#and it was left just barely unfinished up until i tied the loose ends a little over a year ago

[apollogies-p]

Prompt: Missed Target

This is beyond late, but it's my first time participating in toapril sooo 😭 (this is literally based on the first prompt, and I'm barely now doing it-)

If this seems unfinished, it's because it is!! This seems like a good place to end it for this prompt, but the next one is going to centered around another prompt!! (Also ik this is like vaguely following the prompt, but I promise the next part will be better 😭😭🙏🙏)

@toapril-official

▪︎▪︎☆▪︎▪︎

Every story he was told had a great hero, strong and king, yet always flawed, and it was those flaws that were their downfall. He thinks that those stories are only told to enforce fear into mortals, a clear message to never challenge a god's lest, you know the consequences.

But he wasn't a regular mortal, was he? It was evident in the way the nymphs looked him, both terrified and awed.

Besides, he wasn't stupid, hushed arguments between his father and father's sister left little to the imagination.

But then, if he wasn't a regular mortal, then what was he?

All these thoughts crammed in his mind made practicing ten times harder, not that he was any good anyways-

Nock. Draw. Loose.

The arrow was too fast for his eyes to comprehend, but he was certain he had that time. His posture was perfect, and his archers point has never been better-

Thwack!

His arrow was embedded in the boss of the target. No where near its intended target.

"Chiron-"

The frustrated scream ripped that through his throat had him sliding off his arm guard and throwing his bow across the grass.

"What's the point!?" Whipping his head towards his father, his eyes drank up the sight of his tied up gold hair and his stupidly perfect bow, all golden and shiny and just perfect.

And he hated it. He hated how perfect Apollo was, how he always managed to read Chiron like an open book.

"Oh, Chiron, everything will be okay. You just need more practice; you've only been at this for three weeks, my dear centaur."

His father was on his knees, something he always he whenever he wanted Chiron to listen. His eyes swarming with pity and Chiron hated it, he was so angry and the tears that welled up in his eyes only made him angrier.

"Don't call me that, I'm not a baby anymore."

The soft chuckle from his father partnered with the fond look in his eyes made Chiron's stomach curl, "No I suppose you're not but you are just eleven. You know, most normal eleven year old mortal boys go out and play in the sun, they don't spend hours practicing archery like you do."

"But I'm not a normal mortal boy, am I Lord Apollo!? For Hades' sake I'm not even your son!"

Chiron regretted it the moment the words left his lips but he already did it, he couldn't go back. He can't backpeddle now and he's just so angry.

But Apollo loves you, and you know it. You don't deserve the attention of an Olympian, you're a spoiled little foal that got too used to being pampered and now there's no turning back-

"Chiron?"

His father's voice pulled him out of his thoughts and he carefully opened his eyes. (When did he close them?)

Chiron couldn't stand the worried look etched on his father's face. Apollo prided himself in his youth and with his furrowed brows and the deep frown lines, he looked older than he ever let himself look.

He took a step back, then another, until his father's face was no longer close to his.

"Chiron? I'm not angry I promise you!" A soft sigh and father was no longer kneeling, "I'm sorry I never told you but, but I was scared- I was worried." Apollo's careful steps forward led to Chiron's careful steps backward and it was like they were dancing, maybe they always were, they've been dancing around this subject for a decade.

"I found you Chiron. You were just a few weeks old and I couldn't stand to leave you in the mercy of Echidna's children that lurk in the night." This, Chiron knew and father knows that so why is he repeating it?

Another sigh escaped his father, this one unsteady and tired, "You're Kronos's son, Chiron."

It felt like Lord Poseidon himself sent wave after wave to drown him. His knees buckled, but his father was there in an instant to cradle him on the grassy plain.

"I know this is hard Chiron but I promise you this has never, not ever changed the way I love you." Warm hand cupped his face and the blurry figure that was his father met his eyes. "You are my son. No one will ever change that."

Chiron wanted to believe him. He really, really did but the anger in his stomach raged on and his father's comforting words did nothing but smother them in guilt.

"No." With gentle hands, he pushed his father away, but the god wouldn't budge. "No!" Using his front legs, he kicked at Apollo's chest (ignoring the pained wheeze that came from his father), and with (much) effort, he brought himself to his feet.

"No! You lied to me. You were," Chiron licked his lips, the realization left his mouth dry. "You were scared of me! Did you just, did you just assume that I'd hurt you or Lady Artemis or- or Lady Persephone?! Just because of who my father is?!" Hot tears ran down his face, and he couldn't be bothered to wipe them. His pain brought Apollo pain, and that's all Chiron wanted.

"I hate you! I hate you! IhateyouIhateyouIhateyou-" choking in own tears and mucus, he turned around and ran. He ran straight into the dense forests surrounding their little clearing.

"Chiron! Chiron!" His father's voice was nothing but a whisper now.

▪︎▪︎☆▪︎▪︎

#apollo #chiron #toapril #trials of apollo #pjo hoo toa #toa #im so sorry this took so long #toapril creations

[shadowsandshapes]

FFTB | CH 7: Farewell, Good Fortune! (Dabi/F!Reader)

Summary: You've come to sever your ties to the League. All goes according to plan until Dabi corners you. He has beef and won't let you leave until it's resolved. Contains: Angst (Yes More Angst, Sue Me), Feelings Boiling Over, Spice Light (:

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It was cash. Lots of it. More than the League had ever been able to scourge up by themselves.

Shigaraki stared at the briefcase you had dropped into his lap moments earlier, eyes widening at the sight of the small fortune contained within. You quietly waited for him to process his thoughts – watching his crimson eyes shift from your face to the money and back. He was still reeling from the fact that you had barged into the safehouse without warning – after ignoring his calls for days – then you slammed the briefcase down and told him to open it. No hello or apology. It was rude. You weren’t smiling either – your whole demeanor felt so businesslike to him. Like you were a completely different person all of a sudden.

“I don’t…understand,” Shigaraki admitted. The money was nice but – why? “You vanish for days on end and then–”

“For the van,” you cut him off, not willing to go into detail about your sudden absence. “It should cover my debt to the League, right?”

Days of gambling had finally paid off. It sucked that you didn’t get to keep any of this, but it had to be done. You didn’t like loose ends. Leaving things unfinished with the League would have haunted your conscience for the rest of your life if you hadn’t done this. No matter how small or insignificant, debts had a tendency to drag you down. You wanted a clean break with these people. The first step in the process was eliminating your reason for joining in the first place.

Shigaraki tried to protest, knowing what this implied for your relationship moving forward. “Yes, it’s more than enough but –” 

“Perfect. Take the money and forget I exist.” The other members in the room stayed quiet, watching the scene unfold with bated breath. Dabi wasn’t here when you came in. Good. He might have made this more difficult for you. Even after everything he’d said to you that night, you liked him too much. Hearing him snarl and hurl insults at you for abandoning them was the last thing you needed right now. Hell, it might even have convinced you to stay. So yeah – it was a good thing he wasn’t here to stop you. “I was a fucking fool for thinking I could work with others. We’re done. Do I make myself clear? If any of you contact me again, I will retaliate.”

Your words stung. A quick scan of their faces hit you with a twinge of doubt and regret – but you ignored it. Toga specifically seemed distraught but didn’t say anything. Not even as you made your exit and left without saying goodbye. It was hard but you kept a straight face. Somehow, this felt worse than leaving your family behind. Dabi was right. You couldn’t be trusted. Neither could they. Every single person in that room was a villain. Capable of great evil. Yourself included. Even if you had the best intentions with them, your Quirk would ruin things eventually. This was for the best.

Barely two steps into the hall you spotted the man himself, leaning against the opposite next to the doorway. 

Fucking shit. This couldn’t have gone smoothly. Something just had to go wrong.

Dabi must have been waiting for you to leave. Waiting to catch you alone and off-guard so he could enjoy tormenting you one last time. You steeled yourself. Preparing for whatever insult he would hurl your way. Just like the first day you’d met, Dabi stood between you and the only way out. No sea of flames this time. Though that could still change. You rolled your eyes at the coincidence. Irony had a funny way of slipping into your life like that.

“You’ve got a lotta fuckin’ nerve showing your face here, Lucky.”

Dabi called you a lot of names. Not all of them were nice and some were downright cruel. However, that nickname had always been off-limits – he knew that better than anyone. Which meant Dabi was deliberately being disrespectful. Seemed like he was still looking to make you feel miserable before this was all over. Like some kind of fucked up parting gift.

You shrugged.  “Get off my back. After tonight, you’ll never have to see my pretty fuckin’ face ever again. I made sure of it.”

“That right?” he pushed off the wall, positioning himself in your path directly. There was no way past him unless you decided to use force – which you weren’t too keen on trying against a guy who could fold you like a lawn chair. “You in a hurry to go somewhere? I thought you and me might have a little chat.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

You tried to leave by squeezing past but Dabi was quick to react. The deep chuckle that reverberated in his chest was the only warning you got before his hand wrapped around your throat. Putting pressure on your windpipe, he used his strength to back you up against the wall in an instant. Dabi was mesmerized by your slightly parted lips. The way they moved to suck in a shallow, desperate breath as you gasped in surprise. So sweet and plump. Backed into a corner with your pretty eyes staring right at him. Right where he wanted you. His hand captured your chin and forced your eyes to look at him. Thumb playing at the edge of your lip. Your breathing picked up, fanning against his digit as he dragged it back and forth and watched your reaction like a man obsessed.

"Running away from me, huh?" He questioned. "That's no good. Thought you were tougher than that, my pretty little girl."

You couldn't think straight. He was too damn close. What the fuck was his deal anyway? Dabi was the reason you chose to break ties with the League in the first place. He'd called you a liar and a weak link. Made you feel inferior and small compared to everyone else. Yet now that he had you up against a wall, your heart was racing like crazy. Thumping against your ribcage with no sign of slowing down.

Here you were. Right in front of him. That empty feeling in his gut was finally settling down enough to be bearable. Dabi found it extremely gratifying to watch your eyes frantically dart behind him in a feeble attempt to escape his attention. It was no use. He was determined to hold onto you. Even if he didn’t fully understand where this obsession had come from or what it meant. All he knew was that, without you, his mind knew no peace. Your smile – your laugh – the way you snarled in disgust when he dipped his fries into a milkshake. The memories of your time together plagued his dreams at night, bleeding into his waking moments whenever you were away. You had to stay. One way or another, he had to keep you close like this so you could pay for what you’d done to him. 

So he could figure out why he was acting like such a pathetic loser.

His silent pondering was cut short by your nails digging into his wrist. You tugged at his hand, trying to get him back off and release your face. “Let me go,” you demanded – the bite of your voice almost ferocious enough to move him.

It was a good effort on your part but the struggling only made him want to hold on tighter. 

Dabi smirked – making a show of blocking your escape by placing his free hand against the wall next to you. Your eyes flickered to the arm briefly then right back to his face. “No.” He whispered the word with terrifying confidence. It clung to the silence, making it grow heavier with every passing second.

What happened next was the single most confusing thing you’d ever experienced. 

Dabi’s lips descended onto your own. You protested weakly at first as he drove his mouth against yours, squirming against his grip as he trapped you in with his body. You should be livid – do something to fight him off but, despite your initial shock, you began melding into the touch. If anything, your pent-up fury only fueled the need for more. You grabbed the edge of his coat with both hands and pulled him closer. Teeth gnashing against his lips as your anger manifested into a vicious bite. Dabi couldn’t control himself. He groaned as your teeth sank into his bottom lip. Your taste was addicting. Days of frustration all came pouring out as he kissed you. The feeling of your soft skin – your beautifully annoyed moans as you pushed back against him – it was almost too much for Dabi to handle. It brought him unbridled relief. 

His bliss was cut short when you regained your senses, abruptly shoving him off you. Dabi stumbled back, only able to watch on as your face ran through every emotion known to man. You struggled to catch your breath – aggressively wiping his saliva from your lips with the back of your hand. This – wasn’t really happening, was it? Every thought in your head was deafeningly incoherent. Nothing made sense. Your heart couldn’t stop racing – its thundering beat drowning out all other sounds. You didn’t know how this was supposed to make you feel. Dabi hated you. He said so himself. Fucking hell – this was all so damn confusing. You staggered backward, putting your hand out to stop Dabi from approaching you when he moved to do so.

“Get the fuck out of my face.” Dabi’s satisfied smirk vanished as you spoke. “I don’t – you can’t just –! Is this a joke? It’s not funny.” There were so many things you wanted to say, but couldn’t. The words just wouldn’t come out. Your mind was a mess. Today was supposed to be the end of your time with the League. Dabi was supposed to disappear from your life so he couldn’t hurt you anymore. 

Why was your heart set on telling you you wanted this? 

