, it would be cool if i could talk to her about her more artistic side and i think she is genuinely a cool-ass bitch. i would go clubbing with her and i hate clubbing.

i love the "is she actually nice once you get to know her" line because it's about exuding coolness and wanting to be around someone. i have friends that befriended me first and made an effort to be my friend; two of them are now my best friends. it's because they thought the same and have told me—i just really liked you and wanted you in my life. i think you're cool. that's the biggest compliment to me ever lmao and i'd love to have people look at me like that and then get to know me to know that it's not true; i'm just being myself. i am nice once you get to know me. in fact i'm a loser. but they don't want to be with me.

i wish we would be able to not have the gender, social gender, and sexuality so central so these things could be said to denote admiration and possibility—which is why acting is so important and to build chemistry because people have the capacity to be drawn to others. for ex for bad buddy you genuinely believe they like each other because the actors have the capacity to imagine and put in practice through their acting themselves with a man particularly with each other.

that's why acting is so interesting and good; we can go in/out through real/fake but it's still real because we exist as bodies, humans, characters, in a structured world. i can be another person on film and be in love with a man on it and there's a possibility; we have good chemistry; i am okay with kissing him and getting physical because of it. it would be the same with anyone else if i act. it's believing that anything is possible and it comes through naturally if the foundations are there. you can believe i fell in love with this man and that in this fake life wwe could be together but also our real life perceptions seep in so it has meaning in real life. i hope that makes sense. we dont come at it objectively which is why the genuineness is important. there's different ways and styles for that to happen but that is why chemistry is tantamount and that can be built btw even with ineffective actors. so..why isnt it here

so because of that absolutely wonderfulness that allows people to be more physically affectionate ( i cannot stress to you how bizarre it is for me to see this sometimes like whatshisface kissing parn in thanks that DOES NOT HAPPEN lmao whew the diff manifestations of kyriarchy are fascinating) i felt the friendship for ink/pa but i think in my hopes of that relationship became stagnant when i saw the stalled development and a bit of force

everyone has their rships differently and i also think it's due to the actresses and just how strong (to me personally at least) nanon is he has a very tranquil aura and his acting style is really fluid. he elevates so in comparison when an extra element is introduced for others lives (even wai liking pa like lol) it's flat. sidenote: i hope he gets into like idk indie films or something i'd watch that

anyway i think ink is so cute (ok but the hairstylist needs to make her hair less limp like lads it's tv) but i think to emphasize ink and pa a couple of things could have happened outside of casting and stronger acting:

- ink's style in relation to character

clothing being a bit darker

darker makeup — but not typical because every BAD GORL in the history of film and tv around the world wears eyeliner and a smokey eye lmao

can someone please put some volume in this girl's hair

first two points could indicate a more forceful but still playful personality kinda like ting ting from my engineer who is the cutest EVAH and weird but a girl you think is cool and would admire (catallena!!!) kinda like apple's char in DBK in terms of stronger affect (why...have i seen so many of these stupid shows)

- pa's character being cemented in her age/affect;

this is my fundamental issue i think and in terms of prowess because the actress is very small and skinny and she is the same age (give or take a year or 2) as most of the cast but the girl that plays ink (25) is older—acting wise and life wise it's not a big deal in a college setting but that does mean that milk [actress] is way out of that time of their lives

20 and 25 are huge leaps in differences of experience and ink feels more like her true age in comparison to the personage of pa. that's because of both their acting abilities and the writing of the characters

pa is younger than all of them but doesn't seem so bc of the age sameness and her (love's) ability. because of that they try and make her do the younger things—sniping at her bro, living with her bro (...can they not afford it? because that's stupid, they could be roommates but they need their own rooms as adult siblings because it cements independence...that's why if a family can afford it eventually or can make space they want their children to be seperate eventually. when my parents could, as horrendous as they are, they did that) changing from glasses to contacts which lol

maybe an alternative would be:

ink being less mature but still a sister-type figure in the confucianism sense present in asia for relationship formations [the usage of p' and a more gender specific is like in SK with unnie and hyung and the idea that there's always a relation between the societal identity IE i can call you mother if you are older even if you are not my mom]

i think if the reading of ink was more over the top like all the girls are enamored by her in the catallena sense but it grows for pa. i'm thinking a slow mo of blowy hair and ink kicking a dude's ass. the scene with the boys should have been tenser and stronger which is why in appearance i think ink having a darker palette would work and help with the chemistry and acting. not opposites attract but more rebel girl type thing THAT GIRL THINKS SHE'S THE QUEEN OF THE NEIGHBORHOOD; I GOT NEWS FOR YOU: SHE IS

again that song is not romantic or sexual and is a feminist anthem about self-determination (i fucking cannot stand kathleen hanna she is garbage) but we could see how one could be drawn to her for that and that turns into love.

hero-worship turning to love, when done right and not predicated on pederasty, is always a great trope. one of my favs is always a person in power being pursued and rejecting the pursuer so the pursuer moves on but then the pursued realized they like them, they fucked up, so they have to get them back

more time and a consideration on how the audience would read it. for me it is beyond easy to equate their hand holding with romantic/sexual but that is, by no means and by clear evidence in culture, not the exact default even for men if they took their time we could see that evolution but it seems wedged in there with little lines here and there but we need more physical and emotional time

liking/romance/chem

the scene at the place was so cute but the only reason we know ink likes her for sure is the shrimp thing (which like i think it was my translation i aint understand but it was croot) but the music cue for the shrimp thing which is absolutely absurd to me! the previous scene or whatever with wai and him chasing her...they have more tension and chemistry than a build up to inkpa.

i genuinely was like oh they're gonna be together? bait and switch? which would have pissed people off but again i expect nothing from capitalism lol but im thinking: wow it could be a love triangle ish where ink doesn't want him to touch her—could have some romantic/sexual undertones like she likes her as her junior and thinks shes cute and likes touching her—but then they have something because that's how much more tension was introduced but pa wasn't even there.

and when she (ink) looks at wai, and again this is also due to acting ability, it could be read so many ways. jealousy over him liking her because she likes him, jealousy over her (pa) liking him because she likes her but it is not clear enough outside of our brains possibly thinking it within this world.

i think a part of that is also the show knowing people are like bla bla two girls and bla bla and demand (ish) then they do this shit and this is exactly my issue lol bc girl where is the story! u have two men with an establishment that pre-existed but ink also comes out of fucking nowhere and as someone a boy think is cute and admires. like pat me too but...

i just dont get it they should be spending way more time together not at ep 8 and in the photoshoot scene and the cake thing it could have been more clear but it was just flat. this is why we don't ask to do things just for the sake of "representation" when the genre can barely do that itself. this isnt' impossible and i know why people like it so im reiterating that once again but it should have gotten the same pacing that secondary couples get esp when secondary couples can overwhelm the primary couples—not in a bad way!—and people can be obsessed.

here the investment is severely lacking which is why we have to judge this shit the way it should be for anything else. i would complain about the lack of screentime as being robbed but i literally didn't expect anything else and it makes me resent that. the anticipation of the possibility of two women completely overrides any story or deeper investment just by virtue of them being there which is an issue in dramas for any gender but particularly when the whole world is so male-dominant yet marketed towards teen girls

and i hate to say this because i think people will majorly disagree but for me it's so vague. her reticence is "stay away from her" but not supported by anything else when it could be particularly underlined that she doesn't want pa to be bothered by stupid men who fall in love at first sight because theyre idiots ???

anyway i'm not into using heteronormativity as a catch all to encapsulate the hierarchy in the world because it is more than that. we exist because we exist and deserve to which means we have full lives not evolving around the concept of how much we may desire or want to be with others. my issue and i think this is my critique of queerness in culture esp when it so heavily ignores race and anti-blackness and so heavily centers phallicism, androcentrism, patriarchal dominance (power = sex and we should all just be having sex with each other bc that's what being queer is. but also just men thanks foucault! real good job tearing down capitalism there!) this is why identity only goes so far it is how we interact with the world. it's not that a gay man cannot write two women together but it's about the will and demand and time. that takes investment and the investment in the story is about how much it will be consumed and so capital dictates these women's interactions so we're operating under the same modus operandi

i really like kathleen hanna's manifesto [even though she's trash and racist and courtney love hates her (even tho courtney is also trash and racist and crazy but listen hole is HOLE!!)]

BECAUSE we are interested in creating non-heirarchical ways of being AND making music, friends, and scenes based on communication + understanding, instead of competition + good/bad categorizations. BECAUSE doing/reading/seeing/hearing cool things that validate and challenge us can help us gain the strength and sense of community that we need in order to figure out how bullshit like racism, able-bodieism, ageism, speciesism, classism, thinism, sexism, anti-semitism and heterosexism figures in our own lives. BECAUSE we see fostering and supporting girl scenes and girl artists of all kinds as integral to this process. BECAUSE we hate capitalism in all its forms and see our main goal as sharing information and staying alive, instead of making profits of being cool according to traditional standards. BECAUSE we are angry at a society that tells us Girl = Dumb, Girl = Bad, Girl = Weak. BECAUSE we are unwilling to let our real and valid anger be diffused and/or turned against us via the internalization of sexism as witnessed in girl/girl jealousism and self defeating girltype behaviors. BECAUSE I believe with my wholeheartmindbody that girls constitute a revolutionary soul force that can, and will change the world for real.

[kumoriyami-xiuzhen]

Hakuoki Yuugiroku 2 - Toshizou Sakura Epilogue

This is my first post of the month, so I’ll start by asking you to please support me if you can through my ko-fi, and paypal or patreon which provides access to my hakuoki blog translations and early access to my postings. Also, please let me know if you have any hakuoki drama cds that you’d be willing to share that are on my Lookout List since i either do not have audio for those cds or do not have audio that I can share.... and if you are able to remove watermarks from a video, please contact me.... 

originally translated this on account of me wanting to ignore Kyoka-Roku, which will be pushed back yet another year. unfortunately (or fortunately? hahaha) i can’t discount the possibility of that happening again since im now shifting most of my focus onto yuugiroku because of the English patch... though im not sure what I’ll be translating next since im still in the middle of moving what ive already done onto the spreadsheet from my scheduled posts, and that is going to take quite a while im since editing them as i go. 

anyway, this is my translation of Toshizou’s sakura epilogue 『 恋染めし日』  from the 2nd yuugiroku game. the timing for these are all over the place given what I know of the games... and this one definitely happens after the last Tsukikage no Shou chapter for Hijikata since Chizuru’s name in that is “Yukimura Chizuru” while this has her with a change in surname... whereas the one for Kazama happens some time after Reimeiroku’s ending since it occurs while they’re still in Edo, while Saito’s is definitely before his last Ginsei no Shou chapter, and Harada’s is likely sometime before his last Edo Blossom chapter. Not sure about Souji’s aside from how it’s after they’re married (though im assuming it’s before his last tsukikage chapter given my vague recollection of it), and I have no idea about Heisuke’s since I don’t have tl for it.

images used in this post are my snips of my vita capture.

ALSO I FINALLY GOT MY FIRST VACCINE (i’m in a low priority age group, don’t live in a hot spot, and 2 of the appointments i made were cancelled by the pharmacies i booked them at so it took a while)!!!!!! 

Hakuoki Yuugiroku 2 - Toshizou Epilogue

Translation by KumoriYami

Regardless if it was my responding to Toshizou-san. Or if it was Toshizou-san's voice responding to me. As our conversation unfolded, our voices gradually became quieter.

After a while, our words stopped as they became unnecessary/were no longer necessary.......

Without even realizing it, we were sitting against the sakura tree.

Hijikata:.......

Chizuru:......

A relaxing and serene silence.

As if to fill in the empty gap left by our conversation, a gentle wind blew the sakura.

We sat under the rain of sakura that was falling like snow, and the first to break the silence/open his mouth was Toshizou-san.

Hijikata: We were talking for a while/ We've talked for a while.

Chizuru: Yes, quite some time has passed......

Compared to when we started talking, I noticed that the shadow of the sakura tree had become longer and that the sun’s position had changed. 

