#this isn’t referencing anything in particular

[wanderingchanneler]

I’ve seen some people say that Szeth pre-exile was in a respected position for training with the Honorblades, and eventually bonding Jezrien’s Blade. They seem to think that learning how to wield the Honorblades and learn the Surges is, well, an honor. I think this is inaccurate for at least two reasons.

First, they’re called Honorblades because they were made directly by Honor, using his own essence/Investiture. There’s no inherent honor in using one, any more than there is in carrying a regular Shardblade.

Second, something I think people forget/overlook is that warriors and anyone who uses a weapon are at the bottom of Shin social structure. The only people who are lower than fighters are Truthless.

I imagine that those who train with the Honorblades also have low social rank. The Shin might view it as a necessary evil (there’s a passing line in Oathbringer that seems to imply that they watched for the return of the Voidbringers) but it is still bad. Killing is the worst sin in the Shin religion, and anyone who learns how to use the Honorblades is also trained to kill. There would be no honor in that.

Even before Szeth was named Truthless and exiled from Shinovar, he was of one of the lowest social ranks to his people. He might have used the Honorblades, but he found no honor in it.

[seonghwaddict]

to taint your soul — choi san

in which apparently even the daughter of an exorcist is not safe from the corruption of an incubus.

incubus!choi san x exorcist’s daughter!fem!reader. genre. smut, angst, southern gothic vibes. warnings. barely any plot, religious themes, religious guilt, swearing, explicit sexual content mdni, corruption, loss of virginity, masturbation (f.), referenced dacryphilia, fingering, referenced oral (f.), manhandling?, multiple orgasms, rough and gentle, big dick!san, creampie, marking, nicknames (angel, pretty girl, sweet girl, sweetheart). wc. 7.3k. rating. mature.

lilo’s notes. i should do more mythological characters!ateez cuz i enjoyed writing this and the lamb and the wolf. the demonology book/text here is partially from The Encylopedia of Demons and Demonology by Rosemary Ellen Guiley, but i made up some parts for the sake of the story. THIS FIC DOES NOT REPRESENT ANY OF MY OPINIONS AND I DO NOT INTEND TO OFFEND ANYONE.

listening to. burning desire, lana del rey // gibson girl, ethel cain // lilies, ethel cain & mercy necromancy // ptolemaea, ethel cain // heaven, taemin

masterlist.

you were cursed from the moment you were born.

the idea of being cursed or haunted by anything isn’t one you think about often, considering yourself protected by your father’s profession. at least one dusty bible on every bookshelf in the colonial monstrosity that is your home and crucifixes hung all around, it seems to be common sense that an exorcist’s home would be the safest place to hide from the dark.

unaware of it all, you used to let yourself be tucked into your lace-trimmed bedsheets as he pulled you to sleep with stories. tales of fallen angels and possessed souls became the lullabies of your childhood. admittedly, you were quite terrified of it all, but as you grew older and wiser, you realised there was no way they could get to you. but really, it was wishful thinking.

you weren’t aware of who your father used to be, nor were you aware of the debt he owed to a particular demon.

the dreams started the night after your twentieth birthday, vivid and unsettling. a man haunted them, equally as terrifying as he was handsome. tall and clad in dark silks, his whispered words and hungry eyes intrigued you. his touch, though a figment of your imagination, sent shivers down your spine, foreign yet infinitely alluring. you’d wake up with a jolt, panting, flushed cheeks and tingling skin as the dream stuck to you like cobwebs. your father passed the repeated dreams off as nightmares and you failed to notice the flash of fear cross his features.

one night, however, you were changing in your room. dimly illuminated by multiple candles you set around since you didn’t like how bright the large chandelier was, you held a dress in each of your hands, standing in front of the mirror as you held the clothing to your body in an attempt to figure out what to wear. you didn’t notice at first, but a figure lurked in the shadows of the bedroom. you didn’t notice the shift in the atmosphere or the flicker of the candles.

but soon, a soft sigh sounded through the room, so soft it could’ve been mistake for a whistling breeze outside your window. goosebumps prickled at your skin as you tensed, refusing to move at the oddly human sound. staring at yourself in the mirror intently, you caught a glimpse of a familiar face in the reflection of your mirror. your breath hitched as you fixed your eyes on him, afraid that if you blinked, he’d disappear.

you watched him. watched him take slow steps towards you as he smirked at the sight of your wide, fearful yet infinitely pure and innocent eyes. you convinced yourself you were hallucinating, the disturbingly realistic sounds of his footsteps as much of a figment of imagination as his being. but as he stood right behind you, a coldness swept over your skin and you flinched as his breath fanned against your bare shoulder. whipping around in surprise, you yelped softly at the sensation. but he was gone, and you were alone. breath erratic and eyes stinging, you scrambled to move a wooden cross stand from the top of your dresser to your bedside table.

after that you grew paranoid, always looking over your shoulder, sleeping with at least two safe and reliable candles lit. each time you walked through the hallways of your own home, you kept your gaze fixed on the ground, refusing to look at the portraits lining the dark walls as you thought they were watching you. the tiniest of sounds made you flinch and break a sweat, squeezing your eyes shut and muttering prayers, only to find out the sound came from either of your parents.

the constant state of fear and anxiety left you tired, deciding if your father wasn’t going to do anything about it, you would. on quiet feet, you crept through the halls at noon (you were too scared to go to that room at night), a rosary wrapped around your hand with a dainty little cross hanging from your clenched palm.

you father really was a well-known exorcist, often to go on trips within and beyond the country to treat what doctors couldn’t; demonic possessions. as a symbol of his successes and a means to prevent others from coming in contact with whatever a demon may have attached itself to, he brought home trophies and locked them in a little storage room in the basement. of course, he took many precautions—crucifixes all over the inside and outside, sprinkles of holy water here and there, he’d have your local priest come over and bless the area himself. despite all this, you never once stepped in, partially because your father advised you not to, mostly because you were completely and utterly terrified.

as you descended the creaking wooden stairs, a chill ran through you, the hairs at your nape standing in alert. maybe you were scaring yourself more than the room scared you. the dust tickled your nostrils, making you force down a sneeze as you cleared your throat. the wooden floorboards extended into a narrow hallway, lined by cobblestone walls. you rarely came down, in fact, you couldn’t remember the last time you were there, the surroundings seeming so foreign. there were only two doors, one leading to a storage closet and the other to a slightly scarier storage closet.

you stared up at the ominous door, standing tall and intimidating, a golden cross embossed right in the centra, doorknob dark and rusted. with shaky hands, you fished a copper from the hidden pocket of your plaid gown. it half-hearted a few sloppy attempts until you got the key in, squeezing your eyes shut as you force yourself to finally turn it.

another chill ran through your body as you push the door open weakly, cracking an eye open to look inside. had you come at night, you wouldn’t have been able to see anything, the only source of light being an elongated shirt window lining the top of the right wall, an inch below the ceiling. three shelves. one on the right, one of the left, and one down the middle of the room. the middle and left one were lined with various objects. you walked between them, looking but not daring to touch. the objects were quite diverse, you realised. dolls, clocks, little statues.

you took your time to get to the shelf you needed. along with these objects, you father also locked away any books he had that were related to demons in any way. most of them were confiscated from cults, some of their were from his personal collection. he claimed they were to protect you, and you didn’t completely disbelieve him. taking a deep breath before letting it out in a sigh, looking at all the titles. your fingertips ran over their leather bound spines, feeling the wrinkles and grooves. you knew there would be a lot, but as you looked upon the entire shelf, you estimated a good hundred-fifty books.

he organised them by categories. summoning, excommunication, identifying. identifying. that’s what you needed. you took a closer look at the section, nervousness fading briefly to be replaced by a faint taste of hope.

the encyclopaedia of demons and demonology.

deciding there had to be something in there, you pulled it out. the book itself was simple, bound in black leather. the cover was nothing special, just the title and author. by the looks of it, you’d be here for a while, seemingly at least three hundred pages long. you looked around the dark room, a small wooden desk was tucked into the corner though not a chair in sight. with a soft sigh, you walked over on weak knees, apprehensive about what you’d find in the book.

despite your father’s profession and all the bedtime stories, you never came in contact with demons or the spirit world. setting the book on the desk, you opened it to the index, having to squint to make out the text. but the next time you lifted your eyes off the page, a brass candle holder was tucked into the corner of the table.

you blinked. there was no way that was there before, but maybe you had just missed it. the pale yellow candle stood half melted, the hardened wax forming veins that ran down the sides and pooled in the brass bowl.

you held your breath momentarily before beginning to read through the a to z list of demons and other dark entities and their descriptions. you only skimmed, lingering on any that mentioned appearing in nightmares only to dismiss them when the rest of their descriptions didn’t match with your experience. surprised by just how much there was to read, you felt just a little curious, occasionally stopping to read extracts that had piqued your interest. it wasn’t until you got all the way to section i where something actually seemed to be helpful.

‘incubus—a lewd male demon who pursues women for sex. the incubus and his female counterpart, the succubus, visit women and men in their sleep, lie and press heavily upon them, and seduce them.’

you nearly missed it, continuing your skimming until the description registered, scrambling to turn back the page and reread it.

“oh.” you breathed at the realisation. that seemed to be the most accurate thus far, your finger tracing over the name as you furrowed your eyebrows and continued reading. the next paragraphs detailed how they’re conjured and where the name came from. you read some more.

‘incubi are especially attracted to women with beautiful hair, young virgins, chaste widows, and all “devout” females. nuns are among the most vulnerable and could be molested in the confessional as well as in bed. while the majority of women are forced into sex by the incubi, some of them submit willingly and even enjoy the act. it once was a common belief that women were more likely than men to be the sexual victims of demons, because women were inferior to men and less able to resist temptation.

incubi have enormous phalluses that—’

slamming the book shut, your eyes widened and a deep blush settled over your features, just staring at the cover for a moment as you collected yourself from the sudden vulgarity of the writing. after a moment, you cleared your throat and reopened the page, strategically skipping over the next paragraphs that detailed accounts of intercourse with such a demon.

‘an incubus may form attachments to those whose minds are occupied with dark and inherently sexual desires, those that are impure. one also can be summoned for coital gratifications, or a deal in which one’s first born is ommonly offered to repay their sevices (see: dealing with the demons, page 218).’

but that couldn’t be right. you always made sure to be a good girl, always helped at home. you volunteered to read to children at a local orphanage, always helped with charities and donations, always assisted people where you knew you could, stayed soft spoken and always began your requests with please and ended them with thank you. you kept to yourself most of the time, would never dare to raise your voice at anyone, never had any romantic interest, let alone sexual ones.

admittedly, the dreams involving the man— the demon had you waking up with an uncomfortable stickiness between your thighs. but before that, you never indulged. after that, you never indulged either, instead jumping from your bed and taking an ice could bath to calm yourself from the strange feeling. the temptations were always there and were always strong, but your want to be immaculate was stronger. to be free of sin.

a deal in which one’s first born is offered.

it seemed impossible, almost. you knew your father was a righteous man and your mother a pure woman. but where your mother happily shared stories of her childhood as heart-warming anecdotes, your father only dropped tidbits of his memories despite considering you two to be extremely close. you always chalked it up to him being a little boring or generally not very open. but maybe there was more to it…

“there you go, sweetheart.”

you nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of his voice, pushing the book away from you as you turned around a little too quickly, your knee knocking against the edge of the table.

there he stood, barely illuminated by the singular window as he took slow steps towards you much like the other day.

“so, you’ve finally figured it out, huh?”

each time he took a step, his muscles visible through the loose black silk, you inched away until the top of your thigh hit the wooden table, your hands bracing themselves on it to keep you from collapsing in fear. the closer he got, the more you realised just how attractive he was. broad-shouldered and radiating confidence, his feline eyes roamed over your figure. depite wearing a white gown that reached all the way down to your ankles, you felt so exposed.

tongue swiping along his bottom lip, drawing your attention to the action. he towered over you, making you feel weak and small as he trapped you against the table. your heart pounded against your ribcage and you feared it would break free and fall into his hands, unsure if the warmth on your cheeks and ump in your throat came from how utterly petrified you were or the way his breath fanned over your face like a whisper.

“your dearest father isn’t who he says he is,” he pouted mockingly, coming to a stop inches in front of you, letting his gaze settle on your quivering lips for a moment, “and me? well, you know what i am. and you also know we can have lots of fun if you allow it.”

your lips parted to speak but no words came out, instead opting to press them into a thin line and squeezing your eyes shut as you shook your head. you weren’t completely sure why you wer shaking your head, but if it would stop the incubus from tainting you, it was worth a try.

“don’t kid yourself, princess. i can smell how wet you are.” as if to emphasise his point, he inhaled deeply, leaning forward to ghost his nose over the slope of your neck without touching you.

it wasn’t until he said it that you notice you had been squeezing your thighs together, feeling warm all over and you stomach twisted in knots at the sound of his deep voice. something ached in your lower regions, but you tried your hardest to resist the thoughts.

but a little voice in the back of your head urged you to tilt your head back, to give him permission, to let his hands explore your untouched body. maybe just this once you could allow yourself to give in, to let your knees go weak and worry about begging for forgiveness later.

“all you have to do is drop the rosary.”

you gripped it tighter at the reminder of the protective object tangled between your fingers, fighting to keep your sanity intact. your breath hitched as you felt one of his fingers run along the beads, not daring to come close to the little silver cross or your skin.

“c’mon, pretty girl. drop it,” you heard the smirk in his voice, “let it go and i’ll take good care of you, i can make you feel things you’ve never thought of… i can make you feel alive, wouldn’t you love that? don’t you want to feel the desire? taste the lust?”

“n-no,” you gasped finally, finding your words, “it’s not right.“

he laughed, a low rumble from his chest, “i promise you’ll love being ruined by me,” he said, withdrawing his hand from yours, “i swear to all your precious little holy symbols, i know i can get you to want me.”

he moved closer and for a maddening moment you thought he was going to kiss you. faintly, you wanted him to. to feel the push of his lips against yours, to let his hands snake around your waist or grip your hips to pull you closer. there’s a ring on his index finger, you noticed, silvery and sharp, a symbol you didn’t recognise yet imagine him pressing it against your throat, branding your neck anew until it’s red and faithful. and maybe you crave for him to undo all the things in you that are holy.

“just drop it, pretty,” his breath teased your lips and you almost leaned forward in curiosity, wanting to see how just one kiss would feel, “i know you’re a good girl.”

those words. they’re almost enough for you to give in. how did he know those would strike a nerve, hit you where he knew it would work? not only did all your efforts ultimately lead to the same goal—purity, goodness—but you couldn’t deny the satisfaction you felt from reassurance. if you were an animal, you’d strive to be the priest’s favourite sacrificial lamb. to hold so very still and to bleed so prettily when the knife final comes down, to be reborn and be chosen all over again.

“don’t you get it?” he whispered, “i live inside you the same way you’re bound to live inside me. we’re a moebius strip, a never ending cycle of a snake eating it’s own tail. maybe it will end in destruction, but that’s your dear father’s doing. mutually assured destruction, maybe; you say yes, i’ll ruin you for everyone else, blacken the wool of your fur coat. you say no to me, i will suffer the consequences of not fulfilling a deal. you wouldn’t want someone to suffer because of you, hm?”

your grip on the rosary loosened and let your eyes finally flutter open. from this proximity, you could see every detail of his face and the image seared into your mind.

something in his eyes darkened as his lips curled, a playful smile, a predatory grin. the way he looked at you made you want to combust into flames, to fall to your knees, you skin rubbed raw on the ground as you beg him to make you feel.

“you don’t look so innocent anymore, you know? you’re docile and sweet, yes, but you’re not as pure as you think you are, there’s a little dirt in your pristine heart, a little lustful stain you can’t erase.”

“y-you’re wrong!” you protested, trying to convince yourself he was lying, “i’m good and i’ve always been good and i always will be good and i will not for the devil’s influence.”

“oh, but i’m not,” he pouted mockingly, moving his head back just an inch, looking down at you, “you’re practically shaking, so close to giving in… you’re the most pious girl here, yet you’re so close to sin, so close to me.”

you opened your mouth to continue your protests but flinched as you heard familiar heavy footsteps, looking up at the little window to see the familiar boots of your father about to enter the house after a long day of work. he was out, casting out malicious spirits and demons, and here you were, about to let one deflower you. the realisation seemingly made you come back to your senses, clenching the roary in your hand once more and looking for a way past him.

but… what would you even do afterwards? confront your father, the town’s devout exorcist, for making deals with the incubus in front of you? would he call you crazy, deny everything and treat you like just another one of his clients?

the footsteps were now above you, you could faintly hear him saying something to your mother though you couldn’t quite make out what it was. you’d never been as afraid of anything as you were of your own father, standing right above you, acting like he hadn’t damned you from the day you were conceived.

as if he could read your thoughts, could sense your panic that was completely unrelated to him, the incubus stepped back. his face was unreadable as his glazed over eyes fixated on you.

“don’t worry, sweet girl, i can wait. the longer you resist, the better it’ll feel when you finally surrender,” he gave you a small smile, different from the previous grins and smirks, as he nodded towards the window, “go.”

you could’ve run away the moment he stepped back, yet you didn’t move until he gave you the permission. you didn’t dwell on that fact as you slipped past him and reached up, shaky hands undoing the latch and opening outwards. you attempted to climb up, your arms burning as you tried lifting yourself, only to give up, panting softly from the effort.

“let me help you.” his voice offered, prompting you to look back at him. the seductive glint in his eyes was no longer there, taking a small step forward. “just… put it down, i promise i’ll help you and leave.”

you stared at him for a long moment. there was something so different in the way he looked at you now, suddenly soft and with good intentions. the voice of your father calling your name snapped you out of your stupor, nodding hurridely as you placed the rosary on the grass outside carefully before turning to look at him.

he gestured for you to turn away, your hands finding your hips as you did. the contact made you breath hitched, despite your layers of clothing between your curves and his hands, your stomach tickled with swarming butterflies as he lifted you up. the heat of his body behind yours distracted you for a moment, taken aback at how real he felt, how human he felt, even as he lifted you with ease.

you braced your forearms on the ground, pulling yourself up the rest of the way as he spoke.

“whisper my name three times, and i’ll be summoned wherever you are, ready to fulfill your needs.”

you stayed quiet for a moment, just sitting on the ground as you looked down at him, now able to see his full face clearning from his proximity to the window. “what’s your name?”

