#turning red somehow influenced my drawings well

[dsknsk]

I love how PM keeps playing with tropes. We've seen the tropes that they deconstruct within Limbus (in fact, it is a theory of mine that each Sinner is based on a stereotypical character from gachas), the way that they pick up the cyberpunk trope and basically throw it across the room, but another huge one is...

Carmen.

Look. I think that Carmen was and is based on the traditional 'Mary Sue'. Because...well, some traits that are said to belong to the 'Mary Sue', are turned brilliantly on their head by PM. So, for typical 'Mary Sue' traits, there's:

Pretty in the traditional sense. 'Mary Sues' always look perfect, peerless and never have to work hard to maintain their image. While, as far as I know, there hasn't really been made an in-universe compliment on Carmen's physical appearance...you'd rather stop and listen to someone who at least looks like they can be trusted wouldn't you? She's likened to the sun, as Oswald called her that, and is inside the light. (Also, out-of-universe: she is certainly pretty in my eyes. She adheres to the modern beauty standards at the very least).

Related to the above: charming. The 'Mary Sue' often has an innate charm that attracts others to her. The way that Carmen has this is through her voice, which already was powerful enough to let her traverse the dangerous Backstreets unarmed, standing out from all those other Backstreets preachers somehow and draw in the most cynical noblemen, but is even more charming after death. She doesn't even need to give a breaking speech or anything, as we've seen, she just gives you questions and comments on things. Which falls in line with...

Powerful, yet without having to break a sweat. Even before dying, she was already drawing in people without having to get physical (at least, none we know of). The only time we fight her as of yet (Kether realisation), Angela needs to use an attack that depletes all her HP to win, after five phases have already passed.

The 'Mary Sue' is often a so-called spotlight stealer. She will have a major role in the story, inexplicably, at least one other character will fall in love with her and she will overall have a large presence. So far, Carmen is the only character who has appeared in all three of the games, and if you count the Distortion and the Library, she has influenced WonderLab, Leviathan and Distortion Detective as well. She was also relevantly connected to the main cast of LobCorp and has influenced most of them in some way (i.e Ayin, Angela, Giovanni, arguably Kali, etc.). She remains to be relevant to several major story turns and has left her mark in them, in some way.

Unusual eyes. It's a stereotype that 'Mary Sues' always have unusual eyes. A common type is heterochromia (which is why I often jokingly call Hong Lu a 'Mary Sue'), but other types exist like sparkly rainbow or them changing like a mood ring or something. Carmen has red eyes, which are a common side-effect of body enhancements (Vergilius had them and the R Corp pack leaders too)...except, as we said, for as far as we know, Carmen hasn't had any. They are also a trait of Bloodfiends, but she isn't (yet) confirmed to be one. Either way, red eyes are a sign of the not-weak in the City.

Oftentimes, 'Mary Sues' are referred to as divinity, as pure grace from an utmost high all-powerful deity. They may or may not even be that deity. With Carmen, she practically had a cult of personality around her when she was alive...and she also had an analogue in another pale-skinned, red-eyed being that is also treated like this. She was described as this paeon of altruism and someone who genuinely wants the best for humanity.

Meaningful name. While not so immediately on-the-nose like 'Flowersparkle', Carmen's name can be seen as a reference to the infamous prototype of the femme fatale, once again hinting at that charming quality of hers.

Perfect. A 'Mary Sue' never fails at what she does...and that's where PM shows through that...

...Carmen is a parody on the 'Mary Sue'. A so-called 'Parody Sue'...but not played for laughs. The thing is that she is described as being all this...by those she already has enthralled. Those that aren't really involved with her - Hokma (was more loyal to Ayin), Binah (who wasn't in the picture during Carmen's life), and Roland (a stranger to LobCorp to begin with) have their say during Ruina and offer us another view at Carmen, our first, and one thing becomes clear:

A real 'Mary Sue' would be weird as fuck.

Carmen shows us how weird a 'Mary Sue' would actually be in a world that isn't sunshine and rainbows - an extremely uncanny, severely misguided being who nonetheless draws people to herself, who show a creepy amount of belief and devotion to her. Carmen thinks that the 'be yourself' message - so omnipresent in media - should prevail...in a world where the majority of people are either pieces of shit or are living such a dreary, miserable life that they just give up all hope.

But all of this is only revealed in the second game and pulls the player out of the dream. And so, Carmen does end up failing to convince some people like Dongbaek and Dongrang who manage to develop E.G.O instead.

Because despite what she was painted as in the past, in reality, Carmen is not a 'Mary Sue'. And she is not perfect.

That's why she's such a great PM character.

[the-traveling-poet]

══════════════════════

Laughter

══════════════════════

Once the vets, yourself included, came to the realization you’d never heard so much as a chuckle from the infamous Captain Levi, a plan is immediately formed in order to find out just how his laugh might sound.

Although, you might just discover a little more.

══════════════════════

Pairing: Levi x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, alcohol consumption

Taglist: @21aurora @deepzombieyouth @braunsbabe

══════════════════════

A/N: I got inspiration from this lovely post to write a little drabble for Levi’s adorable little laugh, and getting to hear it for the first time. So here I am taking a quick break from my fic to write some fluff!

══════════════════════

Levi wasn’t one to physically express the emotions he felt on a daily basis. He kept his facial features neutral, for the most part.

Of course, if he were angered or stressed, perhaps concerned or confused, his facial muscles would respond accordingly; yet, always minutely. A raise of a brow here, a frown there, eyelids narrowing over grey pupils or nimble fingers tightening around the rim of his cup.

These were all physical signals his companions could take note of to guess at which emotion he was currently experiencing.

While discussing this once, among other things, you’d made the comment that soon shaped a plan you’d all soon hatch.

Had anyone ever seen him smile? A fleeting grin? Perhaps been quick enough to hear a chuckle, or even better; a full on laugh?

Hange, Miche, Nanaba and Erwin had no answers, and neither did you.

So here you all were now, sitting amongst yourselves in a loose circle with drinks in hand and a deck of cards splayed messily on the table top. The plan was to get Levi to loosen up a bit while under the influence, should he provide consent to your little game.

Hange had forced Levi to join the rest of you, despite his protests. Though, those soon died out when you stood and offered the man a seat with such a hopeful smile.

Grumbling all the while, he had sat next to your left and accepted a hand of cards and a bottle of alcohol. Satisfied that the first part had been accomplished, Hange shot you a triumphant grin and took their seat.

You all tried your best to either poke fun at one another or share jokes, ranging from mild to borderline offensive humor; just to catch a peak at Levi’s expression changing.

He indeed loosened up after several drinks, but hadn’t upturned his lips even once yet. Occasionally he had added onto some jest aimed another’s way, and leaned back comfortably in his chair. You were hopeful this would eventually lead to him relaxing his pressed lips into a smile.

But it wasn’t until you were on the brink of giving up nearly an hour into the card game, that he muttered a soft sound.

Reaching across the table for a card to draw, you’d scoffed under your breath with a glare aimed Miche’s way.

“Really, Miche? You play cards like titan’s shit; they cant.” 

The muffled sound from your left made you hesitate to grab the card off the deck.

Surely not…

Hange nearly dropped their hand of cards, while Miche and Erwin easily let theirs clatter to the table. It finally was happening, you realized, as you stared at the raven beside you.

His red tinted face was half obscured by his hand, while the other hand laid his cards onto the table. With shaking shoulders and watering eyes, Levi met your bewildered stare and again the sound escaped him. Though he attempted to muffle it, he couldn’t seem to hold it in anymore.

Slowly that muffled chuckle turned into an actual laugh as his hand started to fall away from his mouth. His lips were pulled back in a casual grin, exposing white teeth as he took in a breath.

“…Like titan’s shit…” He giggled. Actually, giggled. The hand previously covering his face clutched at his stomach as tears lined his silver eyes. His laughter was contagious; lighter than his usual tone and somehow softer.

You stared on in awe as Hange soon burst out in laughter as well, making no attempt to hide their amusement. Erwin chuckled along with the shake of his head while Miche tried his best to grumble about the insult, but after a shared look with Nanaba he too snorted through his nose.

“That’s the best damn joke I’ve ever heard,” Levi chuckled, raising what was left of the booze in his bottle towards his lips to finish it off. He glanced back your way, and you couldn’t help but notice the blush adorning his cheeks and his ears remained as he continued to smile your way. Shaking yourself of the shock, a grin broke out over your face.

“And that’s the best damn laugh I’ve ever heard,” You giggled back, watching as he caught his breath. The tips of his ears grew a little redder, and he suddenly became very interested in gathering up the cards he’d set down, grumbling something or another under his breath.

You grinned over at Hange, expecting to silently celebrate your all’s success with them. But the section commander only grinned back at you, glancing between Levi and yourself with a suggestive wiggle of their brows.

Your flustered gaze flitted between Hange and Levi, slowly putting together what they had silently suggested. Levi caught the look and immediately reached for another bottle, and you were quick to do the same.

The game commenced; laughter bouncing off the walls and cards sliding across the table like nothing had happened. But with the sparse glances shared with Levi, accompanied by his occasional chuckle, you knew things weren’t quite going to be the same again. At least, between the two of you.

Laying down another card from your hand, you grinned the raven’s way with determination to make him laugh once again.

[morallyinept]

BLOOD & TINSEL - A Max Phillips Christmas One Shot

Summary: Your boss Max is your office Secret Santa, and gifts you with a rather interesting gift, that you feel incredibly compelled to thank him for.

Pairing: Max Phillips x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)

Word Count: 4k

Scoville Smut Rating: 🌶️🌶️🌶️ "You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Warnings/triggers - Mild dubcon (reader wants it)/manipulation through Vampire enthral/unprotective PIV (wrap up, folks)/oral M & F receiving/mentions of blood/biting/DP/use of a sex toy

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

If this story isn't for you, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: If only Max was my office Secret Santa this year... 🫠

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Enjoy & Happy Holidays! 🎄🖤

The gall. 

The sheer fucking gall as you peer down into the gift bag courses through your veins and bubbles on the back of your neck with heady prickles. Circling around your nipples, pulling tight as your body resists - and fails at - the urge to retaliate.

It’s what he wants, after all. 

You know he’ll be watching, will be savouring; revelling in the sadistic voyeurism that such a thrill of one upmanship provokes in you. 

You’re hungry for it, he could smell it on you from the very first day he strode into the office pulling off his shades and talking about selling dreams with a bite to his point.

He could smell it in your blood as it fizzed through your veins, riding hard on the serotonin when you took the title of top salesperson in the office for the seventh consecutive month in a row. 

He could taste it on your cunt as he had you spread over his desk, screaming for more from him, face buried between your legs on a regular turn.

You can’t even remember how it started between you anymore. How you had succumbed so willingly and easy, without the fight in you that you knew you had to resist, somewhere.

It was like he’d reached inside you, scooping all the pulp of your resistance out and throwing it to the floor as he wiped his hands down on a moist towelette.

You can sense him, somehow.

Max was just there, fountain pen poison in your veins, a permanent hole in your head; abstract dreams in your sleep that didn’t make sense.

The air always seems to become charged in his presence, with an otherworldly energy, and a subtle, silken weight settling upon your consciousness. 

It's as if unseen threads of enchantment are delicately weaving through your every thought, creating a cocoon of sweet, intoxicating allure.

Colours appear more vivid, sounds more melodic, and time itself seems to stretch and contract in the presence of this unsettling influence that beckons with a finger and you willingly follow.

You want this. He says so, you want this, as he beckons his fingers and you’ll follow without thinking it, without resisting. WIthout having legs anymore.

You feel both weightless and anchored, caught in a web of unspoken beguilement that leaves you simultaneously breathless and entranced. All you know is the colour red is prominent.

Red, like his tie that he stuffs into your mouth sometimes to stop your moans when they get too visceral. 

It’s a peculiar feeling, but one you can never draw a straight answer upon. He’s incredibly attractive, alluring. A sharp pull of magnetism that is as sharp as his teeth pressing into your flesh, as he fills you with hot mercury.

You stare into the gift bag plonked onto your desk and check the tag again. 

Merry Christmas, love Santa. 

But you’re not looking for them; you're searching out his eyes that you know are watching.

You shake your head, and glance around the office to see if anyone else is aware of the steam coming out of your ears.

But of course they’re oblivious, eyes glued to screens like the mindless, obedient drones they’ve become. Max moulds them in his image, thrust from his rib; a God among mere mortal men.

You can feel them roam your skin like bugs, setting it alight with prickles; talons tearing into the ribbons of your flesh. Revelling in your heat as it all pools into the centre of your thighs unwillingly, or maybe you’ve always been this slick and ready. 

You spy him through the window in his office. Staring, statue still, hands in his pants pockets and nothing moves except the smile widening, pulling more macabre across his brilliant, hawkish face. 

You clutch the bag and march towards his office, but as you approach, drawing into those eyes, you can feel the sheer indignance melt away into some euphoric desire.

Your vision is cast in ultraviolet, as you push through his door, heartbeat clamouring inside your ears. All you can hear is your blood pulsing, hammering. You can feel the weight of your clit, solid steel in between your legs.

You toss the gift bag down on the desk, the offending item rolling out of it across the polished wooden surface, taunting you, inciting you. 

Turning you the fuck on.

Max takes a beat forward, arm reaching towards the door and pushes it shut. The click when it finally snaps into the lock sounds like a shotgun in your ears and you visibly flinch.

He snickers, small breaths like claws coming to get you. 

The metal chinking of the blinds, as he slips them down with a quick tug on the cords, feel like razors on your skin; goosebumps flood across your epidermis at full speed.

It’s always so fucking cold in his office with the air conditioner constantly on.

Again, you can feel that tightness in your nipples as they peak sharply under your bra, concealed razor blades of your own.  

Max glances back at you with that slick smirk cocked and aimed, and you forget momentarily why you’re annoyed.

Are you annoyed?

It all pales into insignificance as he steps forward and you take a step backwards.

You repeat that you want this from a mouth that doesn’t feel like yours anymore. He’s taken your lips in his and the rest is a dream from which you wake feeling groggy and sore, and like something is missing.

The cat and mouse dance you always engage in for reasons you’re not quite sure of, the thrill perhaps? Foreplay?

It always goes the same, you tell him no. He tells you you want this, with fingers twirling in your face, and then you nod like your head might fall off your shoulders and roll across the floor. 

You feel emptier somehow, drained. And yet so full at the same time. 

Months and months of unexplained fatigue and your doctor telling you you’re anaemic now as he fills yet another prescription for you.

Prescribing pills that you don’t take because Max doesn’t like the taste of you when you take them.

And sometimes you can’t understand what he means by that odd jumble of words.

You see the bottles stacking up in your bathroom cabinet and the marks left on your skin, but you can’t fill in the blanks.

And wanting it. You want this.

You can see them, clear as day, those blanks. An unfinished crossword puzzle that berates you each day about your inept dumbness.

You can see his teeth, feel his cock; remember both of them ripping you open so obscenely. 

Yet it doesn’t compute into something panic worthy. It’s a halcyon that you float in ubiquitously and any questions you have are met with that soft ignorance. It’s bliss after all. 

And a part of you doesn’t want to displease him; he’s your boss. He could fire you if you don't perform. So you keep performing, like a puppet prancing on jolty strings for him.

You keep your name at the top of the board in a dried out marker pen that you keep meaning to replace, and he rewards you with gifts like this. It’s better than a pay rise. 

“Shall we try out your gift?” Max queries with a click of his tongue, and reaches for it. It’s sleek, black - curved. He presses the side of it and it vibrates to life.

"Now?" You query.

“Take your panties off, gorgeous.” He nods once.

“I can’t… you told me not to wear any.” You peep. You voice feels cold in your throat, full of icicles.

His hand goes to his head like he’s dumb, but he’s anything but. “Of course, how silly of me!”

“I-”

Max steps forward, his hips clattering against yours and he roots you to the wall; the swell of his cock felt heavy and hard against your thigh. Everything about him is hard. Hard edges, hard desire, hard cock.

“How good of you, hmm? Such a good girl for me aren’t you?”

“Say it.” 

“I’m a good girl for you, Max.”

It’s a feeling you recall, a craving. The blood rushes to the back of your eyeballs and you can see it, how each vibration makes everything dance scarlet in the air around you. 

You can feel him wrench up your skirt, and you gasp as he slides the vibe up the length of your slit.

Your palms slap against the wall steadying yourself as your thighs twitch when he brushes it over the swell of your clit.

“Oh, you like that.” He grins as he presses it against you and holds it there, vibrating on the end of your clit. 

“Fuck…” Your hands find your way onto his lapels twisting and clutching at the fabric desperately. “M-max!” You gasp and he raises his other finger to his lips and shushes you. 

A velvety warmth courses through your veins, spreading a languid tranquillity that blurs the line between reality and illusion; your perceptions fuzz and meld. Each whispered command from him seems to ripple through the fragile membranes of your lust, leaving you bound in a submissive dance of surrender, where the line between volition and compulsion dissolves into a heady trance.

“Do you want the whole office to hear how much of a slut you are for me, hmm? I bet you would. I need them to work on the merger. Can’t have any distractions, 'kay?"

He shakes his head and you nod yours with it in agreement. 

Your movements become a graceful ballet of compliance instead of stiff defiance, guided by an ethereal choreography that only Max orchestrates with the vibrator pushed so deftly to your clit.

You just know that you can trust him, like he says. 

The world outside the office is a distant murmur, as if you're floating on the edge of consciousness, caught between the real and the fantastical.

A place that he keeps you suspended in. It's a realm where surrender feels like liberation, where he’ll always catch you when you fall. You don’t know how or why, you just know he will. 

“Max…” you pant.

He sweeps your hair to the side and buries his face in the crook of your neck. 

Each breath is a raw, savage echo in your rib cage, home to destitute lungs. Your hand clutches around his wrist. Whether it’s to pull it against you more or push it away, you're undecided.

Another blank.

You feel his tongue at the same delicate spot, licking slowly up and down the place he leaves a permanent bruise and scabs. It’s not the place he favours to drink from you, but it’s in easy reach when you're at your desk and he can lean over, whispering into your ear all the sordid things he’s going to do to you.

Polluting you with images of the lewd and terrifically unmerciful until you whine and beg him to do them all.

“You know what to do if you want to come, honey.” He tempts in your ear. 

“Please…”

“Nu-uh.”

“Please, Max!”

“You know what I want to hear.”

You swallow, the vein in your neck swelling against his tongue. 

He pushes the vibrator harder against your clit and you cry out. “Take it, Max. Have me!” 

You feel the sharp scratch of his teeth as the feeling rushes through you. 

“Ma-hax!” You call out.

His bluntly manicured hand comes over your mouth as he drinks, the heady pull birthing red glitter behind your eyelids; miniscule metallic fragments slicing into the jelly of your eyeballs.

Your body is trembling on the end of the vibrator, slick dripping down your jerking thighs.

The metallic graze of his flies, a sharp sting on your ass and then he’s inside you, shunting you further over the desk.

You feel yourself slipping, your back sliding down the wall but he hoists you up, instantly throwing you over the desk.

Your palms slap down against the polished wood to prevent a concussion with how fast he moves.

“Do you know how hard it is for me to stop? To have to restrain myself not to take it all? I fucking want you.” He growls. 

You can hear his words, hear how he winds himself up all day watching you, harbouring you for his own thrills. He blames your humanity, your warmth on his addiction. You, you, you.

He’s addicted to you, a vice with a beating heart and a wet cunt between your legs for him to take whenever he wants. 

“Come for me!” He growls. “Come on,” he says with another hard slap to your ass.

You do and he stops to watch you shaking, rattling around on the end of his cock, possessed by something else that slithers out from the dark crevices to take you.   