Perhaps because the direction of the wind had changed, the smell of the sakura became more refreshing.

Chizuru: The wind's gotten colder, so should we be going home soon?

I brushed my sleeves and stood up. Then, I gently smiled as I extended my hand to Toshizou-san, who was still sitting against the tree.

A moment later, Toshizou-san grabbed my hand——

Hijikata:.......Don't go.

Chizuru: Eh? Kyaa!?

As if to show the depth of his feelings, he strongly pulled me, causing me to fall into Toshizou-san's embrace.

Toshizou-san caught me as I fell, and let out a small sigh.

Chizuru: To-Toshizou-san!?

Hijikata: Don't go yet...... Can you stay here for a bit longer?

Toshizou-san's sigh and his words in my ear were full of affection and a bit of loneliness.

Chizuru: Wh-What's wrong, Toshizou-san?

Hijikata: Nothing in particular. It's just when I saw this sakura tree....... I felt as if you'd be going far away.

Chizuru: I, I see.

In this sort of position, I wasn't able to remain calm.

Feeling the sturdy chest of the man behind me, I felt a bit restless, though Toshizou-san surprisingly began to speak into my ear.

Hijikata:......Last night. I had a dream.

Chizuru: Was it perhaps/Could it be, a dream about the Shinsengumi/that it was a dream about the Shinsengumi......?

Hijikata: Yeah. It was different that the usual one. This one.......didn’t have you in it, Chizuru. Ikedya, the Hamaguri Incident, and also Toba-Fushimi. A Shinsengumi where you didn't exist/without you...... It was that sort of dream.

Chizuru:.......

Hijikata: That's why I was thinking. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be here today.

As if to say that he didn't want to lose anything, his arms grasp on me became tighter.

From how painful his embrace was, I could feel Hijikata-san’s anxiety.

Hijikata: It's quite embarrassing. To think that the Shinsengumi's Demon Vice-Commander would become this upset over a single dream.

Chizuru:......Toshizou-san is no longer that Demon Vice-Commander. Rather, he’s my most important person, and Hijikata Chizuru's beloved husband.

Although I didn't know if he could see my face, I still smiled to assure him, and waited for Toshizou-san to react/-san's reaction.

Eventuallly, Toshizou-san sighed deeply, and blankly stared at the sakura.

Hijikata: Although I really like sakura, whenever I see them, I always end up thinking about what I've lost.

Chizuru:......I do too/ I have the same/similar thoughts.

Hijikata: But, there were things I received in return. 

——Before coming to this place, we lost a lot/many things.

This included our comrades, our home, and everything else that we had before.

One by one, each item of importance was lost.

As if to confirm what we were all that we had left in our hands, we tightened our hold on the other’s arms.

I looked up and was greeted by the sight of sakura in full bloom and Toshizou-san smiling.

Out bodies that were touching each felt as warm as the current season, when the snow began to melt.

Perhaps by feeling each other's warmth, doing so would be able to bring/would bring our hearts closer.

Hijikata:......I'm sorry to have said something so selfish/wilful. Let's hurry back now/We should go back now..

When we finally separated from each other, Toshizou-san bitterly smiled as he muttered.

So I said——

Continue chatting Bring this to an end <-

Chizuru: Y-Yes. Let's go home.

Seeing how I didn’t resist his words, Toshizou-san showed a mischievous smile.

Hijikata: Are you not able to stand up? Or do you want me to carry you on my back?

Chizuru: It, it’s fine......!

Driven by my urge to take his outstretched hand, I leaned on the sakura tree to stand up.

——Suddenly, my hair was fluttering in the wind.

The strong wind swept through the tree branches, and their petals instantly enveloped Hijikata-san's back while he began walking.

It looked as if Hijikata-san was going to be taken away by the sakura, so I hurriedly followed Hijikata-san.

In order to not lose sight of his back in the blizzard-like sakura, I walked towards him——.

----End---

...it snowed last friday so i was pretty happy watching it as it fell.

also im planning on reuploading a diff version of saito’s version of this later.

[shoichee]

GoMs + Kagami, Hanamiya, Teppei as Pokémon Trainers

Pokémon x Kuroko no Basket Crossover

Headcanons on KNB characters if they were trainers

For only the “Generation of Miracles” (plus Kagami), I wanted to show that they are prodigies in the pokémon universe by each giving them the appropriate specialty legendary/mythical pokémon respective to their anime counterpart abilities/personalities.

Also, as GoMs in the pokémon universe, I was careful to also choose some of their respective pokémon based on base stats and the consideration of type variety, unless a team had most pokémon sharing a type for a reason, in addition to already choosing pokémon based on their pokédex entries.

I have also given pictures of said pokémon suited to each KNB character below the cut.

Warning: spoilers on KNB characters, it’s a given

Kuroko Tetsuya 

his lack of presence would directly translate into the pokémon world pretty nicely and would make him pretty attuned to ghost pokémon floating about, but that won’t necessarily mean he’ll have a full team of ghosts

I feel like he would accidentally just pick up the mythical pokémon, Marshadow as a kid without knowing its reputation and would just let it follow him around like a buddy… and then they would become an official trainer-pokémon relationship later on // they’re both tiny and usually unnoticeable; they’d be best friends

he’d definitely have a Zoroark, since these pokémon require very strong bonds with their trainers, and they’re infamously known for their illusions and trickery; for Kuroko, he probably saw right through a Zorua’s (pre-evolution) tricks back in the day and then it became intrigued by him and joined him along the way before evolving into the Zoroark we see present day // this is a tribute to Nigou as well, since they’re both dog-like/fox?????

surprisingly, he’d have a Hatterene just trailing behind recently; Hatterenes hate extreme emotions emitted from humans and I’d feel like it would just be lured in by his dry personality

Hatterene’s color scheme is literally the same blue and pink like Kuroko and Momoi, so Hatterene is very much a Momoi who chases Kuroko around while he doesn’t mind it at all

his 4th pokémon, Vanilluxe, came to be when he spent hours hiding in the tall grass for a Vanillite (pre-evolution) to show up; he was willing to go out of his way to catch one because he wanted an ode to his love for vanilla milkshakes

all in all, he would be the trainer who is able to instantly connect and make friends with other pokémon around without even trying; ironically, he would have the most variety of typings in his team because of that

he’s the protagonist trainer who would always be the first to openly stand up against the villain teams and foiling their plans, but he would need the support of the other GoMs (cough) to take down the team bosses

he would definitely be friends with N (BEST franchise character)

he’s a “youngster” trainer like a “youngster joey” vibe KDJWORKWKW but like he’s pretty OP by the end of his journey

Kise Ryota

Cinderace with its hidden ability Libero is perfect for our blondie; Libero is an ability that allows the user to become that type of the move it just used until it uses a move of a different type, and then it’ll switch to that next type (I thought about Greninja with its Protean ability at first because it’s the OG ability and it's the exact effect just a diff name; but Cinderace’s design is a soccer motif and it reminded me of Kise in the old Teiko days)

Kise would very much be a renown model in the pokémon universe, and he’d idolize Elesa (from Pokémon B/W and B2/W2); both are blonde models too LOL (except she dyed her hair black in B2/W2)

so he’d have a Luxray (non shiny OR shiny, both suit him), because since he looks up to her so much and she’s an electric-type gym leader, he’d probably have an electric-type of his own

I would think he’d have a dragon-type pokémon like Haxorus to connect him with Aomine (a dragon-type trainer) since in the anime, Aomine was Kise’s mentor and role model in basketball; it would give him a fighting chance with Aomine if they ever faced each other in a pokémon battle

he would have a shiny Sylveon, and he would love to dote the ever living fuck out of it and feed it poképuffs (maybe from Murasakibara’s café LOL) and sing with it, and every time it sweeps someone’s team with its Moonblasts, he’ll cheer it on so much BDHWIRWI it also adds a certain connotation to his idol reputation as this “approachable guy” with his adorable Sylveon too

this guy has an idol status not just in the beauty/fashion industry, but also in the sports world (especially in Unova’s sports stadium in Nimbasa city)

he’d meet tons of other models and fashion icons like gym leader Nessa, champion Diantha, etc. WHEW JUST SAYIN

he would have his face plastered everywhere on trainer PR videos and even getting offers for some minor acting roles in Pokéstar Studios

one day, while he’d be at the studio, there was a whole commotion how the studio and the museum had their deliveries mixed up because the studio had the real meteorite while the museum had the well-made prop of a meteorite; and uh, it turns out this meteorite had the alien virus that pretty much had its DNA mutated into a Deoxys

long story short, being a very experienced trainer, Kise would manage to catch it after hours of chasing it in the wild areas nearby

over time, he and this particular Deoxys would come to have enough mutual respect for each other to be able to battle as a proper trainer-pokémon duo

that being said, he won’t resort to using it unless it’s life-threatening; note: he changes its Formes using a chunk from the meteorite in the studios he broke off (Deoxys [and its many forms] is further reference to his versatility as a basketball player)

Midorima Shintarou

as a man who seeks for good luck and fortunes he’d stack up on a Chimecho for sure and… 

Togekiss; he used to have its pre-evolution Togepi to solely to try to make it stand up while sleeping for good luck (according to the pokédex), and the more he kept trying, the more he made it attached to him and before he knew it, he had a fully evolved Togekiss // he’ll NEVER admit that he loves it to bits, though

this might be unexpected at first glance, but he’d have a Mega Absol; hear me out, it’s called the “disaster pokémon” according to its pokédex, however it is only named so because it warns others of disasters when it appears SO IT WOULD WARN MIDORIMA OF INCOMING BAD LUCK

he’d probably receive a Rowlet from Momoi as a gift from her laboratory, and he didn’t have the heart to abandon it; he’d evolve it to a Decidueye… and just… keep it (this pokémon is a reference to his no-miss shots)

ultimate good luck bringer: Ho-Oh ✨

would have the most “balanced” team out of everyone in terms of type-coverage (reference to him having the most coverage in skills for basketball, from shooting to absolute defense to having ball-handling skills)

he’d totally avoid Akashi’s Kadabra (pre-evolution of Alakazam)—who will be mentioned later down in the list—because it’s said to bring bad luck, as well as avoiding all the Ninetales because he doesn’t want to risk accidentally pulling off one of their tails and be cursed

he’ll avoid caverns as much as possible (but it’s impossible to avoid them all) because those are the habitats of Golbats (who will supposedly give bad luck if one bites you) but if there wasn’t a leeway for him, he will literally LATCH onto his Chimeco and keep his Togekiss and Absol out of their pokéballs to guard him LMAOOO

I would feel he would constantly strive to fill up his entire pokédex, so he’d be a pokémon master in training in a sense; he’s someone who wants to prepare himself for any situation and opportunity, so being a pokédex filler would always provide him an encyclopedia on potential pokémon to either stay away from or catch more of because of certain luck factors

make no mistake though, he’s a seasoned pokémon battler, don’t fuck with him

Aomine Daiki

an intimidating Garchomp would be his ace™️ pokémon, ummmm have you SEEN its base SPEED stat??? it’s a monster

we’re gonna go overkill and give this man a Mega Rayquaza just for the sole fact that he’d be the “ace” trainer of ALL ace trainers and veterans alike

however, because of his “lack of practice/training” like in the anime, he’d probably just stick with these two pokémon, since usually Garchomp already sweeps everyone’s teams without a sweat

homie is probably napping on top of one of the laboratory roofs (probably the one Momoi works in) or escaping to a nearby cliff or hill to relax and keep a lookout for any promising trainers that pass by him

is a trainer who pretty much kept one-shotting all the trainers throughout his journey in the region (aka that’s us protagonists when we play against NPCs)

he would also be that trainer who wiped the floor with the current champion so badly that he felt that all his “training” leading up to that moment didn’t even feel rewarding (plus there’s those countless trainer battles before where it didn’t feel thrilling), and so, he just left the league after, waiting for the day a sufficient rival could show up in his life

he’s definitely cleared the challenging battle systems of each region (probably back when he still had some passion for battling and had a good full team): Battle Frontier, Battle Tree, PWT tournament, Battle Manson, Battle Tower… you name it, he’d probably be done with most of them, if not, all

Murasakibara Atsushi

he’d have a Bewear, Appletun, and lots of variants of Alcremie’s just hanging around him

note: you should search up all the variations of Alcremies yourself, hint cough, it’s 60 variations total

maybe he’d have a Snorlax chilling nearby because it’s so huge

Murasakibara would be a Pokécafé owner AND HE’D HAVE HIS BULKY BEWEAR AND HIS SNORLAX GUARD THE SHOP, YOU CAN’T ARGUE WITH ME 

or he would UNLEASH his G-MAX forms of Alcremie’s

and he’ll just use his pokémon to make the tastiest poffins, poképuffs, and pokécurry

he’ll never bring out his final pokémon, Melmetal, unless it’s an absolute emergency and his shop is in danger

he would love Kuroko’s Vanilluxe, in a sense where he would always impassively joke about eating the ice-cream pokémon and Kuroko would just constantly hope he’s not being for real

he wouldn’t be motivated by ambitions like other trainers would have, he just wants to chill and loaf around all day; if someone pissed him off about he was a “weak” trainer or how they were becoming overly cocky when talking about their goals, he’d be right there smiling and ready to annihilate them | (• ◡•)|

Akashi Seijuro

Espeon would totally fit him as his first pokémon; its eyes are very reminiscent of his feline irises, and it’s tiny in size but a very powerful sweeper when set up right AND THEY’re ~calm~ while being capable of either sweet or very calculating later on / LIKE PET, LIKE OWNER

Tsareena; this one has a literal attitude of a queen and its pokédex is pretty terrifying in which one kick from its legs “leaves a wound in the opponent's body and soul that will never heal”... sound familiar?

