#i have other unnamed masses

[mothbug]

need to get better at designing and drawing mechs. my main ocverse is literally full of mechs.

#the thing is it’s hard to design (main antagonist/unnamed society)’s mechs because the whole point is that they’re mass produced and #impersonal. they aren’t an extension of the pilots they’re a method of control that the pilots have to live with. #so it’s like hard to design something like that and still make it look cool. #the other societies’ mechs are cool though. no other society has a name or government or lore but i DO know one of em has cool windmillmechs #and the grapevine mech is distinct from (place)‘s other mechs because it is an heirloom but it’s still a method of control #(literally drinks user’s blood and energy) (not maliciously #but it is used as such) #i do still have my radio tower mech idea. that’s the only good one so far

[joycrispy]

One thing I love about Crowley --never stated, but consistently shown-- is that he is, at heart, an engineer.

I have a few different things to say about that. Let's unpack them.

As the Unnamed Angel, we see his designs for the Pillars of Creation are millions of pages long, comprised of cramped text, footnotes, diagrams, schematics, etc. It's very...Renaissance polymath, in the way it implies a particular intersection of artist and inventor.

Also: in the naked romanticism with which he views his stars.

We already knew he made stars, but in s2 we learn that he did NOT sculpt each of them by hand. He designed a nebula ("a star factory," he says) that will form several thousand young stars and proto-planets, and all --aside from getting the 'factory' running-- without him lifting a finger. We also learn that these young stars and proto-planets stand in contrast to those made by other angels, which are going to come 'pre-aged.'

...I'm reminded of Hastur and Ligur's approach to temptations. Damning one human soul at a time, devoting singular attention to it over the course of years or decades, and how that stands in contrast to Crowley's reliance on, quote, 'knock-on effects.'

Ligur: It's not exactly...craftsmanship. Crowley: Head office don't seem to mind. They love me down there.

Hm.

I'm also reminded of the M25.

The M25 may not be as grand as a nebula (sentences you only say in GOmens fandom...), but LIKE his nebula it's an intricate, self-sustaining engine that does Crowley's work for him, many times over. Again.

That's some pretty neat characterization --and so is the indication towards Crowley's disinterest in victimizing anyone tempting individual people. It takes a considerable amount of planning and effort (and creeping about in wellies), but in accordance with his design the M25 generates a constant stream of low-grade evil on a gigantic scale.

Cumulatively gigantic, that is. Individually? Negligible.

But no other demon understands human nature well enough to parse that one million ticked-off motorists are not, in any meaningful way, actually equivalent to one dictator, or one mass-murderer, or even one little influential regressive. That's the trick of it. Crowley gets Hell's approval (which he NEEDS to survive, and to maintain the degree of freedom he's eked out for himself), and at the same time ensures that any actual ~Evil Influence~ is spread nice and thin.

It's some clever machinery. And he knows it, too:

The Unnamed Angel and Crowley are both proud of their ideas.

(musings on professional pride, Leonardo da Vinci, the crank handle, and 'the point to which Crowley loves Aziraphale' under the cut)

In the 1970's Crowley gives a presentation on the M25, projector and all, to a room full of increasingly impatient demons. Maybe the presentation was work-ordered; the 'can I hear a WAHOO?' definitely wasn't.

Before the Beginning, the Unnamed Angel can barely contain his excitement about his nebula. Aziraphale manages a baffled-but-polite, "....That's nice... :)"

11 years ago, Hastur and Ligur want to 'tell the deeds of the day,' and Crowley smiles to himself because (according to the script-book) he knows he has 'the best one.'

(Naturally, his 'deed' has nothing to do with tempting anybody, and everything to do with setting up a human-powered Rube-Goldberg machine of petty annoyance. Oodles of 'Evil' generated; very little harm done.)

Hastur and Ligur don't get it, of course. That's also consistent.

Nobody ever knows what the hell he's talking about.

It didn't make it on-screen, but, in both the novel AND the script-book, Crowley was friends with Leonardo da Vinci. The quintessential Renaissance polymath. That's where he got his drawing of the Mona Lisa --they're getting very drunk together, and Crowley picks up the 'most beautiful' of the preliminary sketches. He wants to buy it. Leonardo agrees almost off-the-cuff, very casual, because they're friends, and because he has bigger fish to fry than haggling over a doodle:

He goes, "Now, explain this helicopter thingie again, will you?" Because he's an engineer, too.

(It is 1519 at the latest, in this scene. Why the FUCK would Crowley know about helicopters, and be able to explain them, comprehensively, to Leonardo da Vinci?

...Well. I choose to believe he got bored one day and worked it out. Look, if you know how to build a nebula, you can probably handle aerodynamics. And anyway, I think it's telling that this is his idea of shooting the shit. 'A drunken mind speaks a sober heart,' and all. He probably babbled about Aziraphale long enough to make poor Leo sick)

Apart from Aziraphale, Leonardo da Vinci is the only person Crowley has any keepsakes or mementos of.

Think about that, though. Aziraphale's bookshop is bursting with letters, paintings, busts, and personalized signatures memorializing all the humans he's known and befriended over 6000 years (indeed: Aziraphale has living human friends up and down Whickber Street. He's part of a community).

Crowley doesn't have any of that. It's just the stone albatross from the Church (for pining), the infamous gay sex statue (for spicy pining), the houseplants (for roleplaying his deepest trauma over and over, as one does), and this one piece of artwork, inscribed, "To my friend Anthony from your friend Leo da V."

To me, at least, that suggests a level of attachment that seems to be rare for Crowley.

...Maybe he liked having someone to talk shop with? Someone who was interested? Someone engaged enough to ask questions when they didn't immediately understand?

...Anyway.

There's also the matter of the crank handle.

This thing:

This is one of the subtler changes from the book. In the book, Crowley knows Satan is coming and, desperate, arms himself with a tire iron. It's the best he can do. He's not Aziraphale; he wasn't made to wield a flaming sword.

The show, IMO, improves on this considerably. Now he, like Aziraphale, gets to face annihilation with what he was made for in his hand. And it's not a weapon, not even an improvised one like the tire iron.

He made stars with it.

[both gifs by @fuckyeahgoodomens]

If you Google 'crank handle,' you'll get variations on this:

Crank handles have been around for centuries. Consisting of a mechanical arm that's connected to a perpendicular rotating shaft, they are designed to convert circular motion into rotary or reciprocating motion.

Which is to say they're one of the 'simple machines,' like a lever or a pulley; the bread and butter of engineering. You'll also get a list of uses for a crank handle, archaic and modern. Among them: cranking up the engine of an old-fashioned car... say, a 1933 Bentley. That's what Crowley has been using his for, lately. But he's had it since he was an angel and he's still, it seems, very capable of it's angelic applications.

Stopping time. For instance.

(This is conjecture on my part, but, I like to imagine that Crowley has the ability to stop time for the same reason I can --and should-- unplug my computer before I perform maintenance on it. Time and Space are a matched set, after all, and in his designs in particular, one feeds into the other.)

I know everyone has already said this, but: I REALLY LIKE that when he needs to channel the heights of his power, he does so not with a weapon but with a tool. Practically with a little handheld metaphor for ingenuity. One from long-lost days when he made beautiful things.

(And he loved it. Still loves it --he incorporated that metaphor into the Bentley, didn't he?)

Let Aziraphale rock up to the apocalypse with a weapon: he has his own compelling thematic reasons to do exactly that. Crowley's story is different, and fighting isn't the only way to express defiance. And if you've been condemned as a demon and assumed to be destructive by your very nature, what better way than this?

He made stars. They didn't manage to take that from him.

Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale are fighters, really --they have no intention of fighting in any war. They'll annoy everyone until there's no war to fight in, for a start. But between the two, if one must be, then that one is Aziraphale. Principality of the Earth, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, Wielder of the Flaming Sword... all that stuff. Even if he'd prefer not to, it's very clear that Aziraphale can rise to the occasion, if he must.

Crowley was never that kind of angel. He wasn't a Principality. He doesn't have a sword.

...And yet.

It's Crowley who protects. He's the one who paces, who stands guard, who circles Aziraphale and glares out at the world, just daring anyone else to come near.

In light of everything else I've said here, I think that's interesting.

Obviously part of it is that Aziraphale enjoys it and, you know, good for him. He's living his best life, no doubt no doubt no doubt. But what about Crowley? What's driving that behavior, really?

Have you heard the phrase, 'loved to the point of invention'? Well, what if 'the point of invention' was where you started? What if where you end up involves glaring out at the world, just daring anyone else to come near? What is that, in relation to the bright-eyed thing you used to be?

What do we name the point to which Crowley loves Aziraphale?

...Thinking about how an excitable angel with three million pages of star design he wants to tell you all about...becomes a guard dog. Is all.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #Crowley #Aziraphale #good omens 2 #good omens meta #unfortunately I do not have trains of thought #only long meandering strolls of thought #sorry about it #anyway tl;dr Crowley is a nerd #also I have a strange emotional attachment to the idea of 1500's Crowley... #...facedown in a pile of Mona Lisa sketches; drunkenly info-dumping about Aziraphale #and Da Vinci is just like. 'Ahhhh mio amico Antonio. You fucking simp.'

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

quick lil masterlist just so i don’t lose track of my writing let’s goo :3

✩ = personal fave!!

satoru gojo

you are somebody that i want to keep ✩ wc; 6.7k desc; you aren't sure what you have with satoru gojo, but you know that it’s good.

call my name and i’ll come running wc; 8.7k desc; satoru can be irritating, at times. but even if you push him away, he’ll always, always be there for you when you need him.

i’ll relearn love at our kitchen table wc; 4.9k desc; satoru doesn’t quite know what love is supposed to feel like. but if it means coming home to you, it can’t possibly be that much of a curse.

the things you do for love wc; 7.0k desc; satoru begs you to wear the frilly maid dress he bought. against your better judgement, you indulge him.

i can’t close my eyes alone wc; 4.2k desc; arguing with satoru is always exhausting. bitter and spiteful, you leave him in the bedroom and go find another place to sleep; your couch would be the obvious choice, but where’s the fun in that?

how deep is your devotion? ✩ wc; 6.6k desc; you’re his knight, and he’s your prince. if only it were that simple.

there’s a shipwreck stuck between your ribs wc; 4.6k desc; three times satoru sees you cry, and the understanding you gain of each other from it.

ask me to leave and i’ll stay forever wc; 10.8k desc; satoru is stubborn; even when plagued by such a high fever, he insists there’s no need to take care of him. thankfully, you’re equally as stubborn.

we can dip if you’re ready wc; 7.4k desc; your dreams of a peaceful summer are rudely shattered by the presence of your best friend’s older brother; the same brother who rejected you five years ago. the same brother you’re still hopelessly, uselessly in love with.

you’re an angel, i’m a dog (yan!gojo !!) wc; 4.3k desc; an upcoming exam has been stressing you out, and satoru’s pleas for you to take care of yourself fall on deaf ears. he takes matters into his own hands.

oh my destiny, how far you have sprung now (not an x reader + jjk 236 spoilers !!) wc; 5.3k desc; satoru gojo goes north.

unnamed drabble wc; 2.4k (melancholic beach fluff w teen toru <33)

come rest your bones next to me ✩ (stsg/reader) wc; 4.6k desc; satoru shares the first snowfall of the year with the two people he loves most.

dear spring, stay forever (sashisu/reader) wc; 3.8k desc; just another mellow breakfast shared between you and your partners. (you don’t think you’ll ever get tired of it.)

suguru geto

where you lead me, i’ll follow ✩ wc; 10.0k desc; opening up is hard, even under the comfort of a starry sky, seated next to your childhood friend. fortunately, suguru knows you like the back of his hand.

i've always loved the way you eat ✩ wc; 4.9k desc; suguru is a morning person. he likes the serenity of it all; the quiet of the early hours, the expensive feel of his coffee pot. more than anything, he likes bringing you breakfast in bed.

i dream, now, of a normal life with you ✩ wc; 9.4k desc; suguru isn’t a lightweight. this is your first time actually seeing him drunk — though maybe it shouldn’t come as a surprise that he’d be the sappy kind.

i crumble completely when you cry wc; 6.2k desc; after a tense fight with your boyfriend, you flee out into a brewing rainstorm. luckily, suguru is always willing to warm you up again.

if i fell through the floor i would keep falling wc; 7.5k desc; geto knocks at your front door one morning ten years after leaving everything he knew behind, fully expecting to be met with a middle finger or a hand to the throat. when you invite him in, instead, he can’t help but feel somewhat perplexed.

there was no place in nature we could meet ✩ wc; 3.3k desc; it’s never fun to run into an ex. especially when the ex in question is your unfairly handsome high school sweetheart — and also just so happens to be a wanted mass murderer.

the paint doesn’t move the way the light reflects ✩ wc; 21.1k desc; when the king puts you under the supervision of a dashing knight, you promise to make his job as difficult as possible. unfortunately, suguru geto is the patient sort.

i love you, i love you (kill me in the morning) wc; 10.0k desc; everyone has a weakness. some are harder to get rid of. (or, alternatively; suguru geto befriends a non-sorcerer as a child.)

unnamed drabble wc; 1.8k (silly spring fluff <33)

unnamed drabble wc; 2.7k (comfy fluff w sleepy needy sugu <33)

unnamed drabble wc; 1.5k (slightly bittersweet fluff w cult leader geto <33)

come rest your bones next to me ✩ (stsg/reader) wc; 4.6k desc; satoru shares the first snowfall of the year with the two people he loves most.

dear spring, stay forever (sashisu/reader) wc; 3.8k desc; just another mellow breakfast shared between you and your partners. (you don’t think you’ll ever get tired of it.)

shoko ieiri

you drink your coffee black and we are afraid of each other ✩ wc; 4.2k desc; shoko makes you a morning cup of coffee. turns out she’s not very good at that, but it’s the thought that counts!

in the dream i don’t tell anyone, you put your head in my lap (jjk spoilers!!) wc; 4.5k desc; ever since the battle in shinjuku came to its conclusion, nothing’s been the same as it used to — but you don’t think anyone is doing quite as badly as shoko. 

dear spring, stay forever (sashisu/reader) wc; 3.8k desc; just another mellow breakfast shared between you and your partners. (you don’t think you’ll ever get tired of it.)

others

the green in your eyes (makes me feel warm inside) (megumi/reader) wc; 4.6k desc; in the comfort of a familiar bookstore, you find a boy. a pretty boy, who’s always reading, who doesn’t speak unless he has to. you’d like to get to know him — and maybe you will.

go for it! (yuuta/reader) wc; 7.4k desc; yuuta’s been crushing on you ever since the first group project you had together, but he’s too nervous to confess. luckily, he has some over-eager friends willing to help! step 1: ask for your number!

[httpsleclerc]

under the monaco moonlight - vampire!au

pairing/s: Gasly!Reader x unnamed!bf, Vampire!Charles Leclerc x Gasly!Reader, Platonic!Pierre Gasly x Gasly!Sister!Reader, Platonic!Arthur Leclerc x Gasly!Reader

c/w: Implied smut, attempt of sexual assault, brief shitty descriptions of violence, bad ending??

w/c: 1.7k

summary: Charles Leclerc is in love with the forbidden fruit, or his best friends sister Y/N Gasly and can't control his instincts when she's in trouble.

a/n: no one asked for this but I might do a part two if anyones interested x

masterlist

Charles knew this was wrong.

You were his childhood best friends little sister, but he couldn't help himself from watching the way your hips swayed in time to the music which blared over the speakers, your mini skirt - Which he knew your brother would not be happy seeing you in - rising higher up your thighs as you moved. He knew that it was wrong to think of himself between your thighs, pleasuring you in ways which you'd never been before, satisfying you unlike how the boy you were grinding against would.

He needed you so bad it hurt.

If his heart were beating he was sure he'd feel it ache in desire for you. 

He stood by Arthur, his eyes trained on you as his jaw clenched and he tightly gripped the glass he'd been nursing as he watched you, so tight that he would surely smash the glass into tiny pieces if he held it any harder. He feared if he pursued you any more than he had, then your heart would end up in the same way as the glass could, he feared he'd fall too in love with you and sink his teeth too far into your neck, leaving you helpless and bleeding. He'd never be able to explain himself to Pierre, how could be explain what he had done to his best friends precious baby sister? Your one night fling weeks ago had become a regular thing, despite you being adamant that you loved your boyfriend, but any time you and him had sex, all you could do was think about was Charles, how good he made you feel, how deliciously full you felt when he was inside you, the way that he left you stumbling the next day; scrambling for an excuse to try and satisfy your boyfriend.

"You are staring at her again, Charles," Arthur chided his older brother, he knew just how in love with you Charles was, but also knew that he'd never let himself love you properly for the fear of hurting you. Sleeping with you and being the other man would have to suffice for now.

