#I literally know nothing of art of drawing of composing

[prstmmprhdl]

Huh. I feel so stupid over how MUCH I love Trigun in general and Vash in particular. And, like, not even in a self deprecating way. I just think of him and I start to giggle or tear up, if anyone mentions my mobile background or my felted Vash, or the manga, or any other stuff I’ve surrounded myself by, I don’t brush it off, as I always have done, but start to tell them about it and have serious difficulty with stopping the outbursts. My husband literally asks “are you looking at Vash again” every time I smile at my phone (he’s correct most of the times).

I knew I had a tendency to hyperfixate on stuff, but this is something new for me.

As the meme says,

#trigun #trigun stampede #trimax #trigun maximum #I’m really not sure why I want to leave this pathetic cry here #I’m on volume 8 and this manga just keeps surprising me even though I know so many spoilers #I vibe with the art and the characters so much #I keep staring at the way frames are positioned and the shades or lines are chosen #I literally know nothing of art of drawing of composing #but it makes my wheels turn #the distorted faces of knives #the bags under Vash’s eyes #the shape of wolfwood #the way Meryl has changed and Milly stayed the same #the way they keep coming back as two mysterious figures #and not saving saving the day #but bringing hope back #they are Princess Leia I guess #another tale of a desert planet with many suns and moons #I literally can’t stop once I start talking about trigun #my thoughts just spiral into cosmos #or into the abyss

[dragon-kazansky]

Bridgerton shade of blue

Benedict Bridgerton x Female Reader

Benedict bumps into you, quite literally, at a ball while trying to escape his mother's attempts to find him a partner. You decide to humour him with a dance, not realising just how entwined you would become with him. It seems the universe will find every excuse to push you and Benedict together, no matter how much you fight it.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Season one

Chapter Ten - Duel at dawn

♡♡♡

Meanwhile, at the art studio, Benedict was still lingering around. Most of the artists had vacated the room by this point, but Benedict Bridgerton was still present.

"You have great potential." Henry said, coming up beside him.

"It's nothing," Benedict says sharply.

"Though, for such a staunch critic of others, you certainly lack a clear eye for your own work."

Benedict sighs. "It's the lines. Not what they're supposed to be."

"Take the compliment, Bridgerton. There is no expectation or judgement here. You left all of that back in Mayfair. You can feel free to be yourself here... if that's what you should like."

Benedict smiles.

"It's what works for me, at least. And I haven't been dissatisfied with my lines in... well, quite some time."

Benedict chuckles again. "Well, I've done worse, I suppose, really."

"Mm. Fair enough."

"I seem to have enjoyed myself too much this evening." Benedict looks around at the empty room. "I should be on my way."

"As you wish," Henry says nonchalantly. "But know you are welcome back any time for practice or even conversation."

They both chuckle.

♡♡♡

By the time Benedict gets home, Anthony and Daphne are talking very seriously in the hall. He stops and looks at his two siblings.

"What is it?"

Anthony marches over and grabs him by the arm. "You and I need to talk. Daphne, bed."

Anthony drags his brother to his study.

"I will need you to stand as my second," he says after explaining everything to Benedict.

"What if you get yourself killed?" Benedict asks. He wasn't exactly thrilled about what had apparently transpired, but even less so about the thought of losing his brother.

"Then the title and estates will pass to you," Anthony tells him.

Benedict didn't want that.

"And if you kill Hastings?"

"I shall have to leave the country, and you'll be head of the family in every way that matters."

Again, he didn't want that.

Chuckling I the hall draws their attention to the door.

You laugh with Colin as Violet hangs off the both of you. She's clearly been drinking a lot tonight. She can't even walk straight. You've never seen her so uncomposed before.

The door opens behind you, and Anthony and Benedict are standing there.

"You're clearly sover," Colin laughs with his mother.

"And I'm sober enough to know when you're being impertinent." She chuckles. "Good night, dear."

You giggle. Violet waves at you lazily, and you chuckle again at her inability to remain composed.

You turn to see the two brothers still standing there and nudge Colin. He looks at you and then at them. They wave him over.

"Good god. Did someone die?" Colin asks.

You look at Anthony, who glances at you, his sowlnt thank you for helping bring his mother home. Then your gaze shifts to Benedict, who looks at you with a strange expression. You wonder where he's been all evening.

Colin turns to you. "Get home safe, okay?"

You nod, knowing your maid was waiting outside. You watch him walk toward his brothers and then leave.

♡♡♡

You arrive early to the Bridgerton house the next morning. You had snuck out alone. You had hoped to be there early enough before Anthony left to duel the duke.

Unfortunately they had already left.

You had, however, arrived in time to see Daphne and Colin leaving. When Colin saw you he sighed.

"You cannot be serious."

"I am."

Daphne says your name as she looks at you. "You do not have to witness this."

"I want to. As your friend. I will not allow this stupid, and mind I remind you illegal, activity to take place."

Colin sighs and helps you up into his horse. "Hold on."

He spurs the horse on, leading Daphne to the agreed spot. You hold on tight to him as he rides.

All Daphne can think about is Simon.

"Anthont won't... kill him, right?" You ask, watching Daphne ride.

"No. Sound him, surely."

"Good..."

"Are you worried?" He asks.

"Yes. Are you not?"

Colin doesn't answer.

By the time you arrive within diat ne of seeing them, the two are already stood feet apart with their pistols aimed. It's Daphne who rides faster to get between them.

"Stop!"

Anthony fires his pistol as soon as she shouts, the horse his sister's on rears back and Daphne falls to the ground.

"Daphne!" Simon shouts.

"Sister!"

Both men run toward her.

Colin pulls his horse to a stop, and you both climb off, rushing to them. Benedict drops the pistol case and does the same. He doesn't have time to ask why you're here.

"Are you hurt? Tell me!" Simon demands.

"I am perfectly well, no thanks to you idiots," she says, standing up.

"What are you playing at?" Anthony asks.

"Says the man who just shot at me!"

"You just rode into the middle of a duel!"

"I require a moment with the duke," Daphne says softly.

Anthony tries to stop her, but she stops him in return. Benedict pulls Anthony back and says, "make it brief."

Daphne and Simon walk off to talk.

"What are you doing here?" Benedict asks once they're out of ear shot.

"I came to help stop this ridiculous display."

"You could have been hurt," he says.

"No one got hurt, luckily."

Benedict looks a little lost for words. You sigh and look at him and then at Anthony. The eldest looks at you and nods once, softly. His eyes then flick back over to his sister.

"We must resume before someone should find us," Anthony says to the pair.

Simon nods at him.

Daphne watches him walk and then says, "there will be no need to resume."

Everyone turns to look at her.

"The duke and I are to be married."

You look at her and then turn to the duke. You're not sure what they discussed. He stares at her.

The three brothers look between the duke and their sister.

Whatever they discussed, Daphne made up her mind.

When Simon does not speak against her statement, it becomes clear to everyone that the matter is settled.

Now you all just need to get home before someone sees you all.

♡♡♡

@callmemana - @lilscast - @imgondeletedis - @benedictbridgertonss - @clownsdiehard - @wxnterwidow333

@sillynilly27 - @autumn-slaves - @ben-has-arrived - @ajdelilah - @aadu2173

@booknerdlife - @tamlinrose - @sarahskywalker-amidala - @cheryyluv - @louschan - @lou-la-lou - @cultish-corner

@hopshusushi - @katherinejess - @nannabug - @afunkyfreshblog - @f0x33 - @dd122004dd

@jupitervenusearthmars - @orchiidflwer - @bespinnn - @captainlunaxmen - @winchestersimpalababy - @acupnoodle

@ms-fandomgirl - @fablesrose - @anyaisinyourcloset - @meowzerzstuff - @orchiidflwer - @bespinnn - @crazymar15

@cosmixstar - @bree3parchen -

#Bridgerton shade of blue #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #female reader #dragon writes

[fyeahbachisagi]

A Review on the Animation of Bachira's Super Special Goal in Episode 9

I've covered the romantic aspect of this scene in a previous post, so now I'll talk about the animation of Bachira's entire sequence in general.

I had been looking forward to this sequence so much that the moment Bachira showed up like this:

... I just straight up squealed 🤣.

I couldn't stop myself from grinning but had to compose myself coz my sister was in the room XD

Anyways, this part was just done so well. Bachira's seiyuu, Kaito Tasuku, is really perfect for him. That sudden drop from a high pitch and cheery tone to a deep and serious one--*chefs kiss*

And I gotta say Bachira's seiyuu really carried this whole sequence. Because unfortunately, right after this, the animation quality started being inconsistent.

There were some good parts, like Bachira's roulette spin:

But then the quality would drop in parts where it really mattered. This one, especially, was extremely underwhelming:

Seriously, what the hell was this?

Bachira looks too tiny, and the art is just off. I get they were trying to fit his whole body into the frame, but look at how the manga did it:

In the anime version, Bachira is drawn like a background character when this is supposed to be his most glorious moment. He also looks too stiff.

I also don't like how in the anime there isn't much contrast between Bachira and the three extras behind him. He literally looks like he's one of them 😭

Similar sentiment for this part:

How on earth can a static manga drawing look more dynamic than the animated version 😭😭😭???

The entire scene above, by the way, is only 23 frames in total when imported to Photoshop. This closeup of Bachira tilting his head and smiling looked more fluid at over 80 frames:

And I've noticed that in this episode, the anime is trying to cut corners by just showing us a close-up of their faces instead of animating their whole body. It's probably why we have this right after Bachira passes that ball to Isagi:

It quickly covers up the stiffness of his kick from before.

And then we just have faces until the dribbling starts...

These ones looked off to me:

What did they to you, Isagi???

I don't know if it's just me, but I think his eyes are too close together. The downward lines of his mouth look weird, too. And how is the camera so close to his face??? They had nothing to emphasize here. It's just plain bewilderment. It's not special like these other scenes where the close-up is important:

And here's the manga version:

It's more dynamic. We actually see Isagi moving his whole body to receive that ball, and we see the other players reacting to it as well instead of just being frozen in the background.

And speaking of being frozen...

Can we just talk about the use of CGI in this episode:

They don't last long, but those lack of shadows still make the CGI very noticeable.

I really wonder how much budget Studio 8Bit has for Blue Lock... Bachira's dribbling is harder to animate than Chigiri's speed-running and Kunigami's power kicks. There'll be more of Bachira's insane dribbling in the next arc, and I sure don't want them to resort to CGI for those...

But although I'm not 100% satisfied with the animation this episode, I still gotta thank the animators for at least making the dribbling look as awesome as it should be. This one was very satisfying to watch:

Bachira just making his way downtown, dribbling fast, faces pass..

His face here? Perfect.

#blue lock #bachira meguru #bllk #blue lock anime #miyamiwu.meta #anime vs manga #episode review #miyamiwu.src #episode 9

[arrowpunk]

Art asks! 9, 10, 21?

9. What are your file name conventions?

Oh gosh.... A terrible attempt at organization while still being messy as heck which results in just so many folders within folders within folders. Usually the individual art pieces are named with the name of the character(s) involved in the piece, and then maybe it'll get more specific like 'Fel Pose sheet' , 'Fel outfit sheet', 'Fel outfit breakdown', if I draw a character more than once.

10. Answered Here!

21. Art styles nothing like your own but you like anyways?

So many uhhh here lemme just rec some artists I love.... @wasp-princess (my wife) @rumpledcrow (If you haven't read their webcomic Basils Persimmon Preserves yet you totally should, it's definitely up your alley Robin!) @casu-arts (I ESPECIALLY love how they color things, cannot for the life of me figure out their technique but it looks So Good, I have used their art for studies before) @the-stove-is-on-fire (I'm not even into Danny Phantom, I just adore their art) @minidoodles97 (SO good at gestural shapes and expressions, frickin love their stuff) @sandflakedraws (their comic the touch of sunlight made me CRY) @kadabura (I've been following them for like at least 6 years now, they do some really cool horror art, they're incredibly good at pixel art, and sometimes they compose music??? literally what can't they do??) @oxboxer (I got a commission from them once! Year ago, before I made this new blog, they drew Astro! I love how geometric their art is) @mimiadraws (very stylistic! I've been enjoying their webcomic Hard Lacquer)

And there's like... so many more I just need to finish making dinner so I can't keep going lol....