Nidoking, cough I wonder why I picked this guy he’s a king, but jokes aside, it’s here to add more type variety to his team, and it’s mostly there to be a status inflictor (aka poisoning) and hazard setter with traps for his opponents… sound familiar with how he initiates his shogi strategies?

Mega Alakazam. that’s it. this pokémon has 5000 IQ like ?? would totally wipe the floor with Akashi in shogi if it tried

you thought Aomine had an overkill legendary, but Akashi has Hoopa, who’s capable of a Confined form and Unbound form, representative of his two contrasting personalities 

he’s an ambitious trainer aiming to become a Pokémon Master, and he’s one of those feared prodigies that all the region champions just lowkey sweat hearing about him coming to wreck their leagues apart

his pokédex would be damn near completed

he looks more into a pokémon’s utility and how it can fit into his strategies; it just turns out that most of the capable/eligible pokémon he ends up picking are psychic-types because they all tend to have extremely high intelligence to pull them off

Momoi Satsuki

Mega Altaria fits Momoi’s aesthetic of being cute, but very dangerous if you underestimate it, and I wanted a cute connection to Aomine who I primarily headcanoned to be a dragon-type trainer, so Altaria is a dragon-type pokemon that I picked out (perfect alternative would be Mega Gardevoir if she never met Aomine)

Blissey is a pokemon that brings happiness to anyone that eats their eggs, and it very much fits Momoi’s personality

Tapu Lele is a totem pokemon that has incredible knowledge, and is known to be able to outsmart any opponent during battle, referencing her pre-cognitive defense research abilities

she would definitely be constantly mistaken as a pokémon “Beauty” (yes that’s a trainer title), but in actuality, she’s training to become a pokémon professor as an assistant 

Momoi’s “professor specialty” would definitely be her researching about a pokémon’s current stats (plus their EVs and IVs) and would pinpoint their level of potential and thus, predict their growth (and the steps taken for a certain type of growth) // she’d probably become really famous in the world of competitive battling because a lot of trainers would try to approach her to help “train their teams”

Kagami Taiga

I think he would ironically have a Lopunny because it used to be Alex’s but she just left it in his care and now he has this prankster bunny that’s basically an Alex 2.0 to other pokémon in its vicinity ?? but it has hops like Kagami so

a hotheaded, short-tempered guy like Kagami would have an Incineroar (they… kinda look the same) 

Krookodile would be very much up his alley… its offensive stats are also not something to take lightly, especially when paired with moves like Earthquake and Foul Play

Kommo-o would be a pokémon that embodies Kagami’s personality very well: it seeks to battle only strong opponents for the reason to defeat the “darkness,” and its presence is more than enough to scare the weaker opponents away; Kagami has been mentioned as the “light” many times throughout the series, and his piercing gaze on the courts generate suffocating pressure on the opposing teams // it’s also a pseudo-legendary pokémon on the same base-stat caliber as Aomine’s Garchomp (hinting at their game against each other) ( ᐛ )

last one I’d find really amusing to give for Kagami would be Victini, the adorable mythical pokémon said to bring only victories for its trainer… and it’s a reference to his ascendance to the top of the Winter Cup after defeating all the GoM’s teams

oh yeah, I forgot Mega Lopunny existed so I’ll just attached that right below

anywho, so he’s a rising pokémon trainer who wants to become a pokémon master… but only for the battling part LOL like he doesn’t believe in “catching ‘em all” so to speak because he’d be someone who would believe in winning battles with the pokémon you truly bonded with; in other words, he’d probably only catch new pokémon if he feels a certain connection with them

but because of that, he doesn’t have much info on other pokémon besides his own, and it bites him in the ass when he has to try to figure out ways to take down opposing teams

reluctantly would team up with Kuroko after finding out many of the competitions require double battling but he doesn’t have a single strategy for it, and then Kuroko would pop out of nowhere and offered a hand to be his double battle partner until he learned how to double-battle on his own

spoiler alert, they totally start becoming travel companions in exploring the world together

of course Kagami would have battle strategies, but he isn’t like Akashi where he would actively look for the appropriate strong pokémon for his strategies; he makes strategies to accommodate his existing team

Kiyoshi Teppei

HE HAS A LUCARIO, NOT ONLY THAT A MEGA LUCARIO; they both seek for justice and they’re extremely loyal, and they both are able to read their opponents very easily 

HE ISN’T CALLED THE “IRON HEART” FOR NOTHING, I CAN SEE HIM WITH A SHINY METAGROSS JUST BEING AN OFFENSIVE TANK YET BEING ABLE TO SWEEP, JUST LIKE AN ACE WOULD

he would live a double life: a shopkeeper of his grandparents’ pokémon item/antique store by day, pokémon ranger and patroller by night

he would keep his local area safe (ง'̀-'́)ง

yes, I only see him as a steel-type trainer

he’d be so precious with his pokémon and meticulous in his care for them: he’d probably shine his Metagross everyday or brush out his Lucario’s fur, just because !!

and his pokémon would be fiercely protective of Teppei in return, mostly because they noticed he has bad knees and they don’t want him to strain them any further(;´༎ຶٹ༎ຶ`)

Hanamiya Makoto

no debate, he’d have a shiny Hydreigon… dude that pokémon is an absolute nightmare to level up and evolve, let alone tame, but back when it debuted in Pokémon B/W, it was the most OP pokémon out there // shiny variant of it because it has a similar color scheme to the Kirisaki Daiichi basketball team, and he’d probably have a shiny version just to flaunt it off and piss people off

Salazzle with a hidden ability Corruption, where it allows it to poison any pokémon regardless of type or ability; again, it’s to piss the trainers off in battle

and finally, a Dracovish; a person like him would totally have this inherently fucked up pokémon just for the sole purpose to disturb the hell out of his opponent trainers, but make no mistake: it’s an underdog sweeper 

look, he’s an admin of some sinister villain team and he has his other Kirisaki Daiichi starter players as his personalized grunts (they’re like a specific sect of the villain team; e.g. Shadow Triad or the Seven Sages of Team Plasma)

you might wonder, why don’t I give him a “spider” pokémon, since the webs are the analogy used to compare to his strategies in basketball? too many villains have Ariados in their teams and Galvantula is a friendly, fuzzy tarantula soooo it wouldn’t fit Hanamiya at all

I don’t think he would have any deep motive to be villainous other than to just enjoy people getting fucked over by his own deeds and actions; sometimes, it isn’t so deep

“it’s your boy, Guzma Hanamiya” if you get this reference I love you

End Note: “Mega” forms and “G-MAX” forms are not separate pokémon, but rather, temporary power-ups during battles; they are just shown to show the differences in appearances compared to their original forms when they transform.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “To learn.”

My brain wanted to write something in first person present tense today. I have no idea why, but I let it go wild. I hope you all like it :) A little bit different than my usual style :)

I just needed some time.

You ever tried putting yourself back together after war, it isn’t easy, or at least I don’t find it to be. I don’t know, call me a sissy, but I don’t actually like war., I don’t take pleasure from killing, but it is part of my job, a big part of it and if the universe continues the way it is, I am going to see war a lot more often.

I wish it didn’t affect me so much.

I wish I had a better way of handling it.

People think I’m a strong person, but they’re wrong. There are plenty of people who could take up my mantle and do a more badass job. They wouldn’t grow sick as the sight of carnage, and they wouldn’t hesitate to put the armor back on.

I’m not like that ….

I’m a coward.

If my friends knew…. Well I have no idea what they would think of me.

But that’s why I had to take some time. Since my first injury, I have never been totally alone. There was always someone there to check on me, there was always someone there to help me deal with my issues. I don’t think I ever figured out how to take care of myself, which is why I decided to take this trip, alone.

The others didn’t understand it…. well , one of them did but he still didn’t like it, but If I am being honest it will be good for them….. Especially her…. The last thing I want to do is make it so we can’t function alone.

I think its called…. Codependency or something.

I don’t know sounds like the sort of thing I’d get caught up in.

I suppose it's for all those reasons that I ended up here. 

Looking out the window, I can see Anum suspended against the sky glassy in shades of blue purple and green like a lucky marble. It almost feels as if I can reach out and touch it.

The last time I saw this place, it was receding into the distance,.

I lost a lot here, my leg, and my mind for a short time.

Now it kind of makes me laugh to think that a piece of me was left behind to fertilize some of the plant matter. Of course, it looks a bit different now that the dark season has abated. I had only ever seen the place when it was covered in ash, but it's actually quite beautiful. 

The pilot of the shuttle is pretty average, and I only feel like tightening my hands on the seatbelts just a little as we enter the atmosphere.

Fire rolls up around us as friction begins to heat up the outer hull.

Around me men and aliens alike rock in their seats.

Most of them are miners, come here to work on extracting the precious metals from below Anum’s surface.

Personally, I prefer asteroid mining, but statistics say that is more dangerous and expensive so of course corporations like it a lot less, and besides, all of this was sort of just a massive pissing contest with the GA forcing the Drev to pay for the damages caused during war. I don’t think they should, but who am I to give my opinion.

I’m just a soldier.

It doesn't take us long to leave the atmosphere, and it isn’t long before we are looking down at a massive open mining operation. The face of Anum has been scoured with a massive terraced hole overrun by machines and workers cutting into the stone. Volcanoes pipe smoke in the distance.

The scars of industry really are ugly sometimes.

I’ve seen pictures of anum during the bright season, without the machinery.

It's honestly very beautiful, but maybe I'm a bit biased. It’s the one part of home that Sunny misses, and I’ve always wanted to see it for myself. With all the times we’ve gone to earth, you think we'd have visited her home planet too, but I guess the cosmos have ust never taken us this way.

Red lights blink above the doors, and I unbuckle my harness pulling on my bag and gear with the rest of the miners, though I’m not here for the same reason they are. Boots clatter loudly on the ramp below our feet, and I head outside.

It smells clean and cool, though for a distant tang of sulfur.

You barely notice it though, less bad than visiting the hot springs at yellowstone, so your nose adjusts quickly.

The sky overhead is blue, just like on earth, though the ground beyond the launch pad is an amalgamation of rainbow color. I have to blink a few times to adjust my vision, pulling up the eyepatch to take a look from my mechanical eye and its UV filter.

“Holy shit.”

It's beautiful, the sheer amount of color is astonishing like the Lucky Charms leprechaun had some sort of horrific accident. T

he miners ignore me and continue on their way towards the docking pad. 