"No I am not," Charles defended himself quickly, too quickly for Arthur to believe him. "I'm just...keeping an eye on her with that stupid boy. Pierre asked me to." Arthur chuckled at Charles' excuses. The two Leclerc's watched as you turned and faced your boyfriend, giggling as you pressed a small kiss on his lips and heading off to the bathroom, entrusting him with your drink - Which would be your first mistake of the night. Charles watched as you weaved your way through the mass crowd of the club towards the bathroom and flitted his attention back to that of your boyfriend, watching as he emptied a sachet of white powder into your drink.

"Charles?" Arthur nudged him, trying to see what had gained his brothers attention but Charles' attention was otherwise diverted away from his little brother. How dare this boy violate your trust like this?

"Fucker, I'm going to kill him," Charles went to storm off, but Arthur grabbed him before he could do any harm to your boyfriend. "Arthur let me go. He's going to hurt her." He backed off, noticing that Charles' eyes were no longer their usual green colour, now a deep, dark red. His eyes scanned the crowd, seeing you standing back with your boyfriend, now looking disoriented and swaying on your feet, putting up no argument as he grabbed your hand and dragged you through the crowd with no regard to you stumbling over your feet in your high heels.

Charles weaved his way through the crowd, blood and adrenaline pumping through his veins as the music continued to pound through the speakers and coloured lights flashed and illuminated the otherwise dark club that he was in. Making his way outside, his pale skin shone under the Monaco moonlight, eyes scanning for you anywhere in the crowd gathered outside of the club.

"No, I don't feel good," He heard you whining from a dark alleyway a couple of streets down, your voice thick with tears and fear. You felt like you were dying, you were hot one minute, cold the next, your stomach was halfway up your throat ready to be thrown up at any minute, and you didn't have the strength to defend yourself against your boyfriend. You wanted to go home, you wanted Pierre to come and get you and make sure that this boy was too scared to ever look in your general direction ever again. "(Name), please stop, I don't feel well." You pleaded, futilely trying to push him off of you, your eyes welling up with tears as he pushed his knee in between your legs.

"It won't hurt as much if you stop struggling, pretty girl."

That sent Charles over the edge. He promised Pierre that he wouldn't let anything happen to you and now you needed help. Before he could hurt you any further, he was pulled off of you, hitting the wall opposite with a grunt. 

Charles loomed over him, his teeth bared and eyes red.

Drowning out the sound of your crying and whimpering, Charles let his instinct take over, tearing into your pathetic excuse of a boyfriend as you screamed and cried, unsure if you were really seeing this or if you were hallucinating. You covered your eyes as you cried, shielding yourself from the violent attack happening in front of you.

Charles huffed he stood back up, wiping blood away from the side of his mouth and turning back to face you, his stomach dropping as he saw your distraught and distressed state. Panicking, he pulled your hands away from your face hoping that his familiarity would in some way calm you down - but the sight of your brothers best friend with red eyes and a face covered in your boyfriends blood only pushed your fear.

"No! Let go of me! Someone help me!" You screamed out, trying in vain to push Charles off of you so you could find someway to get back home. Charles, in a further panic, pressed his hand onto your mouth to silence your screaming.

"Please calm down, ange, it's all okay, I promise," Charles tried to calm you, even if it appeared to be without any result as you continued struggling to try and get away from him. "Please, please just calm down and let me explain, just let me talk to you." Looking into Charles eyes, you found yourself feeling more and more at ease, still despite your efforts to get away from him. His stomach sunk as he realised he'd unintentionally tranced you, leaving you at his mercy.

"Charles, what...what's going on?" You dazedly asked him, slumping forward into his embrace and leaning your head on his shoulder, leaving your neck perfectly exposed to him; Charles found months and years of self-control withering away, he'd never allowed himself to be in such close proximity to you.

"Please not now, Y/N, you need to rest," He tried to persuade you to go to sleep, hoping that under your trance like state that you would. Fighting sleep, you looked up into Charles' red eyes, hoping to find some glimpse of your Charles, not this...blood sucking monster, you wanted your Charles who always made sure to clean you up after your sexual encounters, who made sure that you were still okay with what you were doing, who you knew loved you but for some reason you never knew, could never let himself.

"I love you, Charles," You confessed, pulling his blood soaked face to look at you, even though all he could focus on was the pulse point of your neck, the sound of your blood rushing through your veins was too much for him to take.

He couldn't take it anymore.

You let out a gasp as Charles' fangs pierced through your neck, two sharp pain points flashing and then going numb. You knew that it was futile trying to get away from him, and accepted that if this was how you died, then you were dying in the arms of the man that you loved - even if it meant you'd never see your beloved brother again.

As Arthur made his way outside and up the street to look for where Charles had gone, he stopped in his tracks as he saw you laying almost lifeless in his brothers arms, his teeth well sunk into your neck as the blood had almost been drained from your body and the life drained from you.

"Charles! stop!" He pulled Charles off of you, unsure if you were even still alive. "Oh my God, Charles, you have to help her." Arthur checked your neck where Charles had bitten you, feeling a faint pulse.

"No, I can't, Pierre will kill me, Arthur," Charles was near hyperventilating, and looked at Arthur confused as he let out a chuckle and shook his head.

"Oh, and you think he won't kill you when someone finds her here dead and you have to explain to Pierre that it was you, and that you left her here like a coward because you can't control yourself?!" The two brothers were now panicking, despite being in some way immortal, they were terrified of Pierre, your older brother was fiercely defensive over you. Acting quickly and moving beside you once more, Charles bit into his wrist, piercing the vein and watching as his blood slowly trickled out, much darker and thicker than your own, and put his wrist at your mouth, forcing you to drink his blood despite your very weak protests.

"We'll take her back to my place, tell Pierre she met a friend and she's staying there for the night, deal?" 

"Deal."

#f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #formula 1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc angst #sebastian vettel #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc imagine #vampire!au #vampire!Charles leclerc #pierre gasly x sister!reader #pierre gasly x reader #arthur leclerc x reader #arthur leclerc #supernatural au

[nevadancitizen]

-> SEEING DOUBLE

synopsis: könig thought he was the only one that could hear and see you for a while. that is, until horangi mentions someone singing.

word count: 1.8k

characters: könig, horangi, player! reader, reader's unnamed friend

trigger warnings: mention of canon-typical violence, mentions of/thoughts of relapse (horangi’s past gambling addiction), hornagi is like obsessive too lololol (also forgot to add STILL insp. by/referencing @simp4konig 's self-aware könig piece)

notes: uh pov switches from omnipotent third-person könig to omnipotent third-person hornagi. oops lol also the temp. is in fahrenheit in celsius it would be ~26 degrees

König thought he was the only one for a long while. All these operators around him were only given minds through their code and pixels – König was the one with an actual brain in his skull. 

That was, until another operator heard you. 

You – and, someone else, maybe a friend from your world? – were singing along to some song unknown to König, mumbling the parts you didn’t know so well and bursting with energy at the parts you knew by heart.

König was waiting for the mission time to arrive in the armory, quietly listening to you and your friend. He felt some warmth from you – a small percent of what you’re capable of making him feel. Just enough to know you’re there, that you have eyes on him, to know the singing isn’t a delusion.

Horangi was also in the armory, his footsteps light as he peruses the wall of firearms. He plucks a Fennec 45 from the wall before turning it over in his hands and inspecting it – though he seems distracted while doing so. 

He turns to König and adjusts his sunglasses. “Do you hear that?”

König looks up from the stray skid mark on the floor he was looking at. “Hear what?”

“The…” Horangi gestures vaguely around him, then taps his earpiece. His voice drops to a lower volume, like he didn’t want anyone else hearing. “The singing. Do you not hear that?”

König stays silent for a moment. He checks over his shoulder to make sure no one else is in the armory before turning back to Horangi. “I hear it.”

Horangi breathes a sigh of relief, but doesn’t say anything else. He settles his ass on one of the thick, plastic ammo crates, fiddling with the Fennec 45, repeatedly pressing the magazine release before pushing the magazine back in. 

The singing stops, leaving only the music playing. Then, a voice is heard – “I’ve never seen Horangi do that. What is he, nervous?” 

And then, your voice – “Hey, don’t bully him!”

Horangi’s back snaps straight up as he looks around the armory. “What was that? Is someone else in here?”

König pulls at his hood so he can see Horangi better. “You’re really hearing them?”

“Yes.” Horangi looks at König. “Where are they?”

König shakes his head. “It’s best if we discuss this later.” In reality, König was dying to discuss this with another person – it was as if this heavy burden had been lifted now that he could talk to someone about you, about this video game they lived in, about everything while actually having something to back him up. 

Only a few seconds later, the siren sounds and it’s go time. Footsteps hit the ground and operators rush to the rooftops to be taken away to the hot zone. 

When both Horangi and König are secured on the helicopter, they don’t talk for a while, only sharing occasional glances (silent promises that no, the other is not insane, and no, this is not the start of a mass hysteria outbreak).

When boots hit the ground, König feels that oh-so-familiar warmth flood his body, blooming like a lotus from his chest to his limbs. He nods to Horangi to stick close. 

The music was turned down and all focus was on the battlefield – your silent guidance gave König commands to carry out, while your friend did the same with Horangi. 

Commands are barked out by the operators, you and your friend give excited praise, and the battlefield is a mess of noise. Bullets fly every which direction, sprays of brrrrrr-AT! echo off the abandoned buildings, some of which were still in the process of being built. 

This is urban warfare. 

As a SpecGru operator turns the corner, König pulls Horangi back behind a concrete half-wall (half because the rest of the wall had been sloughed off by explosions). To König, the touch is nothing, but to Horangi? Oh, that touch felt like bliss. 

It was you, striking a match and tossing it into the full burning barrel that was his lungs. Horangi pumped air into them like he was having a goddamn panic attack so that when his lungs caught fire, the rest of him did too. Your fire was slow, yet burning and hot all the same. It made him want to collapse in your white-hot flame and be consumed by you and not even care that he was ash and –

The feeling was gone, and Horangi was normal again. As normal as he could be when shivering in full tactical gear while it was eighty degrees out. 

König’s voice breaks through the haze. “Horangi?”

Horangi shifts so that he’s sitting with his back against the concrete half-wall. “Yes, sir?”

“You solid?”

Horangi presses the magazine release and pushes the magazine back in. “The voices… our voices. The ones…” he gestures to his earpiece. “I heard them. And then I had a hot flash when you touched me.”

“Focus,” König hisses. “There’ll be time for that later.”

Horangi presses the magazine release and pushes the magazine back in. He peeks out from behind the concrete half-wall, then ducks back behind it. 

“Ready, sir?”

“When you are.” 

The battle is easy for König and Horangi when a benevolent being and a lesser one are controlling their every movement. It doesn’t hurt that the warmth serves as adrenaline, a body high that keeps them both alive and bold. Battle chatter fades into the background when that song and your rushed praise fills their ears and makes them feel warmer than you already make them. 

When the last opposing operator falls, the message is relayed until every KorTac operator is back at the helicopters. 

“Wheels up in two!” the pilot calls out. 

König and Horangi move together up to the cabin of the helicopter and silently sit next to each other, hands working deftly to buckle themselves in. 

Horangi tilts his chin up and lets the back of his helmet hit the headrest. He takes his sunglasses off and wipes them of dust and a spurt of blood. His eyes wander over the ceiling of the helicopter, quietly listening to you and your friend celebrate. 

“Who are they?” he quietly asks König. 

König leans closer to Horangi, the hem of his hood brushing Horangi’s shoulder. His voice is quiet. “I call them players. I know the one who told the other not to bully you. We… I don’t think we exist on the same plane as them. I think of them as a god. They help me – us, now.”

Then, König leans closer and whispers your name like a single-word prayer. 

And, fuck, how Horangi wants to fall back into gambling so he could whisper your name into his cupped hands while he’s shaking the dice just as he rolls that blessed seven. His breath falters for a split second as he thinks of the divine luck you’d bring him at the craps table, your fingers – assuming you were even human, or humanoid – trailing down his arms, touching his wrist to imbue his hands with your power. He’d happily worship you if it meant feeding that rush when the payout is high, and… shit. Hornagi takes a deep breath before he quickly corrects his thoughts and directs them elsewhere. 

He doesn’t even know where those thoughts came from. Well, he knows where the thoughts of relapse come from, but he doesn’t know where the thoughts about you stem. He’s barely felt your warmth, yet in your presence, he doesn’t want to be the big bad tiger – he wants to be the housecat that rubs up against your legs and gets away with knocking pill bottles off the counter. 

“Can you feel them?” König asks in a hushed whisper.

Horangi nods. Your fire is a dull thrum in his chest, but your heart is beating right next to his nonetheless. “Yes.”

König knocks his knee against Horangi’s. “Focus on something small. Circular. Like a light. That’s how I see them.”

Horangi hums and looks at the ceiling. He focuses on a small red indicator light, his eyes unfocusing as he keeps eye contact with the tiny LED. And, slowly but surely – just as König said – something else came into view, slowly creeping into his peripheral vision. 

It was a small bedroom – a shoebox, really. Dimly lit by fairy lights. A bed, a desk, a dresser… Someone was on the bed, and the other person was in the desk chair. They were both holding game controllers, facing each other. Talking. 

“We need to play their Thanksgiving album,” the person in the chair says. 

“To what, pregame for Thanksgiving?” the person on the bed laughs. “That’s months away.”

And with that angelic laugh, Horangi knows that’s you. The person laying on their stomach on the bed, with your perfect smile, perfect fingers holding the game controller. 

You reach for your phone and unlock it, the screen lighting up your face. You tap at it a few times before too-loud music starts playing – a man yelling about how dangerous gas station tweakers are.

“Ay, turn that down!” your friend protests. 

You grunt and turn it down a little. The music is hard funk-trap, and you and your friend sing along. It’s something like – “Closed casket funeral, but Imma have to peek in; tryna get real, like, sorry, I was sleepin’!”

Hornagi quietly listens to the rest, keeping his eyes still so he can keep you in his sight. You and your friend prattle off the rest of the song, even going as far as vocalizing the instruments. 

When the song ends, you roll on your side and face your friend. “We should listen to their Halloween album next. Then their Christmas album. Then their Valentine’s Day single. And then start up their Thanksgiving album again.”

God knows how Horangi would let you. He’d love to watch you do anything – even if you’re doing nothing. He’d do anything just to reach out and touch you. Run his hands over your face and watch your nose scrunch up at his touch, your eyes squeezing shut. Your smile would be just like the one you’re wearing right now, accentuating the apples of your cheeks perfectly. 

And he’d love to sit with you as that artist’s Halloween album, Thanksgiving album, Christmas album and Valentine’s Day single play, even if he didn’t understand the slang the men used. He’d rub his hands up and down your back – anywhere he could touch you, really – as you explained what they meant when they said they were gonna “pop a thirty an’ get real sturdy.”

And maybe one day he’d make that a reality.

#riptide writes 🌊 #call of duty 🪖 #self-aware cod au 🎮 #sacod au #mw2 x reader #mw2 x you #mw2 x y/n #modern warfare 2 x y/n #modern warfare ii x you #modern warfare 2 x you #modern warfare ii x reader #modern warfare 2 x reader #modern warfare ii x y/n #call of duty x reader #call of duty x y/n #call of duty x you #cod x reader #cod x y/n #cod x you #könig x reader #könig x y/n #könig x you #konig x reader #konig x y/n #konig x you #könig call of duty #könig mw2 #könig cod #horangi x reader #horangi x you

[forlorn-crows]

And You Know That It Takes Two

Rating: E for Explicit

Relationship(s): Copia/Dewdrop

Tags: transitional period between era iv and era v, banter, slice of life, first time, first kiss, handjobs. beta'd AND correctly translated italian!

Words: 3731

Summary: “Well, I do. Of course I do,” he assures the ghoul. “Quite fond of you all, actually. It was, admittedly, a little rocky when we first met. But.” There’s that heh Dew was expecting just moments before. “Here we are, no?”

When Copia starts rubbing his thumb up and down the inside of his knee, Dew’s brain stops working. His gaze zeros in to the fingers splayed across the side of his thigh, so foreign, so bare, so pink against the black of his casual uniform pants. His mind is full of static and all he can hear is his own blood pumping through his head. But there’s a weird something tugging in his ribcage; something new yet old, unnamed but familiar.

special thanks to @miasmaghoul for beta'ing and @foxybouquet for the italian translations ♡

Read on AO3 or under the cut:

EDIT: now with ART from the fabulous @noahl-art. merci beaucoup, nono!! find his full artwork here

“D’you think Lucifer would want us to have black mass every Saturday?” Dew pokes the wooden arm of Copia’s chair with the toe of his boot. “Shouldn’t we be exercising our sinful wiles instead of listening to you drone on about the Dark One?” 

Caro: dear

Stai bene?: (Are) you okay?

Ti piace?: Do you like this?/Does this feel good?

Merdaccia infernale: (roughly) infernal fucking shit. Closest to "unholy shit".

Proprio così: That’s it.

Copia tugs on a scrap of paper trapped beneath the ghoul’s thigh. “You do plenty of that on your off time, my ghoul,” he teases. He looks over his reading glasses, offering a smirk. Dew can hear the unspoken eh? at the end of his sentence, so much so he can’t help rolling his eyes and smirking back. 