“(Y/n) –”

“Don’t talk to me!”

You didn’t need him – you deserved better.

In response to the mounting commotion, several members of the League peeked their heads into the hall – just in time to watch you scowl and scream at their resident arsonist. You glanced at them as they appeared, remembering what you had come here to do. Enough was enough. These feelings were too overwhelming to deal with right now. You’d worry about them once you were far away from this godforsaken place.

“Go fuck yourself, Dabi –” you breathed out, unable to steady your voice with all of these overwhelming emotions coursing through your veins.

He didn’t say anything – just watched as you left, abhorred and confused by the pure distress reflected in your eyes. That was his fault. You were never going to come back. Dabi stood frozen in the hall for a moment. Alone with his thoughts. None of his comrades dared to utter a word, slinking back into the briefing room before they got in trouble. He hadn’t meant to kiss you. It just happened. The plan was to put you in your place. To confront you and break this spell you had cast. But you looked so beautiful when you were angry and he was desperate. Obsessed with making the hollow feeling in his chest go away. For a moment it did, but now the nauseating sensation was worse than it had ever been.

Why did he do that? What was the fucking point?

Dabi didn’t understand. His fingers traced his lips. The ghost of your kiss still lingered on them. Your sweet and bitter taste. The anger in your bite had bruised him, a faint smear of blood leaking from the cut. You were not going to abandon him like this. He would make sure of that. Even if Dabi had to burn down the city in search of you – he would find you and put a stop to this. There was no place he wouldn’t be able to track you down.

Dabi had friends in low places. If you made a move – he would know – and he would be there.

A/N: g i g g l e So? How'd you like your first kiss? It's gonna get better soon. And by 'soon' I mean the next chapter. We've reached the mid-point of the story! Holy shit!! I can't believe we're here already. Shit's gonna get really personal soon. I can't wait. Unfortunately, my backlog of chapters is becoming quite short so now I have to focus on the draft again.

Taglist: @kelin-is-writing @dynamars @dabislittlemouse @simpysheep @ohnoitsthatonekid

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#shade's fftb #dabi #touya todoroki #dabi x y/n #dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi x female reader #touya todoroki x reader #touya x y/n #touya x reader #touya x you #mha dabi #bnha dabi

[damn-daemon]

“ you. i’ll always and endlessly fight for you. “ for KatSachi 💜💜

Girl, I have not edited this. Good luck to both of us.

Jaku Hospital. That was where Endeavor said she was, if their source was doing their job right. 

Of course that was where she was. A hospital is where they had lost her the first time, replaced by a stupid double that had them fooled for two weeks. Two weeks they were strung along, played like a fiddle, while the League of Villains were doing god knows what to her. 

Two weeks. 

And then another two weeks just to find her. 

It made Bakugo want to kill something, but it wasn’t just his usual bluster, his hard talk to intimidate an opponent into complying. He wanted something to bleed; he wanted to grasp something and not let go until they’d paid their share of the torment they’d all gone through. He wanted them to beg, and to be able to tell them no. And he had a feeling he’d have no shortage of opportunities…

Endeavor hadn’t wanted him there. He wanted him on patrol with the others, protecting the civilians in the city, and he had argued until his voice was nearly gone. In the end, it was Aizawa who had interfered. 

“Better we knowingly have him at our side than have him turning up at the wrong moment, which he will do if you continue to say no,” his teacher had stated. “Someone will need to evacuate Iwasaki, and Bakugo has the best maneuverability of any of us.”

It was a win for both his pride and skill, but nothing about it made him want to grin. 

The attack began and they found that stupid doctor. Except it wasn’t him, not really. Just another double meant to play the heroes for fools. But they weren’t going to fall for it this time. They were going to punch everything until something stuck. It wasn’t hard to find a target. High-End Nomus came at them from the walls, the floors, the ceiling, blocking every path, but they fell faster than he thought they would. After the Nomu as USJ, they were all just smaller, weak, pathetic…

That was the anger talking, and Bakugo let it as he smashed through the High-Ends beside Aizawa and Present Mic. He let it carry him away into an unfocused rage that destroyed everything in his path. He let it win.

The radio crackled in his ear.

“...deavor…ere…she’s here…”

Aizawa had one second to shout his name before Bakugo took off down the hallway, dodging Nomus with ease as he made off in the direction he last saw Mirko. The path twisted and turned, with creatures attempting to block him in every direction, but it was like his teacher said: he had the best maneuverability, and the villains hadn’t had the chance to steal his Quirk. They couldn’t catch up to him; they weren’t going to. 

He entered a room of chaos, filled with large tubes containing unfinished Nomus, and power cords that snaked around the environment like jungle vines. Active Nomus currently attacked Mirko, who wove her way around them with ease, even with her left arm missing and tied up to keep from bleeding out. 

“BACK LEFT, BAKUGO!” the Pro-Hero shouted, leading the Nomus away. “DON’T STOP!”

A small form was lying near a supercomputer, collapsed on the ground in a hospital gown. He knew that blue hair anywhere. 

With a shout, Bakugo came to a halt beside her, turning her limp form over. 

“Sachi!” he called, watching as her gray eyes opened and slowly came into focus. She smiled. “You better not let go! I’m not doing all the work again!”

He barely heard her ‘okay’ as he scooped her up, her arms loosely wrapping around his neck. 

Bakugo glanced up as Nomus began to notice their presence, turning their attention from the chase to the targets sitting completely still. 

It’s just like Kamino, isn’t it?

Just like then, he couldn’t fight. He had someone to take care of, and Bakugo did just that as he blasted away from the scene, maneuvering as well as he could with only one arm available. He didn’t trust Sachi’s grip to hold, but it was okay. They would make it. 

He was stronger now. 

The walls began to explode around them. Endless Nomus seemed to pour though, or maybe it was just one or two, larger than any he’d seen before, even at USJ. Bakugo dodged and weaved, he bounced off the walls and fired off shots when he could, but a stray brick caught him in the back of the head and they both tumbled to the ground. 

Bakugo briefly blacked out, waking to a bloodied face and a Nomu bearing down on Sachi as she attempted to recover. 

His hands ignited instantly, driving him forward into the Nomu. It felt like crashing into a wall, but the behemoth was driving back, tripping over its own weight. Something popped in his shoulder, however, and a searing pain ran up and down his arm. The impact had dislocated it. 

“Bakugo!” Sachi shouted behind him before a loud crunching sound broke overhead, with two pieces of the ceiling falling neatly beside him, carried away by a large gust of air. That one move had clearly exhausted her, leaving her frail body covered in sweat. “What are we going to do?” 

There wasn’t going to be a we. Sachi was already out of the fight. She’d likely pass out again if she walked too far, and he wasn’t able to carry her in his state. He needed one arm to fight, and his left arm was completely useless to him right now. 

He watched as Nomus began to fill in the exits, blocking what little light they had with their massive forms. 

“I am going to win.”

The hallway burst into flame as Bakugo shot across it, firing his Quirk at everything that moved. Fire whipped into a gale as he spun around, his Howitzer Impact driving into three Nomus, leaving them motionless and sprawled across gaping holes in walls. His rampage caused the ceiling to collapse further around them, but he prevented the cement slabs from falling onto Sachi, blowing them away with explosions that drove them into other Nomu. He screamed and cursed and fought until the hall was silent again. 

Then he collapsed on his knees before Sachi, burnt, bruised, and bleeding, his mask half torn, and one of his gauntlets missing. His bones ached from the impact of so many explosions at once, and his lungs burned from the effort. But he had won, just like he said. 

He had won.

Another Nomu appeared, staring at them from the inky darkness. It was on the opposite end of where they needed to go. They could flee…

Bakugo stood, wavering, but Sachi grabbed his arm. 

“What are you doing?” she asked. 

“I’m going to kill it.”

Her gray eyes widened. “Why?”

“You,” he breathed, eyes focused on the target ahead, calculating, waiting. “I’ll always and endlessly fight for you.”

There was a beat. He drew a breath, felt his Quirk begin to sizzle in his palm. 

A hand lightly touched his cheek.

“I had always hoped you felt that way,” Sachi said quietly beside him. Bakugo glanced over to her. She was crying. “Well, she had always hoped, I think. My thoughts are her thoughts, I guess. In a way.”

His eyes widened. “What are you-”

“You need to leave,” she said, stepping in front of him. “You need to go back to the others and you need to find her. I wish I could tell you where she is, but that isn’t why they made me. I don’t know why they did.”

“Sach-” 

Bakugo didn’t get to finish his sentence as he was driven across the space by Sachi’s Quirk. He skidded to a halt on the floor, flinging his arm back in preparation to drive himself forward again, but something kept him from moving. Her eyes maybe, as they stared at him, or his mind as it came to acknowledge the cruel reality that was facing him.

“I’m sorry I’m not her.”

It was the last thing she said before the Nomu slammed into her, and her body collapsed, turning back into whatever sludge Twice made his doubles from. 

#pain special ordered just for you #katsachi #i love you nikki

[hentaimommi]

ᴏᴄᴇᴀɴ ᴇʏᴇꜱ | ᴀʀᴍɪɴ ᴀʀʟᴇʀᴛ (x fem reader)

Warnings: cute cute cute. This is s4 Armin btw! (for timeline)

Summary: Being the new commander of the survey corps was fresh, new. Your first act was an innocent trip to the beach..but was it all so innocent?

[O C E A N E Y E S]

"Commander (F/N), this is your new office. I expect great things from this space. Armin Arlert will be here shortly." Captain Levi left coldly, as he always did. A mystery even to his superiors, who had stripped him raw over the years. Your eyes met each corner of what used to be Erwin's office. Dust had taken over old areas, books piled high and unfinished paper work rested on his desk. Your eyes softened, paneling over to the chair Levi had sat your things in.

Erwin was a leader you'd looked up to the entire time you participated in the corps. Even as a newbie, he held his head high as the commander, and others followed. Being apart of the 104th was difficult; but you had ripped your way up the charts. Caring for no one was the name of the game, it was easy. Until you met Armin. He was the sweet to your salty, always right beside of you. He'd push you through every problem, loss, and back track you faced.

When Eren was gone, taken by the traitors, you knew nothing would be the same. Armin cried on your shoulder that night, and slowly, you learned to comfort him. Mikasa didn't mind your connection to him, neither did Eren. They only asked that you never hurt him, but, how could you? He was the sun in your darkness. So smart, kind, and full of dreams. The way he talked of the ocean, you knew you had to go. The day you all rode out for hours, nearly lost. Levi kept pointing out how stupid and useless that was, but you didn't care. Armin was happy, so were you.

When asked who you wanted your 2nd in command to be, the answer came without question. Armin accepted with joy on the promise that you would, once again, see the ocean. With him. That was your first thing to do, first plan as the 14th commander. No one agreed with you, but why would you care?

Unpacking the rest of your items and sweeping the last parcel of dust, you sighed looking upon the clean room. It was a nice fresh sight to see, perfectly suited to your style in all. You sat down in the old chair, only to hear a quick knock at the door. "You may enter." Your voice was raspy from not using it for so long. The door creaked open slowly, revealing the short-haired blonde man. "Hello commander! I'm here to help with plans for tomorrow! Sorry for the intrusion I just-" "Say no more, Armin, its okay. You can sit down- and, call me (F/N), as always, please." He nodded, sitting down along with the three books on the ocean he had brought.

You smiled at the sight, eyes lingering in his blue ones for a second longer. The one to break contact was him, looking down at the now open book you hadn't realized changed. "So, um, when would you w-want to leave?" His voice was meek, you could tell he was scared. "Are you afraid of something?" You asked, slightly smiling and removing your hair from the tight pony tail it had been in all day.

His swallow was hard, eyes jerking out of the window that subsided in the left wing of your office. "I just don't to overwhelm you to the point you don't want to go." His shame filled voice was sweet, making you smile once more. "I will go, no matter what. It's the least I could do." He nodded, beginning to read aloud a passage of the sea.

The night was sweet. He read, telling you interesting facts about the ocean. His eyes wouldn't leave the book, if only once to look at you. He observed your under eye bags, pretty hair, even wondering how soft your skin was. He then felt as if he had violated a boundary, instantly looking back down. By the end of the book, you'd fallen asleep in your chair. Armin smiled down at you, standing up. His heels clicked across the wood over to you, his nimble fingers scaling through your locks. He enjoyed seeing you at peace, for no one else had.

The next morning you awoke in your bed. The morning light split between the slips of your curtains, blinding your freshly awaken state. Groggily, you stumbled into the bathroom, only to find yourself losing motivation. Then, a knock came on your bedroom door. "Comman- (F/N)! Sorry. Are you ready?" The meek voice plated into your ears. Armin.