I don’t plan on following.

I am not here for them. I drop the patch back over my eye, and adjust the bag over my shoulder striking it out into the bush, barely looking back. No one notices, or cares, and it isn’t long before the launch field and the mining operation disappears over the horizon. Anum’s circumference is just a little smaller than that of earth with the horizon eating up anything beyond that around three miles.

Gravity is somewhat lessened too, which makes it easier as I walk.

My boots are silent against the multicolored moss at my feet, this stuff teal in color. Little white flowers spring up from the surface like clover back home. A light gust of wind rolls past me causing the flowers to ripple. I lift my head closing my eyes and allowing the wind to carry with it distant smells.

This is the same wind that Sunny would have known growing up, the same feeling under her feet.

I decide to stop a couple miles out under the meager shade of a coiltree. I have never actually seen one before now, and I can see why it’s called a coiltree. Honestly it looks like something straight out of a Dr. Seus book striped up the trunk and with branches that curl into spirals. More little whit blossoms erupt from the trunk, and between those are little white berries. 

I seem to recall those being edible.

Reaching up, I pluck one or two down from the branches and pop them into my mouth. Though the skin is white, the berries juice stains my hands purple. One of them is horrifically sour, but the other is pleasantly sweet, probably more ripe than the other, though I can’t yet tell the difference between them. 

I sit there under the tree for a little while looking out across the lonely landscape. Something is moving on the distant horizon, though I can't exactly tell what they are, a herd of some sort of animal or another. They are very tall as far as I can tell, just a little shorter than the coiltree.

As a last moment decision, I kick off my boots, and strip my socks tying them to my bag before standing.

The moss is very soft under my feet erupting upwards between my toes like a shag carpet, but you know much less hideous.

My footsteps are even softer now, though the prosthetic clatters sometimes when metal hits stone.

Sweat runs down my back,sides, and front.

I have no idea where I am going, but I know they will see me soon enough.

They have patroll parties out here, and if they aren’t watching me already, then they will be soon enough.

I keep walking heading parallel to the volcanic chain.

For the most part, my hike is uneventful, except for that time that I stepped on something slimy and wriggly. I hate to admit it but I squealed like an idiot and nearly fell over, only made worse when I looked down and saw the giant pale maggot burrowing into the moss and underground.

I nearly gagged, and my skin crawled.

Sunny had mentioned those, though I forgot their names.

THey lived primarily off of decomposing plant and animal material, very common in areas where war had continued.

I didn’t like it, but it was probably one of those nasty suckers that ate my leg.

Ew…

Gross.

I contemplated putting my boots back on, but kept walking instead. 

A group of unknown flying critters appear overhead. They have two sets of membranous wings, kind of like those of a bat, no tail though, just a long rail of fur like the streamer of a kite.

These ones are bright colors like pink and yellow.

Pretty cool.

Its nice to walk in the silence, though after a while my brain devolves into humming the star wars theme, and then singing stupid songs dancing around and hopping about from one foot to another as I badly sing the choruses to all the songs I know.

My eye of the tiger rendition probably left something to be desired, though I doubt anyone out here would know the difference.

Then comes the stupid dialogs with myself as I try to imagine what Krill Conn and Sunny would say about all this.

“Commander, I will have you know that you behavior is highly disquieting, I insist we get an MRI on your brain to make sure you have not developed a severe case of bilateral goop disease.”

“What kind of dumbass just goes wandering around with no idea where he’s going. The dumbass kind of dumbass.”

“Adam, I need you to understand that Anum is a dangerous place. I know you grew up on earth, but there are still things that can go wrong on Anum. Do you know how common surprise hot springs are. What if you fell in and died.”

Speaking of which, “Thanks imaginary Sunny, I totally forgot about that.”

Other than that, what can go wrong, it is a bright shiny day, the temperature is perfect, nothing someone like me can’t handle. Oh and is that a crunchy pink orb I see. I fucking love those, they taste so good.

I hop over the rocks, my feet warm on the moss, and reach down to pluck one of the spheres from it’s short stumpy stem.

And that's when the spear appears at my throat.

Shit.

I drop my hand back and look up to see a drev that is at least three feet taller than me, holding his massive spear orange eyes narrowed. Holy shit, I didn’t even hear her/him coming. Honestly I should have seen them coming long before anything else bright fuschia as they were.

“Lod tsa ee nin tsa daeen darish.”  They jab the spear at my neck, and the obsidian lined head cuts through my sin like butter. 

Oh shit, uh, my translator is not picking up shit. Guess these guys have a different accent than we’re used to. I rack my brains trying to remember how to speak what little I know, but it seems that it has all fled me when I needed it the most.

“Lod tsa ee nin tsa daeen darish!” I stumble backwards onto my butt and hands. Shit shit.

I hold up a hand.

“Cheeyat neahasan!” Shit I forgot to conjugate the verb. Damn I must look like an idiot yelling ‘to speak slow!’ at the top of my lungs 

However, my botched attempt at speaking seems to work, and they pull back. “Tsa dzhal Cheeyish.” 

Oh I understood that one, “Yid zhe cheeyi dzhal.” yes, yes I speak Drev, “neahasan.” Slolwy anyway. 

They pull back. I don't know why, but I’m getting a female vibe off this one. I can't tell though, Drev voices all tend to be rather deep.

“Lod tsa ee nin tsa daeen darish” She says it slower this time, and all around her I watch as a small group of other Drev move to flank me from the sides. They are listening very intently.

I think I understand this time, the rough translation being who are you and what are you doing.

I want to speak with your leader, “Zhe zhegingi s tsak eeda cheeyat.” My voice is halting and I am butchering the pronunciation, but they seem to get my request.

She trusts the spear at me, “Tsaee!”

I hold up my hands, “Woah woah, easy easy…. I uh.” Shit what was the word to learn, “zhe….zhengingi hak tsa…. “ Damn it… I can’t remember,  “um….. Rekazat nin dzhal….. Rekazazh.”

Oh wow, that sounds really intelligent. I wanted to learn from them but instead apparently I ‘want to know what they know.’ riveting conversationalist that I am.

She stares at me confused.

In frustration I point at her spear, “Zhe zhengingi…..zheengat?” 

Uh this was going poorly. I clearly did not know as much of their language as I thought I did.

I want to know to fight.

Wow excellent work their commander that will convince them.

They look back and forth at each other, and fire off some quick shot dialogue that leaves my head spinning.

She turns to me and lowers her spear, “s jya Hajish.”

Come with us.

Great a sentence I understood.

It was in the next few hours that I was either going to live, or I was going to die horribly. 

A pretty exciting time in my life.

And I followed.

Not like I had a choice at this point. 

[birb-tangleblog]

Hey, i've seen people talking about what if Varian died because of the mindtrapped brotherhood, but, what if he died during cassandras revenge? He was thrown around a lot, and his ribs were at a risk of being broken. (Which could've potentially impaled his lungs and killed him. Also its more angsty, and cassandra would have to process the fact that she just killed Varian with her own hands. (Also, what if the brotherhood found out. Adira, Hector, Edmund, and Adira would be pissed.) + Eugene.

I've def seen this concept explored before! Or at least many fans treating his injuries from that episode more seriously.

But I feel like w/ AUs or what-ifs where Var dies, there tends to be a lot of focus on just the angst/suffering aspect, which is honestly too bleak for me. And unsatisfying if that's the long and short of it?

So I'd be more interested in this question in relation to the aftermath and how other characters would be affected by the Varian-shaped hole in their lives.

Varian dying before figuring out the Demanitus scroll would actually change a lot and really throw off the plot, b/c Ziti's plan to free herself would be set back without him to translate the second sun incantation for Raps. That’d be a whole diff thing to consider... but if he DID give them the incantation, and didn't make it due to injuries, things would prob proceed much as in canon. Just more somber.

Unintentionally killing someone would really be an event horizon for Cass; it could make her realize this isn't what she wants, leading her to relinquish the moonstone early, or maybe fleeing Corona, and wanting to atone. Alternatively, she could double down on the path she's on and become completely unreachable, b/c this kid dying really confirms her fear that she’s gone too far to turn back- but no matter how she processed and responded to it, I think she'd struggle with deep regret and be pretty horrified. (B/c there IS a big diff btwn Cass killing someone in cold blood and her accidentally fatally injuring them b/c she doesn't know her own strength. Of the cast, besides his dad she might be MOST affected.)

The other characters' reactions are interesting to consider.

Smth that I don't see touched on as much is that in an AU where Varian- the youngest of the group- dies, Raps and Eugene would probably also have a lot of guilt to work through in addition to their grief. They did directly involve him, or allow him to be involved. They'd blame themselves too. 

I think Varian would be seen as a hero or martyr, with lots of posthumous honors for his sacrifice. Post-series I can see them naming a library or academy/scientific institute after him, and maybe Raps/Eugene remembering him by naming one of their children after him

Quirin losing his only son to the same force that claimed his homeland and much of his life would be deeply tragic, and I don’t know if his spirit could ever truly recover.

The Brotherhood obviously should've been involved in canon, but smth like this happening in an AU would validate/confirm their fears and beliefs abt the danger of the moonstone and definitely lead to them joining the fight. And yeah they'd be angry? But I think there'd be more sadness than anything.

(Privately, I think Hector might believe this outcome should've been expected, even if it's a tragedy... but I think even he would have the sensitivity and awareness to not to say that.)

Me being me, my take is that grief would bring them together and Hector + Adira would step in to support Quirin in their own ways. The other Old Coronans could rally and manage his farm while he mourned, too. 

And then in AUs where something in his life goes seriously awry, I tend to see Quirin traveling back to the DK post-series instead of staying in Corona, b/c it'd be less painful and he'd have an increased sense of purpose there.

Tl;dr I feel like an AU like this would actually be less about Var angst, b/c it isn’t really ABOUT him- he’s just a catalyst, and the real area of interest is his friends and family dealing with loss.

[lady-divine-writes]

Never Have I Ever

A demon, an angel, a witch, several bottles of whiskey, and a 6000 year old secret. What could possibly go wrong? (2848 words)

“Never have I ever …” Aziraphale glances around the table, pausing on Anathema, poised with shot glass in hand, then Crowley, sinking into the yellow-and-brown paisley tablecloth, having already polished off an entire bottle of whiskey on his own and starting in on a fresh Jack Daniels “… plotted to overthrow King Richard the III!”

“Jesssusss Chrissstmasss!” Crowley hisses, picking up his shot glass and throwing back his whiskey, filling it immediately after and throwing that one back as well.

“Wait!” Anathema says. “You only have to take one shot for that!”

“Technically, I have to take three since that’s how many tries it took to dethrone the bastard.”

Aziraphale giggles as Crowley sloppily sucks down his final shot. He’s slightly less sloshed than his demon compatriot, but only just. Crowley’s eyes have begun to cross, and he’s toppled out of his chair twice.

A dozen more shots and Aziraphale may succeed in knocking the idiot out.

That would be a first.

“You know, I appreciate the fact that the two of you have been around since the dawn of time, but the things you guys pick are both obscure and bizarrely specific.”

“So …?”

“So, the point of Never Have I Ever is that you choose things that could apply to anyone. But the two of you seem to be on a vendetta to get one another wasted.”

“Fine, book girl,” Crowley drawls. “Let’s try this one on for size. Never have I ever … finished college.”

Crowley and Aziraphale both turn to Anathema - Crowley grinning like a jackal, Aziraphale with a snarky eyebrow raised. Anathema rolls her eyes and downs her shot. “Touché.”

“Congratulations! Ya got one!” Crowley says smugly. “May we continue? Never have I ever ...” The demon’s eyes glow with delight as they bounce from Aziraphale to Anathema … then back to Aziraphale “… sunken a ship!”

“Wha---what the Devil are you talking about?” Aziraphale barks, but he quickly reconsiders. “Are we talking a rowboat? Or an ocean liner?”

“Steamship.” Crowley pops the p, making Aziraphale’s head ring.

