#white people explode challenge

[chuchulovelymunimuni]

Actually though, so sick of seeing people draw skinny frank, lightskin leo and piper, and 3a curl textured hazel lol

I know the beauty of being in a fandom for a book series is that everyone gets to interpret the characters in their own ways but maybe can we question why certain white readers have a horrific aversion to drawing characters of color without scrubbing them of their unique and nonwhite traits??

[dandorishipping]

im still thinking about that person who compared white people using the word yumejoshi to the chinese exclusionist act that my friend showed me last night i think im gonna have another stroke just thinking abt it

[rosemaryhoney27]

Phantom Fashion

It all started with a stupid bet. Tucker had dared Danny to do the “Ultimate Strut Challenge” for his livestream—walking down the halls of Casper High like he was on a Parisian runway. Danny, never one to back down from a challenge (and honestly a little bored), played along. He channeled his inner supermodel, flipping his imaginary hair and sauntering down the hall like he owned it. Tucker, feeling competitive, did his own exaggerated version, adjusting his glasses with a smolder and flashing a dazzling smile at the camera.

The video was supposed to be a joke. A quick laugh for Tucker’s followers. But within hours, it exploded online.

By the next morning, “#FentonFoleyFierce” was trending on every social media platform. People weren’t laughing at them—they were thirsting over them. The internet was losing its mind over how unexpectedly hot Danny and Tucker looked when they actually tried. Fan edits, slow-motion compilations, even dramatic art pieces started flooding the web. One particularly detailed oil painting of Tucker was titled “The Seduction of Glasses.”

And then, the email came.

Subject: Modeling Opportunity – S.T.Y.L.E. Agency

Danny read the message about five times before he turned to Tucker. “Dude. This is a joke, right?”

Tucker snatched Danny’s phone and skimmed through the email. “Nah, man. This is legit! S.T.Y.L.E. is huge. They rep actual models. Like, real models. Not just two dudes who were goofing off in the hallway.”

Danny groaned, flopping onto his bed. “I’m not a model! I fight ghosts! I do homework—badly! I don’t walk down runways!”

“Correction: You do walk down runways. And apparently, you do it well enough for a major agency to want you.” Tucker grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. “Dude, this is fate. We’re gonna be famous! Plus, imagine the free snacks at photoshoots.”

And somehow, against all logic, they were.

A week later, they found themselves in a sleek, modern studio in downtown Amity Park, being prepped for a test photoshoot. Danny, in a fitted black suit with his messy hair styled just right, was told to give a “mysterious bad boy” look. He tried but mostly ended up looking constipated. Tucker, rocking a high-fashion streetwear ensemble with his signature hat slightly tilted, was encouraged to play up his confident charm—which he interpreted as “finger guns at the camera.”

The camera flashed. They posed. Danny tripped over a light stand. And the moment their pictures hit the agency’s social media, the world really lost it.

Fashion brands wanted them. Magazines asked for interviews. Someone even made a fan calendar. The modeling world had spoken: Tucker Foley and Danny Fenton were the next big thing.

The only problem? Danny’s ghost-hunting schedule didn’t exactly mesh with high-end fashion shoots.

Cue the chaos. And an accidental ghost fight in the middle of a fashion gala.

Then came the second email.

Subject: Exclusive Inquiry – Phantom Partnership

Danny’s stomach dropped as he read the email. S.T.Y.L.E. wasn’t just interested in Danny Fenton. They wanted Danny Phantom too. The ghostly glow, the white hair, the piercing green eyes—apparently, his spectral form had an untapped aesthetic that designers were desperate to capitalize on.

Tucker nearly choked on his soda. “Dude. They want you to model as a ghost. This is next-level ridiculous.”

Danny buried his face in his hands. “I can’t just go ghost in front of cameras! What if someone figures it out?”

“They’re offering bank, bro. Like, stupid money. Enough that you could buy actual good snacks for once.”

Before Danny could protest further, another email pinged. This time from a luxury cologne brand. They wanted to market a new fragrance—Phantom Essence—with Danny Phantom as the face of the campaign. The tagline? Mystery. Power. Otherworldly Allure.

Tucker was in hysterics. “You’re literally becoming the undead equivalent of a fashion icon. What’s next, a ghost-themed runway show?”

Danny groaned. “At this rate? Probably.”

And sure enough, two days later, an invitation arrived for a high-end haunted fashion event—where Danny Phantom was expected to make a dramatic entrance. What could possibly go wrong?

Danny refused to be the only ghost haunting the runway, so he convinced Ember McLain to join him. It took some negotiating—mostly promising she could debut her newest song at the afterparty—but Ember, ever the dramatic performer, finally agreed.

“This better be worth my time, dipstick,” she said, adjusting her flaming blue hair as she examined the wardrobe options. “I don’t do low budget.”

Tucker’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, trust me. This is gonna be legendary.”

And just like that, the fashion world wasn’t ready for the supernatural duo of Phantom and Ember.

The moment their first joint photoshoot dropped, fans went wild. Phantom and Ember weren’t just modeling—they were smoldering. The chemistry between them was undeniable, even to those who had no idea about their history. Hashtags like #GhostlyGlamour, #PhantomAndEmber, and #HauntinglyHot dominated social media.

Tucker, scrolling through the comments, cackled. “Dude, people are shipping you two so hard right now.”

Danny, face burning red, tried to act nonchalant. “It’s just… photos. We were posing.”

Ember, leaning against him in a striking black and blue ensemble, smirked. “Oh please, Phantom. You were totally into it.”

Danny opened his mouth to argue but promptly shut it when she flicked a ghostly spark at his nose. He was not going to give Tucker more material for his teasing.

Meanwhile, Ember was enjoying the attention. “I gotta admit, this is kinda fun. The cameras love me, the fans love me… and you, Phantom? You’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

Danny groaned, hiding his face in his hands. This whole modeling thing was getting out of control. But if the growing feelings he was desperately trying to ignore were any indication… maybe it wasn’t all bad.

[cultkinkcoven]

The hard truth about occultism and witchcraft is that you genuinely do have to be willing to lose your mind. That’s not me romantisizing mental struggle or psychosis.

The thing no one talks about, at least not honestly, is the threshold one passes in initiation, where the mystical, psychological, symbolic and literal merge. When I say you have to be willing to lose your mind, I mean you have to be willing to accept the possibility that you may in fact be crazy. Your worst possible fear, none of this is real and it’s all happening in your head. What will you do if you realize you’re simply crazy? The wise man will turn away, but the initiate, the alchemist, will be unphased.

All people who dabble with spirituality and occultism will eventually meet this threshold. When things actually start working, when your spells yield results, when the impossible occurs and you truly have no other explanation. When the Gods finally respond. Be willing to lose your mind, be willing to experience things you cannot explain. And be willing to talk to yourself with the honesty that you simply cannot know. That’s what makes your faith and pursuits worthy.

The most talented and most powerful witches and magis are those who do not flinch when the impossible occurs. They no longer question themselves about the absurdity, they no longer wonder if any of this is real because they know it doesn’t matter. And that’s why they’re so powerful, they have complete faith that their work is very real. And when someone challenges that, they don’t crumble, they rise. Because the challenge in that idea is worthy of pursuit itself. Maybe we are crazy, maybe this is just in our mind. The significance however, that is real and that stays, regardless.

Yap yap yap

We talk a lot in this community about the concept of “awakening” to your psychic abilities. Sensing energy, having divine intuition, telling fortunes and affecting the world through intention. But we hardly ever expose that before those gifts explode, there is always a period of what feels like insanity. The mind interrogating itself. Sensitivity to the mystical. It feels like being given access to the background code of your simulated reality, and realizing that the same code is written into your flesh, mind and soul.

Tldr. Witchcraft is very aesthetically pleasing, very pretty. We often don’t show the very ugly side of it, the white knuckles, the tears and chaos. Inviting these forces into your life is not trivial, not at all. They will force you to change and they will force you to lose your mind, even if only to teach you how to find it.

Every few months a friend of mine who is also a witch will come to me and express that she thinks she’s losing her mind again. And I smile because I know that she must be growing so much, getting so much more powerful. And a couple days ago, when I went to her and expressed that I was losing my mind again, she laughed too.

“Welcome to the next phase of your journey with Lord Lucifer!”

and her saying that immediately made everything click. I’m still being tested and cultivated. This bought of insanity is surely far from the last i will experience. Getting this far and surviving means I am not only advancing, I am continuing to grow into the role I was meant to serve for him.

Anyways, if you get to that point in your practice where you feel like you’re at your breaking point, I won’t fault you for stepping back. That’s the logical decision.

But I can also assure you, you are not alone. The mystic floats in the same waters the psychotic drowns. It may feel like you’re drowning and struggling, you may in fact just be learning how to tread water. and if you think you’re beyond this phenomenon, if this has never happened to you.

Oh, just you wait.

[siri-ike]

A little crime, as a treat

Dpxdc

Part 1 part 2

The fear slowly faded from his eyes. Almost everyone he saw looked proud. Even Walker looked happier than usual. Everyone except Skulker. Could they actually want him as king? What does the king even do?

Danny reached the raised platform and smiled (confidently, not at all like he was about to cry) at Clockwork, who placed a hand on his shoulder and forcibly turned him around to face the crowd.

One of the observers steped to the front of the stage. "If anyone objects to Danny Phantom being the new Ghost King, this is your chance to challenge him for the crown."

He knew it! HE KNEW IT! He was right to be scared! They've just gathered to take him on all at once!

To Danny's surprise, aside from some grumbles, the audience was quiet. No one challenged him.

Another observer opened an old, intricately carved wooden box and pulled out Pariahs crown. "Then it is an honor to crown you, Danny Phantom: Ghost King, Ruler of infinite realms." And placed it on Danny's head.

For a moment, he felt like he was on fire. Then, like he was being electrocuted. Drowning, falling, suffocating, stabbed everywhere at once, but none of it was painful. Finally, it stopped at a familiar feeling. Freezing.

In an instant, he could see. Feel? The whole ghost zone all at once. The Far Frozen, The Clocktower, Walkers Prison, Pariahs Keep, Pandoras Maze. All the places he'd been as well as so many others. Lunch Lady's Kitchen and Box Ghosts Warehouse moving closer together. Embers Big Stage, Youngbloods Ship, The Cheese Kings Castle, Desirees Lounge. It was incredible, but most interesting of all was the new haunt forming itself as he watched. It was as if the zone pulled in on itself, rubble and wrecks of abandoned and destroyed haunts were pulled into a swirling vortex. It got smaller and smaller until it exploded into a whole galaxy.

Phantoms Galaxy.

It was beautiful. Full of stars, each with their own systems. He even recognized some of them. Stars that had collapsed in on themselves. White dwarves now covered in life once more. So long he'd studied and morned the loss of such amazing celestial bodies while celebrating the wonderful new things that would inevitably be born from them. Now they were all there. All his to hold and protect forever.

Danny's mind was thrust back to his body. He looked over the hall, and almost everyone was gone. He looked up at Clockwork starry-eyed. Literally, there were stars in his eyes. He opened his mouth but couldn't put together a thought.

"Welcome back, Danny. I'm afraid you missed the party." Clockwork proudly brushed Danny's hair out of his face. "I foresaw you gaining a keep of your own. One that I look forward to hearing about once you've properly explored it. And im certain even more will accept your invitation in due time."

Danny was still lost for words. How long was he just staring at nothing? And what does he mean by invitation? He opened his mouth to speak, but his vision faded again.

He was shrouded amidst pitch black space that spread as far as he could see. In front of him was the wreckage that once was his parents' portal, now relocated into his hount. Next, he saw Vlads portal, then several naturally occurring ones. The triangle seems to have snatched some people on a yacht. He'd have to deal with that later. The last portal he saw was strange. It felt... angry? Bloodthirsty. And it kept failing to open in different places.

First in some kind of railway station, next in Klempers Icy Path, and last in, NO! Pointdexters school. You can't come in through there!

As if listening to him, the portals swirl slowed and faded from the school, then it reappeared in the darkness. No, not dark, space. It's in Danny's Phantom Galaxy.

Abruptly, he found himself back in his own body. This time, Clockwork was nowhere to be seen. Danny leaped off the stage only for his cape to snag on the wood, causing him to crash to the ground. Since when does he wear a cape?

On the other side of the big doors, Danny only found one ghost. He wore an all white three piece suit, top hat, cape, and monocle, but his face was invisible. "Do you know how to get to Clockworks tower? Or the Far Frozen?" Danny begged, but before the stranger could answer, everything went dark once more.

He was amidst the stars again. Close enough to recognize some of them this time. There was Argo, Daxum, Krypton, and its moons Thalon and Wegthor. This was the Rao system that was destroyed 58 years ago. A lot of research has been done into it because it's where Superman allegedly claims to be from, although Danny hadn't been able to find any first-hand source to confirm that.

The portal bounced around a bit before stopping on Wegthor, where it finally opened fully. And one steel reinforced boot stepped out.

Danny snapped back into his body and found himself clinging onto the drapery. The other ghost was still there.

"Dear boy, you look as though you've taken a knot to the noggin." He offered his hand, and Danny took it. "Jim Craddock, at your service, but now a days most call me Gentleman Ghost. Of course, one of your stature needs no introduction, my king." He took a bow, and, awkwardly, Danny did too.

"There's an intruder in the ghost zone, in my haunt. I don't know who, but they seemed hostile, and I don't know where it is because it just formed a few minutes ago during the coronation -"

"Let me stop you there." Jim cut him off. "The coronation was seven hours ago. And as for getting to your haunt? Why do you not just step through one of your portas? During the ceremony, the drabble was able to use them to get to Embers' so-called after-party." You'd think lacking a face would make it hard to show emotion, but through only tone and body language, the Gentleman Ghost conveyed his utter disgust with a hint of jealousy.

"Did, did you see how I did it?" Danny conveyed only confusion and a lack of authority.

The Gentleman Ghost placed a gloved hand under Danny's chin. "Your gift most likely works as any other. Relax, clear your mind, and focus only on where you want to go."

Danny closed his eyes and felt the hand leave his chin. He took a deep breath and pictured the Rao system, the moon Wegthor, the portal. He saw it clearly in his mind. He then pictured himself standing in front of the portal. He opened his eyes, and it was right there, exactly as he'd imagined.

Except for one thing, between Danny and the portal was, "Jason?"

Red Hood didn't lower his gun at all. His perfectly chiseled forearms twithced, trigger finger remaining off the trigger, ~haah~, he's so diciplined. If anything, he seemed more intent to shoot. His big round biceps nearly ripping the seams on his worn leather jacket. It's too small for him, but he hates change. His legs, undoubtedly sculpted out of whatever Danny's version of Kryptonite is with how weak they made him, took a step back. He could probably tell how hard Danny was mentally undressing him.

"Who are you?" He finally demanded.

"Who am I? I'm Danny. Your, assistant? And anyway, I was invited. You're not supposed to be in the ghost zone. It can be dangerous."

"Careful there," a rough looking guy with a heavy English accent spoke. "E could've possessed ya mates body there, now, yeah?" Mate? If only. "They do that, ya'know. Take ya, loved ones," loved ones, Danny could swoon. "Persenate' em. Messes ya up real proppah'."

"Well, I'm not." Danny: master negotiator.

"Prove it."

"You broke into my home and expect me to prove I'm not dangerous!?!"

Danny caught the slightest hint of his own reflection on Jasons helmet. White hair, green eyes, crown, cape, no wonder he doesn't recognize him.

Danny hasn't gone ghost in 8 years, not since Phantom was declared public enemy #1 and the anti ecto acts were pushed through. He hadn't even gotten to see himself. He looked so much like Dan.

That doesn't mean anything. Looking like Dan doesn't make him like Dan. Right? He tried to turn back human, but it felt like he was squeezing himself into a container he didn't fit in.