He leans over you, hand clamped around your jaw, the bullseye tattoo blurred in the corner of your vision. His breath is like lava in your ears.

“Tell me you want it. Tell me you want me!” He’s desperate, sloppy. Unravelling from the feel of your cunt still ribbing around him.

“Max! I want you!” You wail.

And it’s more than a simple echo of his words; somewhere, deep down amongst all the fog, you do want him. A part of you wanted him the very first day he stepped in here and made his ghoulish transformations. 

You wanted him before the fog came and blinded you.

He licks over your mouth, pulling it away before you can chase it with yours. 

The base of his cock is so wet, dripping with you all around it. You reach down and cup his balls, squeezing gently as he groans into the bone hollow of your cheek. 

You know he likes it, one of the most vulnerable parts of him squeezed gently in your hand.

“You are so delicious. I could eat you all up.” Max hums.

You’re laying on your back now, legs thrown up and stretched wide like they're broken and misshapen. 

“Look at me fucking you like this. Oh, you take it like a champ!” Max growls. 

He reaches for the vibrator and pushes it against your clit again, your voice clawing at the walls. 

He pulls out and you hear him spit; fingers at the tight rim of your ass follow. The vibrator disappears too but then you feel the pressure, feel it burning, feel it breaking through your consciousness with the intensity of it.

Your hand ghosts down your navel, over the bulbous swell of your clit to find the vibrator stuffed inside your cunt.

He lets the vibrator fuck you, keeping it inside you with just the slightest notches of it with his thumb, as it whirs and pulls your groans from you in soaked chokes.

Max tips you further, ass higher in the air and it feels like you're flying, nothing to support you from your lower spine as you're on the edge of the desk precariously. 

“Oh… fuck!” Your body sparks, the vibrator plugged inside your pussy and unravelling you one sense at a time until there’s nothing left. Until you're plain, unmoulded clay that’s lost its elasticity, boneless on the desk in Max’s office as you cry out and squeeze. 

The vibrator starts to slide out of you as you contract, but he simply pushes his thumb back on it, watching as you lose any semblance of control.

You flood round the vibrator, glistening tracks pool around your lips and slip, dripping down towards your ass. 

He runs in cock in them, catching the slick trails on his head, lathering himself up as he teases around that tight knot of flesh and muscle. 

Max pulls the vibrator up and out of your cunt slowly, letting you ride the last ripples of it as he lines himself up. 

“You want this,” he repeats and you nod, the hole in your face getting wider and swallowing the universe.

"I want this," you hear yourself say.

The head of the vibe and the head of his cock push together, sliding into both of your holes at the same time. Taking their agonisingly sweet time to fill you, neither one breaching before the other. 

You jolt as he breaks through, pain replaced with the ombre wave of lightheadedness as your eyes roll back until you’re blind.

He thrusts himself and the vibrator slowly, deeply. 

“Oh my God, I can feel you so deep inside me,” you groan. Or scream. You're not entirely sure as your eardrums feel like they’ve already burst.

“Do you like it, my cock in your ass like this? It's not even lunchtime yet and you're already full.”

“This is my favourite way to fuck you, baby. Balls deep in your ass.” Max seethes as he works his hips.

He tosses his tie over his shoulder casually as he grips onto your ass. He keeps his thumb on the vibrator as he fucks you more intensely. 

He stretches his fingers out and strokes at your clit. 

You can’t answer him, choking for air as you pant. You’re so full it takes the literal air from your windpipe.

“You know, I don't remember hearing you thanking me for your present…” He tuts rather dramatically, his tongue clicking around his teeth.

“Thank you.” You whine as his fingers slip over your oily clit. 

“What was that?” He taunts, his other hand raising to his ear.

“Thank you, Max.” You groan, your upper body contorting against the desk as though another entity lives inside and is trying to get out.

“Louder.” He pants, rutting wilding as he hits the deepest parts of you.

“Thank you! Thank you, Max!” You thrash. 

He holds onto your waist now as he pummels and you stare up into him, jaw slack. The sound of your moans dying on the end of your wilted tongue as he turns you out. 

His eyes meet yours, creased into dark slits with the strain. He sweats, slick around his neck and you wonder how, somewhere in the commotion, you wonder how he sweats when he doesn't breathe. 

You can feel the cricking of your neck as you rise up and he swoops in to meet you, lips crushed against yours, your fingers knotting around the silk of his tie.

He doesn’t breathe, but he sweats.

You deduce he must be magic. Yes, that’s it, he’s magical. He must be to make you feel this fucking good, this unopen and… free. 

And then you hear it; the little whimper that crawls up the back of his throat. The simper of longing, of the moment he’s utterly destroyed by you. Dust in the sunlight, gloopy blood splattered up the walls.

You kill him, every time. 

And when he dies, it's only then that you can see the light again; you swim out of the fog for a second into the stark reality to face the clamping chokehold he has over you.

It’s like stepping outside of your own body for a moment, watching him fuck your ass on his desk. Hearing him growl and transmogrify back to his humanity, if but for a second as he finds peace inside of you, finds his own way back to a time he can’t remember anymore.

A familiar, yet alien taste he sucks it out of the deep crevices of his own gums.

And you can see it all, feel it all. Know that he has you in a spell of some kind. Know that he’s manipulated this into effect with thick fingers and words that glamour, and yet somehow it transcends all that.

Any anger you have, any rationale to be disgusted or scared leans into a desired acceptance as Max looks at you.

A man behind cocoa brown eyes and tan, youthful skin that won’t wither. He’s stripped off the mask, revealing the man behind the monster, and in this moment right here, dangling precariously on the cusp with your fingertips, you can see it and understand it.

You really do want this. You crave it. And you wouldn't change it. 

Whispering his name on breathless pants.

He sees it too, the clearing of your glassy eyes; the bloody cataracts lifted. The control relinquished if but for a fleeting moment as he loses his grip on everything except the pleasure.

And before he can act, before he can cast his spell over you again, you're independently pulling him closer, kissing him deeper.

“Max, Max, Max…” 

An incantation of his name, willing him to never stop. “Come for me, Max.” You plead. "Fill me up, Max. I need you, Max. I fucking want you, Max."

His fangs protrude, his cock swells and you lean back, giving him your throat, not because you’re under his thrall. But because you want to. 

“Fuck!” He growls, pulling you closer and he pumps harder, quicker. Frantic.

Ready to blow, ready to bite down hard on you like he always does when he pops off. 

You want this.

You want him to devour you. To have all of you. To make you in his image. For him to tell you why he sweats.

“Please, please, please. Oh my fucking God.” 

“You want it?”

“I want you, Max. Have me, take it.” 

He pants harder, his voice punching out around his uvula as he comes. He grasps his cock, feeling it pulse around his grip into your tight hole, filling you with him.

He punctures into your skin again, tasting the ripeness of you. Warm wetness gushes into his mouth and around his cock.

You hold him close to you, hands tight around the back of his head as he drinks, falling backwards, slowly until your head feels the molten heat singeing your hair from the centre of the earth.

He pulls it out gently and watches himself pool, dripping out slowly. He runs the head of his cock in it, pushing back inside your cunt this time, discarding the vibrator as it clatters against the desk.

You reach for him, yanking his tie and wanting him to smother you, crush your bones into dust with his weight. He thrusts slowly, feeling his cock harden inside you again. 

He pulls away with a mirthed grunt, licking the blood from his teeth as he looks down at you, thumb grazing down the side of your sweaty face.

Your mascara has run, clumped in your lashes like furry arachnids. He watches the rise and fall of your chest, places a hand over your heart to feel it beating extra hard to replace the blood he’s just taken. 

“You’re the sweetest fucking gift, baby.” Max licks his lips, sucking on the bottom one. 

“You don’t have to do that anymore, Max.” You peep with a dreamy sigh.

He allows himself to visit the exquisite hell of rubbing himself up and down your slit after he's filled your ass and watches it drip onto the polished wood of his desk.

Coating his spent cock in your shine. Marvelling at the lewd sounds it makes as it fills the office, the scent of it seeping into his nose.   

Those brown eyes snap to you, a pulse ribs at his throat, you see it. Those fingers twitch but you shake your head, sitting up in your mess. 

“Careful what you wish for, honey. You can’t return this gift to Santa when you get bored.” He straightens his tie after zipping up his pants. 

“That thing you do, that makes me… makes us do this? You don’t have to do it anymore.” You say, reaching for him with a trembling hand.

Reaching out to the monster and inviting him in. “I want this, I want you, Max.” 

“Why do you sweat?” You query.

He eyes you carefully, clicking his lips as he contemplates the severity of your words.

Do you yourself even understand them? Do you know what it is you're asking for, really?

“Get double on your quota this month, then we’ll talk about eternity.” Max grins. 

He breathes in deeply, hands on hips and smirks, the whole room setting alight around you.

"Max, what do I have to do to convince you?"

He ponders it for a moment; each second pulling you closer in agony to the sun.

You smile. You know he won’t make this easy. If it were easy, it would be boring.

You hop down off the desk, adjusting your skirt and marvelling at the use of your legs as they tingle with the blood rushing back into them.

“Yes, boss.” You confirm as you open the office door. 

Like it’s no big deal that he’s made you, albeit unconventionally, submit to him wholly. 

“Hey,” he calls back to you as you glance over your shoulder.

He settles into his chair leaning back, those hatchet eyes slicing into your shoulder blades.

“Happy Christmas.” He shrugs with a smirk, like it’s no big deal.

You nod, the fog finally clearing, your ears tuning out of the din fuzz you've been swamped in for so long.

“Happy Christmas, Max.”

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

[galazykatz]

Kira Is Near's Watari AU

"Light Yagami is 17 years old when he stumbles on a cursed notebook and begins committing his first unwilling murders.

Nate River is 6 years old when he discovers a bounty of 30 million dollars on the supposedly normal and respectable son of the Chief of the NPA.

These two facts somehow end up in Light Yagami shot in half a dozen places in a dirty warehouse a week later, Near dragging his body out of there, and both simultaneously disappearing into thin air.

Well, at least until six years later, when criminals begin dying in the masses from heart attacks. With a new Death Note user on the loose, Detective Near and his capable butler and caretaker, Kira, are on the case.

With tensions high between them and the NPA, Near and Light will be forced to confront just what happened that week, half a decade ago.

OR, my Kira is Near's Watari AU"

(Taken from a draft summary of a 5 part WIP fic)

-

So, I've read Noel Verse (TzviaAriella) and Pale Moon (KaedeRavensdale) on Ao3, watched some Black Butler, among some other fanfic, pinterest fanart, and more media with Butlery themes... and now I've got some serious brain rot.

I mean, like, the aesthetic is amazing. And it's doubly hilarious if L and Watari ever meet Near and Kira in this universe because they're total and complete opposites. Visually wise, at least, with Near's white motif and Light's signature beige suits with a splash of red with his tie, their workspace always very modern and minimal. Then Watari's cloaked in all black with L being... L, surrounded by more of an old money setting. Opposite spectrums of ridiculous. Especially if the task force meets these two detective teams and they'd just be... so incredulous. And the angst of Light and Soichiro reuniting.

Also, just the idea of genius, perfect, most promising student of Japan, Light Yagami, showing back up as a butler/caretaker/spy/hitman working for the mysterious yet infamous Detective Near. Only for that detective to turn out to be a 12 year old kid playing with his toys, who Light seriously treats as his boss without an ounce of irony. Everyone just gets more dumbfounded once said kid starts pulling genius deductions out of thin air and controlling black ops. While Light is sent either on said black ops, or to get a certain toy set for Near. No in between.

I imagine Light would still very much have blood on his hands, willing and unwilling, and would be loyal to Near and unwilling to part with him. Partly out of his own self interests and partly out of a genuine sense of repaying the debt for saving his life. Meanwhile, Near is content to have someone reliable on his side who doesn't underestimate him or treat him any differently for his age, nor intends to use him for another agenda. Whatever Near asks, Light does.

And maybe, just maybe, there would be hints of some other influence. Something ingrained in them, not quite dreams nor memories, that draw the two together. But surely this is the first time they've done all this?

-

Alright, is that enough ranting about a fic I probably don't have time to write? Yeah, I think so. XD

Oh well, at least I got to make these doodles today. :)

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Promises Six: The Patron

Dark!Morpheus x (female)reader, fantasy/medieval AU, 18+

Master List

Chapter warnings: language, violence, (temporary) character death A/N: You're all fucking fabulous. 💖Aiming for another update next week. Wish me luck.

Only two thrones waited in the main tent. The king’s servants rushed to move a third chair to a place of honor beside them, layering it in swaths of silk and velvet designed to hang over the canvas walls, like they could veil the differences in quality and size with a few curtains.

They needn’t have bothered.

Lord Morpheus refused to sit as his sibling lounged on their impromptu throne with the grace of a cat and a shark’s smile. Familial enmity crackled around the two like a storm, and Desire basked in the attention. The King of Meiren hovered, clearly aching to take his seat, but anxious should he disrespect the guest who would not.

Quite a tableau. If only the bard could paint.

She saw her patrons settled before she went to study the drama unfolding around the two Endless and the king who would dare consider himself an equal. Even the most delusional suitors kept their distance now. Alluring as Desire may be, they did not hem in the waves of power as their siblings did. The bard recognized the overwhelming presence of an Endless even when they tried to shutter the worst of the tidal crush when walking among mortals. She’d felt it with Death. She felt it with Dream. But Desire didn’t even pretend to care for the humans’ comfort.

Every scent was sweeter in their presence, every whisper of taste carried on the smoke of the outdoor cooking fires a draw to addiction. The company looked finer. Everyone murmured about the heat and struggled to meet each others’ gaze as they shifted in their tight clothes, fanning away glittering drops of sweat that drew the eye down, and down, and down to the curious places hidden from view by cloth and lace.

Plenty of mistakes would be made that evening. More than the usual wild carousing inspired by fantasies of bloodlust in the woods. She’d already advised her friends and supporters to avoid as much of the spectacle as possible. To keep a hair pin in their pocket to prick themselves and their loved ones back to good sense if needed. She pointed out the horse troughs and water buckets, and reasoned the king couldn’t complain if a few members of his court felt poorly and left before dark after such a long day.

She couldn’t follow them back, of course. Her curiosity forbid it, and she wanted to be near if a spark caught that might ignite the entire kingdom.

Desire made no effort to hide their conversation from the fragmented assembly. Most were too busy wrestling with their influence to take notice, but the bard knew Desire’s family, and – what was far more important – she knew herself and her desires too well to be so easily swayed.

“I heard you’d been offered a bride, and I simply couldn’t help myself.” Desire treated the seat more as a kind of low couch, spreading over the arms in a pose to draw the eye to their long limbs and fiery eyes. Their red lips looked bloodstained as they grinned. “And a mortal at that. What could have possessed you?”

The king stuttered to join in the conversation, his eyes so dilated even the bard could see the dark hollows swallowing his mind. “I-I offered, your… grace? A bargain for the King of Dream’s aid some years ago. He has not chosen, but there are still many days…”

“Hmmm.” Desire dismissed him effortlessly, not even bestowing a wave. Their eyes never turned to his face, and the king finally slumped into his seat, unseen and unheard by his betters. The bard had never seen him so cowed, and gods knew she’d put in the work.

“An offer only.” The Dream King’s hands flexed into fists. Although the bard had thought he couldn’t grow any paler, his knuckles looked deathly white against his pallid skin. “I have accepted no one, and no one in this host has so inspired my attention or affection.”

Somehow, Desire’s smile grew wider, and as they let their head fall back over the arm of their throne, they chuckled through their teeth. “I wonder, big brother. Really, I do. Ah, well.” They straightened, spinning with unnatural fluidity to properly face their kin. “At least I didn’t miss the hunt.”

The close air within the tent fostered the unnatural heat. It stuck to the roof of the bard’s mouth, and she licked her teeth to scrape it off her tongue. The warmth ached where it dripped into her chest, clenched and hungry for every good and wicked thing she could not or should not possess. Her dead mother’s hand to hold. A good cup of tea in a quiet place beside a trusted friend. Wind in her hair, songs in her throat, and someone –

She left the tent.

Out of sight, the waves of Desire’s power didn’t strike with such force, and the bard walked with her hands on her hips, taking deep breaths of fresh air to clear the scent of longing.

A breeze cut through the clearing where the king’s court set camp, and she imagined it cleaned the stench of foiled passions as it combed through her hair, that it brushed aside the bitter shards of unshaped dreams from her mind.

Sometimes she forgot how much harder intrigue and politics were to wash off than dust from the road. It worked into crevices and scars, surprising her with old filth every time she thought herself free of it.

Her time with the Endless would stain her, surely.

Her mother’s acquaintance with Death left more than a mere mark. If she wasn’t so proud of her own legacy and legend, she’d say it defined her. If she had any sense, she would’ve stayed with the dragon and sung him pretty songs until the Endless had fucked off back to the realm he governed. When Desire appeared, she should’ve turned her mare around, packed up her things at the castle, and left a note of apology. But she hadn’t. Couldn’t, honestly. She wanted to know. She wanted to see. She wanted to witness history – or add a few lines of her own.

Really, what was the worst that could happen? She had manners and a frustrating inability to die, so the chances of lasting consequences for her recklessness were slim.

Gradually, her hands slipped off her hips, and she felt she could breathe easily again. The world wore familiar shades, and no one’s power but her own threaded through her blood. Half finished stories and snarls of old songs half forgotten filled her head. The air tasted of dirt and smelled of sweat. All good and human things.

Strolling through the camp, she found an old fortune reader laying out her tools on a red blanket. The woman chose her spot well, a patch of shade that would only grow as the sun set, just beside the smaller tents where the noble families rested.

The bard nodded in passing, but a wizened hand seized her wrist, bringing her up short. Stumbling to a halt, she blinked down, bemused, but only a little surprised. The woman didn’t have many other customers passing at this hour, when most were resting or preparing for the hunt, and plenty of folk stopped the bard in the street.

All her cards, bones, and runes sat in tidy piles and dishes, untouched, but the reader glowered at the bard with a fortune on her lips.

“You have already caught your doom’s eye.”

Smiling, twisting her wrist in a vain attempt to thwart the old woman’s grasp, the bard said, “You must be mistaken, mother. I have no doom.”

Ridged nails sank into the bard’s palm as the fortune teller squeezed.

“Just because you are deathless does not make you fateless, girl.”

A presence too much like the ones she’d left in the king’s tent coursed like deep roots through the old woman’s words. They tapped unseen waters and sprouted a gravity beyond the woman’s ken. Her glare cut across realms, and the bard’s hair stood on end.

“You are become an ache that preys on the heart. A yearning made flesh. And your doom will tear you from the world if you continue this way in the Garden of Forking Paths. Heed my warning.”

A shadow cut across the sun, and the bard looked up, expecting a thunderhead. That sort of fortune ought to be followed by forked lightning and rolling thunder. But as the light returned and the shape passed through the sun’s glare, it roared, and the bard cursed, ripping away from the fortune teller even as the old woman released her grip.

“Fucking hells!”

She tore through the camp, running before she thought to move, knocking guards and bemused nobles out of her way as they stared up at the great, winged beast above. A dragon. A dragon had come to the king’s hunt.

And the bard knew just which idiot dragon it was, too.

She recognized his scaled bulk. His petulant, flaming rumble.

The absolute twat.

What did he think he was doing?

Time rushed against her, precious seconds slipping beneath the soles of her boots as she found her horse, fumbled on the bridle, and swung onto her back. By that time, knights and hunters had stirred themselves. The bard cantered between men-at-arms rushing to their mounts and young archers half-armed and eager.