Aziraphale peers into Crowley’s eyes, silently enquiring, but he tuts in disgust when he figures it out. “You’re not going on about the Waratah, are you?”

“Oi! That was mah ship and you sank it!”

“I did no such thing! I commandeered it because I knew you were going to sink it!”

Crowley drops his head back on his shoulders and groans loudly – too loudly for drunk Aziraphale. “I already told you! No one would have gotten hurt!”

“No. You were going to do what you always do! Abandon those poor men on some deserted island with no way off! It was the 1900s! They had no cellular phones! No one would have known where they were!”

“And …?”

“They had families, Crowley!”

“Their fault. Not mine. What did you do with them anyway?”

“I reunited them with their loved ones, wiped their memories, and reassigned them to secure locations. It all turned out fine.”

“Still …” Crowley sniffs “… seeing as no one’s ever found the wreckage, it’s considered a sunken ship (hard k and another popped p).” He crosses his arms over his chest, affecting a superior pout. “Drink up.”

“I don’t see how that works in your favor but whatever helps you sleep at night. But you’d better take a shot, too.”

“Why’s that?”

“You mean to tell me that in 6000 years you’ve never sunken a ship?”

Crowley’s eyes pop slightly. “Quite right, quite right. Forgot about that.”

Aziraphale downs his shot, then reaches for the whiskey to refill it. He grabs the bottle around the belly and lifts, nearly tossing it across the bookshop when it comes off the table too easily. He brings it up to his swimming eyes and peeks around the label to get a look inside. “This one’s empty, I’m afraid.” He puts it back and rises unsteadily to his feet. “We’re going to need another.”

“Hold up!” Anathema grabs Aziraphale’s wrist and stops him. “We need to change the parameters of this game somewhat if we’re going to keep playing! I’ve taken maybe three shots to your, oh, let’s call it one-hundred-and-fifty!”

“You’re just sore … because you’re losing,” Crowley accuses with a belch in between.

“Wait wait wait …” Aziraphale slurs.

“Wait what?”

“Are we sure she’s losing? What exactly is the object of this game? Does the first person who falls down drunk win? Or does the person who remains sober win?”

“I …” Crowley squints his eyes painfully as he gives it a think. “I think it’s … it’s probably … oh, I don’t care! She’s being a sore loser! That’s why she wants to change the rules!”

“But you don’t even know what the rules are!”

“Don’t care. Things were going fine before she (*mumble mumble mumble mumble*) sore loser …”

Aziraphale surmises that his demon friend is grumpy because he thinks he’s winning, but Anathema has a point. They’re supposed to be having fun, and a game isn’t fun if you don’t get the chance to play. “Change how, my dear?” he asks her in an attempt to smooth things over.

“First off, anything that happened before the 90s is strictly off limits.”

“The 1790s?” Crowley asks, swaying like a snake as he tries to figure out which of the three Anathemas he’s seeing is the real one.

“The 1990s.”

“Pffft! The 1990s were dull!”

“Plus, be vague. I mean, believe it or not, there are things I have done in the broad sense that you may not have …”

“Not likely …”

“… but never have I ever …” She rolls her eyes to the ceiling, trying to come up with the most ridiculous thing she can think of in short order “… sold Napoleon Bonaparte’s dismembered penis on the black market.”

“Ha! Cheers!” Crowley crows, snapping his fingers to refill Aziraphale’s glass. They hold up their shots ceremoniously, then drink them down, slamming their empty glasses on the table in unison when they’re done.

“Good lord! You two can’t be serious!?”

“I sold it first,” Crowley admits. “But he sold it by accident trying to return it.”

“How do you sell a penis by accident?”

“It’s a long story,” Aziraphale says sternly, the thin line his mouth makes clearly translating his distress at the mention of his faux pas, “and I’d rather not go into it. But all right. From now on, we’ll be vague.”

“Great!” Anathema smiles triumphantly. “Let’s start over.”

“In that case, it might help if we were a little less sozzled,” Crowley suggests.

“Right.” Aziraphale clunks a second empty whiskey bottle on the table beside the first. “Fill’er up, Crowley.”

“What?” Anathema watches wide-eyed and grossed out as Crowley strains, bending over at the waist, white-knuckling the seat of his chair between his legs, making the most revolting noise imaginable, the level of the liquid in the bottle rising with every grunt. Aziraphale, in contrast, is much quieter with regard to his own evacuating, but the whole process between the two is far too reminiscent of something else entirely.

It almost puts Anathema off her drink.

“That’s your guys’ bottle now,” she says, getting up to retrieve a brand new bottle from a nearby shelf.

“Obviously,” Crowley grumbles.

She cracks the cap on a fresh bottle of Jack and returns to her seat. “Okay, since I’m still not convinced you guys fully grasp the concept of this game, I’ll start.” She sits up straight and clears her throat as if preparing to make an important announcement. “I’ll make it simple. Never have I ever been rock climbing.”

“Ugh!” Crowley drinks his shot, revolted at how banal her selection is. Of all the things she could have chosen, she went with rock climbing. What? Did baking seem like too much of a stretch?

When he’s done with his drink, he notices Aziraphale’s glass has gone untouched. He glares at the angel, who stares back in confusion.

“What?”

“You’ve been rock climbing. Take a drink.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Whaddya call that big stone gate ‘round the Garden of Eden?”

“A gate, not a rock.”

“If it’s made of rock, I’ll allow it,” Anathema declares.

“But I didn’t climb it.”

“You were on top of it.”

“Yes, but I just sort of … appeared there. And after I gave away my sword, I miracled my way back up.”

“Ya climbed a rock. Take a drink.”

Aziraphale sighs and raises his glass. “Whatever.”

Anathema beams. “There. Isn’t this fun?”

“Loads,” Aziraphale says. Crowley sputters obscenely in response.

“I’ll pick another one,” Anathema offers. “Never have I ever stolen anything.”

“Oi!” Crowley gestures at Aziraphale after he sucks down his shot and the angel hasn’t moved. “You need to drink!”

“Whatever for?” Aziraphale asks, righteously offended.

“You’ve stolen stuff before! I’ve seen you!”

“I’ve acquired. I haven’t stolen.”

“Same diff! Right, book girl?”

“I’d say so.”

“Name one thing I’ve stolen. Go ahead.”

“You stole that … that … wooden chalice thingy from the Knights Templar! And they were on your side!”

“I’ll have you know that wooden chalice thingy, as you so smartly put it, was the Cup of Christ! And I was moving it to a safe location. I tried to explain that to the chap on duty, but he couldn’t hear me.”

“He was six-hundred-and-seventy-three years old! He was deaf as a stump!”

“Yes but he looked amazing for his age, didn’t he?”

“After you took the cup, he died!”

“It was in the job description. He understood his fate,” Aziraphale says, dismissing the demon’s commentary with a wave.

“Right. And I’m sure that was a huge comfort to him!”

“I couldn’t say. Anyway, you haven’t proven anything. I have not stolen.”

“Fine,” Crowley growls, pouring his shot. “My turn. Never have I ever killed a six-hundred-and-seventy-three year old knight!”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Anathema waggles a scolding finger. “That’s against the rules!”

“It’s necessary.”

“Of course it is, you sour serpent,” Aziraphale mutters, draining his glass. “My turn. Never have I ever nearly mowed down innocent pedestrians whilst behind the wheel of a vehicle traveling 90 when it should only go 30 tops!”

“What did we say about specific?” Anathema says.

“I don’t know. I think that could apply to anybody,” Aziraphale returns icily. “Have you seen the way you ride a bicycle?”

Crowley drinks his shot, mimicking Aziraphale while he does. When his glass hits the tablecloth, Aziraphale refills it. “Good of you to take your medicine, my dear,” he says. “Now whose turn is it to think of something?”

“I will,” Anathema says. “Someone needs to get this game back on track. Never have I ever worn high heels.”

“How high?” Crowley asks.

“I’ll say … four inches.”

With shaking heads and irritated sighs, Aziraphale and Crowley take a shot.

“Never have I ever ridden bare back,” Crowley says. This time Aziraphale and Anathema drink.

“Never have I ever eaten a rodent,” Aziraphale says. Crowley drinks his shot, snickering into his glass.

“What’s so funny?” Aziraphale asks.

“You picked one you’ve done, so you have to take a drink, too.”

“What? I’ve never eaten a …!” Crowley nods through Aziraphale’s protesting and the angel goes pale. “When?”

“1683. At that little restaurant in Naples. That crooked asshat of a chef wat served everyone rat and claimed it was chicken?”

Aziraphale goes numb, jaw slack, the abject horror growing on his face making Crowley snicker more.

“You had seconds,” he reminds him.

“Oh my Lord, you’re right!” Aziraphale’s lower lip trembles as he drinks his shot. “I’d forgotten. Though I think I forgot on purpose, to tell you the truth.”

“Don’t blame you.”

“Yikes. Okay. Never have I ever …” Anathema bites her lower lip, hemming and hawing between two questions - both of them fairly blah, she has to admit - when a third pops into her head that’s too good not to use, if for no other reason than to possibly get back at these two imbeciles if it lands the way she hopes it will “… had a crush on my best friend.”

Anathema half expects glaring yellow eyes behind dark lenses boring through her skull as a sulking demon reluctantly takes a drink, but Aziraphale downs his shot before anyone can reach theirs, leaving Crowley and Anathema looking at him strangely before he realizes what he’s done.

“Oh!” he squeaks when he sees two sets of eyes trained his way. “I … I was … I was in a rhythm. I don’t think I was paying attention to the question, I …” Aziraphale gulps, wiggling nervously in his seat. “Come again?”

“Oh, well, that’s all right,” Anathema says, pretending to believe him. She refills his glass and pushes it in front of him. “We’ll call a re-do. Do you want to do the honors, Crowley? Or shall I?”

Crowley doesn’t answer her. He leans towards Aziraphale, as amused as Anathema but much more invested in Aziraphale’s answer. “Never have I ever …” he says slowly, chewing each word thoroughly before it leaves his mouth, drawing Aziraphale’s full attention to it, “had a crush on my best friend.”

He stares Aziraphale down, unblinking, the angel shrinking farther and farther back as the demon inches closer, eyes locked so hard on Aziraphale’s, he can feel their hold on him like physical hands keeping him rooted to the spot. Crowley’s eyes don’t unnerve him. Not in the slightest. It’s the idea that the secret Aziraphale has held on to the longest is about to be unearthed, and by virtue of a common, vulgar drinking game.

Whose idea was this anyway? he thinks, mentally side-eyeing Anathema before he comes to the sobering realization that, in truth, it was his. He’d seen it on a TV show – the first TV show he’d watched in decades. He’d fancied it, thought it could be a lighthearted and fun way to pass the time, get to know new friends.

Ha.

But the longer Crowley stares at him, the more the expectant grin on the demon’s face begins to wither, and if there’s one thing Aziraphale doesn’t want, it’s Crowley’s feelings hurt.

This had to come out sooner or later. Might as well be now.

Aziraphale grabs the glass and throws it back, grimacing at a burn on the finish that has nothing to do with the alcohol. “Happy? Now you know.”

“Ecstatic.” Crowley bypasses his shot altogether, grabbing the closest bottle by the neck and downing what’s left in a single impressive chug.

Aziraphale gasps. “Are you … are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

“How long?”

“How long do you think?”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows shoot up with the outlandish suspicion that he knows exactly how long. That he’s always known. “That long?”

“Yes, Aziraphale. That long.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think I was being subtle about it, really.” Crowley fidgets his fingers, worrying the thumbnail of his left hand with the index fingernail and thumb of his right. “I just … I figured that if you didn’t say anything about it then you probably didn’t … you know … feel the same.”

“But I did,” Aziraphale says softly. “I … I do. Feel the same.”

Crowley’s face lightens, something resembling hope lifting the corners of his mouth into a cautious smile. “Really?”

“Really.”

Crowley rises from his chair and saunters over to Aziraphale. Aziraphale starts to stand but stops when Crowley gets down on his knees, removing his glasses and tossing them aside to get an unfettered view of him as if Anathema isn’t sitting mere feet away.