"I promise, I am Danny Fenton." Danny gave Red his sincerest look. "But I'm also Danny Phantom, Ghost King, and ruler of infinite realms. I was your assistant for almost 8 years. Partly because I want to hurt the U.S. government in any way I can." Danny took a small step forward. "Partly for my love of numbers and punctuality." Danny closed in so the gun was pressed up to his chest. "But mostly I stayed because of you."

Jason removed his helmet. For the first time, Danny could look Jason in the eye without having to stand on a chair (or a table that one time)

"How could you keep this a secret for so long?"

"I actually only found out I was king 7 hours ago, but with Phantom... I'm wanted... and not considered human. I didn't wanna take the chance that... the crew," Danny exhailed. "That, you might think that too." Danny looked down.

Jason seemed to almost giggle. "I don't care whether you're human or not. Most of my friends are aliens, mutants, and monsters." He lifted Danny's chin. "I didn't follow you to another dimention because I thought a fellow human was in danger. I followed because I thought you were in danger."

Danny moved Jasons hand to his cheek and held it there.

[zepskies]

UNRAVEL ME - Part 1

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Afro-Latina!Reader

Summary: In the wake of Vought Tower finally falling, you find yourself crossing paths with Soldier Boy. Rogue, weakened, dangerous, and hunted, he needs a place to hide. You’re not about to offer up your own home to shelter a supe wanted by Homelander and the CIA…but he’s also not going to let you refuse.

AN: Finallyyyyy lol. I know I've been talking about this series for months now, but it was genuinely challenging for me to write this prequel for Lost in Translation (which was requested by various Tumblr friends and anons who wanted to see Soldier Boy matched with a woman of color). I think maybe it's because this is now my third Soldier Boy series, and getting this guy to show character growth is hard to do three different times. 🤣 But let's see how it goes with another post-season 3 misadventure! 💜💙 This series also fulfills a hilarious prompt for @jacklesversebingo!

Song Inspo: ��Unravel Me” by Sabrina Claudio

JVB Prompt: Accidental Old Person Acquisition

Word Count: 6K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, threats, SB being his typical asshole self, obnoxious flirting, racial elements, Ben drinks Cuban coffee, among other ethnic mini adventures in the future. The reader is a mixed-race Afro-Latina with textured hair. 

💜 Series Masterlist

💙 YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

Part 1: Hot Tamale

Vought Tower is falling.

Or at least, that’s what it feels like: the ground trembling like a Magnitude 7 earthquake, overhead lights flickering, a line of rubble falling on your head as you finally manage to squeeze out of the stairwell and into the main floor's reception area. You take in a large gulp of air, breathing past the oppressive clog of warm bodies, sweat, fear, and a hint of piss.

The walls quake along with the tile floor; you spill onto it hard, hitting your knees, though you curl your fingers fast when a woman from Legal almost steps on them in her dagger heels. Fuck!

Fear and adrenaline compel you to scramble onto your feet and claw your way through the gift shop. Maybe you'll be able to cut through the aisles of overpriced Starlight plushies and Special Edition Black Noir Funko Pops to get to one of the east exits.

It's Vought’s very own 9/11. You were told to evacuate over the intercom, and now you're about to find out why.

It’s taken over an hour to try and escape. You’re still trapped in the building, obviously, caught up in the lobby. It's backed up by the clusterfuck of people squeezing themselves through the narrow exit doorways to the garage, like rats clamoring over one another to avoid extermination. Somehow they've broken through the glass to override the security protocols that had first tried to lock you all in.

Just when you make it past the display of red, white, and blue Homelander mugs, a blinding light catches your eye through the tall windows and the growing darkness of the evening. The light falls and falls, what looks like a tangled ball of red and orange and green.

It explodes into the ground, shaking the very foundations of New York City. You cling to the display table and manage to dive underneath it.

You hide there until the shaking stops.

Tears sting in your eyes as the unsteady screams of your coworkers ring out in the lobby, even though you don’t recognize most of them. You suddenly remember your boss; you lost sight of him on the way down the first five flights of stairs. You morbidly wonder if he was one of the ones who got trampled along the way, or blown off the side of the building in the crash.

When the outside world is quiet again, you crawl out from underneath the table. Everyone who still can is slowly getting to their feet, picking themselves up, some of them helping the people closest to them. You don’t know what the hell is happening, but you have a strong feeling Homelander is involved. He’s been playing at CEO for weeks, now that Stan Edgar has been deposed.

Instead of leaving out the front, you continue your plan of going through one of the east side exits. There’s a narrow alley that leads to the garage farther down. You step out into the evening light, made darker in the alley behind what’s left of the Tower. You know the metal door to the garage isn’t too far away, but before you can get to it, you see a man stumbling right toward you.

It's too dark to see him clearly, and even though you back up a couple of steps, the green of his uniform captures your attention.

“Oh my God,” you breathe. “Soldier Boy?”

He glances up at you through furrowed brows. The state of him, ragged and soot-stained, his labored breaths, and the way he’s leaning against the wall—it all tells you that he’s been through some major shit.

“Uh, a-are you okay?” you ask shakily, clutching your messenger bag.

“I’m fine,” he says, though his eyes bore into yours with an intensity that makes your spine prickle with unease.

In record time, your brain collects what little you know about the ancient relic of a supe that’s mere steps away from invading your personal space. Homelander has been calling him a rogue in the press, but even though your role at Vought barely makes you a blip on anyone’s radar, you know enough about what really holds the company together…which means you know better than to believe even one iota of what that star-spangled prick told the public. 

Your gaze flits over Soldier Boy, now with some concern despite your wariness.

“Are you hurt?” you ask.

“I said I’m fucking fine. Do I look fucking hurt?” he growls tiredly. When he tries to stand a bit straighter, he almost stumbles against the wall.

Part of you twinges with sympathy, but still, your lips purse at his attitude.

“Dude, you don’t want me to tell you what you look like,” you say.

His eyebrow twitches. He opens his mouth to retort, but that’s when a man’s voice can be heard nearby. You turn your head at the sound.

While you’re distracted, Soldier Boy grabs you with more strength than you anticipated and drags you along with him against the wall. You gasp, but he holds a dirty half-gloved hand over your mouth.

Voices begin to echo from down the other end of the alley, closer to the main road. The supe has already turned his head in that direction, but your gaze flicks there next, your eyes wide and fearful.

“I don’t need a fuckin’ doctor,” says a man. His accent is thick as hell, like a Mary Poppins chimney sweep. Cockney? He’s tall, wearing a long black coat to match his black hair. He’s also arguing with a black man and a skinny white guy. A couple of ambulances zoom by, for a moment overtaking their voices and casting their bodies in the red glow of the siren alarms.

“Considering you coughed up blood on my fucking shoes, I’m dumping you off at the nearest hospital within a mile, and then you lose my number for good. Got that, motherfucker?” says the black man. He’s just as intimidating as the other guy, if not more so, considering the way the Brit's leaning against the wall like he might keel over right there.

The skinny guy breaks the tension between them. “Look, we should go. Annie’s got Maeve, and Homelander could be circling the sky looking for us right now.”

Queen Maeve? What happened to her? She was supposed to be in rehab. Who's Annie? Oh shit. Annie January. Starlight broke Maeve out? No. I should've known that rehab story was bullshit too. Who fucking knows what actually happened there. More importantly, what's happening here?!

Your thoughts tumble into one another while your heartbeat pounds in your ears. Your breathing comes out shallower through your nose, considering the big meaty hand covering your mouth.

If Homelander's looking for these guys, then none of this little scene is good. It makes you a fucking witness. Shit...

Soldier Boy tightens his hold on your arm. Slow and quiet, he opens the door to the parking garage with his elbow, since his other hand is still locked over your mouth. He guides you in. 

“Don’t scream, or I’ll start squeezing,” he warns. At least he releases his hand from your mouth, instead, grabbing the back of your neck. “Where’s your car?” 

“Wait, come on,” you plead, your voice shaking. “Whatever you did, I don’t want to know, but I didn’t sign up to be your getaway driver.” 

Ben’s grip tightens a fraction. “All I need is a fucking ride. That isn’t too much to ask, now is it, sweetheart?”

“Depends on where you’re trying to go,” you say. But you decide that not getting snapped in half is good enough reason to lead him to your car. You rarely have cause to drive it, so it mostly just stays parked here in the garage. For once, you’re grateful that you shell out a portion of your monthly paycheck to reserve this space. 

You fish your keys out of your car and unlock the door with shaky hands. Soldier Boy watches you press the button on the small key remote with furrowed brows, but he takes it from you after forcing you in the driver’s seat, so he can enter the car on the passenger side.

The second your tiny blue Kia rumbles pitifully to life, your music blares loud enough to feel the bass in the floor. Soldier Boy smacks the radio buttons roughly until it stops.

You give him a thin smile. 

“Not a fan of Bad Bunny?” you ask.

Irritated, he grabs a hold of the small plushie swinging from your rearview mirror. He yanks it off despite your protest, nearly breaking the mirror, and stares in gruff bewilderment at the white fluffy heart. It has a Dominican flag embroidered on the front and a Cuban flag on the back—custom made on Etsy.

The supe raises a brow, but he dismissively tosses it somewhere in the back seat. When you look at his grumpy face, he just reminds you of Oscar the Grouch. He reaches down and shifts the seat back, but he barely has any leg room for those thunder thighs and combat boots.

“Just fucking drive,” he says, his voice like sharp gravel.

Again, your annoyance sparks at his rudeness. Are all supes assholes, or is it just the ones you’re forced to interact with?

“Okay, but where the hell do you want me to take you?” you ask. “The subway? The airport? The Hudson River? What?”

He thinks about it, drumming his fingers against his leg. His uniform is a bit poppier than military green, yet more classic than Homelander’s with the stretch of that silver-plated eagle across the chest. 

“Too many eyes at the airport. I need to lie low for a while before I get outta dodge,” Soldier Boy admits. Then he sits back in your passenger seat, adjusting the recline until his broad frame is below the view of the window. You think it’s both for his own comfort and so he’s less likely to be seen. 

“Your place should be all right,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest.

Your mouth falls open in shock. “Are you for real?” 

He just gives you a stern look. He’s not fucking kidding.

“Look, you may be a superhero and all, but I don’t fucking know you! And…” Just then, clarity strikes you as you remember what’s been going on in the news for the past week. “Didn’t, uh, didn’t you…blow up a building in Midtown?”

He doesn’t seem to want to answer at first, leveling you with that stoic, bearded face. His gaze eventually drifts away from yours. 

“That was an accident.” 

Your breath gets caught in your throat. “That’s a pretty big accident.”

Again, Soldier Boy doesn’t answer you. You try to focus on the road, but it’s pretty impossible when you have a supe that’s supposedly risen from the dead in your passenger seat, who also exploded 19 people on accident, who tried and failed to kill Homelander.

Speaking of, Homelander himself is looking for this guy…which means you’re helping a fugitive escape. What’s worse, he wants to crash on your goddamn couch.

One of your hands leaves the steering wheel to cover your mouth. You press your hand there until the mix-match of gold and silver rings start to bite into the sensitive flesh of your lower lip. 

“Coño su madre,” you mutter the curse under your breath. I’m so fucking screwed.  

You unlock the door to your third-floor apartment with a heavy sigh. As usual, it gets stuck the first time you try to swing it open. You throw a little more strength in your arm the second time, and the door finally budges. 

You flick the lights on inside and unveil the shoebox that is your home. It’s barely a one-bedroom. The open kitchen lies to the right with a small two-seater table nestled against the wall, while the “living room” lies to the left. There you managed to fit a faded violet loveseat couch from your college days, a bookshelf from Goodwill, and your TV perched on what’s supposed to be a coffee table.

Straight ahead is a narrow hall that leads to your bedroom door on the right side and the one and only bathroom on the other. 

Well, this is gonna be fun. Slumber party with America’s Most Wanted, you think, with no small amount of Jesus fucking Christ weighing your steps.

Soldier Boy’s broad shoulders barely clear the open doorway. He shuts and locks the door behind him and takes stock of your apartment with a slow turn of his head. He doesn’t seem impressed, except for the paintings, funky ‘60s style shelves, and other canvases decorating the walls.

“You some kind of artist?” he asks, giving a cursory glance to each one.

“Uh, yeah, kinda,” you nod. “But most of these aren’t mine.”

On every wall, there’s a cluster of art, from canvases to pottery, glass, burnished clay, and brass. There are replicas of paintings by Salvador Dalí and Frida Kahlo, Picasso and Basquiat, Monet and Amelia Peláez, even a sculpture of a woman that you tried to replicate from Ana Mendieta. It’s meant to represent the suffering of women. Hell if today doesn’t qualify.

You toss your messenger bag onto the couch and throw up your arms at your sides.

“Well, since the police, Homelander, and probably the rest of the government are looking for you, you should do the whole ‘get outta dodge’ thing in the morning,” you say. You clasp your hands together in the facsimile of a prayer and politeness all in one. “But if you really wanna spend a night on my couch, then that’s okay.”

We’ll get through this. Just one night of insanity and then this’ll all be over. 

“That bed looks big enough for two,” the supe says. He nods at your open bedroom door and smiles suggestively, his gaze roaming over your form.

You get that shiver down your spine again, even as you blush. You take a pointed step away from him.

“Uh, how about fucking no,” you snap. “That door will be locked, and I have a taser that I’m not afraid to use on any tender bits.”

He raises a brow at you, but he snorts. He steps toward you, his gait slow and arrogant. You cross your arms while he closes the distance, his hair falling forward across his forehead as he stares down at you with a hint of a sneer. His chin and forehead are still stained with grime, just as his red gloves are scuffed and half burnt from whatever happened in that blast.

Your heart trips up faster. A tremble of fear runs through you, but you refuse to move.

“You do realize that that’s tantamount to flicking me with a rubber band,” he says. His half-lidded gaze runs over you with a note of interest. The corner of his mouth raises in a smirk. “Besides, whatever we might get up to, I can guarantee you’ll enjoy it. Just ask Loni Anderson. Farrah Fawcett. Hell, Molly Ringwald. Love me a fuckin’ redhead once in a while.”

You give him a look that could (proverbially) crumble Empire State.

“Don’t fucking bet on it,” you say.

Yes, your voice is quiet. Yes, you have to work past a swallow. But you don’t ever drop your gaze. You meet him head-on with every bit of stubborn fire you have left inside you.

“If you touch me, I’ll scream," you say, a wary trembling in your chest. "Even if you kill me, they’ll find you that much quicker.”

His smirk falls away. His gaze roams over you again, this time in a different way. Maybe he sees the way your entire body is tense, locked up tight, prepared to recoil and scream if he tries to grab at you. He relents.

“Christ, relax. It’s your fucking loss anyway, sweetheart.” His eyes roll dismissively as he turns away from you. “I need a shower.”

He strides down the hall in search of it. You move quickly to get ahead of him. The last thing you need is him rifling through your bedroom drawers.

“Ah, wait! I’ll get you a towel,” you say. It irritates you to have to treat him like a “guest,” but you don’t know what else to do. The man can literally snap your neck. Even for that big ass bluff you just pulled, you really, really don’t want to die.

You could try calling the police while he’s in the shower, but you don’t know what he’ll do if he finds out. And who’s gonna be quicker on the draw—the human police force, or the literal super soldier?

No, it’ll be more painless to just wait this guy out and see him off in the morning. For now, he doesn’t seem inclined to hurt you. He even took a rejection of you “sleeping” with him pretty well, for a supe. They tend to think they're God’s gifts to humanity. Working at Vought, you’ve been propositioned more than enough times. Though God forbid you say no for a ride on their magical dick. You’d rather not jump on that potential steel trap. You know a guy in Marketing who had his happy place literally frozen and chipped off.

After finding a fresh towel for Soldier Boy, he shuts himself in the lone bathroom across from your room. Soon, the old pipes roar to life. You retreat into your room for a long, slow breath. It’s less steadying than you’d hoped.

You also shut and lock the bedroom door behind you, for whatever good that might do you. 

Not much, you realize warily. 

You sink your fingers into your hair and blow out a sigh of frustration. What even is my fucking life right now?