“san,” he smiled, “choi san.”

you loked away, up at your house as your father’s concerned voice called out your name again. “i should get going, but–,” you looked down to thank him, only to find an empty room and a sealed window. your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, voiced trailing off, “thank you…”

the first time you touched yourself, it was san you were thinking about.

late at night, your parents fast asleep, a storm ragin outside, but all you could do was think about him. you tried, you really did. you tried to go back in the house and pretend everything was fine, that you had just been on a walk and your flushed face was from the excercise. secretely, all you could think about was him. how you wanted him to show up again—wanted him to make your breath hitch and your heart jump. wanted him to soothe whatever it was that ached inside you; the burn in the pit of your stomach, the spot where your waist met your hips, but most of all between your legs, were it had never ached like this before.

you excused yourself from dinner earlier, went to bed, and tried so desperately to fall asleep. whether it was to forget about it all, or to meet him in your dreams again, you couldn’t tell. you really tried, but haunting thoughts of how his hands held onto you rolled into your mind with images of all the things he could do to you. the raspy lilt of his voice, sometimes soft, sometimes commanding in a way that made your limbs feel like jello at the mere thought of it. his sharp eyes and sharp jaw and such tempting lips. he could have a kind face if he wanted to, yet his toned body, visible and obvious despite trying to hide behind his clothing, screamed sex appeal.

flashes from your previous dreams raced through your mind too. fragments of images where you could feel his hands all over you, his dark hair sticking to his sweat forehead, eyes rolled back from the pleasure he gave himself while you were forced to watch. you never quite gave in in the dreams either.

you tossed and turned in your bed, thighs pressed together so tight you worried you’d have long bruises down your inner thighs the next morning. the new feeling felt much too large for your fragile mind, overwhelming you, making your loose clothes feel suffocating. it wouldn’t leave you alone, wouldn’t let you sleep. mostly because you didn’t want to give the feeling a name, you refused to speak its name, even in your mind, even if it could identify this feeling.

pent-up and strained, coiled into yourself in a foetal position, you could only roll onto your back and let your hand trail down your body, hiking up the long skirt of your nightgown before letting your fingers dip between your thighs, spread at the knees. you let out a shaky gasp as you felt the wetness pooled beneath your undergarments, clamping your other hand over your lips. after feeling around experimentally, your fingers found a quick pace, rubbing over your clit, more desperate than they had ever been. your hand muffled your gasped out moans and whimpers, tears pricking at your eyes—partly from the guilt, mostly from the pleasure. you felt your heart beat all over your body, most of all right below your moistened fingertips.

shaky breaths and muffled needy cries were covered by both your hand and the storm outside your window. if hurts a little, your clit swelling as more and more slick coats it and the knot in your stomach grows tighter and tighter. but you don’t mind the pain, you think you deserve it, because after all, it’s forbidden and it’s not supposed to feel good. san is not supposed to make you feel so good. a demon was the one thing that wasn’t supposed to be on your mind, especially not in this way.

the thought of him made your hand move faster and suddenly your breath was stuttering and your core pulse as you finish quickly, biting down on your lip, hard enough to cut through the skin, to muffle your cries. when you came down from your high, you lay there for a few moments longer, heart racing as you glance at the door to make sure it was still closed. and when you realised what you had just done, shame clouded your lungs as you slipped your fingers out of your panties and raised them to your face.

your hands came away sticky. transparents webs of your pleasure linking your index and middle fingers together as you stared in horror before finally collecting yourself and jumping from your bed to scrub the sin from your hands in your bathroom.

you scrubbed until your fingers turned red and your palms raw, losing sensation from the ice cold water, the guilt sinking deeper and deeper the longer you took to cleanse your body. you hadn’t noticed the tears running down your cheeks until you stared at yourself in the mirror, sniffling and glossy-eyed. your body might be clean, but were you? if you wanted to be immaculate, how could you let yourself do such a thing?

it was his fault, really. him and his midnight eyes and electric touches and words that would drive you to madness, damnation.

you changed your panties and nightgown, burying them in your laundry basket as if you were burying the evidence of a crime. once done, you wanted nothing more than to sink into your bed and fall asleep. but as you stared at what you once thought was comforting, you could only think about your soft whimpers and shaking thighs. so you stripped your bed naked to decorate it anew with clean sheets and blankets and pillows, shoving the previous ones under your bed before finally falling into a deep sleep.

shame followed you like a pest for the next days, unable to properly smile because all you could think about was what you had done. and what you wanted to do. a heavy melancholy washed over you in these days, confining yourself to your room when ou didn’t have to come down for meals. if your parents picked up on it, they didn’t say anything. maybe they knew. what if they know?

maybe they didn’t say anything because they knew about san. perhaps they thought it was fate, that you would give in sooner or later. despite cracking a bit, you stood by your conviction that you wouldn’t, no matter what, summon him.

but… was he really so bad? had you not seen a moment of softness when he helped you? demons were, after all, fallen angels. could it really be so impossible he still had a sprinkle of previous angeilc qualities? silently, you were thankful he hadn’t showed up on his own again. if he did, you were afraid you’d throw away all sense of faith and throw yourself into his arms, let him kiss you and lick you and suck you and bite you and everything in between.

despite all this, despite not wanting to summon him, you couldn’t deny the unsettling feeling weighing you down with each step. it had been there before—before whatever happened in the basement—dragging your seemingly heavy limbs through vacant hallways. but when he touched you, when his fingertips brushed against yours as he touched the shiny black beads of your rosary even though he didn’t mean to, when his hands lifted you into the air and helped you escape, the way he talked to you, his words and tone, that unsettling feeling had been lifted off your shoulders.

you noticed, for a brief moment, when you spent that short amount of time with him, you had no desire to think of god or rules or expectations. even if it was for a split second, it happened, and perhaps that what terrified you the most. just wanted to be, something you hadn’t been allowed for so long.

so when your parents said they’d be out late for some dinner you had no interest in attending, you paced around your room, deep in thought as your typical long nightgown tickled your ankles. millions of thoughts raced through your kind but, at the core, they were all the same. san, san, san. you felt like he had attached himself to your very soul, and you’re not quite sure how it happened.

without thinking, you stopped your pacing, glancing at the crucifix on your bedside table, a reminder. you couldn’t take it anymore, reaching out to take the wooden symbol and hide it in your closet. was it really wrong if it was still there, only trapped behind the wooden double doors, nestled between your skirts and shirts and gowns and gowns? out of sight, you felt less bad about what you were going to do.

your eyes squeezed shut and you did as he told you to, lips parting to whisper his name thrice. almost instantly, a gust of wind blew through your room and you knew there was someone else there with you. your eyes remained shut until you heard footsteps stalking towards you, his familiar voice filling the eerie silence of the room.

“hello, angel,” he grinned, borderline menacing, as he backed you up against your dresser. much like before, you were trapped, the back of your thighs pressed against the wood. only this time, you weren’t afraid, “i knew you’d give in sooner rather than later.”

you didn’t reply, didn’t know how to reply, only breathing shallowly, fingers curling into the edge of your dresser as you glanced from his eyes to his lips repeatedly.

“you need to give me permission, you know,” he chuckled, tilting his head to the side, “there are rules for deals such as these.”

“please.” you breathed, somewhere between a whisper and a needy whine as your round eyes looked up at him so desperately.

as soon as the word left you, his lips were on yours. hungry, devouring you, sucking on your bottom lip like it’s a candy as you can’t help but melt and whimper against him. his hand found your cheek, the touch surprisingly soft compared to the madness of his kisses. your heart rattled against your ribcage like a bird wanting to escape its confines. his saccharine saliva seeped into your mouth as his tongue broke past your lips, running over your teeth and the roof of your mouth as you let him do whatever he wanted.

his hands are all over you and yours are all over him, grabbing at each other because there was no way to get any closer like this. your thoughts, unlike before, are completely quiet, head empty and drunk on the sloppy kisses, mouthfuls of teeth clashing against each other. he was supposed to be gentle, he wanted to be gentle, yet now you’re pressed against the dresser and he’s kissing you hard.

it was wrong, but it felt too good. that was clear from the moment your kisses turn open-mouthed, lips clinging and tongues dancing. you shivered as both his hands held you by your hips once more, lifting you to sit on the edge of the oak furniture, caressing your hips bones through the thin fabric of your dress.

your hands rug at his shirt lightly, a silent plea for him to remove it, wanting to see and feel every inch of his divine body. he complies, separating his lips from your to reach over his shoulder and grip the silky shirt from the back, pulling it over his head, tossing it aside. your hands explore his naked torso, fingernails scratching along his skin as he loses himself in the taste of your kisses.

his hands dragged the long skirt of your gown up your legs, fingers ghosting over the supple skin of your calves and thighs before letting the cloth bunch up at your hips, winding your legs around his waist before lifting you off the dresser. you cling to him the way the thought of him cling to you for so long before this as he carries you. he lays you down gently, your head spinning as he kneeled on the edge of your bed and leaned over you, moving his lips from yours to mouth at your neck.

his hot breaths dance along your skin, across your collarbone, neck, pressing wet kisses down to the fabric covering your chest. you gasped softly as he brushed his teeth against your skin, a reminded that he could really break you if he wanted, but the feel of his lips against the curve of your neck, testing out the waters of your shoulder, made the intimidating thought vanish.

he teases the skin just above your neckline with nibbles that have you throwing your head back with soft whimpers, only encouraging him as his left hand kept one of your legs hitched up against his hips and his right undid the ribbons at the back of your dress. the fabric loosens and slips around, one sleeve falling over your shoulder slightly as he sat you up a little and pulled the dress over your head, discarding it and leaving you in your white ruffled bra and panties.

you’re dizzy, delirious with thirst—for his touch, his kisses, for everything his sharp lips could give you, for him to relieve the ache between your legs. you shiver as you’re left bare, nipples peaking through your bra, undergarments barely hiding your most precious parts. you try covering yourself with shaking arms, despite the little fabric still be there, but his hands move them aside, pulling them to rest on his bare chest. his eyelids flutter for a moment at the contact, your hands so much colder than his.

he leans back to look at your, hand at your back winding around to massage a handful of one breast, watching your breath hitch. “such a pretty girl, and all for me.”

“san…” you whimper aimlessly, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“such an angel,” he teases again, thumb circling over your clothed nipple lightly, grinning at how helpless you looked, “supposedly protected by your father, by god, yet here you are, practically begging for a demon to fuck you.”

he presses himself closer and you can feel the thick and heavy weight of his cock smudge against your core, gasping softly as you eyes roll back, his tip prodding against the fabric covering your sensitive clit. his name falls from your lips once again, like a softly uttered prayer as you back arches. he takes the opportunity to undo the clasp of your bra, slipping the item off you before continuing to tease your perked nipples, leaning down to lick and suck at them as his hips grind against yours. you weren’t sure when he took off his pants, but you didn’t quite care, not when his impressive girth covered your core so well. sometimes the tip would dip into your entrance before leaving just as quickly, your toes curling as it stretched you and your panties.

he moans into your neck, grinding against you at just the right pace, his precum smearing all over you already-drenched panties. the feeling of his tip prodding at you clit so continuously makes you come quickly, and much harder than the other night when you touched yourself. you writhe beneath him, shaking and crying out his name as your back arches from the bed.

“hm, you’re so much prettier like this, angel, succumbing and throwing away any desire of virtue,” he mutters against your jaw, having sucked dark marks onto the skin right below it, his deep melodic voice.

angel. the way he calls you that makes you shiver. how could he do that? call you an angel while plucking out the feathers of the wings you’d once had?

when he enters you, it’s slow and deliberate, leaning down to whisper into your ear as he presses your hands into the white mattress—”heaven itself could not make you feel like this.”

“i’ve never… you know…” you had admitted shyly once you came down from the first orgasm he coaxed out of you.

he only chuckled, caressing your cheek. “i know. virgins always smell the sweetest.”

you pleaded for him to be gentle, and how could he say no when you were begging so prettily? now his length is barely halfway inside you and you’re already shaking, drenched and deprived pussy squeezing him tightly as he swallows down your broken moans, holding back him own. you feel abnormally good to him, unable to remember the last time he fucked such a perfect pussy.

as he reaches previously untouched parts of you, his tip brushes against a spongey little area that has you clenching, your breath hitching followed by a gasped moan as you come again. stars flood your vision, feeling like your body was on fire as your hands tightened under his. his tongue licks up every one of your sounds, smothering you as he pulled back a bit to press against the spot some more.

your moans soon turn into soft whines, twitching from overstimulation before he fially continues to enter you. it’s a tight fit, but he bottoms out eventually.

“fuck- you take me so well, you’re so perfect.” he groans, looking down at where he can see his tip bulging through your stomach.

you never imagined just how full you would feel, the stretch burning yet somehow still pleasurable as you squirm beneath him. he doesn’t wait, retracting and fucking into you slowly, letting you feel every curve and vein of his perfect cock.

he loses track, but he thinks he’s made you finish 4 times already. he’s not surprised, virginity leaves most people sensitive, and the fact he’s been teasing you in and out of your dreams for months likely didn’t help. san revels in it though, basks in the sounds you try to hold back so desperately. he isn’t lying when he says you’re pretty, hypnotised by your face contorted in pleasure and your body, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes. they somehow still have an innocent glint in them, even as he manoeuvres you into different positions before finally easing you into your back once more.

you arousal is smeared all over yourself and him and the bedsheets. clear and sticky, glistening in the candlelight. at some point he slipped out of you to lean down and have a taste, groaning as you mewed above him. when his teeth grazed your abuser clit, you finish once again and a moment later he’s back inside you.

eventually, his hips stutter and a newfound pace takes over. “shit, angel, i’m gonna fill you up so good. would you like that?”

you can only nod frantically, brain turned to mush, jaw dropped to let out your lazy whimpers. you’ve lost track of everything but him; his touch, his voice, his influence. if you parents walked in or he disappeared, you’d only be able to lay there, completely helpless.

he never really stops, taking his time to worship your tight hole, knowing he’ll only be able to stop when he comes. though, by the looks of it, it’ll be sooner rather than later.

his groans and moans sound blissful in your ears, holding your name between his teeth with a low whimper. he spills his tick warm cum into you, the new sensation making you shake and squirm as you feel your insides being filled. another orgasm washed over you, though a little weaker, drunk on his scent and his saliva and him him him.

he kisses you, bruisingly, slipping out of yoh and letting you feel his seed seep out of your hole and run down your thighs, pussy coated in milky white. he slumps against you, detaching his lips from yours to gaze down at your barely open eyes.

it’s tiring, you can’t deny that, but it just feels so good. all your disgusting, fucked up thoughts were because of him. and now your most intimate parts will always be tainted by his hands. he calls you ‘good girl,’ yet you know you’ll never be good again.

choi san: voice like silk, touch like satin, incubus, demon. you’d think demons kill people, but your purity was his only homicide. he murdered your virginity. murderer.

but you do wish for him to kiss you again.

networks. @cromernet @wonderlandnet @cultofdionysusnet @pirateeznet @atzhouse

permanent taglist. @ad0rechuu @sankatchu @mlink64 @yeosangsbb @seonghwasbbgirl @likexaxdaydream @dreamingofyeo @yalyallic @yunhoswrldddd @coffee-addict-kitten @thunderous-wolf @chngbnwf

fic taglist. @ta3baee @juyofans @sourkimchi @desirehorizon @revepixy @yungilia @cntlyv @mcendpoet @kimseungminsprincess @cookiechristie @bluesunpurplestar1117 @vnessalau @k1ttym0nkey @kyeomooniee @aarzoo-2 @pinkgirly-18-blog @yourfatherlucifer @puddingjongho @futuresoffantasies @reallywingedland @spenceatiny18 @im-def-not-ok @hwapou @a1sh1teruu @lover-ofallthingspretty @arabelleum @hoshiseon @guggu6gvai @seongsbf @honggatito @deltamoon666 @yunhoszn @1-800-fuccthisshit

[janeyseymour]

A Lifetime Full of Firsts

based loosely on two asks from anons... stages of falling in love and being domestic and shit.

WC: ~4.8k

In every relationship, there are numerous firsts. Some firsts, you expect: the first date, the first kiss, the first time you say I love you, the first time you have sex- and those are always memorable. And then are the unexpected firsts- and those are almost more memorable than the expected. 

The first unexpected first was one that you never saw coming to become a monumental moment in your relationship with Melissa Schemmenti. All that had happened was you got a new job as a second grade teacher at Abbott Elementary. You walked into the staff lounge to simply put your lunch away when you saw her for the first time. Your eyes were immediately drawn to the fiery red hair that cascaded down here shoulders in gentle waves. 

“Why you starin’?” Her voice came out deep. “Do I got somethin’ in my teeth?”

“N-no,” you stammered out. “Sorry. I uh, just really like your hair.”

“Thanks,” she practically blew you off. “Now who the hell are you?”

“I’m Y/N,” you answered softly. “I’m the new second grade teacher they hired.”

“Shit, I gotta work with you all year?” she groaned. She almost immediately took a disinterest in you. She didn’t like the vibe she got- a pep in your step, voice soft and demure. She suspected that you would be out of here before the kids even came in for their own first day of school, and if you weren’t out by then, the kids would eat you alive and you would be gone by the second week. 

“I’m sorry?” you squeaked out.

“Melissa Schemmenti,” the redheaded woman told you. “One of the other second grade teachers.”

“Oh,” your mouth formed into a bit of a frown. You headed over for the refrigerator and put your lunch in there. “Well, I hope you have a nice day.” And you head out.

That was your first conversation with Melissa Schemmenti, and it wasn’t a great one. It wouldn’t matter though. Life had a funny way of playing out.

During development week, you paid close attention. This school was no joke- you knew that. Growing up in the area, you knew the kids were tough. You knew that this school in particular had a decent amount of turnover every year. But you were determined to stay- make the difference for even just one student like your own second grade teacher had made for you. Janine Teagues, the other second grade teacher in your triad, was just as invested in the seminars as you were despite the fact that this was her third year at Abbott. Melissa, on the other hand, couldn’t care less. She made it very clear she couldn’t care less- busying herself in any other way possible.

Development week was over before you knew it, the weekend flew by, and the kids were beginning to file in. You glanced nervously at Janine, who just gave you an encouraging smile. Then you turned to look at Melissa, whose eyes immediately fell from your own. Was she watching you? You went to say something, but now the kids were actually coming to meet their new teachers, and you weren’t able to say anything more. Instead, you gave her a tight lipped smile. 

You survived the first week. And then you survived the second. Soon enough, October came, and you were still at Abbott. 

Melissa was clearly intrigued by you and your work ethic. Any other teachers who had tried to keep up with her Janine failed epically and been gone in the first few days. But you? You exceeded every expectation with such grace. 

Until you had to ask for her help. It really wasn’t even that big of a deal- the teacher who had the book your manual was referencing before you misplaced it. So, you found yourself hyping yourself up to go to her classroom and ask for help finding it. Finally, you mustered up the courage and were finding yourself knocking on her door. 

“Newbie?” she asked. You still hadn’t quite earned the right to be called by your name by the redhead yet.

“Hey,” you sighed out softly. “Listen, I really hate to bother you, but Janine isn’t here, and I need this book for a few days from now. I’d rather not be running around like a chicken without her head on Wednesday.

“What do you want?”

“The teacher that was here before me lost the book the textbook is referencing. Do you know where I could find it?”

“When do you need it?”

“Thursday,” you mumbled softly.

“Newbie, it’s Monday.”

“Yeah?” you cocked your head to the side just slightly. “I hate running around the day before though and feeling unprepared.”

The redhead maneuvered her way over to her desk before rifling through a few things. She produced the book you needed. “Here, just borrow mine. The last teacher in your room set hers on fire when she quit.”

“What?” you raised a brow as you took the offered book.

Melissa just smirked. “She was batshit crazy. Promise you won’t light my book on fire, newbie.”

“Promise,” you chuckled. “I’ll have it back to you on Thursday afternoon.” You raised the book in the air. “Thank you.” You turn to head out of her room and back to your own classroom.

“Hey,” her voice stopped you in your tracks. You turned to face her again, and this time she wasn’t wearing the usual smirk. She actually had an earnest smile on her face- like one she has when she’s chatting with her friends in the staff room. “You’re doin’ alright, Y/N.”

“Thanks,” you smiled back at her. 

As you left, you felt your cheeks burning just slightly, and you couldn’t wipe that dumb grin off your face. You didn’t know why she had you feeling so giddy- maybe it was because she actually called you by your real name for the first time, or maybe it was because her smile was one that could light up even the darkest of cities.

That was the first time you ever asked her for help, the first time she ever addressed you by name, the first time you fell in love with that smile of hers.

It took a few more weeks before she finally came into your classroom to ask for your help for the first time. It was silly really- all she needed you to do is stand in between both rooms to keep an eye on her class while she goes to the bathroom. But still, you were surprised she didn’t just ask Janine instead.

The first time you sat with her at lunch, it was not your day. You were running late, forgot your lunch on the counter in your apartment, spilled your coffee all down your front, and then you still didn’t have time to make a pitstop at Wawa to get a new coffee or lunch. So when you came dragging into the staff lounge with a whopping five dollars in your hand, a gigantic brown stain on your yellow shirt, and a frown, Melissa raised a brow.

“Not your day, Y/N?” your colleague asked.

You just let out a heavy sigh as you inserted a dollar into one of the machines. You picked what your vending machine lunch would be for the day before turning back around and going to head for the door. Once again, Melissa’s voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Y/N,” the redhead called again. You turned to face her, clearly unhappy and not in the mood. “Is that your lunch today?”

You just nodded. 

“Come sit,” Melissa waved you over to hers and Barbara’s table.

“I uh, wouldn’t want to impo-”

“Come sit,” the hardheaded woman told you again as she kicked out the chair next to her before standing up. She headed over for the cabinets and pulled out a paper plate. With a sigh, you took the seat next to her. Before you knew what was happening, your coworker was spooning out some of the pasta that she packed for herself onto the plate and was handing it to you. 

“Melissa, what are you doing?” you asked her incredulously, eyes nearly bulging out of your head.

“I already ate like half of it, and there’s still more that I won’t finish, so eat it,” she told you sternly. When her friends all raised their brows too, Melissa shrugged. “I ain’t going to cover her class if she passes out because all she had to eat today was a bag of Doritos.”

“Melissa, I couldn’t-”

“If you don’t eat it, it’s going in the trash,” she rolled her eyes. “So just take it, and enjoy it.” Then she made her way over to the coffee machine and was brewing a new pot. You took a glance in her mug, and it was entirely full aside from the few sips you had watched her take while she was standing next to you. A few minutes later, there was a steaming hot mug of coffee placed in front of you. Then, and only then, did the redhead sit down. When she noticed that you still hadn’t taken a bite of her food, she practically shoved the fork into your hand.

After the first bite, you groaned. This was the best pasta you had ever tasted. Melissa just gave you a smile as she reached over and stole the chips you bought. She opened them, popped one into her mouth, and then pushed the bag back in your direction.

“Thank you,” you had blushed through a mouthful.

Since that day, Melissa always made sure that you ate, and she was the first to offer up some of her lunch if you forgot yours that day.

The first time you realized you had feelings for her, you absolutely freaked out. You weren’t supposed to like her- your coworker. And yet there you were- falling for Melissa Schemmenti. You had no idea that she was falling just as hard.

The first time she kissed you, she had pretty much ambushed you- after a relatively hard day with the kids, on top of watching the idiot fifth grade teacher flirt with you mercilessly. You were just sitting at your desk trying to grade your second graders’ spelling tests when you heard her enter your room with the slamming of the door.

“Melissa?” you asked, clearly shocked that she was coming in here, and pissed. “What- what’s wrong?”

She didn’t answer, instead crossing the room on straight legs and kissing you rather aggressively. You were so shocked in the moment that you didn’t kiss her back. As she pulled away though, you only pulled her back in for another. You tugged her into your lap as her arms wrapped around your neck. Eventually, air became a necessity, and she pulled away.

“I’m so fuckin’ sick of watching Matthews flirt with you,” she stated as her green eyes turned dark.

“Matthews is an idiot,” you rolled your eyes. “Doesn’t ever pick up on the fact that they only person I ever flirt back with is you.”

“Dinner at my house tonight,” she told you lowly. She wiped off the excess lipgloss from your face before fixing her own. With a toss of her hair, she stood from your lap and made her way out of your room. You couldn’t help but watch the way her hips swayed.