“I … I thought …” Crowley starts, interrupting himself with a bittersweet cough of a laugh.

“Oh, my dear.” Aziraphale runs a soothing hand through the demon’s hair. “What do we do now?”

“If it’s all the same to you,” Crowley whispers, “I’d really like to kiss you.”

“I think … I’d like that, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

Now that he has permission, Crowley wastes no time capturing Aziraphale’s lips with his own. After 6000 years, he’s tired of being subtle. From now on, he’s going to lay his feelings for Aziraphale on the line, out where the angel can see, and pray the important ones find their match alongside his.

Feeling like an awkward third wheel on a broken velocipede, Anathema begins gathering her things. “I’m just gonna go,” she says quietly, hopping out of her chair while demon and angel continue kissing. “Have some important, you know, witch business to get around to. I’m going to leave you two alone to … ahem … talk. But we should do this again some time. It was … educational.”

“Mmm … mind how you go, my dear,” a breathless Aziraphale mumbles between kisses.

“Right,” Crowley concurs, his hand sliding up into Aziraphale’s hair and pulling him deeper.

“Okey-dokey then.” It takes several tries before Anathema verifies she has everything, hugging books, a newspaper, a scarf, and her coat to her chest as she scurries away through the stacks and shelves with a laugh in her throat when the moaning begins.

[divine-draws]

quirkless hero izuku au shit. all of it is gunna be under the cut bc i KNOW this will get long.. p much just a list of hcs and how the au goes for Me at least

also feel free to send me asks about the au. i may draw some stuff for it too!!!

okay so obvs izuku doesnt get afo

id say that the events of the start of bnha p much happen as in like the whole sludge/slime monster and meeting all might

and we get the rooftop scene but instead when all might is asked if izuku can be a quirkless hero he hesitates for a moment but, knowing the answer HE wanted to hear, he says yes. or p much says yes

izuku isnt outright discouraged like in canon. i think all might though isnt the most motivated person about it bc that wasnt the case for him but he also knows what kids want to hear.. buuut also he like.. doesnt want this kid hurting himself

izuku sees small might form and all that but yeah he’s fucking determined

and id say the same shit with izuku running out to fight happens but when he’s heading home after being admonished he runs into small might and-

p much yagi grabs this kid by the scruff of his neck and is like you CAN be a hero without a quirk but please for the love of god do not go running into fights like that again. 

and so like in canon all might trains him BUT it’s not exactly to pass down his quirk. all might doesnt TELL him about his quirk but low key feels like this kid has the potential and shit. trains his body and shit before his entrance exams and all that and like in canon he ends up trying to pass on his quirk before the exam

this time though, upon izuku now finding out the truth of all might’s quirk, he.. declines. he’s like thank you but no thanks. i’ve thought about this for a while and like.. i want to do this without a quirk. without help

(later though bc it’s izuku he’s in his room fucking screaming internally because he turned down being all might’s successor WTF IS WRONG WITH HIM??? but dw this was a Good choice)

so obvs the au can go a couple ways here BUT honestly bc it’s my au and ppl can make unrealistic aus if they want im saying he manages to get enough rescue points in the entrance exam to juuust scrape by to getting into class 1-A. yay hero course!!!

id say a similar thing to canon happens but he does more rescue shit ending w him saving uraraka and lol idk he probs gets kinda crushed tho. this boy’s bones are NOT safe even in this au

so yeah it’s sick though him and his mom cry a bunch when he finds out he got in. yagi is so fucking proud of this boy like oh wtf. 

(also side plot of all might meeting mirio who ends up being his successor. this time it’s mirio and izuku and all might doing those ofa meetings and shit bc izuku knows and he’s fucking SO SMART and is rlly good at analysis and strategy and give me that good good senpai mirio relationship w izuku. they joke around a LOT and it’s good izuku has friends in 1-A and a pseudo older brother in mirio. anyway!)

p much i think the plot follows some very similar things except we got some tweaks to it that are better

izuku is like.. mei’s fucking playgroud. it’s free realestate!! he is fucking insane and they become friends and he tries out her babies and really he just gets some kick ass support items. the support items arent everything but i mean they really help. between mobility and so on. and like this kid can pack a PUNCH/kick so like having his steeltoed boots and like brass knuckle equivalents etc help make it that much worse

anyway so sports festival ?? oh man!!! 

so for the sports festival honestly izuku didnt use his quirk much in canon ANYWAY so like easy translation imo. he uses his big ass nerdy brain !!!

but then we still get the scene between todoroki and him and when they get out there to duke it out like.. we still get that lovely “it’s your quirk” shit 

i think it’s a lotta just izuku using his brain to avoid being fucking frosted and like him getting some Good Hits in on shouto. 

he does loose. it’s not as explosive as the canon fight but he def sacrifices his own chance of proving himself even more by getting in the top three to just.. help shouto. bc that’s just who he is though and through

shouto may have gone a bit overboard and once again izuku ends up with a shattered arm. so worth it tho

(also listen i may not get to that point in all this but todomido/tododeku is a THING 10000% in this au)

uuuuuh. yeah but honestly i think a lotta ppl are like..rlly surprised when they hear that he’s quirkless or whatever. and like duh this kid is fucking so good stfu he can do all this without a quirk

he works harder than anyone there and deserves so much

also no deku hero name. none of that shit in my house

tbh atm dont know what it would be. just the one that i hear enough of like dekiru

but id be way down for it to be like.. something diff idk

honestly i have so many more thoughts in my head. so send me questions about it or whatever. i just love this and think izuku NOT getting ofa is like.. so good

[talatomaz]

way back home pt.i | arrowverse x lance!reader

a/n: this takes place during crisis part 3. i wasn’t sure if I should put all of crisis in one fic but it ended up being too long and i was missing details so i decided to split it into parts

warnings: mentions of death/self harm

word count: 3k

masterlist | request list | request rules

pt.i | pt.ii

reader is a lance!sister, aka baby lance, (it’s a thing, fight me) with the powers of telekinesis, and after e1 laurel’s death, cisco helped her escape to earth 666. she was living a better life with her girlfriend, maze, until her sister showed up on her doorstep spouting her “end of the world” spiel. apparently, you were one of eight paragons and without you, the multiverse would be destroyed...

i do not give you permission to repost or translate my fics on any platform - likes/reblogs are okay and are much appreciated

“Okay, so he was killed by his wife?” You asked, sitting on the edge of the Detective’s desk.

“Mmhmm, and his mistress.” Chloe added.

“God, it’s a classic Diabolique situation.”

You both turned to face the forensic scientist who seemed lost in her own thoughts.

“What?” Ella shrugged her shoulders in confusion causing you and Chloe to laugh.

You momentarily detached from the laughter, now lost in your own thoughts.

It was only natural that you had taken a job in law enforcement after Cisco had dropped you off on this Earth. I mean, your father was a police captain after all and your sister, god rest her soul, was a lawyer.

You supposed it allowed you to feel closer to them even when you were on a different Earth. Maybe that’s why you felt closer to them. You didn’t have to deal with all the pain and sorrow of their deaths that you had back home, but instead, could remember them for who they were and what they, more specifically, Laurel, always wanted.

To save the world.

Focusing back on the conversation, you and your friends’ heads swivelled to the sound of heels clacking against the marble floor. Maze, you assumed. Your girlfriend was quite the bounty hunter, you thought proudly to yourself.

“Ladies, nice to see you. Ah, Maze and...oh, hello, who is this?”

The three of you stood up when Lucifer, the Devil himself, joined you as Maze neared Chloe’s desk, a person with long hair shielding their face, locked in her grasp.

Searching her face, you realised fury filled her eyes, mixed with...a fierce protectiveness?

“Maze, baby, what’s wrong?” You asked, worried at her behaviour. Maze was almost always angry but never with this intensity.

“This human was searching for you.”

All of your gazes fell to look at the individual whose head was gripped in the arms of the infamous demon.

You squinted your eyes, trying to place the person and then your eyes widened with recognition. You only knew one person with hair that long.

“Cisco?” You questioned, bending down so you were face level with the person.

Your assumption was confirmed when the former lifted his head up and his hair fell to his shoulders, revealing his face.

“Hey, Baby Lance!” He said cheerfully despite being stuck in a vice-like grip. Yep, definitely Cisco.

“Oh My-Maze, let him go.”

Stopping yourself before name-dropping the deity, you pried your girlfriend’s arms from your friend’s body and pulled him into your arms.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Ramon?”

You laughed in shock as you hugged him tightly, having not seen him for almost 3 years.

“We were looking for you, Baby Lance.”

“We?” You and your group of friends replied simultaneously.

As if on cue, another familiar figure appeared behind Maze, calling out the meta-human’s name.

“Cisco, I told you not to run off. Especially when we’re on a diff-Oh, hi.”

She stopped abruptly when she noticed the former, you and your friends gathered at the desk.

You raised your eyebrows in question at the female, having only known her for a few months after you came back to your Earth to be with your family as you grieved on the year anniversary of Laurel’s death.

“Dinah?”

Removing yourself from Cisco’s arms, you walked up to the vigilante and stared at her and then looked back at Cisco. There was only one reason why the two of them were here together, and it wasn’t for a cute reunion.

“You both need to tell me what you’re doing here right now.”

Cisco had a pained look on his face which Dinah seemed to reciprocate. Your head flew back and forth between the two as your frustration grew.

“Guys!” You shouted, causing everyone to jump.

“We need your help, Baby Lance.” Cisco replied.

“Yeah, it’s, um, bad, y/n.” Dinah continued.

Your heart fell into your stomach as your mind ran through the worst possible scenarios. Your father and sister were already dead. Your mother was gone. That left...

“Oh, God. Is it Sara?”

You ignored the curse that fell from Lucifer’s lips after Chloe hit him when he was about to interrupt for you mentioning his father.

The meta-human duo remained silent causing you to repeat your question, eyes filling with tears.

“No, I’m okay, kid.”

At this, you looked over your shoulder. nearly collapsing with relief at what you saw. Standing in the centre of the police station was your sister, seemingly unharmed.

You ran up to her and practically launched into her arms, “Oh, I’m so glad you’re okay. I couldn’t deal with losing you too.”

“Hey, I’m okay, sweetie.” Your sister reassured you, speaking with the soothing tone she often used when you were a child.

Recomposing yourself, the two of you approached the ever-expanding group and Sara glanced at your friends before returning her attention to you, Dinah and Cisco.

“Cisco, I told you to not run off. Dinah, I told you to watch him. Y/N, we need your help.”

“I’m sorry, but who are you?” Chloe interrupted for the first time.

“Uh, I think we should take this somewhere private.” You responded.

***

At the insistence of Lucifer, you all, with the exception of Ella, went to Lux as it would be empty due to it being mid afternoon.

Upon arriving, the seven of you gathered by the bar with Maze pouring you all a drink.

“Per your request, we’re somewhere private but why are they here?” Dinah asked, nodding in the direction of Lucifer, Chloe and Maze.

“Let’s just say they are very understanding. Okay, so what is it?”

“We have a crisis.” Sara began.

“Yeah, on infinite Earths.” Cisco added.

“Wait, did you say infinite Earths?” Chloe interrupted.

Sighing deeply, you looked at your sister, “Okay, before you explain the reason for your presence here, I’m just gonna give them the rundown.”

You faced your Earth 666 friends and continued to talk,

“Long story short, we live in a multiverse with several Earths. I’m from Earth 1, this is my sister, and my friends. We’re, what we call, meta-humans. Meaning we all have powers. I can move things with my mind/hands.”

“Cisco can create portals to anywhere, including here. Dinah has a canary cry which is essentially a high-frequency scream that kills. Sara doesn’t have powers but she’s an assassin, technically died twice but was resurrected and now travels through time with another group of heroes called Legends.”

You inhaled a breath and watched as everyone’s faces dropped. Sara, Cisco and Dinah’s due to you revealing sensitive information. Maze, Chloe and Lucifer’s due to your wild explanation.

“Y/N!”

“What?” You shrugged at your sister chastising you.