(So sorry to artists I don't know I just figured linking directly to your blog thru an @ was the easiest way for ppl to find you pls feel free to ignore me simply I love your arttttt)

#ramblings of an arrow #arrows asks #artist asks

[savecomplete]

re: post that says i play a part in "carrying the fandom"

not going to name names, not going to mention (tumblr function) anyone, but i want to nip this notion in the bud.

prefacing this with the disclaimer that this is strongly worded, that this is going to sound mean and harsh, but i'm fine with coming off that way, if i get to assert my boundaries.

i'm incredibly averse to "fandom". i want nothing to do with fandom involvement. i am not here to make friends. all i need to enjoy media is to talk about it with the handful of friends i've shared it to, and i either already have that, or i make it happen. when it comes to needing to use art to appreciate a given work, i express this creative energy in many different ways. visual art is one outlet for that self-expression. all i'm doing on cohost/tumblr/twitter/etc. is using relevant tags for art i make, deciding what i can/want to share to the public. tumblr's archiving and tagging system, while still lacking in features over the past decade, is notorious for how useful it is to visual artists.

do not put me on a pedestal, and do not treat my work like its public domain use. you'd be wrong to do either. i'm not superior or inferior to you; don't act like it. there is a reason my art accounts all use a selfie of me as my avatar. we do not know each other and i'm perfectly fine with that. stay on your side of the screen.

given 8/9 posts i've made on this account so far are katana zero posts, and that i was mentioned as one of a few artists "carrying the fandom" on here by a fandom member, i also want to speak my mind about how i perceive this specific fandom. it's weird. a lot frustrates me about it. i've seen a lot of things that make my stomach turn. some heavy issues are treated in flippant manner, despite the source game portraying them with appropriate gravity. for whatever reason, it's typical for the fandom to lighten fifteen's skin, despite it being exactly the same as zero's skintone. there is a bizarrely prevalent attitude that the incoming DLC is an owed debt to the fandom, enough for people to make accounts like one dedicated to a daily count of how long it's been since full release without the DLC. come on, people. it's as if the DLC exists in some strange intangible vacuum where the budget, size, and humanity of the dev team are somehow not a factor. as though the DLC exists separate from the ongoing pandemic, and a literal real war affecting the team.

to see so many "fans" act incredibly entitled, so loudly and constantly, and doing this everywhere and anywhere it's fucking possible to leave a comment or post, even on unrelated work, well…

yeah, hopefully by now it's clear why i would want to distance myself from any fandom involvement. i hate fandom. it's never a healthy culture; katana zero's fandom is no special outlier to that. i'm not a superhero savior to this fandom that is supposedly "dying", "near-dead", etc. im not "carrying" shit, i'm just using your tags. "this fandom is nearly dead" then die! i'm not a part of this! go read interviews from the dev team and learn about game development—hell, go and try to draw or animate or compose or code something for a game, and then just try to get back to me about how "unreasonable" the wait is for the DLC. pretending this exists in a vacuum: if the "first act" of the story took 6 years of development, and the DLC is currently taking 3 years so far, and the DLC's size is of half the main game... is the rate of game development truly anything close to unreasonable?

...i'll say that, to me, there's a difference between fans of a work of media and the "fandom" for it, even if the former group is not entirely separate from the latter. from half a month of being on tumblr i've grown over 50 followers, which is incredible, especially for a single-digit amount of art shared so far. i read tags. i check my mentions. there's been some lovely compliments through tags on reblogs, which i appreciate, and i further appreciate that my work is being enjoyed and shared through reblogs and likes. thank you.

p much the bulk of you treat me kindly; honestly, i'm still trying to wrap my head around all the positive attention and encouragement. thank you for taking care and effort to tell me what you have. energy and time have finite limits; i'm happy when people decide to spend that on making me feel appreciated.

but i'm also a rather direct person, and don't like being wishy-washy about my limits and boundaries.

so, to conclude: i get uncomfortable when people try to nominate me as notable for any involvement in "fandom", and further, when strangers talk as though i'm trying to breathe life into any fandom perceived as "dead" or "dying". that's not my problem. i'm not trying to solve it, either. i'm not looking for recognition as a popular figure in a fandom. what i create and why i create it is independent of any fandom existing. i don't want anything to do with fandom involvement. leave me out of it.

[sibyl-of-space]

School stuff below readmore. I think, in my kokoro of kokoros, I have already made my decision. I just need to talk myself through it and be certain.

It’s only the second day of the semester. I’m already really, really stressed. This is quite obviously not sustainable.

I don’t think I realized, when I was signing up for classes last semester, how much mental energy I would be focusing on the fact that I am graduating and I need to have some form of income figured out by June. I no longer have the luxury of 100% focusing on learning and creating art and immersing myself entirely in school. I need to be transitioning out.

I mean, on the other hand, I am certainly still paying for a semester’s tuition so I want to make sure I get everything out of it that I can. I just need to figure out how to make the most of this semester, while acknowledging that getting the most out of this semester is going to look very different from last semester. Graduating with some form of financial stability/income laid out will certainly qualify as getting something out of it.

As-is, I am signed up for way too much, and there’s no way to manage all of it. It’s not happening. I need to drop at least one class. I am very, very seriously considering dropping two and supplementing with a different one.

Currently, I am taking 2 for-fun theory/analysis classes. Both classes look like they will be a lot of work. One of them looks like it is going to be EXTREMELY difficult, I am in fact attending office hours in less than an hour after one day of class. If I continue taking both of these throughout the semester, I have no doubt that by the end of it I’ll have a much, MUCH deeper understanding of theory and have added a lot of compositional fundamentals to my toolkit. I think they are valuable.

However, neither of these classes are going to directly provide me opportunities to work on music that is what I want to make. They will guide me toward writing exercises that I might later use in pieces, but the classes themselves won’t help me write finished pieces. So that’s a lot of time spent learning but not necessarily creating. Is that time valuable? Yes. Is that time going to take away from creating, which this semester, I really need to do to finish a portfolio I can use to apply for jobs? Also yes.

There is another class that is pretty much dedicated to composing pieces to flesh out your portfolio. I’ve heard from other students that it’s pretty common to write 6 pieces and really like 2 of them throughout the semester. Will I learn anything about counterpoint fundamentals or modernist music analysis in this class? No. Will I write music I otherwise would not have written? Yes.

It’s difficult. My other units are all taken up with classes I basically have no choice but to take (and my lessons, which are, objectively, the most important thing for me this semester). It’s impossible to learn literally everything in a 2-year Master’s program, so I need to figure out what is reasonable for me to learn this semester, and accept the fact that I can’t do everything. I’ve taken 16-17 units every semester so far when the minimum is 13. I have absolutely taken every advantage to learn as much as I can. I’ve grown a LOT. But it’s ending, and I need to figure out where I’m going to draw the line on my way out.

I think.... the “smart” thing to do, in terms of making sure I have time to work on personal projects and trying my best to be professionally prepared when I graduate, is to drop both extra theory classes and take the portfolio class. This will make sure I have LOTS of time to really focus on projects, lesson work, applications, resume stuff, everything. If I do this, I need to accept that I’ll still look at 20th century music scores and not know where to start in terms of analysis, and that I’ve only ever learned the very rudimentary basics of counterpoint and nothing beyond that. Those are things I can always learn later if I choose to, but there’s no question that I’d get a lot from them. I need to accept that loss.

The thing I most certainly cannot do, is continue as I am. I’m already overwhelmed on the 2nd day of the semester. I need to drop something.

I could drop just one course. Between 20th century harmony and tonal counterpoint, it’s a trade-off... the 20th century harmony course is certain to be more rigorous (and therefore I’ll probably learn more from it), the tonal counterpoint course will probably be more fun and less stressful, and I’ll certainly learn from it as well. I can’t help feeling like I’d have regrets either way. It feels like dropping only one will result in a semester where I’m still kind of working hard and still don’t have time for my projects and compositions.

I think.... I am going to attend office hours with my 20th century harmony professor, and talk about this. I know that some of our projects will be writing for solo instrument performance. I want to ask him if it might be possible to write solo pieces with an electronic backing track or other synthesized elements, basically to ask if I can use this as an opportunity to write something I want to use as a portfolio work anyway. If he is willing to work with me to make our assignments into something I can use (say, if I can use them as BGM in the game I’m working on) - then I think it’s worth it. But if they will only ever be solo exercises for live performance, the course may be too rigorous to dedicate my time to.

I’m going to meet with this professor. After that, I may or may not meet with my counterpoint professor as well. And then I am going to ask a friend taking the portfolio course how it is. And at the end of the week, when I’ve done all of these things, I will make my final decision on what this semester will look like.

It’s not going to be as awesome as last semester, but that was always going to be the case. I just need to make a decision that I’m happy with and dedicated to, an informed decision, so I don’t have regrets. That’s what my boy Luke fon Fabre of Tales of the Abyss fame taught me

#personal

[ladysunbite]

” what takes for you to fall in love, trust someone ?”

send me a 🍻+ the question you want to ask my muse for a tipsy, drunken ( honest ) answer || open

ORIANNA To trust anyone is the first step to fall out of love with them, and a painful fall it would make. Look at my ru...Oh, I am reprimanded - no? "merely reminded"? - that I am not following the rules of our little game. If you absolutely insist upon an honest, blunt answer... ORIANNA I do not know. I have never loved anyone. Unless you count my dear children, whom I love in a way one enjoys a view of a freshly-chiseled moon, rising over Mount Gorgon. Or a sound of an expectant, murmuring crowd at the begging of an evening. A platonic feeling. Something that comes to you bypassing reason. ORIANNA Why, aren't you satisfied? Are you calling me a liar? ORIANNA ( sighs ) Very well. My horned seamstresses composed a list of traits, I find attractive in a potential lover. They worry for my reputation, they insist. It is unnatural to shun love in the land of love and wine. Otherwise you would be labelled a criminal, in the same way as if you asked for a mug of Mahakam ale in one of the local taverns. I have not had a chance to revise the list. But if one can not trust a professional, all is truly lost, m?

foreign origin, toussaint temperament

an arduous past and a dangerous occupation ( free-lance, including mercenary trade or art trade )

kills and cooks for you

talks less, acts more. Able to improvise a memorable date ( summoning a demon, crossing a witch, painting a secret commission for Her Belovedness The Duchess. Killing someone at the very least ).

Unseen Elder would definitely not approve

cursed men and women (?)

well-dressed and well-undressed

brave ( especially, with children )

doesn't mind sacrificing a heart and a hand for you ( literally )

mutual turn on: a potential betrayal ( that never comes! oh, dear Sunbite, you must, simply must learn to trust again! Painters are very easily distracted, it's natural for them to disappear without a word! It means nothing...)

doesn't judge your hobbies ( enjoying bitter young blood wine, disappearing at night without explanation, buying art at a black market, lavish parties, 3+ hours to draw perfect eye wrinkles in the morning, extravagant dresses )

immortal ( "through fame and glory" counts )

ORIANNA ( hissing through the fangs ) cursed be that day... when I let... succubi cross my threshold...

#lullaby of woe (ladysunbite rp answers) #the fanged humour

[morimemarryme]

I remember you, part 1 - Jeff Johansen x Fem reader

Warnings/ additional tags: male/female, a lot of angst, non graphic smut, feelings and not knowing what to do with them, younger Jeff & younger reader, both 18 tho.

Before reading!: I do recommend you read Jeff’s lore before reading this! I literally took it and wrote around it.

Summary: Jeff and reader were best friends in high school, their relationship slowly but surely becoming more as they started a job at the Ormand video shop together, soon they were inseparable but the divorce of Jeff’s parents tore them apart when Jeff left for Winkler, Manitoba with his mother.

Notes: red print is song lyrics! part one of a three part story. there is not a lot of Jeff fics so I’m here to hopefully change that.

1989, Ormand High school, Alberta.

11th grade.

“That’s amazing Jeff…” she leaned over the back of his desk, her frame hovering above him as she got a pretty good peak at his newest art project. She smirked into the air as he quickly covered the flimsy sheet paper with his arms, shielding the very clear silhouette of a woman from her peeping eyes. She laughed at his stiffness, bringing her hands down to his shoulders, squeezing them gently.

“Don’t get shy on me now JJ, lemme see!” She leaned her head against her best friends, patiently awaiting him to reveal the drawing that she already knew was her.

“Shove off bunny, you’ll see if I want you to” he playfully pushed her off him, quickly putting the thin paper into his pack with red checks. She smiled at the name, she reminisced on the day that he first called her that, they’d been playing in the woods behind his house when a small bunny came straight to her like a house dog; they spent most of that day with the rabbit before it decided to hop along back home. That was where the name came, and it’s stuck ever since. She always hoped it meant more.

“I’m never gonna see that picture again am I?” She sighed in defeat, backing away to give him room to stretch out in his seat, he looked back at her with a sly smile before answering with, “maybe.. but most likely not” she snorted before subtly flipping him off, he shrugged and turned his attention back to the front of the class as the teacher walked in.

“alright class, turn to page 86 in your textbooks!”

………………

1990, “Ormand videos”.

A year had passed, with the pair now being in their last year of high school they needed a job, and what’s a better way to get a job than with your best friend?

Afternoons passed quickly at the shop with no one coming in and all these vinyls on their hands, there was nothing else to do than play some metal and get drunk. But they didn’t mind.

“Hey Jeff! Haven’t seen this one before have ya?” She smiled picking up a record carefully before bringing it up beside her face, showing it in his direction. He glanced over at the record, then her. He never could keep his eyes off her for long.

“Nah don’t think I have, you?” He cleared his throat and looked away when her eyes shot back to his. She smirked knowingly before turning her attention back to the stereo.

“Hell yeah baby, you’ll love this one” his heart thumped at the name, quickly composing himself before speaking.

“Oh yeah and what makes you think that?”

He walked over to where she leaned over the player, putting the needle onto the vinyl then slowly turning around to face him.

“Two words, Skid. Row.” Her eyes lit up as she stared into his, he crossed his arms when the song titled “Youth gone wild” began to play.

She banged her head to the heavy beat as he watched her fervently, his heart filling with admiration with every move she took to the song.

“Alright, alright. I like your style hot shot..” he turned around making his way back to the counter to grab some more beer while she danced to the song.