Swiftly you ran back into the room, opening your drawers to find a quick outfit. "Yes! Give me a moment please sweet heart!" Blushing at the accidental name calling, you threw on a uniform, matching yourself with the cloak in hand. Putting your hair into a ponytail, you then slipped out of the door and into the office portion of your quarters. "Sorry, I woke up late. Ready?" You asked, smiling. He took one look at you, then stared for a moment. You looked so breath taking, like this. His heart began to thump until he was smacked back into reality with a firm grip on his shoulder. "Armin?"

When you all set off there was a breeze in the air, something special. You had wished other cadets a sweet goodbye, leaving your duties to Levi for the evening. He agreed in order to keep his fresh shipments of tea coming in. Armin looked back at you a few times on the ride. You rode the carriage, which had many supplies for an overnight camp-out on the shore. Everything was tied down well. You all spoke little, determined to arrive there before dark.

Upon arrival, the ocean stared at you smack in the face. A sea breeze like no other, salty and sweet, perfect for the both of you. He looked back once more, only to feel the same feeling from before boil in his ribcage. You looked stunning. You had been looking back, too. The eye contact was unbreakable, like the ocean wasn't even there. Although it broke when your horse shook, scaring the both of you. Playing it off with a chuckle, you coughed. "Should we set up camp?"

Armin nodded, "U-Um, yeah that'd be good." He jumped down from his stallion, climbing onto the cart that held your supplies. Pulling a small paper and pencil from his pocket, he began checking off things. You, however, were captivated by the sea. So large and beautiful, like nothing you had ever seen. You almost felt bad. In your own world with Armin, citizens would never see this in their lives. Why did you deserve this?

"(F/N), we have a problem." His voice was almost squeaky as you turned around, wind blowing through your locks harshly. "Yes?" You walked over, smiling at his frown. "There is only one tent, someone must have forgotten the other." Hands placed firmly onto your hips, you laughed a bit. Problem? That wasn't so bad. "We can sleep together, can we not?" As soon as the question left your lips, his ears and cheeks free ablaze. "Y-Yeah, we can. For sure." You smiled, clapping your hands together. "Okay, let's get this done!"

When finished setting up camp, Armin had been basking in the dull light of the shore. His feet were dug into the sand, pants rolled up along with his sleeves. Your heart panged, why were you feeling this way? He was so beautiful, so untouched and virgin to anything. If you had romantic feelings, would he even notice? You shook off the feeling, sitting down beside of him. There were no words as you both looked out, the ocean reflecting beautifully from his eyes like the depths of something you had never seen. In a fit of exhaustion, your head fell loosely onto his shoulder, making his chest rise. You looked so calm, so gorgeous. He wanted to hold you instead, but knew it might overstep a boundary.

"Sleepy head, it's dark, we need to get into the tent and snuff the light." You heard Armin's voice push you away from your sleep, your eyes meeting with his. His hands were tucked softly under your legs, which had been wrapped around his waist. Never had you felt so flustered, although it was obvious he had lifted you from the sand. "Oh! I'm sorry." You got down, wiping yourself of the sand. He smiled, opening the tent flap for you to crawl in.

You did, and he followed, only making you realize how cramped the space was until this point. The tent was meant for one person and a few items, but you had two people, along with their items. Armin felt conscious of his breathing, as he nearly held you agaisnt his chest whilst being curled into the cramped tent space. "I-Is this, is this okay?" He asked, pushing the light away with one hand. It was dim, barely providing adequate light. "You can come closer, if you need. I know the sand is uncomfortable." You offered, pulling yourself as close to the tent wall as possible. He did so, scooting further, spooning you.

Both of your faces were bright red, ears as well. The tension was so thick even Levi couldn't cut it, and that was saying something. You felt him hesitate, but slowly relax. "(F/N)?" He asked, arm resting onto your shoulder. You turned, finding him closer than you had thought. Your faces were met close and together, finding out just how small the tent really was. "Yeah?" The air was hot, matching your cheeks and forehead. "I have something to tell you."

You nodded, stomach churning. Did he not like this? Was this making him uncomfortable? How stupid were you. "I have feelings for you. The reason I insisted we go alone, was because I'm in love with you," He admitted, clearly zoned out enough to let himself admit just embarrassing things. "When I see you walk with Eren and Levi, laughing, it hurts. When I watch you cry, I only want to hold you. I've never felt this way for anyone, so I have concluded this is love." He finishes, finding himself looking into your eyes for reassurance.

You are stunned for a moment, taken aback that he felt the same for you. Quicky he over-thought the silence, thinking this was rejection. Though, you noticed the drop in his expression, and cupped his pale cheeks into your hands. "Armin, I love you."

His cheeks grew even more red, eyes searching for your own. His large hands came up to yours, cupping them softly. Your bodies came closer, forever shutting the physical and metaphorical gap between the both of you. Your lips met, noting how soft his were. Just as he was. Then, his nose nuzzled against your own, foreheads meeting to match. "I truly do love you."

#armin arlert #armin fluff #armin shingeki no kyojin #armin x reader #aot imagines

[dorevenge]

where ignorance is bliss - chapter 2: where grass was green

SUMMARY: Obadiah is off to Washington to assist with the war in Vietnam, and Peggy and Maria grow closer, as Maria learns something she wishes she didn't. [AO3 LINK]

CHAPTERS: 1 [2] 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 ☆

November 15, 1959 – Bronx, New York, Obadiah’s Apartment

Struggling to find ways to pass the time after the war, Peggy frequented my apartment. The Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division (or, S.H.I.E.L.D., as everyone says to save precious time) has been involved in the fight with Vietnam for a few years now. Obadiah left for Washington right after the Stark Expo to give weapons consult in the war, and I haven’t seen him in almost three months. We would write letters sometimes, and phone even less. I moved into Obie’s apartment to take care of the place while he was away for an indeterminate amount of time, and Peggy crashed in the living more times than she would care to admit.

“Did you love him?” I ask, fixing the two of us another round of Old Fashions. The empty Chinese carryout containers are scattered across the coffee table before us. There’s a good restaurant between the S.H.I.E.LD. Headquarters and the apartment, and Peggy will frequently grab something on the way here.

“I only knew him for a couple months,” Peggy replies, taking the glass. I curl up next to her on the couch, our heads leaning in towards each other. “So it’s hard to say. It could have been. We were both young, thrown together during some of humanity’s darkest days. We were all looking for something to believe in.”

She swirls the glass in her hand, lazily watching the whiskey fall back down the side before continuing.

“What about you and Obadiah? Is this love?”

“I don’t want to talk about him.” The corners of my mouth curl downwards on their own. Peggy notices. Peggy always notices.

“Trouble in paradise?”

“It’s more like paradise when he’s gone rather than when he’s here.”

“Why is he your boyfriend if you don’t even like him?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I take a large gulp of my Old Fashion, the whiskey burning the back of my throat. “He’s my fiancé.”

Peggy sits up, and my head slides off her shoulder to the cushion of the couch.

“Your what?” She takes my left hand into hers and finds my ring finger bare.

“I keep it in my sock drawer. Whether out of safekeeping or embarrassment, I’m not sure.” I sit up.

“When did this happen? And why did you say yes?” She looks at me with a tight expression, concern and worry on her face. Her red lipstick is all but gone, a faint imprint of it left on the rim of her class, and her usually tight curls hang loose around her neck and chin. If she weren’t so upset, I’d reach out to tuck one of them behind her ear.

“The last day of the Expo. He… He’s comfortable. We have our routine. We play chess together, I straighten his ties, I smile at the men he wants to invest in his company. I get some of the profits for my charities, and we make each other look good.” I frown at the empty glass in my hand and contemplate fixing another.

Peggy sets down her unfinished drink and looks at me. She has a way of effortlessly shifting her gaze from disapproving to comforting in a second. I never know if I’m going to be talking to the “unrelenting founder of S.H.I.E.LD.” Peggy or the “let’s go shopping and day-drinking” Peggy.

“I’m sure there’s a man out there that complements you and makes you feel good. You just-”

“-haven’t found him yet,” I finish her sentence. I’ve heard it from everyone – my parents, coworkers, strangers who learn I’m 23 and still unwed. 24, I remind myself; my birthday was on the fifth, less than two weeks ago. I feel the effects of the whiskey settling in, my eyes growing heavy and my weight shifting to my stomach. “You’re lucky to have experienced two great loves.”

“Daniel is far from a true love, hence why I stay with you the majority of the week. I’m also fourteen years older than you and have had more time to find them. I was 24 when I met Steve; there’s still plenty of time.”

“There doesn’t seem to be many men like Steve left.”

-

Peggy was gone without a word the next morning, and I am left alone with a pounding headache. By the time I wake, its well past noon on Saturday, and the mail’s already been delivered under the door.

I rifle through the envelopes once my toast is done, the coffee pot almost full, and the majority of the mail is addressed to Obadiah. Bills and letters of interest from inventors that I’m supposed to forward to him in DC. There’s a letter addressed to me in his precise, meticulous handwriting, but the one that interests me most is from Roxxon Oil Company, a large, thick packet with “CONFIDENTIAL” stamped across it. Naturally, I open it.

Maybe it’s the lingering hangover or the knowledge that Obie would forgive me for anything under the sun, but I rip open the envelope as I sip on my morning coffee, pouring all its contents out on to the table.

Most of the information doesn’t interest me, talking about drill efficiency and rigs and pipelines, until I find the balance sheet and investing information. I did get my master’s in accounting, as Obie tends to forget as he relegates me to a trophy wife. As I drift back into sobriety, the pieces start falling into place. Roxxon isn’t investing in Stane International; Stane is investing in Roxxon, and they were already profiting, working together, inventing together. The copies of the blueprints are of Obie’s design, seeking to create clean energy to replace gasoline down the road. In the last two years, Obadiah has made hundreds of thousands of dollars, with deposits and withdrawals from countless accounts, and reinvesting it, the paper trail deliberately as confusing as possible. I’d call it embezzlement if it weren’t his own company.

I get a scratch piece of paper and start doing the math. It isn’t adding up. Nothing is adding up, the dates and locations, let alone the cash, with several documents addressed from Russia. I sit up, my heart in my throat, pulsing so hard it feels like the world around me was shaking.

Obadiah is not a sneaky man by nature. I knew that he was interested in me before he realized it; I knew when he was going to ask me to go steady with him; I know when he is on the brink of a great new idea. He tries his best to hide things, but every move of his body betrays him. I’ve caught him sticking things in the back of his closet and under his bed more times than I could count, and I’ve never had the opportunity to check with him there. But seeing as he’s away…

Kneeling, I fumble underneath the bed frame until my fingers find purchase on a briefcase, and I slide it out. I wrestle with the knobs until I realize there’s a four-digit code keeping it locked. Before I mess with the dials, I notice the number. 0213.

“Oh, Obie. Do you have to be so predictable?” February 13th was our first date; he chose the day before Valentine’s Day because he believed the holiday of romance should be reserved for people already together, and he made a spectacle on 14th because we were together at that point, by his logic.

The top of the briefcase pops open at my touch, and inside I find numerous telegram slips, copies of both those sent and received. I sift through them quickly, none of them really catching my eye, filled with code words that I didn’t have the motivation to try to decipher. One of them caught my eye, and this is one of the only times Obie’s over-organization paid off because the telegrams were in chronological order.

RECEIVED

September 21, 1957

To: Stane, O.

O., I am glad to hear you secured the trust-fund. Let me know what day you’ll tie the knot, and I’ll tell you where to wire the funds. I might just send you a gift to celebrate.

NEFARIA, G.

SENT

September 28, 1957

To: Nefaria, G.

I’ll be traveling for work extensively the next four months. Please send files to Location 2. She can’t know anything.

STANE, O.

RECEIVED

September 30, 1957

To: Stane, O.

O., safe travels. Remember the end goal – the reactor that threatens our future. It cannot be manufactured by anyone but us, for our sake.

NEFARIA, G.

Prior, my heart had felt like it was running a mile a minute; now, it feels still in my chest. Dead in the water, like a stunned minnow tossed in to attract larger fish. “The trust fund.”

I had been courted before for my parents’ wealth. In college, a boy had pursued me relentlessly. He made me feel beautiful, special, and like the only star in his sky. He had convinced me that love was this roller-coaster rush of emotions, one collision after the other, until his dormmate clued me in on his intentions. That’s why I try to keep Obie in the dark about what I’ll inherit, how big my trust-fund really is. Growing up, I was unaware of how good we had it; all my friends in boarding school were from the same social and financial class, we all vacationed at the same spots and shopped at the same boutiques. It took a lot of eye-opening experiences at university for me to realize life was different for others, and it honed my ability to detect insincere motives. Too little, too late, but I won’t let it happen again.