The first time you said I love you, it wasn’t the way you thought that you would’ve told her. Honestly, the first time you said those three special words, you weren’t aware that you had said them. Or remembered. 

You were absolutely hammered during one of the happy hours after school. You don’t even really remember how you ended up getting as drunk as you did- you never got that bad. But with Melissa and Mr. Johnson practically feeding you shots after a particularly hard day with your students, you were on the verge of blacking out. So, as a dutiful girlfriend, Melissa took you out of the dive bar before you could make an even bigger fool out of yourself than you already had.

“You’re so pretty,” you had murmured the whole way home, a hand never far from her body. It wasn’t in any sexual way, you just liked being close to her.

She chuckled, that easy laugh that you knew meant she wasn’t uncomfortable with your actions. “Thanks, hun.”

Once she pulled up to your apartment complex, she ushered you inside. You had expected her to leave you, even in your drunk state. But instead, she simply guided you to the couch, wrapped you up in a blanket, and went on her way to your kitchen. Before you knew it, you were eating one of your favorite dishes of hers while she lounged next to you.

“You’re the best,” you smiled at her drunkenly.

She pat your leg with a soft smile on her face. “Don’t I know it? Now, why don’t we get you up to bed so you can sleep this off, and hopefully don’t wake up hungover tomorrow for work?”

“Are you trying to seduce me?” you slurred out.

Green eyes were rolled as she hoisted you into her arms. She carried you up to your room, got you changed, and pulled the blankets over you. She kissed your forehead before going to leave.

“Stay?” you had asked meekly.

You heard her sigh, but your eyes were closed. “Give me a few minutes.”

On the verge of sleep, you felt the bed dip under you and warm, strong arms wrap around you. In an instant, you turned in her arms and tucked your chin into her body.

“I love you,” you whispered before giving into drunken exhaustion.

Melissa stiffened just slightly beneath you, but then with a sigh of relief, she reciprocated that emotion, a kiss being pressed to your temple. She held you like that through the rest of the night.

The first time you said ‘I love you’ and were coherent for it, it wasn’t a grand gesture at all. The two of you were sitting outside of her townhouse after a nice meal when you knew you couldn’t hold it in any longer. So, you grabbed her hand with a smile and breathed out those three special words.

“I love you,” you told her with the softest of smiles, the softest of eyes. Then you take a deep sigh of relief. “Oh God. There, I said it first. Now it won’t be awkward, because I know we’ve both been dancing around it for a while now.”

Your girlfriend responded with a full-out belly laugh, and it shook you. It startled you. Was it too early to say those words?

“What?”

She just continued to laugh. “Hun, you said it first a while ago.”

“I what?” you gasped.

“Do you remember the last happy hour we went to?” she asked you with a smirk.

You grumbled. She loved to hold that day over your head. “Barely.”

“After I got you to bed, before you fell asleep, you told me. You’ve also been mumbling it in your sleep. So, I know you love me. I’ve just been waiting for you to tell me coherently,” your girlfriend laughed. Then she sobered slightly to look at you with eyes she only had reserved for you. “I love you too, mi amore.”

That night also led to the first time… that first time. And it was everything you had dreamed of and more. Melissa Schemmenti was a body worth worshipping. 

The first time you spoke of what your future might look like together was rocky- but it was nothing if not informative. She expressed that she wouldn’t be opposed to the idea of marriage, but kids were something that she was wary of. You expressed that you could see yourself marrying her if it all fell into place, and kids were a dream of yours. If they came along they came along. Melissa reminded you that the two of you wouldn’t just be able to create a life the way any straight couple would be able to; forcing you to blush furiously. Of course though, she said that if the timing was right and everything fell into place, it wasn’t off the table.

The first time you had tried to propose to Melissa Schemmenti was one that you’ll never, ever forget. Everything seemed like it was going perfectly- the kids were extremely well-behaved that day for both of you (something that quite literally never happens), the drive home and making dinner was pleasant, and dessert was almost ready. You thumbed the ring in your pocket, just about ready to drop down to one knee and ask her to marry you. But of course, the most important aspect of your day was ruined when you dropped the ring as you went to pull it out of your pocket. You thanked your lucky stars that you were able to locate it and recover from your fumble before she was aware that anything was happening behind her back. But now that you were in such a panic, you couldn’t ask her. So, you enjoyed dessert with the ring carefully placed in your pocket. And it was wonderful.

You figured you had recovered enough from your first fumble to be able to ask her as you were getting ready for bed that night. So, while she was in the bathroom taking off her makeup, you carefully pulled the ring from your pocket again and laid it on her pillow. That was almost a surefire way for her to see it.

You were wrong of course. While she usually rolled into bed, this particular time she decided to flop down and sent the ring flying behind the headboard. It landed with a particularly loud thud- one that made her furrow her brows.

Thinking quickly, you took off one of your own rings and stuffed it under your pillow. 

“Oh, dammit,” you groaned, ever the actress. “I knew I forgot to put that ring back on.”

“Sorry, hun.” Melissa looked regretful. “Let me grab it for you.” She goes to roll out of bed and move the frame away from the wall to retrieve your ring.

You were too slow to stop her, frozen in your tracks. She found the engagement ring that was meant to be hers and stood straight up with it, eyes wide and jaw just slightly agape.

“Y/N,” your girlfriend said lowly. “What is this?”

“A ring?” you desperately were trying to figure out how to get out of this predicament. 

“No shit,” she was quick to retort. “Who’s is it?”

“Mine,” you say quietly.

“Are you secretly married or something?” Green eyes turn somewhat dark.

“No!” you were quick to reply. Well, you had to come clean now. “Mel, it’s mine… for you. I was going to ask you tonight, but both times I went to, I fumbled.”

Your girlfriend’s eyes grew wide. “What do you mean?”

You explained the earlier events to her with a sigh. “Now, can I please have the ring back so I can at least go to bed with some of my dignity tonight?”

Melissa handed you the ring with an expectant look. But instead of dropping down to one knee like she thought you would, you instead just put the ring back safely in its box.

“What are you doing?” she asked you. “Aren’t you going to propose?”

“Well, I can’t now,” you replied. “It has to be perfect, and that proposal would not be.” You slide back into bed and open your arms for her to fall into. She does with a frown on her face.

“Damn,” she huffed. “I could’ve been engaged tonight.”

“Well,” you chuckled as you pressed a kiss to her head. “You will be soon enough- when the time is right.”

“It’s a beautiful ring,” she complimented softly as she held up her left hand. “Damn! Now I wish I would’ve just put it on!”

The next morning, Barbara came flying into the staffroom to look at Melissa’s hand- she knew of your plan to ask her work wife to marry you. She all but grabbed her best friend’s hand, and the smile that she wore immediately melted away into a frown.

“Where’s the-”

“It didn’t go as planned,” you sighed softly from next to your still-girlfriend.

“What does that mean?” Barbara gasped. “Melissa Ann, did you refuse her proposal?”

“What?”

“Did you refuse her proposal?”

“She didn’t,” you chuckled nervously. “I flubbed it.”

“H-how on Earth would you have flubbed it?” Barbara asked you. 

You turned sheepish. “I dropped the ring twice… and then she found it.”

“I tried to get her to propose,” Melissa huffed. “She wouldn’t.”

“And why would that be?”

“Because it has to be perfect,” you sighed as you kissed her hand. “You deserve perfect.”

“What I deserve is for that ring to be on my finger,” your girlfriend still huffed.

She got it eventually. The third time that you tried to propose was perfect, and the rock sat on her finger beautifully. The first time the Abbott crew saw it, they nearly swooned. Barbara nudged her best friend lightly.

“Was it worth the wait?” the kindergarten teacher asked teasingly.

“Yeah,” Melissa whispered as she held her hand out to admire the new ring. “I’d say so.”

The first time that you decided to sit down to wedding plan did not go to plan. It was disagreement after disagreement. And of course, that led to you sleeping on the couch after you said something not particularly called for. But after that, wedding planning was civil and respectful, and the “Abbott event of the century”, as Janine was putting it, was nearly set.

The first time you saw Melissa in her wedding dress was probably the most untraditional way to see her in it. But then again, most of the things about your relationship were untraditional.

You had come home after your own fitting, and there she was- standing on the coffee table as her mother was attempting to do alterations her own dress. Barbara Howard, obviously assuming her duty as maid of honor, was holding pins for Mrs. Schemmenti. In an instant though, she was shooing you back out the door.

“Y/N,” Barbara scolded you. “What the hell are you doing here?”

You chuckled. “Barb, this is my house too, you know.”

“Well, yes, but I thought you knew she would be doing alterations to the dress!”

“I didn’t think she would be standing on our living room coffee table!” you argued. “I thought she would be doing it in the basement or our bedroom, so I was just going to avoid those areas!”

The kindergarten teacher huffed. “Well, please tell me you didn’t see her in it.”

You avert your eyes- you had seen her in it. And she looked stunning.

“You two are the worst, you know that?” Barb rolled her eyes.

You smiled though. “Yeah, we are. But at least we can be terrible together.”

The first time you said your vows out loud was to your future wife, on your wedding day. By some grace of God, you had managed to keep them under wraps, and she had managed to keep hers a secret from you too.

So, there the two of you stood, holding hands up at the altar and looking into each other’s eyes as you made lifelong promises to each other. 

Melissa’s vows were short and sweet like she was (despite the fact that she always appears to be an average height… heels be damned). She glossed over the fact that she never in a million years would’ve expected to be standing here today before promising you that she would always be there to make lasagna for your birthday, that she’d never love Jalen Hurts more than you, and that she’d do whatever it takes to keep you happy… even if that meant having to be the one to change the lightbulbs in the house because you were afraid of getting burnt. Her vows to you made you laugh, they made you cry, they made you fall even further in love with her than you already were.

And then it was your turn to speak your vows- ones that you had only practiced in your head because you knew she was always looming around the corner trying to hear you.

“So,” you chuckled softly as you turned to the audience. “As Melissa stated, it was not love at first sight. Not even love at second glance- at least on her part. But… we’ve made our way here.” 

Your friends and family had laughed at your light joke, and then you turned back to Melissa. “It may not have been love at first sight, but we’ve had a lot of other firsts happen in life… One’s that we may not have ever expected: the first time you called me by name, the first time we had to ask each other for help, the first time you ambushed me in the classroom to tell me about the feelings that you had for me, our first I love you’s… the ones that I remember at least-” you blushed. “The first time I tried to propose, and the second time, and finally the third time. I guess what they say is true, that the third time’s a charm.” Again, those that you had invited to the ceremony chuckled along with you. “I’ve cherished all of our firsts, and I always will. And now, here I am, ready to read my vows aloud for the very first time.”

You shook your hands out nervously before glancing at the woman before you. You spoke of promising to love her through the good and bad, the beautiful and the downright ugly, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health. And then you diverted from the traditional vows. “Melissa, today is the first day of the rest of our lives, and it’s one that we’ll truly never forget. But just because we’re getting married doesn’t mean that life is going to be boring. I vow to you that we will live a lifetime full of firsts- together. I’m not quite sure what those firsts may be, but I know that they’ll be just as meaningful and as memorable as the rest of our firsts. I love you.”

The rest of your wedding is perfect, and then the reception after is an absolute ball. It was the first night of the rest of your lives, as you had said. And while you maybe wouldn’t remember it all the next morning, you knew that the most important parts would always be held to your heart.

The first time that you really spoke about your future together as a married couple- adding kids to the mix, or maybe a pet, was… it wasn’t pretty. But after a bit of wearing her down, your wife (God, you loved that you could call her your wife) agreed that if she was going to be a parent with anyone, it would be you.

That led you to your first treatments. That led you to the first time you peed on a stick, for once praying that it was positive. It wasn’t. That led you to another round of treatments, another negative test. And after the third round, for the first time, the word “positive” was staring up at you.��

Melissa had just smiled at you softly and said, “I guess third time really is a charm for us.”

Your first pregnancy. With that, there were a lot of firsts. The first ultrasound and time you heard your baby’s heartbeat.The first time you experienced morning sickness. The first time you noticed your bump. The first time you had to buy maternity clothes. The first time that you felt the baby kick- the first time she felt the baby kick. There were so many firsts throughout all of that experience.

And now, here you are, holding your daughter, your first born, for the first time. Melissa is perched on the side of your hospital bed, looking at the two of you with such love in her eyes. For the first time, the two of you are mothers. It’s a feeling of love that you never knew before- you understand motherly love for the first time as you hold this beautiful little baby in your arms.

“This is the first day of the rest of our lives,” you whisper as you stroke your little girl’s cheek.

“We’ve already had a lifetime full of firsts,” she tells you softly as she brushes her lips against your temple. “I think we can handle another lifetime of firsts.”

TAGS: (and let me know if you want to be included!): @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @sunsol-22 @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld

[thatmooncake]

To be honest and these are all personal interpretations but Sun has always read as kind of more on the sassy and short-tempered side to me, he’s never been fond of letting people move around too freely, from the start he’s always made sure things work a particular way and you go in a particular place and he’s always been super pernickety about how and where things should go and how they should work, he’s always been panicky like that for as long as we’ve seen him because he’s endlessly stressed and has a million things to take care of otherwise he’ll get in trouble and if he’s referencing keeping the lights on he has Moon to hold at bay too and has likely seen the terrible outcome of not keeping Moon in check given the way he panics so much in response to any chance the lights might go out. The implications that he knows how limited his ability to fix the problem is and yet so desperately wants to but is left basically helpless at the mercy of the lights going off at any given time is also pretty horrific and it’s no wonder he has some issues trusting others to keep themselves out of danger with that in mind.

I don’t think he’s massively different personality-wise between games, just the circumstances are different and he is under varying levels of stress in each setting which is contributing to how much or little he may be acting out or trying to control what’s going on around him (and if the daycare has been shut for a while in Security Breach he’s got an extra good reason to want to keep a new friend around despite the potential danger because he must be going stir crazy).

Also I don’t think Sun is particularly mean or a bully, I think he has his reasons to get snarky with people who are going out of their way to mess up in his space and he already has enough on his plate as it is, the guy is trying his best. I think his enthusiasm and creativity is genuine and he is sincerely trying his best but to be honest in the FNAF franchise not a single character has really been programmed perfectly to do their job in all scenarios and I don’t think he’s any exception to that. However I also think you can feel free to write anything off in fanon as being due to the virus, or due to circumstance, and basically end up with whatever version of the character sparks joy. Fanon is fanon after all, we’re all just guessing here and that isn’t a bad thing.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

diasomnia ice-cream parlor au doodles

[Referencing this post!]

Hello, yes, I’ve been thinking about the Diasomnia ice-cream parlor AU again 🍨🍦 I guess I must have been really hungry lately www

I see them as offering not just ice-cream, bur also variants like gelato, shaved ice, milkshakes, etc. (They can afford it with support from the Draconia royal family’s funds 😂) The focus here will be ice-cream though, just because that’s Malleus’s favorite.

Imagine walking in and not knowing what to order (there’s so much to choose from!), so you ask the staff to pick something for you… (Yes, I’ve thought about this way too much and now I’m going to shovel this at you—)

Malleus strikes me as a very traditional and old-fashioned guy, so I’d see him falling back on ol’ reliable. You can’t go wrong with a classic sugar cone and a healthy scoop on top!

He recommends mint chocolate chip because it adds an additional pleasant cooling sensation to the actual coldness of ice-cream. Malleus is fond of the flavor himself; it’s great for cooling down a mouth that’s hot from breathing flames!

You’re brave if you accept anything Lilia hands you… You ask him what this is (the ice-cream looks… discolored in some places, and there’s all this weird stuff jutting out from it; is that a piece of lettuce???). He just winks at you and calls it “Lilia-chan’s Super Cute ⭐️ Special”, featuring a bunch of “unique” flavors he created himself.

It comes served in a cup because it’s easier to eat it while walking that way. For Lilia, who is a well-seasoned traveler, foods that are able to be eaten on the go are a plus!

Silver picks out a waffle bowl (it resembles a sturdy bird’s nest) and encourages you to try a lot of different things. It’ll help you to gain an appreciation for the new and unfamiliar! With how wide the waffle bowl is and how many flavors and toppings are in there, this can be good for sharing with friends from all over.

The particular version featured in the doodle has three kinds of ice-cream, each one representing one of the three Good Fairies. A pink flavor, a blue flavor, and a green flavor—maybe rose or strawberry, blueberry or cotton candy, and pistachio? It’s a very naturey palate.

His animal friends have helped with the ingredients; there’s honey drizzled on top, as well as crushed nuts. Freshly picked berries and edible flowers garnish the bowl too—oh, and we can’t forget a generous chunk of honeycomb!

… I don’t know much about Kingdom Hearts, but I’ve heard that Silver resembles Riku from KH?? So maybe Silver can offer some sea salt ice-cream too as a throwback 😂

… Was anyone surprised by this? No? No.

Sebek chose a tall parfait glass for serving so that the dessert can be as tall as possible. It’s a matcha and ube soft serve, swirled high. The green is Diasomnia’s color, and the purple is meant to be the color of the underside of Malleus’s cape. (Sebek wanted to include black ice-cream to for the Draconia royal color, but couldn’t find a good flavor.)

Art isn’t his forte, but Sebek did his best to “recreate the imposing, elegant image of wakasama” in his dessert. The cherry on top, flanked by two conical chocolate pieces, are meant to be Malleus and his horns. The wafer poking out is supposed to “enhance the young master’s presence”. All the other things are extra details in an effort to make the ice-cream larger than life: candied fruit peels arranged in a line (to resemble the spines on a dragon’s tail), mochi balls (“magestones”) piled to one side, and a chocolate biscuit stick + wafer that, together, look like Malleus’s staff.

Sebek tried really hard! … He will aggressively try to sell you on this item.

If you’re really hungry or with a large group, why not go for the Diasomnia Family Fundae? It’s their take on a sundae, served in a glass boat. There’s a whole banana, chocolate syrup, whipped cream, and three maraschino cherries! The bramble is made of dark chocolate.

Each student is represented by one scoop and a little candy or chocolate that helps to characterize the boy (horns, bat wings, lightning bolt, or sword). Sebek is a lemon-like sherbet, befitting of his loud, in-your-face personality. Lilia is a bright red berry flavor (strawberries, cherries, cranberries, etc.), like his favorite red juices, deep and complex. Silver is vanilla bean, pure, simple, and earnest. (He could also be a subtle lavender flavor, since that's a flower known to ease you into sleep.) And Malleus… well, that scoop is a pitch black, but the flavor is something you can’t quite place your tongue on. It’s a mystery, just like he is! (Maybe the shop changes the flavor every now and again. They can run a promo where if you guess the right flavor combo for that particular week’s Malleus scoop, they give you a discount or a free cone.)

A lot of chocolate sauce is dripping down from the Malleus scoop; this is because the sauce is supposed to be his “blot”. The bottom three scoops—Lilia, Sebek, and Silver—are blanketed by the chocolate thorns as a reference to how those three were sentenced to sleep.

[feyreswaterybowels]

Shadows Dance🐦‍⬛ (#4)

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel is losing his shit. He tries to keep it together for Sarah but he needs (Y/N) back—needs her far away from Jarek.

Warnings: Reference to implied sexual assault. Implied sexual assault that led to pregnancy. Referenced forced miscarriages.

Word Count: 1.5k

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 ↓

“Here,” Feyre says gently, sitting a warm cup of tea in front of Sarah. Gazing at the small child asleep against her chest, thumb tucked in his mouth.

She reached forward with shaking hands grabbing the cup. “Thank you,” Sarah breaths in a shaky voice before taking a sip.

“Sarah, dear, we need to ask you some questions,” Rhys begins but Feyre cuts in.

“Maybe we should give her a minute to settle,” She offers but her mate shakes his head.

“No. Every minute we waste is a minute she’s alone with Jarek.” Feyre nods in understanding, she knew very little of this Jarek male but it didn’t take much to figure out he wasn’t a good guy.

“Can I lay him down somewhere first,” Sarah asks, voice breaking and raspy. Rhys' shoulders lose a bit of rigidness, eyes softening as he looks at the girl he loved so much and nods.

“I’ll take the child,” Mor steps forward. “He can lay in (Y/N) and Azriel’s room.” She shoots a look towards the shadowsinger, who doesn’t respond but doesn’t protest either. Sarah nods, letting Mor take the boy, leaving the room and ascending the stairs.

“I don’t know where to begin,” Sarah says, shrinking in on herself. She was finally back with her family and it was wrong, it was all wrong.

“Just start at the beginning,” Feyre offers gently as Mor joins the room again. Sarah meets her eye and sniffs.

“Okay, um, well, I met Jarek two months before my birthday

The Day Court was absolutely stunning. Sarah parts from her sister heading out the back of the large mansion, admiring the beautifully crafted architecture. Intricate designs laced with gold. I reached out to touch a particular pillar that had swirling designs all the way to the top.

“Beautiful isn’t it?” A voice asked. Sarah turned, blushing at the sight of the male next to her.

“Indeed,” She nods, drawing her hand back to herself, taking a sip from the glass in her hands. Some sparkling juice Rhys has slipped into her hand.

“I’ve never seen you around here before, are you traveling from Night Court?” He asked, Sarah looked over at him and offered a small nod.

“I am, this is my first time visiting Day Court,” She nodded, watching as he took a drink from his own glass—sure it was the faerie wine the rest of the people were drinking. “I’m here with my family. The High Lord is my uncle.”