“Oh I know ya do pretty boy..” she said with confidence before trailing her hands slowly up the front of her body. He watched her with wild eyes and racing pulse. oh the things he’d do to her. She drew the beer back to her lips and smiled, her eyes still lustfully fixated on his. He shook his head, turning his gaze with a “fuck you”

“I hope you keep that promise Johansen.” Her words slurred and her beautiful laugh filled the room, even above the loud music there was her. And he couldn’t get enough.

“You’re a vixen.” he spoke as he nervously took a swig of the cheap beer, flopping down at the old leather chair behind the counter. was this the booze making her so.. affectionate? God he prayed not, he liked this side. shit, loved. He loved all sides of her. Damn he just loved her, and it’s taken him this long to find out?

“Wrong. I’m your vixen” she slowed her dancing, the words escaping her lips smoothly and softly, her eyes looked almost pleading as the next song rang out through the shop.

“I paint a picture of the days gone by…”

“This song reminds me of you ya know?” Her demeanor changed… something In her lit a glow and he could see it in the way she was moving towards him. Her hips moved so fucking perfectly, like she knew what got him ticking and was doing it on purpose, which knowing her that’s probably what the little shit was doing. But he wouldn’t change it. Not a damn thing.

“When love went blind and you would make me see..”

She was now standing between his open legs, looking down on him as he looked up. His fingers gripped onto the the armrests of the old chair, desperately holding on like his life depended on it. He wanted her, he always had. So why was he such an anxious coward about it?

She leaned down, taking her small hands to his big ones, prying them away with gentleness he’s never known. She laced his with her own, moving them away from the chair before moving one of her thighs onto his, his breath hitched as the other followed. She now sat fully on his lap, her body touching his in ways he’s only dreamed about.

“I'd stare a lifetime into your eyes..”

Her hands led his own to her soft thighs, her fishnets barely covering her silk skin and the flimsy dress certainly not helping as it rid up her legs even more. He looked down to where his rough fingers were met with the warmth of her.

“So that I knew that you were there for me…”

His mouth was agape as he did nothing to take his eyes from her skin, his grip tightened as she got impossibly closer, she now completely leaned against him with her hands resting against his cheeks, she pulled away and tilted his chin so she could see his eyes.

“Right JJ? Yours?” She whispered hotly, the burning in her eyes as she spoke will be something forever sketched in his mind. He gasped when she pressed her body forward, her hips starting to rut slowly against his own. He trembled before grabbing her hips, his own betraying him as they bucked upward without control.

“Bunny.. I-I..” his breathing was ragged as she caressed and touched him like she actually cared, the way she moved and the way she looked at him. He’s never felt this loved and he’d do anything to feel it forever.

“Time after time you there for me…”

The moment was cut short when a regular walked into the front of the shop, they knew him as Frank, the leader of a popular gang around Ormand. He was a faithful costumer but man his timing was shitty. He shouted over the loud music, calling for Jeff, something about a new project?

The woman on top of him sighed and rolled her eyes with a laugh, she patted Jeff’s cheek then stood. “Maybe next time” she smiled, walking away from behind the counter. Jeff sat still in his spot with a BIG problem, great what the fuck was he gonna do now.

“Ayyyy Jeff ya could’ve got a room ya know?” Frank smirked between the pair. The woman rolled her eyes but Jeff just cleared his throat with a sigh, embarrassment flooding his veins.

“Yeah well maybe if you hadn’t have came in we would’ve, dickhead..” he heard her from across the room, annoyance in her voice.

“Well then I wouldn’t be having fun right now would I “bunny?” Frank teased her before turning his attention back on Jeff.

“Alright Frank, cut the shit, what ya want?” Jeff finally stood, leaning over the counter waiting for what could possibly be more important than what he was doing.

“Got ya a project to work on, for the legion. Shouldn’t take that long I can give ya a ride now. It’s a take it or leave it offer man. What ya say?” Frank took out a cig and lighter as he waited, putting it to his lips before flipping the flame.

Jeff looked around Frank at her, silently questioning if he could and if she would watch the shop. She nodded her head with a small smile and turned away. That smile. It wasn’t hers. Not her real one at least. Guilt struck his chest but he still faced Frank and shook his head.

“Y-yeah let’s get this shit over with…” Jeff grabbed his leather jacket behind him on the chair that he was previously on, tossing it over his shoulder and heading to the front door. Frank followed behind him.

“I uh, I’ll talk to ya later right?” He looked behind him but she wasn’t there, she had already made her way in the back of the shop, heading towards the break room.

“Right Romeo, now get ya ass out the door” Frank shoved Jeff out of the shop, hurrying him along to his beat up truck.

“You best pay me real fucking good for this Frank…” Jeff gritted while getting into the worn down vehicle.

“Yeah whatever…” Frank mumbled, cig still in hand, turning the ignition with the other before driving off.

………………………

The rest of the evening drug on painfully slow, the mural the legion had him to paint no where near done by the time he left for home. He should’ve known not to trust Frank, because now he’s walking to his house in the dark with only a fifty and some beer. He could’ve been with her right now. The thought of the afternoon’s escapades flashed before him, and his senses were filled with her.

“Fucking. Frank.” The whisper cut through the cold wind with no destination. He sighed and continued to walk back to his hellhole of a home.

…

He entered the house to the usual fighting and screaming, something he came accustomed to. It was the same thing every night, the same sharp words, the same hatred in each other’s voices. Was this love? This was all he had ever known, and if this is what love was? He couldn’t and wouldn’t do that to her.

He started towards the stairs leading to his bedroom, purposely avoiding the two nagging parents in fear of being the next to get yelled at.

“Don’t bother unpacking your stuff son, we’re leaving!” His mother yelled from the bottom of the stairs, his dad close behind her, trying to convince the woman different.

It honestly didn’t surprise him, he knew this day was coming, it was only a matter of time. The pain he felt was overwhelming but being in this home for this long taught him a thing or two about hiding his emotions. He looked to his father, grief was found in the older man’s eyes, not because he lost his wife, but his son.

“Give me tonight. Then I’ll do whatever the fuck you want” with tears in his eyes, he faced his mother challengingly.

She slightly nodded, he waited for no further conformation as he jolted up the stairs to his now old room. Slamming his pack of his shoulders and against the wall he finally broke down. He had to go to her.

…

He crawled out silently through his bedroom window, carefully making his way out of the house and onto the front lawn. The cold night air sent shivers down his spine, pulling his bulky leather coat to his chest he began sulking to her place.

A million thoughts raced through his mind. What would he do? What would he say? How would he tell her.. minutes passed by as he finally neared her drive. Walking over to her bedroom window he softly gave their signature knock on the glass.

He almost began to lose hope as the seconds passed until he saw her shadow through the thin curtains. She pulled back the cloth to revel a shivering Jeff. Quickly opening the window she took his hand to pull him in.

“JJ what the hell you doing out this late?!” She whisper shouted as she pulled him inside her window.

“It happened. We’re leaving.” The words left his mouth with such despair that she knew what he meant. She knew his family was far from picture perfect, she just didn’t know when the time would come, but now it’s here and all though she knows what this means she cannot begin to process it.

“Y-you’re leaving..?” she stood back, giving him room to fully step into her small room.

“When Jeff…?” He stood in silence, avoiding her eyes with his hands in his pockets. He couldn’t stand the sight of her sad and he knew at this moment without giving her a glance, that tears were beginning to well in her eyes. He didn’t have to look, he felt it in her presence, heard it in her voice.

“Uh… tomorrow.” He hesitated, already feeling the uneasiness surrounding the room. He heard the sniffles, saw her shift from the corner of his eyes. He hated this, hated the way this made her feel.

“I’m sorry I, I’ll leave I didn’t mean to hurt yo-…” he started but was cut short.

“Be with me tonight Jeff. Please.” She couldn’t stop the words once they parted her lips, the question that she’d been holding inside for far too long finally revealing itself, lifting a heavy weight from her shoulders, but baring a new one in return. “What if he doesn’t love me like I do him?”

He looked at her for the first time that night, He was right. Tears were silently rolling down her face and her cheeks were dusted with red. He wanted to wipe her sadness away, but how could he heal something he caused?

“Bunny… I- can’t hurt you anymore than I already have” he turns, not being able to bare the sight of her in fear of his own tears treading down his cheeks.

“Then be with me. I want it to be you Jeff. I wanted everything to be with you…” she trailed off, all the firsts she wanted, hoped, dreamed of having with him. But it was just wishful thinking at this point.

“Y-you know I do too.” He choked on his words, the admission hard considering that fact that he knew what love could do, and how much it could damage.

she closed the distance between them slowly, raising her hand to caress his jaw.

“Then show me Jeff, at least for tonight” her eyes… pleadingly stared up into his.. what did he do wrong to have her so close, just for her to be torn away from his grasp.

“I’m here. Tell me what you need.” at least for the time being he could be hers, but time was never in his favor.

………………………

He hovered over her, his hands shaking as they held her own over her head. The iron grip her legs had on his hips made him tremble, desperately trying to calm his frantic heart beat. her touch, her moans, her skin, everything about her in that moment was slowly killing him, and if this is what death felt like, he would die a million times over.

“J-Jeff look at me..” she whispered, panted in his ear. Taking the damp loose curls that stuck to his neck and brushing them back as she spoke. He lifted his head from her shoulder, both their lidded eyes never leaving each other’s.

“B-bunny I’m gonna miss ya” dropping his head back onto her soft skin he sighed, inhaling her scent while he still could, taking his time to remember her while he had the chance.

“I love you..” it was soft and high pitched, the last thing she said as she tightens around him. And that was all he needed to, pulling her closer than ever as he marked her as his, crying her name like it was all he knew how to say.

She was the one person in his life that he was sure of, the reason of living. But as he removed her from his arms and left that morning with last goodbyes, he no longer knew anything, his purpose was taken from him.

End note: I have no idea what I’m doing

This is a sad story with not a lot of happy😃 but by the end of chapter 3, there will be a happy ending and full on nsfw bc I can’t deprive myself of writing pure smut for long. That being said, prepare to be on a rollercoaster of emotions throughout this mini series.

- as I proof read this I broke my own damn heart so uh don’t read these stories if you don’t like being sad and horny at the same time:)

#dbd x reader #dead by daylight #jeff johansen #dbd survivor #angst #the entity #dbd #dbd smut

[korrawrites]

Aedion and Evangeline: Father's Day

requested by anon

words: 1372

fandom: Throne of Glass, post KOA

characters: Aedion Ashryver, Evangeline Ashryver, Lysandra Ashryver

ships: slight Lysaedion

genre: family, comfort

summary: Aedion spends first father's day without Gavriel, feeling sad over the loss of his father, however, Evangeline cheers him up.

Aedion Ashryver was sitting on the bank of a meadow in Caraverre, overlooking the vast scenery ahead of him. Mountains rising behind Orynth, as though protecting it from the cloudless sky, and so many trees and flowers, varying in every color and shade he could think of. He was staring into the distance, mind long lost in the sadness of his thoughts.

A father's day, the first one since Gavriel died. As a child, he never paid any attention to the holiday, a day like any other, no father to celebrate it with. Back before the fall of Orynth, he would spend the occasion with Aelin and Rhoe, his dear uncle taking pity on him and treating him like a son, Aelin was already his sister anyway. He would do everything with them, going horse-riding or visiting the huge libraries. Although nice, it never felt quite right.

After that, however, with spending years on war fronts and Adarlan, Aedion forgot about it altogether, he didn't even have the time nor opportunity to celebrate his birthday, let one a father's day with a father he did not have.

He narrowed his eyes, trying to see Orynth in the vicinity. As Rowan had said, the tales and songs of Gavriel spread, Aedion could almost hear it in the faraway singing of the birds.

The Lion fell before the western gate of Orynth, defending the city and his son.

A single tear slid down his cheek, one he wasn't conscious of until it fell down onto his hand.

He didn't want to feel like this. It wasn't fair, he hated Gavriel for the longest time, and yet he hoped and hoped the lion would come to save him that faithful day of the battle. And he did, nonetheless. He sacrificed himself in the favor of saving everyone else, Aedion hated him a little bit for that as well.

Was he cursed? To lose his father quite literally right after he accepted him as one?

More tears fell, he didn't care to wipe them away until he heard a high-pitched child's voice calling to him; "Aedion?"

He quickly ran his hands over his face, gaze facing at the horizon for a few seconds, composing himself, before turning his head back. "Yes, Evangeline?"

The little girl was dressed in a simple yet beautiful blue dress decorated with flowers, no doubt of Lysandra's choosing. Before Aedion could repeat his question she sat down on the grass beside him, taking one of his much bigger hands in hers. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. Was it possible that she knew what was on his mind? Had Lysandra told her, Lysandra whom Aedion didn't say much to today, but she read him like an open book?

She appeared so innocent, this child that has witnessed and endured so much despite her young age. Aedion thanked all the gods looking over them that she and Lysandra survived the war. Yes, he was tremendously sad for the loss of his father, but losing his daughter... He didn't think he could take it. He supposed it was yet another one of the things he shared with Gavriel.

"Thank you, sweetheart," he mumbled gently patting her shoulder. He didn't realize how long it took him to say that, and that the words were accompanied by tears. Tears Evangeline obviously saw, for she wrapped her arms around him, hugging him as tightly as a little girl like her could.

Aedion loosed a heavy breath of relief, the great ache in his chest suddenly becoming more bearable due to the hug.