With shaking hands, I put the papers back in their order, and I snap the briefcase closed, pushing it back under the bed with a force. I return to the kitchen table where I had spread the other documents out, collect them, and place them back as they were. I’m not sure if I need to try to seal it to make it look unopened, or if I should destroy the whole thing. He hadn’t asked me about forwarding this one specifically, so he might not be expecting it. Under the documents, I find the letter addressed to me again. Obie’s handwriting hits me differently now. How well do I actually know the sender?

Mar- (God, I hate it when he calls me Mar.)

I am writing to you with success here in Washington DC. We have made valiant efforts with the war. We expect Vietnam to concede soon. Our troops are vigilant and the best America has to offer, and their farmers pose no threat to us or the hope of victory. I expect to return home to you Friday the 15th of November. I’m sorry, darling, that I missed your birthday, but perhaps I can make it up to you.

See you soon at home,

Your Obie

Friday. Today was Friday.

The living room was a mess. Peggy’s and my drinks and dinner dishes scatter the room, the mail on the table, and I look equally disheveled. I know Obie would be disappointed, as the apartment is always speckless when he’s here.

I am a flurry around the house, collecting garbage in the bin and dishes in the sink. I tie the heaping garbage bag and leave it by the door, and rush to check my appearance in the bathroom. A scarf around my hairline will make the windswept, frenzied style look intention, and I change into a simple blue sundress. Obie didn’t have a dishwasher, so I put an apron on to protect my dress from the dishwater.

As I was setting the last glass out to dry, a knock resounded from the front door. I could feel it reverberate in my chest, and my heartbeat pulsed in every finger in my hand. Shaking, I set the glass down, wiped the water off my hands, preparing myself to smile and wine-and-dine the man I’ve already committed myself to.

#where ignorance is bliss #wiib reading #what if #marvel #iron man #fanfiction #canary writes a text post

[queenjanai]

okay so, this is the 4.5k (not 3k like i thought, holy shit) words of unfinished smut i started writing about two months ago and haven’t gotten around to continue. it’s supposed to be part two of roses for your, my love with roses for you being the first part with amaya winning the melee, and this part called and with your kiss, i awoke which has all the smut. 

it is my first time fully writing smut so forgive me if it’s not good enough, and also forgive any time changes, i’ll edit everything once i get back to writing this fic. i’m putting it under a read more because it’s super long and again, nsfw warning. please leave feedback (good or bad!), i’ll really appreciate it. i hope you’ll like it!

Janai shuffled Amaya into their chambers at the first opportunity she had, pushing the great door of the room open for them. Noon has turned into evening, and the dark colors of dusk graced their bed chamber through the lave curtains, painting everything in hues of deep orange and soft pink. Everything was as still and neat as ever, something she had gotten used to, even before being crowned.

She turned to Amaya once the doors were locked behind her. Her beloved stood tall and broad as in any other day, though her cheeks were still flush and her clothes clang to her body.

"Thank you for giving me these," she began, touching the petals with the tip of her fingers, soft as silk. "The crowd seemed to love you."

Amaya laughed shortly and took her hand, playing with her fingers. "Theatrics," she shrugged.

Janai smiled, but her smile died off soon. Of course that Amaya didn't care about the show she was a part of. "Did you really mean what you said? About me?"

Amaya looked up at her. "Of course I did. No one deserves this crown more than you."

"Thank you." The color quickly returned to Janai's cheeks, matching it with the seeping sundown. Her eyes traveled to Amaya's face, glistening with a layer of sweat, before they dropped to the lips she kissed before. Janai clenched her hands together at her stomach where she felt the knot tightening, a mere inch away from Amaya.

Amaya gently took her chin under her thumb, fluttering her eyes shut, and brought her beloved into the kiss she desired. Their lips met sweetly, a relief for them both, and Janai cupped the back of Amaya's head almost out of instinct, running her fingers through the short ends of her hair there.

They broke only for a mere heartbeat for air, and stumbled further into the room in each other's arms. Janai longed for this moment. Every waking hour without Amaya felt like a neverending day. Amaya ran her hands on the sides of Janai's body, enjoying the way they dipped with the curve of her stomach, feeling the delicate stitching of her gown.

It was Janai who deepened the kiss, coaxing Amaya's mouth open with her tongue, tasting her. The only sounds in the room were of their kiss, lips parting and meeting again. Even the wind outside had ceased for them.

Amaya's groan after she nibbled on her upper lip was what brought Janai back to reality. "Wait," she placed her hands on Amaya's breastplate, where she traced the slash she had given her a long time ago. "Are you hurt?" She asked.

Amaya shook her head. Luckily, none of the blows landed on her- and they weren't that many- caused her to bleed, unlike some of the contestants who needed to be treated afterward. She glanced down, remembering her state. "I am not slightly clean," she avoided Janai's eyes for a moment as she signed.

The spark in Janai's eyes darkened, and the corners of her lips lifted with a smile. "I've seen you in battle," her hands moved fluently as she gave Amaya a hungry kiss, her nails scraping the fabric emerging under her breastplate, and Amaya could feel her tongue on her lips as she released the strap holding her breastplate in place, letting it scatter onto the floor. "Bruised and bloody," the words spilled from her mouth in a river of lust, and even her hands were eager to remove the steel around Amaya's waist. Finally, Janai drew back just enough, the spark settled but still well gleaming in her eyes. "I don't care," she said, sliding her hands underneath her skirts, and stepped away from her underwear once it's on the floor.

Amaya gaped at her wife. She wasn't so often prone to be bold and teasing at the same time. Janai continued to gaze at her with those waiting eyes, challenging, daring her, the tightness of her gown accentuating the curve of her hips, her generous bosom, and the high cut on the side revealing her thigh.

Amaya took a step forward and seized Janai by her shoulders, kissing her harshly. Janai yelped in surprise, caught with Amaya's hands holding the small of her back, but she responded all the same, weaving her hands through Amaya's hair as they walked back further into the room.

Janai broke the kiss when her ankles hit the foot of the bed. Flushed and breathless, her eyes darted across Amaya's face, who wore the same expression, just wanting, wanting. Her hands came to release Amaya's tunic from her breeches when Amaya reached behind her to undo the laces of her gown, her fingers slipping underneath the strings, quick with experience, and Janai could finally breathe deeply when the tie was unmade.

She released the clasps securing her clean cape to her shoulders and Amaya offered her a hand as she stepped away from the pool of porcelain embroidered with gold. Janai would sooner leave the gown on the floor, but not wanting to ruin the many hours the seamstress had worked on it, she threw it and the cape over one of the chairs, and returned to Amaya.

Without her gown, Janai only had an underdress, matching in color, though made of much thinner fabric, with a shimmer to it. The straps on her shoulders were mere lines, thinner than her smallest finger, the neckline was wide and deep, and the dress only reached a little past her waist. Not leaving much to imagination.

She cupped Amaya's face and brought her into a deep kiss, capturing her lips and letting her tongue in as her hands left Amaya's cheek to begin pulling on the laces of her breeches. Amaya pushed her closer and tilted her head to accept her kiss better, and when Janai finished loosing the strings she forgot what the need for air felt like. She trapped her hands beneath the boiled leather and pushed Amaya's breeches down, grabbing a handful of her behind as she went.

With only the breastband and undercloth masking Amaya, Janai could see the toll the melee had taken on her. There was a red spot on her forearm, spreading halfway to her elbow, and bruise on the side of her stomach, already turning blue, and another one on her thigh. Amaya's skin glistered with the layer of dried sweat underneath her clothes. Luckily, none of the strikes that were landed on her made her bleed, but Janai knew Amaya wouldn't complain about the bruises she had, even if they hurt.

Her gaze wandered down, to the only thing still left on Amaya that wasn't a cloth. The red ribbon she had tied around her hands, decorated with gold threads. Her favor. She reached out with both of her hands, one cradling Amaya's wrist, the other playing with the ribbon. She returned her eyes to Amaya. "Keep it on for me?"

A warm smile formed on Amaya's lips as she nodded, bringing Janai's hand and kissing it. "Only if you keep this on for me," she said, pointing at Janai's head.

The crown. Janai had forgotten all about it. Her fingers came to brush the petals, dainty as silk. Amaya waited with anticipation, and Janai answered her with a gentle kiss, and another, and another, while they climbed on the bed.

As much as Janai wanted to sink into the comfortable mattress, she kept herself elevated on her elbows to avoid crushing the delicate crown. For a moment, she wrapped her arms around Amaya's back, giving in to the wonderful weight of the body, but she had something much more amusing in mind.

She broke the kiss, earning a wondering look from Amaya. "Sit back," she voiced her wife, and Amaya pouted at her words. Janai giggled, and nudged Amaya with her foot until she was far enough on the bed.

She spread her legs then, letting them dangle off the sides of the mattress, and blush rushed to her cheeks as she lowered onto the bed, a nice roughness in them against her bare lips. She broke her gaze on Amaya to glance down at the little dress, barely containing her, and pulled the strings free one by one until it dropped to her lap, baring her completely for Amaya. She beckoned her wife to come closer.

At once, Amaya was on her, kissing her and prying the little dress away. Janai lifted her hips off the mattress, pursing her legs together as Amaya slid the dress and tossed it to the floor, feeling a drop of wetness forming within her. She used one hand to unwrap the band around Amaya's breasts, and she sighed when the pressure disappeared from her chest.

Janai marveled in the way Amaya was holding her, their legs tangled and their bodies aligned, and how soft Amaya's skin was under her callused hands. Amaya left her mouth in favor of her neck, beginning to leave a path of kisses there, but Janai used all of her strength and clarity to flip them over.

Amaya hit the mattress with a dull sound, the air momentarily knocked from her lungs. She opened her eyes to find Janai hovering her, crimson locks spilling free across her shoulders, her crown of roses so different in color. "You fought well and bravely, and won a crown for me," she said. "Let me tend to you first."

Only when the words have already left her, Janai realized how pleading she sounded, almost desperate. Prize or not, Janai disliked those royal events, meant more for the rich to showcase their power and fortune than for the common folk- although she did enjoy this particular celebration of today- and she longed to be by Amaya's side again.

Janai had seen her wife in all kinds of situations: battle against her or as her ally, embracing her nephews after a long absence, laughing and arguing, the indescribable feeling of bliss written on her face as she signed her wedding vows to her, but it wasn't so often for Janai to see Amaya in such a state of shock that all she could do was nod.

Janai grinned. It seemed like she hadn't lost her skills just yet. Her fingers ghosted over the waistband of Amaya's cotton underwear before she pulled it down, her eyes drifting to the muscles of Amaya's stomach working as she lifted her hips, the sight only lightly being shadowed by the dark bruises on her skin.

She leaned over to gift Amaya with a tender kiss and savored the sweet taste of her lips. She moved her hand down the length of Amaya's stomach, careful not to touch the bruises, and stopped just above where she wanted her the most, the tips of her fingers brushing the little black hair there. She descended to her throat and kissed the collum of her neck, leaving a nicer kind of marks there, and smiled when Amaya shifted beneath her and sighed against her ear.

She was quite fulfilled with teasing, as was Amaya, she was certain, but there was one last thing she couldn't help but do. Instead of moving her lips past Amaya's neck, she planted a kiss to her collarbone, and her shoulder, and continued to leave a trail of kisses all down her arm, until she lifted her arm and kissed the inside of her wrist, where the ribbon was still tied, and her fingers, feeling her pulse.

When she opened her eyes, Amaya was red more than before, and her breathing was labored. As much as Janai enjoyed basking in the sight of her aroused wife, she could not withstand it any longer, nor keep Amaya in such a dissatisfied state. She bent over and buried her face in the soft skin of Amaya's breast, taking her nipple into her mouth.

Amaya trembled, raising her hand to Janai's hair, and Janai swirled her tongue around her hardened nipple as her hand squeezed her other breast. Amaya moaned, her voice high, and Janai moved to repeat the action on her other side.

Once she had enough, Janai glided her fingertips between Amaya's breasts, followed by her lips. She made her way down her navel, and even kissed the bruise lightly, along with older, faded scars she knew by heart. She kissed her waist and the inside of her thigh, nibbling on the full flesh there. She took a moment to glance up at Amaya, well-settled between her legs, and thought of how heavenly her wife looked before she dipped her head.

She began with a small kiss to her sensitive spot, followed with a wider stroke of her tongue that spread Amaya's folds apart. With both of her hands hooked around Amaya's thighs, Janai drew back to look at how pretty and pink Amaya's lips were, and brushed her clit with the pad of her finger, ever so lightly touching the overly sensitive bundle of nerves there. A sigh escaped from Amaya, her head against the pillow and her eyes closed. Janai deepened her touch, adding pressure, and warmth engulfed her finger as she slid it between Amaya's folds, collecting the growing wetness around her entrance along the seam to the peak.