“How would you know, old man?” Dew fires back, flicking the hem of Copia’s trousers with his tail. He leans in closer. Elbows resting on his slightly spread knees until his face is level with the anti-pope’s. “Listening in on your free time?” The fire ghoul smiles wickedly, giving him an obvious once over. He cocks his head and bites his tongue between his teeth, waiting for an answer. 

Copia’s face rosies a bit, but he returns to his chicken scratch. He jots down a few words before he mutters: “I am sure you do not fantasize your Papa spying on you, caro.” 

“Maybe I don’t.” A lie. “Anyway, I think Rain’s loud enough to hear across the fuckin’ abbey. Probably have a soundtrack of water ghoul moans to lull you to sleep every other night,” Dew snickers. 

Copia just shakes his head with an amused sigh and continues taking notes. Little chunks of writing in the margins of photocopies of Latin texts, scrawling in both Italian and English in a little notebook off to the side. Dew’s struck with just how patient this man is, endlessly so. He can get crabby on tour, just like any of them, restless and tired, but he really is kind to him and his pack. 

The fire ghoul hums thoughtfully and returns to his upright position. Leaning back into the circles of bare desk he cleared earlier for his hands. “Do you get tired of putting up with us, Papa?” he asks casually. 

“Dewdrop,” Copia says with a measured tone. He puts his pen down, and his glasses too, looking up at his lead guitarist and steepling his fingers. They’re devoid of gloves, Dew notices in passing, his nails neatly trimmed and his skin smooth and humanly wrinkly. “We have been working together for how many years now?”

Dew shrugs. “A few.”

“Si, quite a few, hm?” Copia agrees. He swivels his chair so his body faces Dew more directly and places a gentle hand on his knee. “Why then, my ghoul, would you think I am ‘putting up with you,’ as you put it?”

“Don’t tell me you actually like us,” Dew says sarcastically. But Copia’s hand is warm on his knee, and he’s trying not to focus too much on how he’s looking at him right now, all soft eyes and a worried crease in his brow. 

“Well, I do. Of course I do,” he assures the ghoul. “Quite fond of you all, actually. It was, admittedly, a little rocky when we first met. But.” There’s that heh Dew was expecting just moments before. “Here we are, no?”

When Copia starts rubbing his thumb up and down the inside of his knee, Dew’s brain stops working. His gaze zeros in to the fingers splayed across the side of his thigh, so foreign, so bare, so pink against the black of his casual uniform pants. His mind is full of static and all he can hear is his own blood pumping through his head. But there’s a weird something tugging in his ribcage; something new yet old, unnamed but familiar. 

He’s quiet for so long that Copia clears his throat and gives his knee a polite pat before taking his hand away. He makes to go back to his notes, but Dew mourns the loss of his hand immediately. His pen barely touches the pages before the fire ghoul sobers up and inhales sharply. 

“Uh,” he blurts out stupidly, shaking his head and squinting his eyes at Copia. Unsure what to say but determined to say something. “You mean that?” Immediately he wants to crawl back into himself—back into the Pit, even—for sounding so small. Vulnerable. 

“Yes, I do,” Copia says quietly, genuinely. He taps his pen against the paper, little dots of black littering the line beneath his skip this? note. Instead of resuming his annotations, he sets the pen down once more, looking up at the ghoul perched atop his desk. His white eye is suddenly piercing in the lamplight, and he’s looking at him like he can see more than just the ghoul sitting in front of him.

“Well, I guess we’re . . . fond of you too, or whatever you wanna call it,” he mocks, aiming for levity. Dew’s tail flicks, ruffling the hem of Copia’s pants again.

Copia chuckles. “Well, that is good then,” he smiles.

Dew hums. Offers a one-sided smile in return. Easy. He could leave it at that; resume the relaxed banter about sermons and his new duties as Papa while Copia gets increasingly tired and/or annoyed and shoos him away with a chocolate truffle in hand (the ones he keeps stashed in his desk drawer for evenings like this). 

He could. But in the same moment, he decides he’s tired of tip-toeing around the idea of what this man is to him. He wades out into the waters, throwing a line.

“Is that . . . the only thing you feel for us?” he says at length, quieter. He scoots his thigh closer to the anti-pope’s hand. Encouraging him to touch again, if he wants. The sudden heat in his belly hoping he does. He wades a little deeper. “For me?” 

Now it’s Copia’s turn to falter, fingers twitching at the fabric of Dew’s trousers. He looks down at Dew’s thigh, then back up to his face. Searching his copper eyes for something, anything, his thoughts as loud as if Dew were a quintessence ghoul. 

“I . . .” he trails off, a failed start. He clears his throat. “I am, as they say, only human. So there are, perhaps, other . . . things. Si.” 

Dew grabs his hand gently, placing it just above where it was moments ago, confidence building. “Fantasies, maybe?” 

“Dewdrop—”

“For how bold you are on stage, you sure are fuckin’ shy in private, Papa.”

Copia huffs a laugh, moving his hand tentatively along Dew’s thigh. “Eh . . . reserved, maybe. But I don’t know about shy, my ghoul.” He shuffles his chair so he’s situated back between the fire ghoul’s dangling legs. 

Dew smirks. “See? Can call me motherfucker in front of thousands of screaming girls, but it’s my ghoul in here.”

“Ah, but that is the difference. They do not get the privilege of seeing you offstage.” A beat.  “Though, I imagine they would do a lot of things for that privilege,” he mutters. 

Dew bites his tongue in asserting that he is, in fact, a motherfucker offstage too. Instead, he tilts his head so his ashy hair cascades over his shoulder and spreads his legs further, hooking a foot in the arm of Copia’s chair and tugging it closer. He’s baring all of himself now, literally and figuratively. Potentially risking his position, too, if this goes south. 

But by the look on the anti-pope’s face, they’re both too deep to swim back now. 

“And what’re you gonna do with that privilege, Papa?”

“You’re asking?” he deflects, putting the other hand on the opposite thigh.

“If you don’t touch me in the next five seconds, old man, I swear to Satan—”

“Like this?” Copia smooths his hand up the inside of Dew’s thigh, running along the seam of his pants until he reaches where the ghoul’s started to chub up. His breath hitches, head tilting back. 

“Yeah,” he breathes. He looks back down at his hand, tucking chin to chest as he watches those fingers press just so, right where the tip of his dick sits already sticky in his boxers. He bites his lip with a stifled noise.

“Long time we’ve danced around each other, I think,” Copia says. Dew just nods, flexing his hips into his fingers to get more friction. Copia presses more firmly, taking the hint. Drawing a firm line down the ridge of his clothed shaft. 

“Humans and ghouls, well . . .” he trails off, looking up at Dew.

“You’ve thought about it,” he replies simply. 

“Of course. Of course I have, caro. I–” he laughs, shakes his head in disbelief. “I mean, look at you.” He stops himself, color rising to his cheeks. He drops his gaze, focusing back on the hand on Dew’s fly.

The fire ghoul watches him trace a finger around the button before reaching down himself, popping it open. “What about me?” he asks softly, inviting. Shifting his hips again to encourage him to continue. 

“Not just fishing for compliments, I hope,” Copia teases lightly, a little bit of that stage persona shining through as he drags the zipper down.

“That’s not what—hh-oh.” He cuts himself off with a stuttered breath of a moan, Copia’s hand having reached past his fly and into his pants to pet at the dot of wetness sticking his boxers to his tip. The look of pure curiosity—wonder, really—on the man’s face as he feels him up has his stomach flipping. “Fuck, keep doing that.”

“You tell me what you like, my ghoul, and I will do it,” he whispers. 

Dew groans as another bead of precum blurts out into his boxers, wet at just his words. “Keep teasing it,” he breathes. “Shit, see how wet you can get it.” He twitches under Copia’s fingers as he wraps his hand around his clothed cock, thumb swiping back and forth over the head. Firm, but just light enough that it makes Dew keen for more. 

Copia continues the little motions, over and over until Dew’s underwear clings to him, saturated with pre. The friction of it and the intensity of Copia’s gaze on him has him dizzy, wanting. The man’s thumb presses over his slit, and he can’t help his eyes rolling back, thighs twitching towards each other. 

“F-fuck,” he stutters. 

Copia rubs his other hand over Dew’s thigh, soothing. “Stai bene? Good?” 

The fire ghoul nods, hair falling off his shoulders to frame his face. “More than,” he groans. He bites his lip, bucking into Copia’s hand. “Again—do it agai—yes, Satanas, yes.”

The anti-pope presses into his slit again, this time dragging the pad of his thumb along the ridge with even pressure. Humming as he works it back and forth. It’s so sensitive, so instantly overwhelming that Dew has to consciously restrain himself from gouging his claws into the wood. He lets his head drop back, facing the ceiling and biting his lip to stave off the rush of arousal that threatens to make him spill in his pants. 

Below him, Copia sighs. “Beautiful, caro,” he comments. 

Dew half-snorts, half-groans, bringing his chin back down to his chest. “You flatter me,” he says with an eye roll. 

“They say it gets one everywhere, no?” 

“If by ‘everywhere’ you mean ‘in my pants’.”

“If that is where you want me.”

Dew sucks his teeth, scoffs a little in disbelief. Eyebrows twitching upwards when Copia fingers the elastic of his boxers, blunt nails scratching at the peach fuzz on his stomach. He can’t get a grasp on the anti-pope’s tone, switching so fast between charming and soft it makes his head spin. He’s seen both moods separately, of course, fired back his own quips with a silver tongue or begrudgingly accepted praise and a head pat for a productive rehearsal. But having a cocktail of both leaves him with mental whiplash.

The hand making his dick wet probably isn’t helping in that department.

So he nods instead, helping the man shimmy down the waistband of his boxers to snuggle it under his balls, freeing his aching length. Dew hisses at the cool air of the room breezing over the slick-coated head—though, it’s replaced with a puff of hot air when Copia breathes: 

“May I?” 

Dew nods again, widening his eyes and raising his eyebrows as a silent duh. Copia chuckles at that, scooting a little closer. He smooths his other hand up the fire ghoul’s thigh, up, up, up until he stops at his hip and rests his palm there, forearm dropping to sit on top of his leg. Dew’s stuck watching its ascent and misses the moment the anti-pope reaches for him, wrapping his fingers gently around the base of his cock and stroking upwards. 

“Lucifer,” he chokes out. He snaps his gaze to where their skin meets and watches his dick kick hard in Copia’s fist, more precum welling up in the slit. 

“Ti piace?” Copia continues to stroke slowly, not immediately translating as earlier. His accent curls around Dew’s eardrums, the Italian twisting with foreignness and short-circuiting his language synapses. He shakes his head, begging the small box of Italian in his brain labeled ‘Papa’s Nonsense Words’ to make sense of the phrase.  

He blinks at Copia’s expectant gaze. “Huh?” he asks eloquently, forcing the word through an embarrassing moan.

“Does this feel good?” he supplies, nodding toward his hand. 

The fire ghoul stares at the man’s hand, now wet with his own slick as it glides up and down. When his brain finally catches up to him, he barks a bewildered laugh. “I’m gonna have to learn more fuckin’ Italian for this,” he mumbles.

“Oh.” Copia laughs too, realizing his little slip-up. Dew’s shoulders shake with his own renewed laughter. Giggles passing between the two as if they were twelve-year-olds who just pulled off a prank on their teacher, not a fifty-something leader of a Satanic church jerking off a near immortal hellbeast turned quasi-human. 

But the shared laughter is familiar. Comforting, in a way. Something to dissolve that final layer of caution that sat like oil on water between them. 

“You are an endless delight, my ghoul,” Copia sighs, huffing out a last chuckle. 

“I’ll give you an endless—uuh-nholy ff��fuck.” Copia runs his thumb over the slit of Dew’s cock, and his sentence is reduced to an eye-rolling moan. He grabs hold of the anti-pope’s forearm that rests on his leg, fingers digging into the muscle as he drools out a fat roll of precum. 

Copia hums and smears it around the head, pulling down the foreskin to rub at the sensitive underside. It’s all the courtesy he’s granted before the man goes back to stroking him in earnest, skirting over the head with each downward pass and tightening around the base when he pulls up.  

Dew grips his forearm tighter, thighs jumping with each tease of his frenulum. “Faster,” he begs. “And tighter. Fuck, feels s’ good.” 

“Merdaccia infernale, are you always so . . .” Copia shakes his head, letting the room fill with the lewd, creamy sounds of Dew’s slick-soaked cock.

“Wet?” Dew supplies as a choked-off noise. “Not al–hah–always. Not since—” his eyes roll back again, too caught in pleasure to be completely coherent. “The–shit–the—” Dew flails his hand in some nonsensical gesture. 

“Si, si.” The man understands without further elaboration that he means his elemental transition. That, despite the effective evaporation of his water, the born-again fire ghoul still carries traits from his original alignment—including dribbling pre like a leaky tap.

But Copia knows, doesn’t need him to explain or elaborate. Just tightens his grip and speeds his hand, looking up at Dew with a gaze that cuts him right down to the core. Intense, yet soft and admiring. Desire flickering just behind that. 

“Shit,” Dew hisses, letting his eyes close fully. Sinking into it. His hips are moving of their own accord now, little twitches that meet each downstroke, just barely fucking into Copia’s fist. It’s so much better than it has right to be, but Dew doesn’t care. All he cares about is the way Copia’s hand feels on his dick, the way his other hand grips his hip, the way his breathing grows heavier and tickles the fine hairs at the base of his dick, how it chills the wetness at the tip only to be warmed by his fingers within the same second. 

“Oh, oh, ohhhh fuck, Papa, fuck.” His pleasure heightens suddenly, the backs of his thighs going pleasantly tingly and his toes curling in his boots. He can feel it starting to build, balls drawing closer to his body with every stroke. 

“Close?” Copia whispers, gripping Dew’s hip tighter and shifting in his chair. He grunts a little, no doubt filled out in his slacks too. Dew can’t confirm from this angle, especially not with the way his vision blurs, doubles even. But he has to be, if his wavering voice is anything to go by. 

Dew throbs at just the idea of his cock straining against his zipper, balls heavy and squished between his thighs as he watches the fire ghoul come apart. Neglecting it as he showers Dew with undivided attention. He’s assaulted with the mental image of Copia in those tight, white pants from his Cardinal days, absolutely everything on display, and he groans. 

He’s shaking now, stomach jumping as his breath starts to quicken. He’s sure his eyes are wild as he looks at the man below him, whining through his teeth as his hand moves faster, faster. Dew watches Copia bite his lip and look down at the movements of his hand, and the sudden fantasy image of that mouth kissing the tip of his cock makes him grip the anti-pope’s forearm until it threatens to bruise, nearly doubling over with the swell of impending orgasm.

Dew needs him. He needs him so badly. 

“Gonna cum—fuck, please,” he moans, breath quickening to shortened gasps. “Kiss me—please, m’ gonna—Papa—” Dew grasps at the man’s shirt collar, pulling at it to get him to stand. Dragging him in by the shoulders and kissing him fiercely, whining when Copia groans into his mouth and pumps him even faster. The scent on him is instantly intoxicating; notes of neroli and patchouli, dull wax from the black patches of makeup, the barest hint of incense smoke underneath. All pressed directly into his nostrils where Dew’s nose smushes against his. 

“Proprio così,” Copia mumbles, encouraging. His other arm loops around to cradle him between the shoulder blades, hand threading through his hair to grasp and hold as he kisses him deeply. That little bit of tension on Dew’s scalp sends a zing of heat right to his dick, and he’s moaning like a whore as he scrabbles at Copia’s shirt, ready to fall over the edge.

“Fucking. Fu–uhh, uh, uhh—” Dew loses all sense of words as he clings to him, mouth dropping open and tongue drooling over Copia’s lips. He cums hard, spilling over his hand with a shuddering groan, bucking into that wet fist until he’s risking sliding off the edge of the desk. He doesn’t, of course, braced and embraced by Copia’s body as he is. 

Dew’s head drops to his shoulder as he rides out the seemingly endless spasms. Far too many for a handy, if he’s being honest. But the anti-pope works him over until he’s milked dry, whispering more words into his hair that he doesn’t understand and rubbing a soothing hand over his back. 

“Shit,” he rasps. After a few more moments he peeks down at his lap—lucid enough now to mind his horns—where his black pants are now streaked with white, Copia’s hand resting on his fly also coated in the stuff. He shakes his head softly and laughs. 

“Got me good, old man.”

“Dewdrop . . .” His tone is pleading, breathless. Dew lifts his head and the hand on his back migrates to the side of his face, caressing softly. He leans into it as he looks at Copia, his face flushed and a look of pure want and adoration in his eyes. “Please, caro.”

He doesn’t need to ask what he needs, eyes flicking down to the tent in his pants and back up again. Dew nods. Moves the hands around Copia’s neck to the back of his head, pulling him in. 

It’s less feverish this time. Softer and slower, but far from chaste. Idly he wonders if any of the others have had him like this: privately in his office, a mere exchange of something fleeting, or hot and heavy in a storage closet after a show, frantic and adrenaline-fueled. 