He imagined himself as a child, would Gavriel hold him close like he did Evangeline now? Would he feel safe and protected? Evangeline once told him, during those long days of battle, that she felt the safest with him. The words brought such a sense of duty to him, wishing nothing more than to protect the child before him with his last breath. Is that how Gavriel felt dying to save Aedion and everyone else? He could only guess. He could only hope.

"I've made this for you," Evangeline said after what seemed like a long while, pulling away slightly but still leaning on him. He just now realized that she was holding a paper, he wondered how he could have been so distracted not to have seen it before.

He carefully took the drawing extended to him, tears pricking onto his eyes yet again, this time however, the ones he didn't try to hide. Evangeline had drawn, albeit clearly still a child's work, rather nicely, a few figures standing together.

In the middle of the paper was obviously him, with his shoulder-length golden hair, and turquoise-and-gold eyes that had obviously taken her a while to draw. One of his hands was holding Lysandra's, dressed in her usual green gown and arms full of jewelry. She tried to do one of the complicated haircuts her adoptive mother favored, but in the end settled for a simple let-down hair with one tail behind.

Holding Aedion's other hand was a taller male, with hair much like Aedion's, golden eyes, and a collection of lines adorning his hands and neck like tattoos, ones Evangeline couldn't remember but they bore at least some resemblance. Perhaps she even asked someone; Lysandra, Rowan, Aelin, even Lorcan, about the specifics of the lion's appearance.

Finally, sitting on Aedion's shoulders, with reddish-blond hair and a big smile was Evangeline. One of her hands was on his head, the other waving into the distance, as though greeting the real-life Aedion.

At the top of the paper in blank space, it wrote; "happy father's day".

"D-do you like it?" Evangeline asked shyly.

Aedion took himself a few more moments observing the drawing, noting all the small details. The necklace he had given Lysandra for her birthday a couple of months ago, the pride in Gavriel's eyes, Sword of Orynth hanging at his hip, the similarities between himself and his father...

"I love it, Evangeline." He kissed the top of her head, causing her to giggle. "Such luck I have to have such a talented daughter." He meant it, he had never imagined himself as a father, didn't even think he would live past the age of 25, and yet here he was now, failing to find the words to describe his immense love for the child in front of him.

They hugged again, he didn't want to let go, as though fearing he would lose her. "Happy father's day, Aedion, I love you."

"Love you too," he said automatically, brushing her golden locks with his fingers.

They were still for a few seconds before Evangeline pulled away slightly. "Fleetfoot!" She exclaimed as the dog ran towards them, Lysandra behind her.

"Guess who came to visit?" Lady of Caraverre asked with a smile.

Evangeline quickly kissed Aedion's cheek before she started running away from a dog chasing her in a play. Fleetfoot caught up to her and tackled her to the ground, licking her face all over, causing Evangeline to laugh loudly and cuddle the dog's ears.

"We are so lucky to have her," Lysandra said sitting down next to Aedion where their daughter previously was.

"We really are." Aedion wrapped an arm around her back. "Did you see this?" He asked showing her the drawing.

"Yes! She showed it to me, wanted to be sure you would like it."

"I wouldn't like it more if it were a portrait painted by the best artists of Terrasen," he said proudly admiring the art. "We need to frame it."

Lysandra smiled gently. "Of course, my love. Are you alright?" A tentative question, she had seen the way he was distant this morning and just wandered off later. She didn't blame him, she could never. She did, however, want to know how he was. It pained her seeing him like this.

Aedion looked at Lysandra beside him, then Evangeline playing with Fleetfoot. His girls, his home. "Better than ever."

#thorne of glass #sarah j maas #sjm #aedion ashryver #lysandra ashryver #lysandra ennar #evangeline ashryver #tog #tog one shot #lysaedion #aedion and evangeline #i think this is the first one shot I've written in like. a year

[alittlebitmaybe]

comme un écho

AKA whoops i talked to @yoursummerfrost about orpheus and eurydice and then tripped and fell on this very weird ficlet that is only sort of what i meant it to be. uh oh. (title lifted from “it’s never over (oh orpheus)” by arcade fire because i’m incredibly literal sometimes)

warnings: off-screen major character death

*

The mage had told him to perform the ritual in a field of wildflowers.

“Plenty of life,” she said.

Jaskier had asked, “For what?”

“To feed it,” she said, and did not elaborate.

And as he follows her instructions, surrounded by blooming weeds and swaying grasses, he sees that she was right. As the herbs and other unmentionables in the bowl burn, scorching the wooden sides, the green around him darkens to black. He feels the magic tugging at his energy and resists it. The ruin spreads from his epicenter, cursing the very dirt on which he kneels. A slow but inexorable exchange, and Jaskier thinks it fair. Geralt had watered the earth with his blood and now the earth must give back.

“You’re out of your depth, bard,” the mage had said as he turned to leave, her lips pursed. Was she amused or disapproving? Jaskier didn’t care, nor, he suspected, did she. Her pockets were full, and his own empty.

He hefted the lute higher on his back, clutched at the strap across his chest.

“And yet,” he said.

“He will not come easily,” she said.

“He never did,” Jaskier replied.

The flame in the bowl burns out with a flare of noxious smoke that stings Jaskier’s eyes, makes him cough. The world hums. It’s a tune of his own, as of yet unsung, plucked from his consciousness. It reaches out to him and burrows under his skin. Pulling. He follows it.

Between two gnarled, ancient trees, in the arch of their overlapping branches (Which belongs to which? Where does one stop and the other begin? If one was broken, would the other suffer for it?) the air shimmers.

The tune fades and in its place is a whisper saying, Come.

*

The stairs spiral downward for hours, days. Jaskier’s legs do not ache and he does not hunger, but it is ever so quiet. He takes the lute from his back and plays every song he’s ever composed in Geralt’s honor. Maybe Geralt can hear them. Maybe he will know Jaskier is on his way.

“Get ready, Witcher,” Jaskier says to the darkness. “Gather your underworldly things. You won’t be coming back any time soon. I can promise you that.”

And he says, “I’m sorry that you were alone. I’m sorry that I was too late.”

And he says, when the darkness presses upon him, when it seems the stairs will never end, “I don’t know when I began to love you, but it has been long enough that I don’t know how not to.”

And he says, “I’ve done this for you. You deserve to have a better life. You deserve to live.”

And he takes one more step and trips, for there is no stair where he expected there to be one. He taps the toe of his boot against the ground. It’s solid. He lifts his hand in front of his own face and it is invisible. There is no breeze, no sound, no smells, no light. There’s nothing down here.

In the face of such vastness, Jaskier is insignificant. He is nothing. You are nothing. You are less than a flea clinging to the fur of a great beast. You will be mine. You will become a part of me. You will cease. You will be forgotten.

“Hold on now,” Jaskier says, head whipping around. “Who’s there?”

I am everything that has been. I await everything that is. I anticipate what will be. I am.

“You’re Death,” Jaskier realizes, perhaps belatedly.

There is no such thing. I have no name. I have no need of it.

“That’s okay,” Jaskier says. “I don’t give a rat’s arse who or what you are.” His heart thumps arrhythmically, and sweat drips from his brow. He swipes it off on his sleeve. He is far under water. His lungs fill. He ignores it, swallows. Throws back his shoulders. “I’m here for Geralt of Rivia.”

There is no Geralt of Rivia.

“Bullshit.”

You are insolent.

“I’ve been told.”

You will be mine.

“Perhaps.” Jaskier licks his lips, an unbreakable habit. “But I will live on.”

You will not.

He laughs a little, despite himself, a nervous little giggle that he stifles as quickly as he can, clearing his throat. “On the contrary, I am an artist. I shan’t die as long as my art lives. And art does not die.”

Art? Art is not living. I have no use of it.

“Exactly,” he says. “Yes, precisely. It does not live or die. It simply is. Whatever you—whatever you are, being of, ah, all-ness…or what have you—whatever you are, whatever comprises you, you have none of art. You have no music, no stories, none at all. You will always lack it.”

There is a thoughtful pause.

I desire it.

“I can give it to you. Did you hear? I played my whole way down.”

I heard.

“Did you enjoy it? Three words or less.”

It was pleasing.

Jaskier exhales. “That’s actually a decent review, as these things go. I’m glad. I mean, would you like more? I could write you a song. Got a decent hand at improv, me. Won’t take a moment.”

A song. For me?

“Yes,” Jaskier promises, feeling the weight of it as it passes over his tongue, “a song, only for you. I shall never play it again. Well, um, on one condition.”

You want Geralt of Rivia.

“Oh, you were paying attention. Smart one, you are, Your…um, Majesty.”

I can retrieve him. If I am careful. He is me. I am him.

“Truly, I understand. His loss, for me, was…” Jaskier struggles for adequate words. “Irreconcilable. But you will always have the memory of your song to take his place.”

You sang of him.

“I do. Rather habitually. Every day of my life, in fact.”

Hmm.

“You sound like him already. So, whaddaya say?”

Play for me.

*

He plays, and every note that vibrates out from his lute, every note that leaves his mouth disappears from his mind. It is absorbed from him upon conception. He doesn’t know what the last measure was, nor what the next will be. He does not know what key or time signature his song is in, but he knows it’s a song. And that is all he promised.

It ends, and Jaskier does not notice. Possibly his jaw hangs open stupidly for minutes after it is over. He closes it.

“Was, um, was that…”

Yes. I will give you your reward.

“You will?” Jaskier asks, surprised despite himself.

I will release Geralt of Rivia, for you have given me something in return. And I will regain him, as I will gain you. We will meet again, bard.

“I—How do—”

You will walk forward. You will ascend, and he will follow. Until he emerges above, he is still a part of me. You may not look upon him, as you may not look upon me. You must not look back.

“How will I know he is there?”

He will follow.

“How will I know it is him?”

You must have faith.

“How—” Jaskier chokes now, tears welling up. He is glad no one can see. “Will he be—himself?”

Entirely. Once he emerges.

“Thank you,” Jaskier whispers.

It is time. Walk forward. In three paces, you shall begin to ascend. Be well, bard.

*

Jaskier climbs. The stairs remember his tread, the shape of his feet. It’s easy.

There are footsteps behind him. Are they Geralt’s? Do they match the way he shifts his weight, the deliberate heel-toe steps that Jaskier has been hearing for decades? He’s not sure.

Jaskier is afraid. More afraid than ever before. There could be anything back there. Anything at all. He must not look.

But he is not forbidden to talk.

“Geralt?” he says, tentatively. “Geralt, is that you?”

A grunt. “It’s me, Jaskier.”

And it is, thank the gods, it is. “Sounds like you,” he says, voice carefully measured, lest he sob in relief.

Silence. Four, five more stairs. They will not end. When will they end?

“How’ve you been, Witcher? It’s good to hear you again, my friend.”

“Where are we?”

“Well, who’s to say,” Jaskier says lightly. “Tell me, what do you last remember?”

“Bleeding out in a forest. I couldn’t get up. I waited to die. I…died. I died, didn’t I, Jaskier?”

Jaskier chooses to take that as rhetorical, and does not answer.

“Anything else?”

“Not until now. Is this a dream?”

“To my knowledge, no, Geralt, it is not. I pray that this is not a dream.”

“Then where—?”

Jaskier picks up his foot, sets it down. One stair at a time. There have been hundreds, there will be more. Is that light above? No, a trick of his eyes. He is still blind.

“Not to worry. We’ll soon be outside. It’s a beautiful day, you know. Big blue sky. Everything in bloom. Your favorite time of the year. We’ll have to do some foraging, stock up for potions. I have your things, of course, but I don’t know the shelf life of your concoctions.”

“A quarter year.”

“Ah, might have to make fresh, then.”

But no, it is growing brighter. Jaskier can see the faint silhouettes of his hands, the edges of the stairs to come. If he were to turn back he might be able to see the gleam of Geralt’s eyes, but he mustn’t.

Why mustn’t he? Oh, yes, the warning. He—can’t look back. He must not—

“Jaskier,” Geralt says again. “I’m dead.”

“You are, Geralt, yes, is that what you would like to hear?” Jaskier says, a little hysterically. “But you won’t be for much longer, if we just keep going.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“Where? Where?” His pitch climbs with the staircase. Around and around. Dizzying. So many circles. “Above, Geralt. Back home, of course.”

“Why?”

Jaskier has to stop himself from whirling around. “Good gods, you ask me why? I follow you for decades, I immortalize you in song, and the witcher asks me why.” He draws in a great lungful of air, releases it. “I love you, you great idiot. I have loved you.”

The response comes, so softly, a mere rumble, “I know. That’s why I asked.”

The stairs are made of warped stone. He can see that now. They are well worn, dipping in the centers. It can’t be far. “Please, Geralt, we’re almost there.”

“You haven’t answered me. Why you would do this.”

“I was supposed to let you rot, huh? I was meant to live on as if it was fine? As if nothing was missing?”

“Yes,” says Geralt. “You didn’t ask me if I wanted to come back.”

“Of course you did. Of course you do.”

“I don’t,” says Geralt.

Jaskier stops, and behind him the second set of footsteps also halts.

“It was peaceful. It was my time.”

“It wasn’t,” Jaskier whispers. “Don’t tell me that.”

“Look at me.”

“I can’t.”

There is a touch to the small of his back, a gust of air across the nape of his neck. So familiar. He aches.

“Jaskier.” A strong hand closes around his wrist. He doesn’t look down at it, not even a glance. “The world doesn’t need me anymore.”