Janai had to admit, she was getting lost. The feeling of Amaya was intoxicating, as well as her smell. She drew out her tongue with a lingering stroke and a shiver went down Amaya's spine. She closed her mouth around her clit and swirled her tongue, lapping at the spot.

Despite having her eyes closed, Janai could feel there was something more to the way Amaya held onto her shoulder, thrusting her hips in sync with Janai's movements. She looked up to see something pleading in Amaya's eyes, similar to what she had before, though she didn't sign a word. Janai knew well what she wanted. She leveled herself on her elbows and gave Amaya a kiss, her taste still on her lips. Amaya clung to her, and Janai allowed her to coax her legs apart so they could meet each other while the kiss still lasted.

Once the kiss was done, Janai returned to her task, determined to give Amaya the release she so rightfully deserved. The crown was a light weight on her head as she took Amaya's lips between her own, sucking on them before she reached deeper with her tongue. By the time she alternated between long strokes, circling her bud, and using her fingers, Amaya was a writhing mess beneath her, her chest rising and falling with each earnest moan, tapping her shoulder repeatedly telling her more, more, more.

It was getting difficult for Amaya to keep her trembling legs in place as the demanding warmth of the orgasm built within her, but Janai had a strong grip around her to hold her down without inflicting any pain. Her hand fisted in the sheet opened and Janai slid to take it, intertwining their fingers while Amaya yelled out a choked cry when Janai brought her to completion. She kept her mouth on her as her thighs became weak, shaking with the aftershock, and only pulled back after Amaya's hips settled on the bed.

Amaya's head was spinning, full of fog. Her breathing was heavy and her face was aflame when she blinked her stunned eyes open to see Janai lifting her head from her, a transparent string of saliva stretching from her stimulated skin to Janai's lips. Her wife took a deep breath and sat back on her heels, her chin a mess of Amaya's clear juices. The tingling sensation hasn't stopped in Amaya's thighs, and she felt the coldness clinging to her wetness at the absence of Janai's warm mouth.

Janai left the bed and Amaya remained to return to her senses. Her eyes came to see the pool of wetness where Janai had just been, staining the sheet. The blush she hoped that faded from her face crept back. Janai did a good number on her. She looked to her side to see Janai wiping her hands with a cloth by the table, moving the piece along each of her fingers. The full light of the afternoon shined on her naked figure, flattering her body more than the gown did.

She stepped back to the bed with such a satisfied grin on her face that Amaya failed to wonder if she would have appreciated it if it was any other woman. She was very proud of herself.

She dropped on the bed, one leg folded beneath her, and the light hit on her hair so harshly it seemed on fire. "Want some?" She offered Amaya a glass of water so generously, doing her best to sign with both of her hands occupied.

Amaya took the glass from her and Janai watched her as she drank, finishing the water in three sips. Her lips glistered when she drew the glass back, and her face returned to its regular hue. Janai had finished her cup as well, and took it back from Amaya to place on the floor.

Amaya knew what the act was all about. "You're not getting a compliment," she said, shaking her head.

Janai's smile fell then. "That's not very civil of you." She crossed her arms, and Amaya could tell her voice was as cold as ice, though fake.

As a gesture of goodwill, Amaya placed her hands down by the sides of Janai's body and leaned to claim her lips. "What I'm about to do to you is much less civil," she said, and Janai laughed when Amaya kissed her neck, wrapping her hands around her back.

Amaya laid on her back then, motioned Janai to come closer, and tapped her lips. Janai stared at her for a moment before the realization struck her. The position wasn't common for them, but it was the only way of ensuring her beautiful crown wouldn't be crushed.

She inched closer, planting her knees on both sides of Amaya's head, hovering above her. Amaya, ignoring her attempts not to smolder her face, yanked her down by the hips, and Janai's surprised gasp changed into a soft moan when she met Amaya's mouth.

She should have expected Amaya wouldn't carry on with teasing her more than necessary. Her hands adjusted in a firm grip on her waist and she opened her mouth further, tilting her head to take more of Janai. Janai let her eyes closed, and felt the tension being relieved from her shoulders as Amaya worked with her careful strokes.

Needing to hold onto anything, she put her hand against the thick headboard, lowering her head. She hadn't realized how aroused she had become while eating Amaya out, and the wet sounds emerging from below her traveled to her ears sooner than she expected. Moan after moan, she found it more challenging to keep her eyes open, and whenever she tried to lift her hips, Amaya pulled her back down.

She didn't even notice Amaya's hand on her stomach until she glanced down. When they had first begun to share each other's beds, Amaya told her she might put a hand on her stomach or chest to feel her reactions better, and Janai was happy to oblige.

Amaya moved her tongue along her folds, igniting the spark growing deep within her. She took her hand, bringing it to her breast, and Amaya started to knit it on her own when Janai fisted the sheet.

Janai let out a choked groan as Amaya spread her hand, fingers digging into her skin. She pushed against the headboard harder, enough to make it rock against the wall, and Amaya took her nipple between her thumb and first finger. She must have felt how Janai's lowered chin brushed against her fingers, because she brought them to her lips, and Janai opened her mouth.

A whimper rose up her throat, cut off by Amaya's thumb inside of her mouth. Janai sucked on it, her attention swirling between Amaya greedily licking her and biting Amaya's finger. She moaned then, and Amaya took the opportunity to pull her hand away and add some moisture to Janai's hardened nipple as she held her breast again.

"Ah, Amaya- yes, yes," she found her words at last, so heated and desperate. Without meaning to, she began to bounce against Amaya's lips, grinding back and forth, trying to give herself the release she craved so much.

The mixture of Amaya sucking so relentlessly on her and her hand still on her breast had Janai lost. She reached down to write a trembling half circle on Amaya's arm, indicating that she was close, and felt Amaya shifting to close her lips around her sensitive spot.

"Amaya!" She yelled out and gave two heartily moans as she raised her other hand to slam against the headboard. She pursed her lips, drops of sweat rolling down her forehead, pasting her hair to the sides of her face. The crown remained on her head. "Ah, fuck, Amaya!" She threw her head back, feeling that burning sensation at her abdomen, just waiting to explode. The world was filled with the sounds of her groans and the banging of the headboard. She wished she could stroke Amaya's arm, signing her. "I'm coming, I'm-"

Her words were cut off when Amaya flickered her tongue one last time and sent her over the edge. Janai's senses were reduced to her frantic panting, the blood rushing to her ears, and the shattering mess the orgasm turned her into. Every ounce of air was stolen from her lungs as she came, clenching her thighs so hard she feared for her wife, shaking breaths that were as good as sobs while the pleasure overtook her.

Her hands fell from the headboard as she tried to regain her breathing, her body so weak and numb she lost control over it, so it was Amaya who freed herself from under her after a moment. Janai blinked her eyes open, her whole body burning as if fire coursed through her veins, and felt herself dripping on the bed.

Amaya came to kneel by her side, her face a perfect mirror of Janai's before they began, a shimmering layer decorating her mouth, reaching her throat. She didn't bother to wipe it with a cloth, and used the back of her hand instead. "Are you alright?" She asked.

Janai nodded, half sober. "I kept it on," she signed with heavy fingers, a tired smile on her face. Before Amaya could respond, she leaned against her, burying her nose in the slope of her shoulder.

Amaya grinned, stroking Janai's hair with her cheek, the delicate petals against her skin. "My beautiful queen," she signed, though Janai couldn't see it, and lowered them both to the mattress.

They lied together, the blanket pushed to the foot of the bed, almost falling off the edge. Amaya's back was against the mattress as Janai rested on her stomach, her head on Amaya's shoulder. With the back of Janai's head closer to her, Amaya picked up the crown gently and set it further on her crimson locks, and chuckled when it was held dangling off Janai's horns like some holiday decoration. She caressed Janai with the back of her hand, drifting from her hair to the end of her pointed ear, the soft skin behind it as she traced the line of her neck, and finally brushed her back with her fingertips. Janai was warm on top of her, as was Amaya, her body slumped and devoid of stress from the orgasm that was coaxed out of her. Her bruises, that would take at least a week to heal, didn't hurt at all.

Selfishly, she wished Janai hasn't fallen asleep. She had longed for the tournament to come to an end so they could spend more time together, and alone. A Queen Consort she was, and sat by Janai's side at all times, but she could not be herself with all the royal Elves watching them. She knew it well from Sarai, and Janai had warned her too. There was an image to maintain.

Much to her luck, Janai turned her head over, flashing her with the peaceful image of her beautiful face, fluttering eyelids and radiating golden marks. Her eyes shined like embers in the strong daylight and Amaya watched her, waiting for her to speak, or say nothing at all.

Instead, Janai moaned quietly, her neck arching in a tender ripple. Amaya felt her legs shifting and glanced down to find that Janai had her legs settled with her knee between them, so her smallest movement made her grind against Amaya.

A thin smile decorated her face. She knew well Janai wasn't to be satisfied with only outer simulation. Her knee was already damp where Janai was against her, and Amaya raised it further, earning another whine from Janai that rumbled from her throat.

Janai lifted herself from Amaya's shoulder, trying to achieve more friction, and Amaya took the chance to gently turn her over, and sneak a hand across her back.

She found that Janai was so soothed from her first orgasm she could barely maintain her eyes opened. Her cheeks were a wonderful hue of bright pink, and her body stretched so far, lengthy and slumped, that Amaya feared she would collapse on the pillow if it wasn't for her arm supporting her.

As beautiful as Janai's face was, Amaya was drawn to her spread legs: one on the bed, angeled so her knee was close to Amaya, the other laid forward, and between her legs her wetness shimmered in the light from Amaya's efforts.

Janai was already aroused and teased enough, so Amaya drifted her fingers down her stomach, and cupped her entirely. A quiet moan escaped from her at the touch, and Amaya gaped as well from how soaked she was. Her middle finger, at the center, dipped without her intention, and Amaya was at once engulfed with Janai's warmth.

Perhaps she couldn't help but worn Janai out a little bit. She moved her palm in a slow circle, earning a shaking moan from Janai, and a tremble of her hips. Her fingers collected the wetness so greatly pooled there, and Janai yelled out when Amaya grazed her bud with full intention as she went up.

Amaya watched the slickness being illuminated in the light, clear and liquefied. Her attention was turned when Janai grabbed her arm, and Amaya kissed the alluring line of her neck, plating kisses and tracing marks she left there with a tongue.

There was a vibration against her mouth, and Amaya raised her head to see Janai looking at her. "Amaya, please," she breathed, her eyes so pleading, and Amaya couldn't deny her wife of anything.

She sank into her warmth and bit her lips at the feeling of how soaked Janai was, to the point of no friction. Her fingers didn't require much guidance as they dipped on their own, and Amaya's lips parted as Janai took her to the knuckles, burying her fingers completely.

Janai yelled out, her shoulders tensing as her hand on Amaya's arm fell. She felt her walls being stretched to accept Amaya, a tingling, burning sensation, and her eyes were shut once again. Her elbows scraped the mattress as she let her head tilt back, and what remained of the world was only Amaya's fingers inside of her.

Amaya must have felt the shiver that went through her, because she tightened her hold around her shoulders, her arm a welcomed weight keeping her in place. Her fingers kept their pace driving in and out of her, making sounds Janai could only describe as wet.

#i am so embarrased please don't look at me #elinor.txt

[disappearinginq]

fanfic tag game

I was tagged by @waitingforthestarstofall - this will be a good distraction from rage (SO MUCH RAGE) Thanks!

Questions:

Ao3 Name: IceQueen1 (same on FFN)

Fandoms: Oh damn. Umm...written for: Agents of SHIELD, and the 100 which I actively avoid now, even if those were some of my favorite works; Lucifer, Constantine, Supernatural, Magnum PI 2018, Deception, Common Law, Daredevil, Iron Fist, Merlin, MCU-ish, Doctor Who. Unpublished: Prodigal Son and Outer Banks and one crossover with MacGyver 2016. 

Number of fics: Well...depends on how you count. Posted or with every intention of posting - 56, though some of those are from when I was like 14 (it shows, but I like them and they’re valuable learning tool). Unpublished and snippets here and there...::nervous laugh:: 109?

1. Fic you spent the most time on: Toss up between  Wrong Side of Heaven,  Damnatio Memoriae (which has given me the worst case of imposter syndrome I kind of cry every time I look at it), and  Running Up That Hill

2. Fic you spent the least time on:  Catalyst - literally wrote it on an illegal lunch break on a computer that wasn’t mine and posted it on a government computer. 

3. Longest Fic: Huh. Apparently not Damnatio, but  Running Up That Hill, at an impressive 104k words in the Agents of SHIELD fandom. 