She flew by the entrance to the king’s tent where the two Endless stood observing the chaos like it was so very far below them. Fair enough. But at the moment, the bard couldn’t care less. Kingdoms and fates be damned. Her patron was going to get himself killed. She barely felt their gazes wash over her, burning like molten gold, sharper than diamond stars. After a life of dragon’s fire and executioners’ blades, they did not make her tremble like a sensible mortal.

Out of the camp, into the woods, galloping along the path in the direction the dragon wheeled. A goodly field stood some distance away, and it was the nearest place her patron might land without risking his wings on the treetops. So she rode, aware the crash of arms and hooves behind her was growing.

She hadn’t stopped for a saddle. Her thighs clenched tight around her mare’s heaving ribs, every bit of energy and intent straining forward, trying to yank the distant break in the trees closer with sheer force of will. The woods pressed too dark and thick, and she couldn’t tell if the crush of noise in her head came from her heart or the dragon ahead.

The ride lasted half an age, but she cleared the tunnel of trees at last, and blinded by sun, she heard rather than saw the huntsfolk who’d gathered from where they kept the caged beasts and dogs. A dragon was much better quarry. As the glare faded, she wheeled her mare between the humans and the fiery beast. They stumbled, clutching weapons and glaring as she swung down, facing the thing they’d planned to capture.

Hands raised, seeking to draw his eye, she marched towards the dark gouges in the earth where her patron landed.

“Glistiven!”

He turned from the lancer he’d been snapping at, flaring his nostrils wide to smell as well as see her. The wind carried her scent across the field, and he lowered his head, creeping low to be on her level.

She hissed at the hunters as she passed, “He’ll burn you all if you scratch him. Your lives aren’t worth the coin the king will forget to pay you.”

A few, convinced, moved back into the trees. The rest at least backed away, cautious, ready to see if the beast would incinerate the bard before they pushed their luck.

Glistiven stood taller than an oak, and his wings could shade a whole village. He looked a fine prize with his glittering scales – and the gold trapped between them – but he’d not grown to such a size for his tame love of humanity.

He’d burned the bard to ash three times before his curiosity won over his bad temper.

A month of stories, songs, and negotiations convinced him that it may be easier to let the local villages sell him their sheep. It was easier than dealing with unwanted visits from every bounty hunter and monster slayer in the kingdom. Every year, she carried his order down from the mountain, and the farmers let the chosen sheep run wild into the dragon’s territory.

He ought to be in the mountain now.

“Why are you here?” she demanded, marching through the tall grass and struggling to look dignified. As if she didn’t have enough to worry over. Two Endless, a fool of a king, and families looking to her for protection she was wholly unqualified to promise. Just because she was old didn’t mean she was powerful. “You great, flaming… Why are you here?”

Though still many yards away, his great sigh sent ripples through her clothes. “You have not finished your story.”

Hells above and heavens below. The petulance in his voice. She noted the remaining huntsfolk shift even further away from the corner of her eye, disturbed by the voice like a landslide in a wildfire. Crackling, and rumbling, and doubtless inhuman. A voice they all felt rattle in their bones. It reminded them that though they be hunters, they might yet be hunted. Many of their kind fell to dragons’ appetites. This one may yet have them.

The bard dropped her hands, forcing her way through the swaying weeds. She’d give her patron a piece of her mind and sort out this mess. He ought to fly home, but if he didn’t, she could tell him where to hide, where to sleep away from the hunter’s hooks and the castle’s ballistas.

A sharp twang cut the words she went to speak from the air.

Pain struck. It pierced through and out, scattering thought and breaking breath. A strange weight sat in her flesh, and as her mouth fell open, desperate for air that would not come, her hands rose to find the wound, the hurt, and the thing that made it. An arrow tip sliced her fingers. A bolt from some great weapon meant to take down boar and the scaled wyverns that sometimes came this far north.

It had taken her heart out of her body. She could feel it with her bleeding fingertips, fluttering around the wooden shaft, half-pinned by broken ribs.

She fell. To her knees. To the grass. To the waiting arms of Death. Her blood pooled ruby over her hands, her body shuddering and jolting with the determination of a broken clock still trying to tick.

The ground shook with Glistiven’s rage, and the heat of his fire curled over her like a blanket as the last heat of waning life bubbled onto the grass.

Here you are again.

A gentle touch settled over the crown of her head. Cold, but soft. A familiar companion she hated to bother. The bard relaxed into the entity’s hold as she lost all sense and feeling, swaddled in the dark.

What have you gone and done to yourself this time?

[oxygenbefore1775]

Trying on their red armband

characters included: Pieck, Porco, Reiner, Zeke

cw: gn!reader (with Porco the reader is once adressed as Mrs), generally fluff (it gets a bit angsty with Reiner and Zeke), ambigious mentions of death

summary: they walk in on you trying on the red armband they've left behind

wc: 1,2k (roughly 300 pro character)

a/n: this idea popped randomly in my head, it's a bit unusual if not downright weird so bear with me

Pieck

Having woken up in the early morning, Pieck leaves the bedroom to make coffee for you two. Not fully awake yet, you force your eyes open and look around the room. A scarlet armband laying on Pieck's bedside table instantly captures your attention.

"Pieck?" you raise your voice so that she could hear you all the way from the kitchen "Can, can I try your armband on for a brief moment?"

At first Pieck stays silent, only muffled sizzling of a coffee pot reaches your ear.

"Sure, love," she finally responds in a cheerful voice.

Not wasting any moment, you fetch the armband from the bedside table and approach the mirror. Seeing the red band being slid up your shoulder evokes a strange feeling. It seems so exotic, alomost surreal. There isn't much vividness in Liberio's internment zone — Marleyan obsession with war has its influence on almost every aspect of your life. The muted color palette that you've been surrounded since your birth doesn't help with already hard way of things.

Your eyes glued to your own reflection, you don't hear Pieck come into the bedroom with two mugs of coffee.

"Red suits you, you know?" she points out while passing by.

"Shame I can't wear this thing out in the public," a deep sigh escapes your lips.

You take the armband off and sit down beside Pieck as she's handing you your mug. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Pieck turning her face to you, her lips pursed.

"The poppy is in bloom right now," she says, pushing a lock of her raven hair behind her ear, "And I just happen to know where a near-by poppy field is"

You can't help but to smile at her words.

"You would look lovely with a wreath of poppies on that pretty head of yours"

Porco

"Rummaging through my stuff again?" his sleepy voice catches you off guard.

However you don't turn away from the mirror. Your gaze shifts to find his figure in the reflection slowly approaching you.

"Finders keepers" your reply is swift, voice laced with impassivity as you keep on spinning in front of the mirror.

It's not the first time you "borrow" Porco's clothes. Frankly speaking, you can't be blamed for this guilty pleasure — it's Porco's habit of throwing his things around the apartment and his sense of fashion you seem to like that often leaves him with no stuff to wear. But this morning you've stumbled upon something much more valuable (and therefore irresistable) than any of his bomber jackets.

You feel him nuzzling into your neck, the touch of his lips on your skin sending a warm wave down your body. You stand like this for a couple of minutes, your eyes meet in the reflection — until you notice his hand stelthily making its way to your left arm.

"Hey," you protest in a weak voice as soon as his fingers start tugging on the armband, "Can't I dream for a little moment?"

Suddenly Porco stops his attempts to retrieve his armband. He turns you around so that you're facing him. His soft hands are cradling your face, a soft expression to his gaze that you rarely get to see.

"Well, you don't always have to be a holder of a Titan in order to wear this," his tone is somehow gentle and mocking at the same time.

A thought begins to form in the back of your head. Hesitant to voice it, you keep silent watching the corner of his lips curl into a smirk. Porco wraps his arms around you, drawing you closer to his chest.

"Wanna become Mrs Galliard?"

Reiner

Reiner walks into the room just as you are sliding his armband up all the way to your shoulder.

"I'm needed at the HQ. Do you know where my—," he notices the red band around your arm and looks up at you, "What are you doing?"

The sudden shift in his tone makes you feel uneasy. Watching his pupils constrict — something you've never seen before — you hesitate to speak.

"I just wanted to see how this looks on me. I thought you wouldn't mind"

Reiner winces at your words. A quiet sigh escapes his lips as he walks up to you avoiding eye contact.

"Please give it back to me," he mutters, his hand extending to you.

You quickly take off the armband. It's almost eerie to see Reiner in such state. Used to his infinite tenderness towards you, you can't help but to make a few deep breathes in an attempt to calm down.

"I'm sorry if I've upset you," your voice is trembling, watery haze glazing over your eyes.

The next moment he wraps his arms around you, your cheek pressing against his broad chest.

"Don't be sorry," you can hear his heart rapidly beating, "It's me who should be apologizing. I just don't want you to wear this thing"

"Are you saying I'm not allowed to touch your stuff?" you reply, looking up at him with a mischievious grin.

"Of course not, what's mine is yours," his apologetic tone brings a smile to your face. "It's a different thing with the armband," he lowers his voice, "I myself don't want to wear it"

You feel a twinge of guilt. Pulling away from his embrace, you give Reiner a reassuring smile.

"If you want to talk about it, I'm ready to hear you out"

You can practically see Reiner's heart melting in his chest as he brushes his thumb against your cheek.

"Sure, we can do it right after I come back"

Zeke

"You like it, huh?"

You nearly cry out in surprise. You turn away from your reflection to find Zeke lying down on the bed, propping himself up on an elbow, his eyes looking you up and down.

"How long have you been watching me?" you try to sound confident but you're helpless against Zeke's smug grin.

"Long enough to notice your morbid fascination with that scrap of fabric"

Flustered, you lower your gaze, feeling blood rushing to your cheeks. Suddenly creaking springs can be heard — Zeke walks up behind you but still not close enough. The red armband is too loose on your arm and keeps sliding down until Zeke finally takes it away from you.

"I would be glad to give this one to you, if I had a spare one," his tone is calm, lips curving into a naive smile. "But you can have it once my term comes to an end. By that time I won't be needing it anymore"

His words make your heart skip a beat. Zeke's demeanor never betrays the fact that he has less than a year to live. Every time you have to be reminded of it and most of the time it's Zeke who has to do it. The way he so carelessly speaks of it — be it his coping mechanism or actual lack of concern — somehow instills a feeling of solitude in you.

Noticing your downcast look, Zeke calls you by your name so that you lift up your head and look him straight in the eyes.

"When you get your hands on my armband," he hesitates, unsure how to put his thoughts into words, "Just don't be creepy about it"

"Creepy about it?" you snicker.

"Yes," he continues with a straight face. "As in don't sniff it all day long and use it as your cuddling toy. That kind of creepy"

[kaiowut99]

Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters GX Episodes 91 and 92 Subbed (Finalized)

(Previously: Episodes 89 and 90 Subbed [Finalized])

(Check out my Subbed!GX Stream Masterpost!)

TURN-91: The Grim Reaper’s One-Turn Kill

Rumors have spread of a duelist taking part in GeneX who defeats his opponents in one turn.  This turns out to be Tachibana, who gained his drawing power through a pact with a Grim Reaper card.  Judai ends up dueling Tachibana, who’s sold his soul to the Grim Reaper, and with the start of their duel, Tachibana draws his “One-Hit Knockout! Slash Draw” Magic Card and comes at Judai with his One-Turn Kill. Can Judai possibly...

TURN-92: The Triangle Duel

As word goes around that rank-and-file Instructor Chronos and Vice-Principal Napoleon are being “fired,” Principal Samejima shouts “Get out of here!” at them.  They were both disheartened, but they happen to catch Chairman Pegasus of Industrial Illusions, Inc., on his way to visit Principal Samejima, and they ask for employment with I2.  Pegasus says he will approve their employment if they somehow defeat him in a duel, and so starts a Triangle Duel between Pegasus, Chronos, and Napoleon.  Can Chronos and Napoleon hope to...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*Pegasus voice* I give you finalized!91 and 92! deeeesu

Slight delay in finalizing these aside, these episodes aren’t too bad; some continuity with the Duel Academia’s North Campus in Tachibana and his struggle to make the decks he cares about work, making him turn to a Grim Reaper spirit promising to improve his drawing ability--at the cost of his soul. Works well enough for a one-shot episode in GX, nice seeing another One-Turn Kill strategy after Ojin’s in 84, plus the animation looks really good throughout, along with “Impossible Victory” being used as Tachibana switches arms with his Disk to reject the Grim Reaper’s influence.  92′s fun with Pegasus making another cameo--this time, actually dueling--and the premise being that Chronos and Napoleon thought Samejima fired them when he was just frustrated was up GX’s humor alley--though it is interesting Toon Kingdom didn’t come out in the card game until long after GX (I liked the shot of it as we see Toon Red Archery Girl, Toon Summoned Daemon, and the other Toons he used in DM as a nice homage).  Pegasus’ll still have some time in S2 and S3, related to the plot Samejima thought about early in the episode, so he’ll be back.  Kind of a shame they didn’t make a GX remix for his Toon World theme from DM though, lol; points to the dub for using theirs.  (Tachibana’s voice in the dub was also really good.)

Edit-wise, both episodes had a fair amount of fixes I applied, mostly on the card error and quality-of-watching end (including some interesting split-screen issues), but there were 2-3 bigger ones I was able to make work; due to Tumblr’s dumb link limit in posts yeeting them out of the tags used for them and limiting their reach, and since I still wanted a visual element to it, I’ve made a separate post with my usual fix/edit breakdown for the interested!

Anywho, enjoy! These make for a little breather as we get into Judai vs White Asuka next time and some changes to Saiou’s SOLA plans.  Been looking forward to revisiting the next stretch of eps for a while as Season 2 closes on some of its best episodes; should be fun.

[beepboop358]

Hi! (Every time I see your name on my dash Bibbitybobbityboo comes into my head? I feel like your analysis fairy godmother anyway so it fits)

But, I feel like I took something away from Season 4 that I haven't seen many people talk about? Or any to be quite honest. And I just wondered if you had an opinion on it?

So we know the Duffers are Nerds(tm) and think that being Nerdy is like, the ultimate burden to bear apparently. But, particularly over the last two seasons I've been noticing the Superhero/marvel references, like your previous Anon said, about spiderman? Just little stuff, like Joyce and Hopper in S3 doing a Captain America and arranging a date only to have Hopper "die" before they can. All of Eleven's refs, Mikes etc, you get the point.

But I am now, 100% certain that Eleven is going to die "saving the world" and she'll get Iron Man'd.

I am absolutely positive. We caught a glimpse of it with Eddie for sure, but the sheer amount of Hero Insecurity she's had just kind of sticks out. She was supposed to die anyway in S1 so whilst everyone in their corner of the internet is banging on about MildEven being Endgame, all I can think about is actual End Game. And how I can absolutely see an El death scene on the horizon, because let's face it, she's the character that has "no place" and who "struggles for purpose" and to a GA she holds a lot of emotional capital, whislt maintaining this constant aura of other that wouldn't make her death seem totally tragic and pointless.

From a writing POV, the way the Duffers lean in terms of story telling, I am absolutely positive El will either die or be "banished" to the upside down mirroring 001.

Also, if we don't see a Red Dragon next season I'll be very surprised. All the colour coding and Will's drawing? The Red Dragon is Chaotic Evil in DnD as well so that smacks of something they would go with.

Idk, this turned into a ramble. I hope you have a lovely night and I am very sorry for thoughtdumping on you <3 xxxx

hello!

ahaha I kinda like that, has a nice ring to it LOL. And i am unworthy of that title but thank you for the compliment aha <333.

It really is hilarious in the worst way that they seem to think being a nerd is the ultimate burden to bear LOL. There is quite a bit of Marvel-esc influence this season. And El is doing the Iron Man Pose a lot this season too..., so you bringing up that she'll get Iron Man'd at the end seems like an eerie connection and possibly foreshadowing... El was supposed to die in season 1 to fulfill the E.T. parallel, and assuming they don't just keep her alive to do spin-offs, I think it's pretty likely she'll die at the end of the show. I think it's possibly her death somehow mirrors 001's "death", but I do see her having a big hero moment and sacrificing herself for her friends. I think El's death would be very emotional, but there is a narrative point to it. I love El tho and I just want to see her happy but...

I think we could see a red dragon next season too. I hope that painting was foreshadowing for something!

hope you're well! xx (no need to worry about thought dumping it's always welcome ,3)

[quibbs126]

Okay, for like, the past week now, I’ve been reminded of yet another idea I had for a video game that I made a couple years ago, thought I might as well share it

I would share art at the top of it, but unfortunately the only art I have of it is a rough sketch I made back October 2020 of the main character, 97, which is old and not really what I imagine her to look like (other than the pink hair)

At some point, I’ll probably try to redesign her, along with drawing the other two notable characters. I feel like she needs more color in her outfit, and I want to make her more pink. Though I think the reason I avoided doing so was so that she wouldn’t look too much like Red Action from OK KO. I dunno

The whole premise was based off of me wanting having this old book from my dad called Robotech (which I think is an anime? Or a mishmash of several anime for an American audience?), which on the cover has what looks like a screenshot from an old anime.