“What about the monsters? The wars?”

“There is Yennefer, and Ciri, and Eskel and the rest. There will always be someone.”

With dread creeping through his limbs, Jaskier says, “You’re telling me you don’t want to come back. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

He can almost hear the creaking of the intertwined, ancient trees above. It is just a few more steps.

“You can’t tell me that, not when I—”

Arms come around him, and he shuts his eyes. “Jaskier, I would rather have done what I have done and no more, than continue on and overstay my welcome. I would rather have my peace.”

“What if I need you?” Jaskier breathes.

“I am with you.”

“You weren’t.”

Geralt’s hand comes to rest over his heart. It is not cold nor hot through Jaskier’s doublet. It simply isn’t much of anything at all. There, but insubstantial. It trails its way up his jaw, traces over his bottom lip. “You forget,” Geralt says, “that I am in your words. That I will live on. Isn’t that what you said? Art does not die.”

“You heard.”

“I must have.”

“That’s not fair.” Jaskier sniffles, knowing full well he sounds like a child. “I came all this way. I have always followed you. What am I supposed to do now?”

“Whatever you wish.”

“I will sing of you until I can’t any longer, to anyone who will listen, and to many who will not.”

A smile, pressed to his ear. “I can think of no better way to be loved.”

Something nags at Jaskier, and he can’t say what. He is surrounded by a body he knows as well as his own, yet it’s not right. Why?

The body releases him. It says, “Look at me, Jaskier. That’s all you have to do.”

“You’re not Geralt, are you,” he says with trepidation, eyes still squeezed tight. “Are you? Don’t lie.”

“Jaskier.”

He breathes in. Opens his eyes. Grips the lute strap in both hands. Turns.

Silvered hair, sad golden eyes, a sharp nose, wispy around the edges.

“Geralt,” he whispers, reaching out even as the form dissipates. Called back to the bottom of the stairwell.

“Thank you, Jaskier,” it says, and then it is gone.

#the witcher #the witcher fic #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geraskier fic #how tag??? #anyway orpheus!jaskier and eurydice!geralt deserves to be a real fic #not like whatever the fuck this is #i humbly invite someone to write it and nourish me #my fic

[finalfantasyix]

Meet The Team Working On A Final Fantasy 9 Remake You’ll Never Get To Play

Final Fantasy 9: Memoria Project is a fan homage like nothing we've ever seen before. “It is no secret that fan projects get shut down all the time,” Dan Eder tells us about Final Fantasy 9: Memoria Project, a fan-driven love letter to the classic JRPG. It isn’t aiming to be a playable remake of the epic adventure though - instead, it’s an aesthetic homage to its timeless world and characters.

It’s somewhat anomalous in the world of community creations, but Eder wants to use this distinct identity to craft something truly special, even if many obstacles stand in the way of making it a reality. But the team keeps moving forward: “Without a doubt, some of the most frequent comments we get from naysayers is ‘have fun with it while it lasts’ or ‘cease and desist incoming’”, Eder explains. “People are understandably skeptical of the longevity potential of yet another passion project. The key difference is that, unlike those projects, Memoria is essentially an elaborate piece of fan art, nothing more - it will have no actual gameplay, will never be released to the public, and is nothing more than a ‘what-if’ scenario. [It’s] no different from any other fan-made piece of artwork. We have never, and will never, make a single dollar out of this project, and are basically doing this for the personal gratification of the fans.”

The genesis of Memoria Project dates all the way back to Eder’s younger years, with dreams of a potential FF9 remake entering his imagination soon after the original game’s launch. That’s no great surprise - millions still regard Final Fantasy 9 as the series’ finest hour. “While it's true that the project really started to pick up steam a few months ago, it wouldn't be a stretch to say I've been planning it since high school,” Eder explains. “I remember scribbling ‘FF9 remake’ on my notepad during classes and writing imaginary new features and battle system mechanics, starting online petitions to remake FF9 for the PS2, sketching drawings depicting scenes from the ‘FF9 sequel’ and whatnot. I could confidently say that my life would probably have been completely different had my older brother not borrowed this game from his friend in the summer of 2000.

“As a non-native English speaker who had never played an RPG up until that point, my first playthrough was a challenging experience to say the least, and I can honestly say that I understood literally nothing of what was going on the first time I finished the game (how I even managed to beat it is a mystery in and of itself). It didn't really matter to me though, since I was absolutely enamored with the incredible cast of characters, jaw-dropping FMV sequences, mesmerizing music, thrilling gameplay, and just the overall atmosphere and charm it exuded at every step. My unconditional love for this game persisted throughout my entire childhood and adult life, and it is one of the central reasons why I chose to become a 3D character artist in the video game industry. In short, this project is my way of thanking this game for everything it has done for me over the past 21 years.”

Eder’s passion for this game can be found across several industry professionals who grew up with games like this and wanted to replicate them, or create something entirely unique to live up to their brilliance. This is very much how Memoria Project found its feet, beginning life as a trivial side activity before blossoming into something infinitely more ambitious. It still has a long way to go, but there’s little urgency to reach the finish line, so the team can take their time and just enjoy the nostalgic indulgence of it all.

“Memoria actually started unofficially as a side project when I reached out to Colin Valek [of] Sucker Punch Studios in early 2020 after I came across his fanart of an environment from FF7,” Eder says. “I had already modeled Princess Garnet, and thought it could be a fun idea to combine our talents to reimagine the opening area of Alexandria. Initially, it was progressing at a snail's pace - we were slowly chipping away at it for over a year without making a lot of progress. While Colin continued modeling the buildings, I created another character - Vivi.”

This glacial pace received a resurgence of sorts in January when the Alexandria scene was finally complete, with Eder and company finally being able to see how much potential the project had if it was opened up to a larger range of creators. “When I posted that WIP screenshot, the response from fellow FF fans was overwhelmingly positive, more than we could have imagined,” Eder remembers. “Very quickly, other people from the gaming industry started reaching out - environment artists, animators, riggers, concept artists. That's when I decided to turn this side project into a full-fledged modern reimagining of the original game, while always making sure to emphasize the fact that this is a non-playable proof-of-concept, since we never have any intention of doing anything to violate Square Enix's copyright. Four months after officially announcing the project, we've grown from a couple of FF fanboys to a huge team of over 20 industry veterans working collaboratively to honor this masterpiece, fueled by our love and adoration for the source material.”

Now, the project has over 20 developers from Sucker Punch, Ubisoft, Rare, Unbroken Studios, and more all diving into this labour of love in their spare time, with composers and voice actors also contributing their talents to help make this glimpse into the world of Final Fantasy 9 worth celebrating. But Eder is aware of being overly enthusiastic, knowing that fan projects like this often doom themselves by undertaking something that isn’t feasible with so few resources.

“One of the most common traps for these kinds of fan projects is being overly ambitious,” Eder says. “Since all of us are actively working in the video game industry, we understand the importance of milestones, short term goals, and taking things one step at a time. For now, we are focusing our efforts on the opening sequence of the game, which mainly revolves around Vivi and his exploration of Alexandria. Where we go from here is still being discussed, but one thing I can say for sure is that Vivi will not be the only main character we're planning to include.” I’m told that Memoria is aiming to look indistinguishable - at least from a graphics perspective - from something you’d see in a triple-A blockbuster, and it seems the team has the pedigree to back that claim up.

Visuals are the entire point after all, since turning this project into a playable piece of media would require far more resources to create. By narrowing its focus, Memoria is able to deliver something special while also hopefully avoiding the ire of Square Enix. “The fact that this is a non-playable project definitely makes it easier for us to tailor the experience in a way that would truly allow the audience to be fully immersed in the world without having to worry about technical limitations,” Eder tells me. “Creating actual functional gameplay is a completely different ball game, one that we never had any intention of even discussing given the copyright limitations. This gives us a lot of leeway with how we are going to portray the world of Gaia in terms of character interaction, camera movement, [and] scene transitions. We have a lot of cool plans for the near future - please look forward to it!”

As for the sad truth of fan projects like this often being wiped from existence by publishers throwing out cease and desist letters, Eder is confident that Memoria occupies a niche where this won’t happen. It’s not a commercial or even playable product - it’s a piece of fan art, albeit an endlessly elaborate one. If the tides were to change, Eder believes companies should welcome the enthusiasm for experiences like this.

“If I were to be completely honest, I think it could be a potentially brilliant decision by Square Enix to do something wildly unexpected and invest in a project like this,” Eder states. “There's a considerable amount of hype, talent, motivation, and pure, unadulterated passion behind it. It's not something I would expect, but I think it could be incredibly helpful in regaining some of the trust and reverence that this legendary company was known for during its golden years.”

(source)

#final fantasy ix #memoria project #final fantasy 9 #ffix: memoria project #article #news #interview #long post #very long post!

[og-danny-dorito]

Hello! I would love a match up please.

Fandom: Slashers

Preference: SFW and NSFW

Zodiac: Pisces

Pronouns: They/them and She/Her

Sexuality: Bisexual

Hobbies: Singing, Reading, Playing video games, and making Loom band chains

Appearance: I’m a bit more on the chubbier side, 5’4 and have very short curly black hair. I usually wear glasses for being near sighted but forget to wear them all the time. I have dark brown eyes and I’m curvy.

Personality Traits: Extremely Empathetic, Loyal, Hard headed, Sensitive

Facts about myself: I tend to put others way before myself, to the point I don’t care for myself as much. I have ADHD and Social Anxiety Disorder, and I come from a family of Brazilians and Porto Rican’s. I tend to have a soft spot for children and end up being an unintentional babysitter/older sister type. Rhythm games are a big part of my life and Greek mythology is a big thing for me.

I Match You Up With... Vincent Sinclair or Thomas Hewitt!

dude i literally couldn't decide so i just did both LMAO rest of it is under the cut because of nsfw so be warned

Vincent SFW:

- the fact that you do art... his heart.. GOD

- will literally walk around with the chains you make around his wrists like they're the most expensive pieces of jewelry he's ever been given in his entire life

- in return he'll end up giving you little wood carved figures and drawings since he knows wax doesn't hold up well in certain temperatures (like louisiana heat) and likes to watch you work or work with you while he's doing his own thing too

- he might ask you to teach him or something but ends up getting distracted by you halfway through and gets embarrassed when you point it out

- stares a lot but it's nothing weird or anything! he just,, really likes the way you look. you're gorgeous to him

Vincent NSFW:

- dude, while he thinks that you're a goddess in mortal form he literally cannot stop himself from thinking about all the ways he could bend you over every surface in his work area and he feels terrible about it

- growing up in isolation and not a lot of exposure to sexuality besides the occasional TV he'd watch and books, he's convinced that any sort of amiability he has outside of romance makes him disgusting

- he's timid and hesitant to initiate anything with the fear that you'll find him revolting or that you'll be uncomfortable so you'll end up initiating a lot of the intimacy earlier on

- once he learns that you want that from him though? oh honey

- as long as you allow it, he'd like to stay between your thighs till he cant breathe anymore

- he's kind of domineering about it, too: he may be buried between your legs but as soon as you start jerking your hips up to try and get closer he'll put his strength to use to hold your hips down until he's done with you

- he's gentle on the outside but as soon as you give him the go-ahead to let loose his kisses turn from tender and soft to hungry and possessive, his hands working their way under your clothes before you can realize what's happening

- he compares you to greek deities all the time and worships you like one, making sure you'll well-satisfied before he finished himself

- likes to tie you up and put you on display like the work of art you are, although it'll only be him seeing it. add a bit of waxplay in there and he's basically struggling to compose himself DKJN

---

Thomas SFW:

- BRO?? also wears around your chains but tends to like brighter and cuter colors for some reason

- his love language is physical touch and i headcanon a curvy partner as perfect for him so expect a lot of gentle squeezes on your hips, a lot of soft kisses on your face, etc etc

- if he sees you interact with a child at any point he will literally Melt

- thomas thinks he's completely unloveable and never thought that he'd be able to settle down with a partner and maybe have kids, and so the fact that you're naturally good with them kinda gets his hopes up

- would love to settle down with you tbh, you're literally perfect in his eyes

Thomas NSFW:

- oh. oh shawty

- DUDE OKAY like. oh god okay where do i start.

- to start off the dude's fucking hung. like fucking HUGE it makes sense for his size but god forbid you decide to ride him

- sex w thomas is usually slow and sensual, but on the off occasion that he just needs to blow off some steam, he's rough and manhandles you into the exact position he wants so he can claim you however he pleases

- generally though he's sweet and loving, pressing kisses all over your body as he works you into a frenzy in his lap

- he isnt good with words, but if youre not too fucked out that you cant process words, you'll be able to hear breathless chants of "good" and "almost there" and "like that" between huffs, his brows furrowed and hair hanging in front of his face as he chases his and your release

#thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt headcanons #vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair headcanons #house of wax #house of wax vincent #tcm #leatherface #texas chainsaw the beginning #texas chainsaw massacre #texas chainsaw 2 #texas chainsaw 3d #texas chainsaw massacre headcanons #leatherface headcanons #matchup #slasher headcanons #slasher matchups #horror headcanons #horror matchups #horror movies #slasher movies

[anime-fan93]

Hello, I saw your matchups in the encanto tags, and you bet I was pleasantly surprised. So well written? And for what? If you are still doing them, let me slide in real quick🤓

So first of all I am a minor, to get that out of the way. Oh and a material girl- I am around 5"8 feet, can't really tell precisely because haha, those measurements kind of suck. I have sort of ashy-brown-blond-whatever it is kind of hair, I really can't tell the color and it is frustrating. I sound disgustingly serious right now because It's 3 a.m- I am actually more on the funnier side I swear. My MBTI is ENFP that proves it, I think..