4. Shortest Fic:  Promises to the Dead in Supernatural fandom. 

5. Most hits: Even without combining from FFN and AO3 - Damnatio Memoriae

6. Most kudos: Damnatio Memoriae

7. Most comment threads: Damnatio Memoriae (see a trend?)

8. Fave Fic you wrote: This is like picking favorite pets. Um, actually, despite the headaches they’ve given me, Damnatio ties with  Left Behind. Both unfinished (Left Behind because I got so pissed at the 100 I stopped watching), and Damnatio because I have nightmares about it, but I think I like my writing in those two the most. Very close third is Wrong Side. 

9. Fic you want to rewrite/expand on:  Remedy or  Cecidit Angelus

10. Share a bit of your WIP or share a story idea that you’re planning:

You need to know the answer to this is 9. Possibly more. But there’s part of Damnatio: 

Lucifer looked…haggard. Tired in a way she’s never seen him before, dark shadows under even darker eyes, his normally immaculate appearance disheveled as if he’d been on a bender since the last time she saw him. He didn’t stand up straight, slightly hunched over and cockeyed, though that could just as easily be because he was standing on loose sand. It could also be from the handle of scotch held loosely in one hand, more than two thirds empty. His five o’clock shadow was more like like 12 o’clock, and his hair free of product ruffled in the breeze. “You rang?” he asked, one corner of his mouth twitching as if he meant to smile as his own joke but couldn’t be bothered with the effort. He swayed on his feet before righting himself. “I was wondering how long it would take you to try this.” Chloe could smell the alcohol on him ten feet away, even in the breeze coming off the ocean. “What happened to you?” Lucifer laughed at that. It was high pitched, bordering on manic, and he scrubbed a hand over his face, his fingers scraping along the rough stubble on his cheeks. “I…I don’t know how to answer that, Detective.” He held up the scotch, violently shaking it back and forth. “To quote a younger sibling of mine - ‘I found a liquor store, and I drank it’.”

An unnamed Outer Banks fic: 

JJ scoffed at that, wincing as the sudden movement jostled his ribs. “Yeah. An adult. The last thing I need right now is an adult.” He seemed to consider that for a moment. “Though…I guess there are a couple things I could need less. A snake bite. Or a jellyfish sting. Or a missing leg. Or -” “Dammit kid,” Shoupe interrupted, not caring where the list was headed. “This isn’t a game. You can’t do this on your own, you’re barely sixteen. You can’t take care of yourself at sixteen, and if this isn’t proof enough of that, I don’t know what is. You need an adult -” JJ’s electric blue eyes narrowed as he stared at him, lower bloodied lip pinched between his teeth. “Yeah? You mean the like adults who looked the other way for eight years when I came to school with black eyes and broken bones and the same clothes for weeks on end? Or the adult who gave me those black eyes and broken bones? Or do you mean the adult who killed my best friend? Or the adult who aided and abetted said adult who killed my best friend? Or the adult who tried to rob us at gunpoint. Or maybe you mean the adults who stole money from a crime scene to ‘dip their beak’? Those adults? Are those the fucking adults you mean, Shoupe? ‘Cause if not, I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about. I’ll take my chances. From where I’m sitting, I’m not doing any worse.” Shoupe ran an appraising eye over the kid. “I doubt that.” “The bar is pretty fucking low, Sheriff.” “You came here though, didn’t you?” JJ glared at him before turning away a muttering, “Don’t read too much into it. Robbing the CVS would’ve been a little hard to do without a getaway car.” Shoupe didn’t miss the way the kid avoided mentioning the long, ragged looking cut down the front of his left leg. “And none of your friends have first aid kits?” JJ steadfastly ignored him, ignored the way that his leg was beginning to bounce against the ceramic of the tub side as he dabbed ineffectively at the blood. “Hmm?” JJ bit his lip, whether from his less than gentle ministrations or to keep from snapping back, Shoupe couldn’t tell. Probably a toss up. “Nothing you want to say for yourself?” With a snarl, JJ whirled on him. “I can’t go to them, okay? I can’t drag them into this shit with me. Pope already lost his ticket out of here, and Kie -” he didn’t finish the thought, but there was something hard and broken in his voice as it suddenly wavered. “This is on me. I did this. So I deal with this. And I don’t drag them down with me. No one else drowns because of me.” And there it was. JJ Maybanks and John B Routledge were thicker than thieves and where one was, the other wasn’t far behind, and it’d been that way ever since Shoupe joined the Kildare Sheriff’s Department. Hell, half his calls were responding to something they’d done - a particularly memorable one being an impromptu fireworks display inside the gym when Fourth of July was rained out. What happened when one half of you was suddenly gone?

And Bad Things

The dog bit down, hard, on Rick’s forearm, teeth sinking into skin and muscle until they hit bone, the dog violently shaking its head as Rick tried to pry the dog loose with his other hand, still caught in the rifle strap. He could still hear gunfire, could still hear the lieutenant yelling at the man, but what he could hear louder than anything else was the sound of the power drill and the kid screaming in agony.  

And Wrong Side

Rick tried not to think about the disaster that was his first mission as Thomas’s Overwatch. He hadn’t had much in the way of experience with SEALs, not firsthand. Marines and Navy rarely overreached during missions and centuries long tradition of hating each other kept most at arms length from each other, even back on base. Rick had plenty of experience keeping people away from him even before the Marines, but Thomas didn’t seem to take the hint. It hadn’t helped that Nuzo and TC hit it off almost instantly, and TC was less opposed to being friends with the walking ray of sunshine that was Thomas Magnum, which just made Rick all the more determined to hate the guy. It wasn’t until after their haywire mission that’d gone to Hell six ways from Sunday that Rick finally understood Thomas Sullivan Magnum. That his relaxed and affable nature wasn’t an act, and that he would bend over backwards to help anyone - anyone - regardless of whether or not he was supposed to. That he never bothered with anyone’s past, and never offered his own, because as far as he was concerned, here and now was all that mattered. That for seeming generally oblivious, the younger man missed nothing. And for all that easy going ‘rain is just another kind of good weather’ attitude, it hid a seriously terrifying alter ego.

And there’s another Prodigal Son (or two), I don’’t even want to count how many other Magnum’s, Lucifer, or random things that catch my attention because that is HOW I ROLL. 

Anyway. 

Tagging: @dragonnan, @beguilewritesstuff, @buckky, @itsjustdg, @21forestglades, @aliathewriter and whoever else wants to play, because Tumblr is being dumb and won’t let me tag anyone else (also, don’t feel obligated if you are tagged and don’t want to - I’m just hella nosy about sneak peeks) 

#games we play #tag youre it

[umbralich]

Never ending survey

RULES: Repost, do not reblog. Tag 10 blogs!

Tagged by: @lareine-kira and @paleshadeofrose

Tagging: @hangedemperor , @istolin , @maximiloix , @trahja-tia , @eorzeasfrozenknight , @charm-in-spades , @thorcatte , @haila-wetyios , @a-sharlayan-abroad

---

BASICS.

FULL NAME: Varg Blacksoul, formerly Timur Oronir NICKNAME: Varg-Varg (given by Lareine), Stiffy and Grumpy (given by Silke) AGE:  54 BIRTHDAY:  9th sun of the 1st astral moon ETHNIC GROUP: Xaela Au Ra NATIONALITY: Othard, Ishgard LANGUAGE/S: Common, xaelic, ishgardian SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Demisexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Biromantic RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single and not looking for company. HOME TOWN / AREA:  Dawn Throne, Azim Steppe CURRENT HOME:  Pillars, Ishgard PROFESSION: Paladin, medic/healer at Ishgard’s service.

PHYSICAL.

HAIR: Long and silvery grey. EYES: Black with white limbal rings, small irises. FACE: Angular features, long nose, high cheekbones. LIPS: Narrow, often cracked, slightly darker than his usual skin color. COMPLEXION: Grayish purple BLEMISHES: Dark circles SCARS: Lots of scars which he keeps hidden at all times. Two thick, long ones are visible and almost go across his right eye. TATTOOS: No tattoos. HEIGHT:  210cm WEIGHT: Slightly underweight BUILD: Slender but masculine, somewhat toned. FEATURES: Black markings around eyes, and naturally thick, black claws. ALLERGIES: None USUAL HAIR STYLE: At work or formal meetings it’s combed back either completely or with some locks on his temples left loose. In more casual situations he mostly just lets it be. USUAL FACE LOOK: Calm, focused, narrowed eyes. USUAL CLOTHING:  Full, dignified heavy armor or parts of it combined with a long coat, formal robes, jodhpurs, vests, blouses and high-heeled boots.

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR/S: Imprisonment, being held or tied down, physical pain, betrayal. ASPIRATION/S: To be successful, self-sufficient and powerful until the end, to bring as many as possible wrongdoers to justice, to find an heir, and catch people still on the loose who managed to escape his revenge long ago.

POSITIVE TRAITS: He keeps his word, doesn’t leave things unfinished, is a good motivator for slackers, aims for high-quality results in everything, is reasonable and logical.

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Insensible towards most of people, logic always comes before his own or other people’s feelings, very straightforward, capable of cruelty if necessary.

TEMPERAMENT: Calm SOUL TYPE/S: Thinker ANIMALS: Gray wolf

VICE HABIT/S: Smoking. He hates it, but it’s the least harmful thing that calms his nerves down, and he’s addicted. He tries to limit it though, and use it only in worst occasions, since he doesn’t want the side effects affecting his health or work. If things get especially grim, he also has full stashes of potent liquor and intravenous sedatives.

FAITH: Science usually comes first, but he’s also spiritual in some way. It’s one of those topics he doesn’t discuss with anyone. Some of his duties include working as a cleric, so it may have something to do with Halone. Or then it doesn’t, and it’s just another job.

GHOSTS?: Has seen them with his own eyes so can’t deny their existence. AFTERLIFE?: He hopes it exists, for reasons. REINCARNATION?: It’s a possibility.

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT: Generally neutral, but on demand would choose the side of underdogs: ignoble, the poor and the sick, minors etc. Wouldn’t show his alignment publicly if it was a threat to himself. Would also pretend to be supporting the oppressor, only trying to sabotage their work at every opportunity. Even I’m not sure would he actually die for anyone else or some common cause. He has fled once to save his own hide and he could do it again. Knows main points of what’s going on and where around the world for the sake of common knowledge, but is only interested in topics that concern himself. Has been a target for racists since arriving to Ishgard as a teenager, so he despises them from the bottom of his heart.

EDUCATION LEVEL: Learned

FAMILY.

FATHER : Not relevant MOTHER :  Not relevant SIBLINGS : None that he knows of EXTENDED FAMILY: Iris Ymir (patient and protege) and Arsene Dreadeois (butler)

NAME MEANING/S:

Timur is a Turkic and Mongolic name which literally means iron. In Indonesian, timur translates to east and symbolizes hope by the rising sun.

All members of the Oronir tribe believe themselves to be direct descendants of Azim, the tribe's god of the sun.

Varg is wolf in swedish. Varg was also originally a nickname given by his friends at the Steppe. It was the only thing he kept after starting his new life in Ishgard and severing his ties with his homeland.

Blacksoul was given by his comrades in the army for being so ruthless towards enemies - both the ones on the battlefield and the ones captured.

HISTORICAL CONNECTION?: None

FAVORITES.

BOOK:  Science, mythology, swordplay, alchemy, etc. Everything that has something to do with his work or hobbies. DEITY: Halone seems to share most of his values. HOLIDAY: Doesn’t celebrate any. MONTH: September and October. There isn’t many little things in life he gets pleasure from, but fall colors is one of them. SEASON: Fall and winter. PLACE: His estate, cathedrals, libraries and forges. WEATHER: Thick fog, rain and sunshine at the same time. SOUND/S: Fire, rain and musical instruments when someone who actually knows what they’re doing plays them. SCENT/S: Herbs, iron, parchment. TASTE/S:  Whisky, tea, whatever Arsene makes. FEEL/S:  Clean clothes, heat radiating from a fireplace. ANIMAL/S:  Doesn’t like animals except for his chocobo, Mori. NUMBER: Doesn’t care about numbers. COLORS: White, black, blood red, gold, silver.

EXTRA.

TALENTS: Accuracy of a chirurgeon, skillful with swords, managing to define a goal fast in any kind of surprising situation and being very patient and stubborn at achieving it.  BAD AT: Admitting he has weaknesses, comforting people, having fun, small talk, relaxing. HOBBIES: Reading, studying, weapon maintenance, alchemy. TROPES: Antihero, tragic hero and mad scientist. Definitely could also be a villain. Depends on whom you ask.