I kept thinking the main character had bright pink hair, but she doesn’t, but then I wanted to see something where the main protagonist has bright pink hair. Then somehow that translated to Number 97. Maybe I should keep that influence when designing her, basing her off of old sci fi/gundam anime. Unfortunately I don’t know that many, and it’d probably require me watching them, and I have a bad habit of not watching the things I tell myself to watch

But yeah, anyways, let’s get into everything I remember of the plot of 97’s story (I never named it)

So basically the premise is that 97 is a cyborg, attempt number 97 by this particular group, hence her name, who’s people have been fighting a very long war with…something, I never actually came up with what. Either aliens or robots (specifically robots of alien origin). Anyways, so this group was using technological advancements as a way to combat the villains (which from here on I’m just going to call aliens for the sake of simplicity). I say “technological advancements” because despite the main character’s name being “Cyborg 97”, not all of the attempts were cyborgs, as some were robots, and some were just general enhancements to regular humans. But since they all were meant to serve the same purpose, they all stay in the same numbering system. So 97 (note I don’t actually have a normal name for her other than 97) was originally a normal soldier in the military fighting against the aliens, which we would see in the opening level of the game, serving as a prologue and introduction to the basic game systems, until this particular mission ends in disaster, which leads to 97 getting picked up by the cyborg company and being turned into one, being an elite fighter against the aliens. She had lost each of her limbs and pretty much her whole lower body up to the hip, with it all being replaced by cybernetics. Basically you go around doing missions and fighting enemies, and it’s like a Metroidvania style 2D platformer

But maybe forget the whole “aliens” thing, because I realize now that the plot, namely the main enemies, don’t really have to do with them. Instead, the people you end up fighting are other cyborgs made by the same company. That’s kind of a mishap on my part, but also I can’t just get rid of the cyborg characters or have them be working with the aliens, that’s not what they’re about, not unless I make up something about the aliens not being what we think. Hm, I’ll have to work on that

Anyways, so there’s actually two different routes the story goes, the 96 route, and the 98 route. I’m gonna start with 96 since it’s the one you’re first presented with

So basically, the cyborg prior to 97, 96, went rogue and took some of the older abandoned cyborgs and starting leading a rebellion group against this company, causing general mayhem in the streets. Your job is to take down 96 and his gang and stop their threat. Granted, you’re more presented at first with the “they’re a threat to the general populace, causing destruction wherever they go, stop them”, rather than them specifically being against this company. So yeah, you go and defeat them (and probably kill them) one by one, which I’m only now realizing sounds very similar to the plot of a Megaman game. Not sure I really knew Megaman at the time though

So 96’s cybernetics go specifically from the waist down, with him having feet more similar to a bird (sorry I didn’t know where else to put this). Now 96 tends to come off as a bit of an asshole, as he really only seems to care about cyborgs and little for humans. He’s also around 17-19 (after becoming cyborgs, they stop aging physically and mentally for whatever reason, so despite the fact he’s likely around his mid 20s now, he’s still like that), and very much comes off like an arrogant bastard. But he’s not just a jerk, as he does care about the other cyborgs, and when you first meet his group, he’s even open minded about 97 joining them at some point, if she ditches the company. And in the 98 route, you get to see more about him, like the fact that he misses his old friends and family, some of which died in the accident that made him a cyborg, and some he’s not sure are still alive, but given his now criminal status, he can’t go see for risk of them being in danger. By the end of the 96 route, he just wants 97 dead, but that’s because by this point she has decimated the people he now calls friends, and people he knows aren’t to blame for the way their lives have gone, becoming cyborgs usually against their will and being discarded as they were no longer considered “people”. He may have been open minded to you, but now you’ve proven yourself nothing more than a monster to him

If I haven’t made it clear, the company 97 works for aren’t exactly nice people. Maybe at the start they had pure intentions, but by the higher numbers, they’re mostly a corrupt and rotten system. And while yes, you don’t get the full scope on 96 as a person, you are told enough to know that he and the rest of the cyborgs aren’t necessarily bad people, even if some things they do are extreme, though it’s necessary for them to have better lives like this. 96 left because he had learned the rotten truth of the people he was working for, which is something you learn in this route. But unfortunately, in the 96 route, there is no saving these people, you just have to take them out and become little more than a machine following orders

However, in the 98 route, you can instead choose to go against the missions the company gives you, eventually leading to you joining 96’s group and rebelling against them, in which you also get to know all the other cyborgs in his group (that in the other route you mercilessly kill), as well as just get to know 96 as a person. In this route, the conflict is rebelling against the company and trying to take them down in some way

Now in this route, the big enemy you have to face is Cyborg 98, as noted by the route name. Something of note here is that 98 doesn’t exist in the 96 route, as she doesn’t need to. New cyborgs are made when the last one fails, rebellion being considered a failure. 98 was another soldier in 97’s squad (who you’d actually see in the opening level, you just wouldn’t know it was her), however she was a newcomer as opposed to 97’s over a decade of experience (I should probably note their ages here, 97 is in her mid to late 30s while 98 is in her early to mid 20s). She ended up in a disaster as well (possibly the same one as 97? I’m not sure), and was turned into a cyborg after 97’s desertion. However this time, the only human thing remaining of 98 is her head, sort of similar to Raiden, and all of her cybernetics were not in fact necessary, but we’re done so intentionally by the company

Something I forgot to mention but is relevant, there’s a reason the company as of now uses cyborgs instead of robots, that being that cyborgs (or at least the ones they use) have a human mind, and can think like a human, not being limited to what can be programmed, making them more effective in battle

The reason for 98’s extreme cybernetics is because 97 was actually the last chance they were willing to take on a fully free willed cyborg. With the disaster that was 96 and his active rebellion, as well as other cyborgs turning against them, they were thinking free will was more a liability than a boon. So 97 was the last chance given for this, and if she rebelled, while the next one would still have a human mind, given it’s optimal, they would have their free will stripped, as shown with 98. While yes, she can make her own decisions, if she veers too far from what they want her to do, they can take control of her, and she is very much an unwilling participant in all this, being stuck prisoner in her own body. I’m thinking a way this could be conveyed is with a level where you play as her, where you’re given the option of not doing the mission and veering off path, if you do enough off the path, control will literally be taken away from you as the game runs automatically till the end of the level. She recognizes 97 as her old commander and looked up to her, and doesn’t want to fight her, but she’s left no choice as her own body is piloted by other people to attack her. She’s stuck in a living hell and at this point would rather die, but is unable to do it herself

So by the end of the 98 route, you put her out of her misery, but unfortunately, you haven’t been able to take down the company, and are far from doing so, so you haven’t stopped the problem, and with another cyborg failed, the company will go to make another one just like 98, and the whole cycle repeats again

So yeah, basically both endings suck, but for different reasons. Unfortunately, there is no “true ending” where you save everyone or you do what’s objectively right, it’s more a matter of picking your poison. I remember there was something I was trying to say with the two downer endings, but I don’t remember what

I’ve considered the idea of a true route where you do exactly that, mostly because the other two endings might seem a bit too much of a downer, but also doing that completely invalidates both endings as being “the bad ones”, and takes away their impact, so I might just stick to those two

I don’t know how exactly you get each route, but maybe there’s like some sort of in game counter for how many “missions” of each side you do, and by a certain point in the story, whichever one you have more of determines where the rest of the story goes. I dunno, I’m not a programmer

But yeah, that’s 97. Sorry for the somewhat haphazard way of giving info, I didn’t really know how properly convey all of it. But I hope you enjoyed it!

[jefpoo421]

date drawn: 2022/03/22replies and reblogs are appreciated

[rodr1cks]

Hi! I don't know if your request are open, but I'd like to know if you could write a rodrick x reader where the reader is Rowley's sister and discovers her talking on the phone with a friend saying she's in love with Rodrick and tells Greg and he tells her that Rodrick has been in love with her for a long time and they try to put them together?

cw: none it’s pure fluff

word count: 1.8k

“I know! And he didn’t even apologize!” Greg ranted into the receiver.

“I’m sorry, Greg,” Rowley frowned, sympathetic nature as present as always. “Anyways, mom says dinner is ready, see you tonight?” Rowley’s tone lifted at the end of his sentence, excitement brewing as he thought about the sleepover he was meant to have with Greg later that evening.

You slid into the kitchen on your socks, just as Rowley was concluding his conversation with Greg.

Rowley sat anxiously through dinner, quickly consuming everything on his plate, including the vegetables. You observed him from across the table, cocking your head as your younger brother inhaled his peas like he hadn’t eaten in days.

He took his last bite before exclaiming, “I’m going to pack my stuff for Greg’s!”

Not without clearing his dishes first, of course.

You rolled your eyes at his charisma and headed into the living room. You slumped over on the couch, limbs splayed every which way as you called your friend, Marissa. You had been needing to gush to somebody about your newest crush, Rodrick Heffley.

You had only interacted with the messy haired boy in passing: family dinners, picking up Greg, dropping off Rowley, etc.

“I don’t know what it is, he’s just so- so- captivating. God, Mar, I swear I could watch him play drums for hours on end!”

Unbeknownst to you, Rowley had entered the room and was about to speak. You were too caught up in drooling over Rodrick to notice. “Hey, y/n-” He cut himself off quickly, curiosity getting the best of him.

“And did you see what he was wearing at Matt’s party? Those jeans? And that eyeliner? God I could just tear them-”

Rowley cleared his throat, unwilling to hear the rest. “Y/n can you take me to Greg’s, please?” He stood awkwardly with his lips pursed.

Your head whipped around faster than the speed of light. “Marissa, I gotta go.”

“Rowley, how much of that did you hear?”

He lied, something he wasn’t really good at, “Not much! I promise!”

“Rowley Jefferson you had better keep your mouth shut, or I swear I’ll-”

You stopped yourself, closing your eyes and drawing in a deep breath. “Just get in the car.” You breathed out in a scarily calm tone. Your red headed sibling nodded frantically out of fear and darted to the garage.

Usually, you would make him walk, but ever since your infatuation with Rodrick began, you were more eager to give him rides over there. The mere prospect of getting the slightest glance sending excitement throughout your entire being.

When you pulled up to the Heffley home, you gave him a final glare. “Say nothing.” He gave you the same shaky nod he gave you only moments ago. With that, he was bounding towards the front door. You made sure he got inside safely and drove off.

“Rowley? Everything okay?” Greg asked his friend, concerned with his behavior. Rowley couldn’t handle keeping secrets. His hands grew clammy and a slight sweat broke out on his forehead. Rowley had an uncomfortably fake smile plastered on his face as he tried to assure Greg that everything was just peachy.

All it took was one knowing look from Greg and Rowley broke.

“Alright, fine! I heard my sister talking to her friend about how hot Rodrick is and how she wants to-”

“Okay, okay! I get the picture!”

Greg took a moment to proceed, his brows furrowed as he brought a contemplative fist up to support his chin.

“Lemme get this straight. Your sister likes my brother?”

Rowley nodded slowly.

“Y/n likes Rodrick?”

Rowley nodded again, confirming Greg’s exclamations.

“But y/n is smart a-and hot!”

“Greg! Don’t say that!” Rowley groaned, rolling his head back in disgust. Greg threw both of his hands up in defense, “I’m just stating facts.”

“Wait, I have an idea.” A pit of dread grew in Rowley’s stomach, Greg’s ideas never turned out well.

“What if we set up y/n with Rodrick? Just hear me out, this could be good for him.”

Rowley mulled the idea over in his head, thinking that maybe dating you could make Rodrick more… agreeable? Maybe you could be a good influence on the intimidating teenager. A happier Rodrick would make sleepovers at Greg’s a lot more pleasant.

“I think that could work,” Rowley said apprehensively. “But how do we do it?”

Greg shrugged, “Simple, we just tell Rodrick there’s a really hot Girl interested in him.”

The boys proceeded to draw up a plan.

Phase one: The approach. Greg and Rowley nervously ascended the wooden steps that led to Rodrick’s room. Rodrick was laying on his back, spinning a drumstick between his nimble fingers.

He shot up immediately when he noticed the boys’ presence. “What are your dweebs doing up here?”

Phase two: Delivery. “Calm down Rodrick, we have some information you might wanna know,” Greg reasoned cooly, easing Rodrick’s anger from a roaring ten to a mild six.

Greg nodded over at Rowley, signaling him to start talking.

“W-well,” Rowley stuttered, “I uhm- heard my sister talking about you and she- she likes you and she was talking about your jeans?”

Rodrick blinked in confusion, processing this intel.

“Your sister likes me? Are you sure she meant me?”

“That’s what I said!” Greg exclaimed and Rodrick shot him a terrifying glare, silently telling Greg to can it.

Rodrick was honestly shocked. He always observed you from afar, deciding himself that a chick as cool as you would never go for him. This news was absolutely world shattering for the boy, he completely admired you.

Phase three: Action. “We have a plan.” Greg said, a conniving grin creeping onto his face. “Rowley calls y/n, tells her that he’s feeling sick and blames it on Mom’s pot roast or something. Then when she rushes over all worried, you greet her at the door. And then you work your Rodrick magic!” Greg smiled, abundant pride for his plan evident in his stature.

“It’s a go.” Rodrick declared, scrambling around his room to put on deodorant, a new t-shirt, and cologne before pointing at Rowley. “Make the call.”

“Hey, y/n,” Rowley groaned into the phone, sounding as sick as he possibly could. “I- I think I ate something bad and I really need you ro come get me.”

You sighed, telling him you’d be there in ten minutes and to have his things ready to go. You departed for the Heffley house for the second time that night.

When Rowley didn’t come out to your car, you trudged up to the red door to go retrieve the sickly boy.

You gave the door three lazy knocks, expecting Rowley’s face to be the one behind it when it swung open. “Hey kid, are you feeling okay?” You asked, not yet making eye contact with the figure leering in the doorframe.

Your eyes widened as you came to realize who it was.

“Funny seeing you here,” Rodrick drawled out, a smirk tugging at his lips. Your cheeks burned with the heat of one thousand suns, you were not expecting this tonight.

“Y-yeah,” you smiled awkwardly, staring at your feet. “Rowley called, he uhm, he’s not feeling well. So if you could just get him for me I can leave. Immediately.” You cursed yourself for your blubbering idiocy as you twiddled your fingers.

“Actually, Rowley is feeling much, much better.” Suspicion grew as you studied Rodrick’s devious expression. “What’s going on?” You asked, genuinely puzzled as nothing was making any sense.

“I don’t know, y/n. Why don’t you come in and tell me?” Rodrick was surprisingly smooth in this situation, despite his nerves being at an all time high.

“Rowley is just up here,” Rodrick said while guiding you up the stairs to his room. In the meantime, Greg and Rowley peered out from the hallway, watching you follow Rodrick upstairs and giggling to themselves.

The overhead lights in Rodrick’s room were turned on, the glow from his string lights illuminating the area instead. “Mood lighting,” as he had called it. Rodrick had already instructed the boys to stay far away once you had arrived.

You were still lost, Rowley nowhere in sight. “So? Where is he?” You asked expectantly.

“Here’s the thing y/n. You know Rowley can’t keep secrets, right? I mean you have to know that, he is your brother”

Shit.

“That little shit stain! I’ll get him, I swear to god!” You turned to bound down the stairs, ready to tear the entire house apart in hunting for him. Rodrick grabbed your wrist before your foot could even reach the first step.

“Y/n, relax, relax!” His grip on your flesh made your breath hitch and stomach churn. “It’s okay, I feel the same way.” Rodrick’s cocky facade dissipated into nothing as he revealed his feelings.

You got a glimpse of a more vulnerable side of Rodrick that you were sure he didn’t typically share. “But girls like you don’t usually like stupid guys like me,” Rodrick was staring at the ground now, grasp on your arm softening.

You were too unsure of your words so you opted to move your free hand to hold his bicep, closing a considerable amount of distance between the two of you in the process.

“Rodrick, I’ve never liked anybody as much as I like you. And I don’t mean that in a weird or creepy way it’s just that-”

Now it was time for Rodrick’s own addition to the plan. Phase four: The kiss.

Your rambling was cut short by a pair of warm lips pressing against your own. He kissed you with just enough force to cause you to stumble back a bit, causing you to brace yourself against his torso.

He carded a gentle hand through your hair and tugged back on your soft locks. You moaned at the vibrations tendrilling at your scalp and kissed him with even more ferocity.

Somehow, you ended up on his bed, straddling him. The blankets strewn across his mattress melded against your knees and the fronts of your calves as you stabilized yourself on his lap.

He placed apprehensive hands on your hip bones, unsure of what was okay and what wasn’t. You placed your hand on top of his larger one, assuring him that you were comfortable. You even allowed a small whimper to leave your throat as he tightened his hold on you.

You only pulled away to catch your breath, looking into his eyes for the first time that night. You smiled warmly at him as you cupped his cheek. Suddenly, Rodrick’s signature smirk returned to his face.

“Now tell me what you were saying about my jeans.”

[felassan]

Dragon Age development insights and highlights from Bioware: Stories and Secrets from 25 Years of Game Development

Some really tasty factoids here.

Cut for length.

Dragon Age: Origins

The continent of Thedas was at one point going to be named Pelledia, a name initially floated by James Ohlen

“Qunari” was a temporary name that ended up unintentionally sticking, much like “Thedas”

Mary Kirby wrote the Landsmeet. To this day, nobody understands how it works, except possibly her. If she’s “really really drunk” she can explain how it works. There’s as many words in it as Sten’s entire conversations put together

Concept art for Thedosian art - as in in-world art - draws heavily on Renaissance-era portraiture, the Art Nouveau movement, religious styles and media like stained glass, and favorite pieces from the golden age of illustrations in the early 20th century

Andrastianism in-world (art-wise) is depicted in wildly different methods depending on who in-world made the art in question. “One religion, 3 different lenses”. There’s the Chantry take, the Orlesian take and the Fereldan take; each with its own different interpretations, different mediums and different stories

The stained glass images were drawn by Nick Thornborrow for DAI, to decorate religious spaces in that game “and beyond”

irl Viking art influenced Ferelden

Greek and Italian art influenced Orlais

The book also had other insights into and anecdotes from the development of DAO, but I’ve transcribed them recently as they’re essentially the stories DG has recently been relating on the awesome Summerfall Studios DAO playthrough Twitch streams. (On those streams he provides dev commentary while Liam Esler plays through DA. The ones with DG are currently once every two weeks. Check them out! Here’s a calendar where you can check when the next one is) Instead of repeating myself I’ll just provide the link to the first transcript. From there you can navigate to the subsequent parts. Note these streams are ongoing. At this point I will also point you to a related post which is cliff notes of the Dragon Age chapter in Jason Schreier’s book Blood Sweat and Pixels.

Dragon Age II

DAO had the longest development period in BioWare history. In contrast DA2 had the shortest

Initially DA2 was going to be an expansion to DAO. A few months in EA said “Yeah, expansions like these don’t sell very well, so let’s make it a sequel.” So it suddenly became DA2 and they had to make it even bigger, although they still only had 1.5 years of time in which to do this

Production of DA2 officially lasted only 9 months, and at the time the team was still supporting live content for DAO! They finished development that January after the design team crunched all the way through the holiday period that year. Then it went to cert 9 times

The limited time they had is why the story takes place mostly in and around 1 city, and over 7 years (so it was temporal, rather than over physical distance, because a more expansive world would have taken more irl time to make)

They had no time to review even the main plot. Mike Laidlaw pitched the idea of 3 stories taking place at different points in the PC’s life, tied together by Varric’s recollections of events. DG rolled with this and made 1 presentation on the idea. This presentation was then approved and off they went

As they were writing DG realized that there was going to be no oversight and that everything was going to be a ‘first draft’. “Because nobody had time.” He sat down with the writers and said “Look, here’s the conditions we’re working under. A lot of what we’re putting out is gonna be raw. We’re not going to get the editing we need. We’re not going to get the kind of iteration we need. So I’m going to trust you all to do your best work.”

Looking back, DG has mixed feelings on DA2. “A lot of corners were cut. The public perception was that it was smaller than DAO. That’s a sin on its own.”

Despite this he thinks DA2 has some of the best writing in the series, especially character-wise. The DA2 chars are his favorite

The pace with which production progressed may in some ways have helped. “When we do a lot of revision, we often file away [as in buff off] some of the good writing as well. Somehow DA2′s whirlwind process resulted in some really good writing”

The pace meant chars landed on the writers in various stages of completion. For example Isabela was fairly defined due to appearing in DAO. In contrast Varric at the start was just that single piece of widely-shown concept art

Varric was conceived as a storyteller not a fighter. His skills are talking and bullshitting. Hence the question became, so what does this guy do in combat? The direction was to make him as different as possible to Oghren, so not a warrior. He couldn’t be a dual-wielding rogue in order to differentiate him from Bela. But you can’t really picture this guy with a bow. “For a dwarf, it would probably be a crossbow. We didn’t have crossbows, or we only had crossbows for the darkspawn. And they were part of the models. We didn’t have a separate crossbow that was equip-able by the chars. They had to like, crop one off a darkspawn and remodel it. And that became Bianca” (quote: Mary Kirby)

“Dwarven mages are exceedingly rare.” [???]