Tugging on the knotted curls, you loosen them from the bun you wrapped tightly this morning. For all Vought claimed to care about diversity, your boss once commented on your “wild” hair shedding on the tile floor. 

Taking in a few deep, yoga-style breaths before you lose your shit, you dig into the recesses of your closet and dresser drawers. Your most recent ex had left at least one shirt, maybe a pair of boxers. Soldier Boy will have to make do with your favorite sweatpants. They’re stretched out enough from years of wear and washes that they’ll probably fit him. 

Juuuuust great. You're really contemplating this asshole wearing your clothes.

By the time you gather your bearings, shove your soul back into your body and leave your room, Soldier Boy is exiting the bathroom, the fluffy purple towel slung low around his hips. 

“Jesus!” You jolt and instinctively step back. There’s nowhere far to go in the hallway, so your ass ends up bumping against the hollow wall. 

Once again, he wears a smug sort of smile as he stares down at you in amusement. 

“Like what you see, huh, baby doll?”

“Put your tits away, please,” you snap, handing him the bundle of clothing while trying not to look at him directly. You can’t help glancing at his muscular frame out of the corner of your eye. 

Good lord, it’s like he was chiseled from marble. Make that marble with a golden tan, and a patch of hair across his chest that you could run your nails through.

His lips curve with a cockier smile. You quickly look away.

Great. He caught you ogling for one tiny second. And with that moment of human weakness, all that strong talk you accomplished earlier had probably just withered away into nothing. Is he going to take that as an invitation to slide into bed with you tonight while you’re trying to sleep?

Yeeeah. Who the hell are you kidding? You’re going to tape your own eyes open if you have to, but you’re not dropping your guard around this guy. He doesn’t seem to actually want to hurt you. He wants to use you for convenience’s sake. But it doesn’t change the fact that he’s dangerous, hunted, arrogant as fuck, and weirdly horny for a guy who just threw himself off a building.

Subtly clearing your throat, you move past him to the living room. There you set up the couch for him to sleep on. He ventures back into the bathroom to get dressed, which gives you a small break. You’re mentally counting the seconds. 

He comes back somewhat fully dressed. The shirt is a bit small for him, as are the boxer shorts. 

“Christ, who did this belong to, a fucking eunuch?” Soldier Boy asks. “Tell me you’ve got a brother. Because if this was your boyfriend’s, then he wasn’t doing shit for you, sweetheart.”

You begin to blush on reflex, shooting him a steely glare. Those clothes did belong to your ex, but that’s none of his damn business. 

“As promised, here’s the couch,” you gesture to the neatly fitted sheets, blankets, and even a fluffy(ish) pillow you so generously laid out for him. “Again, I will be locking my bedroom door, and if you make even a step in that direction, prepare to get tased in the dick. It’s already set on the max setting.”

Soldier Boy smirks. You fail to see how what you’ve said is in any way funny. You’re definitely not laughing, but you do blink in surprise when he takes your hand and brings the back of it to his lips for a kiss. His beard briefly rasps against your skin. He looks down at you, meeting your eyes with his own. The green in them makes you falter. 

“Believe it or not, I appreciate the help,” he says, turning on the charm. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

Your lips purse. Does he really think hitting you with that Brad Pitt tone of voice is going to work on you? He fucking kidnapped you, and not to mention, is currently holding you on house arrest.

“Oh, now you want to know my name? After conning me into being your Uber driver and your Airbnb in one?” You try to slip your hand out of his, but his grip tightens. He’s still smiling, amused by your struggle. 

“Come on, what’s your name?” he cajoles.

You sigh. Despite your better judgment, you give it to him begrudgingly.

"What's yours?" you ask, mostly drenched in sarcasm. Though a small part of you is...curious.

He stares back at you for a moment, something almost like surprise flicking through his gaze. His lips twitch at the corners, wry and humorless.

"Ben," he says, finally letting go of your hand.

“Okay, cool. So nice to meet you, uh, Ben," you reply, gesturing at his overall form. You still can't believe he's standing here like an iron lamppost in your living room. Are you about to step into the portal to Narnia now and continue this fever dream, or fall straight down to hell?

"All right, mind if I go now?" you say, crossing your arms as the snark escapes its cage. "I’ve had a bitch of a day and I need my beauty sleep."

Ben raises a brow.

Shit. You bite your lip.

Okay, you know you’re being a bit too hostile to a man who can all too easily snap you in half, but he’s got this way of pushing every single one of your buttons at once. Not in a good way. In the wish I could fucking scratch your eyes out kind of a way.

You're frankly lucky that Soldier Boy just seems amused by your attitude. Silly woman with her silly fits of belligerence.

His green-eyed gaze slides from the curve of your jean-clad thighs to your hips, over your breasts concealed by a red blouse, and finally up to your chin, your lips, your eyes. You can’t help the way your skin tingles at his scrutiny, even as you frown.

“From where I’m standing, sleep isn’t what you need,” he says. He somehow manages to sound both flattering and suggestive. 

Your face flares hotter, and your lips press tightly together.

“Sweet dreams, Soldier Boy,” you say, somewhat sarcastically as you head back to your room. You intend to grab your pajamas and take them with you into the bathroom. You’re going to have to bring your taser and lock yourself in there for a shower, even with the obvious safety hazard. What-fucking-ever at this point, as long as it keeps out Hungry Like the Wolf out there. But his reply makes you pause. 

He snorts. “Good night, sweetheart.” 

You turn to look at him over your shoulder. He spares you one final look, less arrogant and more taciturn, before he turns away and lowers himself down onto the couch.

You sigh, but you can’t help peeking around the corner at the supe sitting in your living room. His broad frame takes up the entire center of the little couch. You’re not all that sure he’s going to be comfortable there, since his long legs are definitely not going to fit across the loveseat, but he’s going to have to deal with it until tomorrow. 

You watch him rest his elbows above his knees and blow out a long, tired breath. He raises a hand to rub between his furrowed brows. For a long beat, he just stares vacantly at the floor between his knees. 

Then he leans back against the couch, crosses his arms, and closes his eyes. He seems…lost. Exhausted.

You wonder if he has anyone in his life worth getting back to. Anyone at all.

Shaking your head, you quietly make your way back to your room.

Ben finds himself watching you the next morning. He sits at the two-seater table while you putter about in the kitchen.

You’re cute, he has to admit, all sleepy and barely awake as you slide around in your fuzzy red slippers. A large Knicks shirt hangs off your body, exposing one smooth shoulder. Your sweatpants are overlarge as well, which only makes him think about the generous curves you’ve got hiding underneath. He took notice yesterday. You had a lot to work with under that little blouse, jeans, and chunky heels.   

Yesterday you were put together, even though you’d clearly had a rough time escaping the Tower. Today you've slunk out of your room with baggy pajamas, your hair a mess of curls running down your back. 

“Want a cafecito?” you ask.

Ben raises a brow. “If you mean coffee, then that’d be good. Something hot to eat would be even better.”

“First of all, this isn’t a bed and breakfast,” you say, turning to him with an edge to your voice. “Look, I’m exhausted. There’s a bakery down the street. I can pick something up.” 

As a matter of fact, your favorite Colombian bakery is right around the corner. You start thinking about all the pastries you’re going to treat yourself with, even though it does make you miss the Cuban bakeries back home. You would absolutely kill for an empanada with guava and cheese right now. 

Instead of cold-blooded murder, you set the tiny espresso cup of coffee in front of Ben. His face shifts to confusion and bewilderment. 

“I asked for a cup of coffee, black, not this baby doll tea set cup of coffee,” he says. 

“It’s a Cuban espresso,” you inform him. “And believe me, you don’t want it any bigger than that.”

Unless he just wants to spend the rest of the day on the toilet. Maybe he needs to clean out his system. 

“Just try it,” you encourage. “I think you’ll like it.” 

He eyes you with skepticism, but he takes a sip.

It’s sweet, but the rich, robust taste hits him between the eyes. His brows raise high.

“Okay,” he says with a growing smile. “I see what you mean.”

“See? Now you don’t gotta doubt me again,” you nod. He watches you pour one for yourself, stirring in a frankly alarming spoonful of sugar. 

“Where are you from, exactly?” he asks. 

You glance over at him, taking issue with the way he asks the question. 

“New York,” you respond tartly. You're really from Miami, but he doesn't need to know that.

He rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean. What are you, Mexican or something?”

You raise a brow, your lips pursing when he begins to smirk.  

“I do like me a juicy taco,” he says. 

His slutty grin is too much for you. Your hand tightens around your coffee cup.

“Okay, a lot to unpack there, Romeo, but no. Not all of us are Mexican!” 

“All right. Calm down, Chiquita. You should take it as a fucking compliment,” he says. He raises a brow at you. “You’re a real spicy one, aren’t you?”

You gape incredulously. “Excuse me?” 

Chiquita?! What the hell is that? Is he saying you look like a goddamn banana, or does he actually know a few words in Spanish? Is he actually calling you a little girl? And for the cherry on top, did he really just call you spicy?!

Either way, he’s about to get slapped across his pig-man mouth. 

“I’ve gotten with a few Latinas in my time,” he says as he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms as his thighs splay out a little wider in the sweatpants you let him borrow. “Always with that fuckin’ feisty little temper. But you know what, I got no problem with a hot tamale.” 

“Oooh.” The sound is pure and unadulterated FED UP. You down your espresso like a shot. You’re already contemplating another dose, because you don’t have the energy for this.

But you’re also reminded then, that this man came to fame in the 1940s. He was born, what, before the damn Dust Bowl and the Great Depression? He’s literally an ancient relic, a walking black and white billboard of tóxico, and he acts like one too. 

You fairly slam your ceramic cup on the dining table as you slide into the seat across from him. 

“Just so we don’t have any more conversations like this in the future, here it goes,” you say with a sharp sigh. “My mom is Cuban. My dad is black and Dominican. I’m as mixed as it gets, but I’m in no way spicy. If you’ve got me mad fucking tight right now, it’s because you clearly have no idea what decade you’re in.”

Your insult strikes a nerve, making his eyebrow twitch. Soon, however, his lips curve. 

“I’ve got you tight, huh?” he says, cocking his head. A lock of his hair falls roguishly across his brow. “Gotta say, wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had that effect on a woman.” 

You freeze, another hot blush burning in your cheeks. You can feel it making its way down your neck. “That’s…that’s not what you think it means.”

His lazy, arrogant, salacious smirk really makes you want to slap him, but you have a feeling that it’ll hurt you way more than it would hurt him. You get up from the table and ignore the loud scrape of the chair on tile.

“You know what? Forget it! I’m hungry. Don’t follow me.”

You go back to your room and lock the door behind you. You come back out a few minutes later dressed in what he thinks is your way of teasing him—in some ass-hugging jeans and a shirt that clings to your form. Ben watches you cross the room, smiling at the way you give him some narrowed side-eye while twisting your hair up into a wild ponytail. It’s a simple thing women do that’s always attracted him for some reason.

He also likes the shade of red you painted on your lips. 

“You are a feisty little thing,” he remarks, sipping his espresso. “Can’t say I mind.”

“Good. Stay here,” you hotly retort. Or better yet, get the FUCK out of my apartment.

You don’t say that last bit out loud, but he can read it loud and clear in your eyes, filled with that Latina fire. He remembers it all too well.

He grabs your wrist before you slip by him though. He hears the way your breath hitches, your gaze snapping down to meet his. You manage to hide most of your fear.

Maybe it makes some part of him twinge, deep down. You don’t know that he mostly finds you amusing. That he’d rather not hurt you, considering you don’t pose even one fraction of a threat to him. That like it or not, he needs to stay in your rathole apartment until he can figure out how to get out of the city unseen, let alone out of the country.

“You think I’m fucking stupid?” he asks.

You say nothing, but the look on your face tells him what you want to say. His eyes narrow.

“You’re not leaving,” he says.

“Well, I’m not cooking,” you counter. “There’s nothing to cook—”

“Order a damn delivery.”

“You know how expensive that is? Between delivery fee and tipping nowadays, Doordash charges a whole other meal on top of the meal! UberEats isn’t much better. Plus, none of the good places around here deliver like that. Not for breakfast at least. And anyway, I really need to go grocery shopping. What do you expect me to do, open a can of tuna and a jar of olives for breakfast?”

Ben’s not going to pretend he knows what the fuck you’re talking about, but his patience is running out.

“All right, enough. Give me your uh, your phone,” he demands. His tone gains an edge, a warning.

You expel an irritated huff, but you reach into your purse and all but slam it on the kitchen table. He takes it and examines it with some curiosity, but mostly, he retains his stoicism.

“I know for a fact you can get basically whatever you want on this fucking thing within half an hour,” he says. “Do what you need to do to get some grub over here, but you’re not leaving this fucking apartment until I say so."

He raises his brows and meets your eyes in a not so subtle warning.

"Just so you know, I've got a sharper ear than you think," he adds. "If you get stupid and try making a call for help, it's gonna be the last thing you fucking do. You understand me?”

Your teeth grind together, but ultimately, your sense of self-preservation reminds you not to poke the bear anymore. You force your anger and fear to dim to embers beneath your skin, and you nod in agreement. You then lower your gaze, waiting for him to let you go.

When he does, you slip away from him as soon as possible, taking your phone as you go.

For what it’s worth, you lock the bedroom door behind you. 

AN: Aaaand we're off! lol Did you expect him to basically force her into house arrest? 😅 We're gonna have some fun on this one, but there's also going to be a fair bit of action and slow-burn moments.~

Next Time:

You suddenly stand from the table, your chair scraping across the floor. You can tell the sound irritates his sharp ear as he glances up at you with a frown.

“You are a goddamn fugitive. You get that right?” you say, regarding him with an incredulous tilt of your head. “Now you’ve hooked me into this. I could get into serious shit because of you, and you don’t even seem to care! What…what kind of fucking superhero are you supposed to be?”

At the same time, you don’t know why this surprises you. Most of the supes you’ve met couldn't care less about the average person. The entire purpose of Vought’s Legal Department springs to mind.

Still, you thought America’s first supe ever—the one who supposedly fought in WWII, pounded Nazis up the ass, and represented the ideals this country was supposed to be founded on—might actually give a shit. Yet again, it stings to be proven wrong.

Ben’s expression had been verging on apathy, but now, he’s irritated and angry. He pushes back from the table and stands up to his full height. Even wearing your ex’s plain gray crew shirt and some threadbare sweatpants, the man’s frame is intimidating. He makes slow steps closer until he’s looming over you.

⋆˙⟡ Keep Reading: Part 2

⋆˙⟡ Follow @zepskieswrites (with notifications on) to get notified every time I drop a new chapter. 💜

Join My Patreon ⟡ Get early access to new stories, bonus content, first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Soldier Boy Tag List (Part 1)

@spnwoman @waynes-multiverse @luci-in-trenchcoats @rizlowwritessortof @lamentationsofalonelypotato

@midnightmadwoman @deans-spinster-witch @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78

@deansbbyx @chernayawidow @this-is-me19 @kazsrm67 @chevroletdean

@foxyjwls007 @roseblue373 @lacilou @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @winchestergirl2

@samanddeaninatrenchcoat @my-stories-vault @spnbabe67 @alwaystiredandconfused @globetrotter28

@mrsjenniferwinchester @charmed-asylum @waywardxwords @k-slla @deanbrainrotwritings

@jackles010378 @deans-daydream @deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @just-levyy

@leigh70 @kmc1989 @ghostslillady @siampie @jessjad

@beautyvaliant @mimaria420 @kaleldobrev @pieandmonsters @twinkleinadiamondsky

@stoneyggirl2 @sl33pylilbunny @spnfamily-j2

[aurorawritestoescape]

FLOWER

Pairing: post outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

Tw: 18+ mdni, dead dove do not eat! dark fic! creator chose not to use all the warnings, unprotected piv, rough sex, enthusiastic consent, praise, choking, heavy angst

I didn’t include some warnings so as not to spoil the fic. If you wanna know them before reading DM me🖤

Word count: 900

A/n: Thank you for the moodboard and the writing challenge @iamasaddie ❤️ Your creativity never stops to amaze me😘😘😘

Masterlist

*****

Joel’s gripping the shovel tight, scowling at the first rays of the rising sun. A drop of sweat is sliding down the side of his face while he’s working tirelessly. His plaid shirt is completely soaked and an early morning breeze makes him shiver.