Anyways, I am a huge softie. I'm talking hello kitty pillows everywhere, any kind of cute stuff is my go to. It brings me joy to make people laugh and I try my best to be as engaging and understanding as possible with my friends. I usually try to stay out of arguments and definitely never resort to violence. Do I also know how to win a Redfit argument with a mod? No, but I think I could If I tried. The whole softie character, kind of fades with the amount of swear words I use. And the fact that I am kind of maybe fit and can lift a lot of weight. Though I try to cut down on it currently, because It would definitely be more interesting to not sound like a 50 year old sailor. If that's important I passed a BuzzFeed quiz and It said I am a sigma male🐺

I do everything at once. Writing, drawing, composing, recording, filming, dancing, learning Mandarin, even aerial silks. It gets frustrating from time to time, yet I still manage to spend at least 10 hours on gacha games- I also enjoy cooking. I may not be the best but at least I'm not at the blowing up the kitchen level. And for the last note, I'd like to mention that as soon as I become of age I will constantly be dressing up as a fantasy character nothing will stop me. I reject the thought of plain colored hoodies, I like to look fabulous all the time whatever time of day it is. Actually it gets quite concerning because It can be 8 p.m. and I would randomly start applying make up, just because I got the need to look my best. Guess my posters appreciate it.

Thank you If you end up doing the matchup, I don't really care platonic or romantic, It's up to you!

Thank you for requesting! I can already tell that you're a funny person just from this request!

I match you with...

Mirabel!

She would love you to death, almost literally. She loves the fact that you're so much taller than her, and doesn't mind the neck pain from looking up at you.

She loves your hair and loves getting you little accessories to put on, like headbands, hair clips, the whole thing. She would always buy you Hello Kitty things, like more pillows, blankets, plushies, clothes, etc, because she loves to see you happy.

You two would be the best at making people laugh, whenever someone you love is down, you two would cheer them right up. You two would 1000% use the art of confusion to get out of confrontations and arguments.

Mira doesn't mind you cursing, though she wouldn't curse (at least not often), but would try to make sure you didn't do it in front of the older family members so you don't get into trouble.

She would be so shocked and amazed at everything you can do, watching you with an awestruck expression. She would excitedly ask you to teach her most of it, wanting more stuff to do with you. She would love cooking with you, helping you with a few major things.

She's completely down to dress up with you, loving to do your makeup based on your outfit, and doing your hair to make you look your absolute best.

Though you always look amazing to her. Thank you for requesting!

#mirabel x reader #encanto mirabel #encanto matchups #encanto #encanto x reader

[silma-words]

Another prompt for Adrian and MC...

Number 5 / "say please"

not sure how you want to take this one, but I thought the smut could be next level... have fun! 😂

N/A: Omg I cannot thank you enough for this prompt @mssukeyna! This was so much fun, and a great prompt to push me a little out of my comfort zone! I literally woke up 2h earlier every day so that I could write more before work ;) I hope you’ll like it!

~~~~~

Choices: Bloodbound

Pairing: Adrian Raines x MC (Ellie)

Rating: Explicit (NSFW, 18+)

Genre: Smut.Smut.Smut

AU Chronology: Bloodbound AU (after book 1 – the events of book 2 never happened) – ‘Inevitable - Arc I: Before we part’ (Masterlist)

Summary: “We are travelling for business, Ellie, we’ll have to behave like professionals”, he had warned her, although he did not look so convinced about it himself….

Inspired by the following nsfw-prompts: #5. for sex in public / “say please”

Words: 4200

**Disclaimer: Characters and background plot are the property of Pixelberry.**

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

Down to business (Part I?)

Getting to travel was one of the perks Ellie enjoyed the most about her job as the CEO’s personal assistant. She never really had any opportunity to get out of her small town before she moved to NYC, and had always been of a curious nature. This job was a dream come true on that matter. But some trips were better than others. The ones that revolved around business negotiations, although exciting in their own ways, were not her favourites. By far, the ones she preferred were the ones that were meant for networking, for Adrian to maintain his relationships with previous business partners. There had not been many of those since she had started working at Raines Corp. but she loved those very much. These business trips revolved mostly around socializing. And socializing was one of her strengths.

But the reason she liked these trips the most was not because of the fancy dinner parties, the pricey hotels, or the designer dresses she got to wear to play the part. No. What she liked the most were the times she could have to herself in between social events, to explore around and satiate her curiosity about ‘the rest of the world’, and the times when she could get Adrian all to herself. He was more relaxed during these trips. More light hearted. More playful. As well as more tuned to her cues than when they were travelling for more serious business. And that, she loved to play around with. A lot.

Adrian was always doing his best to keep up the façade of the boss-assistant interactions between them when they were in public. And she completely understood why. Truly. But that was also so tempting for her to do her best to weave her way through that invisible barrier he was tentatively setting between them.

She would brush his fingers when he would hand her a drink. Sneak a hand up his thigh under the table at dinner. Fiddle with her long strands of hair to attract his attention to her neckline. Oh, his poker face was good. Spot on. Decades of practice truly paying off. But whenever she played her cards well, she could see that façade slowly crumble down. His cheeks slightly changing colour as she would whisper sweet - well maybe not so sweet - nothings to his ear. His Adam’s apple moving slightly at the sight of her legs shifting as she would change position on her seat, her skin exposed through the slit of her dress. His speech suddenly stammering slightly as she would slowly caress the inside of his calf with her foot, whenever she had been sitting across from him at dinner and had felt bold enough to risk reaching blindly under the cover of the table cloth.

She always made sure to keep her face composed so that the other guests would not notice how Adrian’s reactions were directly connected to her. But she would also cast him a challenging look as soon as the moment had passed, to make it perfectly clear that the game was on. And never once had she received back any kind of response that would indicate that Adrian was not on board with this. He might play the game by pretending that this behaviour was totally unprofessional, but they both knew that Adrian had never been anyone who cared much about the rules.

This time, their ‘socialising trip’ had led them further from home than ever before. Ellie was finally given the chance to fly out of the country and get a glimpse at Europe, with their first stops leaving her in awe at the wonders of the Italian countryside where they had stayed for five days to catch up with a couple of Adrian’s old ‘friends’ who had chosen to retire there. She did enjoy the socializing parts way more than she had anticipated: who would have dared to complain about the exquisite cuisine, the tours of the vineyards, the breath-taking views over lakes and mountains, and the luxurious guestrooms they could discreetly retreat to when the schmoozing was getting boring and the yearning had become too much.

The last part of their ten-days trip had also reached beyond of her expectations: she had always dreamt of discovering France, and although their journey would not grant her her secret wish of seeing Paris, she found out that the luxurious hills and valleys of the South-West of France were as equally magnificent as what she had seen so far over the last few days. There was so much history around, old medieval castles and ancient caves that she wished she could explore, that her curiosity and excitement seemed to be only matched by Adrian’s nerdy enthusiasm. European history was not necessarily his strongest suit, but he did know quite a few things about it, and gladly shared with her his knowledge about the places they travelled through. His expertise on French wines was definitely spot on though. And kind of sexy too.

Their guest was – unsurprisingly – a wealthy investor who had inherited a prosperous estate from his great-grandfather who was, originally, the business partner Adrian had been trading with at the beginning of the twentieth-century. Pretending to be his own descendant was apparently something Adrian was quite used to. Even though their current host – Emile – was pretty obnoxious.

They dined, visited local investors, attended a couple of art exhibitions grand opening nights. And indulged on wine, local delicacies, and smouldering gazes in between polite handshakes and casual conversations. Ellie’s French was not really up to the challenge when other guests could not speak English, but luckily Adrian was doing quite well in that department – another sexy trait to add to that very long list that Ellie kept filling up in her head.

That night, their host had been planning a special treat for his guests – Adrian and Ellie among a larger group of about thirty: a tour of his private ‘art collection’, followed by a fancy garden-party on his estate. Ellie had been looking forward to it, until the tour had started and she had realised that most of these ‘pieces of art’ were actually ancient remains that Emile had bought from lucky ‘discoverers’ around the world and snatched from the hands of archaeologists and museums to fill up his own little private gallery. As the tour was going on, she kept grumbling by Adrian’s side, drawing the attention of a few other guests that were marvelling at these stolen relics and obviously did not care much about how these had been acquired. As the group proceeded to move on to the next room, Adrian discreetly motioned her to move aside and slow her pace, grinning at her once they had managed to place themselves at the tail of the touring group.

“I know this is grating you, but this is quite a common thing these days – there is no point sulking about it now while there is not much we can do about it”.

“You’re the one to talk, ‘Mr-I-glare-at-that-old-British-dude-for-buying-an-original-John Trumbull-canvas-to-decorate-his-guestroom’!”, she retorted challengingly. “These objects are as important to historians as those Revolutionary War paintings you keep talking about. They shouldn’t be kept in here only to be displayed once a year to a bunch of rich morons who care more about how much he paid for it than about what these objects were”.

“I know, I know…” Adrian admitted with a sight, raising his hands in surrender. “But as I said, there is not much we can do about it now. Let try to survive through this tour and enjoy the night.”

Rolling her eyes, Ellie let out an annoyed sight and finally nodded, her tensed shoulders still betraying her frustration.

The tour proceeded, Adrian and Ellie sharing eye rolls and annoyed looks every time Emile would brag about the price of a unique item. They always kept behind when they could, making a point of looking at some of the glass panels in detail to at least try to learn a little something out of this display of wealth. But that revealed to be a nearly impossible endeavour. There was barely any labels or information attached to these objects whatsoever. Nothing there to keep them distracted from that never ending tour. Well. Apart from each other.

It started with just the tingle of his breath in her neck as he was hovering above her to look at an old grease-lamp from some ancient cave. And then continued as she would casually hook her arm through his while staring at the antic statue of a Roman god. And a brush of his fingers down her spine as he stood behind her pretending to listen to Emile’s dull blabber. Her hand sneaking along the side of his thigh as they followed the group around. The light pressure of his hand on her lower back as he led her to move past him into yet another room.

Pretending to pay attention to their host was increasingly difficult. Preventing their faces from betraying their very unprofessional thoughts even more so.

“I know I have said this before but…”, Adrian whispered in her ear, a playful smile forming on his lips, “I love that little tempter of yours… it makes me feel… a lot of things”.

He could hear Ellie’s heartbeat race in her chest at his words, even though she was keeping her eyes trained on the display panel before them, doing her best to keep her composure while the predatory tone in his voice was making her knees tremble slightly. The other guests were buzzing around them, pointing at glass display cases here and architectural features there, oblivious to the heat surrounding the two secret lovers as if the bubble Adrian and Ellie had formed around them had turned them into two of those trinkets exposed around the room that nobody was truly paying attention to.

Trying to break through the thick air that had been lingering between them, Ellie shifted on her heels to follow the flock of people that were regrouping to move along, casting a knowing smile at Adrian, and holding his gaze for a few seconds before walking away.