If any of them have, they’ve never told. He’ll go back to the ghoul wing smelling of him, unless he runs straight to the shower. Douse himself in scalding hot water until he can barely smell himself.

But he won’t. 

Dew slides into the space in front of Copia, ignoring the mess on his dick as he presses close to the man. Licking into his mouth and sliding their tongues together as Copia’s hands start to roam. The fire ghoul slots a thigh between his legs as his palms reach his waist, pressing against his crotch. 

Copia whines in his throat, twisting his fingers into the fabric of Dew’s shirt. He’s hard as steel against his leg, throbbing when Dew presses harder and tugging at him like he could still get closer than he already is. 

“Sit down,” Dew rumbles. He breaks the kiss and holds his gaze as he presses on his shoulders, easing him back into the desk chair. Down, down, down until Dew looms over him. He smirks slightly, confidence and ease returning to him as their positions switch. Running his thumb along the painted upper lip then dragging down to the bare one. 

Wordlessly, the fire ghoul sinks to his knees. Scoots Copia to the edge of his chair so he can spread his legs. He smooths his palms up his thighs, his infernal heat seeping through the trousers. He watches Copia’s face as he pets at him, cupping and rubbing at his cock through the layers of fabric. The man’s chest heaves. Hands gripping the wooden arms of his chair. Exhaling shakily as Dew traces a claw around the button on his fly.

“Allow me,” Dew purrs.

#the band ghost #fanfic #the band ghost fanfic #ghost fanfic #dewdrop ghoul #cardinal copia #papa emeritus iv #copia x dewdrop #dewdrop x copia #papa x dewdrop #dewdrop x papa #copia/dewdrop #dewdrop/copia #papa/dewdrop #dewdrop/papa #CORRECTLY translated italian #dews gonna go back to the dorms and theyre gonna smell copia on him and then EVERYONES gonna want him

[ultra-raging-ghost]

oughhhhh rant under the cut about bads babies

Sorry im so ill about bad's kids tonight

I can imagine dapper obviously looks like him, but pomme looks like him, especially in her face.

I think the difference in dapper and pomme is Dapper follows in bad's current footsteps, self sacrificial and experimental but in a much different way than pomme. Dapper follows after bad in the way that he pays attention, and has been around long enough to listen to bad's stories and learn from them rather than having to experience them, but pomme's so little....

Being not only Bad's kid but etoiles and antoines..... A warrior with a strong moral compass, a seemingly passive immortal eldritch being, and another immortal being but not passive, with his own moral compass that differs from other people because of how long hes been around...

Etoiles is in his early years for lack of a better term, living what we can presume for now is a human lifespan, his morals as far as we can tell is based on those he loves, and maybe bad has that type of moral compass too, but theres such a strong difference when you've lived for as long as bad has.

As far as i know, Antoine doesnt talk as often about his lifespan, but Bad has actively and openly told his kids about people he's loved and lost, maybe not with the intentions of instilling any lessons in there but what else are we supposed to get from them??

Vesuvius, the unnamed lover from 500 years ago, hell even skeppy isnt around right now, although hes still alive.

I think theres a difference between them because Dapper, being bad's kid, was always under the expectation that he would outlive those he loved aside from bad and maybe foolish. We can see the extension of how bad treats foolish in how Dapper treats foolish, how they bond and how bad's wordlessly inflicted his "gift vs present" mindset that he had to explain to someone like Bagi, who made the mistake of telling bad she wanted to give someone a "gift" several times before realizing theres a difference and she had to specify she meant "present".

I gotta wonder if Antoine didnt really instill the idea of immortality into his daughter, i mean like who would right?? But two immortal parents?? She has to come to terms with the idea eventually, but right now shes so small...

Bad's talked about how his presence has consistently brought bad luck - eruptions, mass plagues, falling of kingdoms and death of gods, etc. But most of the events he's talked about happened so long ago. Hundreds or thousands of years ago bad learned and relearned the message that people dont stick around, you gotta pick and choose who you really invest yourself in. And why wouldnt it be the eggs? Your kids are immortal, its probably safe to invest yourself in them!

Pomme is self sacrificial, and really caring. We can really see how Etoiles' hero heart definitely instilled itself on her, but theres gotta be a difference between that kind of moral compass when you live for that long and experience that much loss.

Dapper is a little older, and was initially raised a lot differently, and while we see him experiment on herself with the soul vultures, she doesnt talk about self sacrifice nearly as much as Pomme, previously one of the youngest eggs, and the self proclaimed sole target of the codes.

I rambled so fucking much there but just. Bad sees himself in both his kids, but the difference between them is so heavy and i feel so hard for Pomme... shes so tiny, she doesnt need that burden to shoulder, but how can bad help snap her out of it or learn to not do that when shes still so young, and hes fallen back into those habits himself??? I dont wanna say theres a maturity difference in how dapper and pomme go about throwing themselves to the lions but honestly there kinda is... i just dont know how to word it concisely

most of this is probably wrong im probably missing a lot of lore or some shit but its 4:30 am and i have a headache, just let me be ill kjbhyvjhbk

#qsmp #q!bbh #q!badboyhalo #pomme the egg #dapper the egg #q!etoiles #q!antoine #rant #i care about them sm #theyre just little :( and theyre already forced to be so mature :( #theyll have plenty of time to be like that for the rest of their very long lives....... they should be allowed to be babies now

[grison-in-space]

On medieval notions of maidenly beauty:

These images were objects of religious devotion and veneration; people would pray with them, focusing their minds on them, or being reminded of what they had lost with the Fall of Man. While the women had to be beautiful to make the religious point that they were holy, these images were also considered sexy.

We know that from decidedly hostile witnesses: Protestants. In the early modern period, when a number of Christians broke from the Catholic Church, one of their myriad complaints was about religious images in churches. In 1520 one Protestant in Strasbourg complained, “I often had base thoughts when I looked upon the female saints on the altars. For no courtesan can dress or adorn herself more sumptuously and shamelessly than they nowadays fashion the Mother of God, Saint Barbara, Katherine, and the other saints.”

The fact that this unnamed man was turned on by church statues is not only a testament to the human erotic imagination but also funny and instructive. As we have seen, the medieval concept of beauty was painstakingly constructed and repeated ad nauseam down through the centuries, which can make it difficult to ascertain whether the average medieval individual agreed with it. Did most people think small-breasted women with big thighs and pot bellies were beautiful, or was this was just a literary and artistic conceit? This unnamed Protestant’s religious complaint shows that not only did individual men agree with the artistic beauty ideal, but it also turned them on in church.

To be fair, this particular reminiscence does come, as stated, from an antagonistic source. The gentleman in question was trying to make a point about the Catholic Church and the sins that it inspired with its excesses. Protestants were extremely fond of painting churches white and removing all statues. Implying that you used to get distracted and even turned on by images of saints during Mass was a great way to make a point about why it was time to break out the whitewash. However, if he had said he found the church frescos sexy in a social climate that disagreed, it would have been tantamount to admitting a strange fetish to his congregation. As a result, we can take this gentleman at his word and assume that the religious art was, indeed, titillating.

Eleanor Janega, The Once and Future Sex (2023).

I am both giggling my way through this book with great delight and also contemplating the extent to which my body resembles the medieval aesthetic ideal of the almighty golden pear.

#eleanor janega #the once and future sex #reading #Gender #History

[void-voyage]

i think one important thing to have in mind as you read western news on the palestinian uprising today is that their humanity is never recognized, tacitly or overtly. apartheid, persecution, ethnic cleansing, torture, mass murder committed daily by the colonizing entity are unnamed or downplayed, that is why now, suddenly, there is great danger: to settlers.

from the river to the sea, and as other peoples achieved before, may palestinians reach liberation within our lifetimes, may a time for justice and healing come to them soon.

[isfjmel-phleg]

Photographs, 1916

Rachel Doncath, age twenty-five. She stands steadily and faces the camera, but her eyes show a hint of glancing at someone out of the shot. There is a hint of humor about her expression, as if the unseen person were trying to make her laugh. She wears the height of fashion, a dress with a higher waist and a fuller skirt with a hem high enough to expose a pair of delicate shoes that lace up her ankles. Underneath her wide-brimmed hat, her hair is waved. A watch is clipped to her waistband, and she holds her handbag at the ready, as if she hasn't much time to waste in the photographer's studio. A notation on the back of the photograph indicates that it was taken in Otionovia during a state visit from Queen Rietta.

Rietta I of Faysmond, age twenty-six. This is her yearly formal photograph, a portrait of her in state intended for mass production. Unlike most previous years, she sits rather than stands. Her court gown, dripping with various sorts of intricate lace representing different regions of Faysmond, engulfs her, as does an impressive train swept in front of her. The glove of her left hand is removed, revealing her famous emerald engagement ring and wedding ring. The state crown of Faysmond rests on a table beside her, and on her head is a smaller (but not small!) crown. Not a curl is out of place; they seem to have been tamed with some sort of hair product. Her expression is difficult to read. There is something uncertain in her gaze.

Delclis V of Corege, age twenty-five. An unnamed photographer has caught him sitting in the corridor outside a conference room before a meeting. His face is partially turned away toward a large window through which sunlight is streaming. He wears a dress uniform with sash and decorations. His pince-nez rest on his nose. They are attached to a string tied to one of his medals. A wire fox terrier puppy paws at his knee, and he strokes its ears. A faint smile crosses his face. He appears to be desperately trying to grow a moustache.

Elystan, Duke of Gorchester, age twenty-one. He is posing in the full academic dress of a BA from Hollingham University over an elegantly-cut suit. One hand rests nonchalantly on a pile of books on a table, representing his literary studies. The other hand is on his hip, exhibiting the sleeve of his gown. He holds himself regally, shoulders back, chin uplifted a little. His eyes are less dark-circled and his face less hollow than in earlier photographs. He looks very pleased with himself.

Amarantha Melbray, age twenty-one. In a pose reminiscent of a famous self-portrait of her favorite Renaissance artist, Teofila, she sits at her easel lifting a brush to an already-complete painting of a little girl. The painting is identifiable as "Portrait of Chrysantha" (1916), produced during Melbray's time at the Royal Art Academy. Her palette and an orderly paintbox wait nearby. She wears a ruffled light-colored frock that she clearly would never have worn while actually painting. Her hair is pinned high on the back of her head and waves over her ears. She fixes the camera with a steady, intent gaze.

Tamett Låsrygg, age twenty-one. An informal photograph, made clear by the wide grin on his face. He leans casually against the side of an aeroplane. His arms are crossed over his chest. He wears a leather jacket and flying helmet with goggles. A scarf, probably knitted by his sister Emenor, drapes around his neck. Noriberrian insignia is pinned to the lapel of his jacket. The photograph is inscribed with his signature and the words "With love from New Archangel. Watch the skies for me soon!"

Josiah Callon, age twenty-one. He sits at the piano, one hand over the keys, the other holding a pair of spectacles, which he appears to have just removed. His long legs stretch out in front of him; after years of track and field at Hollingham, he is built like a runner. A morning suit, with its cutaway tailcoat, accentuates his height. Instead of the common 1910s male practice of slicking back the hair into flat smoothness using oil, his hair is parted on the side with curls dipping across the forehead above one eye. His expression is not so much haughty as it is profoundly serious and a little sad.

#The Blackberry Bushes #The Blackberry Bushes short stories #(we're just going to call it that) #Photographs 1916 #I can't tell you everyone's fate (partially because even I don't know everything yet) but I can provide glimpses #Rachel Doncath #Rietta Valencourt #Delclis Phemister #Elystan Liddick #Amarantha Melbray #Tamett Lockridge #Josiah Callon

[avacoleman]

when the lights go out || a firstprince fic

summary: Henry Fox’s career is in crisis and his dating life isn’t faring much better either.  After a chance encounter with a charming man becomes memorable for all the wrong reasons, Henry throws himself into his next assignment: writing the memoir of a beloved C-list actor. Henry, however, knows Alex best for the role he played as his random, awkward one-night stand. Henry enters their professional partnership keen on keeping their relationship just that. But after Henry confesses that their hookup was less than spectacular, Alex concots an arrangement that Henry is unable to resist. In addition to ghostwriting Alex’s life story, Henry will teach him a thing or two about satisfying a man.  As they spend months out on the road together, they must decide if the connection between them is yet another story worth telling.

chapter 3/8 || rated e || read on ao3 *updates every tues. and fri. *

Minneapolis, MN Twin Cities Con Day 1 Henry sits front row at the Crescent Valley panel. Today, the announcement will go live and Alex and his castmates will reunite on this very stage to deliver the news fans have been waiting for. Henry has seen all the hashtags and petitions that have been created online since the show went off the air five years ago. Viewers made passionate pleas, conducted letter writing campaigns, and made countless videos demanding, at the very least, one special to give them a glimpse into the lives of their beloved characters and to see the cast together again. It’s interesting sitting among them now knowing full-well what’s in store.  The energy in the room is off the charts as the Crescent Valley theme song starts to play and the cast files onto stage. Seeing them all in the flesh is a bit disorienting. Henry’s gotten so used to seeing them on his laptop screen, yet here they are all now right before his eyes.  Henry’s gaze slides to Alex and at once he feels centered, but he’s quickly thrown off again seeing Alex and Nora putting their heads together, laughing about something as the moderator reads out everyone’s names. Henry figures it shouldn’t be surprising given their history. All the same, it makes an unnameable emotion swell in Henry’s chest.

He quickly pushes the feeling aside and allows the sheer pandemonium around him to consume him. He finds himself joining the masses and cheering on the cast as they smile and wave at the audience before taking their seats.

The panel goes along much like any other until the end during the Q&A portion. A man steps up to the mic for the final question and though Henry personally has no clue who he is, the audience collectively gasps. From overheard whispers, he learns the man is none other than the creator of Crescent Valley.

Henry looks up at the stage, his eyes landing immediately on Alex. He sees the excitement in his eyes like a kid on Christmas morning.

The show’s creator waits for silence to fall before he speaks.

“Now, I have just one question for you guys,” he says looking at the actors on stage. “Are you ready to step into the world of Crescent Valley one last time?”

“Yes!” the cast says together into their mics as the monitors on the sides of the stage flash with the news.

Crescent Valley returns for a two-hour special this winter!

The eruption from the audience is unlike anything Henry has ever seen or heard before. People are jumping out of their seats, crying, screaming, hugging each other. Through it all, Henry can’t take his eyes off Alex and the cast as they drink it all in, the Crescent Valley theme song playing once more as the perfect soundtrack for the reverent fans losing their ever-loving minds in the room.

There are so many questions Henry wants to ask Alex about this moment, but he knows any hopes for talking about the book or literally anything else today are completely dashed now that the news is out in the world.

~*~*~

Henry’s suspicions were right. Alex's phone had gone off all afternoon with calls and texts from Zahra with interview requests that have been streaming in. On every platform imaginable, #CrescentValleySpecial is trending and Alex’s mentions are in complete disarray. Henry had expected things to get crazy, but this was outright insanity.

He was able to get introduced to the cast after the panel when he went backstage. All his inexplicable nervousness in meeting Nora turned out to be for nothing.

The way she and Alex interacted with one another was more like brother and sister. Whatever romantic feelings they held over five years ago was clearly ancient history.

He left Alex to spend the evening with his castmates though he had been welcomed to join them. It was a sweet offer, but Henry figured blocking out a few hours to work on his notes and configuring the preliminary skeleton of the book would be a wiser use of his time. He checked in with Pez, making sure their apartment was still in one piece and gave his friend an update from the road.

Pez was freaking out about the special just like everyone else online. He wouldn’t let Henry go without him promising to fill Pez in if he caught wind of any spoilers over the next few weeks.

Looking at his document, Henry feels satisfied with the work he’s done this evening. 

It’s eleven o'clock now and according to the tour itinerary, Alex has a signing in the morning followed by a cast reunion photoshoot. He mentally prepares for another day where they won’t get to see much of each other or truly be alone together.

Henry brushes his teeth, studying his reflection in the mirror when he hears his phone vibrate on the counter. He looks down, turning his head to read the text message that appears on his lock screen.

Alex cant sleep. up for another lesson?

Henry spits out his toothpaste and rinses out his mouth before picking up his phone and answering.

Henry Ready when you are. 

Five minutes later, there’s a knock at Henry’s door.

“Hey,” Alex says. 

He stands before Henry in his glasses, wearing checkered navy blue pajama pants and a gray t-shirt. It’s a bit ridiculous how good he looks even when severely underdressed like this.

“Sorry for the late night message. My head’s been buzzing all day and I still feel completely wired. Also, I missed you today. And now I’m realizing I’ve literally sent a godforsaken ‘u up’ text. You would’ve been well within your rights to tell me to fuck all the way off.”

Henry laughs at how quickly Alex gets all these words out. 

“I’m a bit of an insomniac anyway so you’re hardly disturbing me. And besides, I sorta missed you too.”

Alex smiles a little and sways in place.

“Oh, do come in,” Henry says belatedly, stepping aside. He closes the door and locks it behind him.