It’s the second time today that he’s sweating so profusely. The first one was a few hours ago when he was fucking you on his bed. Still wearing his shirt and jeans having just returned from a shift he was ruining your tight pussy as his sweat was dripping on your naked breasts.

“Sorry for waking ya up, baby. Need this,” he growled thrusting into you. “Fuck, that’s my girl!” he praised you, his face hovering over yours, after you tilted your hips up and opened your thighs wider for him to plunge deeper into your core. Your white nightie was bunged up in his fist, the skirt pulled up to your waist so he could see your greedy cunt swallowing his cock. His other hand found its usual place around your throat. Squeezing and letting go. And squeezing again.

***

You were always hungry for him, always ready to give yourself entirely. You never minded the dull ache of the stretch when his cock was splitting you in half. You loved the pain he bestowed on you, be it from his thick member or his harsh hands. You cherished every bruise and every scratch. He kissed them all after, gliding his calloused thumb over the ever changing rainbow of his marks on your body.

You’d been together only for a few months but his effect on you was tsunami-like. He quickly became your lover, your man, your god. You were new in town and the people in Jackson told you in a hushed voice to run, to escape, to leave him. He had a bad reputation, bloody trail of his past never seemed to wash off having turned him into a recluse. Yet no one could go against Maria’s brother-in-law. “He’s dangerous, violent, unstable”, well-wishers whispered in your ear at every opportunity when he wasn’t next to you. Which was rare. He became a major part of your life, all your life actually.

***

The first time he choked you, you came all over his thick thighs drowning his cock which was buried deep in your pussy. Soon you both couldn’t get enough of that feeling. Complete submission to Joel had already nested in your soul and you longed to give him more.

He’d never tell you but just the thought of holding your life in his hands like that made his cock throb. He loved your reaction to his hand wrapped around your neck. Joel groaned when your pussy vibrated around him, your cunt kissing his length. You looked so beautiful, your eyes rolled back, mouth opened desperate for air, your walls massaging his cock. He wanted to squeeze every part of you as if you were sand running through his fingers. He loosened his grip on your neck as soon as he started coming filling you up with his warm load. The color returned to your pretty face. You took a deep breath making up for the lack of oxygen and a surge of endorphins made you explode on his cock. You were in a pleasant daze after that and when he took you in his arms and stroked your hair you felt how much he loved you.

***

Today that love turned rotten. Poisonous. Suffocating. After fucking you still half asleep he sat up and put you on his lap with your back leaning against his broad chest. He was thrusting up into you and you helped him bouncing on his fat cock with your knees planted on the bed. His fingers were twitching your nipppes and rubbing your clit until his hand snaked up to the base of your throat and gripped it tightly. Your moan got muffled midway out of your lips and you rested your head on his shoulder.

“Love feeling your pulse, baby,” Joel murmured in your ear as your vein was fluttering under the pads of his fingers and your pussy began buzzing around his cock. Your hand was clenching his hair, the other gripping his forearm. You felt his muscles tighten as his fingers were squeezing your neck.

Soon Joel started shooting his cum into your womb and got lost in his high. Your pussy was making him feel so good. He missed how your hand tugged on his hair a few times and then fell on the bed. His spend was dripping out of your hole when his fingers finally parted from your throat.

*****

He stares at the ground and imagines you standing in front of him in your white nightie. You plant a soft kiss on his weathered lips and give him a warm smile. His dick twitches and he hates himself for it. He picks up the shovel and goes home.

There he doesn’t bother washing his hands. They’ll never be clean again. What’s done is done. And he’s done so many unspeakable things. Lost so much due to his mistakes.

He grabs his revolver from the nightstand and sits on the edge of the bed. He thinks of all the people he lost. All the people he hurt. He thinks of you, a pretty flower crushed by his brutal hand and his eyes sting with tears.

Today he’ll pay for all his sins. Today he won’t miss.

*****

Thank you for reading!

Let me know what you think❤️ your comments and reblogs will make me very happy!

[mrspiastri]

Hey could you write something about franco colapinto & desi reader?

✩ dilwale dulhania le jayenge 👰🏻‍♀️

pairing: franco colapinto x desi!reader

cw: fluff, annoying parents, sorry to all nikhil’s

wc: 2.7k words

an: ty anon!! hope u like this <4

Franco stood outside the hotel room, suitcase in one hand and phone in the other. After years of frequent travel, he had mastered the art of packing. He was very good at it, having managed to pack a week's worth of clothing and necessities into a small carry-on.

He rode the elevator down to the lobby and decided to head to the check-out desk. A big sign inviting people to a ballroom caught his attention as he passed. Although he did not enter, the extravagant décor was visible from his position—crystal chandeliers, towering floral arrangements, and all the trimmings. Perhaps it was a bachelor party?

“Is there an event happening tonight?” he inquired of the receptionist.

The man smiled knowingly. “Indeed, there is. A wedding. Quite a lavish occasion.

“They’ve reserved most of the hotel for the week. Remarkably, we almost had no rooms available for outside guests.”

Franco nodded politely, gathered his belongings, and stepped out into the warm evening air. As always, the most challenging aspect of any trip was its conclusion—leaving behind the Maldives’ pristine white sand beaches and tranquil waters to return to Monaco.

He had just taken out his phone to request a cab when a sharp, panicked scream pierced the stillness.

🪹🪹🪹

Something, or rather, someone, exploded through the lobby doors in a flurry of red silk before he could react.

He saw a woman in a lavish wedding dress running toward him, her heels clicking madly on the sidewalk, a duffel bag gripped tightly in one hand.

“Hey! You, by the car—wait!” she called out, breathless.

The whispers inside the hotel became a full-fledged commotion.

She arrived at him in a matter of seconds, her wide eyes looking back toward the entrance as her chest rose and fell quickly. She was struggling because of the weight of her dress, her matching red headpiece tangled in dark curls, and those godforsaken heels.

Her words came out quickly as she said, "Okay, I realize this is utterly insane. But could I—could I catch a ride? Please?”

Franco blinked in surprise.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and laughed nervously. Oh no, you think I'm crazy, don't you?” She snapped her fingers in front of him before he could react.

“I promise I’m not a threat! I just— I really need to get out of here. Like, right this minute.” She shot a glance over her shoulder.

“I’m, um… heading to the airport,” he finally replied.

Her expression brightened with relief. “That’s perfect! The airport is exactly where I need to be. Thank you!”

Before he could even suggest she take a seat, she had already darted into the cab, struggling to fit her voluminous dress inside.

“Could you help a bit?” she asked, gesturing to the layers of fabric that seemed to have a mind of their own.

Franco shook his head and assisted in pushing the dress in, tucking her red veil as well before sliding in beside her.

The driver glanced at them through the rearview mirror but, decided it was none of his concern simply started the engine.

The woman let out a sharp breath, pulling off her heels with a grimace. “Ugh, these hurt like a bitch,” she muttered, then turned to Franco with a shy smile. “And, um, thanks for helping me make my escape.”

He still looked a bit dazed. “Oh, it’s nothing… just doing what I can, I suppose.”

She let out a light laugh, running her fingers through her curls. “Right. Just another day of saving runaway brides.”

She reached up to take off her veil, but it was caught in her hair. “Fuck this won’t come off, I can’t see back there. Would you mind helping?”

Franco paused for a moment before leaning over to assist. As he carefully untangled the knots, he suddenly became aware of how close they were. The cab felt smaller, and he caught a hint of jasmine from her hair, noticing how her fingers nervously tapped against her dress.

It felt almost dreamlike. Here he was, in the back of a cab, aiding a stranger— a runaway bride— in freeing herself from a veil as if it were just another ordinary day.

“Are you finished?” she asked softly, pulling him from his thoughts.

He quickly fumbled with the fabric, freeing it and handing it back to her.

“By the way, I’m Y/N. I probably should’ve introduced myself instead of surprising you like this, but here we are.” She chuckled a hint of relief in her voice. Franco grinned, still a bit bewildered. “Franco. Great to meet you, even if it’s in such… unexpected circumstances.”

She let out a laugh. “Yeah, sorry about that. I promise that I don't typically force my way into people's lives. Just—desperate times, you know?”

Franco nodded, intrigued. “So that was your wedding happening back there?”

Y/N groaned, leaning back against the seat. “Yep. Unfortunately.” After a moment, she added, “You probably think I’m terrible for leaving, right?”

"Well..." Franco shrugged. "I do not know the man."

“Good news! He’s a jerk.” She sighed heavily. “And so is the rest of his family.”

Franco frowned. “Then why did you agree to marry him?”

Y/N's fingers drummed nervously on her knee while she bit her lip. "I had no other option. My parents pushed for it. It was either marry him or take over the family business, and…” She waved her hand in frustration. “I tried to resist, but they wouldn’t budge. I decided to take charge of my own life as a result.

She winced as she looked at her phone and saw the plethora of missed calls. Anxiously, her foot started tapping the ground.

“Are they trying to reach you?” Franco asked.

“Oh, absolutely.” She turned the phone face down, hiding it from view. “Yaar, I just—I just can't deal with that at the moment."

She inhaled deeply and feigned a hesitant smile. I should be panicking, right? I mean, I just bolted from my wedding. I have no clue what comes next. But…” A small, breathless laugh escaped her. "To be honest, I'm a little excited."

She put a palm to her chest as though to calm herself, and Franco watched her.

"This is the wildest thing I've ever done," she admitted, turning to face him, "and I'm not even sure that it's the best decision, but it feels right. For the first time in years, I feel like I'm doing something for myself."

After watching her for a while, Franco grinned. “Well, Y/N If you're going to make a run for it, at least you did it in style." The car hummed quietly as they accelerated towards the airport, the city lights dissolving into flashes of colour in the darkness. With her fingers tapping rapidly against the duffel bag on her lap, Y/N stared out the window.

Despite the occasional buzzing on her phone, she chose not to check it. Franco noticed her diversion.

He asked, looking at her phone, "Are you sure you don't want to see what's going on?"

She sighed and paused, then flipped it over. Missed calls and messages, largely from her mother, a couple from her father, and one from her almost-husband filled the screen in a frenzied chaos.

After locking the phone and putting it back in her bag, she said, "Nope. I don't want to deal with that at the moment."

Franco's eyebrows went up. "Not even the slightest bit interested?"

She sneered, "Oh, I can guess what they're saying. My mom is probably in a frenzy. My dad is already calculating the impact on the family's reputation. And Nikh—” She paused, rolling her eyes. “I’d wager his message just says, ‘You’ll regret this.’”

Franco chuckled. “Does he seem like the type to just let it slide?”

Y/N let out a humorless laugh. “Definitely not. He’s probably already scheming to make my life a living nightmare. But that’s a problem for another day.”

A quiet tension filled the space between them, charged with unasked questions.

“So,” Franco finally broke the silence, turning to face her. “What’s the plan?”

Y/N blinked in confusion. “Plan?”

“Yeah. You just made a dramatic exit from your wedding, you’re in a different country, and you’ve got, what—one bag?”

She nodded.

“And you have no idea what to do next?”

She hesitated. “Not… really, no.”

Franco let out a soft laugh. “That’s quite the bold move.”

With a sigh, Y/N covered her face with her hands. "Yes, I am aware. This is absurd. To be honest, I should have given this more thought, but I was so caught up with figuring out how to get out of the wedding in the first place.”

Franco gave a small laugh. "I can't say I've never dashed out of a wedding in a huge ball gown, but why not?"

Y/N leaned back against the seat and sighed deeply. "Well, congrats. You are staring at a woman who has no bags, no plan, and no idea what she will do next.”

He looked at her pensively for a while. “So, where were you meant to go after the wedding?”

“Back to Florence.” She bit her lip nervously. “I— I live there. I work at the Museo Nazionale del Bargello. I’m a museum curator.”

Franco raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. “A runaway bride who’s also an art historian? That’s not what I expected.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though amusement flickered in them. “Sorry to let you down.”

“Not let down,” he replied casually. “Just intrigued. How does a museum curator end up in an arranged marriage with some wealthy jerk?”

Y/N took a slow breath. “The short story? My parents have deep roots in the jewellery scene. They’re avid collectors and mine owners. They wanted someone to continue the family legacy. I wanted something else entirely. They weren’t exactly pleased.” She shrugged. “So when Nikhil came into the picture, they thought, ‘Perfect. Let’s marry her off to a businessman who won’t mind that she doesn’t want to run the empire.’

Franco frowned. “And you just accepted that?”

She shot him a pointed look. “Do I look like I accepted it?”

He laughed. “Good point.”

She smirked but then sighed, her fingers twisting the fabric of her dress. “I tried to resist. But the pressure kept building, and I thought… maybe I could handle it. Maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible.” She scoffed. “Then today happened, and I realized—no. I can’t do this. I won’t.”

Franco nodded slowly. “So… Florence, then?”

She hesitated. “I mean, yes. Eventually.” She bit her lip. “But I can’t go straight home. Not yet. That’s the first place they’ll come looking for me.”

She glanced at him. “Where are you headed?”

“Monaco.”

Y/N groaned, slumping back against the seat. “That’s not far enough,”

Franco smirked. “What, you want me to take you somewhere more exciting?”

She grinned. “Tempting.” She hesitated for a moment before asking, "How long are you staying?"

"I live there, actually."

Thinking deeply, she bit her lip. "Would joining you be completely insane? Only for a little while?”

Franco's eyebrows went up. "You want to travel to Monaco with someone you just met fifteen minutes ago?"

She covered her face with her hands and groaned once more. "Wow, that sounds ridiculous when you put it that way."

"A tiny bit."

She gave him a look. "However?"

He cocked his head, watching her intently.

Then he answered, “I’ve done wilder things,” with a slow, knowing smile.

Y/N smiled, her eyes glimmering with delight. "Really?" He nodded. "Really."

The city was bustling around them as they got closer to the airport, and the car slowed.

Y/N took a deep breath and sat up with new energy.

"All right," she murmured, gripping her bag firmly. “I guess I’m off to Monaco.”

🪹🪹🪹

As Franco and Y/N got out of the taxi, the dazzling lights of the airport flickered overhead. Still acutely conscious of her ornate bridal gown, Y/N reflexively put her arms around herself in the cool night air, which contrasted sharply with the warmth of the automobile.

As she fought to keep up with him, Franco looked at her and then down at the enormous gown that hung about her feet. "You know," he thought, "you might draw less attention if you weren’t dressed like a princess fresh from a royal wedding."

Y/N let out a groan. "I promise you that I am horribly aware. However, I believe I'm stuck in this situation unless you happen to have extra clothing in your suitcase."

Franco paused for a beat before smirking. I do. It's not exactly runway-worthy, but it'll do."

He opened his carry-on and rummaged through it, handing her a black hoodie and sweatpants.

Y/N raised an eyebrow and took the bundle. "You're serious?"

"Completely. Unless you'd like to board the airplane dressed like a bride on the run?"

Y/N gave out a soft laugh. "A good point. But where do you expect me to change?"

He moved his head towards the nearby restroom. "I'll wait here."

Rolling her eyes, she walked inside. It took some manoeuvring, but she eventually got out of the lehenga skirt and into the much more comfy hoodie and sweatpants. The hoodie smelt vaguely like Franco—something crisp, clean, and slightly musky. She put the hood over her head and stuffed her abandoned wedding lehenga into her duffel bag, along with most of her heavy jewellery, before exiting.

Franco looked at her and smiled. "You pull off the 'I-stole-my-boyfriend's-clothes' look surprisingly well."

Y/N scoffed. "I wouldn't get ahead of myself."