“What is your name, dear?” He asks, offering his hand. “I’m Jarek of the Autumn Court, formerly Night Court. I wasn’t aware Rhysand had a niece.”

“Oh!” She gasps, offering her hand. “I’m Sarah. Rhys isn’t my uncle by blood. I was raised by my sister (Y/N) and her mate who are close with him.”

“Ah, I see,” He nods, a charming smile pulling at his lip, before offering his arm. “Well, you allow me the honor of showing you around?”

Sarah’s cheeks heated, nodding at the handsome male, looping her arm through his. “I would enjoy that.”

“That is how we met. After that we seemed to run into each other quite often. I didn’t think much of it,” Sarah tells the story, sadness and regret laced in every word. “He told me we should keep quiet about seeing one another since I was younger, but that on my birthday he would be willing to meet my family—meet all of you. A-and he convinced me to sneak out and meet him before the dinner. He kissed me for the first time, I’ve never been able to fully remember anything after that and he wouldn’t tell me either. Just that I woke up at his house days later.”

Everyone in the room was angry. Seething. Not at Sarah but at Jarek for taking advantage of her in her young innocence. Azriel’s shadows were a brewing storm around him as he listened to what his girl said.

“Did he—did he hurt you?” Azriel asks, a painful lump in his throat simply at the thought.

Sarah’s gaze drifted towards the stairs Mor at went up with her child before looking down. She didn’t have to say it for everyone to know what she meant with that look. He had forced himself on her and the result was pregnancy.

“It wasn’t the first time,” She whispers, “it happened a lot, usually his healer—who was also a prisoner—would make a tonic to rid the aftermath.”

Her voice broke, eyes welling with tears, Azriel was at her side in an instant, wrapping her in a strong embrace.

“With Elias,” She continued after they pulled away, “it was too late to take the tonic. I escaped two years ago but I had no clue where I was going. I didn’t even know where I was because he never allowed me outside. His men found me, brought me back. By the time I realized I was carrying a child it was too late.”

“Sweetheart,” Rhy’s breathed emphatically—trying to keep the thoughts of what had happened to himself under the mountain at bay. Knowing this sweet girl had gone through something similar hurt.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Feyre speaks, reaching out to grab Sarah’s hand, glancing at her mate, feeling his emotions through their bond.

“Sarah, dear, when you got out, where were you?” Cassian asked, arms folded across his heaving chest.

“It was hard to tell, it was dark and we were in the mountains but I—I’m pretty sure it was the Autumn court,” She says, looking around when everyone remained silent and stone faced. “What is it?”

“It’s just that the Beron is still over the lands there. He isn’t exactly our biggest fan. We could have…trouble gaining access to his lands,” Rhys explains gently, watching the girls eyes water.

“This is all my fault.” Her voice crack into a sob. Azriel grab her face shaking his head.

“No. It is no one's fault but his. I promise you, we will get (Y/N), back,” He says standing. “We’ll get her back or I’ll destroy all of Prythian trying.”

════════════════════════

Azriel stands at the window of his destroyed bedroom in the house of winds. Arms crossed, jaw clenched, fists sore and snarling quietly to himself, shadows storming around him, whispering to him.

He doesn’t look back when the door opens but he knows who it is.

“Az,” It’s soft, of course she’d be the one to come check on him. “Are you okay?”

He nearly scoffs. If it was anyone other than Mor he may have. Is he okay? Was he supposed to be okay knowing his love, his mate, was stolen away and at the mercy of a man that probably wanted her dead?

“Sorry, dumb question,” she said, coming to a stop next to him.

Azriel glances at her but doesn’t say anything.

“We’re gonna get her back—”

“Yes, and what pain will she have suffered by the time she is back?” Azriel bites, bitterness and hatred lacing every word.

Mor sighs, leaning against the windowsill. “What happened in here?”

Azriel snarls to himself as he remembers what sent him into his rage that left the bedroom in absolute shambles. His fists clench, he wants to his something.

“I can’t feel her.”

“What-”

“(Y/N). I can’t feel our bond. Obviously it wasn’t broken but it’s not there either.”

“Oh, Az…”

It’s silent. They stand there together, the stars of the night sky twinkling in the vast darkness of the sky.

“We spoke a bit more with Sarah,” Mor starts, and Az tenses—anything she says could send him into another fit of rage. “We know there’s wards placed on the home that’s probably what’s blocking the bond.”

It’s not the right thing to say. Azriel hisses, tearing himself from the window, pacing back and forth not caring about the debris being crushed under his boots.

“Az-”

“I can’t do this. I need to go find her. I need to be out there and Rhys has ordered me to this room. To our room. And I-I can’t,” He bites, still pacing. “When she leaves it’s different. It’s her choice. I know I’ll see her again. But this? He could kill her. He could force himself on her just like he did with—fuck.”

“You need to get your shit together, Azriel,” Mor snaps, Azriel looks up at her shocked. Opens his mouth to snap back but she holds her hand up silencing him. “Rhys ordered you here because he knows you aren’t in your right mind right now. (Y/N) needs you. She needs you strong and out there doing your job to find any and all information to find her. She is waiting for you—for us and you’re sitting here having a melt down.”

Azriel stares at her. Mouth ajar eyes wide. Fuck. Fuck, he’s so stupid. How could he be so selfish? So self absorbed? His girl was out there, out there alone with his and he was brooding in his room.

“Are you ready?” Mor breathes, looking at expectantly, arms cross and brow raised.

“Yeah. Yeah I’m ready.”

[after-witch]

All That Is Real is Reasonable  [Yandere Tserriednich x Reader]

Title: All That Is Real is Reasonable  [Yandere Tserriednich x Reader]

Synopsis: You were looking to read a rare artist’s manuscript, and found your luck when the employee of a wealthy collector offers to let you read the real deal in his hotel room. What could go wrong? 

Word Count: 2000ish

Notes: yandere themes, implied fate worse than death for people (not reader); art pretentiousness; link to the painting referenced in the fic

“I’m sorry, but that collection isn’t available to the general public.”

You press your lips together, a desperate attempt at a smile. The man in front of you does not look impressed. “But if I could just--”

“Ma’am,” the man interrupts, holding the side of his glasses to get a better look at you--or to intimidate you, like some sort of predator staring down its prey. You couldn’t decide which. “I’ve already informed you that it’s simply impossible for you to read the manuscript. Our collection is only open to certain academic institutions, and your credentials simply don’t suffice.”

The sting of his not-so-thinly veiled insult is quickly washed over with a heavy, overpowering disappointment. All this way. You came all this way for nothing. 

“Okay.” Your voice cracks, and you clear it. You’re an adult. Adults don’t cry because they were told they aren’t allowed to see a copy of the personal letters, do they?

You turn around as quickly as you can, heading back towards the atrium of the museum. Your cheeks burn hot and you can feel your chest constricting. Don’t cry, you think--not until you get back to your car. 

“Ah… miss?”

You freeze, almost stumbling over your feet due to the sudden stop. You hear footsteps from behind you, and turn slightly to see a man in a crisp black suit walking up to you. It looks like he followed you out of the library section. But why?

“I hope you don’t mind my eavesdropping,” the man continues. You said you were looking to read the museum’s transcript of Jean-François de Troy, yes?”

The man straightens up, as if he’s proud of what he’s going to tell you. “My employer is currently in possession of the real manuscript. He sent me here to arrange an appointment with the museum today to discuss donating the real papers to the collection--for preservation, of course. But perhaps… well, perhaps you would like to come see them first? My employer is an avid lover of the arts, and I’m sure he wouldn’t mind assisting a student in their research.”

Your eyes must look wide enough to set a teacup on, because the man lets out a short, easygoing laugh. You stutter out something like assent, and he only shakes his head in a good-humored way that puts you right at ease.

“Follow me.”

--

The hotel you follow the man into is swankier than anything you’ve ever seen in your life. Even the elevators are fancy, complete with an elevator attendant who politely asks the man which floor and holds the door open while you exit to avoid any unwanted auto-closures.

And if the hotel itself looked swanky, the room--or rooms, as this is not simply some dinky hotel room but a series of elegant suites--is practically a palace. Tapestries and paintings, bookshelves, antiques… 

And then there is a man, sitting on a high-backed chair reading a book, who rises when the two of you enter.  He looks at the man with something that seems to slide between them, silent but sure. A question, or confirmation of something. You can’t quite discern any of it, and the man next to you is merely dismissed with a nod of his head. He doesn’t even say goodbye. 

The strangeness of the moment makes your skin prickle but all of that gets washed over by the sheer magnitude of the art surrounding you. And one painting in particular has you aimlessly walking towards it, eyes wide. It’s by the very artist you sought out at the museum. It’s a painting of a woman in an elegant blue gown reading in a window. One you had seen in picture books, but in person? It was bought by a private collector ages ago, and presumed lost… 

“Do you think it’s pretty?”

Your body jerks, and you feel a little dumb for not realizing the man--Tserriednich, the man from the museum had said, but it’s best not to call him that unless he gives you permission--had walked right up to you while you gaped. 

His voice has a touch of a sneer in it. Not enough to be rude, just enough to pick up on, especially given your already frayed nerves. You’re used enough to that--being dismissed in  your field is nothing new. 

“I… well… it’s… ” What do you say to someone with a hotel room stuffed with treasures worth millions--no--billions? When you glance at the man, you see a look, almost too subtle to be noticed, of annoyance. That you’re wasting his time and might as well leave. You can’t blame him. You sound ridiculous, stuttering over yourself. 

“It doesn’t matter if it’s pretty,” you finally say, rushing out the words and feeling like your tongue has unstuck from your roof for the first time today. 

Tserriednich raises his eyebrow. “No?”

Your gaze turns back to the painting, and you continue. “Well, no.” Your hand goes up to the painting, not touching, but gesturing towards the book in the woman’s hands. “See how the light in the painting is directed towards the pages? We’re meant to focus on the act of reading, not the woman herself.” 

He stares at you, and it’s strange to say, but even the way he blinks feels judgemental. As if he wants you to notice the slow timing of each blink, the way his eyes seem to say: You are a silly thing. But you’re over-analyzing his body language, aren’t you? You’re being a stereotype of an art student, really.

He lifts his own hand, gesturing to the woman’s exposed back. “And yet he took the time to position the woman so that her shoulders, neck and upper back were displayed to the viewer, almost in the same highlighting as the book.” 

You shake your head, a smile, a little laugh in  your voice.

“You’re wrong.” 

You’ve never seen someone visibly bristle before, but there’s no other way to describe the way that his back straightens up, or the way that his mouth sets itself in an impatient frown as you continue, jumping into something you’ve already argued about with professors and one not-so-patient teacher’s assistant.

“He highlights the shoulders, yes. But I think de Troy was tempting us--well, by us I mean his contemporaries who would have viewed the painting--for focusing too much on the implied sensuality of a woman being viewed in such an intimate moment.”

You take a quick breath, and you can’t help but get a little excited, voice rising, as you spill out the contents of your latest thesis on his work. 

“Yes, her neck and shoulders are exposed, and yes the light plays on them…” 

Your hands gesture over the left side of the painting. 

“But look at how her dress and these curtains are almost the same color, like she’s being swallowed up by them. She doesn’t matter… It's the act of reading, the pursuit of knowledge, that we should be focusing on. If you focus on her prettiness, well. You’re wrong. Or… no,” you nod your head, affirming your thoughts to yourself. “Not wrong. But you’re missing the point--looking at the painting via the surface only.”

There is a heavy silence that follows. And you know you’ve spoken out of turn, and you wait for him to ask you to leave for being rude and combative. 

Because Tserriednich is looking very seriously at the painting. Studying it. And then he is looking down at you, and something shifts in his expression. It’s so subtle, that if you weren’t always hyper aware of little details, you might have missed it. He looked at the painting with reverence, analysis, with a keen eye--and now he looks at you like a particularly troublesome thing that doesn’t quite fit. Did you talk too much? Too little? Or maybe you just came on too strong. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, eyes downcast. “I get a little carried away sometimes when it comes to art.”

“Art is your passion,” he says, and it’s not exactly a question. He’s looking you up and down in a way that feels too familiar. It makes you feel like the woman in the painting. You wish you didn’t leave your cardigan in your car--your shoulders feel exposed. 

He huffs out a sigh, and whatever heaviness was there seems to lighten a little. 

“The manuscript, then?” He nods in the direction of an open doorway to your left, and you follow him, eyes darting here and there to take in more of the art in the room.  “What do you plan to do with your degree?”

“I want to publish,” you tell him. “I’ve got so many thoughts I want to share with the world.” You look around the library you’ve been led into, and it’s hard not to gape here, too. More art, shelves and shelves of books… and doors. Including a rather  unusual door with a hefty electronic lock on the side. Something even more priceless than the paintings on the walls, perhaps?

While he heads off to a shelf, presumably to grab the manuscript you came all this way to see, you can’t help but take a peek at the book laid out on an ornate desk near the window. 

“The Phenomenology of Spirit?”

He returns from the shelves, and there’s nothing in his hands, but you’re too distracted to really give it much thought. He has something like amusement on his face, and you know it all too well. He thinks you don’t know what you’re looking at and he will condescendingly explain it--in big or short words, time will only tell--to you. 

“It’s by--”

“Hegel,” you interrupt. “I know. I’ve read it.”

This time, when his eyebrows raise, there is no annoyance but something much simpler. Curiosity mingled with a bit of disbelief. 

You find that you like it. Who doesn’t love surprising someone arrogant, after all?

Your fingers trace over the cover--and you can see him bristle, out of the corner of your eye, and it’s only your inherent good nature that wills you to take your hands off his book.

“The spirit is never at rest but always engaged in ever progressive motion, in giving itself a new form.”

“And?” You can’t shake the feeling, when he looks at you, that he’s sizing you up. Maybe it’s a test to see if you’re worthy of reading the manuscript or something ridiculous like that. 

You shrug. “I prefer Rousseau.” You don’t wait for him to respond to continue, reciting one of your favorite Rousseau lines. “Life is not breath, but action, the use of our senses, our mind, our faculties, every part of ourselves which makes us conscious of our being.”

He hums, and perhaps there’s something akin to approval in it, but doesn’t say anything more. And then he turns, gesturing towards the myriad of art pieces around you.

“What do you think of my collection?” 

Honesty is not always the best policy, and you’d hate to be rude. His collection is expensive, sure. But that doesn’t mean it’s something you find particularly worthwhile. 

“It’s… nice.”

“Nice?” He scoffs, and there’s another moment where you think he’s going to tell you to leave. But instead he looks down on you again, disdain mingled with seemingly genuine interest. “Explain.” 

“I... can't say I see the appeal,” you offer. You don’t want him to make you leave, but--you get the feeling lying would be somewhere worse. You glance at the works, and think about the ones you saw in the other room.

“Most of them are so lofty, big, symbolic. Famous events.” You shrug, and try to meet his eyes, but something about him makes you want to look away. He’s too analytical. Like you’re an object or painting yourself, and he’s not sure if he finds you artistic enough to frame or deems you better left in storage. 

“I find works depicting ordinary life to be far more worthwhile. Anyone can paint a scene from mythology, but…” You think back to the woman reading, to your favorite paintings depicting simple scenes. “Life's little moments? I find them more valuable than anything. The promise or disappointments of life, captured on canvas.”

You expect him to look angry when you’re finished, but instead he looks amused. He smiles.

“That’s cute. You don’t see the bigger picture in any of it, do you?”

It’s your turn to bristle now. “Excuse me?”

“It can’t be helped.” He’s too close to you now, and his hand reaches out and catches your chin. You find yourself blushing, terrified, and flattered at once. “It’s not in your nature to see the big picture. It’s simply impossible.. Not without someone superior instructing you, although even then, I’m not sure you'll be able to do more than parrot what I tell you...” 

He turns your head from side to side, like you’re some sort of prize at the market. Finally, he speaks with a sense of decision. Only you don’t know what decision he’s made, and it makes your stomach turn. “Yes. I want to see more from you. I think you’ll be… transcendent.” 

You get the nerve to jerk away just as he lets go of your chin. His words barely register with your heart hammering in your chest. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He ignores you. Instead, he turns, and walks toward that elegant door with the strange combination lock on it. “I have another collection.” There’s a thickness to his voice--a terrible anticipation. “I want your opinion on it.”

Your feet refuse to move. You know, somehow, that whatever is behind that door is not something you want to see. So you’ll decline. Easy as that, right? This really was a silly decision, to come here, to some eccentric art collector’s hotel room. 

“I… think I’ll pass.” You swallow hard and tight. “In fact, I think I’ll get going.”  Your legs seemingly gain the ability to move again, and you take a step backward. “I’ll try my chances at the museum again. I don’t want to waste your time. But thank you--”

He turns--just turns, a little, and stares at you with an expression that pins you to the floor. 

He leans his head back a little, staring at the ceiling and cracking a smile. “It’s inevitable. It’s not like you can help it, right?  You are what you are, even if you aren’t a complete waste.” 

He finally does cross the room, and grips your upper arm with an ease that leaves you gasping. 

“What--” Your legs do find the will to move, but you can’t get anywhere. Struggling doesn’t even budge him, and it’s like you can feel a hole burning in your stomach as uncertainty and realization of a bad situation flood into your senses all at once. You force your voice to stay steady, force your breath to come in slow. “I-I’d like to go, please.” 

He doesn’t let you go. All he does is sigh and shake his head. 

“Lucky you. That degree isn’t entirely useless. You’re much better than the others from this city.” A frown, to himself more than to you. He mumbles something, you can’t be sure what--you only hear the words shoulders and books and Rousseau. “But you need to be corrected on some things before I can be sure what to do with you.” 

You think, as he pulls you toward the room with the combination lock, that you’d have been better off staying at the museum.

[basicinstnct]

arrangement / jacob custos

word count: 2967

tags: size kink, love bites, hurt/comfort, angst, morning wood (more accurately nap wood), referenced masturbation, pining, insecurity, creampies, slight breeding kink, transfer of affection (sorta), savior complex

a/n: personally, i found this guy pretty endearing, especially if you look at his insecurities which are more apparent in some routes than they are in others. i know that isn't exactly a popular opinion (it's certainly a bit frustrating that the writers set him up by making him largely "responsible" for the events to follow), but hopefully there are enough like-minded people to give this some attention.

It’s often said that what you fear, you attract. You’re a little more receptive to that type of loose philosophy than you should be, so you aren’t exactly surprised when one day, the words come true.

Jacob’s voice calls out your name, soft, unlike him. “Are you awake?”

You’re glad you’re facing the wall. It gives you a chance against him, to not let him into your arms again. Other than pretending you’re asleep, there’s really no way out. Now that all the kids are gone, and the counselor you were supposed to share it with never showed up, you have the cabin all to yourself. Thinking about him had already kept you up all night, so you really just want to take a nap before you have to load the van up, not… this.

Seeing his face, those sad eyes, will end your resistance where it stands.

What the two of you have isn’t good. Against your intentions you’ve become at best a therapist, and at worst a replacement. Who you're taking the place of is unclear. At first you thought it was Emma. It wasn’t far-fetched to believe that you were covering for something that clearly wasn’t working. You were so sure, but more time with Jacob has left you doubting that. It has to be something in his past, something that happened a long time ago, inflicted by someone that you remind him of in one way or another. Being a proxy probably hurts him as much as it helps him, and you’re not exactly sure what it does to you.

What have you become? You’re not exactly the other woman. As far as you know, nothing’s really happened between Jacob and Emma in a long time, enough time that there’s a chance those flames have been swept out. You can see how Jacob’s affections burn hard against the cool of Emma’s practically nonexistent feelings.

You’ve let him, at least half a dozen times, come to be consoled by you. It began when he ran into you as you were heading down to the lake, one night when you couldn’t catch a wink of rest. When you later asked why he thought he could trust you, he didn’t have much to say.

You’ve let Jacob speak to you, cry to you. He mostly talks about nothing in particular, but if he nods off against your shoulder, he’ll mumble troubled, troubled words that make your heart pang. Lost thoughts about being alone, unwanted.

He has a lot of problems.

Around everyone else he can pretend he’s fine. You can learn as much from the truth as you can from a lie, but only if you’re looking.

He says your name again, in the midst of you faking a breath. You snuggle deeper into the thin fleece that Mr. Hackett gave you, trying to give the appearance of being slightly disturbed but not awoken. Something about the situation is giving you a feeling. You shouldn’t do this!

You can hardly think of anything at all when you hear his footsteps. He approaches your bunk cautiously, before you hear the creak in the floorboards and the movement of fingers. He tosses his shoes to the corner of the room. Then his sweats and shirt go too. You’re squeezing your eyes shut even though you desperately want to look at him. If not to admire his looks than to read the expression on his face.

When he lifts the blanket from your body. You’re so shocked by the action that you can’t even fight it, the way you shiver all over. Jacob climbs into bed and wraps his arm around you. You can feel the warmth of his body, his furnace-like chest against your back as his head rests against your shoulder.

Without him, you run cold naturally, especially when you sleep. Now that he’s in bed with you, you’re worried the temperature of his body will make you sweat.

“I know you’re awake. You can tell me to go,” he says weakly. “I’ll go.”

“I never want you to go, Jacob, even if I feel like you should.” You can’t hold back the reply. Logic fails you around him, at least when you’re alone.

If your words are vague, he still knows what you mean. He rewards you, you think, by gripping you tighter, murmuring thank you before pressing the lightest of kisses against your neck. You get the sense that he’s used to it, getting affection through transactions. He can’t give you much out here except his body heat, and he has more than enough of that for the both of you.