“What’s next on your syllabus? We’re still on touch, right?” Henry asks.

“Yes, getting to know thy cock.”

A laugh rips out of Henry. “You’re the worst.”

Alex winks and takes a seat on Henry’s bed.

“Okay, so touch and getting more acquainted with what your partner likes,” Henry says. 

He thinks on it for a moment.

“As I’ve mentioned before, this really will be trial and error each time you’re intimate with someone. It’s not unlike when you’ve been with past partners. I’m sure you’ve found that what one person may love, another isn’t too fond of.”

Henry pauses again. 

“I wonder if this might not be better for me to show you rather than explain,” Henry says.

Alex looks confused, his brows furrowed. 

“Like…you give me a handjob or…I give you a proper one this time?”

“Or, option C, I get myself off and you watch,” Henry says plainly.

Alex blanches and Henry takes a bit of pride in being able to shock Alex like this.

“You said you wanted to know what I liked, right? Feels like this could be the best way to do just that.”

“Well, I am a visual learner,” Alex says quietly.

Henry crosses the room and goes into his suitcase, starting to dig around. 

“I think people have a tendency to get wrapped up in the idea of penetration being the only ‘real’ kind of sex,” Henry says thoughtfully. “If you ask me, that’s a very limited scope. There are so many different ways to intimately connect with your partner. Manually is one of them.”

He takes out a small bottle of lube and turns back to face Alex. 

“Whether it’s you getting your partner off or watching them and vice versa, this is another way you can, for a lack of a better term, come together when intimate.”

Alex laughs. “Yes, I have the humor of a middle schooler. Sue me.”

Henry rolls his eyes and steps closer to Alex.

“Can I kiss you? It helps,” he says, not explaining further.

If Alex is confused, he hides it well. He simply parts his legs where he’s seated on the length of the bed and Henry steps between them. He frames Alex’s face, leans in and kisses him straight away. 

The man is a pro at this and after a few moments, Henry can feel that familiar stirring in the pit of his stomach. Alex kisses him hungrily, deepening it and Henry feels his body respond immediately. He kisses Alex for a little while longer before forcing himself to pull away.

Rather than sit beside Alex on the edge, he gets in and lays back against the pillows.

Alex shifts to look at him. Henry tugs off his sweats and boxer briefs. It’s ridiculously easy to feel comfortable being naked in front of Alex and the fact that there’s still more weeks ahead should not thrill him in the way that it does.

He squeezes a small drop of lube in the palm of his hand. He coats his cock, shivering a little at the feel of the substance against his sensitive skin.

Alex’s eyes are wide and unblinking as he watches Henry’s movements.

“It’s the same principle you might have for when you get yourself off. Sometimes you might want it quick and rough, but more often than not, for me anyway, I really like the buildup. I enjoy getting myself worked up and close to the edge before letting myself let go completely. When I’m with a guy, I like it the same way. With teasing too. I can’t get enough of that, if I’m being honest. It drives me wild.”

He demonstrates, slowly stroking himself and circling the tip of his cock. Precome glistens on the head and he smears it with the pad of his thumb.

Henry shivers and practically purrs. 

Alex doesn’t even look like he’s breathing as he watches.

“That first night, you were overthinking it. It made you second guess yourself rather than follow your instincts. If there are moves or techniques that you enjoy, chances are that your partner might like them too. But you’ve got to give them the opportunity to really experience it before jumping so quickly onto the next thing.”

Henry squeezes himself and pumps his hand again slowly along his shaft.

“I actually really like this and you had the basic thought of it when we hooked up, but it felt sort of mechanical. I could feel your hesitancy and it took me out of the moment,” he says gently.

Alex frowns. “Sorry about that.”

Henry shakes his head. “Nothing to be sorry about. Now you know for next time.”

Something flickers in Alex’s eyes and it makes a pleasant chill run down Henry’s spine. The promise of next time. Henry has no clue when their next hookup will be, but the idea of Alex’s hand on him makes him even harder.

His eyes roll shut and Henry lets his imagination run with the fantasy. He pictures this moment now, only it’s Alex’s hand between his legs, pleasuring him, teasing him. He thinks back to that night in Arizona, their first foray into the touch component. 

Alex’s movements in his room were far better than their initial night. It seemed he had really taken Henry’s preliminary feedback into consideration. Since that night in Arizona, Henry had been wondering how things might have gone if they hadn’t stopped at strictly over the clothes, if he pushed their lesson a bit further.

A soft sound falls from his parted lips as his head tips back against the plush pillows as he envisions it. He spreads his legs wider and teases the slit of his cock. Distantly he hears Alex hiss. Henry does too. He’s so aroused and sensitive, even the air in the room makes the sensations more acute.

He bites back on his lower lip as he continues to stroke himself, his freehand massaging his balls. He feels the bed shift and he opens his eyes to find Alex on the bed in earnest, settled on his knees, studying him with rapt attention, his hands balled into fists against his lap.

Henry’s back arches as he stares at Alex, his heart pounding steadily. He gives his cock another firm squeeze on a downstroke and moans. It’s intoxicating knowing he has Alex locked into him like this. Alex’s cheeks are flushed, his eyes hungry and curious.

“Are you hard too?” Henry asks, his breath catching in his throat.

Alex scoffs. “How could I not be? Fucking hell, Henry, look at you.”

Henry smirks as he continues jerking himself off, teasing his leaking slit, his eyes never leaving Alex.

“Touch yourself with me then?” he hiccups. “If you’d be okay with—,”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence. Alex is already racing to get his pants off. He settles beside Henry, occupying the space on the other side of the mattress. His cock is slick already and Henry whimpers quietly at the sight.

“Think we can get you to come with me?” he asks, turning his head towards Alex. 

“After watching you like this? I’m shocked I haven’t lost it already.”

Maybe it’s just easy banter but Alex makes him feel so desirable, wanted.

There’s a soft sheen of sweat at Alex’s temple and Henry’s eyes track a bead of it slowly racing down the side of his face. Knowing that Alex is this riled up because of him just arouses Henry more.

He watches the muscles flex in Alex’s arm, studies the way his fingers wrap around his own cock and work over the shaft. It’s unbelievably erotic and Henry feels his cock swell as he studies Alex. Alex’s breath is shaky as he watches him in turn.

“See? This can be just as hot. Maybe even hotter,” Henry notes. “Mutual masturbation can really do the trick too. It’s a different way of thinking about touch.”

Alex nods in agreement or understanding as he leans over, lips already searching. Henry kisses him at once. It’s heated and messy and only spurs them both on. The bed shakes as they both work to get themselves off feverishly, the two whimpering and moaning as they go.

Alex’s tongue toys with Henry’s so expertly it makes Henry’s toes curl. It’s too much all at once and Henry’s resolve slips. He comes hard into his fist, gasping into Alex’s mouth.

He rests his forehead against Alex’s as the man reaches his end a few beats later. Henry’s eyes are glued on the sight, his throat dry watching Alex’s release spill onto his hand and stomach. The urge to taste him is overwhelming. It takes every bit of restraint he has not to lick him clean.

Alex’s breaths are shaky as they fan across Henry’s face.

“How’d I do?” Alex asks, voice strained. He pulls back enough to look Henry fully in the face. His eyes are bright and wild and Henry would bet every dollar he has that he looks exactly like this too.

He outstretches a hand, tucking it under Alex’s chin.

“Top marks, Mr. Claremont-Diaz. Ten out of bloody ten.”

~*~*~

Minneapolis, MN Day 2

The excitement for the Crescent Valley special seems to have taken on new life the following day. At the convention center this morning, it felt as if every other person Henry walked past was speculating about the show, shooting off their headcanons and best guesses at what the writers had planned. Much like yesterday, Henry felt like a fly on the wall, a spy behind enemy lines getting intel on the ground.

The cast has been privy to it all. After their signing, they all sat around backstage talking about all the messages they’ve been receiving from fans all over the world. Henry couldn’t wrap his mind around that, a life in the public eye where people from all corners of the earth knew his name and cared so deeply about the work he was doing that they’d invest so much of their time and energy into it.

Henry tagged along with Alex to the cast photoshoot downtown. Once more he was struck by just how different his life was from Alex’s and the way even Alex himself seemed to be two people in one. When the cameras were on him, he could bring forth a version of himself that fit the celebrity bill to a tee. But the second he was off on the sides, away from the spotlight, he was his down to earth self, making jokes and keeping things fun for everyone around him.

Upon their return to their hotel, they head to their respective rooms with promises to see each other again soon. 

In his room alone, Henry feels antsy for reasons he can’t explain. He watches a few episodes of Crescent Valley which is quickly (and still secretly) becoming his biggest guilty pleasure before he decides watching Alex on screen is no substitute for the real thing. He grabs his laptop and leaves his room, marching down the hall to Alex’s.

He knocks twice and stands back, running a hand through his hair, his brows lifting as Alex answers the door, a towel wrapped low on his hips, body glistening with water.

“Sorry, did you text me? I must have missed it.”

Henry shakes his head, mouth suddenly very dry.

“No, I thought I’d swing by, but I definitely should have reached out first. I didn’t mean to catch you at a bad time.”

“Don’t be ridiculous; come in.”

Henry tears his eyes away from Alex’s damp torso, in particular the water droplet that makes its way down from his chest to the towel at his hips.

He steps inside of Alex’s room.

“What brings you by? Missed me already?” he teases, unknowingly hitting right on the truth. 

Alex slips on a shirt, the fabric quickly blooming wet spots from Alex’s fresh-out-the-shower skin.

Henry turns away, letting him get dressed with some modicum of privacy.

“I wanted to share the preliminary draft pages I worked on yesterday. I know I could have emailed them and you could make edits in the doc, but I thought it might be more helpful to go over it together in person so we could talk through any suggestions or changes you might have.”

Alex comes into view from behind him and takes a seat on one of the two single seater armchairs in the room. He’s fully clothed now which is both a relief and a disappointment. Henry switches off the side of his brain that feels the latter.

Rule number one of this arrangement could not be any clearer. The book will always be their top priority.

Henry sits in the chair opposite Alex and sets his laptop down on the round table between them, opening up the document.

Alex pulls the laptop forward and Henry anxiously watches as Alex starts to read. Henry kicks himself then. Maybe he really should have simply shot Alex an email. Watching his reaction in real time is nerve-wracking even though Alex seems to be enjoying it.

“We’ve really been spending a lot of time together, haven’t we?” Alex says, looking over the top of the laptop at Henry when he’s done. “You’ve got my voice down so well. This is actually kind of scary. You see, this is why we wanted you. You’re incredible at what you do.”

Henry laughs and waves him off. “It’s nothing.”

Alex shakes his head. “It’s a gift, Henry. You’re like a shapeshifter. You forget, I’ve seen the samples from your previous works. Each piece is so singular. It’s wild to know you’re behind them all.”

Henry blushes a bit at the compliment. “That means a lot, thank you.”

Alex sets the computer aside.

“You’re always asking questions about me, let’s switch it up.”

Henry laughs. “I’m not the one with a memoir due out, now am I?”

“Hmm, no. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to learn more about you. So, tell me. Do you think you’d ever write a book of your own?”

Henry rubs the back of his neck. It’s strange being the one under the spotlight, even in a harmless moment like this where it’s just the two of them.

“I’ve thought about it before. More than that, I’ve made attempts, but I don’t know. I think I’ve gotten so used to losing myself in other people, I’m not sure there’s much of me left.”

Alex searches his eyes.

“You clearly have a voice, Henry. People already pay good money for it. Just imagine when it’s your own stories on those pages.”

Henry smiles. “I’ve started quite a few stories. But ghostwriting, it’s been steady, sure work.”

“But are you passionate about it?” Alex asks and Henry is a bit taken aback by how effortlessly Alex seems to see right through to the heart of the matter.

“That book you had with you that night in New York, the gamer guy. You didn’t look happy at all sitting there with it.”

Henry shrugs. “I was having a bit of doubt around my career when we met, yes. I’m sure these aren’t words you want to hear from the man currently working on your book.”

Alex waves him off. “At least it’s the truth. You should be excited about what you do. Writing is clearly what you’re good at. The way you’re able to voice all these different people, I can only imagine the characters you dream up. I’d hate for you to get a bad association with writing if you keep cranking out books that don’t motivate you.”

Henry frowns. 

“I am excited about working on this one with you,” he says.

Alex smirks. “Well, yeah, that’s because I’m awesome and who wouldn’t want to spend every waking moment with me? I’m a goddamn delight,” he jokes before growing serious again, leaning forward a little and holding Henry’s gaze.

“Can you promise me something, Hen? After you’re done with our book, can you get back to one of yours?”

“Your book,” Henry corrects. Alex jokingly snarls. “But fine, yes. I’ll try with it again.”

“Good because I really think you should go for it for real this time. You’ve got far too much talent to let your words just sit on your laptop or for your characters to only live in your head. The world needs to hear you and know your name.”

“You know, if acting ever stops working for you, you’d make a killing as a motivational speaker,” Henry says.

Alex laughs and closes the laptop.

“We’ll call that plan B. I like keeping my options open.”

He gets up and stretches out on his bed, propping his head up on his hand and looking at Henry.

“It’s much comfier over here,” he says.

Henry laughs softly at the not so subtle invitation, but he gets up and lays beside Alex, staring up at the ceiling. He can feel Alex’s eyes on him, feel the warmth of the man’s body so close to his. Most of all, he can feel the growing tension between them, born out of nothing more than simply being next to each other and sharing space.

Some distant part of Henry’s brain cautions him against this, telling him to somehow scale back this very obvious attraction he feels towards Alex, but at this point, it’s as natural as breathing. He couldn’t help it if he tried.

He turns his head and Alex is right there, bright eyes already fixed on him.

“Since we’re doing things a little differently tonight,” Henry says, “how about we apply that to today’s lesson as well?”

Alex’s brows furrow.

“How so?”

“It’s important to know what your partner is into, how they like to be touched and handled. You’ve been doing really well with that, but I realize, it’s been a bit one-sided.”

Alex shifts slightly, still looking perplexed.

“I like how things have been going.”

“That might be so, but I want you to enjoy this too. These lessons have been about teaching you how best to work with your partner, but you should be able to know how to advocate for what you want as well.”

“Again, for the record, I have in fact been enjoying the hell out of myself. But I get what you mean and I appreciate it.”

Henry nods. “So, with that in mind, if you’re up for it, I’d like for us to focus solely on your pleasure and your needs tonight.”

In the quiet of the room, Henry can perfectly hear the breath that falls from Alex’s lips. To his credit, Alex quickly composes himself and nods.

“Yeah, I’d be alright with that.”

Henry smiles and leans forward slowly, watching Alex’s lips part in anticipation for him before he presses their mouths together. Alex all but melts into him and Henry is right there with his arms circling his waist at once.

They take their time, hands wandering along the slopes of each other's bodies, their tongues savoring each other’s taste. Henry can’t imagine he could ever grow tired of kissing Alex and, distantly, he thinks of the fact that one day very soon, this will all come to an end.

He pushes the thought from mind, opting instead to focus on this present moment where Alex is his alone.

Henry breaks the kiss first, but his lips don’t go far. He peppers a trail of kisses along Alex’s jaw as the man tangles his fingers in his hair.

Henry lets out a soft sound as Alex tugs and presses their bodies closer, rolling his hips forward, rutting up against him. Henry grinds back, stifling a groan at how half hard Alex is already.

“Tell me what you want most right now.”

Alex sighs, tightening his grip on Henry’s strands. Henry can hear the sharp inhale he takes.

“I want you to go down on me,” Alex rasps, breath catching as Henry continues dropping kisses on his skin.

“With pleasure,” Henry whispers against the shell of Alex’s ear, nipping gently on the man’s earlobe. He earns a deep moan in response.

Alex sinks back down against the bed, reaching for his jeans but Henry shakes his head and takes a hold of his hands.

“Allow me.”

Alex mutters a curse under his breath, his brown eyes growing darker still as he nods. Henry lets go of Alex’s hands and the man settles more, his arms folding behind his head as Henry begins to undo his jeans.

“Enjoying the view, are we?” Henry teases.

Alex grins shamelessly and shrugs. 

“A guy could get used to this.”

Henry laughs and places a kiss against his hip before removing the rest of his clothes. He’s hardly a stranger to Alex’s body but still, being faced with it like this makes him a bit speechless.

He runs his hands up the length of Alex’s thighs which the man spreads, a silent invitation to all of him.

Henry curses. Alex merely smirks.

How could it be that one person can be both his salvation and damnation? 

Henry lays on his stomach and skims his fingers along Alex’s inner thighs and feels the instant tremor in the man’s legs, watching how much his cock stiffens almost instantly. A pearl of precome gathers at this tip. Henry’s eager to taste it.

He decides to take mercy on them both and takes a hold of Alex’s cock, giving him a few steady strokes before taking him slowly into his mouth.

“Thank God, I was about to start begging,” Alex huffs.

Henry smiles to himself.