He chuckled. "Come on, let's get your ticket."

They proceeded side by side to the counter, where Franco leaned against it while Y/N spoke with the attendant. When asked about her destination, she paused and looked at Franco.

"Monaco," he stated calmly. "One ticket."

Y/N sighed and nodded. "Yeah. Monaco."

As the attendant processed her request, she sensed Franco observing her. "You sure about this?" he enquired calmly. She turned to meet his eyes. "Nope," she said with a quiet giggle. "But I've never been more sure about anything at the same time."

Franco's lips curved into a lopsided smile. "That makes two of us."

The ticket had been printed, and Y/N grasped it tightly as if it might bind her to this new, unexpected path. Franco took her duffel bag without saying anything, slinging it over his shoulder as they made their way to security.

Y/N cast a peek at him. "You didn't have to do that, you know." "I know," he said casually. "But if we're going to do this, might as well make it easier for you."

She didn’t know what to say to that.

Instead, she simply smiled—a modest, genuine thing she hadn't realised she had been suppressing for a long time.

As they passed through security and headed toward their gate, Y/N had an unusual, exciting sense of freedom. Maybe this was insane. Perhaps she'd come to regret it. But when Franco walked by her, nonchalantly holding her luggage as if it were the most normal thing in the world, she had the impression that this experience was only beginning.

🪹🪹🪹

They settled into a quiet nook of the terminal to wait for their flight. Y/N tugged on the sleeves of Franco's hoodie, the cloth wrapping around her in unexpected comfort. He observed her with amusement. "You look like a kid in oversized clothes."

She nudged him gently. "Your fault for being so tall."

He smirked but did not argue. Instead, he reclined back in his seat and stretched his legs.

She couldn’t deny the nervousness still coursing through her, her heart beating wildly. But somehow, Franco seemed to notice, and without hesitation he reached for her palm, holding onto it.

Y/N looked at him in confusion, the action unexpected, but she’d be lying if she said it wasn’t comforting. He smiled softly, as if to say ‘It’s going to be alright’, and gave her hand a soft squeeze. She smiled back, squeezing his palm back.

"So, what's the first thing you want to do in Monaco?", he asked while still holding onto her hand.

Y/N considered for a moment before grinning. "I believe I simply want to sit by the water and breathe. No expectations, no obligations. Just exist."

Franco examined her with a softening face. "This sounds like an excellent plan. I know just the place."

She arched her brow. "Oh? Do tell."

"You will have to wait and see. But I promise it will be worthwhile.

Y/N held his stare, a warmth rising in her chest. She had no idea what was ahead, but having Franco by her made her feel safe, which she hadn't felt in a long time.

my first franco fic!!! ahhh i’m so excited. also i’m heavily considering writing a part two, mostly bc i didn’t think this was as romantic as i hoped it to be. but like i already wrote so much and adding more to just a single post would make it go to like 5k words lmk if u guys would like it <4

[reality-detective]

FISA: Unraveling the Military Coup – Trump’s Treason Call

The Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act (FISA) is no longer just a tool for foreign surveillance. It’s the key to exposing the darkest coup in American history. President Trump’s bold declaration: “It’s TREASON,” has sparked a firestorm, pointing to forces within the government using FISA for their agenda—against you, the American people. They never expected this to come to light, but now it’s all unraveling.

3.4 million warrantless searches. That’s what the FBI did to Americans in 2021. No oversight, no transparency—just raw power. They hijacked FISA, originally intended to spy on foreign entities, and turned it on innocent citizens. It’s a massive invasion of privacy, but it doesn’t end there. This is about control, about silencing dissent, and yes, about installing their puppets in place of real patriots. Think back—who ordered these searches? Who benefits from this totalitarian abuse?

The Flynn factor. They tried to destroy him, but why? What did General Flynn know that made him a target of FISA? Trump’s inner circle was never just about politics; it was a battle for control over America’s soul. The FISA warrants weren’t just about Flynn. They were about dismantling Trump’s influence and crushing anyone who dared to resist.

QAnon warned us. The signs were always there. Every cryptic message, every drop hinted at FISA’s role in this covert war. FISA is the hidden thread connecting corrupt global maneuvers—from the Middle East to Washington, D.C. The attempt to overthrow leaders like Bin Salman and the engineered revolutions point to FISA’s global reach. What the elite don’t want you to know is that FISA is a weapon in their game to reshape the world—and the U.S. is just one of their targets.

Military Coup in Motion? The whispers are growing louder—U.S. generals, split and at war within the ranks, may be gearing up for an internal coup. The deep state’s stranglehold on military leadership is being challenged, and the outcome could shift the balance of power forever. But don’t forget—there are white hats in the military, patriots ready to blow the whistle and reveal the plot. These patriots are gathering evidence, working behind the scenes, and preparing to expose the deep state’s crimes at the 11.3 moment.

Blinken’s tangled web. White hats have him in their sights. His ties to Obama and secret dealings with Iran paint him as a key player in the shadow government’s plans. Did you know? Blinken was at the center of the fake Osama Bin Laden operation. The revelations to come will rock the establishment, implicating him in high treason.

It all leads back to the Biden Crime Family. Hunter’s dirty deals, the Biden’s criminal empire—it's all coming out. But it’s not just about corruption; it’s about national security. Hunter’s laptop holds classified military secrets. The elites thought they could bury this, but the truth is about to explode.

Stay tuned. The storm is brewing. 🤔

[leeny-leens]

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader

CW: Angst, argument, no happy end it’s a short scene, unedited, not proofread

A/N: One of the promised scenes from the fic idea about the AU where the reader raises harry and has some bad history with Remus, the angst potential is off the charts. Pls dont mind the weird dialogue im still trying to get the hang of writing it

Series masterlist

“No Lupin,” you snarled, his name venomous over your lips. “You don’t get to try and…and pretend like you care about him now,” his amber eyes, once all soft and sweet whenever they looked at you, were darkened now, an edge of distance swirling in them. “Like you care about me,” you added, your voice barely a whisper. You didn’t expect it to hurt this much, not after all those years. You’d made peace with it, stopped looking for him in every corner, in every goddamned star that shone above you each night. You made peace with the fact that he left, ran away from you when things unraveled and shattered and left you to pick up your own pieces after he’d promised to always be there.

Clearly not, with the way the words gutted you from the inside out.

What hurt more, the realisation you still weren’t over it, or the fact that he was over you?

“Listen, I made choices I’m not proud of-“

“Clearly,” you snarled “Tell me all about it then.” With crossed arms, you fixed your narrowed eyes on him, as if silently challenging him to listen any more excuses. “Go on,” you demanded mockingly “Tell me about all the hardships you went through after you left me in the fucking dust.”

“Would it kill you to lose the fucking attitude and be an adult for once?” His voice was levelled, calm even, betraying the anger that writhed beneath the surface like a snake waiting to attack its prey.

You wanted to throw something in his face, hurt him the way he had hurt you, but you didn’t. Not because you cared about him or his stupid feelings, but because you had pride and call it stupid, but dignity as a mother that you did not want to compromise. Merlin knows how often you’d sat Harry through those conversations, teaching him how to talk to people without letting his emotions ruin his relationships, express himself without being cruel or vindictive. How could you face your son and preach those lessons to him if you did not follow them yourself?

You took a few breathes, willing yourself to calm down enough to be able to face him again without exploding in his face, or worse yet, hexing him to the other side of the room. “Alright then,” you said, your voice thin and strained with the effort it took to bite back the excess venom. “You have 3minutes,” you held up your fingers, as if to underline your statement, “Three minutes for you to explain where you got the nerve to decide things about my son’s life.”

His face contorted with amused disbelief at your words, shaking with sardonic laughter “He’s not your fucking son, he’s James’ and Lily’s son for Merlin’s sake!”

You knew that, all too well of course, who his birth parents were. he did not to remind you that your dead friends, buried six feet under, had merely witnessed one year of that boy’s life. “I don’t see them anywhere,” you spat, internally recoiling at the low blow you’d just delivered. “Oh wait,” your voice rose, as if suddenly coming to a delightful realisation “I don’t see them because they’re fucking dead Lupin, and I am the one who raised him for the last 11 years!”

His fists clenched at his side, knuckles so white the scars on them faded entirely with the flesh. “I ask myself every day why it couldn’t have been you instead,” he growled, his voice low and strained with suppressed anger. He was at the edge of sanity, you knew that, barely hanging on to the last bit of marbles before he completely snapped. A sick and twisted part of you longed for it, to see him break and slip into madness, all at your hands.

“Been asking the same about you.”

“You’re impossible and the worst person I've ever met”

“Well then you haven’t met yourself yet it seems” you responded lightly, eyes never once leaving his, challenging him to argue more, fuel the fire so it turns into an all-consuming, raging inferno that would swallow you both up and reduce you into nothing but mere ashes.

He clenched his jaw, the skin across his face stretching tightly as he fought to keep himself together, and you felt a pang of disappointment when he turned on his heels, storming out of the room to leave you alone. He took all the warmth of him, leaving nothing but ice cold dread in his wake. You quickly sprinted to the door, watching him disappear down the corridor before you yelled after him. “Go on you bloody twat” if he had heard you, he made no effort to turn back. “Leave again, like you did in the past!”

[laaawliet]

fic: monochrome

rated G | lawlight | soulmate au | 500 words ♥

In a world where people see in black and white until they touch their soulmate, chess is the most popular game.

written for the 500 words challenge in the lawlight server ♥ thanks @judgeandjury, @waxalas and @pinelohearts for making me write again lmao and also thanks always to @llawlieta for the endless support always :')

read here !

(or, if you prefer, right here as well) :

There’s a sudden rush around him, people pushing him through doors and away from hands that want to reach out and touch him, but L isn’t even thinking about them. His eyes focus on the black and white of the marble floor, mind buzzing with positions and strategy. It’s fine. He’s prepared.

Still, he can’t help but feel… a thrill. Some kind of excitement. He’s finally going to sit across a proper opponent, so he reasons it’s alright to feel like this.

“Mr. Lawliet,” a lady dressed in black says, pushing the white door right in front of him. “This way, please.”

The man is there already. His suit must be a brighter shade, since the only thing L can tell is that it’s clearer than grey. He briefly wonders if the man—Yagami, early thirties, Japanese—has already found his match and is aware of the concept of “color combination”. L wouldn’t know, obviously. All he sees is the monochrome version of the world.

Yagami stands when he notices his arrival, polite as expected. L did his research, poured over countless videos and analyses, examining his opponent’s movements, his strategies and the ruthlessness with which he closes. Fascinating stuff, really, but at the end of the day, Yagami is just a man. A very clever one, who rose through the ranks surprisingly fast, but L is the World Champion. There’s only room for one.

He’s about to take a step when a flash of light blinds him momentarily. He blinks, turning to the side, where a short man holding a camera smiles at him sheepishly.

“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to startle you, sir.”

L waves him away, taking his place across the board from Yagami. His opponent appeared out of thin air, not even young enough to be a sensation—it was mostly puzzling, why someone would wait so long to enter the championship, especially someone with such talent.

The most puzzling thing, at least to L, is that it seemed like this man had been playing a game inside a game, if such a thing could be possible. Like there was another opponent inside his head, someone much more worthy of his time than whoever was sitting across from him. Very arrogant, but L couldn’t help but sympathize.

He wonders how this match is going to go.

Yagami reaches over the board, offering his palm.

L meets him halfway, fingers closing around the other man’s hand.

The moment he does, the world explodes in L’s eyes.

He freezes, and so does Yagami, staring at him with wide eyes.

Is that what brown looks like?

L breathes, looking down at his own shirt—white, as he thought, but his pants are a shade he has no name for.

He knows what this means. He knows Yagami knows what this means.

But the clock is waiting for them next to the board and L lets go of Yagami’s hand.

First things first. He has a game to win.

[butmakeitgayblog]

The Only Heaven I'll Be Sent To (Is When I'm Alone With You)

First Kiss

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

"Listen to me," Lexa soothed as she nudged at Clarke's hand, fingers trailing down her knuckles before hooking a pinky around Clarke's index. 

And she didn't quite know what to do with it; the seeing and hearing and feeling Lexa be more gentle, more genuine, with her than ever before. 

"Despite what you may think, I promise you, I do not kill indiscriminately. As much as I loathe the bulk of humanity, truthfully most of them I just find entertaining. Or annoying. And that's fine. But things like this? People like this?"

Lexa stopped for a moment, shaking her head with a frown. 

"I can't change the past. I can't give back what they took from those people. But I also cannot, and will not, allow them to hurt anyone else in the future. Do you understand what I'm saying? The deepest recesses of Hell are reserved for people like them. The betrayers... So no, this certainly isn't a game to me, Clarke."

"What is this then?"

Lexa looked at her with such pleading softness in her eyes that Clarke felt the room spin under feet, a bloom of feelings she couldn't begin to define expanding inside her as Lexa spoke solemnly. 

"This is justice," Lexa murmured. "... Those children relied on her, and she deceived them. Sacrificed them, for her own selfish gains. That debt will not go unpaid."

"... So that's it. Just like that. You're just going to kill them."

"Yes. They're guilty, and they will be held accountable. By my hand and the next."

Letting her head tip forward, Clarke couldn't find it in her to fight it as Lexa shuffled just a little bit closer and reached a hand up to tuck back a wayward curl of blonde hair.

"It'll be alright, Clarke… I mean, when you think about it," Lexa said as her face suddenly broke into a small teasing smile grin, "they're already damned for all eternity. I'm simply doing them the favor of making sure they get the VIP treatment on the way down."

Clarke grunted and flung Lexa's hand away. "That isn't funny, Lexa."

"You really do need to lighten up," Lexa drawled. "Where's the fun in delivering the righteous hand of judgment here on Earth, if you can't at least find a little bit of humor along the way?"

"Are you serious?"

"Rarely, but right now, yes."

"... I don't even know what to think about this… I feel like I'm gonna be sick."

"Want me to help take your mind off of it?" Lexa asked and wagged her brow. 

"Shut up."

"Well that's not very nice."

"You're so... fucking infuriating."

"And you're really hot when you're angry."

Clarke glared at Lexa, feeling a white-hot rush of her temper balloon in her gut. Her hands shook with each flare of her anger as she emptied the space between them in a single step. 

"Shut. The fuck up, Lexa."

"Hah... Make me."

Green eyes widened when Clarke's face twisted in a snarl at the whispered challenge, hands grabbing fistfuls of Lexa's vest and shoving her back. 

Clarke allowed her body to be moved with the momentum, relishing in the small "oof" that escaped as she slammed Lexa into the strip of wall behind them. 

In one fluid motion Clarke surged forward, swallowing whatever it was Lexa had been trying to say. The smash of her lips was as rough as it was angry, Clarke pouring days, weeks, months-worth of fury into the give of Lexa's body. 

Heat exploded low in Clarke's belly as Lexa's moan echoed in her mouth. Her teeth ached with the clash of the kiss even as she pushed and pressed in harder, a punishing kind of edge to the way she slid between Lexa's lips. She felt hands move to grasp at her, fingers curling in and around the small of her back, causing her to wrench away just far enough to speak.

"No," Clarke grit out, hands flying to grab the wrists at her hips. 

With a sharp jerk she lifted Lexa's arms away from her and up, surprising even herself as she felt them slam against the wall above their heads. 

Their chests heaved against each other, Clarke's eyes darting between the slim hands pinned in her grip and the darkened stare looking back. 

Her thighs clenched at the way Lexa's mouth hung slack, the warm puff of her breath blooming through slick and reddened lips. They looked full, almost swollen in the aftermath of Clarke's kiss, the effect of them causing Clarke to want to lean in again. She felt the jut of bone dig into her as Lexa tilted her hips in a maddening slow press.

"Huh… look at you," Lexa husked, the black forests of her eyes roving over Clarke's face. "Full of surprises."

"If you don't shut up, I swear to God-"

"You'll what? Spank me?"