“Why would they understand? They’re normal people.”

At this, the Earth 666 trio burst out laughing so you explained to your family their situation,

“These guys understand. Lucifer is the Devil. Literally. God is his father. Maze is Mazikeen aka a child of Lilith. And Chloe is, well, basically an angel.”

“So I think we’re good now. Sara, if you can now get to the point.” You said, diminishing all attempts at questioning from everyone in the room.

“Anyways, as Cisco said, there’s a Crisis on Infinite Earths. A anti-matter wave is destroying all Earths. It’s destroyed so many already, including Earth 2 and Earth 38, Supergirl’s Earth.”

You then listened as she explained all about the Monitor, Lyla and everyone’s hunt for the eight paragons, who were essentially the world’s greatest heroes. Dinah then notified you of the identities of all the paragons before stopping at the Paragon of Strength.

“Y/N. It’s you. You’re the Paragon of Strength.”

“What? No, Sara. You’ve got it wrong. I’m not a hero.”

You stumbled over your words, desperately failing at hiding your shock, eyes then widening at the slim box that the former pulled out of her jacket.

“Is that-”

“Yes.” Sara simply replied.

“No, I-I can’t. You know I can’t, Sara. I can’t be here right now.”

You downed what little alcohol you had left in your glass, welcoming the burn, and jumped off the bar stool you were currently sitting on.

You pushed past your sister, walking away before stopping at the call of your name.

“Ollie’s dead.” She said, her soft tone returning.

You looked back at her and knew her words to be true as tears filled the trio’s eyes.

“What?” Your voice broke with that one word.

“He’s gone. And we need your help to stop anyone else from dying.”

Making your way back to the group, you took the box from your sister’s hands and opened it to reveal the contents. Inside was a small, sleek black mask. The one that your sister donned when she took over Sara’s mantle as the Black Canary.

“Y/N, you have to come with us. You know Laurel wanted her legacy to continue.”

“It is! With Dinah, not with me! I’m not worthy of this. I’m not the Black Canary. I’m no one.”

BANG

BANG

BANG

Everyone’s heads turned to face the back entrance of the club where the sound originated from. Sara wielded one of her knives as did Maze. Whilst you and Cisco raised your hands in defense and Chloe aimed her gun.

The doors busted open to reveal three familiar faces. One of whom was recognised by Lucifer.

“John?” You, Sara and Lucifer shouted in confusion.

“Well, if it isn’t Constantine.” Lucifer said, purposely mispronouncing the demonologist’s name resulting in the former correcting him.

“John, what are you doing here? With Diggle and Mia, no less.” Sara asked, and you remembered that John was now a member of the Legends.

“I reassured you, Sara, that I would do whatever it takes to get Oliver’s soul back. Oh, Baby Lance, I haven’t seen you for a very long time. How you been, gorgeous?”

Maze practically growled in jealousy, pushing you behind her.

“Wait...”

Your eyes flickered between Sara, Lucifer and John and then frowned at the latter’s words. When you realised what they had done and were planning to do, you felt fury rise through your body.

“Sara, tell me you didn’t.” You asked hardly but quietly, not trusting your voice to remain calm if you spoke any louder.

Everyone suddenly felt the tension in the air and remained silent, scared that any interruption would cause you to snap.

“Sara, tell me you didn’t.” You enunciated each word, hands curling into fists at your side.

“Y/N-“

“No!”

Sara’s mouth immediately closed and whatever words she was about to say fell short.

“You’re telling me that you can use the Lazarus pit to save Thea. To save you. And now, to save Ollie. But, you cannot use it to save Laurel. Your own sister.” You said calmly, too calm.

You were trying your damnedest not to shout but the thin thread you had on your control broke when the former tried to defend herself.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Sara?!”

You extended your hand, stopping your sister from closing any further distance between the two of you. She struggled against you as you used your powers to restrict her movements.

“Y/N, stop it!”

Relenting on your intensity, you allowed her to stumble forward.

“Look, I’m sorry about that. But I’m not here for Oliver. I’m here for you.”

“Why? Because you need me?” You sneered.

“Yes, you’re one of eight people who can save the multiverse.”

“What? A paragon? Sara, I’m not the paragon of anything. Least of all, strength.”

When the former assassin tried to argue, you continued to speak, “Sara, you know I almost killed myself after you died?”

“Yeah, and Laurel saved you.” Sara answered, tears forming in her eyes at the painful memory.

“Right. But what you don’t know, is that I did the same thing after Laurel was murdered by Darhk.”

“Y/N.” Sara’s voice broke as she murmured your name, Maze doing the same.

“Yeah, and this time, Felicity saved me. I mean, I begged her not to. But she did. And here I am. So don’t you come here and tell me that I’m a Paragon of Strength when I am weak.”

You looked up at Mia, John and Diggle who were watching you in shock and returned your gaze to your sister.

“Laurel was my vice, the one person I had through everything. After she was gone, I didn’t want to live.”

You paused for a moment before adding, “Laurel may have brought you back, but as far as I’m concerned, you were dead the day the Gambit went down.”

Your words cut threw Sara like a hot knife through butter which ultimately left her reeling from the hurt she had caused. You then walked away, ignoring everyone’s shouts, using your powers to prevent them from chasing after you.

***

Slamming the door closed, you dropped your keys on the table and stormed into your living room. Tears streaming down your face, you grabbed one of your throw pillows and screamed into it.

Why? Why did this have to happen?

You were perfectly happy living your new life here but now you knew that you would never get that back. Even if you helped end the Crisis, the fact would remain that you had revealed your true nature to your family here.

Around 3 months into your relationship with Maze, she had sat you down and told you who she really was. Of course, you had doubts that she was telling the truth but you ended up believing her because what else could you do? Your life on Earth 1 was unique, why did you expect Earth 666 to be any different?

You had never told your Earth 666 family about your powers though. The perfect opportunity would have been when Maze told you who she was but you chickened out. You were weak. You knew you wouldn’t be able to deal with the rejection. Because you would have been alone again. And being alone sucked.

You wiped the tears that had fallen down your face and let your mind roam. You knew in your heart that Sara was right except you didn’t want that burden. But you didn’t want to be a martyr either. You knew you’d suck it up and be the Paragon that the world needed you to be.

But that didn’t mean you agreed with Sara’s choices.

How could you?

She was willing to save an ex-boyfriend but not her sister. If Laurel were here, you knew she’d probably agree with Sara. She was always putting everyone else first. And by doing so, she got herself killed. All because she put on that stupid mask.

And now, Sara was telling you that you had to wear your dead sister’s mask, the one she was murdered in, no less, in order to save the world? That was insanity.

Your train of thought broke when you heard the door click open. You looked up at the doorframe and saw your girlfriend standing there, staring at you. Behind her, your sister emerged, her face wet with tears.

Maze raised her scarred brow in question, silently asking if you were okay. You nodded lightly so your girlfriend gave you a gentle smile before leaving you alone with your sister.

When she left, Sara walked into the room and gestured to the empty space beside you and when you nodded again, she sat down.

“I’m sorry for what I said.” You said, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

“You were right.” You looked up at your sister in shock and saw fresh tears forming in her eyes.

“I agree with the decision I made because it was the responsible one but it doesn’t mean I didn’t want to save Laurel. Hell, I chased Darhk through time just to kill him but I ultimately realised I couldn’t. Anyways, that’s beside the point. At the end of the day, Laurel was-is-our big sister and she always will be. I’m sorry that she’s gone.”

“I miss her.” You said softly, your voice breaking.

Tears started to spill again and Sara gathered you into her arms. Not having the energy to push her away, instead, you clung to her, sobbing. Sara rocked you gently, her own tears falling. You had never actually grieved together after Laurel died; she had been off with the Legends at the time.

When both of your tears stopped, turning into light sniffles, you pulled away to stare at your sister.

‘I’ll help you, Sara, but I’m not a hero. I’m the furthest thing from it.”

Sara heard her own words ringing in her head from her conversation with Laurel long ago. She had been in your position. She had felt what you felt now. Hell, she still feels like that somedays. But she knew that what she did was for the greater good. And she knew exactly what you needed to hear.

Sara cupped your cheek and rubbed her thumb against your skin and spoke, “I’m not asking you to be a hero. I’m just asking you to help me. To save others in the name of those we couldn’t.”

You leaned into the embrace and allowed her words to take effect. To save others. That was exactly what Laurel would have wanted. It’s what she died wanting to do.

You nodded, “For Laurel.”

“For Laurel.”

Next Part ->

[luvreyn]

My Manhwa List (2019) pt. 4

And the list continues ~

The Reason Why Raelina Ended Up at the Duke’s Mansion

Summary:

Poisoned to death by her own betrothed?! Eunha didn’t wake up in a novel’s story just to get killed off again as an unfortunate extra! To change her story she needs a cover… 6 months pretending to be the fake fiancée of the novel's male protagonist, Duke Noah Wynknight. But will this cold-hearted, angel-faced demon of a man really help her avoid another ill-fated ending?!

WHY YOU SHOULD READ:

this is like my second discovered manhwa so it’s very high on my list

plot = 6/5 the plot twists are awesome hail the author

noah freaking wynknight

mc is smart and capable and knows how to use guns she is no damsel in distress my friends

mc knows and uses her knowledge efficiently

adam 

art style - 6/5

the king is awesome

the villain is unexpected bcuz ohmygahd i didnt see that one coming

R A E L I N A

noah being in love 

the reasons and logic are all justified and reasonable

very lovable characters that you would understand

has the right amount of angst/comedy/romance/drama 

facial expressions are on point they are memeable 

in conclusion: read this because this is one of the best manhwa ever like ever i mean who havent read this gem you’re missing out if you havent

My Life as an Internet Novel

Summary:

Every novel has the usual cast: a gorgeous heroine, handsome boys vying for her attention, and a homely best friend at the heroine’s side. Dani, an ordinary student and avid reader of internet novels, is all too familiar with these tropes. But she never imagined that one day she’d wake up at the center of one herself! Her new fictional world is complete with a beautiful best friend named Yeoryung, and four impossibly good-looking boys who all happen to be in her class.  Dani is determined to stay out of the way and not get involved in the twists and turns of the plot. But is she really just the sidekick -- or is Dani actually the leading lady? Anything is possible in the world of a novel!

WHY YOU SHOULD READ:

the mc’s reasons and fears are justified and reasonable 

the characters are all lovable 

plot = 5/5 very diff from iseka-ish stories that just went with the flow of their new life this mc’s reactions are realistic and shouldn’t be invalidated 

art style is decent

yeoryong loving her bff and prioritising her is love

the characters are complex and have their own personality

yeoryeong x dan - i

the bff’s bro is handsome

the male characters are all handsome and cute and understanding

spoiler: they believed in their friend and that’s pure friendship 

their friendship are goals i just want to cry because they didnt invalidate the feelings and fear of the mc 

yeoryeong x eun ji ho

dan - i x chun young

Lady Beast 

Summary:

An arranged marriage that ends in a body swap?! The quiet Princess Elissa has lived a miserable life thus far. To get away from it all she agrees to marry the war tyrant, Duke Ginger of Landall Kingdom. But by some evil curse, the new couple wakes up in each other's bodies! Between royal functions to attend and getting used to their physical changes, can they keep their cool long enough to find a way to switch back? Or will they be stuck like this forever?!

WHY YOU SHOULD READ:

red haired characters are awesome

plot = 4/5 the body switching concept is put nicely and are nicely done 

art style = 4/5 

reactions are funny

ml is husband material

ml teasing the mc 

number question: why are they swapping bodies no one knows

light read so read it you want to just have a good time 

The Contract Concubine

Summary:

As the deadliest assassin in the Seong Empire, Yeseo is stumped by very few jobs that come her way. But when Emperor Ahon hires her to find the spy hiding in his palace, she must also play the part of his new airheaded concubine as a cover. It takes all her patience to keep up her lovey-dovey act with Ahon during the day, and all her smarts to sniff out the enemy at night. If only she could wrap up this job quickly and collect her handsome reward-- but with so many suspicious officials and the tangled web of alliances inside the court, it's hard to tell who the true culprit could be. Can Yeseo catch this mysterious spy before she loses her sanity and blows her own cover?