“Damn, should have held out a moment longer,” he teases before sucking softly on the tip of Alex’s cock, still taking his time but giving Alex enough to know he’s not being toyed with.

“Henry.” The name falls from his tongue in a fierce growl.

When those rich brown eyes land on him, Henry hardly recognizes them. Gone is the humor, the teasing.

In its place is something so carnal and exact it pierces right through Henry and leaves him aching for more. He opens his mouth further and takes more of Alex. He closes his eyes and moans, letting his tongue swirl on the underside of the man’s cock. He massages his balls, squeezing them here and there as he goes.

Alex’s hips tip upwards and Henry pays close attention to what techniques get the biggest reactions from Alex.

The man is never shy or unresponsive in the bedroom and now more than ever, Henry appreciates how vocal Alex can be.

He repeats his ministrations, all too pleased to hear every sound his actions coax out of Alex.

He takes him down deeper, his jaw slackening to accommodate. Henry feels his eyes water a little, but he keeps going, a deep moan emitting from him as Alex’s cock hits the back of his throat. 

Alex trembles like never before. Henry half expects him to be levitating, suspended in some other plane of existence entirely. It only makes Henry double down. He can taste Alex on his tongue, feel the early traces of his release. Alex is right there teetering on the edge.

Henry keeps his touches deliberate, the tips of his fingers gently skimming across Alex’s inner thighs once more. 

“Fuck,” the man hisses from above. Henry looks at him, feeling himself harden at the sight of Alex covering his mouth with the back of his hand, his fingers curling into a fist.

Noted, Henry thinks to himself, pleased to discover one of Alex’s weaknesses.

“Wait,” Alex chokes out. 

Henry pulls away immediately and takes the time to catch his breath.

“I want…,” Alex rasps. “Fuck, I don’t want to you to stop, but I don’t want to come like this. I want…I don’t know.”

“More?” Henry asks. Alex nods heavily, his legs trembling.

Henry places a kiss on each of Alex’s thighs before getting up on his knees. 

“I need you to be specific then. More could mean anything.”

Heat rushes to Alex’s already flushed face.

“Well, if we’re keeping with the theme of doing things a bit different…I, uh, I kinda want to try something new. I didn’t put it on the syllabus because we didn’t do it that night and, well, I don’t even know if it’s something you’d be into.”

Alex sighs, picking absentmindedly at the bedding.

“This would completely blow past other steps we should probably take first, but it’d be so…it would be everything. God, this is embarrassing as hell.”

Henry places a reassuring hand on Alex’s knee.

“It’s okay. We can talk about it. What’s going on?”

Alex licks his lips and looks away, still picking away  at the bedspread before catching Henry’s eye again.

“Since you’re down there, I mean, I wouldn’t exactly be opposed to feeling your mouth elsewhere…or your tongue. God, don’t make me say it. Is that specific enough?”

Henry quirks a brow. “I think so,” he says, gently slipping a hand under Alex’s ass, his thumb ghosting over his entrance. Henry stares at him, silently asking.

Alex shivers, eyes fluttering for a moment as a look of relief washes over his face.

“Yeah, I wanna feel you there,” he says as he settles back, taking a breath. “I want to know what it’s like. I've seen videos and I’ve…always wondered.”

Henry brushes his thumb against him again as he nods. 

“Let’s not keep you waiting then, love.” 

Alex’s eyes go comically wide. 

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Henry echoes. 

This may indeed be more advanced than where they are in Alex’s outline, but Henry reasons it’s a worthy exception. It’d be a different case if the roles were reversed. He knows what he’s doing here and Henry is a man of his word. This is something Alex has been curious about and he’ll provide a safe space for him to explore it.

Henry grabs a pillow and descends again. He positions the pillow under Alex right on his lower back, giving himself better access. Alex takes a deep breath and swallows hard.

“Doing okay?” Henry asks, lightly stroking Alex’s cock.

Alex nods twice. “Yeah, keep going. I’m ready,” he assures. 

Henry smiles at him before turning his attention to Alex’s entrance. He maintains his hold on Alex’s cock and licks experimentally at his rim.

Alex cries out sharply, his cock twitching, a telltale sign of his arousal at this new development.

“Holy shit. That’s it. Again, sweetheart, please,” Alex sputters.

Henry doesn’t hesitate. He licks again, slower this time before swirling his tongue. Alex huffs out a rough breath. Henry repeats the move over and over, taking his time and letting Alex truly experience these new sensations. 

Alex opens beautifully for him. Henry’s own cock feels heavy between his legs but he ignores it, so focused and devoted to the task of pleasuring Alex as he wants. 

His tongue delves in deeper, gently probing now, and greedily searching. Alex’s whole body twitches. He gets a hand in Henry’s hair and tugs.

“Oh, my fucking god,” Alex chokes out, his legs instinctively trying to squeeze shut. But with Henry so firmly in place, the move merely traps Henry further.

He lets out a moan, knowing the vibrations will only heighten the sensations coursing through Alex. He gets his confirmation as Alex lets loose another curse, his breaths raspy and uneven. 

Henry’s hand continues to pump Alex’s shaft. He can feel Alex’s resolve slipping in the way his cock drips and his walls tighten. But Henry doesn’t let up; he takes these cues as motivation to keep going, to dive deeper inside of Alex, leaving every bit of Alex explored. He can feel Alex’s walls clenching more as he gets more vocal. Alex fucks into his fist, back arching a bit before he thrashes against the bed.

A flurry of curses and moans fall from Alex’s lips. Henry’s thumb encircles the head of Alex’s leaking cock as he rolls his tongue inside him once more. He nibbles softly, smirking as Alex cries out again. Henry could spend hours like this, but from Alex’s sharp reactions, he knows it’s only a matter of time before he breaks.

Henry rolls his tongue faster, squeezing Alex just under the head of his cock. Alex shudders hard and grabs a fist full of Henry’s hair, panting and riding his tongue, begging Henry not to stop. 

It’s a pointless request as Henry has absolutely no intentions of slowing down, let alone cutting things short all together. He strokes Alex again, getting lost inside Alex and sending another moan through him.

Alex slams his other hand down against the bed and makes a choked sound before crying out as he reaches his end. His release coats Henry’s fist, makes a mess of his fingers but Henry doesn’t stop. He carries Alex through his orgasm, delighting in the soft broken sounds that escape his mouth as he rides out the wave. 

It’s only when Alex falls back against the bed and stills that Henry resurfaces. 

He finds Alex still catching his breath, his fixed to one spot on the ceiling, eyelashes and cheeks wet. Henry settles into the spot beside Alex and kisses his shoulder lightly. 

“I’m starting to think you aren’t actually real. Or maybe you're like, some kind of sex god that got put in that bar that night to completely wreck me,” Alex muses, turning his head to face him.

Henry laughs. “I’m going to hold you personally responsible when I inevitably turn into a raging egomaniac.”

Alex shakes his head. “You’d deserve to gloat. Fuck, you’re really a pro at all this stuff.”

A smile works its way onto Henry’s face as he props his head up on his clean hand.

He sucks his index finger into his mouth, eyes fixed on Alex’s as he tastes him. Alex stares in stunned silence for a moment before he curses.

“Years at all-boys boarding schools will do that to a person,” Henry says, picking back up the conversation as if nothing has happened. “I’m glad I could make you feel good.”

Alex shakes his head as if to clear it.

“We can safely add that to the list of things I like,” Alex says. “Shit, that’s officially in first place actually.”

Henry laughs. “Welcome to the exciting world of rimming.”

“I really like it here. I’m moving in as we speak.”

Alex laughs breathlessly and searches Henry’s eyes for a moment, a bit of uncertainty in his gaze the longer he stares. He reaches out a hand and traces the curve of Henry’s bottom lip with his knuckles.

Henry wonders if Alex even realizes how intimate his little touches can be. 

“We’re still doing what I want, right?” Alex asks, lowering his hand. 

Henry can still feel his touch like a phantom sensation on his lip.

He nods slowly, curious what Alex has in mind.

“The night is completely yours, yes.”

Alex looks down between Henry’s legs where his sweatpants do absolutely nothing to hide his arousal. 

Alex clenches his jaw, the muscle flexing. He looks away again, back at Henry’s face. His fingertips ghost along Henry’s inner arm instead now. 

Henry can feel goosebumps rise in their wake. Truly, did Alex not know how much he was making him come undone with these subtleties?

“In that case, I want to watch you get yourself off and when you do, I want it to be on me.”

Henry’s brows shoot up to his hairline.

“Is that too much?” Alex asks.

Henry quickly shakes his head to dispel his worries.

“Not at all. I’m just surprised. I didn’t see that request coming.”

Alex laughs deeply. 

“Hey, man. I haven’t stopped thinking about you touching yourself since that one magical night. You can’t give me an experience like that and not expect me to want a repeat.”

Henry laughs. “I never said I had any objections,” he counters smoothly, already reaching for his waistband and slipping out of his sweats and boxer briefs in one fell swoop.

“In fact, I’d be all too happy and willing to oblige.”

He switches his position and straddles Alex’s waist, settling on top of him, his messy right hand already on his own slick cock. It’s filthy, but Henry hardly cares and judging by how hard Alex swallows and stares up at him, the other man doesn’t mind either.

Henry doesn’t bat an eyelash as he sets a slow rhythm on himself and stares back, anchoring his free hand to the center of Alex’s abdomen.

“This is so fucking hot,” Alex murmurs, rubbing circles against Henry’s thighs at once.

Henry laughs softly before growing serious again, keeping his eyes trained on Alex’s face. He rolls his hips over him, moaning at the feel of Alex’s spent cock against his ass.

The way Alex looks at him, so intent with sheer wonder, it makes it easy to slip up and forget that this isn’t something Henry gets to keep.

“You’re so goddamn gorgeous like this, Henry. Seriously. Shit. So, so beautiful and good for me.”

Henry shivers at that, basking in the praise. He grinds once more against Alex’s cock, biting back on his lower lip.

Alex reaches a hand forward and tugs Henry’s lip free with his thumb.

“I want to hear you when you lose it. Don’t get quiet on me. I want to know how badly this gets to you, sweetheart.”

“Christ, Alex,” he mutters, feeling the command squarely between his legs.

Henry teases his slit, hissing at how sensitive the flesh is. He lets out a moan unabashedly as he trembles.

“Good. Just like that,” Alex whispers and Henry has no clue how the power dynamic has shifted, but he feels so desperate to keep hearing Alex talk to him like this. 

He can see the moment it fully clicks too in Alex’s eyes. That wicked smirk Henry has been obsessed with since day one makes its way onto Alex’s lips.

“You like that, don’t you? Being good for me? Putting on a show only I can see?”

Henry gasps, his hand moving faster along his shaft. His throat feels dry, his heart racing, but he doesn’t let up for even a second. He nods obediently and whimpers in response.

“Yeah, I can tell you do,” Alex continues, rubbing Henry’s thighs again. 

A keening noise slips from Henry’s lips. 

“You like being all mine. Having me watch you. It drives you crazy, doesn’t it? I bet you want me to touch you. But I know you can continue being good for me. I know you can get yourself there. Go ahead. Show me how good you can be, sweetheart.”

Alex’s hands find their way to his ass and grip Henry tightly. Henry arches his back and cries out, his hips rolling once more, cock leaking. He encircles his tip with his thumb, staring into Alex’s hungry eyes as his palm slides up and down his throbbing shaft.

“I’m so close,” Henry pants.

“I know. Let it out. You’ve been so good. You’ve earned this. Come for me. Nice and hard, baby, right on me.”

It’s the pet name most of all that sends Henry careening off the edge. He moans Alex’s name as he comes, his body shaking with the sheer force of it.

His release paints streaks across Alex’s stomach and chest. Henry can feel his face flush seeing just how hard his orgasm hits, the rivulets of his finish thick against Alex's skin. But Alex’s darkened eyes eliminate any fear or concern that this is all too much.

Alex sits up just enough to kiss him. It’s heated and sloppy and Henry can’t get enough of it. He strokes Alex’s cheek as they kiss, moaning into the man’s mouth. It takes every bit of his willpower to pull away.

“Maybe we should add that to the syllabus?” Alex says. “We kinda slipped into new territory there with dirty talk at the end. Are you okay? I’m sorry if I went too far.”

Henry leans in and kisses Alex twice. “Not in the least,” he assures. 

“We’ll call that extra credit, but yes. We can cover that down the line if you want, but I’m telling you right now, you don’t actually need instruction there. As you saw firsthand, it’s another thing I enjoy and you’re damn good at it. Scary good. Don’t be afraid to lean into that with me. It's fully encouraged.”

He smiles at Alex who looks relieved. Henry kisses his cheek. He looks down at the complete mess of their bodies, perhaps more aroused than he ought to be at the sight.

“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Let’s get us cleaned up. Shower with me? I wouldn’t say no to round two in there,” Alex says, wiggling his brows.

Henry shakes his head in disbelief.

“It’s going to be a long night, isn’t it?”

Alex searches his eyes, his head tipping to the side, his curls falling over his eyes. It’s far more adorable than a scenario like this should be, but it makes Henry weak; he knows he can’t resist Alex when the man looks like this. He suspects Alex is aware too as his perfect mouth curls into a smirk and he replies.

“Yeah, but I promise, you’re going to love every second of it.”

~*~*~

Memphis, TN Comic and Fantasy Convention Day 1

“How far are you into the show?” Alex as he sits cross-legged on his hotel bed.

Henry sits at the desk in Alex’s room with his laptop out, taking advantage of the fact that they’re still wired from traveling. They arrived in Memphis a mere four hours ago ahead of tomorrow’s convention. It only gave them enough time to grab a bite and scrub the smell and germs of the airport and Uber off themselves before checking in.

The pace at which Alex hops on flights and gets settled into new cities is mind-boggling, but Henry is grateful that at least this time around, they’re actually in the same time zone from the last city they were in. 

He has to admit, it is exciting. But he can’t help but to wonder what it would be like doing this alone like Alex ordinarily does. 

He makes a note to himself in his document to ask Alex about that at some point.

“Just started series three,” Henry says. “I’ve been live texting Pez. Rather, he’s been ambushing me with messages, asking after my progress. He still can’t believe I’m touring with you. Crescent Valley was so major to him when we were at school. He’d beg me to watch, but I never did and somehow I managed to miss one of the greatest cultural phenomenons of our generation.”

Alex smiles. “You ever think about how differently that night in New York would have gone had you known who I was?”

Henry pauses and considers how to answer. After getting the shock of his life in going to that lunch and finding himself seated with none other than the man he’d slept with the night before who, on top of that, turned out to be a celebrity was (and still remained) hard to fully wrap his mind around.

Henry’s simply glad for the fact that he and Alex have been able to make the most of it, to actually become friends despite the rocky start.

“I have. But I think I prefer the course it actually took. Makes for a more compelling story,” he says. 

Henry falters for a moment.

“If I had recognized you though, do you think you would have still gone through with it all?”

Alex smiles thoughtfully. “It wouldn’t have changed how I felt…or what I wanted with you. I wouldn’t have been able to resist.”

Henry searches his eyes and feels his heart beat a little faster at Alex’s candor as he tries not to think too heavily on the implications of Alex’s words. Whatever the risk might have been, Alex deemed him worth it.

He licks his lips and forces himself to look away, to break the spell of Alex’s eyes.

“Let’s talk about the early days of your career,” Henry says, grabbing his phone and opening the voice app to record. 

“According to your Wiki page, you got your start doing commercials as a child in Austin. Is that true?” Henry asks.

“As you can imagine after looking at me now, I was freaking adorable as a kid. I think I had too much personality and energy to contain inside the house without driving my family crazy. I’ve always felt comfortable in front of people and playing pretend. It seemed like a natural fit. I could lose myself in a role. During the times my parents’ fights got to be too loud, I’d just go into the backyard and dream up another life for myself time and time again.”

Alex shifts on the bed, grabbing a pillow and dropping it into his lap.

“I booked a few local spots and moved on to theater. That opened up a whole new avenue and I think that’s when I fully realized just how much I loved inhabiting a character and getting to work off other people’s energy. With commercials, it was a few lines here and there. You’d film that one day, maybe two depending on the situation and then you’d move on. But with the stage, I got to live and breathe those characters on a daily basis. It was straight up magic.”

Henry smiles.

“What prompted you to then find a bigger stage? A life in California doing television and film?”

Alex mulls it over for a moment.

“I started to feel like a big fish in a little pond. And I don’t mean to sound like an asshole, like theater was somehow beneath me or something. I’ll always love stagework and honestly, I’d love to return to it someday. I just…felt a calling elsewhere at that time as I got older. I felt myself being pulled out there.”

Alex grows quiet for a moment as he travels back in his memories.

“It was an open call for Crescent Valley,” Alex says. “Looking back on it, I honestly still can’t believe that from the thousands of guys who auditioned, they saw something unique in me to say, ‘yeah, that’s who this show needs in this role’. I’ve never been one to believe in fate and all that stuff, but when something life-changing like this happens to you, it’s kinda hard to rule it out completely.”

Henry smiles to himself. The action must not go unnoticed.