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

[lesbianjackies]

this is cheating but for the character ask game all of the yellowjackets (who have spoken at least lol) and 4

4. if you could put this character in any other media, be it a book, a movie, anything, what would you put them in?

okay this is so much fun thank you soooo much for sending me this omg. this is also kind of cheating but honestly my go-to is just to put all the characters in the ever after high universe… i will expand on each one so it’s not too much of a copout <3

natalie as raven queen: forced into a role that doesn’t align with her strong moral code/values, deeply engrained parental issues, leader of a reform to bring social change.

jackie as apple white: thriving off of the role society has given her, facade of perfection as protection from a terrifying unknown, a lack of ability to function once her worldview is challenged.

shauna as briar beauty: jackie’s overlooked and under-appreciated best friend, a rebellion against both her societal role and that relationship that starts quiet and passive and explodes into a significant act of resistance, foil to natalie in the way she handles her quest to get the things she wants.

lottie as madeline hatter: underestimated character who longs for a home they can never return to, can communicate with a supernatural force none of the other characters are able to connect with and is deemed crazy because of this, has insight the other characters don’t but is vague in the ways she chooses to deliver information.

misty as blondie lockes: girl who is never quite “in” with the group she wants to be a part of but is always lingering and clinging to the people she wants to be connected to, a willingness to do whatever it takes to be recognized and appreciated, a perpetual sense of unbelonging.

travis as dexter charming: always underestimated and under-appreciated, grappling with wanting to be seen by his father vs. being more comfortable on the sidelines, deeply transfem coded narrative arc.

taissa as cerise hood: a dormant, hidden wild and monstrous nature, a connection to wolves, athleticism and competitiveness making her standoffish and intimidating to other characters.

van as darling charming: playing a part she doesn’t want to play and rebelling quietly but boldly when no one’s around, keeping secrets not out of fear but out of self-preservation, the inherent van palmerness of being a silly butch dyke knight princess.

mari as duchess swan: playing into the system as a way to try and cheat it, using connections to try to climb her way to the top, bitchiness and sarcasm as a defense mechanism to hide her fear and insecurity.

akilah as ashlynn ella: a significant connection to nature and specifically animals, being soft, shy, and reserved but harboring a fierce determination that presents itself when her values are brought into the question, quiet acts of rebellion that grow louder as her arc continues.

laura lee as alistair wonderland: always being up for a challenge, taking impulsive risks for the purpose of being a hero, stubborn determination when she feels she needs to accomplish something.

didn’t do every character with a speaking role but i hope this was satisfying enough!!

[skeletoncrevvs]

crossbeat magazine, aug 2007

translation/transcription under cut

Crossbeat - AUG 2007 - TRANSLATION

PAGE 30-31 (excluding cover and contents page):

Special feature on rock legends coming to Japan

MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE

AKIRA, Tekkonkinkreet, Lupin III  - "I'm attracted to works that are innovative and take on new challenges. I love them. I can't stop thinking about them."

Welcome to MCR Theatre @Budokan!! A drama of destruction and rebirth explodes in a spectacular live performance!! Japan and Manga

Interview by Takuro Ueno, interpreter: Tomoko Katsuta

We take a look at Gerard's true personality and the band's latest vision as a huge fan of the band.

Pics: Tetsuro Sato

PAGE 32:

The explosion of "Dead!", the confetti of "Welcome to the Black Parade", the flames of "Mama", the fireworks of "Disenchanted", the explosion of "Famous Last Words"! My Chemical Romance's Budokan live show was a spectacular entertainment show with plenty of gunpowder and pyro. The first half was a live performance of the album in which they dressed up as the band The Black Parade, the alter-ego of "The Black Parade", and the second half was a performance of other songs. The set was almost the same as the US tour in the spring, and the live started with "The End", in which frontman Gerard Way appeared as a patient in a white coat.

What impressed me was not only the dramatic songs that quickly became anthems, but also the presence of songs that could be called excellent supporting actors that supported the main characters. The combination of explosive guitar and beats in "This Is How I Disappear" created a sense of intense speed. In the second half, Frank Iero (G) and Ray Toro (G) strummed their guitars with complete concentration in the raging ensemble. The heavy melody gradually changed its expression, and I was also excited by "Sleep," which had a cathartic surge along with a heavyweight groove.

Bob Bryar's (Dr) powerful drumming also really came into play in this kind of song. And what was most impressive was the glimpse of Gerard's "madness" for a short time. 

There's a fine line between madness and sanity. In his sane mode, he's a geek who loves comics and games with all his heart, while in his dangerous mad mode, he explodes with emotion on stage. I think that the album "The Black Parade" is somewhere between the two, and for those wanderers whose egos tend to become unstable because of their wandering, Gerard's message is absolutely real. What I thought after seeing this live performance was that "The Black Parade" is a work that reflects the current era, and it has an immeasurable appeal to stubborn adults.

After performing the album that they had pushed themselves to the limit and creating in a lavish manner on the Budokan stage, Gerard and the other four members shed their heavy costumes and appeared in casual clothes. Behind them was a backdrop with the word "REVENGE" written in large letters, and when the life-sized My Chemical Romance performed "I'm Not Okay" and "Helena," the audience responded with a chorus of their own. Unlike the first half, there was only one flashy performance using gunpowder, and there was no confetti raining down on the audience or flames rising up. At the end, the people who stood on stage were not emo charisma, but young music-loving men who grew up in the New Jersey punk scene.

On this day, Frank joined the stage of the opening act, the melodic punk band Bouncing Souls from his hometown. Gerard asked the fans several times during his performance to give them loud cheers and applause. If you think about it objectively, you can see that Gerard's jumps and fist pumps are not cool, but I think that the attitude of "it's okay to be uncool!" is punk, and such objective opinions are not necessary for My Chemical Romance. Their performance, which was full volume and full force from start to finish, was unmistakably punk, and it is because of this blood that they are somehow hard to hate, even when viewed as a new-age rock band. My Chemical Romance, who graces the front page of this special feature on rock legends visiting Japan, have written another page in rock history with their live performance at the Budokan, but in this interview we also get a glimpse into the true face of Gerard, who loves Japan. He loves Japanese manga and anime, and when he came to Japan last time

Pic: Yuki Kuroyanagi

PAGE 33:

he even went to the cinema. When I explained the purpose of the photo on the front page, he cheerfully agreed to a two-shot with Mario, a character representing Japan.

----What kind of image did you have of Japan before?

"I was imagining the world of Ridley Scott's film, 'The Blade Runner.' I'm also a big fan of comics and Katsuhiro Otomo's work. I especially love 'AKIRA,' so I thought it would be something like the opening scene of that story, and I think that image was correct. But I ended up loving this country even more than I had imagined. I had no idea that Japanese people were people who respected others and their environment so much, and it was refreshing to be able to come into contact with such people and have such a variety of experiences before returning to America."

----You've toured to quite a few countries, but your first visit to Japan was in 2004. What were your impressions at the time?

"I feel like I've landed on Mars. And I mean that in a good way. It's completely different from any other place I've ever been to. The cityscape, the culture, everything I could see was different from any other country. I've had the chance to tour many countries, but when I went there, I was disappointed to see that there were many similarities to America, or even the same things. But Japan is original and amazing. I was fascinated by everything, from vending machines to key chains to TVs. I don't understand what they're saying when I watch TV, but there's a lot to absorb. I'm always looking for something to stimulate me, so this country is perfect for me."

----Your first live show was on the indoor stage at Summer Sonic. How did you feel about the audience's reaction? They were really excited about songs like "I'm Not Okay."

"It was amazing! I'm so glad to get such a reaction.

I never dreamed that we would get such a good response to "I'm Not Okay" in a country we visit for the first time. But it was especially special to have such a good response in Japan. The first time we played in the UK was on tour with The Used. We have a following in the UK now, but the kids who saw our show back then seemed confused about how to respond to our music. I think they liked it, but the reaction was surprisingly calm. After that, we played in a small club in Germany, and it was a big hit. Then we came to Japan and the crowd was so excited, right? It was amazing that we were able to play in front of such a large audience, but when we played "I'm Not Okay," it was even more amazing.

----After that, you did a solo tour in Japan. What is the most memorable episode from your live shows in Japan so far?

"Well... they're all great... let me think about it... there's just so much fun to be had in Japan. The last time I played at Summer Sonic (in 2006) was memorable, the day I was on the outdoor stage in front of Linkin Park. It was a big victory to be able to play at Summer Sonic again, because it was my second time playing at a stadium. At the first Summer Sonic, I was battling drugs and alcohol. So it was impressive to come back and play on that big stage and do a show in front of thousands of people. I remember being able to show a great performance."

----When you visited Japan in January this year, you apparently went to see the film "Tekkonkinkreet."

Pic: Tetsuro Sato

PAGE 34:

I love Japanese. I love the sound of it. I think it's a beautiful language. And it's especially beautiful when people are angry. Japanese is at its best when they're angry (laughs). [top quote]

"It was amazing, but unfortunately it hasn't been released in the US yet. I think it will be a hot topic because the drawing style and the content are very different from what people think of when they think of anime. It was my first time going to a Japanese movie theater. You choose your seat and sit there. And everyone was quiet. I don't know if the movie was boring or if people in Japan watch movies quietly, but everyone stayed seated until the end credits, so it seemed like they liked the movie. But the only one who was laughing was my friend who went with me. It was kind of awkward. I didn't understand the language, so maybe I was laughing at scenes I shouldn't have laughed at? No, I think I laughed at scenes I should have laughed at, but everyone was quiet, so after laughing a few times, I decided to watch quietly (laughs)."

----(laughs) What other Japanese manga and anime do you like?

"I like all the works of Matsumoto Taiyo, the writer of ‘Tekkonkinkreet,’ and I respect Otomo Katsuhiro, who I think is a genius. I also like Tezuka Osamu, the godfather of this world, who wrote ‘Astro Boy.’ I also like ‘Lupin III’ and ‘Science Ninja Team Gatchaman.’ I'm always discovering new things from Japanese creators, and they often surprise me. I'm attracted to works that are innovative and try new things. I'm not interested in anime where giant robots fight other robots. It's just a melodrama with big robots in it."

----After graduating from art school, you worked as an animator for a while.

"I was working on a cartoon called "Sheep in the Big City" (a TV series that aired on the American cable TV channel Cartoon Network). It was completely different from Japanese animation, and the creator, Mo Willems (a popular animation artist known for his picture books such as "Knuffle Bunny: A Cautionary Tale" and "Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus!"), was influenced by 50s limited animation (animation that simplifies the character's movements) such as "Gerald McBoing-Boing".  But I was too young to watch the works of that era in real time, so I didn't really understand them when I was working (laughs)."

----By the way, what kind of comics did you draw?

"I drew [a] really crazy black and white comic. It was about two brothers who work as piano movers. They're said to be the best piano movers in the world, but they’re really not that good. I was inspired by American directors like Terry Gilliam (the director of "Brazil" and "12 Monkeys") and [the] Fritz Lang's film "Metropolis." I drew a dark and eccentric world. It was so outlandish that I got a ton of rejection letters from publishers (laughs). People seemed to have trouble figuring out how to sell it.”

----So from your perspective, what did you think of this work, which was painted with a uniquely Japanese touch?

"First of all, I'm attracted to the art. Look at Otomo's work. Just a single character standing in ruins creates a certain kind of image. That image is burned into your brain. That's why I'm so attracted to Otomo's work. He sometimes puts a twist on it and depicts an unrealistic world. That's what I like about him."

----You've loved comics and video games since you were a child, and that hasn't changed at all.

"Yes. I like video games because they are simply fun and a great way to kill time. I think online games on the Internet are fun because you can play them with your friends. When you're on tour like this, it's hard to meet up with your friends back home. Being able to play with them is one of the attractions.

The appeal of comics is... I love classic science fiction. I'm a big fan of the original Star Trek and The Twilight Zone. Planet of the Apes is good too. The appeal of comics is that anything is possible. You can express anything." 

----You also said in a 2004 interview with this magazine you also check out Japanese bands on YouTube. You mentioned Guitar Wolf, Cornelius, and Michelle Gun Elephant. What attracted you to them? 

"Their intensity. And the way they take music from a certain era and make it new with their own interpretation. Guitar Wolf is especially crazy! Their interpretation of rock and roll is amazing, and that's what makes them great. Their recklessness, that off-tune sound, that craziness! It's like they're playing a cheap tape recorder.”

PAGE 35:

There is an album with a sound that makes you think they just recorded it in a live recording session. But when you get down to it, it's not the sound or the songs, but their unconventionality that gets to the essence of rock and roll. I don't understand the lyrics, but the language difference doesn't matter. The energy of the vocals conveys everything. I love Japanese. I love the sound of it, I think it's a beautiful language, and it's especially beautiful when it's angry. Yes, Japanese is at its best when it's angry (laughs). That's why I love Guitar Wolf."

----I see. That makes sense (laughs). This is your fifth visit to Japan. What does Japan mean to you?

"Japan is a place that continues to inspire me. The more I come to Japan, the more I learn.

You get to know more places, and you get to meet new friends. The record company staff are my friends. The more people I know, the more I get to know Japanese people. I get inspired by them. I think the respect Japanese people have for each other is amazing. I like how they take pride in everything they do. And it's human. Even in things that seem impersonal, like computer manufacturing, you can feel the handcrafted attention to detail and craftsmanship. Japanese people value tradition and history. People from other countries are always thinking about the future and forget that the past is just as important as the present and the future.

----You've probably been to a lot of different spots, but have you been to Akihabara in Tokyo? 

"Hmm? What's it like there?"

----Home electronics have always been popular. There are lots of computers and electronic parts.

"Well, I guess I haven't been there yet. I heard there's a place in Tokyo that sells a lot of comics and manga? I'd really like to go there this time. I've mainly only been to Harajuku and Shibuya."

----That place is probably Akihabara. Personally, I also recommend Broadway in Nakano, but Akihabara is not only a comic book town, but it's also a crazy town where you can see adult women dressed as maids these days, so I definitely recommend you go there at least once!

"Oh, I've heard of it! I read it in a book. Also, a book called "Love Hotel" was recently published, so I'm thinking of reading it. It's a book about love hotels in Japan. Usually, foreigners can't enter those kinds of places.

Pic: Yuki Kuroyanagi

PAGE 36:

It's only recently that I've felt like I'm growing steadily. Before that, it felt like everything was moving so fast, and I wasn't able to cope as a person with that. Now that I'm moving forward at a steady pace, I'm adapting to the changes. [top quote]

Apparently, they were not allowed to take photos, but the author's female photographer was allowed to do so. The maid cafe also looks interesting. What place was it called again?

----Akihabara.

"There are comics there too?"

----Yes. Now, please tell us about this memorable Budokan live. Will it be with the same set and production as the US tour that was just recently?

"Yeah, we brought as much of the same set as possible. The Budokan has strict rules about pyro, but we're using the same equipment that Kiss used in Japan. So it's different from what we use in the US, but if Kiss gave us the OK, we thought we could accept it. In fact, we found that some of the things we use in the US set were unnecessary. For example, we didn't bring the ruins of a big building that we had at the back of the stage this time. It would take too long to send it to Japan. But the costumes and backdrops are all the same... and we'll use confetti, too. It's pretty much the same. But the most important thing is that the band is in top condition. We've been doing the set we're doing now for almost six months, and the composition of "The Black Parade" is perfect. That's the most important thing."

----The set list is divided into two parts, the first half is The album "The Black Parade" by The Black Parade, which can be said to be the alter ego of My Chemical Romance,and the second half is a return to My Chemical Romance and performance of other songs.

"That's right. I wanted to play all the songs on the new album. I wanted to do it in a big way. I didn't want to do it in pieces, so it just naturally came out like this. I also wanted to do something that would change from the beginning to the end of the show. So in the first half, we played a big performance with a big production, and in the second half, we stripped everything away and played our original selves. We wanted to show the core of the band. It was natural that it would be structured like this. The album is about an hour long, so it's not something that you normally hear. That's the length of a standard set. And then we do an encore in the remaining 30 minutes. But we don't like encores. We think it's arrogant to wait for the audience to applaud before going on stage, so after the first part, we go back[stage] and come out again at our own pace to show our support. [our appreciation (?)]"