If DAO was a classic fantasy painting, DA2 was a screenshot from a Kurosawa film or a northern Renaissance painting. (Here Matt Rhodes was commenting on art style)

John Epler: “In any one of our games, there’s a 95% chance that if you turn the camera away from what it’s looking at, you’ll see all kinds of janky stuff. The moment we know the camera is no longer facing someone, we no longer care what happens to them. We will teleport people around. We will jump people around. We will literally have someone walk off screen and then we will shift them 1000 meters down, because we’re fixing some bug.” John also talked about this camera stuff in a recent charity Twitch stream for Gamers For Groceries. There’s a writeup of that stream here

Designing Kirkwall pushed concept artists to the limits of visual storytelling, because it has a long history that they wanted to be present. It was once the hub of Tevinter’s slave empire, so it needed to look brutal and harsh, but it also then needed to feel reclaimed, evolved, and with elements of contemporary Free Marches culture

The initial plan was for DA titles to be distinguished by subtitles not numbers, so that each experience could stand on its own rather than feel like a sequel or continuation. (My note: New PCs in each entry make sense then when you consider this and other factoids we know like how DA is the story of the world not of any one PC). Later, DA2′s name was made DA2 in a bid to more clearly connect the game to its predecessor. For DAI they returned to the original naming convention. (My note: so I’d reckon they’d be continuing the subtitle naming convention for DA4)

DA2 was initially code-named “Nug Storm”, strictly internally

The Cancelled DA2 Expansion - Exalted March

This was a precursor to DAI

It was meant to bridge the gap between DA2 and DAI

It focused on the fallout from Kirkwall’s explosion, with Cory serving as the villain

Meredith’s red lyrium statue was basically going to infest Kirkwall and it would end up [with what would end up] the red templars taking over Kirkwall and essentially being Cory’s army

To stop him Hawke would have recruited various factions, including Bela’s Felicisima Armada and the Qunari at Estwatch, forcing Hawke to split loyalties and risk relationships in the process

It was meant to bring DA2′s story to an end and end in Varric’s death. DG was very happy with this because all of DA2 is Varric’s tale. The expansion was supposed to start at the moment Cassandra’s interrogation of him ended in the present. “And we finished off the story with Varric having this heroic death.” It tied things up and would have broken many fan hearts, something BioWare writers notoriously enjoy. But between a transition to the new Frostbite engine and the scope of DAI, the decision was made to cancel EM, work any hard-to-lose concepts into DAI, and in the process save Varric’s life. DG has talked about the Varric dying thing before

Concept art for EM explored new areas previously not depicted in the DA universe, with costumes that reflected next steps for familiar chars. Varric was going to war, what would he have worn? With Anders, if he survived DA2, the plan was to present a redeemed Warden

A char that vaguely resembled Sera in DAI was first concepted for EM. This fact was mentioned near this concept art (see the female elf) and this concept art of Bethany with the blond bob

The writers sketched out plans to end it with Hawke having the option to marry their LI. This included alternate ceremonies for party members like Bethany and Sebastian if the player opted not to wed. There was even a wedding dress made for Hawke. This asset made it into DAI (Sera and Cullen’s weddings in Trespasser). The dress can also be seen in DAI during an ambient NPC wedding after completing a chain of war table missions

The destruction of a Chantry was explored in concept art as it might have happened in EM. This idea ended up carrying over to the beginning of DAI. (My note: Lol, the idea that DA2 could have had 2 Chantries being destroyed in it 😆)

World of Thedas

Sheryl Chee and Mary Kirby started with “a disgusting little dish called fluffy mackerel pudding”. In the middle of DAO’s busy dev period one of them (they can’t remember who) found a recipe online for this, scanned in from a 70s cookbook. “I don’t understand why it was fluffy. Why would you want fluffy mackerel pudding?” MK says. “We loved it so much we included it in a DAO codex.”

This led them to create more food for Thedas, full recipes included, like a Fereldan turnip and barley stew from MK and SC’s Starkhaven fish and egg pie. The fish pie became Sebastian’s favorite. “To me it made sense for it to be fish pie because a lot of the Free Marches are on the coast”, SC says, “It was something that was popular in medieval times, so I thought, let’s make a fish pie! I looked at medieval recipes and I concocted a fish pie which I fed to my partner, and he was like ‘This is not terrible’”

For WoT the whole studio was asked to contribute family recipes which might have a place in Thedas. SC adapted these to fit in one Thedosian culture or another, including a beloved banana bread that localization producer Melanie Fleming would regularly bake to keep the DA team motivated. “Melanie’s banana bread got us through Inquisition”

DAI

It says part of DAI takes place in or near the border with Nevarra [???]

This game was aimed to be bigger than DA2 and even DAO in every conceivable way

The first hour had to do a lot of heavy lifting, tying together the events of DAO and DA2 while introducing a new PC, new followers etc in the aftermath of the big attack. DG rewrote it 7 times then Lukas Kristjanson did 2 more passes

DG: “Our problem is always that our endings are so important, but we leave them to last, when we have no time. I kept pushing on DAI: ‘Can we work on the ending now? Can we work on the ending now? Can we do it early on?’ Because I knew exactly what it was going to be. But despite the fact that it kept getting scheduled, whenever the schedule started falling behind, it kept getting pushed back... so, of course, it got left til last again.”

“The reveal of the story’s real antagonist, Solas, a follower until the end, when he betrayed the player”. “Solas’ story remains a main thread in Inquisition’s long-awaited follow-up” [these aren’t DG quotes, just bits of general text]

Over the course of development they had 8 full-time writers and 4 editors working on it. Other writers joined later to help wrangle what ended up being close to 1 million words of dialogue and unspoken text. While many teams moved to a more open concept style of work for DAI, the writers remained tucked away in their own room, a choice DG says was necessary, given how much they talked. All the talking had a purpose ofc as if someone hit a bump or wall in their writing they would open the problem up to the room

As writing on a project like DAI progresses, the writers grow punchier and weirder things make it into the game. This is especially the case towards the end of a project (they get tired, burned out)

Banter and codexes require less ‘buy-in’ (DG has talked about this concept a few times on the Twitch streams) from other designers. DG liked to leave banter for last as a reward because it was fun. Banter begins as lists of topics for 2 followers to discuss. These may progress over time or be one off exchanges. One banter script can balloon to well over 10k words. “The banter was always huge because we were always like, laughing, and really at that point, our fields of fucks were rather barren, so we would just do whatever”

The bog unicorn happened pretty much by accident. It was designed by Matt Rhodes and was one of his fav things to design. They needed horse variations and he had already designed an undead variant which was a bog mummy [bog body]. irl these are preserved in a much different way to traditional mummies. When someone dies in a bog their skin turns black and raisin-like. The examples we know of tend to have bright red hair for whatever reason. It’s a very striking look and MR wanted to do a horse version of this as he thought it’d be neat. 5 mins before the review meeting for it he had a big ‘Aha!’ moment, quickly looked up a rusty old Viking sword, and photoshopped it through its skull like that was how it died. “And I was like, ‘I just made a unicorn. Alright, in it goes!’” It got approved. “So we built the thing. It fit. It told a little story”

With the irl Inquisition longsword, one of the objects they tested its cleaving ability on was a plush version of Leliana’s nug Schmooples

The concept art team explored a wide variety of visuals for the Inquisitor’s signature mark. It needed to look powerful and raw but couldn’t look like a horrific wound. In some cases, as cool as the idea looked on paper, they just weren’t technically feasible, especially as they had to be able to fit on any number of different bodies

Bug report: “Endlessly spawning mounts! At one point during development, Inquisitors could summon a new horse every time they whistled, allowing them to amass a near infinite number of eager steeds that faithfully followed them across Thedas. “You could go charging across levels and they’d all gallop behind you,” Jen Cheverie says, “It was beautiful.” Trotting into town became an epic horse siege as a tidal wave of mounts enveloped the streets. Jen called it her Army of Ponies”

The giants came from DA Week, an internal period when devs can pursue different individual creative projects that in some way benefit DA. They also had a board game from one of these that they were going to put in but they didn’t have time. It’s referenced though. It was dwarven chess

Josie’s outfit is made of gold silk and patterned velvet, with leather at her waist. She carries “an ornate ledger” and she has “an ornamented collar sitting around her neck, finished by a brilliant red ruby, like a drop of Antivan wine in a sunbeam”

Iron Bull’s armor is leather. His loose pantaloons and leather boots give him agility to charge

On DAI in particular, concept artists took special care to make sure costumes would be realistic, at least in a practical ‘this obeys the laws of physics and textiles’ sense. “While on Inquisition, we thought about cosplay from a concept art perspective. Given how incredible a lot of [cosplays] are, I now am not worried about them. In fact in some cases in the future I want to throw them curveballs like, ‘All right, you clever bastards. Let’s see if you can do this!’”

2 geese that nested on the office building and had chicks were named Ganders and Arishonk (it wasn’t known who was the mom or the dad). Other possible names were Carver Honke, Bethany Honke, Urdnot Pecks, Quackwall, Cassandra Pentagoose, the Iron Bill, Shepbird, Garroose, Admiral Quackett, Scout Honking, HChick-47 and Darth Malgoose

Bug report: “The surprising adventures of Ser Noodles!” DAI was the first time the series had a mount feature, meaning this had a lot of bugs. A lot of the teams’ favorite bugs were to do with the mounts. There was a period of time where the Inquisitor’s horse seemed to lose all bone and muscle in its legs. They had a week or so where all quadruped legs were broken. It was a bit noticeable in things like nugs and other small beasties but the horse was insanely obvious. “The first time we summoned the horse [for this] and started running around, the entire QA exploration room just exploded with laughter.” Its legs flapped around like cooked fettucine, leading testers to lovingly nickname it Ser Noodles. At galloping speeds the legs almost looked like helicopter blades, especially when footage was set to classic pieces such as Wagner’s Flight of the Valkyries

For DAI the artists were asked questions like “What would Morrigan wear to a formal ball? Can Cassandra pull off a jaunty hat?”

On DAI storyboarding became the norm. John Epler: “Cinematic design for the longest time was the Wild West. It was ‘here’s a bunch of content, now do it however you want’, which resulted in some successes and some failures.” Storyboarding gave designers a consistent visual blueprint based on ideas from designers, writers and concept artists

Quote from a storyboard by Nick Thornborrow (the Inquisitor going into the party at the end of basegame sequence): “Until Corypheus revealed himself they could not see the single hand behind the chaos. A magister and a darkspawn combined. The ultimate evil. So evil. Eviler than puppy-killers and egg farts combined.”

A general note on concept art:

In the early stages of any project, before the concept artists are aware of any writing, they like to just draw what they think cool story moments could be. It’s not unusual for the team to then be inspired by these and fold them into the game as the project progresses

– From Bioware: Stories and Secrets from 25 Years of Game Development

[avintagekiss24]

—you can pretend you don’t miss me; bucky barnes

pairing: tfatws!bucky barnes x black!reader

word count: 4049

warnings: 18+ ONLY, knife kink, vaginal fingering, orgasm denial, tiny bit of blood, attempted murder

challenge: @cockslut-padalecki a decade under the influence “what if I can’t forget you? I’ll burn your name into my throat”

request: bucky barnes + “i have a feeling i’m gonna get lucky tonight” + orgasm denial

author note: surprise! it didn’t take me two months to write something sjsksjs please enjoy fic #3 of my 5/5.5k follower celebration! also another quick congrats to lisa for hitting 10k!!

inspired by this art ; gif by @zacharylevis ; line divider by @firefly-graphics ; title inspired by billie eilish bitches broken hearts

The taste of bourbon and cigarettes is on his lips and tongue as he licks into your mouth. He moans into you, fingers digging into the meat of your thigh as he hooks your leg right around his waist. Your back is up against the heavy door of his apartment, fingers in soft brown hair, wet lips smacking and sucking, teeth nibbling on his swollen, red bottom lip. He laughs, relaxing into your kiss and lips and teeth as he anchors your weight in his metal hand, flesh hand rummaging in his almost too tight black jeans for his door key.

There’s a smirk on your face as you pull away from him. Your lips are still touching. Foreheads resting on one another's. Eyes a little shy, only connecting for fractions of seconds before they’re on the floor or a pair of lips. The jingle of keys fills the hallway, then the thunk of one as it pushes into the slot and stops hard against the rusted metal of the lock. The deadbolt slaps back into the door and with a push of his foot, and a little help from your weight being pinned against it, the swollen door scrapes against the frame as it pops open, swinging back into the wall.

Bucky slips his hands down your sides, grips your hips tight as he starts to back you inside. They stay there, those hands, as his eyes bounce back and forth between yours and dip down to your mouth where he licks his lips and catches his bottom lip between his teeth, like he’s fantasizing about wanting to feel them again. A metal hand cups your face, his palm warm as he sweeps his thumb along your cheek.

His tongue sneaks out just before your lips meet again to tease the roof of your mouth before he grabs your top lip between his. You both inhale deep, breathing each other in, a concoction of soft and sweet and smoke and warmth.

You’re not sure who moves first, whether Bucky is pushing or you’re pulling— probably a little of both— but you’re inside of his apartment before you know it. The door slams shut. Your leather jacket slips off your shoulders and hits the hardwood floor as you back further inside.

Fingers and hands are everywhere. Yanking at shirts, popping buttons, pulling zippers as lips get more desperate. You back into a set of bar stools, knocking them around just a little as you stumble and catch yourself, throwing your head back as laughter spills from you. Bucky pushes out a breath and a small laugh while he eyes you all hungry like as he pulls at his boots.

You tease him a little, putting those feminine wiles to good use— tilt your head, twist your hair around your fingers, push your tits forward. With your shirt crumpled on the floor, the titanium bars pushed through your nipples catch the soft pink, blue, and purple lights of the neon signs pouring in through the kitchen windows through the sheer mesh bralette covering your chest.

Bucky looks a mess. Hair all over his head, pants open— the band of his Hugo Boss boxers peeking out— plain black t-shirt now in a rumpled pile on the floor. His footsteps heavy as he stalks towards you. He stops short, wraps black and gold fingers around your wrist and yanks, collecting you again to crush your soft body against his hard one.

You tilt your head up towards him, eyes turning to slits, lips brushing against his as manicured fingertips push just inside his jeans. Soft tips sweep over a rigid cock, the size making a sly smile curl onto your face. This one is full of surprises.

“Well well,” you purr, kissing him quick, wet and loud, never taking your eyes off him, “I have a feeling I’m gonna get lucky tonight.”

A deep chuckle rumbles through his chest, a breath pushing out through his nose as a lopsided grin paints his handsome face, “Aren’t you a smart girl.”

You curl your fingers around his neck, digging the tips into his messy hair and draw him in— dragging the wet velvet of your tongue over his mouth real slow, watching as his eyes close, “You, bed,” you instruct, “Me, bathroom.”

Footsteps fill the quiet, surprisingly lived-in apartment, the clicks of your heels and his heavy thumps as he pulls you towards the bed. He just points off to his left as he falls onto the mattress, resting a leaden head on a wide palm as he settles in. Eyes blinking at you slow as you disappear behind a white door.

The bathroom is immaculate. White. Sterile. Nothing out of place— very military of him. You undress slowly, removing your shoes one by one before moving on to your jeans, leaving you in nothing but a see through bra, waist high panties— and a black leather ankle holster housing your six inch, hand crafted, butterfly knife.

You lift your foot, place it on the white countertop and slip the blade from the holster before carefully, quietly undoing the straps. Taking a deep breath, you stand up a little straighter, roll your neck and shoulders as you stare back at your reflection. The pony tail comes down, silky hair falling over your shoulders and down your back— best fifteen hundred bucks you’ve ever spent on yourself.

Gotta look good on the day you finally get to kill the Winter Soldier.

With a soft flick of your wrist, the blade flips out and you can’t help but run a manicured finger over the edge, pressing the sharp point into the pad. You find yourself in the mirror again and tilt your head a little as your brain goes a little empty— except for maybe one thought.

You wanna fuck him. You’ve earned it, and regrettably so, you find Bucky Barnes sort of interesting. Funny. Engaging when prodded a bit but still somehow deadpan and aloof.

His huge cock doesn’t help matters either.

You sigh, oh well.

The door clicks as you open it and pass through. You keep your hands behind your back as your body softens— sinks into itself a little. Hair falls in your face as you feign shyness, batting big, soft brown eyes and sinking your teeth into an ample bottom lip.

Bucky took the time to get completely naked. Hard cock gripped in his flesh palm, slow drags from the base to the glistening tip.

God, you really kinda wish you could fuck this man.

“Come ‘ere.”

An outstretched metal hand accompanies the gentle beckoning. You move soft, a small sound of your feet sinking into the carpet before you reach out with your empty hand and slide it into warm metal, using the sturdy grip to hoist yourself up and over his stomach.

His hands find your hips— big, warm, manly hands. They slip upwards just a bit to grip the soft of your sides. Move down again for thick fingers to graze over your ass and tickle the backs of your naked thighs. Still, you palm the handle of your knife tight and high, in the small of your back, as you use your free hand to push the dark strands of hair out of your face.

Bucky’s eyes meet yours when his fingers push between your parted legs, finding a wet spot in those mesh panties. You inhale deep, blinking back at him as his fingers keep a sweet little rhythm back and forth against your cunt. Hips defy your brain and push forward into those fingers— wanting just a little more.

Maybe you can wait… maybe until after...

You lean forward before your brain can finish stringing the words together— you have to or you’d lose all your nerve and give into that weak devil telling you to taste the sin. Let him spread you open until it hurts. Your mouth finds his hot and swollen and you kiss him hard, so hard he groans into it. You pull back just enough to lick his mouth again, eyes bouncing between his.

“What’re you waitin’ for, sweetheart? You need more of an invitation than this?” Bucky asks low and slow, pushing his cock right into your ass as his fingers creep inside your panties.

You smile, real nice and sweet before swooping the arm from behind your back to push the knife into his neck, “Oh nothing, baby,” you purr, “Just waiting for the right time to kill you is all.”

You lean back a little to see his face, tipping your head to the side. He’s pretty calm for a guy who’s minutes away from bleeding out on his own bed— but he is an assassin. Not much can shake him— should shake him.

Bucky blinks slow at you, hands coming to rest by his sides. His eyes don’t widen, pupils don’t dilate. Steady breathing stays just the same— he doesn’t even shift uncomfortably. Just blinks back at you. Slow. Easy. Without a fucking care in the goddamn world.

An angry heat blooms across your skin at his nonchalance as the seconds tick by. Your chest starts to rise and fall a little harder. Your eyes start to bounce between his as you suck your teeth in indignation, “You don’t remember me, do you?”

A blink is all you get.

“Of course you don’t,” you hiss, “Why would you? I was just one of many in the wrong place at the wrong time, right?” Your grip on the handle of the knife tightens as you push it harder against his skin— this time he swallows, “Who cares how many innocent lives you’ve destroyed as long as you got what you wanted.”

He still doesn’t say a word, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react. Just stares up at you as you crack, laughing angrily as you take his silence mockingly, “Well, I couldn’t fuckin’ forget you. Eight years. Eight years of living in absolute terror that you’d come back for me.” You’re seething now, eyes wild, breath coming harder and faster than the one before it, “Constantly looking over my shoulder, jumping at every bark of a dog and clink of keys and slam of a car door outside my apartment— do you know how it feels to live like that? Huh? Expecting to die every second of every hour of every goddamn day?”

Another silence drops over the room and it’s just the two of you staring at each other. You’re not even sure why he isn’t fighting back— why he’s just lying there and then it hits you, like a ton of bricks.

Of course he knows what it’s like to live like this. He’s used to it.

A trickle of blood slips down the side of his neck, the singular plop staining the white sheets below, “I’ve never thought about after— once you’re dead. What if I can’t forget you? I’ve spent so long hating you— it’s, it’s like by killing you, I’ll burn your name into my throat, you know? You’ll always just,” you tilt your head, digging the knife in a little harder, “Be there. With me always.”

The funniest thing happens as soon as the words slip through your teeth. His lips start to twitch. Curl into a smile— one where those pearly whites are on display— and then he’s laughing. Like someone just told a fucking joke.

It makes you recoil. Makes you squint and has your face twist in confusion, lips separating as a heavy breath passes through.

“Well,” he finally purrs, the laughter rumbling through his chest dying down, “Go ‘head, honey.”

When you hesitate, he pushes his chin forward, arch’s his head back to put his neck on full display, “Come on, baby. Don’t get my hopes up and not follow through.”

“You’re insane.” You hiss.

He leans up a little, another smile curling onto his lips, “In this business, you gotta be.”

The words stick in air like glue as he settles back into the pillow below his head, blue eyes twinkling underneath the soft neon lights pouring in through the windows.