“What?” Alex asks.

Henry looks at him and shrugs.

“Nothing. It’s interesting hearing you talk sometimes. You’re a bit of a romantic.”

Alex seems to consider this for a moment.

“Certain things bring it out of me.”

Henry wonders if the same could be said about people.

Henry gets them back on track and he digs further into asking questions about Alex’s career, his foray into film as well. Alex is such a great conversationalist, his stories always laced with humor and interesting asides. It makes Henry all the more excited about working deeper on the preliminary pages and delving further with his voice for these segments. 

They talk for another hour but it hardly feels laborious or tiring. It hardly even feels like work at all. Ultimately Henry puts a pin in their talk when he notes the hour. It’s creeping close to midnight and Alex has an early morning phone interview ahead of the con and Henry wants to work on transcribing this conversation.

“Calling it a night so soon?” Alex says, as if he doesn’t have a busy day ahead of himself.

Henry laughs and swivels around to look at him. Alex is still seated on the bed, but his arms are outstretched behind him. It’s a casual pose, though something in his eyes betrays the effect. 

“Do I sense the next item on the syllabus coming to the forefront with mere minutes to spare before a brand new day?” 

Henry has the document cemented in his mind. He knows exactly what lesson is next.

Oral.

Alex shrugs. “I’m not tired. Are you?”

Henry can’t resist taking the bait. He can pull an all-nighter after this.

“I’ll defer to you. How would you like the practical to go?”

Alex smiles, his expression a bit thoughtful.

“In Minnesota, you were incredible. Bold even,” he continues. “I’ve been wanting to put into practice the things you did to me and I’d love to figure out what makes you tick too.”

Henry is certain his face is red. He can feel warmth flood his cheeks, curious as to how often Alex allows himself to picture it.

“If that’s what you want, then yes.”

Alex looks at him, shaking his head slightly.

“Is it something you’d want?” Alex counters, moving the pillow off of himself.

Henry mirrors his stare.

“Of course,” he says, seeing little use in pretending otherwise.

“Then let me hear you say it plainly. I won’t lay a single finger on you unless I know you want it too.”

Henry’s heart races, beats right up to his throat. He keeps his face as neutral as he can as he speaks though, inside, his mind is a riot.

“I want you on your knees for me, Alex. I want you to taste me.”

Alex breathes a little heavier but he doesn’t say a word as he gets up and crosses the small space between them to where Henry sits at the desk. He settles on Henry’s lap and immediately Henry feels his own cock stiffen in response. Alex’s confidence is extremely attractive. His body can’t help but to react to it.

“I know how much you like the buildup,” Alex says quietly, running a hand slowly up under Henry’s shirt, his palm skimming his bare skin.

Henry shivers. Alex merely smirks.

“I’ll give you what you want. I’ll take my time with you.”

He leans in and kisses Henry, his mouth inviting and all too familiar. Henry feels his body relax further as they kiss. Alex’s thumb rubs against his nipple and Henry trembles in response. He can feel Alex smiling once more against his lips before doing it again on the other side. Henry can feel the delicate skin grow harder, among other things.

From his position on his lap, Henry knows Alex can feel it too.

Alex’s touch is feather-light as his hand brushes Henry between his legs for the briefest of seconds. It’s downright tortuous, but Henry wouldn’t have it any other way. He kisses Alex with renewed vigor, his right hand slipping into the man’s hair and pulling him closer. He opens his mouth to Alex, letting their tongues meet. Alex’s hand slips under Henry’s shirt once more, fingernails scratching teasingly down across his skin. Henry’s hips jerk forward on their own accord.

Alex has learned what he likes so well now, keeping up his promise from before and not rushing matters. Henry deepens the kiss, moaning deeply as his fingers continue curling in Alex’s hair and his tongue ensnares Alex’s.

Henry craves more and Alex seems to understand as he grinds down on him. Henry is almost unbearably hard.

Alex pulls away slowly just then and settles down on his knees, peering right up at Henry through his lashes all the while.

Henry shakes his head in disbelief of how gorgeous Alex looks. There’s something sweet yet tantalizing in his gaze. It completely wrecks Henry already.

Alex undoes Henry’s jeans and slips his cock out. His face feels hot Alex takes a hold of him and licks a languid strip up the underside from root to tip.

“Alex,” Henry gasps, clutching the arms of the chair. 

He hadn’t been expecting this level of assurance from him right out the gate. Henry doesn’t think he will need to guide Alex much—if at all— through this lesson if he’s hitting the ground running like this.

Alex’s face is the picture of innocence, as if he has no clue the kind of frenzy he’s causing to flare up inside Henry now. He repeats the move and Henry thinks he’s prepared for it, but he’s quickly thrown off in the best way as Alex’s lips wrap around the head of his cock and he begins to suck.

Henry’s knuckles turn even whiter as he grips the chair tighter still as he studies the way Alex’s pretty mouth looks wrapped around him.

“Someone’s been doing some studying on the side I see,” he manages to say, his voice wavering.

Alex smirks and it’s so unbelievably sexy to see the mischievous sparkle in his eyes. He slips Henry out of his mouth.

“Oh, you do not want to see my browser history,” he says before taking him in again.

Henry sucks in a breath. “Actually, I think I would rather enjoy a peek at that.”

Alex laughs before sobering up and focusing his attention once more. He pumps his hand along the hilt of Henry’s cock as his tongue swirls around the head. Henry feels overstimulated in a good way, his whole body buzzing as Alex works him over.

Alex plants his left hand on Henry’s thigh and takes in more of his length a bit quickly.

“Nice and slow, darling,” Henry gently reminds him. “You’re doing so well,” he continues, running his fingers through Alex’s curls. 

Alex slows his pace again and sets a rhythm as his head angles this way and that way, moaning deeply as he sucks Henry off.

“There you go,” Henry says softly, cock throbbing at the attention to it. “It’s like your mouth was made just for me.”

Alex glances up at him, eyelashes casting shadows against his sharp cheekbones. Henry can barely handle the sight of his perfect full lips wrapped around his cock. It takes everything in Henry not to thrust forward and fuck into the wet heat of his mouth. It’s a close thing as Alex blinks prettily and takes him in just a bit more, clearly testing his own limits.

Alex’s tongue is relentless, snaking around his length with ease. Henry murmurs continued praise, his body feeling limp as Alex tends to him.

After a moment, Alex slips off of him, but his hand is right there without missing a beat, jerking him off as his tongue laps against one of his balls. 

Henry jerks forward involuntarily. Alex peers up at him, a question in his eyes. Henry merely brushes his curls off his forehead.

“Keep going, love. That feels amazing.”

Alex nods once and licks again before popping one of his balls into his mouth. Henry groans, grip tightening on Alex’s curls as he gently rolling his hips. Alex gives the same treatment to his other ball before getting his glorious mouth back on Henry’s cock.

Henry shudders feeling Alex’s tongue run along his shaft once more. He feels like he could just about explode.

“Alex, I’m not going to last much longer,” he warns, the pressure in the pit of his stomach reaching a fever pitch.

Alex doesn’t break his stride, not even a little. It’s almost as if he hasn’t heard Henry at all. His head bobs as he sucks him off, his tongue brushing here and there. The combination feels so good, Henry can only surrender to it further.

“Alex,” he cautions again more firmly, but the man doesn’t relent. He merely locks eyes with Henry and slackens his jaw a little as he kneads Henry’s balls.

Henry bites back on his lower lip at Alex’s tightening grip, his tongue pressing a sensitive spot just under the head of his cock and Henry loses it instantly.

His body shudders as he comes, a soft laugh falling from his lips. His instinct is to close his eyes and ride it out, but he refuses to deprive himself of the sight of Alex nestled between his legs, dutifully taking him, tasting him as requested.

The sight is downright obscene. Alex swallows down what he can, but his mouth is a mess as Henry’s release drips down from the corners. He can’t look away, especially with how Alex smirks and stares back almost defiantly.

Henry takes a breath as he comes back down to earth.

Alex merely wipes at his lips and chin with the back of his hand. 

“Come here,” Henry says, his voice completely shot as he pats his leg twice.

Alex gets to his feet shakily and perches in Henry’s lap again. He looks to Henry expectantly, searching his eyes. 

Henry cups his face, eyes drifting to Alex’s mouth.

“Was that okay? Should I have done anything differently?” Alex asks, wrapping an arm around Henry’s shoulders.

Henry leans in and kisses him deeply, tasting himself on Alex’s tongue as he explores his mouth. It only drives him madder. Alex gets his fingers in his hair, kissing him back roughly.

“I guess I was pretty decent then if you’ve got no compliments, huh?” Alex remarks in between kisses.

Henry laughs in spite of himself.

“You’re an absolute menace. Did you know that?”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean. I’m a goddamn saint.”

Henry rolls his eyes and kisses the tip of Alex’s nose.

“Shall I get you off?” he asks. “You must be like a rock right now.”

Alex smiles. “It’s nothing I can’t handle in the shower.”

Henry makes a wounded sound in the back of his throat at the mental image.

Alex cackles and kisses him, taking a hold of Henry’s hand and slipping it into his pants. Henry shivers as he grasps him. 

It’s just as he suspected. He’s so hard and wet, Henry knows it won’t take much to get Alex to finish. He brushes his thumb back and forth along the man’s shaft. Alex’s eyes flutter at the sensation. He hums softly, lightly combing his fingers through the hair at the back of Henry’s head.

“I mean, I guess you could do it for me. That wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world,” he muses.

Henry laughs and kisses him again, stroking his cock in earnest as they get lost in each other. He can’t get enough of the way Alex responds to him, hips jerking forward, moans pouring from his mouth, goosebumps blooming on his skin all because of him.

Surely, he thinks, they both have lost their minds for getting tangled up in this arrangement. But Henry is so grateful for it. Once upon a time, he used to be the most straight-laced individual in the world. Now that he knows this life of recklessness, he’s not entirely sure he could ever go back completely.

Henry breaks their kiss and begins sucking on Alex’s clavicle.

Alex all out fucks into his fist, soft grunts emitting from him. Henry is obsessed with it all. He bites down on Alex’s collarbone and sucks harder, letting the tip of his tongue skim along the spot he’s bitten.

Alex moans his name and Henry quickens his speed against his shaft, tightening his grip as Alex bucks forward over and over again until his breath catches. He goes flying over the edge and Henry diligently helps him through the aftershocks, kissing up to his neck, along his jawline, and back to his lips.

“Dammit, Henry,” Alex hisses against his mouth, taking a few heavy breaths. “I can’t get enough of you.”

Henry rests his forehead on Alex’s and pecks his lips once.

“Darling, there’s no limit. You can have it all.”

#rwrb fic #red white and royal blue #firstprince #henry fox mountchristen windsor #alex claremont diaz #userthai #tusersonia #tuserpaige #usernicholas #usersteen #tusersilence #userjamiec #lookstevie #kimmy writes

[retrosofa]

To commemorate Cutie Honey's 50th anniversary, I wanted to post trivia for all 25 episodes. We'll start this week with the first episode: "The Black Claw Grips The Heart."

Screenwriter: Masaki Tsuji

Art Director: Mataharu Urata

Animation Director: Shingo Araki

Director: Tomoharu Katsumata

In the early drafts Honey Kisaragi was originally Honey Tachibana. Honey’s finalized surname name, “Kisaragi” (如月) is a traditional name for February in the Japanese calendar. It refers to the seasonal “changing of clothes.” The name "Honey" comes from the American TV series Honey West.

Honey was voiced by Eiko Masuyama, who would reprise this role a few times over the years, notably in the Re: Cutie Honey audio drama and the Playstation game, Little Witching Mischiefs. She also had a guest spot in Cutey Honey Flash episode 31 as Dr. Kisaragi’s old friend Dr. Mitsuko Kanzaki.

St. Chapel Academy is located in Okutama, a mountainous area that’s about an hour and a half away from central Tokyo. St. Chapel itself was most likely inspired or at least named after the real life royal chapel, Sainte-Chapelle in Paris, France. The hymn the students sing during Mass in these early episodes is “Come, Thou Almighty King.”

The freckle-faced girl who stands next to Honey during Mass is her best friend and roommate, Natsuko Aki. Although she’s almost never referred to by her full name but rather “Nat-chan.” Her first name is in reference to natsu or “summer” while aki means “autumn.” In the original manga she is depicted as having pigtails rather than a bob cut and doesn’t have freckles. Natsuko’s anime design was modeled after an unnamed girl who appeared briefly in the Devilman manga.

Natsuko was voiced by Rihoko Yoshida, who’s best known for voicing the titular character in Little Witch Megu, Maria Grace Fried in UFO Robo Grendizer, and Michiru Saotome in Getter Robo. Yoshida would also voice Panther Zora in the 1995 PC-FX video game, Cutey Honey FX. Noriko Watanabe (Sister Jill, Mami) also voiced Natsuko occasionally for whenever Rihoko Yoshida was unavailable.

Honey’s goofy teacher Ms. Alphonne Louis Steinbeck III is based on a male character from Go Nagai’s Kikkai-kun manga. That same Alphonne also served as the basis for Akira Fudo’s teacher in the Devilman TV series. 

Ms. Alphonne was voiced by the late Noriko Tsukase, who had previously voiced Mr. Alphonne’s wife and son in Devilman. Although Ms. Alphonne appears in every other animated Honey series, this is the only version where she is voiced by a woman.

During the early production stages Seiji Hayami was known as Shun Kazami and was described as "falling in love with Honey, despite knowing she’s an android." He would also have a goofy little sister named Zuuko, who would question if she was really related to her handsome older brother. When the series details were finalized, Seiji became more of a comic relief character and his romantic chemistry with Honey was downplayed. 

Seiji was voiced by Katsuji Mori, who would go on to voice Dr. Kisaragi in Cutie Honey Universe.

Seiji refers to Hurricane Honey as kaminari musume (カミナリ娘) which translates to something like “thunder girl.” He’s actually referring to the kaminari zoku (カミナリ族) or “thunder tribes”, Japanese motorcycle gangs who were known for their loud and rowdy modified motorcycles.

Black Claw’s name comes from the original series proposal, which described Panther Claw’s soldiers as being color coded. Potential opponents for Honey would’ve included Black Claw, Scarlet Claw, Cobalt Claw and Gold Claw. Each would have possessed a specific skill or element, for example, “Scarlet Claw” would’ve possessed fire powers. For whatever reason the whole color coded aspect was dropped but “Black Claw” was still used as the name for Honey’s first real adversary.

According to Cutey Honey Roman Album published by Tokuma Shoten in 1981, Honey's childhood memories are artificial. They were produced by Dr. Kisaragi because he wanted Honey to have childhood memories like any other human girl.

Dr. Takeshi Kisaragi was originally known as Dr. Seiji Tachibana in the original series proposal. In the original manga Dr. Kisaragi looks noticeably younger, has black hair, no glasses and a goatee instead of a mustache.

Originally, Honey was only going to transform once or twice during the first episode. Tomoharu Katsumata (director for episode one) requested that Honey use all of her main seven forms.

Some of the choreography from Honey and Black Claw’s fight is based on sequences from the Abashiri Family manga, specifically when the lead character Kikunosuke battles against teachers from Paradise Academy.

Junpei is based on Kichiza Abashiri from Go Nagai's The Abashiri Family manga. Kichiza is the youngest son of the Abashiri family and is a master of explosives. Junpei was voiced by Kazuko Sawada.

It’s probably worth noting Honey and Junpei are the only two characters to appear in every episode of Cutie Honey.

We'll take a look at episode two next week!

#cutie honey #cutey honey #go nagai #trivia

[killerrobot-killingmatch]

V1 Propaganda

it's literally a war machine powered by blood. after the fall of humanity it ventured down into hell to keep searching for fuel, and has since been on a warpath and emptying out hell. it managed to defeat its successor (V2) and has also managed to give an angel a religious crisis thru the power of homoerotic battles

OH GOD PELASE PLEASE PLEASE This is THE MURDER MACHINE ok I need to calm down.. Every machine in ultrakill’s world is fueled by BLOOD. MANKIND IS DEAD BLOOD IS FUEL HELL IS FULL V1’s mission is to literally kill EVERYTHING in hell, DEMON, HUSK, MACHINE, ANGEL V1 KILLS ALL OF THEM V1 was built for war, but never made it to mass production as the war ended and there was no need for it now.. so V1 is the only prototype to exist. It is a one machine army capable of, as I said, wiping out the entirety of hells denizens. Which is what’s happening right now in game!! V1 is so powerful that it’s beat up an angel TWICE. The creator, Hakita described it as “imagine losing to an ant” because angels are that powerful! And V1 is THAT POWERFUL Uhhh idk how to describe this goodly but: The game has an SSS-style mechanic, uknow like getting a really cool combo kill streak going on, and killing enemies real stylishly. This isn’t canon canon but you could deffo see it as canon: I love the thought that with the inclusion of the sss style meter, you could interpret as V1 having that in its systems. So it’s a really cool stylish murder bot who kills you really coolly! And V1 could also be a reflection on the player, in that YOU the player are having fun killing, so by extension.. V1 also enjoys killing. No offence but this thing is literally so powerful , with an unnameable kill count as Hell has the majority of the human population, plus other uncountable machines down there too!