But before she could turn left into the next corridor, she felt his arm wrap around her middle, only to swiftly whoosh her aside to a secluded corner of the room, out of sight from the rest of the group thanks to one of the strong pillars that supported the roof of the exhibition room. A gasp escaped her lips as he sprung her around, pressing her back against the cold marble as he eagerly captured her lips in a searing kiss, his hands pressed against her neck, and his torso edging closer to her chest as she was gradually yielding to his powerful embrace.

Trailing her fingers up his neck until they reached his hair, she eventually gave a gentle tug so that she could make a break for air, their lips just a few inches apart as she teased, breathless: “I thought we had to keep our public appearances strictly professional, Mr Raines?”

She felt his grin against her mouth more than she could see it. “Well, what we are doing now is purely professional, Miss Reed. If there was anyone left around to see us, I’d just explain how I was telling all about...” he paused to nibble at her lower lip for a few seconds, “... about the sturdiness of these eighteenth-century pillars...”.

“Eighteenth century, han?” she giggled against his lips, her voice catching in her throat to form a silent moan as Adrian’s mouth began to trail down her chin to follow her jawline.

Her mind struggling between the will to keep her eyes open to check that no one was in sight, and the tantalizing swirls of his tongue against the skin beneath her ear, the shivers that were running down her spine quickly sorted that battle for her. She let her eyelids drop and her head fall back to rest against the stone behind her, focusing only on Adrian’s touch and on the way his hands had now started to drift from her neck to her shoulders, inching lower and lower as his mouth tasted the salt of the skin down her neck and along her collarbone.

Her hands unconsciously travelling from his hair to his back, they suddenly grabbed his shoulders a little tighter to press him closer as she felt him reach for the fabric of her dress to bunch the black silk over her hips. It took all of her will to remain silent when Adrian wedged his knee between her legs, her lips tightening in a thin line to repress a whimper as his fingers trailed down one of her thigh to her knee so he could lift her leg up against his hip, pressing himself forward to conquer the empty space between them.

She could feel his grin against her windpipes when her hips started to grind against his of their own accord, the tight grip of his fingers against her rear sending waves of heat down to where their bodies met.

“I think one of us should keep an eye on that corridor, in case anyone is sent out to look for us” he whispered against her skin, before lifting his gaze back to her, his golden eyes glimmering with mischief. “Would that be a mission you’d be happy to take on, Miss Reed?”

“Of course” she manages to answer, her voice croaking from anticipation.

“Good.” he grins. “Then, you’ll have to face the other way…”

She barely had time to register what he meant before she felt the heat of his body replace the cold marble that had been pressing against her back. She instinctively reached forward to place her palms on the pillar as Adrian resumed his pressing touches eagerly, one arm wrapped around her chest to keep her close, and the other finding its way between her thighs.  

She could peek at the corridor ahead of them from where they stood, most of their bodies hidden by the imposing column that seemed to edge closer and closer to her as Adrian’s touch became more insistent. But being able to see ahead did not mean that she was actually looking. Even if she had wanted to fulfil her ‘mission’, the pressure of his left palm against her thigh and the hand that slipped under the fabric of her cleavage made it near impossible to focus on the task. The soft bites and kisses her neck were subjected to were not helping either.

Not being able to see or touch him was like torture, his quiet groans vibrating from his chest to her ribs, and his arousal pressing firmly against her back like a wicked promise that was for now beyond reach. Her back arched involuntarily when a firm hand grabbed her breast, his warm breath beneath her ear betraying his grin as the fingers on her thigh started to wander towards the edge of her underwear, playing with the seam of the lace before sneaking underneath with a deliberate slowness that had her whimper behind her tightened lips.

The light graze of his fingertips against her swollen nerves was all that was needed to weaken all muscles in her body, making both of them dangerously tumble forward as her arms gave in, removing the only leverage she had against Adrian’s pressure in her back, which had been keeping her so far from being flushed against the cold marble with no room to escape the sweet torment of his heated caresses.

Even though her eyes were now shut, she knew that Adrian was watching closely her features when she let her head fall back to rest in his shoulder, her brain going into overdrive when his touch became more pressing, kneading her breast and drawing lazy circles against her centre relentlessly. It was not long before she lost the last bit of control she had left over her own body, her lips parting slightly to let a moan escape, quickly muffled by Adrian’s mouth covering hers in an attempt to preserve the silence around them.

That might have worked perfectly, if only he had been able to kiss her with more restraint. Instead, his tongue had quickly found its way through her parted lips, brushing hers in patterns mirroring the movement of his fingertips between her legs, swallowing her whines as if he could taste her own pleasure through the ragged sounds that he was drawing out of her.

She was itching to touch him. One of her hands had left the cold surface of the pillar to find its way to his head and tangle in his hair, her entire body squirming against his to seek the friction that she was craving for. She knew he was trying to make her lose her mind. And it was working. She could feel his fingers slide gradually further down against her core, dipping into the wetness of her folds before retreating back, drawing growl after growl each time.

She could tell Adrian was relishing this by the way the corners of his mouth curled against hers. It was only when he suddenly pulled away from her swollen lips that she finally opened her eyes again, the lust and wickedness of his gaze sending a shiver all the way down to her toes. He had stopped moving, simply holding her petite form against his chest as tight as deemed possible, his golden eyes anchored to hers with an unmistakable gleam of challenge and promise.

“Adrian…” she mumbled feebly, desperately trying to grind against him but unable to resist his hold on her.

He smiled, remaining silent for a few seconds, before finally breaking the stillness with a low, husky voice, in a tone that was somehow both inviting and commanding: “Say please”.

There was no hesitation in her response, no control, her rasped voice echoing around the room as she begged, breathless: “Adrian, pleeeaaase…”

Thankfully, he did not make her say it again, barely waiting a few seconds before plugging a finger into her dampened slit, followed nearly immediately by a second, resuming his circular patterns over her swollen clit with the pad of his thumb. Withdrawing and dipping back into her with maddening slowness, she could feel her muscles clench around his fingers and her knees start to quiver as the pleasure was slowly building in.

Her dilated pupils could not tear away from his golden eyes, silently begging for more as he increased his pace, his hips grinding voraciously against her back, his mouth inches from hers as if resisting the urge to kiss her so that he could revel in the sweet music of her feverish whines echoing around them.

“Adrian… this is… so…” she tried to mutter between her gasps.

Adrian’s eyes flashed with a voracious gleam as he purred against her lips with a proud smirk, “so… good?”.

Her lips pursed weakly to form a teasing grin. “So… unprofessional”.

His smirk only widened further at her words, his hands suddenly moving away from her burning skin to grip her hips, making her head jerk up from his shoulder in surprise. She was about to complain when he swiftly swirled her body around and crashed his lips onto hers, pushing her back against the pillar, the contrast between the cold marble and the heat of her skin making her jump a little in his grasp.

It was not long before Adrian’s hands had found their way back beneath her dress, his fingers reaching hurriedly for the hem of her thong as his mouth started to descend from her mouth to her chin, roaming over her neck and her collarbone, until he sunk to his knees before her, skipping the parts of her that were covered by fabric to head straight for the space right below her navel. Dragging her underwear down her legs, he only broke the contact between his warm lips and her skin so that he could guide the lace over her heels, quickly shoving the fabric in his pocket before capturing her pulsing nub between his lips, not wasting any minute before expertly starting to explore her aching core, nibbling and suckling with an unmatched dedication.

Her hands were roaming all over his head, tangling her fingers in his hair and pushing her hips forward to demand more, her lower lip caught between her teeth to repress the urge to cry out with every stroke of his tongue, or every time the deft fingers that were slithering up and down her inner thigh came close enough to tease her entrance before retreating back wickedly. As much as part of her wanted to pull him back up to his feet and beg him to take her now, the other part could not even fathom the idea of making him stop his godly work between her legs.

There was no more coherent thought going through her fogged brain. Fragmentary visions of heated memories and unspoken fantasies were flashing before her eyes, mingling with the rousing sight of Adrian down on his knees before her, tasting her fervently in every way that she had ever dreamt of being tasted.

When she felt the intoxicating warmth of his mouth suddenly leave her centre, her mind unconsciously thanked him for ending this sweet torture, expecting the yearning in her core to be satiated soon enough when she would finally get to feel him inside her.

But that sweet release never came.

It took her a few seconds to realise that Adrian had jerked back up to his feet and hurriedly pulled down the fabric of her dress, unceremoniously grabbing Ellie’s waist to move her away from their hiding spot, releasing his grip once she was standing beside him in front of one of the display cases, their back turned away from the corridor.

She had to grip the edge of the display case to keep herself steady, her knees still trembling from Adrian’s handywork just a few seconds before, her eyes opening and closing at a maddening pace to try to clear her clouded brain and regain her senses. It was only when she heard the distinct sound of a pair of heels echoing towards them that she finally understood.

“Monsieur Raines?”, they heard a woman’s voice call out at a distance.

Adrian’s cheeks were flushed, and his hair completely tousled, but he made a quick work of fixing it as well as fixing his shirt with a smirk, mastering the art of regaining his composure in a flick of an eye, like the annoyingly perfect businessman that he was. Ellie fumbled around in an attempt to do the same, fully aware that she would never be able to be as efficient as Adrian, especially in the state of desperate yearning that he had just put her through. She was still panting, her heart thumping in her chest, pupils dilated and cheeks hot from so much blood rushing to her face, both from arousal and from the embarrassment that she knew was about to come.

Ellie jumped a little when the woman’s voice finally reached the room they were in: “Ah, Monsieur Raines! Je vous ai trouvé! Le buffet va commencer, si vous voulez bien rejoindre les autres invités dans le jardin?”.

Ellie had no clue what the woman had just said, and was in no shape to turn around and let the woman see the state of her. She was so grateful that Adrian knew exactly what to say and how to behave casually to buy her a few more minutes to sort out the mess he had made of her… although hearing him speak French was not helping much getting her arousal under control, as he politely answered the woman: “Merci, nous vous rejoignons dans quelques instants.”.

Ellie sighted with relief when she heard the woman’s footsteps retreat, turning around to face him, glaring at him with her best attempt at a reproachful scowl.

“That was….” she started, before being interrupted by Adrian’s mouth on hers, as he pressed a soft kiss on her swollen lips, before pulling away slowly with a grin.

“… unprofessional?” he teased, earning a falsely unamused eye-roll in return.

“We better get going, the party is starting, and all of the other guests are gathered in the gardens now” he announced, translating what the woman had said, but not releasing Ellie from his embrace just yet.

“I am in no state for socialising now” she admitted with a grimace, although she could not fight the teasing grin that was starting to form on her face. “I will never be able to focus properly after this… all I will be thinking about is sorting out this… hum, unfinished business…”

Adrian’s hold tightened a little more around her waist at her words, his eyes still gleaming with mischief and never leaving hers when he stepped slowly away, grabbing her hand to start dragging them both away from the room.

His voice was husky and full of promise when he casually answered with a teasing smile: “Well… unfortunately, we’ll have to play along a little bit longer I’m afraid… but I will certainly be looking forward all evening to the second part of this… unfinished business…”.