You’re expecting the regular dialogue when he takes a deep breath, like he usually does, but that’s not what you hear at all.

“I feel totally useless today,” Jacob says, “all I can think about is how nothing ever goes right. I feel like everyone is just tolerating me. I’d just wanted the day to end so I could come here and be with you. Even if you wouldn’t be caught dead speaking to me when the others are around. Then I remembered that we were leaving today…”

Maybe that is how things appear to him. With all the complications between the group, the crushes and the grievances, you’ve always thought you’re better off not adding whatever’s going on between the two of you to the mix. You’ve always acted like nothing had changed around the others, and he’d followed your lead. You didn’t think he had any problem with it.

All at once you realize how deep your concern for him goes. Has he wanted for something he felt you weren’t prepared to offer? You wonder how he’s felt every time you’ve paired up with someone else, if there’s ever been a hurt glance you missed. A jealous glance.

You still can’t look at him, but your hand searches for his, and when you find it you squeeze gently. It’s not natural for you, but it’s worth it to hear the way he gasps, like he really can’t believe it.

“It’s never been like that,” you tell him, “I just don’t want things to be awkward. Even if we aren’t usually… I don’t want things to change. I never knew how you felt either.”

He huffs, long and hard (listening for once) and you shake lightly as you feel it on your skin.

“I hope I haven’t been making you feel bad.” You sigh, “I wasn’t even thinking about it like that. Sometimes,” you were worried this would be a blow to his already lacking confidence, rather than anything constructive, “I don’t like the way you act around everyone. Like you have something to prove.”

“I… I feel like I do.”

“I think you think you do, but I think everyone else just feels like you aren’t being yourself. Some people,” you don’t want to say her name, “they can smell the blood in the water.”

“You haven’t been making me feel bad,” he murmurs, mouth close to your ear, “I love the way I feel. Around you, right now.”

You know there’s a chance he doesn’t mean anything by it, that he’s emotional and vulnerable and confused. Desire and confusion could sometimes be the same thing. But when he says things like this, as he has before, you can’t help but think about what it would be like.

You’ve certainly done more than just think. One hand down your shorts and your face buried in the fleece, the scent of him still on it, the smell of his cologne and his sweat. You’d put your palm to clit as you slid a finger inside, thinking of the outline of his cock the one chance you’d had to see him in it.

Down at the lake, a day of swimming, he’d had a swimsuit you swore hadn’t fit him since middle school. It was the definition of tight in all the right places.

Fat, was really all you were able to process. You’d blushed incredibly hard, swimming in the opposite direction before anyone had a chance to notice. The image filed away for later use.

Him, holding you down, slipping inside. The sting of it, of him making you take him. The sounds he would make when he was all the way in, balls against your clit. Teeth on your skin to muffle his moans.

It’d seemed like a pipe dream. Now you weren’t sure. In any case you hadn’t wanted to be fucked so bad, by anybody, in your life.

You flip over to face Jacob, staring deep into his eyes for the first time today. They’re misty, red, and they seem very sad. The whole thing makes you feel like a bad person, like a pervert. You wonder if he can see how black your eyes are with want for him. Can he feel how wet you are, right here next to him?

“Let’s go to sleep…” You venture, not meaning it at all, still glad that he agrees when he shifts to get comfortable and you feel his breathing even out. It’s far too long before you fall asleep yourself, too lost in visions of everything you want.

You know you’ll regret it later, that you’ll be nodding off when you shouldn’t be, but you can’t stop thinking.

. . .

You wake up thinking something troubling. You wish you could make Jacob understand. You don’t always need to get your happiness from people, but you know you only really mean other people. You’d have no problem being a rock for him. You want to give him a way out of the feelings that drown him every day. It’s what he so desperately seems to need.

But it can’t keep going on this way.

He must wake up moments after you do. Possibly aware of the change in your breathing, or maybe the way your heart rate has increased tenfold. He sighs, before chuckling in your ear, “what’s got you so worked up?”

“I just wanted to make sure I hadn’t overslept,” you look at the clock on your dresser. It’s only been half an hour. “Didn’t want to hold everyone up.”

It’s him, of course, but you can’t exactly say that. At least he seems in higher spirits than before, you consider.

The meaning becomes too literal when you feel his cock against you. Morning wood, probably. As much as it makes you wish the sheets would swallow you, it also sends your mind to other places.

Jacob tries to freeze, but his arm is still over your hips, caging you with his body, so there’s little you can do other than ignore it. But that already seems impossible, you can start to feel desire, burning in your pussy. You want him

It’s easy to feel him moving, attempting to be discreet but failing entirely. Every inch moves you with him because he’s unwilling to let go of you, whether he realizes it or not.

“I don’t mind,” you whisper, “or care. I mean I don’t care.”

“I care,” he bites back, seeming insulted. “I know you see that, so stop pretending like you don’t.”

You try to turn in his arms, but Jacob holds you still with little effort. He’s stronger, you think, obviously. You’re never able to escape him, mentally or physically.

“You think my problem is being insecure, fine. Your problem is that you’re always thinking, you never just feel.”

You know he’s right, but what can you say to that?

What was once a tight grip on your wrist turns into a comforting gesture, his thumb rubbing gently over the skin of your hand.

“L-let me make you feel something,” he sighs, “for once.”

You sigh, defeated in the best way possible.

Jacob's hard against you still, and he starts grinding into your ass gently. A gasp leaves you before your head is turned and you feel him on your cheek, a sweet kiss, before Jacob’s lips are on yours and he gives you a nasty one.

It’s your first kiss with him, but it doesn’t feel that way. You learn that Jacob likes to be close to you. He knows just how to get you to sigh, open your mouth up so he can press his tongue inside. It gets sloppy fast. You both moan, unable to part until you need to breathe. There’s spit connecting the two of you.

He moves your body beneath his, palm on the back of your neck an oddly comforting pressure. “Should’ve been kissing you this whole time,” he sighs.

“Doesn’t matter,” you tell him, putting your own hand to his cheek, “you have me now. Do whatever you want.”

Jacob makes quick work of your clothes, rids you of your bra, then tugs his trunks down to free his dick.

You want to blush at the sound it makes, the weight smacking against your stomach, lined exactly up with where he’ll be inside. Almost to your naval.

There’s a moment of just breathing, and when you look you see that he’s eyeing the same thing you are.

“I’ll fit,” he groans when he sees your expression. “Promise.”

You lick your lips. “Just prove it.”

Your panties are pulled to the side before you can hear him lick his thumb, once, twice. He must think it’s enough spit because he begins to use it to touch your clit, only to groan so loud you want to muffle him.

“Oh, oh. Fuck you’re already wet.”

“Yes,” you hiss, “I want you.”

“Yeah,” he mumbles. The words seem to make him shake. “Tell me again.”

You walk your hands up his back, and he moans when your nails drag lightly over his muscles, “I want you. Give it to me, Jacob, please.”

He kisses you again. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll give it to you.” It’s mumbled against your mouth as he preps you. Sliding his cock through the folds of you, gathering enough pre from you and him to just get the head inside.

You shudder, and he moans. It’s loud, scaring you enough to slap your hand over his mouth.

“‘’M sorry,” he grunts, removing your hand. His chest lowers down to touch yours, his face in your neck. “I didn’t mean to. Your pussy’s so good,” he shifts his hips to feel more of you. “I’ll be q-quiet, won’t make a sound. I don’t want to stop.”

You wrap your legs around Jacob, practically humping yourself onto him, “c’mon.”

His cock feels bigger than you should be taking. You want to wheeze when he bottoms out, leaving you stuffed. You can feel his tongue on your neck, hear vague moans as your cunt clenches on him.

Jacob starts to rock his hips, keeping his mouth busy with your skin in an effort to keep the noise down. But none of that matters when he’s fucking you into the mattress. Deep thrusts that make the frame of the bed groan.

You can feel how wet you’ve gotten, how wet he’s made you. You wouldn’t be able to take him otherwise. It’s surely all over your thighs, probably dripping down to his balls. You can feel everything, his skin, his mouth, a hint of teeth, the way his dick is burning you up inside.

You shock yourself when you come, hard. You bite into Jacob’s shoulder to muffle your scream, wrapping every limb you have around him to keep him deep inside.

“Fuuck,” he’s trembling. “Fuck it, I need- I wanna come inside. Tell me you’re on the pill. I want it.” You can feel him throbbing in your pussy. It’s a good thing you are; he probably wouldn’t be able to pull out in time anyway.

You hum out an affirmation, teeth still between his flesh because you can’t stop moaning, and it’s only half a second more before you feel him cum, and if you weren’t wet before you are now. You can feel it, hot, inside, and even leaking out of you.

Jacob’s whole body tenses, before every muscle in his body seems to relax, like he’s been needing this for a long, long time. His arms falter, but he catches himself before he crushes you.

The both of you wince when he pulls out, and you’re thankful that he doesn’t mind the obscene amount of cum that you both will surely have to deal with eventually. The clock tells you It’s still early, there’s still time.

He’s gone to cuddling you again, tucking you into the side of his body. He’s certainly much more open to touching you now that he’s fucked you. His hands explore whatever skin they can reach.

You make an attempt to do the same, but when you touch his shoulder you can feel the slight indent of teeth. Not terribly deep, but there.

“I’m sorry, Jacob. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Don’t say that,” he scoffs, totally nonchalant. “Your neck isn’t looking too hot either.”

“I know,” you sigh, “but some guys are really weird about stuff like that.”

“Ha,” he laughs it off, checking it out before giving you his typical grin. “I don’t mind it. It’s like you claimed me.”

You wonder if that’s something to think about.

Laying there, both of you lightly doused with sweat, the smell of sex absolutely unavoidable, your first thought is that your sheets are ruined. It’s a good thing that you’re leaving today, at least for that reason.

Whatever you’ve just done, you know now that you can’t shut Jacob out. How that will work out isn’t something you need to figure out now, or even today.

Despite Jacob’s epiphany concerning you, you’ve got dibs on a great seat in the van, and that should give you enough time to do all the thinking you need.

[afreakingdork]

Weak Spot - Chapter 39

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

Amazing chapter art by @garbagemilkshake

Warnings: Aged-up Turtles, Romance, Meet Cute, Villain Donatello, Cussing, Crushes, Xenophobia, Fear, Intimidation, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hurt/Comfort, Love, AFAB Reader, Vaginal Sex, Sex Rough, Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Teasing, Scent Kink, Sexual Tension, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Marathon Sex, Somnophilia, Intercrural Sex, Bondage, Feral Behavior, Feral Donatello (TMNT), Mating Cycles/In Heat, Public Sex

Synopsis:  A love story of villainous proportions! Though it hadn’t come easily, as these things rarely do, you found yourself in a whirlwind romance with a handsome and mysterious mutant. His idiosyncrasies had been easy to ignore as attraction grew into something more. However, will love endure when the unknowns about him end up being far darker than you ever considered?

Warnings Below Cut.

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

Warnings: mentions of domestic abuse and kidnapping

Please keep yourself safe.

Static. 

Words. 

Someone left a radio on. 

No. 

Sharper than that. 

A speaker. 

A phone call. 

“-I know you ain’t second guessing my scanner!”

“You tell me then! No phone!? Who doesn’t have their phone on them!?”

“I’unno, but it sure as hell ain’t my problem.”

“There has to be something!!!”

“Boy!”

“A microchip! Maybe it’s too small to pick up!?”

“That’s not how it works!!!”

“Just stop trying to explain it to him; I gave up years ago.”

“The hell?! I’ve been working with you fools way too long to just let that go. You were looking right at me when I explained it to you last week!”

“Now…. let’s say… Hypothetically, that I was looking at a particular green that was stuck between someone’s teeth…”

“…”

“…”

Cough.

“I’m done. Over. Nada! That’s it! I’m going to unleash Mayhem and let him take you down.”

“What?! May loves me! He would never!”

Squeak.

“See!”

“No, I am not putting you on camera!”

“Uh, Leo…”

“Whatever, fine! Go through your snore sesh again then if you’re so adamant!”

“You-!”

Chirp.

“Fine.”

“Mhm.”

“Next time I see you, I’m slapping you for that tone.”

“Can it not be the face? I had a bruise for like six weeks last time.”

“It’s definitely going to be the face.”

“April!”

“Hush up and listen.”

Groan.

“The scanner connects to the natural energy of the body. It’s mystic! It won’t miss anything; it doesn’t matter how small, organic, inorganic, whatever! Your brainwashed victim isn’t brainwashed, augmented, or anything else. They have nothing hidden on or in them. There’s nothing whatsoever. Now say ‘I’m a dummy’ if you understood.”

“I’m a dummy.”

“It is no longer going to be the face.”

“Thank you! You’re the best!”

“Yeah, I know!”

“Alright… Guess that means we’re going with interrogation.”

“Hey, what’s up with this anyway? You’re being real cagey about a Hypno victim. He doesn’t usually put anything in anyone’s bodies, that’s more like…”

“…”

“…”

“No.”

“April.”

“No fucking way, Leo! I’m done. Out. Fuck this. Fuck you! I cannot BELIEVE YOU-!!!”

“I told you.”

“Mikey, not helping! April, please-!”

Click.

“…”

“…”

“Why did you put her in that position?”

“You complained, but you sure as hell didn’t stop me.”

“How am I supposed to, Lee? How is anyone supposed to-?”

“Y/N is awake.”

“What?!”

“They’ve been awake.”

“Raph, what!?”

“Since when!?”

There was a creak as someone stood up from an old chair.

“I don’t know if they’re at full yet, but at least a little over a minute.”

“Full what?!”

“They don’t look awake.” The voice came so close that you could feel their breath tickle your face.

They’d eaten something with pesto for lunch.

Launching at them with a snarl, they screamed.

“AH! NO BITING!” Mikey stumbled several feet back with his limbs in the air before he toppled over.

Your body shuddered from the movement as a constriction kept you from getting farther than you would have thought. Vertigo spun waves out from what should have been straighter lines as your head bobbed downward. Swaying without your control, you stared at the ropes tied around your torso. Tongue rolling in your mouth, you tried to complain, but what came out was an odd groan.

“E-easy…” Mikey’s hands turned to usher you from the floor as he crawled upright on his knees. “The spell wears off like waking up from a bad nap.”

Nap?

“Weren’t you working on a fix for that?” Leo’s voice griped.

Where was he?

“This is so wrong…” Raph’s voice added like a gruff beacon.

“So we’ve all heard.” Leo must have whipped toward him because there was a fast swish of some kind. “You won’t shut up about it, in fact! Neither of you will! If you’re so bothered, why don’t you just leave already?”

Mikey was coming closer.

You gave a cotton mouthed warble in fear.

“Because there’s no way I’m leaving this to both of you. Not after Mikey dropped the literal package! Not after you lied, Leo! This is way out of line!!”

Kick.

You had to kick.

When you did nothing happened.

He had said spell.

Was that why?

Straining, you reluctantly broke away from staring down the orange turtle to look down at yourself. Your legs were slightly parted and in line with the legs of a wooden chair. Closing your eyes to sharpen your groggy senses, you put all your effort into feeling your limbs. It came slow, but you caught uneven wraps that indicated your legs were tied. Then with a shuffle, you got your fingers flexed and felt the rough edges of ropes around your wrists. Blinking open with exhaustion similarly tied around your brain, you glimpsed Mikey sitting cross-legged right in front of you.

The horrified squeak that came from your chest was not something you were proud of.

“Mikey, back off!”

“Dude, I’d be scared of you too! Give, Y/N a break, would ya?”

“Huh?” Mikey whipped around with genuine dismay. “What did I do?”

“You almost killed them for one.” Leo walked over with his arms folded.

Blearily, the rest of the room was starting to manifest.

Raph was right behind him. “You knocked ‘em out!”

“Hey!” Mikey clicked his tongue and returned to you with huge puppy dog eyes. “You don’t remember that last part do you?”

Looking down from where you were trying to expand your map, you gave him a deadened glare.

“Oh, you remember…” Mikey grimaced.

Raph appeared as a tower and his hand dipped straight into the back Mikey’s beige button up. As the smaller turtle’s limbs shot out, his clothes took definition. His top was only buttoned on the last one which created a deep v to show off his decorated plastron and chain necklaces. He was then lifted straight off the ground which allowed his luna pants to drag. Hoisting Mikey high enough to level with him, Raph stared him dully in the eye. “Calm down, would ya?”

Leo gave an approving nod as he took Mikey’s place. “Now then.”

You had a few choice words that felt wet on your lips and gagged to your ears. Brow coming down as you surely had control of your mouth, you wound your jaw to find that the cotton you had been tasting was actual fabric. It tied tightly around your face, digging into your cheeks, and had soaked in a copious amount of drool. You translated your disgust with the sharpest protest you could make.

“Ears.” Leo announced before reaching around you.

You winced until you felt his fingers at the tie. As soon as it came loose you screeched at the top of your lungs. Throat on fire and body wracked of oxygen, you stopped only when black tinted the edge of your vision. It clung like a smoky fog as you panted and flicks of starburst spread out in wayward arches. Recovering enough breath so that you didn’t feel as close to losing consciousness, you lifted your head to find Leo’s palms pressed snug against the sides of his head. Just behind him Raph stood similarly with Mikey opting for fingers to his tympanum.

Slow and ready to put them back if need be, Leo removed his hands. “As someone who’s experienced that spell first hand more times than I can count, you should just about be able to recognize surroundings. Take a look, I’d save my breath if I were you.”

“You’re literally saying ‘try as you might.’” Raph rolled his eyes. “Do you hear yourself?”

“Do I-!?” Leo stomped away to throw a finger into Raph’s face. “Mister ‘You’re making a mockery of the team, Leo’?! All you’ve done is second guess me for months now-!”

Beside them, Mikey watched the pair with his fingers still to his head, looking back and forth as if he couldn’t tell what they were saying.

Over their bickering, you looked beyond as distance rendered in real time. Blinking wide, you found twinkling lights highlighting arches in what was clearly a subway station. All the usual markers of it were cleared away and looked as if they had been for years. Stairs fed on either side and the chosen furniture made it look like a sort of war room. There were several boards erected on one wall with tons of notes and pictures. Across it there were tables and chairs that came in a variety of sizes to appropriately fit whichever occupant. Looking down at your ropes again, your chair in particular seemed to be missing from its ancient dinner table.

“Enough!” Leo roared and you caught him slapping Raph’s hand from his shoulder. “You’ll back me up.” He turned and marched toward you with a quiet spit of, “You always do.”

Raph’s brow creased and his expression read torn. “You don’t give us a choice.”

Mikey unplugged his tympanum and it was the last thing you caught before Leo occupied all your vision. With a fling of his arm he caught the back of the chair and tipped it as he poured over you. “Why’d you pick Raph?”

Beyond him you could hear Raph give a growl of frustration.

“That’s… what you’re upset about?” You sounded breathy.   

“I’m mad about a lot of things currently, but yes. I’m kinda miffed about it!”

“Versus…” You shook your head to clear residual clouds from your mind. “… you kidnapping me right away?”

“That wasn’t-!” Leo looked scorned and snapped away.

In doing so your heart shot into your throat as you tipped forward and your chair attempted to get back on all its legs. Thankfully, the clatter only rocked to a halt.

“Careful, man…” Mikey hummed, his voice rounding.

“Look.” Leo responded flatly, making his hand a demonstration where you spied the sunglasses he’d once worn. “If someone would bell his tail like we keep telling him, then the real plan wouldn’t have been busted up so fast.”

“It makes noise every, single, time, I move!”

“That’s the point, Reptar!” Leo rolled his eyes.

If only you could kick.

Leo was in perfect kicking range.

“Y/N.”

You glared at him.

“The plan…” He drifted out before straightening up. There, he blew out a breath and did a half-turn to address the room. “We were enjoying the farmer’s market like everyone else when I heard a distinct ‘Donatello is a villain’ from not too far away.”

Though you were tied up, your arms felt loose.

“I dipped to investigate and saw you and your friend. You telling her all about him.”

“You eavesdropped…”

“Yeah.” It wasn’t exactly remorse on his face, but there were signs that he wished he hadn’t. “It ‘cleared up’ several things for me, but also a few glaring issues.”

Not knowing whether to scream or pale, you sat with parted lips.

“One, that he’s still active and two, that all the people tugging my ear holes had a point.” Leo turned to pointedly look at Raph and Mikey.

He received folded arms and a lolled head, respectively.

“You need to talk to us.” He addressed you. “Clear up what has become an insane misunderstanding.”

Forcing all your weight down, you managed a hop in the chair. “You fucking think!?”

“Yeah…” Leo’s teeth flashed and he leaned away. “Can I keep going?”

“I literally can’t stop you.”

He tried to force a smile, but it downturned along with the lengths of his arms. “Alright, so I took that new info to the guys and we agreed on that much.”

Raph made a noise that said that wasn’t quite right.

Leo didn’t turn, but his pupil darted in that direction. “We were going to snoop around where we were already shopping and see if we could covertly catch your eye for an amicable chat.”

Unable to focus on his stupid face, your gaze drifted up to his bald head. 

He’d had a hat at one point. 

Probably to cover it up. 

“My ideal scenario was like this: me and you bump into each other at the jam stand. You ever try fig mostarda, by the way? Mikey put me onto it recently with chicken and prosciutto and mama mia!” Leo came up and pinched a finger to his thumb.