QUOTES:

“Since you seem to be so worried of my… customers, perhaps I should take you along the next time I interrogate them. You would see with your own eyes what kind of delicate, exquisite and misunderstood individuals they are, when they spit on you, mock their victims and brag about the amount of people they have raped or murdered.”

“Today it happens. Make sure she is out of here before I return tonight. I am no longer even sure which one of them is the worse one.”

“It was a mere procedure. If procedures were considered intimate, I would be close friends with half of Ishgard by now.”

“Do tell me... If you work as much as you claim, how come you are always broke when we meet?”

“Very well. Play something for me. Let us see are you a man of your word.”

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1 :  If you could write your character your way in their own movie, what would it be called, what style would it be filmed in, and what would it be about?          

A1 :  He’s been busy sticking his spoon into so many soups during his life that you could probably make a trilogy of his fooleries feats. The first part would tell about his early life in Azim Steppe and how he was forced to leave from there, the second part about how he found his soulmate and adapted to his new life in Ishgard, and how it all eventually ended up into a shitstorm, and the third one would be the current storyline. No clue about the name, though. The Soulforge would be perfect but too bad it’s taken.

Q2 :  What would their soundtrack/score sound like?          

A2 : Bloodborne, Dark Souls and Amnesia the Dark Descent OSTs are absolutely the closest ones you could get to Varg. Orchestral, choir, bowed string instruments, both epic and monstrous. Even if there were more peaceful pieces here and there, while listening to them you’d still have that same feeling of dread you used to have while playing the original Resident Evil and Silent Hill games and finding a safe room: you just barely escaped death but can’t stay in the safe haven forever.

Q3 : Why did you start writing this character?          

A3 : He’s quite different compared to my Forsaken shadow priestess in WoW, whom I used to RP for... two or three years? Long story short: I wanted something else for a change. I also used to have an old Forsaken death knight, who was a lot more similar to Varg, but he was more evil. He existed pretty much only for occasions when someone needed a true villain for some plot. He was funny however and I always thought it was a pity I didn’t get chances to RP him more often.

Q4 : What first attracted you to this character?          

A4 : He’s a mixture of four different OCs of mine, with a bit of his original spice ofc. One of them came into being in, uh, somewhat obscure conditions. Kept seeing him in my dreams when I was a kid, and he became one of my imaginary friends I used to have back then. And not just one of the many, but the closest one. Also generally in entertainment I couldn’t care less about Lukes and Frodos. Villains, tragic heroes and the like are my thing. They’re usually the most multilayered and interesting characters.

Q5 : Describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse.

A5 : Perfectionism. I’m similar and it sometimes drives me nuts to watch him neglecting himself while trying to achieve perfection. If I could physically talk to him I would go and slap him and be like “EAT. SLEEP. YES THE THING IS GOOD ENOUGH ALREADY. LEAVE IT.”

Q6 :  What do you have in common with your muse?          

A6 :  Well, already kind of answered this one, but wait, there’s more: insomnia, nightmares, PTSD, misanthropy and cynicism come to mind first. And booze. How could I almost forget booze? I believe I know what misery is so I’m good at RPing miserable characters and make them look as authentic as possible. *lols like Alcyone from Magic Knight Rayearth* We both also have a strong sense of justice and nonexistent sympathy for those who use others as stepping stones. Aye I know, sounds a lot like a self-insert character, but it’s not like that. It’s more like... before meeting him/the OCs he’s based on, I used to be quite a scentless and tasteless kid. Similarities and peer support attract. And I’ve also learned from him.

It’s also a lot like me and Lareine. We became friends because we had 95% of the same interests and problems but perhaps that’s why we get along so well and understand each other.

Q7 :  How does  your muse feel about  you?          

A7 :  He would probably hate and like me at the same time. Or couldn’t decide. We both like peace and quiet, doing our job well is fundamental and our basic values are pretty much the same. We would get along well if we worked in the same place. However, unlike him, I have some horrid procrastination seasons, crippling self-esteem issues, tend to put other people’s needs and opinions above my own and keep stressing about things for 7 billion souls instead of just myself. I’m suspicious of pretty much everything else except Lareine and our plushie crow Agatha, except that Agatha creeps me out sometimes as well when she takes out a knife and sits next to my bed at night, staring at me, can’t watch Hachiko without bawling my eyes out during the entire movie, love puppies and kittens and danger noodles and I’m addicted to video games. Very likely he’d kick me out as well.

Q8 :  What characters does your muse have interesting interactions with?        

A8 : Varg would never admit it to himself, but I think he gets best along with people who are a bit silly in some way, and who get on his nerves by being too carefree and doing stupid things. Lareine and Iris, when they’re behaving. Arsene, who’s kind at everyone. Currently Shaura is my favorite. Varg himself is so uptight people like them help breaking his gray routines. Also a bonus: he doesn’t see them as a threat, so that’s probably the closest he’s able to get to relaxing among other people.

Q9 :  What gives you inspiration to write your muse?        

A9 : I’m a fan of my own characters. It doesn’t feel like I would’ve created them. I saw them with my third eye or something and I’ve just written for others to read what I’ve seen. I don’t plan RPs beforehand. I just let the hound loose and let him do whatever he wants. So far I haven’t got tired of my characters’ antics and could just write more. The only obstacles are limited hours per day, necessary evils like eating and sleeping, procrastination, trying to sort out my life, and the damn FFXIV. SOMEONE PLEASE TAKE IT OUT OF MY HANDS.

Q10 : How long did this take you to complete?          

A10 : Ehh, maybe 4-5 hours.

#final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #character info #au ra #never ending survey

[aithne]

(Illume) Loose Me Like an Arrow

Reiko sat near her mother, biting her lip, nervous. Edi-lo had availed herself of what few bathing facilities there were on Shrike, and combed out her ankle-length hair, which she was letting dry in the cooling evening hair.

Looking at her mother was disconcerting, like looking in a mirror--but at the same time, not. Did she really sit that perfectly still? Were her own eyes really that startling shade of gold? Even closed and quiet, her mother had an indefinable presence, wild and compelling at once, and unthinkingly Reiko obeyed it, moving to sit next to the kitsune.

Those gold eyes turned on her, and she licked lips gone dry. "Ah. We--have not been introduced. I am--"

"Han Reiko Mei. Or Iyotushi Reiko. Or Han Mei. Or Bayushi Mei. Or Takumi Reiko. My daughter. I know."

Reiko flushed and looked away. "Mother. I have wanted to meet you for so long, and now...I find myself at a loss for words. So many questions, and none of them come to mind."

Her eyes were amused, softening. "Not even one, Reiko? Surely, you must have at least one."

The younger kitsune fidgeted with the hem of her kimono sleeve. "Well, it might be too personal, but...what happened? Between you and my father, I mean. I have the story, but I no longer trust the source of that story. From what I know, he found out what you were, and then abandoned you."

"That is almost correct. I loved him and didn't want to kill him, but I needed more energy to keep me alive. He found my extra-curricular activities and my nature. He left me." The kitsune was utterly still as she said this, the picture of grace and restraint while saying an ugly truth.

Reiko smelled a story, and kept probing. "And then--what? I don't remember you raising me, but my memory is...unreliable, due to something my granddaughter did to me."

Edi-lo shook her head slightly. "I tried to raise you, but we were hunted. I gave you up to your father when you were ten. Your father's second wife was suspected to be barren, so he adopted a son to be his heir not long after.  Setto. Who later became your husband."

Reiko blinked, taken aback. "My father. We're talking about the man who later became the Demonbane, right?"

A small smile hovered on her lips. "One and the same. He adored you from the moment he saw you. He gave you everything you ever wanted. Except the one thing you should not have had…and then, you took that."

The shaman bit her lip. Flickers and shards of memories were beginning softly gather in her mind--a prayer gate, polished wood floors, being lifted high into the air by strong arms, feeling as if nothing bad could ever touch her.

Edi-lo continued. "He found you and Setto...together, one day. But you were doing more than just having sex with him. You were draining him, and Setto was dying. In that instant, you were no longer his daughter. You were kitsune. And a kitsune had done him wrong--years ago, at that point, but the wounds still bled. He vowed to destroy the kitsune in return for destroying his life."

Reiko closed her eyes, confused images and feelings welling up as she was reminded of them. Her brother, her fiercely adored new brother, playing at being samurai together. Memories of running together like wild things, traveling through rough country with him, laughing together as they planned a fanciful future. He was going to be Emperor and she was going to be his spymaster.

She had not known what she was. Nobody ever told her.

Then the day that new feelings had snaked through her body, the searing hunger of her first season coming upon her, though she had no idea what has happening. Setto caught up in her hunger (and truly, did they fight it so very hard?), and Reiko knowing only the hunger, and what fed her hunger.

And then, pain. Her heart shattering as her father bodily threw her across the room, her body crashing into the wall and lying crumpled on the floor. The one world, snarled, "Kitsune."

She'd understood that they had done something wrong but not why she had been the one left sobbing on the floor while her brother was carried away. She did not understand until later, when the house was silent, when her father had wrapped a rope around her wrists that burned as if it were on fire, when he told her that she had almost killed Setto. He had told her then what she was. Fox. Demon. Kitsune. He said, "I have no daughter."

In the present, Reiko could feel her heart thudding in her chest. She shook her head, wordless.

Edi-lo's voice broke over her, sweet and golden as honey. "It only got worse when Yamashita and Setto had a huge blowout about him marrying you. I don't think those two ever spoke again, after your wedding."

"And so he vowed to kill us all." Reiko's voice shook. "Me last, so I could live to see the end of what I'd wrought."

Her mother shook her head. "No, not what you'd wrought. What I had. Why do you think we both still live? You were just the target. It was my heart he was bent on hurting."

"I knew why I lived--at least, he's told me that he's tied his life to my immortality. but I did wonder about you. So much pain, from one broken heart."

Still perfectly motionless, Edi-lo was a study in light and shadow in the darkening evening. "I hurt his honor by being with other men."

Reiko ran her fingers along the inside of her arm, feeling the scars that roughened the skin. "He'll never give it up, will he?"

"There is a small part of him that is good yet. He still to this day keeps the drawings that you made as a child." Edi-lo looked off into the distance, out over the ocean. "He was a good man, Reiko."

The shaman felt another presence, and looked up. Setto stood near her, the look on his face unreadable.

Reiko asked, "Setto, I thought we only met after we were adults."

He shook his head. "You believe what you want to sometimes, love. I always knew I was going to marry you when I was old enough."

"And you didn't tell me."

"No." The spirit shrugged. "I saw no reason to. You knew that I loved you, and you loved me, and that was all you needed to know."

"I--" Words failed the kitsune, and she stared up into Setto's eyes. She shuddered. "Somehow, the knowledge of my father's hatred is worse for the fact that he once loved me--and I him." Returning with the fragmented memories was the certainty that she had, yes, loved her father once. She had known. Somewhere, she had always known, had always desperately wanted his approval, was convinced that she would never receive it.

She rose and bowed, a little awkwardly, to her mother. "I, ah, have evening meditations I have been neglecting. I am sure we will speak again. I...may have a favor to ask of you." Her mother inclined her head, and Reiko turned and walked away, towards the stairway that led into the hold, Setto drifting in her wake.

Her stride lengthened, her head down, and a voice that was growing familiar these days called, "Reiko, are you all right?"

She stopped, still looking at the floor of the corridor. She felt Jeron's arm around her, and she jerked straight, pulled away, and then relaxed as she realized that the touch was in the now. She leaned into him, shivering.

"What's wrong, Reiko?" His sky-blue eyes were worried, looking down at her.

She looked up, blue meeting gold. "I remember. My father. He raised me. He raised me, he loved me, and now he hates me. I remember. But it's too much, it's all out of order, I can't make any sense of it." Another shred of the past wrapped itself around her, and she moaned, "The village--no--"

Her father stood over her, looking at her prone, naked form, scowling down. The new bindings burned in her skin, and he turned to the crowed and said, "You can do anything you want with her. Anything at all."

Then, pain. That part was still the same.

Afterwards, the fire of the village warm on her back, a figure spoke out of the darkness. "Rei?"

She whirled, one hand on the ties of her borrowed--stolen--kimono. The figure stepped forward, and a wild hope sprang to life within her. "Setto?"

The light fell on his familiar but still changed features; it had been five years since she had seen him, and he had grown from an unfinished youth into a man. "It's me. I slipped Father's leash and came looking for you."

"It was you and the Demonbane who were the visitors, wasn't it? Who I was to be displayed to."

He nodded. "He told me a few hours ago that you were the kitsune we were checking up on. He wanted me to see you defeated and starving, to show me what you had become. He had hoped that seeing you like that would kill my love for you, and I'd consent to marry the woman he's picked out for me."

He was close now, and as he reached out to touch her hair she backed away. "Don't touch me! I kill men, Setto. I am a murderer. I've probably killed at least fifty people tonight, starting with an innocent girl. Go. Marry. Forget me."