~~~

N/A: If anyone else is as eager as Adrian to see how ‘Part II’ of their little ‘public indiscretions’ is going to play out, let me know, and I’d be happy to oblige 😉 This prompt has inspired me way too much, thank you so much for the ask @mssukeyna 😉

~~~

Tagging @adriansbiss , @itsjustwinter , @shanzay44 , @purvishraick, @thefrenchiemama

@choicesficwriterscreations

#bloodbound #bloodbound choices #adrian raines #adrian raines x mc #bloodbound fanfiction #cfwc #choices fanfiction #play choices #choices stories you play #choices fic writers creations #fics of the week #asked and answered

[dannyphantom-rewrite]

Ghostly anatomy

Ghost Cores: are the sole organ that a ghost processes, although the core itself is made a few seperate components.

(please pardon my poor art skills) 

Outer Wall: Thick many layered endoskeleton surrounding the core, composed of hardened Ectoplasm. Microscopic pores allow for the steady intake and expulsion of ecto-energy.

Membrane: A thin porous sheet beneath the outer wall, keeps Plasma and organelles contained.

Plasma: A soup-like substance composed primarily of super charged Ectoplasm.

Vacuole: Organelles responsible for containing energy reserves, becomes active when a ghost uses their abilties or becomes injured. The sudden release of energy acts as both a catalyst to recovery and a form of adrenaline.

Scire: Latin word for "to know", a vaguely heart-shaped organelle responsible for storing information/memories. The "brain" of the core. 

Vibrato: Responsible for speech, and more animalistic vocal responses; growling, purring, rattling, hissing, ungodly shrieking and unnatural echoing. Greatly influenced by emotions.

Mitochondria: Energy Vacuums. Organelle responsible for drawing ecto-energy in from the Ghost Zone, through the Outer Wall and Membrane, filtering out harmful components, transferring excess for storage in the Vacuole and finally, releasing resulting waste products.

Nucleus: Synonymous with the Soul.

-Ghosts need ecto energy to function, and Danny and Vlad aren't an exception. However, while normal ghosts take it in from the Ghost Zone (The process is kinda similar to photosynthesis, and if you're thinking that the core looks a lot like Plant cell, you're right and that's why.) Danny and Vlad don't spend nearly enough time there to sustain themselves and have to actually consume Ectoplasm from time to time. Think of it like a dietary supplement. 

Ectoplasm and injury: 

-Aside from their core, a ghost's body is literally just Ectoplasm. When they get injured they can quickly pull energy from their Core's Vacuole to heal/repair the damage. Major injuries take more time to repair, for example; loss of a limb. Re-growing an arm takes significantly more time and energy than sealing a cut. 

-If a ghost expends ecto energy faster than they can replenish it, they run the risk of destabilizing into a pile of goop. 

-If a ghosts core is damaged it can heal, so long as the injury is on the outer wall or membrane, damage to any of the organelle is permanent and will greatly affect how it functions. For example, a puncture to the Scire will result in memory loss, and a snapped Vibrato chord could make vocalizations painful, or even render the ghost mute. Damage to any of the three mitochondria slows the rate of energy absorption and thus makes injuries heal much slower.

-if the nucleus is damaged in any way, that ghost WILL destabilize.

-Halfas definitely heal faster than normal humans, but Unlike normal ghosts, Vlad and Danny still have bones and organs and all that other junk, so they're not nearly as durable. 

-When either of them get injured Ectoplasm will flood to the site and act as a sort of internal support until the injury heals naturally. So for example, let's say Danny breaks an arm, Ectoplasm will fill in the break and keep the bone held together, and then slowly recede back into the blood stream as the break heals. 

-Another thing to note is that while Ectoplasm based limbs can grow back, living tissue doesn't. If Danny or Vlad lost a limb, they'd probably be able to make an equivalent Ectoplasmic prosthetic while in their ghost forms, but in terms of their human halves that arm or leg would just be gone for good. 

-Internal organs don't grow back either, but Ectoplasm is more than capable of patching up puncture wounds. So if there was every an incident where either of their insides ended up on the outside…well…that missing bit of small intestine is gonna get a glowing green replacement. 

-Danny and Vlad aren't capable of destabilizing into puddles either because of the whole bones and tissue thing, Rather, if they over exert themselves they simply revert back to their human halves and black out for awhile. 

Halfa's and blood type: 

-Vlad's blood type is O-, While Danny's is AB+. Both of them also have Ectoplasm running through their bloodstream and are unable to receive blood from a donor who doesn't also have ectoplasm in theirs. 

-Since Vlad's blood type is that of a universal donor, he'd be able to give blood to Danny, but Danny wouldn't be able to donate to him. If Vlad ever needed a transfusion, he'd have to pull from a supply of his own that was set aside for an emergency.

-Niether of them can donate blood because of its Ectoplasmic content. 

Classifications of ghosts:

deceased soul: most common type of ghost, created from the soul of a living being whose death was either too soon, leaving them with unfinished business, or particularly violent and/or gruesome.

Natural-Born: Sometimes insultingly called Never-Borns, these are Gosts that were born as ghosts and were never actually alive in the traditional sense of the word. Youngblood and the denizens of the Far Frozen are good examples of this type of ghost.

Wraiths / Feeders: Not all deceased souls are feeders, but all feeders are deceased souls. This is a sub class of ghosts that needs to consume some sort of emotional response, along with ecto energy to sustain themselves. Ember, Spectra, and shadow are good examples, As they feed off of admiration, misery, and misfortune respectively. 

Shape-shifters/ blobs: sub class of natural born ghost. These guys have low ecto-energy/ power levels and somewhat unstable physical forms. This allows them to change shape with ease but they also get a lot of shit from other ghosts for being weak. They're a lot smaller than the average ghost and their default shapes don't usually look very humanoid. Examples include: Bertrand, Skulker and Ectopi.

Spirits: Ectoplasmic based entities that represent an idea or concept. For example, Clockwork is the Spirit of time. 

Halfas: Living Humans with fully formed ghost Cores.

Artificial: There are three ghosts that fall under this category, Dani, Dan, and Nurse Good, As they are the only ghosts that were not made by any "natural" means. 

Core bonds and reproduction:

-Okay before anybody asks "dude wtf do you mean ghosts can be born?" 

-Im gonna just. Explain that real quick and get it out of the way, lmao. 

-So, simply put, a natural born ghost is formed when ecto energy from two (or more) ghosts is combined. This is a process that takes an insane amount of energy and really shouldn't even be attempted unless the parents have super high energy levels or a third party who can help out. It's done completely externally and all in one go, so if the energy flow gets cut off before the new ghost's Core is fully formed it WILL destabilize, and there goes all your effort right down the drain. 

-And yes, Halfas can do this too, But they're offspring wouldn't inherit any human features, they'd be full ghost. While I'm on the subject, it's actually the only way Danny or Vlad would be able to have a biological kid. The ectoplasmic radiation from their accidents rendered them both sterile/infertile in the human sense of the word. Danny doesn't menustate anymore, and for lack of better terminology, Vlad is just firing blanks.

-Core bond is just the term for ghost marriage. Bonded ghosts are more in tune with each other than those that aren't,  as they develop a sort of empathic connection with their partner(s). 

-This last thing has absolutely nothing to do with Ghostly biology but I don't know where else to put it so here: 

Esperanto = ghost speak. 

The language was originally created to be easy to learn so as to act as a universal language. Unfortunately the idea didn't catch on IRL, BUT!!!

When you consider the fact that not all ghosts would speak English, it's definitely a good idea for the Ghost Zone to have a universal tongue to get past that language barrier issue. 

The language DOESN'T ACTUALLY HAVE TO BE LEARNED, It's just there. The information is the first thing stored in the Scire. Esperanto can be spoken, written or signed, similar to ASL.

#danny phantom #ref #lore

[ficsnroses]

Touch - John Wick x Reader

summary : you wake John up with a morning handjob.

warnings : handjob, implied oral sex. x f! reader. fluffy fluff fluff! 2k.

notes : hi loves! this is another fic I never posted because I thought it was a little too similar to another fic I’d wrote. Im posting it now, months later since I don’t have any new content for you atm! feedback is so appreciated. hope you enjoy! xx 

In the dewy AM light, your heavy eyes soak open morning glow, a throbbing ache to your temple pitches just as the rays protrude your darkened eyelids. In the wake of the moment, you’d hardly noticed the dip of the mattress beside you, a heavier weight positioned, a tangle of legs and heft of your love’s bulky arm loosely held across your waist.

John holds you so close, so proximate, the gentle brush of his calm, relaxed breathes paints to the soft curve of your neck. The quietude is special, his snooze pacifies, calms something inside you that raced the night prior.

Retiring, falling asleep to a bed empty of his body beside you would never prove easy. The grim thoughts never surrender, the cold, stoic hollowness that comes with him being away far too long had never quite become less crushing.

He’d often come in this way; late in the midnight AM, quieter than a whisper as he’d return in your arms. Perhaps you remember feeling him draw your skin closer, unbeknownst to the surrender of snooze that clouded around you, encapsulated you upon his late night return. In the sea of surrounding blankets and feathery pillows, your lips curl to a gentle smile, a ring of a content hum falling dripped, honey doused off your warm smile his way.

Mornings like this; waking up, with him safe beside you, were quite literally,

incomparable.

His body moulds to yours, body heat collective, nesting together in utter, quiet, harmony. John, this way, was a beauty to be seen. In moments like this, where sleep comes, kisses him, engulfs; wraps him in a serene reduction; you feel most at ease.

Knowing he’s at ease, he’s content, he’s whisked away in nothing but surrender to the part of him that will always stay human. The part of him that rests, reminds him that he is still human, despite the sins that refuse to let him go.

With his warm skin stippled to yours, you feel yourself drift further into his embrace, a content, drowsy smile of your own curling to the gentle twist of your blush stained lips. Although his heavy chest heaves in small, gentle exhales, he seems in ease. He seems calm, a flutter behind his sleep soaked eyelids sure of a visit in dreamland.

You inch in closer, slow, and he stirs slight to the feel of your gentle lips tracing over his skin. Softly, you pepper a love laced peck to his jaw, face nuzzling into his neck; John’s eyes blissfully unaware to the sunlit dew that surrounds him. Habitually, his arms tighten around you, a content, oblivious sigh echoed off his lip. Relishing, your lips nip at the skin of his neck, half slumber absorbed movements laced with nothing, but pure affection as you bundle close to your love. His skin exudes the familiar scent of long forgotten cologne, and something so uniquely, exclusively John.

A scent that reminds you he’s here, along side you, where he’d always belong.

Without mere thought, your hands position to his chest, soothing small, rubbing comforting circles to the broad of his bare chest; John preferred to sleep with his shirt off.

Not that you’d lament; the heavy tattoos that litter his back are gorgeous, yet John often shies away from showing you their portrayal. On particularly good nights, sometimes, John will let you trace the delicate ink, allow you to fully absorb each dip, each sharp curve of the once penned art that paints to his back.

John’s back, in all its glory, all its beauty, is a story untold. The intrigue, the beauty, the basic seams that compose of this man you’d received the delight of calling all yours, is nothing less of a miracle.

John Wick is a miracle; his back carries a story,

       that the spine of a book could never hold. His story lives within him, claws, cuts away at him.

He’s a miracle, to be what he is,

       coming from where he does.

Apart from the rare look into the symphony that tells tale to his skin, often, John enjoys his skin so close to yours, shielded by no barrier. On particularly rough nights, or evenings where John needs nothing but you to melt the dread of the day behind, he finds asylum in your skin.

Skin to skin with John is one of your favourite ways to unwind; to forget. You’ll shelter in his arms, both your bodies bare, exposed, relishing within each other.

You don’t need sex in moments like that.

You solely need him,

And he only needs you.

All the curves of your frail body relax into the strength of his.

As your lips continue, drenching into his bruised skin; you sigh, airy and light. You sigh, marking his body with the nectar that flows off your lips, only for him.

A gentle mark to his neck, a softer one just below.

A softer kiss to his jaw, a softer, lighter one to his chest. Slow and steady, you delight in his body, pulling the callous of his form closer, nearer, sighing when he stirs so slight, the content smack of his lips assuring a relaxation he so desperately deserved. Slow; as flowers fall from your lips onto his skin, your gentle hands move composed, leisurely, smoothly down his chest, brushed delicately across the firm of his torso, the structure; the art of his abs,

Your fingers draw gentle circles and mindless shapes, playing his skin in a beautiful melody; John’s touch dances on your fingertips, his skin a song you’d memorized a lifetime ago;

           Slowly, the soft pads of your hold brush over his clothed manhood, full, thrived, glorious in his cotton boxers. His shaft is firm against your wrist, the heaviness of his entirety thick against your fingers. With a cheeky smile, and warm grin his way, your face buries under the dip of his neck, just under the abrasive stubble of his chin, your lips peppering sincere, love baked kisses to his drowsy figure, two fingers of your inquisitive hand dipping into the waistband of the fabric that holds his cock, full.

John’s cock is one of your absolute favourite treats.

His girth,

His heaviness,

His weight, his taste, that throbbed vein that runs like a lightening bolt up his overwhelming length, the rich shade of pink his tip becomes when erect for you; John’s cock is a luxury in its own right.

Gently, your fingers intrude into his boxers, skin brushed past the full bush of dark hair that surrounds his member. John keeps himself tame, groomed to a tolerable trim down under just for you. Before you, John didn’t care much. Now, however, he prefers to keep himself presentable, just for you.

As the soft pads of your lotion silken fingers greet his bulge in a tender brush, shockwaves pierce inside you, the sheer feel of his cock wrapped in your hand causes a tender ache between your legs.

Butterflies float inside,

Nerves twist inside your core, the familiar bite of anticipation, of need.

Your body sears for him, pleads for him to wake up and make love to you. Yearns for his cock to make home within you, thoughts hazed in a crisp desire for him to fuck you the way he so expertly does.

Yet; you hold. You tenderly, warmly, delicately begin to stroke his shaft, making sure to swirl his tip with your thumb, feeling the thin skin of his member melt through your grip.

John deserves to feel good, deserves to feel love kiss him, graze him in the most tender of ways. John deserves for relief to wash over him; to kiss any worries that clog his weary mind away.

Stroking firmer, harder, faster, his arousal jerks in your satin grip, in a ballet fumed through your affectionate pry, lovebites and wet kisses still mottling to his collarbone. John’s cock throbs, aches, pulses in your hand, his sleeping frame slowly, barely waking in the midst of your morning favour.

Gently, you massage his heavy balls, tenderly stroking them, paying well attention to each inch, each curve, each dip of his magnificent manhood. John stirs, eyes fluttering awake through a quiet moan dripping off his tongue; eyes still shut as soft, gentle groans coil in his throat, and his palms find the small of your back, holding on dearly. The warmness of your kisses on his jaw welcome him awake; each inch of him envelopes in love, in a sea of all feelings good; all feelings free.

Velvet and rich, his moans melt in your ears, the sound of his tender baritone quietly, softly whimpering for you a song you’d memorize till’ the end of time. You continue, stroking his cock, faster, and faster, and faster, twisting, pumping, slicking the smear of dewy pre cum slipping out his head.

“Fu…fuck…” John moans, heavy palms finding your waist as they hold your hips tight, fingers sinking into the soft flesh. “Fuck, sweetheart, it feels…” The words die in his throat, cut through a louder, gravellier groan, a groan that moistens the insides of your glossy arousal building for him.

“Feel good, baby?” You wonder, painting yet another delicate, mauve bruise into the skin of his chest.

“So good, don’t stop.” He requests, through broken breathes and weary gasps. “I’m gonna cum,” John warns, his own hand trickling into his boxers to massage his balls simultaneously, while you work wonders to his swollen shaft. With a few more particularly tight, sloppy pumps, John’s hold on you tightens, sweet, dripping praises of your name fleeing his lips as his cock burst, spurts of creamy, warm release coating the grip of your palm.

He feels silky, wet and sticky in your touch, and you grin a warm kiss his way, watching the beauty of his dark features relish in aftershocks, riding the waves of delicious release as you softly, slowly pump him limp. Pulling your body closer, John’s snuggles further into your hold, sighing against your skin; his cock still bundled in your tender grip. “Good morning, handsome.” You giggle, feel of his laboured breaths hot against your skin, as he peppers a soft kiss to your breast. Smoothing over your hips, his deep baritone sighs a fond exhale, heavy hands smoothing over your peachy ass.

“Good morning it is,” He smiles into the valley of your breasts, his hands trailing suggestively into the hem of your shirt. Kissing, peppering affection to the swell of your chest, John chuckles, his own palm moving to brush over your drenched, needy pussy.

“Darling,” He whispers, larger frame shifting to hover over you, grinning with his mouth travelling to the silky dip of your neck, where his tongue dances over soft flesh. “You have to let me return the favour.” Quietly, his tone sends vibrant want spark inside, breath hitching to the way his study fingers rub against your bare slit, lapping, smearing the sap that drips just for him.

“When,” He whispers into your skin, praising, returning stolen kisses. “Did I,” a gentler kiss to your collarbone, as he trails lower, peeling off whatever fabric shields the haven of your body from his wanting gaze. “Get so, lucky?”

           And to the sound of your soft giggle, his eyes lock with yours as his face positions just above your hips, bulky fingers stripping your pajama bottoms down. His lips work tender kisses to the insides of your thighs, loving hands grazing over the soft skin as he whispers, taking hold of your hand, ready to return the morning affection.

           “You’ll be the death of me, Mrs. Wick.”

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

My taglist will be posted in reblogs, let me know if you want to be added or removed! :)

#john wick x reader #keanu reeves x reader #john wick fanfiction #john wick imagine #john wick x y/n