“It’s all about balancing flavor.” Mikey chirped.

Something about the response knocked Leo back into his point. “We’d meet. I’d recommend the mostarda. We’d try samples and I’d ask if I could borrow you for a talk.”

“And somewhere in there you faked free shit to lure my friends away.”

“I panicked! Raph got caught!!” Leo threw his arms out. “I wrangled Mikey and it was his idea! He’s friends with the jerky lady!”

“We met at a workshop.” Mikey chuckled.

“Then, you clearly felt like you were being ambushed and-!”

Your lids fell so far your eyes almost closed.

“I… turned it into a real ambush.”

Raph’s arms came undone for a hardy flick that said that was what he’d been waiting for.

Suddenly looking mortified, Leo only then seemed to take in the entire scene. “Fuck.”

“Wait, you didn’t realize until just now?” Mikey’s head leaned forward with utter disbelief. “Like right now?”

Leo shot him a guilty look.

Mikey let out a long whistle.

Raph smacked the back of Mikey’s head.

“Hey! What’d I do!?”

“You enabled him!!” Raph held out the same hand to gesture toward Leo. “He was in one of his moods and you went along!”

“For the record, I totally mentioned that earlier.” Leo held a hand over his mouth while talking to you at a normal volume.

“Double hey!” Mikey whipped his head around. “Leo’s plans work out! I was trusting the system!”

“You don’t even trust the regular system!” Raph pinched between his eyes.

“How could I?! Physics lies!” From where he’d sat cross-legged on the floor, Mikey began to lift off and float like a wayward balloon.

“Not everyone can do that!” Raph gave a big sweep so the air generated would blow Mikey away.

Spinning upside-down and bun hanging on for dear life, Mikey grinned with nothing but teeth.

“He gets to fly and have hair. Life truly favors the youngest.” Leo sighed.

“Let me get this straight.” You ground out. 

They had no self control. 

Leo turned toward you with honest interest.

“You try to stage what is basically some kind of fucked up meet-cute to clear the air, and when it goes wrong, you get me alone, use Raph as a distraction, throw the attention of the crowd, knock me out with magic, bring me to the subway, and tie me up to interrogate me!?”

Silence prevailed like an itchy blanket.

“When you say it like that, it sounds terrible.” Leo grimaced and was clearly sweating.

“Because it is!!! Why are you like this!? Who thinks like that!? It’s like you’re a cartoon character!”

It also sounded eerily familiar, but you weren’t going to get into that.

Raph made his way over.

Leo, nerves fried, went on high alert. “And where do you think you’re going!?”

“I’m untying Y/N. This has gotten way out of hand. You know it now so let’s knock it off.”

“No!” With a slide of outstretched arms and legs, Leo blocked his brother from you. “We still don’t know what they’re up to!”

With his height, you could see Raph set his face with irritation. “Leo, you heard April. They’ve got nothing. Which-” He looked at you. “-are you alright? Why don’t you have a phone?”

It had been a long day. 

Your eyes closed as you rocked back.

You couldn’t see it, but you could sense Leo whipping around at your hesitation.

“What… you caught the tail end of was…” Doubt held your tongue.

Here you were, miserable in having a front seat to their antics when your friends weren’t much better. 

They just weren’t superpowered. 

You paled at the thought. 

Shoving the concept aside, you at least sympathized with how tired you were of all the damned misunderstandings. “… a fucked up not intervention because Coral, my friend that you saw, thought… Donnie was… hurting me…”

The two parties you could see stiffened with open worry.

“He isn’t, to be clear.”

“But she had reason to think so?” Leo took an honest  step towards you.

“I don’t want to get into it, but yes.” You shot him what you hoped was a clear look. “It was circumstantial and none of it was his fault.” Letting your expression sour, you injected venom. “You should know that much though. From listening in.”

Leo shirked to the side. “I… may have tuned some stuff out.”

“Leo!” Raph threw his head back.

“You smell it too!” Leo hissed with a sudden ferocity. “You’d do the same!”

Raph balked and his gaze fell to the floor.

Mikey floated slowly to your right. “Smell what?”

“Don’t ask!”

“You don’t wanna know!”

Mikey shot you a curious look.

You blatantly ignored him.

Raph waved his arms to change course. “How does that explain your phone?!”

“Coral thought…” You shot a barbed look at Leo. “… that Donnie might be tracking me. She stole my phone and tech-” Your mouth snapped shut.

“You do have tech!” Leo jumped and landed pointing at you as if he’d revealed a great mystery. “I knew it!”

Your head shot away which you both hated for its guilty factor and because it put you right in the eye line of Mikey.

“Also! Vindication!” Leo’s fingers were flying to accuse all parties. “I’m not paranoid! I’m not the only one who thought all of this and, triple point score, this girl didn’t even know the purple pain-in-my-ass was a bad guy!!”

Having validated nonsense, you clocked the back of your head against the chair.

Raph pushed Leo out of the way like he weighed nothing. “Y/N…?”

“Yes, Raph?” You stared at the brick ceiling.

“It sounds like… you’ve answered this question a million times, but… does he?”

“No, Raph.”

A hush fell that was broken with a skin slapping noise. When your head came back down, Raph was rolling his eyes as Leo batted at him.

“Tell me about the tech!” Leo jumped away before Raph could stop him.

“No.” You glared daggers.

“Is he converting you to the dark side?” Mikey did a little wiggle to right himself.

“No!” You didn’t pass the orange turtle a look.

“I’m convinced!” Mikey lowered with purpose and landed on the tips of his toes. “I’m with Raph now, Lee. Let’s let Y/N go.”

“Et tu!?” Leo gasped. “You didn’t even clear anything up!”

Mikey’s expression fell, but nowhere near the other times you’d seen it do so. “I’m reminded of a saying from group; you can’t change how people perceive you.”

“Todd-ism’s are full of it!” Leo hissed.

Mikey continued on as if his brother hadn’t spoken. “You can only try to be a good person.” He turned towards you. “I haven’t been good to you and you have every right to hate me for it. No more second guessing you or pushing.”

A little stunned, you gave a wary nod.

Mikey walked over to Raph to punctuate his chosen side.

“No! What?! No!!” Leo screeched. “We were going to take turns!! We were going to fix this! We were going to make everything right!”

Staring at the manic back of Leo’s head, you could only think of how he didn’t handle change well.

It was another bizarre coincidence.

“Let me start from the beginning!” Leo’s light bulb going off shined so brightly that it blew. He turned wild eyes towards you and grabbed each side of the back of your chair, getting dangerously close to your face. “It all started when we were 14! Some new mutant came onto the scene-!”

“Leo, that’s enough!!” Raph gave what sounded very much like a final warning.

“Leo, you’re losing it! Calm down, man!!” Mikey pleaded.

You could only feel two things:

Your racing heart and fear.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up at the all encompassing broken expression on Leo’s face.

“-We were fucking teenagers and this asshole comes up comparing back stories like it’s a fucking competition! Swinging in with intelligence that was incomprehensible next to us! Where I’d been the ‘idea guy’ at best, suddenly everyone’s lives are in my hands on what can only be described as a whim! I tried my best to keep my team-my family alive in the face of a murderer. So yeah, I developed fucking anxiety, but who wouldn’t!? It was relentless. It was my whole life! It was all consuming!! Ever present!!! One wrong move and they die! They don’t come back!! When that’s all I have!!! Plus! There’s this whole other me that failed so badly he ended the entire, fucking, world!!! I had to be better than was ever possible for me, myself, or I, but especially better than him!!!”  

You blinked.

Your lips rounded.

“Oh.”

The vowel popped out.

Weak and small.

Barely alive.

“Shit, he’s having a meltdown.” You heard Raph say.

“Already on it.” There was a rush of sound and you knew it was Mikey’s chains.

Leo blinked and his pupils disappeared.

He was gone from you before your muscles could alight with terror at the change.

What happened next came in colors.

An exploded rush of red that seemed to envelope the whole room.

Your chair flew out and orange chains netted like a catcher’s mitt to keep you from hitting a wall.

Over a dozen blue discs appeared with flashes of green soaring through them faster than you could track.

Your chair hit the ground on one leg and you felt the wood splinter from impact.

Then, there was a voice.

Gruff, but booming.

“Boys!”

Everything stopped.

In a single lid fall and raise, it was all gone.

All the color was reduced to three men standing at erect attention in a line.

Facing one of the staircases.

You were slow to turn there.

Standing with one hand against the wall and a single foot off the steps was a little rat man.

With white hair, a worn-in yukata, and a cane, he positioned the latter to help him make the final descent.

It took a grunt with his weight, but in a slow turn, he took the room in. “What is going on here?”

None of them could bear to go first. 

They hung their heads.

Like they were reduced to children. 

“You boys haven’t fought like this since you were kids…” The rat man’s gaze hit you and his expression fell. “What is this…? What have you done?”

Their bodies didn’t shuffle, but you saw the back of Raph’s head turn away.

With a clack of his cane against the brick, the rat man charged straight over to you. There, his gaze appeared from under bushy eyebrows as he openly took you in. “Who… are you…?”

Eyes widening as his met yours, you placed a wayward comment. “You’re Lou Jitsu…”

Struck by the name, he leaned back. “Oh!” Shifting from surprise, he stroked his beard. “What’s this?! I still maintain my looks! I told you boys I will always be recognizable!”

“Or…” Your gaze dropped. “You had a few names. Yoshi… or…?”

He gave a single sharp bang with his cane before his aura tripled the size of his small height. “How do you know that name?”

“I’m…”

He’d called them boys.

Raph had mentioned their dad.

They consider themselves brothers.

“Well?” He turned to give you a single focused eye.

“I’m dating Donatello.”

It was like you’d punched him in the gut.

Visibly shaken, he wheezed on a breath and took a step back.

“Dad!” Mikey called out.

The man rose a single hand to stop them and coughed violently, clearing his throat.

Not leaving formation, Mikey pulled the hand he was reaching out with to nurse at his chest.

The rat man managed a deep breath and set himself. He then turned and, from the way the turtles reacted, he was doing a fatherly scan of an incident.

You watched guilt pass each of them differently.

Mikey flicked a glance before dropping his gaze to the floor along with the hunch of his body.

Raph took a pained expression and sent it to the side.

Leo’s whole body twitched, but he remained the firmest.

He stared his dad down openly.

They stood like that for a long moment before the rat man returned to you.

In that single exchange, though it seemed clear he’d been left out of the loop, you could tell he knew everything he needed to.

“Do you deserve this treatment?”

“No…” You debated it for a moment and then gave in. “…sir.”

“None of that.” He ushered before giving an effort to kneel down. It took a pinch to his face but his long pink fingers came around one of your legs. “Splinter is the current name you are looking for.”

“Oh.” The sound was unlike the one you’d given Leo. “Master?”

He shook his head and the binds to your left leg fell loose.

“Splinter.” You repeated aloud to cement it.

Your right leg came free and he slowed, psyching himself up to stand. You watched him and picked up on how he was avoiding your gaze. “Is…. dating… new? I have not heard much about this…”

His voice was so small.

Almost as small as him.

It was also as broken as a parent trying to scrape what little they could about a child that no longer spoke to them. 

“It’s…” You softened in spite of worries that he might deserve that absence.

Something told you he didn’t.

There were so many misunderstandings. 

“It’s new for him.” You spoke fondly. “We just had our one year anniversary.”

Splinter perked up and one of his ears flicked with intense interest. His shoulders then hiked with embarrassment as he attempted to tuck it away and get to his feet. “Congratulations are in order.”

You nodded, heart yanked. “Yes, he’s… very romantic.”

There was a sharp exhale from one of the turtles.

It was no match for the pride oozing off Splinter. It buoyed him to his feet where he began to undo the knots at your back. “I… would like to ask another question, if that is alright?”

“Sure.” Your arms came loose and you flexed them.

“Is he…” Splinter’s voice shattered and he had to hold onto a shard as he undid the last binding.

In a slow release, the ropes around your torso slacked.

He hobbled all the way around you to get strength from your gaze to continue. “Is… Donatello… I mean… Is he… alright?”

Leo clicked his tongue so loudly it sliced through the room.

Without you even blinking, Splinter’s cane disappeared from existence.

You only found it because of the loud noise that emitted from Leo as it hit him in the face. 

“Orange.”

“Yep!” Mikey sang and stepped out of formation on a single leg. In a peppy hop, he snatched up the cane from Leo’s collapsed form and ran over to pass it back to his dad.

Splinter took it with a little smile and Mikey gave him a peck to his forehead before jogging back to his place.

“Can I ask you something?”

Splinter’s ear flicked again. “I assume you have many.”

You nodded.

“Please.”

“He… Donnie…” You clarified and wrung your free hands. “He said you never looked for him…?”

Splinter gave a sad sigh. “Would you mind coming with me?”

Your lips twitched.

Splinter took notice. “This is not ideal for you or my back. I require my chair.”

You gave a single laugh. “Something orthopedic?”

“Yes, I can never say that word.” Splinter gave his own puff of humor before glancing at the turtles. “Blue, portal.”

Leo had just gotten back up. “You’re joking.”

Raph glowered down at him.

Mikey smacked a hand to his face.

“What?!” Leo shot a sour look down the line. “It’s not even about this, but ho’boy you better believe I’m pissed about it! It’s about him abusing my power! He does this all the time! It’s an ongoing thing! Last week it was just to get the remote which, by the way, ended up being on the arm right  next to him!!”

“It takes like two seconds.” Raph’s hands turned up to gesture how ridiculous Leo was being.

“Says the guy who’s 7’6”! You literally don’t even have to embiggen to get whatever crap he needs from the top shelf” Leo folded his arms.

“Leonardo.” Splinter addressed evenly. “I will listen next family meeting. For now….”

Leo’s lips pursed before he held his hand out. There out of a blink of blue light, he pulled out a sword and swung it. In front of you, a blue portal appeared.

“Thank you.” Splinter bobbed a thankful nod before walking through it.

You gave the boys a final glance before moving to enter it as well.

Coming out the otherside felt like nothing and you watched as Splinter was already scrambling up into an armchair. Now in a glorified TV room, there was a huge projector on one wall and familial seating scattered about the space. With Splinter’s grunts filling the air, he eventually got turned around before reclining back with a contented sigh.

You stood awkwardly beside him and reviewed the options which ranged from a sofa to an old patched bean bag. Nervous, you perched on the edge of the closest couch seat.

Taking a moment to bask in relief, Splinter’s eyes opened with a faraway look. “I did.”

You perked up.

“I know he does not believe me, but I did not know… that he survived. I saw four turtles, but only three slid out during the explosion…” His head turned towards you. “In the chaos, I looked for the fourth, but the lab was collapsing. I had to assume he didn’t…” His gaze sharpened and he looked forward again. “I would hold that assumption for 15 years.”

Your eyes darted, trying to log every single word and candor.

“The boys did not tell me when they found out. How could they? I had never mentioned their… other...” Splinter gestured downward and you looked out to see another staircase leading out of the room. “I would come to know only after overhearing them complain about a purple assailant off handedly.” Pain bled into his features. “I do not blame them. For a long time none of us were very honest with one another.”

Your gaze flicked up with knowledge. “They… you’re saying they didn’t tell you when they met Donnie?”

“I did not find out until a year had passed since he was revealed to be another turtle.”

 Your head dropped.

What was wrong with all of them?

That was rhetorical.

It was also frustrating beyond comprehension.

“I could have cleared things up, but…” Splinter’s hand spun, gesturing to what he’d already explained.

You brought your head up, weakly.

“I remember that moment clearly: I was eating cereal and dropped my bowl.” He lifted from his chair with a slight wince. “I left then to find him. My… what I considered my lost… son…”

The last word was so quiet, you had to put it in place through context.

“I found him within the hour. He was… not what I expected.”

Your eyes widened.

“I could not…” Agony warped his words. “I could not approach. I felt shame. I was at fault. If I had only-“ He choked and crushed his lids down to compose himself. What surfaced were wounds that had been ripped open time and time again, never healing quite right. “I had made a habit of running away. Always. From everything.”

You stood and looked for tissues.

Splinter massaged his temple. “I ended up shadowing him for many, many nights. Never able to approach. I saw… what he had become… what had been done to him… What he continued to do.”

 Not finding them, you approached his side.

He looked at you with a forlorn fondness. “Another mistake on many. In my distraction, I did not see what was happening with my other boys. The Shredder took form and by the time I was able to meet with Donatello, it was under the worst circumstance.”

You gave a shallow nod.

“I would try over and over to reach him after that.” Splinter’s eyes shone and then he sent them away. “Too late.”

Your hand pressed into the armrest.

He covered it with his own. “Too late to help my lost son. Too late to help the ones I raised. Almost too late to keep humanity from perishing.”

“It didn’t…” You whispered.

“It didn’t.” He agreed. “I have made more mistakes than I care to count.”

You caught his thumb and squeezed.

“I could not keep them from hurting each other.” He choked out.

You dropped to your knees to meet his eye level.

He looked over you with a tiny smile fighting against his pain. “There is no need to feel bad. I did nothing but age and fail my boys.”

You wanted to protest, but even now, you still didn’t know enough.

You had very little to offer.

Only what you knew.

“Donnie is amazing.”

Splinter’s eyes popped open and a single, fat tear rolled out.

“He’s loving and kind and a genius and totally insane and I adore him.”

Splinter leaned forward and his other hand added to the stack.

“He laughs now.” Your head tilted and you couldn’t keep a smile off your face. “I’ve never asked, but I don’t think he ever really did in a happy way?”

Splinter gave a rapid nod.

“He smiles a lot. Way more than when we first met. It’s like everyday he’s a little bit happier.”

You felt little claws dig into your skin, but it didn’t hurt.

You glanced at the projector. “He still doesn’t like movies, but he watches them. He’s not one for music, but he doesn’t mind when I hum a tune. He’s got these ninja-like moves, but he can’t throw a piece of candy to save his life. He’s an amazing chef and went through a food science phase which was both good and bad. He… When we met he was on a ridiculous quest to find a good sandwich.”

“Mikey loves to cook!” The phrase shot out of him with a near sob.

“I’ve heard sort of: that he goes to fancy shops and now the farmer’s market.”

“Too adventurous!” Splinter gave an annoyed grunt. “He makes the best food and then inedible dishes!”

You laughed. “We had raw meat dry aging in our fridge for weeks!”

Splinter removed a hand to bang it as a fist to the chair. “I’ve had enough jerky to shrivel up and become one!”

Sharing in chuckles, he broke the moment first with an exhale that spoke to an ages old held breath. “Thank you… I did not catch your name.”

“Y/N.”

“Thank you, Y/N.”

“Thank you.” Your shoulders bobbed. “You saved me.”

Splinter clicked his tongue, not unlike Leo. “I have been left out yet again.”

Sympathy came, but he dispelled it with an irritated rock of his body.

“To do this while I was out enjoying a competition! From my dojos! I cannot believe them!” His eyes closed with indignity as he threw his head back.

“That’s… you were… at what-?” You stalled, hit with way too much information.

“The Lou Jitsu Schools of Ninjutsu!” Splinter sharply bobbed with pride. “Raphael brought them back from the brink and reestablished us as the top martial arts school in the city!”

“H-huh.”

Splinter eyed you. “You have not heard of this. I doubt your taste.”

“Hey!”

He gave a snicker.

You puffed out your cheeks, annoyed.

“I’m sure you do not want to hear me drone on any longer. The kidnapping was enough. Let’s get you home.”

Your gaze flattened out on how he’d so easily glossed over that second part.

“BOYS!!!”

You jerked away at the sound, ears ringing.

Splinter turned to address the turtles as they clambered in.

“Don’t they all have super hearing…?” You rubbed your drums.

“Yes, they were listening in.” Splinter eyed Mikey specifically who whistled away.

“Why?”

“I like yelling!” Splinter pronounced with his entire chest.

You groaned and rounded the back of the chair.

“Leonardo, you will not hinder Y/N further.”

“Just me?” Leo spit, quiet.

“Your back talk says it is truly only you.” Splinter stood and tapped his cane to the cushion. “Deliver them directly.”

Leo went ramrod straight and fury rolled off of him. “Dad, you don’t-!”

“You will not fight.” Splinter looked over his shoulder at you and winked before returning to his son. “Call him.”

“You have Donnie’s number?!” Your hackles went up.

“Not… exactly…” Leo was looking so sour that he was a moment away from pickling himself. “It’s a nuclear option kind of thing. One use only.”

You tilted your head, not sure how that worked.

“Meaning we can’t blow it just because someone got their phone taken away like a kid!”

You bristled, but felt Splinter’s ire turn towards you. “You do not have a phone?”

“If you didn’t know, why'd you ask me to call!?” Leo whined.

“Call is general! I do not know about your nuclear system! That is for power plants!” Splinter snapped away to scold Leo before returning that grouch to you.

You had to avoid that tough fatherly eye. “It’s a long story...”

“Who does not have a phone these days?!” Splinter fussed.

Leo threw his arms out and hummed loudly at Raph.

“Even I have a phone.” Reaching into his yukata, he pulled out an older model. “I hate it.”

“It’s so easy though, dad!” Mikey groaned.

“Yeah, yeah.” Splinter brushed the lot of them off with a flick of his huge tail. “As I said.”

“‘You will not fight’!” Leo mocked. “So great when you can throw a decree down on me knowing full well the other party has no obligation to follow it!”

“He will. As you will also pass a message along.”

Leo froze in his stoop to turn a curious gaze up.