----For some musicians, the stage is a place where they feel alive and can become their true selves, but what do live performances mean to you right now?

"It's a place where you feel alive. At the same time, it's a place where you can have a control that you don't have in your everyday life, and you can lose yourself. In other words, anything is possible. You can be very honest and let everything out. You can't experience that in your everyday life. From what I've seen of Japanese culture and what I've heard from Japanese kids, it's hard to express yourself with words in this country, so Japanese people express themselves through the clothes they wear. That's the case in America too, so for me, the stage is a place where I can say anything. Even if I'm opening for someone, once I'm on stage I can do anything. As long as I respect the band that's coming up after me, I can do anything."

----This summer you'll be touring with Linkin Park. How did this tour come about?

"They asked me to be their opening act. I was honored and really surprised because I'd never thought about it like that. They said, 'We're releasing a new album. We're going on tour soon, do you want to join us?' Of course I accepted."

----They're bands that have been active in a different scene than you, but there are some similarities between you and them, like the enthusiastic support of your fans and your commitment to art outside of music.

"That's right. The commonality between the two bands is that they have passionate fans who love music. Their new work is also very challenging. I think their fans are very smart because they can understand that. That means their fans could become our fans too. We like to tour with intelligent bands. That's why we toured the US with Muse recently. To really understand their music, you have to love it from the bottom of your heart. Of course, their songs are often played on the radio and are hits all over the world, but to really understand their music, you have to be sensitive. We like to tour with intelligent bands, and that's why we decided to tour with Linkin Park. I think they're very smart people.

----They have had successful arena tours in the US and the UK, and have conquered the Budokan in Japan.  How do you feel about the band's current state as it continues to grow?

"I feel great. It was only recently that I felt like we were growing steadily. Up until then, it felt like everything was moving at an incredible speed, and as people, I wasn't able to cope with that situation. But now we're moving forward at a steady pace, so I'm adapting to the changes."

----What direction do you want to take the band in the future?

"Well, I'm not sure if we want to get bigger. There are already people who enjoy our music. I'm happy to be welcomed by a larger audience, but we're not struggling to survive in this world. Actually, I miss playing small venues these days. At the same time, I want to play shows at legendary places, and I want to think about where I'll play in the future. Maybe it's one way to stop playing shows like we do now, and make the days we do play very special. I don't know if the band needs to get any bigger. I'm very happy with the situation. But I think we need to explore more creatively. ■

Pic: Tetsuro Sato

------

OP NOTE: this translation is ROUGH from google - i tried my best to make sense of some more of the questionable parts. please feel free to message me if i made any mistakes!

[littlemissmiller]

𝑆𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑟 𝐻𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑠

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐘𝐨𝐮

Pairing: drug dealer!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

Summary: (au) Graduation is here and Coriolanus is ready to just get the day over with. After the ceremony, The Plinth’s hold a lunch party at their house and you being there has Coriolanus’s mind in knots. All he can think about is what’s underneath your dress…

Warning: 21+ (smoking, drug uses/ mentions of drug use) eventually smut, mentions of masturbation (m receiving), semi-public, bathroom foreplay, slight dom!reader jealously, slight obsession, possession, toxic relationship, slight stalking

Word count: 5k

A/N: hi! sorry this second ch took so long. i promise the next one will be here quicker tho. this new ch tho really turns up the heat like 🥵 god coriolanus is such a horny little boy in this one and wants it sooooo bad….so enjoy ❣︎

Series Masterlist | Playlist

☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎

Coriolanus dresses himself for graduation. He buttons his crisp, white dress shirt. It had been neatly and freshly ironed that morning by his grandmother. The smell of eggs and bacon waft into his room and Tigris pops in with a plate.

“Hey cus, oh Coryo…” She starts then notices him now fully dressed in his white button up and slacks. She's holding a plate of breakfast and a cup of coffee, but sets it on his desk and rushes to him. She has the overwhelming urge to hug him, but doesn’t want to mess up his attire. Tigris dusts off the tops of his shoulders and grips him lightly.

“Oh look at you. Does it fit right?”

“Of course. Thanks again, now the sleeves fit perfectly.” He remarks, stretching out his arms to show off her own seamstress work to her.

Having Tigris away in New York these days at fashion school came with its own set of challenges. Which is why when she left for college in his sophomore year, he started dealing drugs. Coriolanus had always been pegged as mature and “wiser beyond his years'” by adults and teachers so aside from Sejanus, he really only had Tigris and her friends as company. And they were always around, until they weren’t and Coriolanus realized how empty he felt with no one to tag along with. Her room would sit empty until the summers, and when she returned she was like Persephone. It makes their grandma happier, more lively too, a trait Coriolanus wishes he could emulate. He wishes to have that effect on people, but it seems to fall flat. Usually people seem cautious and wary about him, like a powder keg ready to explode.

Coriolanus smiles back at his cousin, then looking over his shoulder and into his closet mirror. He admires himself, smiling for a moment then looking back at Tigris

“Thanks Ty,” he sighs , hugging her

“Oh! I have something for you. Consider it a pre-graduation gift” she pulls back, rushing into her room.

She scurry’s back and is carrying a small black box, tied together with a single black satin bow. He unties it, letting the ribbon fall to the floor. He opens the box and inside is a bottle of cologne. It was a square black bottle, a luxury brand that he had seen countless times in department stores at the mall.

He picks it up and immediately takes in the scent. It was musky, but fresh and slightly intoxicating. It was masculine, but still had a tinge of something sweet. He looks up at her in awe. The Snows hadn’t been able to afford much since both Coriolanus’ and Tigris' parents had been out of the picture.

Money was tight, and they had shared two cars between the three of them. Coriolanus would usually drive his late grandfather’s old white F250, which only he seems to be able to navigate, so his grandma and Tigris drove a navy 2008 Corellia. On top of that, Tigris always had a job from the moment she was sixteen and Coriolanus made sure to find ways to make money for his family. He would usually do house work for people in the neighborhood and landscaping in the summer. So to have an item of such luxury in his hands, from his cousin, means the world to him at this moment.

“Thank you. This is…you must have worked so hard for this…”

“It really didn’t put me out too much, especially with my intern this July. I have some connections now.” She smiles

“You’re truly a wonder.” Coriolanus admires

“As are you. I know you’ll continue to make this family proud.”

She hugs him one last time before leaving him alone with her gift in his hands. He smells it again, taking it out of the bottle and spraying his neck, and the inside of his wrists. Maybe you’ll come up to him and notice. Notice how good he smells, and want to talk to him. Touch him. He wonders how you’ll look today. What perfume you’ll choose since, he was aware you had many scents you liked to wear. He loved when you would spray yourself with your mini travel size bottle. It had a musky, vanilla scent, like a caramel. It would spin in his nostrils and make him hard. It made him want to taste you.

He shook himself from his thoughts, palming himself through his pants to relieve some tension. He takes the plate of breakfast from his desk and chews on a piece of bacon. He sits on his bed. He sits his plate down and bends down to pull out a small thick mesh bag. Inside was his lighter, grinder, a glass chillum pipe, a wooden dugout with a one hitter, a few pre rolls, and about an ounce of indica. He takes out some of the weed and the grinder. He places it in the teeth of the grinder, pushes down and turns. The smell of the flower wafts in the air and Coriolanus takes his lighter and leans over to light his bedside candle, an item he frequently restocks for this reason.

Tigris was aware that Coriolanus smoked, but unaware that he sold and his grandmother didn’t know either. Not that he dared smoke in his room without at least opening a window and blowing it out, but he didn’t want to have the scent waft and linger for his grandmother’s sake. He didn’t smoke in the house often, and usually sat outside on the back patio. When all the weed is ground up, he unscrews the bottom on the grinder and shakes it into his dugout. He clears out the one hitter and fills it up for a hit. Once it’s all packed, he puts it away, closing the top and sliding the dugout into his pocket for later. He knew that having to be at a school function for so long would mentally take it out of him, plus what would they do if he gets caught, he’ll already be graduated. Additionally, Sejanus was having a post-graduation lunch for the grade at his house and Coriolanus knew he wouldn’t be able to survive both consecutively with being high.

The nice thing about being friends with Sejanus was he lived in your neighborhood. You and him came from wealthy families, and those were the nicest houses in town, so whenever he would head over to Sejanus’s house he got to pass by your own. Sometimes he’d notice your bedroom light was on, and wondered if you were in your room. Your white Audi Q5 was usually parked outside, but if not, he knew where it and you were. Devon’s house. Which he suspected you would both be at the Plinth’s house after graduation. Even though you didn’t explicitly mention it last night, Coriolanus had a feeling you’d be there since your boyfriend was always cozying up to Mr. Plinth to get a job with his energy company, which the Plinths supply half of the county with. It was pathetic really, given how Sejanus was going to inherit the company when his father retires or dies, and then what. God Devon was such an annoying prick he couldn’t stand it.

Coriolanus finishes the rest of his breakfast. He checks himself one last time in the mirror, then grabs his phone, keys, a lighter, and wallet. He grabs his cap and gown and heads downstairs. He heads into the kitchen, placing his empty breakfast plate in the dishwasher and bidding his grandma and Tigris a goodbye until the ceremony. He had promised Sejanus last week to give him a ride to the ceremony to avoid “a headache from his parents.” Which Coriolanus gleefully accepted. Any excuse to pass by your house.

On his way there he turns up some music, enjoying the morning and glad to be done with high school. Lana del Ray’s song Diet Mountain Dew starts to play as he rolls into the nice, polished neighborhood of Governor’s Way. He draws closer to your house and sees your car still parked outside. He smiles to himself and keeps driving. He makes a left turn at the end of the street and Sejanus’s house sits at the end of a cul-de-sac, slightly off center to the right. He pulls up and sits in his car waiting for Sejanus. From his rear view mirror he can see your house and watches. Maybe you’ll come out. Maybe he’ll catch a glimpse of you. He watches and he sees something he detests. Your boyfriend pulls up, his country music roaring. He turns away and texts:

Here

Coming sorry!

Ma wanted pictures

Of course she did. Coriolanus sighs to himself and checks the time. The ceremony isn’t until 10 am, but seniors were expected to arrive at 9 am to ensure they were accounted for and not late. Sejanus comes out the front door, already in his cap and gown walking into Coriolanus’s truck and smiling.

“Are you nervous?” He asks, as they back out

“No” Coriolanus smirks

“I feel weird. I can’t believe it’s all over. And now we are off to college…”

“Hey man, let's enjoy our break, yeah?”

“I will. Oh Ma wants to take us out shopping for bedding and decor for our dorm. She thinks we should shop together so we can try to make our room look like it all flows…”

Coriolanus rolls his eyes. Of course his mother wants matching bedsheets and decorations for them. Of course she’s thinking about it before her son has even received his diploma. It’s so infuriating, but at least he’ll get a free set of bed sheets. The Plinths were always generous with the Snow family. As he starts to pull by your house he sees you come out and greet your boyfriend. You’re in a white dress, your hair down and slightly curled. Even from here you’re stunning. Like a sweet dollop of whipped cream that Coriolanus wants to lick up.

You see his car go by and smile at him as you hug Devon. Coriolanus smiles and your boyfriend notices your attention has been drawn away from him. He looks behind and Coriolanus speeds up. He scowls at the white truck as it rides by and starts to shuffle you inside. Coriolanus turns up the music in frustration and Sejanus looks at him sympathetically. An old Billie Eilish song, my boy, plays and Coriolanus smirks at how fitting it is for the situation. Concerned, Sejanus turns it down to talk to him.

“Maybe they’ll break up before the summer is over…”

“Yeah and then what? She’s still going to Cali in August. I’m staying here. It’s whatever dude…”

“I’m just saying. I know how much you like her.”

“Ok well she doesn’t like me so it doesn’t matter.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure.” Sejanus suggests

“Why?” Coriolanus asks

“Just something she asked me in Art History…”

“What did she say?”

“Just we were talking and she kinda subtly asked if you and I were staying close to home because of anybody. I said no and she asked about you. Wanted to know if there was some girl she didn’t know about…”

Coriolanus’s heart races. You’re asking his best friend about him. If he’s staying near home for a girl and wanting to know if he’s single or not. Why? Are you interested in him? Are you about to leave your boyfriend for him? He could hardly believe it and almost missed the turn.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything…” Sejanus remarks

“No. Thanks for telling me it’s just…fuck dude don’t get my fucking hopes up…”

“I’m not, just yeah, I thought you’d at least wanna know that…”

The two boys pull into the school, parking in the back. They walk inside, check in, and are instructed to head into the auditorium, where they would wait. The graduation would be taking place in the gymnasium, the only space big enough to host all the guests and 150 seniors. They walk to the auditorium Meanwhile, Coriolanus puts his gown on, but not fully zipped and he holds his cap to the side. They find a seat and Coriolanus pulls out his phone. He pulls up Snapchat and sees you’ve posted on your story. He taps on it. There you are. A cute mirror selfie, showcasing your makeup with a white cursive caption that said:

graduation look

He loved getting to see little glimpses of you like this. Over the last few years he’d gotten accustomed to these types of photos and to an extend the layout of your room. Sometimes it would fuel his imagination of you. He thought about just how precious you’d look spread out on your plush, pink sheets and comforter. About you laying against your fluffy white pillows, holding them in-between your legs as you playfully roll around your bed, showing off for him.

He closes out your story quickly and taps to show the next one and it’s Devon’s. It’s a picture of you and him. His arm around you in front of your house. His caption reads:

Grad time

Coriolanus swipes away and rolls his eyes. He scoffs and Sejanus looks at him, frowning. He wants to say something, but can’t think of anything to tell Coriolanus to make him feel better. Sejanus then looks around nervously and catches you walking in with Devon. He decides not to say anything and whips around quickly, which only draws Coriolanus’s attention in. He turns around and sees you walk towards the front, cap in hand, gown on. Now that you’re closer to him, he can see your tan heels to go with your dress. He likes how they look and desperately wants to tell you. You give him a small wave as you walk in, and before he can return it, your boyfriend comes into the auditorium. Boisterous and obnoxious, he chats it up with some buddies for a moment, then notices your attention toward Coriolanus. He strides toward you, taking your hand and walking you away from him. Coriolanus is left fuming and feeling embarrassed. Fuck Devon. He fucking hates that prick.

As the last of the students file in, the administrators instruct the seniors to line up in alphabetical order, which took less time than expected given it was a common ask for these types of school events. Coriolanus was in the back of the line, with Sejanus a few people ahead. He turns back, giving Coriolanus a nervous smile, eyes beginning to swell with tears. Coriolanus simply nods and the line moves into the gymnasium. Coriolanus doesn’t think of much as entering the gym, he’s just ready to get this over with. As he walks in, pomp and circumstance plays, and he looks around for his grandma and Tigris, spotting them on the left side of the bleachers in the middle. He waves and they wave back. Tigris holds a bouquet of white roses and their grandma is clearly struggling to take pictures on Tigris’s iPhone. He smiles and shakes his head. He turns back to look in front of him, following the line of students to his seat.

The ceremony goes as he expects. Long, cheesy, too many speeches, and most of all, boring. The only thing that captures his attention is you. Being valedictorian, you were asked to give a speech on the importance of academics and the hope for the future. Coriolanus is sure that the school gave you strict guidance on what to say since he knows that if you had spoken from the heart, it would have upstaged these sad high school admin clowns.

After the ceremony, Coriolanus finds his family. Tigris hands him a bouquet of white roses and the three of them take pictures together. Sejanus’s mom also insists on taking pictures of him and Coriolanus together. Coriolanus smiles and poses for as long as he can take it and thankfully the Plinth’s leave to get ready for the post-graduation lunch at their house. Coriolanus tells his grandma and cousin he’ll meet them at lunch and at the last minute Sejanus decides to ride with him back to his house.