He’s fucking with you. Just do it. The words echo, knocking around your brain as you stare down at him, blade still shoved into the crease of his neck. Another drop of blood plops onto the sheets below. Your lip snarls slightly, eyes narrowing as heat flashes across your skin again. He’s mocking you. After everything he’s done, all the pain— the fear.

You inhale deep, grip the handle so hard your nails dig into your palm and instinct takes over. The hatred, the built up aggression and vitriol guiding your hand, about to slash that pretty thick neck wide open. You are more than ready to see a deep red stain white sheets and blue eyes lose all of the life he’s built into them and fade away into nothingness. Just when you’re about to make your eight year long dream come true, it all flashes before your eyes.

Within a blink— half of a blink— you're off his lap, slammed up against the wall opposite the bed, warm flesh hand around your throat. You gasp hard, nearly choking on the air you can’t grab as you start to struggle, slapping at his face before swinging the knife wildly.

Bucky catches your arm with ease, squeezing your hand until you’re grunting and hissing in pain, grip relaxing around the metal. You blink again, and your knife is now pressed against your throat as you growl, struggling to no avail.

“You’re lucky baby,” he mutters, “Nobody survives that long while holding a knife to my throat.” He kisses you hard, digging his teeth into your bottom lip to drag it back with him when he pulls away, “You’re a cutie tho, so, you get a little reprieve.”

He leans back in real close, eyes roaming along your face as his head tilts, breathing easy. Staring back at him, lip curling again as you huff hard, angry breaths beating out of your nose. But your hands have come to rest on his arms. You can feel the blood coursing through the vein that’s popped out right down the center of his bicep. Your fingers flex around metal and muscle, goosebumps rising on your skin as the cool air conditioning tickles hot skin.

“Of course I remember you,” he whispers after a long time— too long, “I remember each and every face of the last seventy years,” his eyes bounce between yours, “I knew exactly who you were as soon as you popped up on that stupid dating app.”

Another sharp influx of air squeezes out of your throat when he drags the tip of your knife underneath your chin, down the length of your throat, down your chest. Slips it along your stomach before pushing it into the mesh that covers your chest. A flick of his wrist and you’re bare, the thin material giving way to the blade.

Your chest heaves, eyes wide, lips parting as the tip of that blade scrapes along your skin— right between your tits. Brown eyes drop to his red, wet lips quick, then shoot back to focus on his piercing blues.

“I wasn’t sure at first what you wanted,” he whispers, flattening the blade over a piqued nipple, clinking against the metal bar piercing your thick flesh, “If you recognized me after all this time— I mean, with the new hair and everything.”

A hum sounds at the back of your throat, trembling and airy and Bucky picks it up right away— another smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The fingers around your throat peel away slowly but he watches you all the while, fire behind his eyes as he tests you.

“You’re a good little actress,” words still soft but full— maybe amazed that you were able to get as close as you did, “But you knew that already, huh?”

You swallow hard, eyes tipping down to watch his fingers drift down your arm. Light little touches, “You have to be when born— ah,” the edge of the knife catches your thick nipple as he slides it across your tit.

He kisses you again, real sweet this time though. Tongue sweeping along your bottom lip as both his encase it, “I’m sorry baby. You were saying?”

Flesh fingers dance along your stomach, sweeping from hip to hip. Just the tips. Feather light drags so you don’t forget about them. His large palm grips your hip, pushes his thumb into the meat of your side and you have to close your eyes— clear your throat to center yourself. To remember why you’re there in the first place.

Sweet breath washes over your face as Bucky rolls your left nipple now into the edge of the blade— kissing you again when you shriek at the quick, sharp pain just to eat the sound. You lose the fingers around your hip, only to find them again suddenly, jumping in slight surprise as calloused pads cup a soft, wet cunt.

Bucky’s still blinking slow, fingers pushing along a swollen clit, massaging. He’s real close now, prickly cheek rubbing against yours, teeth nibbling at your jawline.

Your own fingers dig into his biceps as your eyes flutter with the tightening of your stomach. A warmth starts to spread through your veins. Hips find a little rhythm against his hand. A sharp prick here and there as he circles that knife— your own damn knife— around your tits and back up to your throat again.

That’s when he sinks two long, thick fingers into you, not stopping until his palm is flush with your sticky folds. His thumb pressed against the sensitive little nub at the center of you.

His eyes are slits, head tilted up slightly as his mouth hangs, dragging in the air you expel. Only then does his fingers start to move, delving in and out, thumb still pushing along your clit.

“God,” you pant, pushing your head upwards against the wall, “Mmm, I can’t—” his fingers push deeper and the words are gone, like they never even existed in the first place, “Fuck.”

Bucky pushes the smooth blade against your throat just a little harder— the sharp edge forcing your chin upward a little more. He flattens his thumb against your lower stomach, starts to pull his fingers, not push them. The heel of his palm starts to slap against your skin as you buck into the motion.

Your hands slip up to his shoulders, both arms wrapping lazily around either side of his neck. The soft hum from earlier is replaced with high pitched whimpers and breathy little squeaks. Bitten off words fall from your lips as you squirm against the wall, wanting him deeper, faster, harder— which he delivers without you having to say a word.

He grabs your cheeks, pinching hard as the blade flattens across your pouty lips. A weak, desperate whimper sounds, all your resolve gone. Whatever leverage you thought you had completely wiped away— and it makes a wicked grin spread on Bucky’s lips.

“You close, baby? Hmm?” he hums, licking at your mouth again, “Oh sweet girl, you wanna come, huh? You gonna come for me?”

He strokes your clit with the tip of his thumb, your walls clenching around his fingers. The gentle encouragement continues, real soft and between sweet little kisses all over your face. A dull ache settles in your belly, a thick heat starting to stir within. Your heart leaps into your throat as your hips pump with Bucky’s hand, the release so close you can taste it.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you groan, “‘m gonna fuckin—”

“You want it? Huh? Want me to make you come honey?”

You squeak in response, nodding fast as you bite down into your lip, “Please. Please.”

Heat ripples through your body as you start to tremble, legs going shaky and weak. Muscles start to burn all over as you tense hard, coaxing the sweet agony swirling in your stomach. You cry out, his name hanging on your lips as the rush of it all pushes higher and higher.

Just as you start to unravel, just as the coil begins to snap, his fingers are gone. Pulled from your cunt and clit. You’re whipped around his body, forced back towards the bed. Your mind racing— maybe you’ll be getting some of that cock afterall.

Or not.

Metal slaps around your wrist, bites into the skin as it clamps down, the clink of teeth sliding into the lock housing ringing in your ears. You snap your head towards the sound when it all finally connects in your murky brain. The horror of realization floods into your veins— blood running cold as your stomach drops to your feet.

The handcuffs clink against the dark metal headboard as you fight against it, “You bastard! You fuckin’ piece of shit, let me go!” you shout, thrashing your arm back and forth, pulling as hard as you can, “Goddamn it— let me the fuck go! I’ll fuckin’ kill you, you bast—”

“Ooph,” Bucky jests, octave rising as he slips back into his jeans, “You got a filthy little mouth on you.”

“Fuck you!”

He scoffs, laughing gently as he pulls his black shirt back over his head. The bastard even starts to hum as he plops down on the edge of the bed, taking his time while he pushes his feet back into his boots and shrugs into his jacket.

You keep sharp eyes on him as he stands and turns to face you, dangling a pair of small silver keys next to his grinning face before he tosses them somewhere deep in the apartment. You swipe at him with your free hand as he approaches, just barely catching his chin as he kneals down, “I’m gonna kill you,” you smile, a blind rage engulfing every pore, every muscle, every ounce of your body.

Bucky shrugs, “Not tonight, sweets. Listen, tell Sam I’m sorry about the mess, hm?”

“Who the fuck is Sam?” you hiss.

He looks down at his watch, “Yeah, he should be home in about an hour. It’s not everyday you walk into your apartment to find a naked, wannabe assassin handcuffed to your bed, so, give him my apologies— wait, you know about Sam, right? The new Cap, they made it official a couple of weeks ago.”

Your jaw clenches as you stare back at his smiling face, more humiliation pouring through you as you realize he’s had you pegged the entire goddamn time.

“Oh baby,” he laughs again, “You didn’t honestly think I’d take you back to my place, did you? I don’t even know you— you kids today are so reckless.”

Blue eyes bounce between yours for a few seconds before he glances down at his hands, works them back into his black gloves. He pulls your butterfly knife from his back pocket and starts to play with it, flicking his wrist to close it, and then open it over and over again.

“I’m keeping this,” he offers as he locks it closed and slips it back into his pocket, “Maybe you’ll find the balls to try and take it from me.”

“Oh,” you laugh, shaking your head, “I’m taking it back.”

Bucky stands, the sound of his heavy boots sounding through the apartment as he moves towards the door, “I look forward to it kiddo.”

***

If there’s one thing you respect about Bucky Barnes, it’s his attention to detail.

Right on the dot, exactly one hour later, you snap your head towards the front door as keys start to jingle in the lock. With the bed sheet wrapped loosely around your torso, you straighten up against the wall, eyes wide as you watch an exhausted Samuel Thomas Wilson walk into his apartment.

“Oh, fuck!” he shouts, jumping slightly and dropping his bag to the floor when he locks eyes with you, “What in the fuck?”

“I can explain… sort of.” you start, holding up your hand.

You apparently don’t need to. Sam’s phone is to his ear within seconds as he starts to pace back and forth, “Bucky, this is not why I gave you a key to my mother fuckin’ apartment!”

[duuhrayliegh]

my hero - request

request: anon: hi could you write a sebastian x female reader fic where she suffers from anxiety and feels bad because of it but he comforts her and tells her there’s nothing wrong with her and how strong she is even though she has this disorder

pairing: sebastian stan x female!reader

warnings: self-esteem issues, anxiety, toxicity in the fandom, language?

a/n: hey nona! you weren’t super specific on what type of anxiety that you wanted to reader to have, so if this isn’t what you had in mind, lmk and i’ll write you another fic! other than that i hope you like it!

p.s.: my requests and tag lists are open!!

xoxo ray

check out my m.list

You and Seb met at a coffee shop in New York. It was totally cliche and seemed straight out of a storybook. You had somehow managed to spill coffee on that specimen of a man, and he was kind enough to let you pay for his dry cleaning. Your relationship didn’t grow until you ran into him again while you were at a bar with your friends. If he had any say in telling the story of how you met, he spotted you from across the smoky bar and he knew then and there that he had to get to know you. Truthfully, you liked his version, but the real one was just indescribable. It seemed, to you at least, that you were destined to be with this man. Seeing him twice in one week? Come on, that’s possible if you were in the small town you grew up in, but not New York.

You obviously had recognized him as an actor, but really you didn’t care. That’s what drew Sebastian to you in the first place. You treated him as if he was any other guy on the street, he was able to be a normal person around you. Now, two years later, you lounge on the couch of your apartment in LA that you shared with the man you love. He’s still auditioning for any role that catches his eye and you’re supporting him no matter what.

His fans for the most part adored you and your relationship with Sebastian. The fans who didn’t like you were your only issue with this whole affair, but they had nothing to do with Sebastian other than flood his socials with nasty messages about you. You weren’t perfect, that you knew all too well, and you tried to let the comments roll off your shoulders. Most of the time you were successful in your efforts, but other times they clung to your skin like an unwanted disease.

Sebastian was currently promoting his new project Endings, Beginnings. You were so unbelievably proud of Seb, he was doing something that made him happy. In this particular film, he was acting alongside Shailene Woodley, who was just amazing. Seb always came home gushing about the new inside jokes that they had come up with. One of your favorite things that Seb did with you was run lines. You liked having the inside scoop on his new works, but this one was harder for you. It had quite a few sex scenes between Seb’s character Frank and Shailene’s Daphne.

Not that it bothered you. Nope. Didn’t bother you. At all.

...mmm, okay maybe it bugged you a little. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Sebastian, it was… well you couldn’t really describe what it was. Whatever the case may be, it was putting you deeper and deeper into a funk, one that you were having a hard time coming out of. And Seb’s fans who weren’t in your corner, weren’t really helping you any.

A few nights ago, Seb surprised you with a casual night out in LA. He texted you before he got home and told you that he was going to be taking you out. Did he give you a dress code for the evening? No, he did not (wonderful, thanks so much Seb). You decided to dress in a half business casual, half rail me when we get home outfit. You ended up wearing an adorable bustier top that was embroidered with pretty blue and pink flowers, a pair of destroyed jeans covered your legs. You finished it off with a pair of nude heels, when you looked in the mirror, you thought you looked hot as fuck. It was around seven when Seb picked you up, mouth hanging open, in awe of your outfit.

“Oh my god. You look so beautiful, Y/N.” He opened the passenger door of his car after he hugged you, giving you a small peck on the lips. Sebastian drove you to a restaurant a block off of Thai Town called Home Restaurant.

“Babe, this place is so cute!” You squeezed Sebastian’s upper arm, jumping up and down beside him. “How’d you find this place?” Sebastian shook his head, smiling at you.

“I asked Shai, actually.” He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck, and your heart sank a little. Why did it do that? “She said that the paps hardly ever come around here.” He leaned down pressing a kiss to your temple. “I thought that draga mea deserved a quiet night out on the town.” His voice rasped as he spoke in his native tongue, making a shiver race down your spine.

“Well, tell her I said thank you.” You offered him a small smile. He wrapped his arm around your waist, drawing circles on the exposed skin above your jeans. He spoke with the hostess as your mind drifted away. You were pulled out of your thoughts when he guided you to your table. Sebastian sat across from you, staring deeply into your eyes. You brought your hand up to rest your chin on it, staring back at him. “How’s everything been going?” You were genuinely interested in the answer and it made your heart warm watching his face light up.

“It’s been going really well. Everyone we worked with was real nice, it made all the scenes more comfortable.” Seb’s eyebrows rose at the mention of the scenes and you knew which ones he was referring to.

“Oh, right.” You tried not to let your emotions show.

“Yeah, we’re about to start teasing some of them to promote the show.” Seb sighed at the thought of having to use social media, you shook your head at him.

“I’ll help you with it, you dork.” You laughed to hide your discomfort. “Which scene did they approve for the posts?” Sebastian began to speak when he was interrupted by your waitress. After the two of you ordered your food, the waitress returned with your drinks. Sebastian took a large gulp of his before answering your previous question.

“They want me to post the trailer and then the scene between Frank and Daphne at the bar.” You tried to think back to the script, remembering the context. Frank and Daphne were meeting after Daphne had gone out on a date with Jack. Daphne was claiming that she didn’t want to be a wedge in their friendship, then proceeded to make out with Frank. If you were recalling correctly, Frank and Daphne’s first sex scene followed soon after.

“Okay, we can do that. Do you have any behind the scene pictures you wanna post too?” Seb got out his phone, scrolling through his camera roll to see. He had several different photos of him with Jamie and then him with Shailene. He showed you his phone on a picture of Shailene leaned against him on a couch, her arm over his waist. A red filter colored the photo, you had to hand it to him, it was a good one to use. “We can post it whenever we get home, love.” Sebastian locked his phone and shoved it in his pocket, to focus solely on you.

“How has your day been, draga mea?” You bit your lip as you thought about what you’ve been doing. You’ve been working towards your Master’s, so your days have been filled with preparing for your dissertation. On top of that, you’ve become a bit of an influencer on different social media platforms. Really, you believe your popularity came from your relationship with Sebastian. You’ve been giving his fans the content that they’ve always wanted. Not only that, but you’re active with them.

“My day was good today. I had to edit a few papers from my other classmates but other than that I didn’t do much. I did make a few TikTok videos, but really today was a bit of a lounge day for me.” Seb smiled at you, proud of how hard you’ve been working.

“I should be getting a few days off soon, so we can relax together in the apartment, if you aren’t too busy with your classes.” He stretched his arm across the table, palm up waiting for your hand. Seb pulled your hand up to his mouth, placing a sloppy kiss onto the back of it. His eyes settled on you lovingly. To Sebastian, you were the greatest thing that had ever happened to him.

The two of you managed to finish your meal in peace. No fans came up to Sebastian asking for photos, no paparazzi swarms when you left, just a quiet meal for a normal couple in love. After you got home and you were snuggled in your pajamas alongside Sebastian in your comfortable bed, he handed you his phone to read over his post for his Instagram. The paragraph was sappy, about his time working with Drake, the director, and working with the rest of the cast. Seb always was a softy, never was able to hide it, especially in promo posts.

“It looks good to me. Are you going to post it now? Or wait until tomorrow morning?” Seb debated, he probably should wait and do it tomorrow, but he was most likely going to forget to do it. He clicked post, putting his phone on charge and snuggling into you.

“Thank you for always being there for me, Y/N.” He kissed your jawline, nuzzling his face into your neck. “It really means a lot to me, baby. I love you so much.” He wrapped both hands around your waist, pulling you to his front. You smiled wide, momentarily forgetting all of your troubles.

“I love you too, Seb.” You turned your head slightly, pressing a kiss against the corner of his mouth. “Now let’s get some sleep, love.” Little did you know that a single post could ruin all of the progress that you thought you had made.

*********************

You woke the next morning, alone in bed. You could hear pots clanging in the kitchen of your home, bringing a smile to your face. Before you left the safety of your bed, you checked your socials out of habit. You opened Instagram first, seeing an absurd amount of notifications this early in the morning. Your smile dropped as soon as you opened the first post. Comments on Sebastian’s post about Endings, Beginnings and his chemistry with Shailene weren’t entirely out of the ordinary. They were to be expected, they were playing parts in a love triangle. People were ‘shipping’ Shailene with Seb and Jamie, so that wasn’t too crazy.

What hurt you were the comments saying, “living for shailene and sebastian! she’s a much better match for him than y/n.”

“never thought that y/n girl was going to last, glad he’s going w shailene”

“shailene and seb supremacy”

“yes! i’ve always supported seb in everything he’s done, but i rlly questioned him when he got w that y/n girl. what was he thinking?!”

Tears gathered in your eyes as you continued scrolling. You never thought you and Sebastian never fit. You knew that people had issues with your relationship, but you never let it get in your head this bad. You checked your explore page, pictures of you and Sebastian from last night were riddling the page.

Your heart dropped.

There were pictures of the two of you from last night with parts of your body circled. The exposed skin above your waistband, the excess skin on your neck and arms. You don’t know where they got these pictures, but your stomach was steadily sinking with each picture you saw. The door of your room opened, revealing a smiley Sebastian with a plate full of eggs in one hand and a cup of orange juice in the other.

“Good morning, baby.” You quickly shoved your phone away from you, wiping your tears away from your eyes to meet his. His brows furrowed immediately. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” You snuffled quietly, before answering.

“Uh, nothing. I’m just so proud of you.” You smiled at him, not wanting to bring down his already happy mood with your problems. Was that entirely healthy? Probably not, but you were doing it anyway, consequences be damned.

“Oh, well you don’t have to cry for me, Y/N. Even if you’re proud.” He walked up to your side of the bed, placing the cup and plate on your nightstand. He brought his hand up to your cheeks, wiping away your tear streaks. “You know that I only like to see tears whenever it’s me causing you so much pleasure you beg me to stop.” He winked at you, smirking at your rising blush. To say that didn’t lift your spirits for about half a second would be a lie. Sebastian brought the plate to your lap, waiting for you to start eating. At this particular moment, after seeing all those horrible pictures of your body, your appetite had gone out the window, but he was so smiley.