You watched Leo, confused, before realizing the whole lot of them were wide-eyed at this message idea. Turning to Splinter, you caught, up close, the way his gaze tinted with suffering. “You will tell him to meet me at our usual booth. He will understand.”

“Dad…” Raph mouthed.

“Have you…?” Mikey covered his mouth to keep anymore from coming out.

In front of them Leo held up a fist which had the tactical code for silence. “The family meeting is tonight.”

Splinter gave a nod as if this was a bargaining session.

Leo turned away and signaled for Mikey to follow him.

Raph watched them go, on edge.

Splinter let his posture drop and pressed a hand around his back. “I apologize Y/N. I also ask, if… he will permit…” He slid you a small glance. “If you will come as well?”

“Uh… sure.” You nodded, not exactly sure what you were agreeing to beyond some kind of meeting.

“I am going to sit and watch my programs now. You can stay or go.” Splinter waved you away before collapsing into his chair.

You frowned at how dismissive he was until he spoke a final time with a heavy heart.

“Thank you.”

Giving a little sigh, you nodded. “Of course.”

Raph was twiddling his fingers, near the stairs.

“How long will the call take?”

Raph surfaced from his thoughts and craned an arm behind his head. “The way I understand, it gets forced through, so it’s more like how long it’ll take him to get… not here, but… whatever meeting place Leo sets.”

“Does he… not know where here is?” You walked over.

“It’s a big ask, but can we keep it that way?” Raph turned, urging you to join him in descending the stairs.

“I don’t see how that’s something I can do.” You followed. “Like, again, how he doesn’t already know.”

“We’ve, uh, got a network kinda thing protecting us from his bots. It took a lot of trial and error.”

“It…” You gave one last glance to the disappearing rumpus room. “You’ve clearly been here awhile.”

Raph nodded. “Longest yet, going on six years.”

“I won’t tell. I also have no idea where we are because of the kidnapping.” You barbed the last word. 

Raph droned out an abysmal sound. 

Satisfied by it, you continued. “But I can’t help… Donnie being Donnie.” You grimaced.

Raph showed his understanding with a glance. “Dad’s weird code better mean something. I don’t like the idea of sending Leo alone.”

“I can’t guarantee he’ll listen to me, but I’ll try to keep the exchange civil…”

Raph had reached the end of the stairs having casually taken them several at a time. Where you were about to reach him, he turned back with honest confusion. “Why?”

“Why…?”

“Why… would you? You should want to support him, right? After what we did…” Raph glanced back and you realized you were back in the pseudo war room.

“I don’t…” You slowed, not sure of exactly how to put it. “Whatever is happening with you all is… so much bigger than me. Even with a bias… taking sides when there’s so much I don’t know…” You hit the landing and quieted, lost.

Silence beat the air until Raph chuffed.

You looked up to find him sporting a lopsided grin with a sharp canine peaking out. “I see why he likes you.”

A blush crept onto your cheeks and you had to look away.

Raph hummed with light laughter.

Needing to distract yourself, you kicked only to scuff your shoe on brick. “By the way…”

“Yeah?” He examined the ground as if looking for a pebble.

“What was with the scary Leo warning? Not doing it Leo’s way?” You looked up with a faint dusting still lingering.

Raph’s lid dropped along with his head like a heavy weight fell on him. “I really don’t like that mustard'ah! It’s all those dang little seeds. They get stuck in my teeth and then my fingers are too big to-” He blinked his eyes wide, seeing you anew. “-and I’m realizing now how scary it musta sounded. Raph does not wanna be like those guys so let’s say I mighta been worried about how a talk with Leo might have gone…” He gestured to some of the wreckage that marked the earlier meltdown. “…which is sometimes not great.”

“I’ll take it.” You gave a sort of defeated smile. 

Leo stormed up a set of stairs you hadn’t seen used yet. “We need to go.” He located you and his gaze narrowed, lethally. “Now.”

“Leo…” Raph urged.

“I know.” There was a split second break in Leo’s staunch façade and you saw a flash of how genuinely nervous he was.

“Where’s Mikey?” Raph held himself back and his posture told you it was because of you.

It was an unspoken agreement.

You weren’t supposed to see that kind of weakness.

You moved over to Leo’s side.

Leo tracked you the whole way. “Keeping an eye out.”

“Which entrance?” Raph straightened his composure.

“Grand.” Leo clipped. “Stand by at Black Cat and I’ll signal if it goes south.”

With a tight nod, Raph took off.

“We’re hoofing it and he isn’t going to wait. Follow me.” Leo headed back towards the stairs he’d come up.

“Can’t you portal? Sounds like you know where.” You glanced at where Raph had gone. “Isn’t it… bad for me to see where we’re going?”

“I’ve monitored you. You don’t have the mapping capability for a ‘one and done’ memorization.”

You sneered, having to triple your speed only to keep falling behind. “That doesn’t answer my first question.”

“He can track mystic energy to an extent.” Leo threw a glance over his shoulder and saw you struggling. He slowed a little.

You parted him a wilted form of gratitude as you hit the bottom of the stairs, passed some old retrofitted subway cars, and disappeared down a dark tunnel.

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[steddieunderdogfics]

For the podfic challenge: The Nightly Stroll read by flintandfuss. The first time I listened to it, I LISTENED. The voice was so good and flowed with the story so well!

the podfic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45034811

and the written fic by RurouniHime: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44443174

The Nightly Stroll by RurouniHime

This fic has a podfic read by flintandfuss!

@thegertie @flintandfuss

Rating: Mature

6,000 words, 1/1 chapters

Archive Warning: No warnings

Tags: Established Relationship, Mistaken Identity, Protective Jim "Chief" Hopper, Grumpy Jim "Chief" Hopper, Good Parent Jim "Chief" Hopper, Protective Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson in Love, Making Out, Steve Harrington's Sucky Parents, Good Parent Joyce Byers, Supportive Wayne Munson, Post-Canon Fix-It, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jim Hopper Has PTSD, and he does not get paid enough for this, or anything at all really, Don't copy to another site, Podfic Available

Summary:

It takes him a second, and then he snaps his fingers. Steve’s car. Steve Harrington is parked out here in the dark by the railroad tracks for some— “Ah,” Jim breathes out as he takes in the fogged windows. All three of the ones he can see, and he’s willing to bet the other three are as well. The backseat passenger side is so far gone that rivulets have begun to slip down, carving darkness through misty gray. Considering the volume the music has to be at to be heard through the rolled-up windows, it’s a wonder the car isn’t vibrating all on its own. Except, the taillights aren’t just reflecting, they’re glinting, like eyes winking. The car is rocking just a smidge, little jumps and squeaks on its suspension. Jim would have to have been a much more well-behaved kid than he had been not to recognize that particular cadence. “Shit, Harrington.”

Thanks for the rec!

This rec is a part of Challenge Monday. The challenge this week was Fics with Podfics.

Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks or the submission box!

[queer-ragnelle]

Hi there, you don't have to post this on the blog, but I wanted to thank you for your earlier post with regard to different interpretations and iterations of Arthuriana. I really admire your work in/thoughts on all things Arthurian, and seeing you say "Each iteration is it's own self-contained world and anything is possible within that framework" was such a freeing thing. I'm currently writing an Arthurian thing where Lancelot falls for/ends up with someone who isn't Guinevere, and I often wrestle with the doubt of "if he isn't in love with Guinevere, am I really being true to the stories and the canon?" But each iteration is its own self-contained world, and I can honor the stories in other ways while still doing my own thing in this particular story/world. Anyway, all this to say, I'm sure it wasn't your intention, but I appreciate your insight and the encouragement it brings. Take care!

Hi there! Sorry for the delay in responding, but I wanted to think about this a bit beforehand. In writing my own Arthurian series, as well as reading and watching absolutely everything I can get ahold of, historical, medieval, and modern, I’ve developed a whole philosophy about it. So my reply got long hehe. Here’s what I think…

In the ask you referenced, I talked about how Arthurian legend lacks a true "canon," and how the stories all build off each other. The inconsistency from text to text and even chapter to chapter within the same story affords us endless opportunities for creative reinterpretation. I can basically be sold on any concept. I’ve read a lot of retellings at this point and I’m not married to any specific “canon.” If the writer can convince me that, in this version of the story, things played out differently, then I’m happy to get invested. For example, in Exiled From Camelot by Cherith Baldry, she develops Lyonors, Gareth’s wife, and makes her into a likable character the reader can easily ship with Gareth. On the other hand, I definitely see why people prefer Lynette with Gareth, as Tennyson did, and the majority of other retellings follow suit. Even so, I think Lynette and Gaheris made an adorable pair in Squire’s Tales #3, and it was a satisfying reveal in Squire’s Tales #7 that the pov character was their daughter, Lunette. It’s indicated through context clues who her parents are when they arrive at the end referring to each other by pet names. In the same vein, while I favor Ragnelle, Gawain can have any number of partners so long as the author writes the chemistry well. And while I still firmly believe Agravaine is gay in essentially every retelling, I do love Sarah Zettel’s romance Camelot’s Blood that she wrote between him and Laurel. I’m an Orkney Wives fan first and an Orkney Bros fan second haha!

That being said, Orkney Bros have always been inconsistent, so changing their love interests isn’t actually that drastic. In the case of Lancelot and Guinevere, severing their romantic connection is a huge departure from the norm. Undoubtedly, some people won’t “get it” or say it’s out of character. But the thing to remember is, there is no singular source for Arthuriana, so how can they ever be out of character? Let’s get into it.

Firstly, you don’t need to rationalize your narrative choices. To anybody. So long as you’re writing something for the sake of authenticity and good storytelling (rather than simply to be contrarian or edgy or quirky etc) it will resonate with your audience. That said, there’s medieval precedence for your concept. In Alliterative Morte Arthure, Lancelot is listed many times as one of Arthur’s knights. He’s there. Yet it is Mordred who adulterously marries Guinevere. In the romance retelling Lancelot by Gwen Rowley, Guinevere is not the love interest, but Elaine. Another similar angle is explored in Port Eternity by CJ Cherryh, which takes place entirely from Elaine’s point of view. Guinevere isn’t even truly in it and her stand in doesn’t fulfill the same role. In The Adventures of Sir Lancelot (1956), Lancelot definitely has A Thing with both the King and Queen, but a potential affair is not explored or even hinted at. He’s their bestie, their confidant, their most trusted person apart from each other. The key here is Lancelot still loves Guinevere (or her stand in), however that manifests. There’s no active dislike or hatred between them. In that circumstance, I don’t think the character would feel like Lancelot anymore. But changing the nature of his love for Guinevere from romantic to something else does not diminish its narrative value, as the above examples prove. Their friendship is the core of their relationship, as the Vulgate proves, and maintaining that is important.

It’s not so much about asking yourself, “Is [narrative choice] true to the ‘canon?’” as asking, “How do I tell a good story containing [narrative choice]?” There are examples of this done poorly, in my opinion. I’ve elaborated many many many times about David Lowery’s fumbling of The Green Knight (2021) and how that particular iteration falls short of a true adaptation (which I don’t think he set out to do anyway, to be fair) but also proved an unsuccessful reimagining of the poem due to mismanaged references and motifs. I didn’t like Once & Future by Cori McCarthy and Amy Rose Capetta or The Winter Knight by Jes Battis for the same reasons—both books felt like shallow, meandering stories lacking narrative integrity with a veneer of Arthuriana over it. Reincarnation AUs are not an excuse to flanderaize characters. Battis writes Wayne (Gawain) acknowledging how drastically he differs from his medieval counterpart, but awareness of it doesn’t negate the facts: the story suffers for it. On the contrary, Camelot 3000 gives an entire character arc surrounding this premise to Tristan, who has reincarnated AFAB and struggles with his gender identity and with accepting Isolde’s love for him, changed though he is. First Knight (1995) really screws up by making Lancelot a misogynistic creeper who relentlessly pursues Guinevere and even forces a kiss on her. King Arthur: Legend of The Sword (2017) is insultingly bad by showcasing just how stupid it thinks its audience is, brutalizing and killing women left and right, giving unnecessary screen time to obnoxious OCs, and bastardizing every aspect of the legend it drew from. Meanwhile the Fate Grand Order anime cuts out Guinevere entirely. Her role exists as a void. It makes no sense, then, that Lancelot and Agravaine clash as “fellow traitors,” because the woman at the center of the conflict is literally never present. Seven Deadly Sins anime has finally gotten around to Lancelot and Guinevere meeting, and she’s a clingy girl Lancelot is disinterested in, trying to flip the script on their roles, and only exacerbating the misogyny problem in shounen in the process.

Fear not! Loving Arthurian legend automatically enshrines anything you create in a glittering anti-garbage shield! So many versions exist that draw on the elements just because they can with no respect for the material nor their audience. You literally can’t do worse than what’s already out there and there are no original ideas! Published retellings love crackships, they love mixing it up, changing the expected, surprising us! So long as Guinevere isn’t made worse to make Lancelot’s alternative love interest better, and Lancelot himself isn’t turned inside out until he’s unrecognizable, you’re golden. Follow your gut and write something you would enjoy, develop it well within your own universe, and there will be an audience for it. I’m certainly among them!

Thanks for the ask. Have a lovely day! :^)

[madame-mortician]

Why this is the worst Evil Dead adaptation and completely sucks as a story (A Rant):

So as a horror mega fan, during birthdays and Christmas I typically get things like slasher movies or figurines on birthdays. This particular birthday, I received this comic adaptation of the 1981 film “The Evil Dead.” The art looked nice, I love Evil Dead, and the story promised to include more things than the original film. Now I love the original the way it is, however some new additional scenes would be interesting to see, kinda like deleted scenes returning in a directors cut, so naturally I went into this book pretty optimistic…

Oh god.

It sucks so much.

So let’s go through that why don’t we?

The first thing I want to talk about is the art. The cover visually looks amazing and at a brief glance the art is great…. but as somebody who has rewatched the original so many times, and does horror edits as a hobby, I’ve seen the original shots 100 times, and quickly noticed that a LOT of the art seems to be either traced or at least referenced in the comic, which I find interesting because most of the original shots they’re “tracing” over, aren’t from The Evil Dead, but from the sequels. Now even if it wasn’t being traced, it’s still obnoxious and very noticeable that it distracts me from everything else. The entire comic genuinely looks like somebody put a filter over shots from the original film, which is impressive for the artist but also looks… I don’t want to say bad, but it doesn’t look that appealing.

Not the most flattering picture, but it gets my point across.

Those are just fucking screenshots drawn over 💀

Also noticeably, only Ash Williams retains his original design. Now don’t get me wrong, I love Ash Williams and I don’t think they should redesign him, especially since Bruce Campbell is half the character, but why does everybody else look so completely off? For some reason, they decided to “modernise” this adaptation, but they didn’t do anything with it. It’s still the same story, but now everybody that isn’t Ash is all of a sudden a hot supermodel in Y2K fashion, like what? Like, look at this comparison of movie Cheryl VS comic Cheryl.

Now the redesigns aren’t the worst thing ever. The deadites still look creepy and all, however the characters are completely assassinated INCLUDING Ash. For starters, in the comic only Scotty and Ash actually seem to know each other, and are friends. Linda is a hot girl that Ash is now dating, and they bring along Linda’s girlfriends with them, not really knowing them at all. So Shelly is not Scotty’s girlfriend, she’s just a girl that they bring along. Cheryl is also NOT Ash’s little sister in this adaptation, which not only removes some dramatic tension but also for some reason they have a new line where Scotty jokes with Ash about which girl he should date, and they both comment on Shelly and Cheryl. It’s so off-putting because again, in the original film this is an adaptation of, Cheryl is Ash’s younger sister.

Now Ash himself falls into this situation where the writers are writing him like “Army of Darkness” Ash, despite this being… The Evil Dead. In the original film, Ash was a bit of a jerk, but majority of the time he was normal. He wasn’t a saint or anything, but he was very charming and likeable especially compared to Scotty. There was also this sort of, intimacy to the whole film, because everybody in this lonely cabin, are best friends and all know each other very well. This was great for the horror too, since it meant when shit hit the fan and they all started being possessed, it was more dramatic because, essentially the slasher killer of this movie IS the victims. Their mangled corpses are being puppeteered around to torture the remaining survivors, and that’s one if the main reasons I love Evil Dead. In this fuckass though, like I said, the only people here who actually know each other for more than a week are Ash and Scotty, but since Scotty is a turd the whole time, whenever somebody dies who gives a shit? Ash sure doesn’t! He’s written like the older Ash Williams, AFTER he’s already been traumatised enough and is now bossy, snarky, rude and scummy. If Ash was at least written like he was originally, then when these people (who are essentially strangers) start dying, at least he would care a little bit! As is, nobody cares. In the original film, Cheryl being possessed first is shocking because not only is she the closest thing to a protagonist until her “death” scene, but also because she’s the most innocent one here and the hero's little sister. She haunts the narrative after her death, because of her relationship with Ash. HERE IT’S LIKE “WHO TF IS CHERYL, OH THAT POSSESSED CHICK? I’VE NEVER SEEN HER BEFORE IN MY LIFE.” Ash doesn’t tragically reminisce about Linda, rather he recalls the time he lied to her during sex… Wow, I love this version of Ash, yayyyyyyyyyyyyyyy. Even Scotty kinda gets fucked over. Not as bad as Cheryl mind you, but he’s written so unapologetically mean and borderline evil here that it’s like, Jesus Christ dude. Sure the movie version of Scotty was kind of a douche, and was annoying at times, but he wasn’t cartoonishly evil or selfish, he was written rather realistically, but fuck me, I guess the comic wanted nobody to be likeable.

Anyways, another odd thing is the added lore? So obviously this book isn’t canon, it’s just a crappy remake of the original 1981 film, but they decide to include a backstory for the mysterious voice on the tape recorder, and show a scene of him getting his wife (Beth Marie Knowby) possessed and being presumably killed… Did they forget that they already HAD A CANON KNOWBY BACKSTORY?! You could say “Oh well, this is only adapting The Evil Dead, and ignoring Evil Dead 2!” But we’ll get to that in a second.

Moving on, there is only ONE interesting thing the comic does, and it relates to Scotty. So in the original film, Scotty went into the woods alone to try and escape the cabin. Minutes later he returns bloody and beaten and doesn’t say what happened but it’s implied he’s attacked by the trees, though probably not sexually like with Cheryl. I always had an issue with this scene because Scotty is just gone for 20 minutes and returns and dies… okay then. Here they show him venturing into the woods, seeing somebody and asking for help, only for that somebody to turn around and actually be a deadite version of Scotty. Is it groundbreaking and so amazing it should’ve been in the film? No. But it’s still, the only good thing this adds.

Now the ending…. Good god. Alright so, basically it ends like the original where Ash survives until 6AM and is leaving the cabin until something jumps him. Now here, they felt the need to add a fucking epilogue where, I shit you not, it’s revealed the whole thing was a dream…………. NOT ONLY was the whole thing a dream, but Ash also dreamt up Scotty, Cheryl and Shelly so they don’t exist, at all, which also makes no sense since he started dreaming in the car to the cabin, but made up an earlier scene where he and Scotty picked everybody up? Huh? Anyways, essentially only Linda is real, and the two of them go to the cabin for a date, with the implication being that this is why the characters don’t return for Evil Dead 2, minus Linda. Ash just made them up apparently. So Evil Dead 2 is going to happen I guess? I don’t really care since we don’t see it happen, so whatever.

TL;DR: The art is ugly, the characters are all rewritten poorly, the stuff this adds to the “Evil Dead Lore” is irrelevant and not canon and the overall comic just sucks.