WHY YOU SHOULD READ:

what can i say, i just love stories that has politics and history

funny and fantastic

A H H O N

it has a lot to offer 

art style = 5/5

plot = 4/5 

i think this has dark themes but surprisingly it’s a light read for me bcuz of the pov of yesuh

who is the traitor who is the spy

the white silver fox dude reminds me of gin ichimaru

ahhon x yesuh

Daughter of the Archmage

Summary:

Mabel’s been mocked her whole life for her nonexistent magical ability, but when she finally meets her true father, it’s the all-powerful archmage, Raquiel! Forced by an imperial pact to let her go long ago, he can now welcome her into his home, with his half-wolf butler, three nymph sisters, a fox halfling, and a kind disciple to watch over her. But dark secrets from his past threaten to catch up with them. Will his magic be enough to protect her? Could she even come into a power all her own?

WHY YOU SHOULD READ:

if you love wmmap, you’re gonna love this

plot = 3.5/5

art style = 4/5

ngl rykell is one of the top candidates for best daddy award

rykell doesnt hate his daughter ok 

sweet and adorable father-daughter moments

maybelle deserves the world

this is a warm and light read if you just want to enjoy reading 

p.s the scanlation team is dropping this because the author said so BUT there’s going to be an official english translation next year (i think jan 2020?) 

a lot of questions that’s going to make you want more

[nimblermortal]

It’s so cool that I can actually root myself in genealogies now. Like this Oleif the White. Never heard of him. He’s the great-great-great grandson of a king of Oppland, and I know where Uppland is, so that’s something. BUT! He’s also married to Aud the Deep-Minded, and I know VERY well who that is!

(She’s the progenitor of the family featured in Laxdælasaga. She’s a badass, of the stone cold variety.)

This also means that I know Oleif the White is going to die in Scotland, though this version says Ireland. Same diff. (And it’s his son who dies in Scotland.)

CONFIRMED BADASS SECRET FOREST BOATBUILDING!!!!! Aud Djúpvitr my love <3 <3 <3

I’d like to know what Skraumuhlaupsa translates as - I see the hlaup in there, which is leap, which makes me very curious about how this river was named. (Is the -a for river?)

LIAR LIAR PANTS ON FIRE AUD WAS NOT A CHRISTIAN. She was way too old for that. Kjartan was involved with the conversion of Iceland, and he was her... grandson’s grandson? I think? Aud died before Kjartan’s father was conceived. This is revisionist history. On the other hand, “This landmark is called such-and-such because Aud did so-and-so there” is a trademark explanation for place names in Iceland.

[valkyrieofsmut]

Captive Love   17

UF!Sans x Reader (or Frisk if you wanna)

Summary: Sans takes Sweetheart out with him for the day.

A/N: Maybe I should have put more teasing before this... lol So, I spent so long on the next chapter (and writing important stuff in Bone Brigade) that I haven't got farther than the next chapter... (even though I'm 6 chapters ahead in Bone Brigade) But! Believe me when I say that I'm working hard on it in my spare time, despite internet trouble (it coming and going randomly, basically not having internet) and heavy load of work.

Masterlist      Series Masterlist

Story

Sans' rounds.

This is what Sans did all day? 

It was just wandering around talking to people. 

These were… the 'rounds' Papyrus wanted him to do? 

It seemed really boring. 

Sans made sure to keep her close, not letting anyone get too close to her, and not letting her out from under his arm unless he had to. 

That was fine with her, though. The less she was away from him, the less chance she had of being yanked away and made into human sushi or some crazy thing. 

Sans pulled her into Grillby's and ordered them some lunch to go, taking her to one of the taller buildings and up to the roof. 

When they got there, it was empty, nothing really there except for some old dead plants that had probably been forgotten about and left by their previous human owners. 

Sans had her hold the bags and ducked to the side, digging out a large blanket from where it'd been hidden. 

"come up here sometimes when 'm doin' my rounds," he explained, spreading the blanket out and gesturing for her to sit. “like ta look up at th’ sky an’ watch th’ clouds, or stars- whatever’s out… not somethin’ ya see underground.” 

They ate their food, Sans drenching both his burger and fries in mustard, much to (Y/n)'s disgust. 

There was nothing wrong with liking mustard on your food, but the amount he used was a bit excessive. 

"grillbz' own secret, homemade recipe," he told her, his tongue snaking out to lick a spot on the side of his face. 

Was it weird that that movement seemed to ignite desire in (Y/n)'s belly? 

She knew what that tongue could do in her mouth, and around her shoulders and neck. She knew what his fingers could do lower… 

(Y/n) took the bottle of mustard from him to distract herself. "Pr-tty g...d," she agreed after tasting some on a fry. [pretty good]

Sans laid back, looking like he was about to take a nap. "yeah. he's a pretty good cook." 

Oh god… Now she was thinking of climbing over him and finding out what that thing that kept poking at her when he was excited was… 

Shit! She couldn't! They were outside. On a roof… 

She tried to focus on just eating her food. 

"hey, doll," he asked with a chuckle, "ya wanna pick up some stuff fer dinner? was thinkin', paps may like ta learn a new recipe…" 

"S-fe?" She asked. [safe?]

"yeah, sweetheart, course. think i'd let anythin' happen to ya?" He asked, looking over at her. 

"Wh-t a-e y- thi-king?" She asked after a moment. [what are you thinking?]

"dunno… ya know any recipes?" He asked. 

After thinking for a moment, she nodded. 

. 

Using her translation key, (Y/n) slowly wrote out the recipe, Sans watching over her shoulder after he'd put the groceries away. 

She finally finished and handed it to Sans to proofread, and he read out her instructions on how to make Shepherd's pie to make sure it was all correct. "sounds like a different kind a lasagna," he commented. 

"Diff-r-nt," she told him. [different]

Sans stuck the paper under a stack of things, poking out just so, before moving back to (Y/n) with a grin. 

He leaned behind her, nuzzling into her shoulder, his hands slowly stroking over her stomach and sides. "hey, sweetheart," he purred in his low, rumbling voice, starting to nip and lick at her shoulder and neck, "ya wanna…" he paused, letting out a soft groan as a needy sigh left her, "wanna take this upstairs?" 

(Y/n) gasped, her mind flooded with desire and nervousness. Did she want to? Yes. Should she? She couldn't see why not, really… 

"hn, sweetheart?" He asked into her neck. "there's s'much 'f yer body i ain't got ta see 'r touch, yet…" 

She nodded, and he let out a happy groan, standing and taking her hand, leading her from the kitchen to his room, though he had her go in front of him, his tongue sliding over his teeth as his hands trailed over her, giving gropes and pats to her ass as she climbed the stairs ahead of him. 

They got to his room, and Sans wrapped his arms around her after tossing the door closed, hands teasing over her ribs and down to her hips as he returned to nipping and licking at her. 

(Y/n) moaned, her hands going to grab at him, her breath coming out in pants as she leaned into his touch. 

This felt so good… it reminded her of when she was in highschool, actually; sneaking off to kiss and make out with someone, wondering if they'd be able to make it all the way. The fact that Sans was a monster didn't affect it at all. 

(Y/n) whined as Sans pulled away, and he chuckled at her, turning her and pulling her against him. 

His teeth touched her lips, parting them and slipping his tongue into her mouth. 

He let out a groan, his hands going to her thighs, picking her up long enough to lay her on the bed as he knelt over her. 

Sans kicked his shoes off and tugged hers off as well, tossing them somewhere away from the bed. 

He trailed his hands up, starting from her ankles, moving over her calves, thighs, hips, and body as he went back to her mouth. His knees were between hers, his hands sliding up and down from her ribs to her thighs, rubbing all along her. 

(Y/n)'s hands held on to his shirt and coat, tugging him closer, a knee laying over his hip. 

A needy growl rumbled in Sans' chest. "ah, fuuckk," he groaned, his hands closing around the back of her thighs again. "c'mere, sweetness," he growled, wrapping them around him, pushing tight against her, his thick bulge smashed to her heating core through their clothes. 

She whined, tightening her grip on his shirt. 

Sans let out a ragged breath, one hand holding tight to her thigh, the other forearm supporting him over her, the hand twisting in the bedding under her. He kissed her, grinding roughly against her wettening heat as their tongues tangled. 

(Y/n) whimpered as she arched to him. Her body was getting so hot as he rubbed against her, making it known that it was very ok this. 

 Sans' hand left the bedding behind to slide up her shirt. The feeling of his bony phalanges dragging up her stomach made shivers run down her spine. 

As his hand messaged her ribs, she moaned, her hips shifting against his. 

Sans groaned, then growled out a curse and pushed her shirt up, over her bra covered breasts. 

"fuck, sweetheart," he murmured before diving down to lick and nip along the tops of the soft mounds, dipping into her cleavage as his hand squeezed and groped a breast. 

(Y/n) gasped, whines and whimpers leaving her as she writhed under him. 

Sans' phalanges found her nipple and pinched it through her bra, making a particularly needy sound leave her throat. 

He groaned at the noise and moved his mouth back to hers, his tongue flicking out to meet hers as his fingers kept at pinching her nipple. 

(Y/n) moaned, her teeth going to catch his lip, but, of course, couldn't, and caught his tongue instead. 

Sans let out a lust filled growl and pulled back, their rough breathing filling the space between them as his hand slid up, loving the way his phalanges looked on her delicate neck. 

She flinched as they touched there, forcing her eyes back open as they passed and made their way to her hair, tangling in it and holding her against his mouth as he kissed her. 

Sans' whole body was grinding roughly against hers, and she was responding with eagerness, her hands holding him tight against her, twisting in his shirt. 

Whimpers left her, begging him to keep going, and he complied, not wanting to stop. 

“nnn, sweetheart, that soft lil pussy a yers feels real hot- ya need me ta check on it fer ya?” He asked, giving another rough buck of his pelvis. 

She looked up at him, her expression totally debauched. 

“fuck, sweetheart, wit ya lookin’ at me like that-” he shook his head, his hand leaving her breast and trailing down her body to rest over her mound, massaging it as he still ground against it. 

“Ahhh,” she moaned out his name, her voice cutting out at the pitch of her moans. 

“ungh, sweetheart,” he groaned back against her mouth as he ducked down to kiss her again.

Needy whimpers pressed from her as he moved, and her mouth fell away from his as she arched up to him, gasping. 

Sans was taking large breaths as he watched her face contort in need and pleasure. “such a pretty lil doll,” he murmured to her. “ya look like ya need somethin’ more…” 

(Y/n) nodded vigorously at him, and he licked his teeth. 

“yeah?” He asked. 

She nodded again, her eyes begging, and Sans let his hands leave her, going to his pants and tugging at the strings that kept them tight enough to stay up. "looks like ya might need some a this…" 

“SANS!” Papyrus’ voice crashed through the house up to them, followed by the crash of the front door closing. 

Sans’ eyelights rolled back in his sockets with a disappointed groan. 

“SANS!” Papyrus called again, from the foot of the stairs. 

Sans’ nasal ridge buried itself in (Y/n)’s shoulder as he muttered a frustrated, “goddamn it!” 

“SANS, GET OUT HERE, OR I’M COMING UP THERE!” Papyrus insisted. 

Sans pulled back, looking down at her longingly. “sorry, sweetheart…” 

She gave him a twitch of her lips as a smile. 

Sans climbed from over her and opened the door, yelling out, “what?!” as he disappeared. 

(Y/n) took a deep breath and let it out, rubbing her hands over her face. 

She’d almost had sex with Sans. Would have if his brother hadn’t stopped them. 

She… wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it… 

TagList:

@tephi101  @lilypalmer1987  @pingu89  @gifsbysimplysonia  @omnomsauruswrites<3U!  @keldachick  @Randomfandompenguin  @mannls  @screeching-student-unknown  @lizfawn  @ya-lyublu-tebya  @their-bibliophile  @the-fifth-marauder03