V1 is a supreme machine built for war—purging all life it comes across to satiate its (literal) thirst for blood. Though its exterior plating doesn’t offer much protection, it has the advantage of being able to refuel and repair itself on the fly, rejuvenating on contact of an enemy’s blood rather than through a separate refueling process. Its lack of durability hardly matters, as oftentimes its movement capabilities combined with its ever-growing arsenal are able to reduce an enemy to ribbons—whether they be human, husk, demon, machine, or angel—before they get a chance to land a hit.

"MANKIND IS DEAD. BLOOD IS FUEL. HELL IS FULL." is the tagline the game opens up with. V1, the playable character, and other robots like it are more than implied to be one of the major factors in humanity's extinction in the Ultrakill universe. It is stated in a terminal that it was built for war. A key mechanic of the game is the ability to absorb fresh blood of damaged/killed enemies in order to regain health. One of the things you're graded on at the end of the average level is how many enemies you killed. I would add more but it's highly unlikely that I'm the only one to submit it.

killer robot literally fueled by blood, on a trip through hell killing everything in its path and having fights with the archangel gabriel that are gayer than gay sex

V1 was built during a time of war. It's a hyper-efficient killing machine that runs on blood. Due to the subsequent death of humanity, it has ventured down Hell to look for fuel. Its main advantage is its unique exterior plating, which allows it to directly absorb blood splatter, instead of having a separate refueling process like the other machines. V1 is the only machine that was built this way. This does make its armor weak and flimsy, but its abilities make up for it. V1 is very agile with the ability to slide, dash, and jump extremely high (if we consider slam storage to be canon). It wields five different gun types, 20 weapons in total with the variants, and four (currently three in game) different left arms. It can also ride on top of the rockets it shoots out!! It's also very silly with its built-in style system. If you do cool tricks and combos you get rewarded. This robot has the ability to feel whimsical fun when mass slaughtering enemies isn't that so cool?! V1 was able to, with the help of other machines, purge all life from the first three layers of Hell and is currently continuing its path of destruction. Its notable victories include: -Beating Heaven's most respectable angel and the Righteous Hand of the Father, Gabriel, twice. And genuinely making him atheist (possible third fight? #early access game) -Defeating its successor, V2, and then killing it during their rematch with no remorse -Killing both Minos Prime and Sisyphus Prime. Prime souls are a manifestation of sheer power that don't need a physical vessel to exist. These two are hardest bosses in game It's the most killer robot that has ever killed in my opinion :D

They run on fresh blood. ULTRAKILL itself begins with a short text ending in MANKIND IS DEAD / BLOOD IS FUEL / HELL IS FULL. Literally the entire game is just them slaughtering enemies as quick and stylistically as they can, and finding more creative or clever ways to kill things, especially in numbers or in midair or with a combination of different weapons, is heavily encouraged by its mechanics!! Ranking up your Style and Kills meters to the max are needed to access certain parts of the game!!

In a tournament full of bloodthirsty robots, here’s a robot who actually runs on blood. All of humanity died and was sent to Hell, so for V1 to continue functioning, it enters Hell and slaughters everything in its path so it can absorb blood. It also beat up an Angel so badly he turned atheist after he lost to V1 twice. Funny little bloodthirsty GoPro 

Literal killing machine made for war and built to be fuelled by the blood of the enemies it kills, but, humanity dies out one day so it simply goes to hell and tears it up down there in order to get more fuel! V1 is capable of killing angels, hellspawn, and even other machines down in hell using a variety of weapons it collects!!! Its also a silly guy :]

it's just a silly little guy who is rampaging through hell killing everything in its path to obtain the blood it needs for fuel. it's even gay

V1 is capable of killing everything in Hell in the most elaborate bullshit ways 

This robot literally runs on blood to survive. It's a short and tiny killing machine, and good enough at fighting to make an angel question his sexuality. It can (debatably) compose music too!!! Right now, it's undefeated. But that may lead to its demise when it finally runs out of blood.

sure your fav is a killer robot, but do they have a style meter that encourages them to kill with as much swag as possible?

I LOVR V1 SOO MCUH. THEYRE A VAMPIRIC SECURITY CAMERA MACHINE WHO SHOOTS COINS AND PUNCHES BULLETS

#roboganda

[dappledpaintbrush]

Full honest options on dimentio?

Looks at you like this

Autistic Answer: OHH YM GODODDODHRKEJTJTKTJR LAYS FLAT ON MY BSCK ON A HIGHWAY HESSOOO FUCKINGGNCOOOOOL RUNS FULL SPEED AT A. BRICK WALL AND JUMPS THROUGH LEAVING A CLOUD OF DUST AND A SHAPE OF MYSELF IN THE WALL IN MY WAKE I LOVE HIM SO MUCH HES SO INTERESTING AND LOSER PILLED I NEED HIM EMBROIDERED ON MY ARM

Autistic Answer:

Okay so at the start of my spm special interest when I was a tiny little googoogaga baby (seven years old) Dimentio was just. This guy. Evil and shit but just a guy. But he was MY guy. I don’t remember beating the game that young. I seriously think I gave up on the yold desert puzzle and just binged koopakungfu let’s plays over and over again but regardless I remember the aftermath and GODDDDDDDDDD I was so indescribably enamored with this Thing . it was REVOLTING.

Now as a near 19 year old I can’t think about him or the game in general without having to stop drop and roll but at the end of the day, Dimentio is still just some guy. But in the morning and the afternoon he’s a fucking idiot. Like you absolute goofiest of goobers, all you had to do was teleport the heroes to Dimension D and wait everything out. That shit is why he’s currently burning in hell. Not for mass murder or being annoying but for the stupidest plan I have ever heard in my entire life. He is also one of the most intriguing characters ever made in the Mario franchise.

Like okay. You are given this purple and yellow triangular smudge on your screen and you go “hmm… (scratches chin) something is Wrong With This Animal. It Might be Sick.” And of course he ends up betraying the sympathetic tragic villain Bleckie Bear and dies (thank GOD) whatever credits roll NO!!!!

FIRST. This guy tells you Bleck has lied about creating new worlds. That is . THAT IS!!! Now he could be lying but he could also NOT be. After all, what other motivation would he have for betraying Bleck? All the worlds to himself perhaps …………………. That’s the thing. You don’t know . That’s this entire character.

You

DONT.

KNOW.

Anything he says and anything about him is either a blatant lie, COULD be a lie, COULD be the truth, or is vague 3,000 year old information given from this dude in a bar that may or may not even be about Dimentio. He is LITERALLY wearing a mask. A TWO FACED MASK might I add.

Nintendo doesn’t lay out his story for you on screen like they do with Bleck. If you don’t take the time to explore, Dimentio will never be more than Bleck’s silly and funny-talking minion who betrayed him out of greed or.. whatever reason. Because he didn’t say it. No no- You have to go out of your way to investigate and pay money and put pieces of this puzzle together to find out that hurt people hurt people (🤓)

He could be some random bloke. He could the descendant of this sad unnamed character and somehow “never found happiness” whatever THAT means. He could be THE sad unnamed character that went through an accident so devastating that it left his mother dead and it left everyone believing HE was dead. This accident, whatever it was, was so horrifying that Dimentio, who can teleport across dimensions, was unable (by choice or not) to find and tell his remaining family he was alive. After his “death”, his sister would die as well. Their father, likely going insane with unimaginable grief, would rip her soul from the afterlife just to keep his only child- the only family he had left- with him, oblivious to the fact that somewhere, his son was still alive. This little girl, now forever trapped as a Pixl, would become so angry at what her father had done that she would start a war and slaughter ANYONE that tried to get in her way. The Pixl Queen- this angry, scared, and confused child- would lose once more. She would be destroyed. All she is now is a shadow of her former self. And that’s what she would reform as in the pits below an Ancient city, where, at the hands of our heroes, she would lose AGAIN. Dimentio could be oblivious to all of this. He could know a fraction of it. He could know all of it. He could hold no guilt. He could blame himself for what had happened to her, for he had been gone all those years- whatever that means.

He could want to destroy everyone and everything out of personal gain- to recreate them all in his image and rule them as he sees fit all because he is a greedy narcissist. He could want to destroy everyone and everything because, like Blumiere, he sees no point in anything after losing all he loved in all worlds. Maybe he betrayed Blumiere because Dimentio wanted to rule a timeline that goes his way and ONLY his way. Maybe “his way” is where he gets all he wanted in riches, in wealth, in a population that essentially worships him, and so on. After all, he does say that he wants to be king of all worlds. Maybe that isn’t everything he wants. After all, he doesn’t just wipe out everyone in all dimensions and create mindless followers using the Dark Prognosticus that is capable of doing that exact thing. No. Like Blumiere, Dimentio, too, wants the worlds gone. Erased. All of them. The worlds that caused that accident. killed his mom. “killed” him. killed his sister. And in these self-described and self-created perfect new worlds, his timeline, his way, where he can create anything and anyone he wants- maybe he isn’t alone anymore. Whatever that means.

In my full honest opinion, I think he is SO .FUCKING. COOL.

#I’m sorry anon I’m so sorry for that #i go through phases where this game makes me (taps the sign) furiously rattle bars of my cage #and you just happened to catch me in one of those times #maybe it’s nearly 4 am and I need to stfu and go honk shooooo #spm

[sotwk]

Thranduil's love of wine

If you’ve watched The Hobbit films enough times (or simply engaged regularly with Thranduil posts on Tumblr), you will surely have noticed that in multiple scenes, the Elvenking is seen with a wine goblet in his hands. In the book, a good amount is written about the Elvenking’s wine cellar, the inventory management process for his wines, and from where his favorite vintage is sourced. His “wine manager”, the butler Galion, is named in the book, whereas the name Thranduil does not appear even once.

It is likely Thranduil’s Wine was given a prominent role in The Hobbit mostly as a plot device to give Bilbo and the dwarves a means of escape. However, I don’t believe Tolkien made characterization choices randomly, so I would like to propose a few headcanons that link Thranduil’s seeming obsession with wine with certain aspects of his history.

What is the deal with Thranduil and wine? Does he have a drinking problem? Is he truly a wine snob? Does he have an iron liver?

Why does King Thranduil value wine so greatly?

Wine was used in his healing and recovery process after the War of Wrath. That unspeakably terrible war was a mass casualty event (to say the least), and Thranduil was among the young elves to suffer horrific injuries. The Hobbit movies depict him sustaining deadly burns from dragonfire, and although it failed to kill him, the burns would have required advanced Elvish healing and many years of painful recovery. Now consider this: if warriors from Valinor came to fight in the decades-long war, it would make sense that healers accompanied them as well. That would include some of the Maiar.

A Maia undertook the task of saving Thranduil’s life, likely one who served under Estë (healer of hurts), under whom Queen Melian also once served, which makes a neat little Doriathian connection. That unnamed Maia used their powers to heal Thranduil’s battle injuries--flesh burns, poisoning, damage to muscle and organs--and succeeded in eliminating nearly all physical signs of damage. But what did they use for anesthesia and pain management? A potent liquid akin to very, very strong wine. Thranduil consumed that wine while under the Maia’s care, and for a period afterward to aid in his recovery. It gave him strength and comfort during an extremely traumatic time in his life, and he never forgot its taste.

Thranduil has craved that same “wine” ever since. Sadly, since it was a product of Valinor, it is nowhere to be found on Middle-earth. His yearning for the taste of that specific libation has led him to search all the lands for any drink that could come close to matching it. He does not seek it obsessively as an addict would, but as one might ache for a fond but elusive memory from one’s childhood. His quest for the “Maia’s wine” and distaste for liquors that don’t live up to it, has led people to see him as a “wine snob”.

The Dorwinion wine is the closest he has gotten to tasting that special drink again. Early in the Third Age, Thranduil discovered the strong wine from this region and immediately initiated trade with Dorwinion to guarantee a regular supply of it. It became known as the Elvenking’s “special wine”, because it is reserved primarily for his consumption, and is offered only to special guests (e.g. Bard). On occasions of feasting, he orders enough wine to share with his people, but it is often too strong for other elves to drink much of.

Thranduil has had a very high tolerance for alcohol since he was young (likely as a result of consuming that drink from Valinor), and has almost never gotten drunk. He drinks the Dorwinion wine recreationally and on a daily basis, but noticeably consumes more of it in times of stress. The alcohol helps calm and comfort him to a degree, but does not impact his mental state.

Finally, on a less complicated and more light-hearted note, another simple reason why Thranduil loves wine is because he has a history of being a “party prince”. He has always enjoyed hosting and attending dinners and feasts, and values good food and drink in the company of friends. (This dialed back considerably after the death of his wife, but in the years before that, he was known for being a sought-after party guest.) He has a natural fondness for wines of all varieties, and not just the Dorwinion. To him, sharing a cup of wine with someone is a simple but genuine gesture of friendship.

#thranduil oropherion #king of mirkwood #king thranduil #the elvenking #mirkwood #the hobbit #thranduil headcanons #thranduil fanfiction #lotr elves

[pastriibunz]

WELCOME TO THE KAI DREWNIVERSE!

“MONSTERS, MAYHEM, AND GODS GALORE! I’VE GOT IT ALL! TAKE MY HAND, AND I’LL TAKE YOU ON AN ADVENTURE YOU’LL NEVER FORGET!”

hi there!!! im pastriibunz! you might know me from the ask blog, @beaniibunzz i ran with my friends, chillibeanos and local-soda-can!

you might also know me for writing The Kai Who Didn’t Like Musicals (TKWDLM), an OC insert fanfic written like a script for TGWDLM!

but more on that later, i wanna talk about ME >:]

Basic Info About Me:

☆ i think am aroace! 

☆ i use she/her pronouns!

☆ i have ADD! My friends keep saying i have undiagnosed autism-

☆ i do theater and i was in voice/singing lessons!

☆ i will be Kai Drew’s VA in TKWDLM: Voiced, as well as any other projects she needs a voice in!

☆ my best friends are @chillibeanos, @local-soda-can, and @evnt777!

☆ i like to draw and write!

And that’s me! i was kinda scrambling for things to add, so forgive me if it’s boring. But, i just wanted to get through it so i could get to the fun part. now onto my blog!! :D

i have a lot to say about this silly little blog!!!

note: my ask box is always open! fill it up with whatever your heart desires!

Content You Should Expect From Me:

★ my art, both silly doodles and full pieces!

★ fanfics/drabbles, mostly angst

★ my brain dumpy thoughts i thought were funny

★ oc insert content

notice how that last bullet point is bolded and italicized?

yeah that’s cause it’s super important

practically all the content on this blog will be about my OC: KAI DREW!

now, who is Kai Drew?

and why the hell is she in a shit ton of random fandoms?

well, Kai Drew is the little goober who’s managed to weasel her way into my brain, and 5 years later, she’s STILL. HERE.

she’s also on tumblr as @shxwstxpper!

she has her own silly little lore (to summarize: adoption, accidental mass murder, is god, and then shes inserted into various fandoms im into) that is super long and silly!!! maybe one day ill write about it. who knows!

so expect lots (if not all) of my content to surround around Kai!

speaking of my content…

Important Tags:

⛤ #kai drew 

⛤ #tkwdlm

⛤ #the kai who didn’t like musicals

⛤ #black kaiday

⛤ #bk

⛤ #npmk

⛤ #nerdy prudes must kai

⛤ #the kai drew and bean power hour

⛤ #kai drew and bean power hour

⛤ #kai drewniverse

⛤ #kai in hatchetfield

Kai Drewniverse Related Fandoms:

✰ Bendy And The Ink Machine

✰ Doki Doki Literature Club

✰ Toilet Bound Hanako Kun

✰ Clover 2020

✰ My Hero Academia

✰ South Park

✰ Welcome Home

✰ The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musicals

✰ Peggy Suave

✰ The Kai Drew And Bean Power Hour!

Non Kai Drewniverse Fandoms:

⛥ Ride The Cyclone

⛥ Chad Chad (Chadlings)

⛥ Danny Gonzalez (Greg)

⛥ Psych

⛥ Drew Gooden (Little Stinkers)

⛥ Kurtis Conner (Kurtistown)

⛥ Jarvis Johnson (Unnamed Fanbase)

Important Links:

✩ TKWDLM Masterpost!

✩ Character.AI’s I Made!

✩ Blog Boundaries: Do’s and Don’ts!

and that’s all for now! be sure to stick around to see where Kai’s silly little adventures take her next!

bye bye! :]

#kai drew #the kai drew and bean power hour #kai drew and bean power hour #tgwdlm #the guy who didn't like musicals #batim #bendy and the ink machine #ddlc #doki doki literature club #tbhk #toilet bound hanako kun #clover 2020 #mha #my hero academia #bnha #boku no hero academia #south park #welcome home #peggy suave #ride the cyclone #psych #chad chad #danny gonzalez #drew gooden #kurtis conner #jarvis johnson