“After you eat, I want ya to shower.” Sebastian’s hand came up to your jaw, cupping it as you used it to chew the eggs. “We’ve got a long day of lounging and enjoying each other's company ahead of us.” Sebastian stood from the bed, throwing a wink at you as he left the room dramatically. You stopped eating soon after he left, the food tasting like ash on your tongue. At some point, you got into the bathroom, staring at the reflection in the mirror.

Your phone was in your hand again. The pictures flooding your Twitter feed. Shaky breaths left your mouth as you watched your reflection tilt its head. Tears began gathering in your eyes as it felt like you weren’t in your own skin anymore. You had worked so hard to be comfortable in your own body.

It’s amazing how just one picture can ruin everything.

You leaned forward on the countertop, hands holding up your weight. You shifted towards the mirror, examining every miniscule detail that your eyes could see. Your lids came down quickly, tears dragging down your cheeks. You squeezed your eyes closed, shaking your head back and forth.

“You are not going to let this get to you.” You took a few deep breaths as you turned on the shower. Not wanting to be around the mirror anymore, you kept your bath short, talking to yourself the whole time. By the time you left the bathroom, it was steamed completely, you couldn’t see your reflection even if you wanted to.

“He loves you.” You had a mantra and you continued to repeat it as you walked into your shared closet. “He loves all of you.” You pulled one of his old t-shirts off a hanger. “Sebastian loves you.” A pair of your underwear and his loose boxers covered your lower half. “Sebastian loves all of you.” You shoved your feet into a pair of fuzzy pink socks, leaving the closet still muttering to yourself. You tucked your phone into your waistband after checking your socials again. You know you shouldn’t have, but there was some part of you that just wouldn’t let you not.

The same shit covered your For You page on TikTok. Videos from the trailer of Seb and Shailene and then videos of you and Seb, comparing the two relationships. “They do fit well together.” You thought to yourself. A part of you wondering why Seb was with you in the first place.

“Did you say something, love?” Sebastian looked at you from the couch. A blanket was strewn over his lower half, his upper body inviting, waiting for you to join him. His smile dropped when he took in your glassy eyes instead of your usual happy expression.

“Oh baby, what’s wrong?” He started towards you, eyes running over your body for any outward injuries. An understanding look crossed his face when he saw your phone clutched in your hand. “Y/N, talk to me, baby.” Sebastian’s hands rested on your shoulders, lightly caressing your biceps. You recoiled from his touch, feeling uncomfortable in your own body.

“Just some stuff that some fans posted.” Seb’s thumb traced just under your eye, wiping away the tears. He held his right hand out for your phone, to understand what you were talking about. His brows furrowed deeply as he scrolled, not fully processing how destructive his fans could be. Sebastian always believed that they were the best fucking people in the world. He knew that they could be mean, but this was something else.

“They don’t know what they’re talking about, Y/N.” Sebastian’s voice was firm. It was almost strong enough to cut through the fog invading your brain, but not quite. You had officially zoned out. Dead to the world. Lost in your own thoughts. No matter how destructive those thoughts may be.

Sebastian noticed that you were already too deep, having experienced this with you many times before. He was aware that you were self-conscious, insecure, however you want to describe it. Your anxiety always got worse when you were stressed. Prepping for your dissertation was definitely a stressful time. Add on top of that, Sebastian was constantly pulling you from your work for various reasons. Had he contributed to this? Scratch that thought, he didn’t have time for that. He needed to bring you back down to Earth, back to him.

“Y/N.” His hands hovered over your hips. “I’m going to touch you for a second.” He directed you to the couch, settling on the coffee table in front of you. His fingers lightly traced circles onto your knees, as he assessed how he should approach this.

“Y/N. Baby?” Sebastian hesitated before bringing his fingers up to your chin, not wanting you to react badly. “I’m right here, Y/N, it’s Sebastian.” His left hand hadn’t left your knee, continuing to trace small patterns into your skin, giving you something to ground yourself with. He watched you blink and swallow harshly, inhaling sharply before opening your mouth.

“Why are you with me?” Your chin trembled with unvoiced sobs. “You deserve the world, Seb. I’m not even--” Your sentence was cut off by a loud whimper causing tears to start streak down. Sebastian wasn’t sure if this was a situation where you wanted him to be involved, so he waited for a sign.

“I’m not even worth a glance from you.” Your hand came up to wipe at your runny nose. “They’re so right. You need to be with someone like Shailene.” A bitter sob racked your body, making your body fold in half. Sebastian caught you before you hurt yourself.

“Y/N. I love you.” He always heard you say that to yourself when you thought he wasn’t listening. He knew that you suffered from anxiety, so he was always watching. Always paying attention to your little cues. The little things that he could use to help you as much as he could. “I love all of you.” He held one of your hands, running his thumb over the back of it.

“I don’t care what they say, baby.” He lifted your face to his, steel blue eyes locking with your cloudy pair. “I picked you.” He pecked your right cheek. “I want you.” A peck to your left. “I want only you.” One to your forehead. “It’s always been you, Y/N.” Another on your chin. “I love all of you, Y/N.” Sebastian landed a final short kiss to your lips, lingering for only a second.

“I want you to understand something, Y/N.” His gaze never left you. “I’m not going anywhere.” His brows raised as he hardened his voice. “I’m especially not going anywhere at the behest of my fans. I love them to death, but they don’t get to decide who I love.” Sebastian shifted to sit next to you on the couch. “Is it okay if I put my arms around you?” All he got was a brief nod in return, which was expected.

“I’m yours, Y/N. As much as you’re mine.” His arms descended around you, wrapping you in a loving embrace. You turned to face him fully, bringing your own arms around his waist, shoving your head into his neck.

“I’m sorry you have to deal with all my shit, Seb.” Sebastian almost missed your comment because you spoke into his shoulder and through loud snuffles. He backed away to look you in the face.

“I signed up for this, Y/N. I’m here for whatever we go through.” He tucked a stray hair behind your ear. “We go through ‘your shit’ together, Y/N. This is a partnership, a two-way street.” He looked at the weak smile on your face, heart warming slightly at the sight. His face turned serious, casting a glance at your phone on the coffee table.

“How long have you been sitting on this?” He knew how quickly your mind could twist things, so he wasn’t sure what to expect. You bit your lip, not meeting his eyes anymore.

“Just since this morning.” He held you away from his body, watching your expression.

“Is this why you were crying earlier?” You gave him a meek nod in response. “Baby, I thought we talked about this. We have to talk to each other when we think we’re going to go into a funk.” The two of you had talked about it before, but you didn’t think this was going to be a funk.

“I should’ve been able to just shake this off because I know you love me and you won’t leave me because of something that some people on the Internet say.” The words left your mouth before you could process everything, your mind quick to defend itself.

“It’s okay, Y/N. You don’t always have to be able to shake something off. We just have to keep each other in the loop.” Sebastian looked over your tear-stained face, pressing a kiss to your forehead again. “Let’s ditch the phones today. Just spend the day in each other’s arms, how’s that sound?” You smiled softly, nodding at the man in front of you. He got up quickly hiding both of your phones in the kitchen somewhere.

This definitely wasn’t a solution to dealing with your anxiety, Sebastian knew that. It also wasn’t dealing with the toxic people on the Internet, but you didn’t need that right now. You needed to be immersed in an environment that accepted what you were going through without judgement, Sebastian could provide that. Seb hummed happily when you snuggled into his side under the covers on your couch while he searched for a movie. He kissed the top of your head and he felt you smile against his stomach.

“I’m proud of you, draga mea.” You turned to face him, a confused expression lacing your features.

“For what, Seb?” He stroked your face with a single finger, mapping out your features.

“I’m proud of how you handle yourself. I’m amazed at how strong you are, even when you think you’re not.” He leaned closer to you, whispering his next words. “You’re my hero.” One corner of your mouth twitched upwards, not wanting to accept it. You rolled your eyes playfully, settling back onto his stomach before speaking.

“I love you, Sebastian.”

“And I love you, Y/N.”

[witchlyboo]

Definitely, maybe.

Part five: The one who belongs to someone else.

Introduction. Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four.

Paring: Latina!reader x Logan Lerman x Tom Holland x Ben Hardy x Timothee Chalamet x Pedro Pascal x Michael B. Jordan

Warnings: Swearing, angst, misspellings, some Spanish, me learning how to write properly, and NY stuff that I've learned from movies that we all agree to pretend are real.

Word count: 6.4 k

a/n: You been asking for smut, I know, I know, I just wanted to introduce you to all the boys first, and we're getting there, just one more ahead. Also, I'm working on a masterlist because we are getting too many parts already.

All body types and skin tones friendly. You can also enjoy it as a no Hispanic reader. Constructive feedback and misspellings correction is always welcome.

Red and blue lights flash the driving mirror.

—No, no, no, por favor que no sea a mi—You beg to the sky looking at the patrol that is asking you to park, or someone else, there's a lot of cars in this part of the city, there's a big chance is the panic who's controlling your senses.—Dios, mi abuela fue a la iglesia cada domingo de su vida y nunca te pidió nada, please let me have some of her divina recompensa.—But that's not how it works, you end up parking with just a few seconds to think what to say. There's a perfect explication of why you are driving a car that is not yours in the middle of the night and smelling like a minibar.

Then this ridiculous thought comes to your mind, you look expensive, you've never seen the daughter of a senator but you must be close to it, it would make you less of a feminist if you just use your attributes? Ugh, you feel sick just to think about it but don't have enough money to pay a fine, and the constant paranoia of being chased all the time as an immigrant will only get stronger.

You pull down your dress a little so your neckline can do its job but you regret it immediately, and you're pretty sure you look more like an expensive prostitute who stole the car of his lover than some influential men's daughter.

—License and registration.—You hear him say when he approaches your window. You don't like this but you have to play the dumb tourist, the pretty foreign girl that is too stupid to be dangerous, with the look you have tonight it shouldn't be hard. But damn you hate cops, any uniformed man that works for the government is your eternal enemy, and you don't know how long you could keep the nice dumb Latina game before spit on his face.

—There's something wrong, officer? ...You?!—Your sexy and fake high voice is ruined when you see the face of the man who stopped you. This night couldn't get worse.

—Wait, what happened with the party?—Evan interrupts you while you finish some notes for work, little remainders for later when you don't have an eleven years old kid running around you, he's not usually this energic and you have to blame yourself for that, you're describing a life of excess and eccentric fun, something you let behind so many years ago that your own son doesn't know even a bit of it.

—Ugh, a nightmare doesn't worth telling.—You remember vaguely most of it but what keeps fresh in your mind is bad enough to don't want to bring it back.

—But if Timothée is my dad I have to know the important things, including the bad stuff.—Sounds perfectly reasonable and that's what makes you groan at him. Sometimes you feel blessed that your kid is better than you in any possible way, and sometimes you want to kill his brain with video games and reality shows like the rest of the parents.

—Ok, cool, but I'll keep all the +18 content for myself, so this part of the story might be blurry for you.—It kinda is for you anyway.

You should’ve known this night was cursed, you had a feeling because a) your earring fell off at the same time Timothée texted you to give you the party address and say he can't pick you up. And b) he won’t pick you up. Your mother would say that’s reason enough to not go, a real gentleman wouldn’t make you go to an unknown place in the middle of the night on your own in a city like this. But you decide to ignore it because you are a modern woman and because it’s worth it. It better be.

The outfit must be something special. You always take your time to choose what to wear, even if just another regular day, and since this isn't the case you thought about it for hours, that made your mind busy enough to not thinking about Tom and the whole love confession. He texted you saying he'll come for you to go to class together on Monday, which is completely impractical because he's way closer than you but is progress and you're going to take it.

You wanted to ask for Sheep's opinion but you thought she might not care, has been a few days since she started acting strange like she's bothered just to see you breathe. You want to blame his boyfriend to take all her time and attention from you but is probably just her new job, she got a small role in a Netflix show, and even when you're so happy for her, that's the event that has changed her into someone completely different. But you give her time, stress can do bad things to people.

The winner is the exact copy you made of the black and white striped dress Cameron Diaz wore in "The Mask" beautiful, classy, and sexy enough without being too scandalous, not that you have any problem with that, but this isn't the occasion, you don't want to feel like you're being too much or too little, just enough, it's supposed to be easy, right? you were born for this. Just adding some big shiny earrings you got on a thrift shop that look like real diamonds and you're ready, not that you own any to compare. Red lipstick, dark eyes, and a messy bun to get that disinterested pitch every look needs.

Getting there wasn't a problem, you were in the rich part of the city, everyone know who, where and what just to brag about it. The excitement is growing with every second, you check your makeup like thirty times in the elevator and send texts to your mom just to let her know where you are, and because you have to share that moment with someone and you are limited of friends these days.

Timothée opens the door with red eyes, drunk, high, or somewhere in between, you know then you were right about the bad feeling. He jumps on you to kiss you and no matter how much you try to explain the delicacy of your lipstick, he does it anyway, leaving a taste of alcohol and shrimps in your mouth. Taking you by the waist he walks you to a group of people you don't know while you're trying harder to fix the red color of your mouth without a mirror.

—Here is the companion I bought, look at her, that's how five grand per hour look like.—They laughed but you were too disoriented to process all the things he said, it was supposed to be a joke? if it is, why isn't he correcting? Instead, his hand goes straight to your ass and presses it to get you closer to him.

—I'm actually an intern in the costume designer department of the new version of "Sense and Sensibility".—You wanted to mention your recent promotion to hairstylist and makeup artist but that might be too pretentious. Anyway, they don't seem to care what you are or not, in fact, they don't even see you, all eyes are on Timothée

—Oh, well, is easy to forget when you're paying them—All laughs again. Who is this person? Who are all these people, actually? You recognize some influencers, a few cast members but there's no sign of the director, other main actors, not even his co-star. You feel like an extra in a movie where someone will be killed in a luxury party, hopefully not you. You take his hand from your body and clear your throat.—I'm just joking my love, she looks stunning, isn't she? I’ll get you a drink.

He leaves and the group of people surrounding you suddenly dissipated like boiling water, you were on your own again and despite some judgmental gazes is like you’re not there, you’re sure you could just take your dress off and throw it to someone’s face and unless Tim says something about it, no one would care. You’re there as his companion, an ornament, and that’s not enough to earn their attention because it’s too obvious you’re the one in turn.

You walk to the only window no one is smoking and check your phone, you know, the thing you do when you pretend you have important issues to attend, but no, you end reading some old messages, pictures, texting your mom of how much fun you’re having at the party, and somehow you check your filed Facebook messages to find Logan’s name. You cover the screen so fast you hurt your nail, his name is enough to make you tremble like a Chihuahua, you haven’t talked to him since that night, you know from his sister he lives in the house he bought for you two and he’s having the happiest life without you. You want to believe that because that means you took the right decision but deep inside… no, you can’t be that person, you want him to be happier than ever.

You find the guts to open the message, and you read as slowly as is humanly possible. “My angel, I hope this finds you in perfect health…” Dios, just Logan could start a message like that, your smile is almost too big to fit in your face so you bit your nail to cover it a little. “I recently found one of the human body drawings you made for me to study, you’ll be happy to know…”

—That’s a fucking long-ass message.—Tim appears behind you and takes your phone from your hand, spilling some of his drink on your dress in the process. Apparently, he's been there long enough to read part of the message.

—Give it back.—You command in the most severe voice you have, your magical moment got ruined and you remember the hole of hell you are.

—"My angel, I hope this finds you in perfect health. I recently found one of the human body drawings you made for me to study, you must know I still use them now and then"—Timothée starts reading the message, and even when no one is close enough to hear it and you don’t really care about this people’s opinion, that’s not for anyone to read, that’s one of the few parts of your life you treasure the most and you’re not ready to get over it.—You little slut, are you cheating on me with a med student?

—Give it to me.—You repeat trying to take the phone from his hand but he’s faster and walks away putting it out of your reach.

—"I meticulously preserve them, I certainly know any piece of art made by you will be priceless in the near future"—You don’t want to hear it coming from his drunk mocking voice, so you try to ignore what he’s saying and put more effort on chasing the phone.—Should I had kept the jeans where you left the wet spot on? I didn’t know you were an artist, my love.

—Timothée, por el amor de Dios.—Now you're trying to climb him, it wouldn't be that hard to take him down, he's skinny and you're fierce. That's what you thought but he's not moving even with you are on top of his shoulder and his opposite long arm keeps the phone away from you.

—Who is this guy and why is he talking to my girl like this?—You see the olive eyes getting darker and the tone of his voice went deeper than you thought he could do. You desist from taking the phone, you know the bullies love the attention, maybe that's exactly what he wants and give it to him just makes it worse.

—I'm not your girl.—You claim fixing up your dress having enough of games, and you have no reason to keep worrying about losing your job, the filming is done, and apparently your relationship with him too. You don't care about any of that anymore, just want to read Logan's text.

Even behind all the alcohol and the eyes injected in blood thanks for who knows what kind of drug, you can see the disappointment and anger, but it's not a broken heart, Is the hissy fit of a child that loses his balloon and now everyone will pay for it, especially you.

—Are you sure about that?—You can see him swallow hard, almost looking vulnerable, but his voice is defiant and threatening to prove you wrong. He just has to stretch out his arm to reach the open window with your phone in hand, his intentions are clear and the only thing you can do is raise your hands as a reflex.—You were mine the moment you put a foot on my trailer, and I don't fucking share my stuff.—Before you can say a word he drops the phone from the fourth floor.

You know is senseless but you find yourself running out of the party and going to search the device, using it also as an excuse to get away from that place. This is the first time someone makes you feel meaningless, you know the famous' world is cold and lacking in empathy but this is ridiculous, they're a bunch of parasites fed by attention and power. By Timothée.

The screen is crashed and the rest of it is probably beyond repair, not that you're surprised, its life is longer than you've been in the country and you admit you should have replaced it much earlier but you're not the kind to throw away things that still work. However, is not the phone you are worried about, not as much as what it contains.

—That was obsolete anyway, I'll get you a better one.—You didn't know he was following you, his voice interrupts your self-wailing. He sounds calmer and a little embarrassed, but not enough to say sorry, you don't think he's capable of saying it.

You shake your head and start to walk away without a word, you don't want anything from him, not materially, at least.

—Don't make a scandal out of it, it's just a phone!—He yells erasing any trace of regret in his voice. He doesn't see the reaction he expected and that's when he runs after you and with a hand on your upper arm pulls you back, you gasped for the sudden bluntness.—That annoying habit you have of leaving when I'm talking to you.

You push him away with all the strength you have, which resulted in him almost falling on the ground.

—I don't care about the stupid phone!—You finally break, but sadly is not as satisfactory as you thought it would be.—You are mean, vain, arrogant and the worst part is that you enjoy being this despicable human because you have absolutely no consequences to it. Everyone around you just accepts it and I feel so sorry for you because the only possible way for you to fill the void inside is to be surrounded by that crowd of mules licking your steps—To your surprise, he has nothing to say, he's just standing there with no facial expression, whatever he feels is easily covered by his years of experience acting, even drunk.—I can't give you that and it's obvious they don't want me either. What am I even doing here?—You ask yourself thinking where would be the best way of getting a cab, is a rich zone, must be easy.

—Everything is better when you're around—His voice is thin and fragile, you have to process what he said three times in your head to understand his words. You're not willing to look at him yet.—You're not like the others.

—Pure bullshit. You love to repeat that misogynist discourse of girls being in a certain way because is easier than be responsible for the people you choose to be—You were hugging yourself the whole time, is a cold night, but not enough to be bothersome, you enjoy Fall weather—You got me for a moment, I give you that, you fooled me but I'm too tired of guessing what version of you is real—When you return your gaze at him, he doesn't try to hide the guilt anymore, but there's still haughtiness in there.—Now, if you don't mind Mr. Chalamet, I need to get a cab.