“Sorr, just dad was starting to get annoyed with mom so I figured I’d let them work it out”

“It’s cool man.” Coriolanus nods, taking off his cap and gown. Sejanus follows his actions before getting in the truck.

“I’m glad the weather is nice. Ma spent all of yesterday morning on the phone with the catering company. I guess more people are coming last minute than expected.”

“Like who?” Coriolanus inquires

Sejanus rattles off a few names of classmates including you and Devon. Coriolanus hitches his breath and glances at his friend.

“Oh yeah?”

Sejanus nods

“Devon wants to suck up to your dad you know. Trying to get a nice cozy salary job doing nothing all day.”

“Yeah, dad doesn’t like him much anyways…”

Coriolanus scoffs in amusement and rolls his eyes. As they pull into the driveway, they realize they are the first to arrive, beating his parents home. They exit the car and head into the backyard. The Plinths had a pool, in addition to plenty of yard space. The space was currently occupied with tall cocktail tables, white tents, seats and tables for dining and plenty of waiters and waitresses running around looking busy, sweaty and stressed. Coriolanus nods around the side of the house, indicating he wants to smoke. Sejanus didn’t smoke often. He claims he didn’t like feeling “out of control and fuzzy.”

He still would hang around Coriolanus when he did, usually nervously looking over his shoulder. Coriolanus takes out his dugout as they head around the side of the house out of sight. He opens it, fills up his one-hitter and takes out a lighter. He holds the lighter and one-hitter to his lips, lighting and inhaling. Coriolanus was never one to make a full of himself when he wasn’t sober. Sometimes too much weed would make him tired or head feel foggy, but mainly he enjoyed the slightly disorienting feeling, the subtle euphoria that ran through his body, and the weightlessness.

He blows the smoke out, fanning Sejanus’s face and he turns away. Coriolanus lets out a few harsh coughs. He offers Sejanus a hit but he refuses. A few more hits and Coriolanus can feel the euphoria rush through his body. His head feels like it’s floating, mind clear. He cleans out his one-hitter, putting it back in the dugout, and into his pocket. Now he's got a good high, he can finally enjoy this day. The two boys walk back to the pool area, trying to stay out of the staff's way as they continue to scramble around. Soon enough, Senjanus’s parents pull up and Coriolanus asks to make sure he doesn’t smell like weed.

“You’re good” Sejanus reassures

As the lunch starts, more and more people pour in. Coriolanus’s family arrives, greets him and goes to find the Plinths. Coriolanus sticks close to Sejanus as the pair head over to get something to snack on. The main course wasn’t ready, but off to a side table was an extravagant charcuterie board, with a variety of different cheeses, meats, fruits and dips. Sejanus grabs a small plate and loads it with a bit of everything.

“Oh this tzatziki is good!” He remarks, dipping a pita chip into the serving on his plate. Coriolanus takes a few pieces of fruit and cheese, snacking on them. They find a cocktail table and stand around it. One of the waiters comes up and offers them water and they both take one.

“Is this like a substitute for your graduation party?”

“I wish, but she insists on having one. Oh that reminds me, she wanted to know if you wanted to do it with me. Like a double celebration?”

“We can’t afford that.” Coriolanus remarks dryly

“You wouldn’t have to pay for any of it.”

“I’ll think about it.” He murmurs

Then, Coriolanus spots you and Devon arrive and heart skips a beat. You flow in gracefully, so pure and perfect. Coriolanus tries to ignore the fact that you are clutching Devon’s arm and looks away. He turns back to Sejanus, who can’t get enough of the mozzarella wrapped in prosciutto.

“This is good with the pesto!”

Coriolanus excuses himself, taking his water with him. He wants to smoke again, the sight of you sobering him up, but makes him hate the way you look on Devon’s arm. He goes inside, sneaking past people and out through the front door. He looks out on the lineup of cars surrounding the driveway. He glances around to make sure no one is coming, then retrieves his dugout from his pocket. He packs and lights his one hitter again, taking a drink of water so he doesn’t cough so much. He takes one more hit before packing it tightly once again. As he blows the smoke out, he thinks about just how much not being able to see you at school is going to pain him. Maybe he can visit you over breaks and holidays? But how would he even pull that off? He curses himself. Why can’t he just be this emotionless asshole whose attention was captivated by more than just one woman. But it wasn’t. He loves you. He needs you more than anything in this life.

He takes one last hit, then packs his one-hitter away and returns back to lunch. He gets to the kitchen and pauses and stands in the doorway leading outside. He watches the crowd, looking for you. He spots you and Devon talking to the Plinths, Devon of course cozying up to Mr. Plinth as usual. Coriolanus simply rolls his eyes. He watches you from across the lawn, Devon’s arm firmly around your waist. As he leans up against the doorway, he sips his water and watches you as you turn your head in his direction. You notice his eyes on you and wave. He clumsily waves back, nearly choking on his water. Devon also notices and draws your attention back to the conversation with him and the Plinths.

God, Coriolanus wants you. So incredibly bad. And you look so beautiful in that white summer dress. He wishes he could take you around the front of Sejanus’s house, out of sight. He would push you up against the white wood, pull down the front of your dress and reveal your perfect tits to him. He bet they were soft, and could tell by your apparent lack of a bra that they would mold to his hand like you were made for him.

Then suddenly, you excuse yourself and begin to stride over to him. Coriolanus tries to casually straighten up, trying not to be so obvious about his excitement as you approach him.

“Hey!” You smile sweetly

“Well I guess you officially don’t ever need my help in an AP class ever again.”

“You said you’d still be available? Change your mind?”

“Not at all. Just feels nice to be done.” He smiles

“It does. I had to get away from all the talk. Devon is ambitious about trying to work for Mr. Plinth.”

“Plinth’s company would look great on any resumé” he remarks “But Sejanus will eventually own it no matter what”

“Yeah, Devon is…” you sigh, turning to look at him “a bit silly sometimes…so you want to keep taking science classes next year? “

“A few, but I really want to get more into politics and government when I get to college. Major in political science maybe…”

“Really? You find that all interesting?”

“I do. Don’t you?” He asks

“I find it all confusing really. And I guess those big ideas like that are a lot to understand sometimes, especially when people just yell their opinions at each other thinking they are the right one and are stubborn about their beliefs. “

“That’s the fun.” He smirks

From this distance he can finally see how well your body fills out the dress. Coriolanus tries to keep his eyes on his own. He can’t help that your breasts are so perky and round, that the material of your dress hugs your stomach just enough to barely show him the outline of your belly button.

“Did you check out the charcuterie board? It has some good things to snack on.”

“I got some fruit, yeah.” He remarks

“That’s all?” You chuckle

“And some cheese.” He smiles back

“Well if it's as good as what they are serving then I’m excited. It kinda makes me want to have a board for me and Devon’s graduation party. But if people are only interested in the fruit and cheese then I’m not sure” you tease

“You should. People like that stuff.”

“I guess so.” Then you pause and look at him curiously. “Umm…you smell nice by the way…”

“Thanks. My cousin got me a new fancy cologne for graduation.”

“She knows her stuff.”

“I guess that’s what being a big time New Yorker does to a person. She’s in fashion school.”

Fuck, you noticed his new cologne, just as he hoped for. He wonders if it makes you turn on. Does it make you wet? The new smell of him, so masculine and bold. He wonders.

Before you can remark on how cool and interesting Tigris is, your boyfriend comes marching over, a stern, stone cold expression on his face.

“Hey, they are starting to serve food. Let’s get in line before it’s too long.” He states, grabbing your wrist and pulling you away. You give Coriolanus a somber look before turning away with Devon. He whispers something in your ear and you look as if you’re trying to plea with him to not make a scene. Coriolanus rolls his eyes and walks over to Sejanus.

“Wanna get in line?” Sejanus asks

The lunch turns out to be exceptionally delicious. The buffet was full of summer foods too. A watermelon, feta salad, and an arugula based salad as starters. Then the main course includes a choice between “off-the-stick” chicken or steak kabob, with onions and peppers. For the sides, grilled corn, grilled zucchini with goat cheese and honey, with cut and seasoned cherry tomatoes. Coriolanus tried not to look greedy when filling up his plate, but he was hungry and didn’t get a chance to have such nice food. He put his pride aside and filled his plate up. Him and Sejanus find a seat with Coriolanus’s family and soon the Plinths join them.

The whole rest of the afternoon Coriolanus is enchanted by your compliment. It practically haunts him. It’s the only sound in his head at the moment, the sound of your sweet voice. He imagines other things you could say to him in that same pleasant voice.

“Mhmm you smell so good Coriolanus. So sexy. Why don’t we take this inside” he imagines you whispering to him, taking his hand and leading him away, inside the Plinth’s house. He thinks about you taking him into their guest bathroom, pushing him up against the white marble sink and unbuckling his belt. He was desperate to feel your soft touch, your small hands pushing on his hips, forcing him to take what you give him. Coriolanus would feel overwhelmed, as if the wind and life had been knocked out of him as you slowly touched his chest and pelvis. He would love it if you ripped his pants down, along with his boxers, exposing yourself to him while gently caressing his face.

“You’re such a smart boy Coriolanus Snow…so smart…” you’d whisper, kissing his neck slowly. “So handsome…”

He’d whimper and whine, softly as to not draw attention to any other guests. You’d take him in your small hands, taking his large length and stroking him. You’d stare directly into his pupils the entire time, whisper how big he was, how bad you want to taste it and have it inside you. You’d jerk him off until he came, quickly getting down on your knees to swallow as to leave no mess on the polished, porcelain tiles…

“Man Ma chose a good catering company this time. Much better than the one we used for New Years!” Sejanus speaks up, breaking Coriolanus’s vision of you.

He looks up and nods and he takes another bite of chicken. He tries to hide his discontent, not only at his friend for interrupting his thoughts, but also the way Sejanus talks about his lifestyle. As if it was normal to hire catering and throw a party for every holiday or important life event. It was something the Plints became known for in addition to their electrical empire. Especially Mrs. Plinth, who usually threw an end of the year pool party but felt as if a lunch was more fitting to “watch our children start the journey as adults.” Frankly, Coriolanus missed the pool party. Not only because it would give him an opportunity to look at you in a bikini, but he hated formal events.

He glances up and watches you take a seat next to Devon. He sighs and eats some more chicken, trying to savor the peppers and onions. Thankfully he was able to hide his slow growing erection under the table and as he finished his food, it died down. Still, he couldn’t help but feel slightly shameful. You had no idea though. No idea what the thought of you does to him. He knows there’s only one way to truly conquer his emotions, but knows that as long as Devon was around, it was a hopeless pursuit.

꧁🝮❤︎︎🝮꧂

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

[candilee-joestar]

This took much longer than intended. I drew each of Scoria's main jobs! Here is a bit about them in lore order.

White mage- Taught some basic healing by her mother who was a well known healer in her area, White magic came most naturally to Scoria and was what she relied on in the earliest parts of her travels. Not being very physically strong, she used it almost as a crutch as she bumbled her way through the primals plaguing Eorzea, often relying on the strength of others to push her through fights. Encountering Lizzy while lost in the wilds of Gridania, she taught her some basic’s about being a conjurer. While this did help guide her, she still struggled through most encounters. She grew to resent her white magic and sought other ways to protect herself on the battle field, though, this was an uphill battle, as she had no real combat experience. It wasn’t until much later in her time on the first where she discovered the true strength of white magics, bolstered by the mass of light entering her from the flood. It was this point where she fell back in love with her roots and looked at it more as a tool in her toolbox rather than a weakness.

Red Mage- A secret love of Scoria’s was always the fights on the blood sands in Ul’dah, growing up and watching match after match with her parents. Her favorite heel, Cemi the Titan, who she’d been a long time admirer of, she became friends with and share with him her insecurities about her strength. Noticing her affinity for white magic and her total lack of strength, he felt a good stepping stone would be Red Magic and even (in a very domineering and heel-ish way, tossing it on the ground at her after besting her in combat) gifted Scoria her first rapier. Despite his non-nonchalant and demeaning disposition, the sword had clearly been hand crafted specifically for her.

She created a “Heel-Sona” for herself. Smooth and smug, dawning a set of circular, red, sunglasses (which were secretly also prescription grade as she is blind as a bat), she called herself “Drake” for her time in the coliseum. It was through this that Scoria found some ability to make her way through the dragonsong war. Touching the Eye of Nidhogg when attempting to remove it from Estinien’s body corrupted her aether with that of the wyrm’s, filling her with all his years of rage and hate. Scoria, never experiencing such feelings in this way, tried to channel it through her red mage magic, but this was not effective and often resulted in her accidentally injuring herself or her comrades.

Even after learning to channel this magic through dragoon, she still enjoyed the color it gave her aether and uses a bit of it while using her ‘Drake’ persona to give her more of an ominous glow. Dragoon- Corrupted by Nidhoggs aether, Scoria often would be doing simple tasks, sitting at home, reading the paper, and objects around her would explode in a cloud of red. She was plagued with migraines and flashes of the hate and rage of the wyrm. Visions and feelings about dragons or people she’d never met, as well as some she had, namely Estinien. After returning from Kugane and to Ala Mhigo, the problem only grew and Scoria sought out the one person who knew Nidhogg best: Estineien himself. After some long talks and begging (and some harassment from Tataru) he agreed to help her channel this rage. It was through this she grew to understand him more as a person and in turn, herself.

It was through Dragoon that Scoria finally found her true strength. It felt almost natural to her, channeling the energy of dragons and releasing it on her opponents on the battlefield. She felt swift and powerful, almost unstoppable. It was through this that she finally found a love of fighting and challenge, no longer the meek woman she once was. Her tall frame now posed to give her an advantage, having the strength to back it up.

While on the first, after being filled with so much light that she nearly became a sin eater, Nidhoggs rage and anger finally dissipated. There was so much white aether, it completely burned out any trace of him left inside her, transforming her dragoon gear and lance a brilliant white and brass color. Dancer- Scoria was never one for sexuality or showing much in the way of skin (or scales). Her parents had made it very clear from a young age how she should present herself at all times, so these desires were often suppressed, choosing to wear clothing that covered most of her body.

After marrying her husband Kahdan, she felt he did so many things for her to make her happy, she wanted to do something for him in return. Hearing about a trope of dancers in town, she went and met with them to learn more. While she didn’t gain too much in the way of sexual confidence, it did help her at least look like she did. Unable to fully commit to the relieving dresses of the other dancers, she did still find an outfit that showed off more skin than what she was used to.

Her husband, supportive as ever, purchased her an outfit in his favorite colors to wear. It was hardly clothes at all, Scoria struggled with the idea mentally of going out and being seen in something like that. Still, from time to time, as a way to help build that confidence, she would go out with him in it, completely red faced and usually hiding behind him as to not be seen. Dark Knight- Ardbert after melding with Scoria’s soul would often stay up at night talking to her. Because they were essentially a part of each other, she would confide her deepest, darkest, fears to him. Sometimes willingly, sometimes because he would find himself wandering in her dreams, unable to escape them. He realized her deep seeded fears about her own inadequacy. That she felt ill-equip to be the savior of not only his world, but her own. That she was tired of always being everyone’s hero. That she missed the days of painting in her flat with her room mate Alha, when she was no one. She even had some resentment for her friends and the common folk for relying on her so much. He helped show these subconscious thoughts to her. He brought them to the forefront, but did not shame her for it, explaining how he went through something very similar and how the hate that his own people felt for him harmed him even after his death. Ardbert guided her to his own dark knight stone, buried and gone from the eyes of others. He had her learn how to channel these dark thoughts and feelings into fighting. Taking the resentment she felt deep in her heart and turning it into a shield to protect herself and others. While these feelings never truly left, understanding them more did help. She would talk more openly about these problems with those she loved and found that she had to carry much less burden that way, literally and figuratively.

Island Sanctuary- No real story here, outside of Im pretty sure this is where she eventually retires. I just really like this glam.