[cleradinel]

Genuine Q: how is the boys only sign a gay proof for Mike Wheeler and a sign that he isn’t bi? Isn’t he just saying “Boys Only” because they go into a men’s space? Like they weren’t gonna go into a women’s bathroom/locker room? And Lucas goes with them, so if that’s “gay Mike proof,” wouldn’t that make Lucas gay too? Saying “boys only” is not a gay thing either in general, lots of media has moments where straight male characters break off for “bro talk” or “just the guys” and it has nothing to do with their sexuality. Are guys not allowed to socialize with their gender without it being a queercoding clue? (Is it lesbian when girls go into the bathroom together?)

see i was debating the value of presenting my arguments because i truly don't know if you're up for civil discussing or not, but i'm giving you the benefit of the doubt here.

dear anon. your first mistake here is watching and thinking of the show as one dimentional : aka, you think of mike as a person with free will figuring out how to go about trapping a dangerous murderous cunt inside a sauna. in a non meta way, in their world, it is absolutely what's happening, it's just mike stating "i figured something out, will, lucas, follow me." but a tv show is two dimentional : there is a meta layer to the dialogues, to the set design, to the character blocking etc. there are a lot of thoughts put into those decisions, and writers have a lot of fun figuring out how stuff something that on surface level is innocent and devoid of importance with double meaning. i'll give you one example, when will is encouraging el when she's called to do a presentation for class, you can read the word "HENRY" above his neck. in THEIR world, this is just a random name that happens to have been written on a piece of paper and stuck to the wall after discussing whatever henry dude will and el's curiculum asked the teachers of california to talk about. in OUR world, as people watching a tv show, the set design decision to place it here, the director's decision to have the cameraman do this specific shot and to place noah in this specific way is foreshadowing. it's a hint. it's a meta detail. it SHOULD mean something to you. another example ! jason telling lucas "you first hangover feels like you're going to split in two" is not about jason knowing he was quite literally going to end up split in two, he is just recounting his experience with his first hangover to lucas. to US, in a meta way, it's significant, because it was foreshadowing, it was a hint, it was MEANINGFUL. it wasn't a random choice of words from the writers that coincidentally ended up lining up with jason's death down the line. it was INTENTIONAL. jason as a person was not saying anything more than just "man hungovers are a real bitch lol", jason as a tv show character was quite literally telling us how he was going to meet his demise. another one : max in the school's bathroom. there is a graffiti on the wall with "i see you" and a little doodle of two blue eyes. in their world, whoever wrote this was obviously not doing this in vecna's name. it's a random person who randomly decided oto have some fun and graffiti this particular thing. in a meta way, this is referencing vecna. it's not a coincidence. especially considering this is a max scene and her arc is very closely linked to vecna this season. do you see where i'm going with this ? mike in hawkins indiana 1985, saying "i have an idea, boys only." is just letting lucas and will know that he figured out how to stop billy and that this plan requires going somewhere max and el can't follow. in their world, that's it ! but in our world, in the double meaning way (which is a very real thing, if you insinuate the stranger things dialogue, or most of cinema dialogues are "not that deep" you are quite literally insulting writers everywhere, like. straight up), in the "this is a character who's words are chosen by someone else with purpose" way, this particular phrasing is meaningful. he didn't say "i have a plan, follow me to the men's locker room guys". the writers chose a specific phrasing. it's even more obvious recontextualized : mike JUST fought with will, who told him his obsession with growing up was ruining them and the party. mike, affected by those words tries to figure out what that whole argument and his own reaction to it means to and for him. he has an idea to figure it out, and it is to let himself wander into "what if... i was..." territory as we do see in the second half of S3. (i would include screencaps but i can't be bothered rn)

mike's reaction at the end of s3 aka the conclusion of his S3 arc (in 3 parts : pushing dnd and queerness away because it's not socially acceptable -> why am i even doing this ? why am i acting like this -> right. i'm actually gay and terrified to be.) goes something like this : a scene flirting with will, followed by a scene of el kissing him and not reciprocating, followed by a scene that is shot in the same way a scene in which a character realizes something shows us the conclusion that mike has come to about himself : yes, he is gay. his own theory about himself actually being into boys was the correct theory. i think that answers the second part of your ask. someone choosing for mike to lay out his plans with this choice of words at this particular moment in the story is heavy queercoding. had it been dustin (random choice, he wasn't even there), whose narrative is simply not mike's, it would have been meaningless. it wouldn't even have been worded like that. in the case of mike, because it is mike and because of the nature of his storyline, it isn't.

[bioethicists]

Your post about unfollowing people who’re really combative online made me think about someone in particular. Apologies if this is out of nowhere so feel free to ignore.

If somebody (with thousands of followers) who isn’t a part of a specific marginalised group habitually seeks out bad takes regarding them to dunk on, isn’t that a little weird? I’m not talking about defending your friends when they’re facing discrimination or dunking on the main bigot character of the day, but regularly seeking out bad takes from small accounts that’d otherwise never seen the light of day.

It’s nobody on here I’m referencing. I feel a little crazy because this person gets heralded as a huge ally and has a lot of people in this marginalised group who’re really devoted to and defensive of them but it just really rubs me the wrong way because they seem really discourse-brained more than anything else.

yeah haha ironically i think some of the ppl on that post are seriously missing the point (which i probably could have made clearer) in terms of some of them are like. people who clearly think being told they're racist is the same as the type of behavior i'm talking about.

but also yes! this is more what i meant- people who are seeking out fights with those who would otherwise never get any attention! especially when it's takes that are NOT popular or the response is just totally disproportionate. or just building a social media brand off of over-exaggerated hatred/meanness towards people who "deserve it". it reminds me of all the cis people on here who constantly reblog shit about like... putting terfs in meat grinders but then never even lift a finger (or, more likely, are part of the mob) when trans women are sexually harassed or viciously bullied.

i don't think joking about harming bigots is some grand moral wrong, but it's often just gratuitous in a way where... are you actually expressing outrage or are you using the performance of outrage to get followers? what if that outrage is directly putting people in danger (e.g, if you find a terf with 45 followers + start sending her death threats, is that helping anyone or is it potentially provoking more violence, which you know full well you will NOT be the primary target of). i can see how this behavior can result in members of certain groups defending you, because if nobody has shown their willingness to defend you, isn't it refreshing to see someone who will? it's not so simple, either, cuz i do think ppl who do this do CARE, but i'm not sure the way that they care is sustainable or would hold up to a real, complex situation where allyship is needed.

it's so contextual + i'm not arrogant enough to pretend like i'm the one who can see the context right 100% of the time. this is a little sappy but i feel like the difference is whether the root of the anger is love/hope or if its fulfilling your own desire to lash out/release tension/look good. like "i'm pissed because i care about my trans siblings + it hurts me to see them treated this way + nobody else is saying shit for them so i'm stepping up" vs "raging online meets a need in me that i'm not willing to acknowledge + here's the perfect target". not exactly that simple but sometimes u can tell someone would be a kiwifarms bro if they didn't need social capital from a different crowd, ykwim (which btw we regularly learn that certain leftists will comb through + disseminate kiwifarms shit if it fits their vibe, which is an automatic red flag to me that you only care about drama, not morals)

it reminds me of how some "callouts" are clearly written with the intention of preventing harmful people from maintaining the power to do more harm (e.g x popular artist sexts underage fans) while many others are clearly written with glee about someone turning out to be Bad (e.g x popular artist has a private twitter that i, op, SCROUNGED to find, where they say horny things about genshin impact characters)

[1moremilgram-enjoyer]

Kazui T1 Cover - Yowamushi Montblanc

How many of these until you're all tired of it? Well, we still have twelve to go after this one, so. Today's cover analysis focuses on Kazui's Yowamushi Montblanc! Very pretty souding song!

I can't bring myself to hope for it to be true As I'm still not strong enough In our contract meeting Once again I will fall into you Each and every of my pondering Translates into only so many words I loved you, but it's become too ponderous Is that all there is to it?

(Translation)

The singer of this song has romantic feelings towards another person, but they struggle to confess to them. They don't think they're strong or brave enough to do it, so they 'can't bring themselves to hope.' Every time they meet, the singer falls in love all over again, but their thoughts (ponderings) aren't fully expressed (only so many words), so their love becomes too heavy to bear (ponderous = heavy). In particular, they're afraid of the other person's reaction to those feelings, imagining that they will react with disdain.

"You should just die this very moment"

Thus, Yowamushi Montblanc is about a person who is too afraid to reveal their own feelings, with 'yowamushi' meaning 'coward.'

...

Yep! That's Kazui! Alright, end post everyone, take care!

...

Okay fine I'll talk about it a bit more.

[Cat] All those things I wanna do that I can’t say out loud I gotta keep it inside and act The beating of this heart… see… it’s no longer about good and bad… it isn’t I realize the futility, but I still can’t help but dream

Yeah, honestly, if you had told me Yowamushi Montblanc was Kazui's Trial 3 song I would not have batted an eye. The theme of being too afraid to reveal his own feelings is extremely prevalent in Kazui's story, regardless of what those feelings exactly are.

(gay gay homosexual gay)

Hell, the guy even straight up calls himself a coward in half.

[half] So many things I wish I hadn't known, I'm just a coward

In the song, the singer hides their feelings until they start drifting away from their love interest.

Who was it that I loved? I can't remember despite all that time I spent Now it's just fading away, out of my sight Although I'm sure it's still somewhere right here I can just forget about it it will disappear my own reflection [...] Yes, you are in my thoughts hanging in the air but you are slowly fading away, completely And I can no longer tell you anything

This vaguely fits the lyrics of half, which commonly reference drifting away due to indecision and fear. Who Kazui is talking to in half is honestly a pretty good question, but for our purposes, it works particularly well if we assume he's singing to the bartender.

[half] Only if your heart would change but that’s not possible Please tell me what I should do, my heart will float away and disappear

Finally, the titular Montblanc is referenced in this lyric:

It's fine for it to be true since I can't go back Or I will get scared again This mont blanc is so sweet I want to drown in its sweetness with my bare feet

The 'sweetness' likely refers to the idea of a relationship with the love interest, since the video has a lot of sweets as imagery of the singer's desires. And the snow of the mont blanc would be the sugar.

So 'scaling up the sweet montblanc with bare feet' would be revealing their feelings to enter a relationship and thereby taking in the sweetness unfiltered. The imagery of scaling a mountain makes it clear it would be demanding, but since the singer enjoys touching the snow with bare feet (touching the 'sweetness'), they would enjoy the process of putting effort into the relationship. Does that make sense? Again, it's not too hard to relate this to Kazui wanting to reveal his true feelings as well.

However, there's a bit more symbolism if you want to go into 'is this even intentional' territory, which I do. The mountain known as Montblanc is the highest mountain in the Alps and in all of western Europe, which again shows how demanding it would be to enter the relationship. However, the most common route up the mountain, the Goûter Route, is "simple and requires few technical abilities, but [...] it is also physically demanding, and may be totally exhausting to those with limited athletic ability." It's ranked PD, which I'm sure we're all aware is the second lowest difficulty for climbing mountains; not effortless, but very doable. Therefore, it is something most people can do without much difficulty, though naturally some people will struggle more due to physical limitations.

This makes sense in the context of the song, where scaling the mountain means engaging in a relationship. Society says being in a relationship is something most people should be able to do without much difficulty, but the protagonist does struggle with. There are several societal issues that converge in that point, but that's the main idea; the singer might feel insecure that they can't fulfill societal expectations.

...

Yep! That's him!

(T1) Q3: If you were allowed to do anything, what would you want to do? K: I'd like to live righteously.

(T1) Q4: Do you think that your family is proud of you? K: No. They must find me embarrassing.

Plus other stuff like this. Again, doubt I have to explain much further, Kazui's struggles to conform to expectations is another of his main character themes. One he shares with his prisoner pair partner, 08, who shall not be named lest I accidentally derail the entire post talking about her.

Anyways, that was that for Yowamushi Montblanc! Take care!

[jackwolfes]

Jesthias [Referenced Helnik/unrequited Kazper] // Six of Crows // 2241 words // M rated @kinktober2023 Day 3: Hate Sex Bonus warnings: light daddy kink (mostly mocking)

[all kinktober fills]

The forearm pressing against his collarbone smarts, and Jesper knows it’ll probably bruise. 

He breathes in and laughs about it, but it hurts, too — and he likes it. He really fucking likes it. When he grins it’s slow and filthy, but the stern glare Matthias sends him in response stays still like solid stone. The room around them is dark, lit only by the secretive glint of the lights outside. The windows up here aren’t thick enough to block out the noise, but Jesper can’t differentiate any of the roaring laughter of drunks on the street with his own rushing pulse, slamming repeatedly in the corners of his mind. 

“Could’ve bought me dinner first,” he tells Matthias. Then he grins, wide enough that — hopefully — the light catches the glint of his teeth.

“Be quiet,” Matthias scolds. 

Jesper thinks it’s almost funny to be scolded when he has his back up against the wall and the bulge of Matthias Helvar’s cock against his thigh. He wasn’t hard when Jesper first started needling him in the bar downstairs, but they aren’t downstairs anymore. They’re in the cramped little storeroom up here, allegedly finding something for Kaz, but neither of them are stupid enough to believe that. 

So Jesper tips his chin up, back of his head hitting the wall as he feels the pinch of Matthias’ arm holding him up against it. “Whatever you want,” he whispers with a cocky smile, “daddy.” 

The shudder Matthias gives him in response is full body, paired with a red flush spreading along his face, his neck, the peeking hint of chest that Jesper can see in his sinfully hot shirt. It’s buttoned high, but not high enough. 

He grins, like the cheeky little bastard he is. There’s laughter following, and laughter that makes the tiny thrust of his hips up against Matthias’ thigh a lot dirtier. In response he gets the forearm against his collarbone pressing harder. Jesper wonders absently if he’s going to end up bruised. Oh, he certainly hopes so. 

He wriggles a little, squirming and writhing and getting close to moaning – not because Matthias has done anything, just because he’s desperate. 

“You dirty fucker,” Jesper drawls, voice slow. He very badly wants to take them back on track. 

“Be quiet,” Matthias repeats again. Jesper laughs again, which leaves Matthias shoving harder again. “I said, be quiet.” 

Jesper darts his eyes between icy blue eyes and a perpetual scowl, lips he wants to have kiss him hard into the wall at his back. “Make me,” he murmurs.

He knows the world sees him and thinks he’s a slut. It’s not hard to see. It’s not hard to guess, either, with his slow grins and the lazy tilt of his hips. He tips his chin up at anyone that smiles – because he’s a whore, because he's desperate, because he needs – but he doesn’t think he actually ever means anything by it. He wants a very particular person that isn’t Matthias Helvar, a person Jesper wants to pin him up against a wall and hurt him too, but he can’t have that — so he spreads his legs and welcomes Matthias in with greedy lips and wine-stained promises. 

Only the Saints know what Jesper is thinking at any given time. What he knows now is that he kind of wants Matthias begging. 

Matthias doesn’t beg; of course he doesn’t. He leans back, though, releasing Jesper just for a second before picking up his thin wrist in cold hands and pinning it hard to the wall beside his head. Jesper feels himself inhale sharply. Fuck. 

Then he slams his lips against Jesper’s and starts to kiss him. 

It’s a bit wild and full of teeth, tongue, spit and split lips — nearly, at least. Maybe Jesper is getting ahead of himself, maybe he’s hoping. All the same he bites down hard on Matthias’ bottom lip and hopes for retribution, arching his back and starting to rock his hips up into the ones pressing him to the wall. Jesper has to wonder how Matthias thinks the world sees him. Brutish, angry, bitter, cold. None of it’s right, although maybe he’s leaning into some of that now for Jesper’s sake. There’s a bitter taste at the back of his tongue at the thought. He just wants Matthias. He always wants just Matthias. A friend, although there’s animosity. A friend, all the same. He wants the man that’s clearly pining with a fierce passion for someone, too, leaving the two of them sides of the same coin. Mistaken for something they aren’t; desperate for scraps of affection; denied the people they really want.  

Matthias doesn’t say who exactly it is that he’s pining after, although Jesper has his suspicions. He doesn’t pull them out, even on nights like this — which happen more and more each passing week, tensions growing between them till they snap like twigs and lead to one of them with their mouth full. It’s usually mouths, or hands, but never more. Jesper has his suspicions about why that is, too. 

When Matthias pulls away — not letting go of Jesper’s wrist — they both gasp. Aware it makes him look desperate but not stopping it, Jesper tries to lean in for another kiss, but Matthias doesn’t grant it, even when Jesper grumbles. “I fucking hate you,” he whispers. Matthias’ iron glare doesn’t melt, doesn’t bend. “Come on, Helvar. Get me off or let me go.” 

And he’s a fucking dick, in Jesper’s opinion, but he isn’t stupid; they’re both here for one thing. He squeezes his grip around Jesper’s wrist, fingernails digging in even though Jesper thinks he probably didn’t mean for them to. Then he takes his other hand — the one that came up to rest on Jesper’s hip, not shoving him back in the wall so much as it was just there to hold him, unfortunately — and uses it to fumble with the lace of Jesper’s trousers.

“Stop moving,” Matthias tells him. Jesper doesn’t listen. 

“There’s lube in my front pocket,” he replies. “Don’t need a condom if you want to fuck me.” 

Ice-cold eyes lift to look at Jesper, bitter as ever. “I won’t,” he says, voice firm and a little disappointing. 

“Prude,” Jesper breathes. He kind of means it. He mostly doesn’t. “Want me to fuck you instead? Is that what it is? Is that your big dirty secret?”

He sees fire in Matthias’ eyes, dangerous depths — but every sort of fire is dangerous for a man that’s usually cold. “Ask Kaz for it if you want it so bad,” he replies. 

It burns like liquid metal. 

When Jesper was a teenager working with a gunsmith near his father’s farm there had been an incurable urge at the sight of molten iron, calling to him like a siren — do it, touch it, you want it — even though he knew how hot it was. He never touched it, not even by accident, but he saw the aftermath of metal burns. Years after the fact, when they were faded so smooth scars lined on dark skin of his mentor’s hands and arms, but smarting with the ache probably forever. 

Matthias speaks the name of a man Jesper pretends he hasn’t fallen for and it burns just as bad; Jesper will feel it for days. 

“Don’t,” he snaps, jerking away from Matthias’ touch. “Fucking don’t.”

He yanks on the grip holding his arm, hard enough to force Matthias to work at keeping him still. In his surprise at Jesper’s outburst his hands go slack, loose enough that he’s set free. On instinct Jesper shoves him, so hard that he stumbles, tripping over whatever the fuck this shitty storeroom is full of. Jesper glares at him. He can see regret in Matthias’ eyes but doesn’t bother feeling vindicated. He just feels angry. It’s hatred, except he isn’t strong enough to actually believe that it’s hatred, and just kind of feels sad about it. The one thing Jesper is sure that he does hate is the look of pity in Matthias’ eyes, so he steps into his space again, grabs the collar of his shirt, and yanks him back into a kiss. 

They stumble on their way back to the wall, slamming Jesper up against it one more time. Almost all of Matthias’ weight ends up pressing into his, forcing him flat but still managing to have the space to shove a hand between them and pull Jesper’s cock out of his trousers. Jesper bites his own bottom lip, too stubborn to moan, and sinks his teeth in harder to hold it back. Bloody iron bursts on his tongue, and he’d laugh at the irony of the fact he did it to himself. It doesn’t really matter. 

It hurts. He likes it. He starts to cry anyway. 

Matthias works his cock faster, faster, and Jesper feels tears spring up to the corner of his eye — maybe because he’s hurting or maybe because he feels really fucking excellent. He cries because it’s good, he cries because he’s hollow, he cries because there’s something in the back of his head that won’t let him do anything else. It’s a need, and he’s never been one to control his emotions. They swallow him whole. Just once — just once — he’d like to get ahead of the curve and hurt them first. He’s tired of them hurting him. He just wants control. With Matthias, he doesn’t have control, but he never gets it. With Matthias, he gives it up – or, more accurately, forces Matthias to take it. It’s what they both need, and Jesper is more than willing. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—!” 

With a fractured cry Jesper comes, hips stuttering and legs wobbling. His head drops and comes to rest on Matthias’ shoulder, which Jesper never usually does — but he can’t help himself. Matthias’ other hand has come up to rest on his hip again. As Jesper’s orgasm flickers away into fading sparks behind his eyelid he feels Matthias’ hand on him. It’s warm. 

Then Jesper’s legs go out from underneath him. 

If Matthias were any less startled Jesper likes to think he’d have caught him, but he doesn’t seem to have been expecting it. When Jesper’s knees wobble again he thinks for a moment it’s going to be temporary, but it isn’t. He crashes to the floor and, although Matthias’ hand does clench on his hip, it doesn’t keep him upright. With a groan, tinged in laughter, Jesper hits the ground. With his back against the wall it isn’t so bad, but it isn’t ideal. He kicks his legs out ahead of himself, dropping his head back with another thunk to hit the wall. 

To his credit, Matthias doesn’t force him upright again. He extracts himself from the tangled mess of long limbs, then lowers himself to sit back down at Jesper’s side. Not once does he comment on the heavy rise and fall of Jesper’s chest. Jesper doesn’t even have it in him to say something snarky about the fact it was his fault in the first place. 

“Give me a second,” he pants. Matthias tips his head, as noncommittal as he gets. The man doesn’t shrug, Jesper’s noticed. 

They sit together in almost-silence, both of them breathing and saying nothing. The sounds from out the cheap window filter through, although Jesper still isn’t quite able to make them out yet. He lifts a hand and touches his fingertips to his lip, staring at it when it comes away bloody. Shit. 

“It’s Nina.” 

Jesper lifts his head. Matthias isn’t looking at him, just staring out at the cramped room around them. “What?” 

“Nina Zenik. My big, dirty secret.” His voice is wry, and tastes like acid. Jesper blinks, looking at him with a blank sort of look as he tries to make sense of what Matthias means. He only barely remembers saying those words, but he does remember. They’d been mean. He’d meant for them to be, at least. 

“I thought you were gay,” he says. Matthias finally turns his head, looking quizzically at him. Jesper shrugs. “I thought I was your secret side piece while you dealt with all of the emotional repression you have going on.” 

To his surprise, he gets a laugh. “No,” he says easily. “I like women. Or — I like Nina.”

Jesper blinks, then narrows his eyes. “She’s wanted to fuck you for like, a year.” 

Unsurprisingly, Matthias only scowls. “It isn’t that simple.” 

“She wants to fuck you, you apparently aren’t too gay for it, and you want to fuck her back? What isn’t simple about it?”

Jesper has been pining after his best friend, sexuality unclear, for years now, but Matthias is calling this tricky? Incredulity sparks in his vision. Kaz only seems interested in money and revenge, except for the fact he leaves Jesper with just enough hope to keep wanting. But here’s Matthias, with a beautiful girl incredibly down to fuck that he just can’t get over himself enough to ask on a date. Matthias, who gives Jesper an even glare and says nothing further, which makes him scoff. He rubs a hand over his scalp, shaking his head. 

“Alright,” he says. “You know where I am until you get up the balls to do something about it.”

“I have no intention of doing anything about it anytime soon, you know.”

With nothing else to do for it, Jesper only laughs. “Saints help my stamina, then.”