—No, you came with me, you leave with me.—There's no trace of alcohol in his voice anymore, a good scolding is enough to put you sober, you know that thanks to your mom. Oh god, you're becoming her.

—You didn't bring me here, gigantic head—You look at him and put your hand in front of him with the palm up. He stares at it for several seconds before put his own on it—Not that!—You shake it and start looking inside his jeans pockets until you feel the metal of his key car.—You can't drive and I have to get home. You'll find it in the studio tomorrow.

That's how you ended with a car way more luxurious than you expected, driving so slowly and carefully that the police stopped you. What a night, but at this point, you couldn't care less about anything that is not that message, is been months and you can't get over it, over him. Not even Ben moans, Tom's comforting arms, or fight with a movie star at 3:00 am. is enough to get him out of your mind.

—So is true, you don't wear anything that hasn't appeared in a movie, huh?—Michael B. Jordan is leaning on the car window with a mocking smile and a sparkle of satisfaction that you would love to punch but his uniform keeps you in line, where you come from police is not equal to justice, most of the times is oppression.

—You know where it's from?—That was kind of comforting, no one at the party noticed. Not that you care.

—Is The Mask, not some Adam Hitchcock's blurb.—He smiles and even when you really don't like him, it's nice to be with a familiar face, you are really tired of running away, scaping for problems that are a result of your null capacity to deal with emotions. Ugh, what a word.

—Is Alfred Hitchcock, actually.—You didn't want to sound priggish, but you correct him with no time to stop yourself, an old habit.

—You got me, smarty, you know more than movies than me. Where did you get this car?—You feel really nervous even when you got this legally, you have your documents and license on time and he's being nice enough to not want to run away in a car that you technically borrowed for yourself.

—It's not mine.—No shit, Sherlock.

—No shit, Sherlock, I was asking where did you steal it.—You wanted to laugh but there's something with the uniform that just doesn't allow you to be yourself.—Are you drunk?

—No, no, fuck, no, it's just, I don't feel comfortable with cops—He raises his eyebrows but that is his only reaction.—Listen, is my boss' car, I'm doing the favor to take it to the studio, and I'm really nervous because is fucking expensive, he's an asshole, I haven't drive un almost a year because you people only use cars if you're rich or your work and lives depend on it. I'm starving.—The last part came out of nowhere, you haven't eaten anything in almost 13 hours, maybe that's the actual reason why you are that moody.

He doesn't answer right away, takes his time to look at you, what makes you blush, he's really close, closer than he's ever been. Does he smell like green apples? Not the actual apples, the artificial smell they had given to them.

—Get out of the car.—Oh no, is he arresting you? Is he finally taking revenge for every time you make fun of his Hawaiian-type shirts? You know you have too much karma accumulated and a cop making you pay for it when you don’t believe in their sense of justice is kinda poetic, and evil.

You don’t want to discuss with someone with a taser, gun, pepper spray, or who knows what else. So you take your bag, the key car, and get off defeated.

—My turn is almost over, I’ll take you to eat something, c’mon.—He walks back to his patrol and you stay still for a few seconds still processing his words, you must look totally devastated for him to offer that. How you see it you have two options, go with him and spend an awkward hour with a person you don’t like or risk getting a fine, Tim can pay it, it’s not a big deal but you don’t want to owe him even the minimal thing.

You get in the car holding on to your bag to feel calmer, this is the first time you’re fully alone with him since you found him half-naked in your kitchen. Those defined abs may never leave your brain.

—Are you cold?—He interrupts your thoughts with his question, you didn’t notice you were shaking. He looks for something under his seat and gives you an NYPD hoodie, you hold it doubting your next move, is not like you don’t appreciate the gesture but it’d be easier to take if it doesn’t get that words printed—Is clean.—He says chuckling when he sees the way you’re looking at it.

—Is not that, just, you know, fuck the police, defund the NYPD, demilitarize the pigs and that stuff.—You say putting on the hoodie anyway, is a cold night and you won't help the institution wearing their propaganda.

—Yeah, I get it, but you can't change the system just from within.—You decide is not the right moment to have a political conversation so you shrug your shoulders and discreetly smell the hoodie, a mix of cologne, green apples, and cheap soap, you know is cheap because you buy the exact same, do its job.

—I'm in the mood for pizza.—You say casually, making a deal to yourself to try to be his friend, he is a small part of your life anyway.—Domino's is open at this time of the night?

—Tell me you're not consuming that shit, dear Lord, you been here for how long, two years? I can't believe your idea of a good pizza is Domino's. Stella hasn't taught you anything?—You're surprised by the level of condescension with a pizza and you mirror his smile, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Your school program includes people from all around the world so you don't have that much experience with actual new yorkers. Logan is rich, so he doesn't really count.

—What's wrong with Domino's? I don't buy much street food, is cheaper to buy things on the food market. Besides, all pizza is good.—The mention of Sheep makes you a little tense, so you don't say anything about it, is not a conversation to have with him.

—Don't blaspheme in the patrol, I just washed it—You laugh, finally, after a terrible weekend. You can see why she likes him, there is something about his voice, smile, and his eyes that feel... calm, like watching Friends after a marathon of Lord of the Rings.—There are rules to survive this city, and I'm surprised you have made it this far without a proper guide.

—Chill out Mr. Miyagi, I'm not from the jungle, and I've learned a lot by myself.—He gives you a lopsided grin as a request, and you put your fingers up ready to enlist your acquired knowledge.—Walk fast, like you're about to be stabbed, something that actually happened to me, with an umbrella—He nods and laughs being related to it.—Number two, no small talk, no one cares, even if they ask. Number three, if you look a stranger in the eye, especially a homeless person, you have essentially invited them to approach you.

—Number four, we never eat from Domino's, Papa John's, Pizza hut, or any other chain restaurant, only trucks and local places are allowed.—You roll your eyes but you get the point, is just, again, you're not much into street food, it doesn't taste like home and the only way to eat food like that is preparing it yourself.

—Fine, fuck capitalism, let's support local places—You make an obvious fake enthusiastic tone but he nods proudly.—Number five, you don't need a car to live here, not even know how to drive. I would have successfully avoided this police brutality if I had followed that rule.

—For someone who is about to eat for free, you whine too much.—He parks the car and gives you a sign to go with him. You see him go to a pizza truck and order, you realize at the moment how ridiculous you look, so before chasing him you let your hair down, take your huge earrings off, and roll up the skirt of your dress until your mid-thighs letting the hoodie cover the rest, and clean the red lipstick with a Kleenex from your bag. Now you look more like a college person and not a rich girl who just got seized.

—Here you go.—He says giving you a slice as big as your head, looks oily and spreading cheese everywhere. Perfect.

—Is it vegan?—You ask receiving the food with an obnoxious face. His kind grind turned into a dread expression and you give him your second laugh of the day.—I'm kidding.

You are about to give it a bite when you see passing next to you a huge rat with the exact same slice as yours in its mouth, running into the dark of the night happy to have obtained the food for its family. They use to scare you when you just moved out but now they're like any other pigeon in the sky.

—Rule... whatever, a rat with a slice of pizza is a symbol for good luck, congratulations.—He pets your head awkwardly, not sure if you're ok with the physical contact, which, surprisingly, you are.

—I see rats with bagels all the time.—Pizza and bagels, that's the main culinary wonders of the city, you like it, not much to object but is hard not to compare it with your home's food.

—Is easy to confuse a rough diamond with a simple rock.—You both eat in silence, enjoying the mixed sounds of the city and all the different smells, the whole situation feels like one of those lofi music videos. You remember thinking about moments like this before getting the scholarship, what would it be like to feel normal in the city of your dreams.

—How do you know that much about movies?—He asks after a few minutes when you take a break to drink something, that pizza is not easy to take.

—When I was a kid a spent much time on my own, so my dad bought me a used DVD reproducer, and at the corner of my neighborhood was this movie store where you could buy 5 pirate movies for one dollar. They were blurred, with a terrible sound, and most of the time with the wrong movie inside but they helped me to not feel lonely. Eventually, the store closed but I've watched everything in it by then—He gives you a warm smile, you never told that story to anyone, not because is too intimate to share, but because no one asked, it doesn't sound like a question with a complex answer.—Anyway, I watched Marie Antoinette when I was like eight, and I decided at that moment that however is done I wanted to be part of that magic.

—You hear all kind of people chasing dreams in this city but is hard to find someone who actually deserves it.—You blush and you cover it with your hair but the smile on your voice is impossible to hide.

—Is that a compliment? You must really want me to like you to date Sheep.—You laugh but you can see his face tense, so you can guess your friend has been busy breaking everyone’s hearts.

—She hasn’t returned my calls in three days so I don’t think there’s much you can do—You nod, all this time you thought he was the reason she is ignoring you but apparently you are both in the same boat.—But yeah, I don’t know what I was thinking, what I should have said is, Marie Antoinette at eight? I can see where all the damage started.

You gasp and throw your napkin at his head, he easily catches it without even looking at it and laughs; that was unexpectedly attractive.

—Why a cop?—You ask, not sure where that question came from, maybe you authentically want to know more about him, he just bought you food, and honestly, that's the easiest way to win your trust.

—I wanted to be an actor when I was a child. This is the city of opportunities so you may think that if you want to chase the big wonder, this is the perfect place to do it. But I grow up surrounded by these people giving their entire lives to get something just given to one in a million so I decided is not worth it. For many years I wondered what I wanted to do with my life and the answer was really clear, my dad was a cop, a good one, or that’s what people say. I don’t remember much because he died when I was seven—Conversations about death are not your strength, everything can turn out uncomfortable if you choose the wrong words.—It might not be that glamorous but if my father died for it, it surely worth it.

—For the good ones.—You raise your almost empty can of Coke and he does the same with a grin that warms the cold weather of the night.

—For the good ones.

The next two hours passed like minutes talking about anything and everything. It just felt right to talk freely with him, you didn’t feel judged for your awkward family moments or your random thoughts, not even once because he told you his too. At some point of the night he borrowed you his gym sweatpants, any of you could just suggest going home but that was off the table, end that peace just for weather reasons would have been a tragedy.

—I read Timothée Chalamet is a dick. Is that true?—The mention of his name remains you of your life and everything that comes with it, including the middle semester project that you must dedicate your entire day, one that is about to start.—What, you can’t talk about it?

—He is a complete dick with no sense of privacy or human decency—And when he interrupts a deep kiss to look at your eyes, smile, and caress your chin, you feel like a character of his Victorian movies. But he didn’t ask that.—But the next week he’ll be no longer my problem.

—That’s why we have rule twenty-three, don’t ask for a picture of a celebrity unless they are local—You have heard about it before but you haven’t got the opportunity to decide if you like that rule because the only celebrities you have seen are from work and that club’s party opening.—That means you’ll be free to go to the Stephen Kings’ movie projection there will be for Halloween.

You don’t know if that was a proposition, a suggestion, or just a simple recommendation, and whatever it is, you noticed he was nervous to ask. Is it wrong? It feels wrong like you were betraying your friend accepting to hang out with his boyfriend without her consent. But he didn’t ask you to go with him so is safe to answer.

—Yeah, I guess—You get a moment, four seconds top, where you shared innocent, curious, and tenting gazes like three graders in the playground. And that’s the further you will allow yourself to go.—We better leave, if the sunlight touch me I’ll turn into dust.

You get off the car hood and go to the side door, but this time he opens it for you. You give him a “seriously?” Look, receiving a little push in your arm as a response.

↬☀︎︎

A distant voice asks you to wake up, softly whispers that turn into caresses on your cheek, your eyes feel so heavy, even when you are well aware of your environment your eyelids keep closed.

—Good morning, Princess—This is the first time Tom calls you that way, the change from silly nicknames to Princess is enough to get you out of hibernation. He is squatting beside your bed, his smile is the promise of a better day, and chasing that idea you give him one small back.—Your mom has been texting me desperately all day, she said you're not answering her calls and is worried.

—Fuck, my phone broke last night, can I call her from yours?—That’s an oversimplification but in the search for a better story, that's what you decide to believe and tell. Tom nods and gives it to you, he looks happy, beyond that, this is the first time you see that subtle blush on his cheeks and the eyes sparkling. You sit on the bed next to his body looking for your mom's number, slowly he moves between your legs, you have shorts and an oversized Back To The Future t-shirt, you got took the time to prepare yourself to bed last night and keep Michael’s clothes inside your closet to wash them, like The Tell-Tale Heart, a little innocent secret who feels dirty somehow

The conversations with your mom are always long, nostalgic and the tears are hard to hold for both parts; after a long life sharing almost every day with her, her absence never feels smaller. But this time is different, Tom is exploring the bare skin under your knee with his warm hands, asking for permission with curious eyes, and when you don’t object to the touch the British boy keeps his exploring mission cautiously, giving special attention to see your eyes in case something change. Is time to hang up when he gives a long and loving kiss to your knee, the less erotic kiss you could think of but so intimate to bristle your skin.

—Not nice to touch someone's daughter when is talking to her mom.—The protest of your voice loses strength at every word, he heard that and just straight his back to reach your face, the gap is almost extinct.

—We're okay, she likes me.—He assures holding your hips and pulling you a bit to him. Tom looks very comfortable with the new closeness authorization, you like it but are not very sure about it yet, most of you still think of him as your best friend.

—Did she tell you that? Are you talking with my mom behind my back?—You laugh when he does, almost like nothing changed.

—She adores me, I swear, I'm invited to Christmas, you know?—You're not surprised, she invites everyone, Logan was too but the first time he got family plans and didn't make it to the second.

—You should go, maybe we can do...—His lips touch yours in a peak at the middle phrase and makes you forget what you were about to say.—Man, the audacity to interrupt...—Then he kisses you again, deeply, using his tongue to taste your inner lip and his hands holding your shirt in fists. That's a twist of events.

—Is that ok?—You hear a weak whisper coming out of his voice but you got so mesmerized on his lips that decided to ignore it and kiss him back instead. He responds to your touch and starts to lean over you to make you lay on the bed.

Jesucristo bendito, is this happening? like, actually happening? you must look like trash, you barely took all the makeup from the night before and didn't take a shower, you start to get so worried about smells, feelings, and what that'll mean to your already too much-spoiled friendship.

However, the time of doubts is done when Sheep starts yelling in the living room, you both reacted running to the sound and looking for your blonde friend. Michael is there but doesn't look like the same as a few hours ago, is annoyed and tired for the lack of sleep, a look that doesn't match him at all.—What did you do?—You ask him fast assuming she's mad for something he did.

—Just in time, the star of the movie, I was wondering how much it will take you to be the protagonist of this.—That is Sheep's voice talking about you and what must be your heart breaking from her words.

—Excuse me?—You wish your tone would be less savage but you can't help respond the same way she did.

—Logan wasn't enough, then you got the drummer, fucking Timothée Chalamet, Tom and now my boyfriend. I'm so glad I didn't leave you alone with my dad or I'd be calling you mom now.—You have no words to that, Michael doesn't even dare to look at you, he must have told her something she misunderstood, but Sheep, or well, Stella is saying things she actually thinks and keep to herself. Tom walks in front of you whispering things to her to calm her down but she is not looking at him, you didn't tell her anything about Tom either so he's taking responsibility this time.—Go ahead and fuck the whole city, Michael if that please you but you're crossing the line with Tom and you know that, you're going to ruin him as you ruin every man that enters in your life.—She has a very you moment having the last word of the dispute and getting out of the apartment with Michael going after her but not putting much effort in it.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Taglist:

@eridanuswave @cjand10 @deluxeplanteater @rorodendra @navs-bhat @coxxxxxpi @leviosatothestars

Thanks for all the love and support, if you have opinions, suggestions, or want to be part of the tag list (Or don’t want to be part anymore) let me know, I appreciate every message.

[justanartisticduck]

You have any more or new hcs for your Dhmis bad end au?

Okokok I have been thinking abt this au a lot- now brief explanation for those who don’t know abt this au: Basically my Bad End au is a Dhmis au in which, unlike my askblog au, after Red pulled the plug nothing changed and no one came back. This au takes place during the events of Wakey Wakey (however I try keeping this au spoiler free for the most part) and it’s in the future of both Dhmis and my askblog (I’m going for maybe 3 years later than my askblog which would bring it to 8 years after the events of Dhmis) And basically in this au Red is trying to cope with his grief of losing his friends. Throughout the story lots of events will happen, one of the main ones will be the machine/simulation starting up again and the June 20th trio getting involved. That’s all I’ll reveal for now but I am so hyped to share the story of this au with y’all! Now this au is super story driven (I actually plan on making this a comic or fanfic thingy eventually!!) so my ramble may be short (just bc I wanna save all the real rambling for when I start writing the fanfic (or comic thingy if I get motivated enough-) BUT I do have something I wanna show you, again, I don’t wanna reveal too much BUT i did a drawing of both trios in this au based off of some out of context stuffs that will happen to them over the course of the story (unless ur Robin, then you just stay the same). Now I will kinda sorta explain what’s happening to each of the characters in these but, again, I’m trying my best not to reveal too much! Anyways here’s the drawings and rambles!!!

Warning for death, blood/gore

Duck/Robin: ok so they aren’t alive in this au so they don’t have much of an influence on this au themselves but I felt bad not including them here-

Red Guy/Harry: ok so he is the main focus of this au so within the story we will mostly follow his POV. Now to explain what’s going on: he’s holding a missing poster cuz he is in denial that his friends are truly gone (which is true for one of them, but the other… not so true…), then Roy’s arms… hhhh… basically Roy still has an influence on Red, He is controlling what’s going on in the background basically hence why there are some puppet strings on Red because technically, in Roy’s eyes, he is indeed a puppet...

Yellow/Doi: Ok as you see they look a bit different here, “different” as in looking older, taller, and that they have long hair. “Ok so what happened?” you may be wondering. Well, this au takes place around 8 years after June 19th meaning that now Doi is 16 since they were 8 during the whole June 19th incident. So, if they have been around this whole time and they haven’t been with Red then what have they been up to? Well… in this au after Red pulls the plug the whole simulation gets shut down, now after this somehow by a miracle Doi survived drowning in oil, after that they packed their stuff and left the household (because who would want to stay in a place full of random singing objects- well- not that they would sing anymore now that the whole simulation was turned off-) So, for a while they have been living in their own (since both Red and Duck were no longer around-) and it’s been that way for years, until, the simulation started again and now objects are coming back to life… now their goal alongside surviving is fighting back against these objects…

Now onto the June 20th trio!

Red Duck/Rodney: Now imagine you heard your sibling went missing years ago only to find out years later they were killed- then, to top it all off, you signed up for what seemed like an innocent job at the time only to realize it’s slowly but surely driving you to the brink of collapse as more and more messed up crap happens and you work for a horrible person and- (they are on the brink of a mental breakdown… they need a hug..)

Blue Guy/Azul: So, in this au Blue Guy or, as I like to call them, Azul is a (apprentice) detective researching the June 19th case, they think this case will be their big break since there is so much mystery surrounding it all... however… they never understood just how messed up this mystery was until they got placed into the mystery themselves… only then did they really realize that this wasn’t just a mystery… but a nightmare..

Green Guy/Manny: Now Manny is a relative of Doi and Roy (more specifically he is Doi’s cousin) and he has reluctantly been pulled into the mess that is Roy’s simulation. He is very rebellious against this simulation and Roy himself which is why, he is rebellious when he gets the chance and, whenever Roy isn’t in control, he fights back!!

So that’s mainly what’s happening with these guys in this au!! Now I hope you found this interesting also please note I am so so sleep deprived so if this didn’t make sense I apologize- Anyways I hope you enjoyed my silly rambles on my not so silly au!!!

(Also ps: happy birthday friend!!)