"I tried, Rei. I tried to forget you, after you almost killed me. But I couldn't, and I can't. And," his mouth twisted, "I did some research on kitsune. If you had known what you were, you wouldn't have drunk so deeply." He drew closer again, and this time she let him. Reiko's heart twisted viciously as she felt his presence, so familiar even after their years of separation. She had run so far after her father had thrown her out, trying to outrun her memories, but her past had chased her down and was standing before her, with hand outstretched.

She whispered, her voice nearly drowned by the hiss and pop of the burning village behind her, "I never forgot you either. I never stopped loving you." Tentatively, she reached out her hand.

He took her hand. "Come with me, Rei. What you are is what you are. I loved you before I knew, and knowing what you are doesn't change that. We can make arrangements to feed you."

And, slowly, he drew her to him, pulling her into his embrace. She shivered, her feet bare on the cooling ground. "I am a demon. A monster. I drink the lives of men, Setto. I almost killed you five years ago, and if I stay with you I'll probably kill you for real one day. I love you, but no. Let me go. Let me run, let me keep running. I'll go west, find a ship over the sea, keep going. You'll never see me again. You'll marry and have children, you'll build a life for yourself, and you'll forget me."

"I can't, Rei. Whatever the future holds, it's not that. I am leaving tonight, with or without you. Our father is completely mad, and being around him is making me doubt my own sanity. At least come with me for a little while, travel with me. Please?"

She had never been able to deny him something he wanted, and this time was no exception. She said, softly, "All right. For a little while. On the condition that we travel as brother and sister. I don't want to chance hurting you."

He nodded and said, "We need to go. Father will come looking for me soon, and we need to be gone by the time he does."

"He's going to kill us, you realize that?"

"No. He won't. He'll be angry, but he'll get over it. He loves us too much." He paused, holding her just a bit more tightly. "Both of us, Rei."

She somehow doubted that, but allowed him to lead her to the saddled horses, and then followed him away over the hills.

She shook herself out of her reverie, shuddering. To Jeron, she said, "I didn't remember. Not because the memories were taken. Because I didn't want to remember. I closed my eyes to what I am, what I've done, because living with it was too hard. Lin only helped the process along."

"It's one of the problems of being immortal. When we do terrible things...they stay with us forever."

She looked up at him. "You, too?"

He nodded. "You cannot imagine, Reiko. Fourteen millennia is a very long time."

"I just want to make it all go away. But I tried that, and it came back." She drew a breath inward. "Time to face the music, I think."

Jeron tightened his arm around her. "You're not alone. You have friends to hold your hands as you walk the path through hell. And you have me, you know."

She glanced up at him, a small smile on her lips. "Do I, then?"

He chuckled, wryly. "You do, kitsune. Kami help me, but you do."

A small glow of pleasure lit her at his words. Maybe I'll get through this after all.

The kitsune could only hope, as shreds of her past continued to stir in her mind, that her hope was well-founded.

----------

"Wait. Are you telling me that I can give up my immortality?" Reiko was looking at Jeron, consternation in her eyes.

He shrugged at her. "I know it is possible. I think your mother may be able to accomplish it. And if you became mortal, the Demonbane would die. It was a thought, is all."

It was a brief exchange, as they lay curled together in the heat of the early September afternoon, but it stayed with Reiko, nagging at her. And it brought her once again to Edi-lo, asking her about what the Thrykreen had said.

Edi-lo's eyes grew thoughtful, and she nodded. "It is possible. Breaking a permanency is no mean feat. It would be costly, but I could do it."

Reiko tilted her head. "Costly? How?"

Her mother raised her hand, tipping it back and forth in an eloquent gesture of uncertainty. "It would take quite a bit out of me to do that. But it's no more difficult than other things I have done in my time. The real cost would be to you, daughter."

The shaman quirked her mouth. "It always is, isn't it?"

"I do not know what god you attracted the attention of when you were born, Reiko, but whichever one it was, it has an evil sense of humor. But there is this. If I break the permanency that leaves you immortal--you will survive. Your father will age and die in seconds. He is living on time he has borrowed from you, after all. So he dies, and you live, though you will grow old and die in due time. Perhaps your lifespan would be a bit longer than the average human's."

"So what is the cost?"

"Threefold. First, your sister--Yukiko, correct?--will probably be angry with you. I do not know her, but Akechi once mentioned that she loves her father dearly. Second, with that unbinding, the rest of the bonds on you will loosen and fade. It will unravel the bindings on your spirits. Your mind will be silent."

Reiko shuddered. "And they will all go into the final death." She looked up to see her spirits, all of them, gathered above her head. They were muttering amongst themselves. "And the third price?"

"Your father's spirit is bound to yours, Reiko. It's why he can feel it when you kill. There is a good chance that when he dies, his spirit will remain attached to you."

"I'd have his spirit, but no others?"

"Correct."

Reiko pulled her kitsune ball from her sleeve, rolling it across her knuckles, fidgeting with it. Finally, she said, "I love them. They are my family. I barely remember a time when they weren't with me. They keep me company, light my way, help me fight my fears. And I would be killing them. And it is their strength I use when I cast my spells. Without them, I'd be no shaman at all. I would be magicless except for what is intrinsic to me as a kitsune. I could not draw on the spirit of a man who hates me, I'm afraid."

Edi-lo simply sat, looking at her. "But with the loosening of the bindings that he and your granddaughter put on you, you may gain your memories and your powers back. You were, what, a four-tail, once?"

"Yes. Before my granddaughter died, I was. It's a steep price to pay. Perhaps less costly than death...but this way, I have to live with the consequences, rather than simply moving on."

"You could have your life back, Reiko. What there would be left of it."

The muttering of the spirits over her head grew louder, as they began to all try to speak over one another, shouting to be heard. Reiko fought the urge to clutch her head, and simply said, "All of you, could you be quiet, please? I promise I won't make a decision now." She sighed, irritated. "So. I can do nothing, let my people die one by one until I'm the last left, and I die under a Thrykreen blade. I can kill myself by bringing Setto back to life, and then both the Demonbane and I are dead, but he lives. I sacrifice my immortality and I live and he dies, but I sacrifice five people I love as well. In the end I grow old and die anyway, but at least I’ll have given my people a chance for survival. All roads lead down to death, it seems. To ending." Under her breath, she added, "And just when I might have found something to live for."

Edi-lo shrugged gracefully. "There are no good answers. There are just answers." Seemingly out of the blue, she asked, "You care for the Thrykreen, don't you?"

The shaman was taken aback by the question. "Yes. I do. Possibly more than he knows I do, but yes. Why?"

"I've seen how you look at each other. You're well matched, you two. But ask him to tell you a secret, Reiko."

"And what secret might that be?"

"Whether there are any of the Thrykreen orbs left. And where they are, if they exist."

Reiko frowned, confused. "Thrykreen orbs? What are those?"

"Hope, Reiko. If they still exist, they are hope." And her mother would say no more on the subject, simply shaking her head when Reiko pressed her.

----------

After she asked the question, Jeron was silent for a time, thinking. He asked, "Who told you about the orbs?"

"Edi-lo. She would not tell me anything else."

"It doesn't make any difference. The orbs are lost to me." He looked away from her, lips pressed together in a tight line.

"But what are they? Or were they?" She persisted, her curiosity in full cry. She smelled a secret, one that would come to her if only she dug for it.

"Your mother has a history of putting her nose where it doesn't belong, Reiko."

"Oh, please." She scrambled up on the bench beside him and bit his shoulder teasingly. "You know my dark secrets, Jeron. I should know at least one of yours."

"You aren't going to let me have any peace until I tell you, are you?"

She tilted her head, giving him a canny look that reminded the Thrykreen of her fox form. "Of course not. So you might as well give in."

He laughed, and shook his head. "It's a very long story. Back when I made my deal with the Demonbane, that my people would serve him in return for being saved from annihilation, there were about two hundred of us left in the world. He needed to use the bodies of my people to create the modified race that is the three-year Thrykreen, but I refused to let my people be killed in order to save them. Your father and I compromised; the essence of the Thrykreen would be placed into orbs, like the ones the Scorpion used to remove the souls of the kitsune. Place one of those orbs on the skin of a recently dead human, and the body will change to become a Thrykreen, and the soul will wake in a body that's identical to the one he left. I was to be the only one left as I was, to watch over him and make sure that his guardianship didn't become enslavement.

"I thought he would deal fairly with us. And so he did, for a time. But after a while, he felt as if he didn't have nearly enough control over me, and so he decided to protect himself from me. He placed the orbs under a magical guard, one keyed to his life force. If he dies, they are destroyed.

"I made the mistake of letting on that I cared about what happened to those orbs. Those were the insurance policy, just in case things with the Demonbane went truly sour. He decided to use them as leverage to keep me in line. Every time I refused to do something he wanted me to do, he would destroy one or more of the orbs in front of me, until I acquiesced. And after a time, they became punishment as well as goad; if he thought my obedience was less than perfect, or if I questioned him, he would destroy four or five of my people."

Reiko's voice was soft. "How many are left?"

"As far as I know, about fifteen. Perhaps fewer. I pushed him hard, the day before he sent me away. He may have destroyed the rest, I don't know. But I have grown used to thinking of them as lost. If he dies, even if there are any left, they're gone."

"You weren't going to tell me, were you? You were going to let me destroy the last of your people, to let me save what remains of my own. Why?"

He looked away from her, a wry smile on his face. "We are at an end, Reiko. Even if there are any of the orbs left, there are too few of us to continue. If what remains of the kitsune can be saved, at least some small fragment of that beauty will live on."

The kitsune reached out and began, tentatively, to stroke the Thrykreen's long blond hair. "I never asked you. What were you questioning the Demonbane about, that made him send you away?"

"I was trying yet again to convince him to give up his crusade against the kitsune." The Thrykreen shrugged. "He finally told me that he was assigning me to his daughter's retinue. I think he meant it as punishment. It turned out...much differently than either of us expected."

Her hand stilled, and Reiko rested her forehead gently against Jeron's shoulder. "I have a problem, Jeron. As do you. I want my people to live. I want your people to live. I think you're right, and the Thrykreen and the kitsune are the male and female of the same species. And I don't really want to kill my father. But if he lives, as he is, he will extinguish the last of both our races. There isn't any good way out of this."

"And you wondered why I didn't tell you." Jeron kissed the top of her head.

A thought lit Reiko's eyes, and she sat up. "I can tell you one thing for certain. He hasn't destroyed the last of the orbs! He can't."

"And why do you think that?" There was a strange hope in his voice as he turned to look at her.

She smiled, her expression cunning. "Because the moment you know for certain that the orbs are destroyed is the moment that you're able to kill the Demonbane, Jeron. Without the orbs, all you have is the faint hope that your people will, in successive generations, return to what they were before the Demonbane altered them."

"A hope I have been harboring for about four hundred years, and that we've made some progress towards, but it's by no means a sure thing."

"See? They have to still exist, because if they don't then he's dead. So. The problem becomes...how do we get them away from him? Steal them, trade for them....hm."

He laughed and pulled her close. "Ah, Reiko. Don't underestimate the Demonbane. But you may be on to something."

"I refuse to believe that the choices given to me are all there are, is all."

As the hour grew later, they talked in low voices, coming up with no solutions, all of their hopes feeling as fragile as rice paper before the typhoon.

#so queued #gaming recaps: illume #D&D recap

[aquawolfgirl]

If you want to for the Dark fic prompt, "Ghosts, hauntings (whether by external source or a dead character.)" Loved your necromancy AU!

Thank you, anon! I’d forgotten about that one!

Here’s the necromancy AU, for whoever wants to read that one, too. It’s fluffier than you would expect from a ‘necromancy AU’.

For this one, I think I’m going to flip it, and go with Rey! (And yes, I used the ‘loving back to life’ again, because how could I not?) Post writing: This got a shit ton longer than I thought it would I’m so sorry

Send me a dark prompt!

It starts with Cocoa Puffs. 

He swears he bought Cocoa Puffs. He remembers putting them into the bag at the self checkout, he remembers scanning them, he remembers seeing them in the bag as he loaded his car up, he remembers seeing them on the kitchen counter as he unloaded the rest of the groceries. 

But for some reason, Ben Solo cannot find his Cocoa Puffs. 

He’ll admit it, he was lazy. He put the box in the cabinet as-is instead of transferring the cereal to the jars he usually does, so that he can recycle the box and make the cereal keep a little longer. But when he opened the cabinet, bleary-eyed and still wearing his glasses and pajamas, there was no sign of Cocoa Puffs. Just Cheerios, and the sad remains of Frosted Flakes.

If he’d left them at the store, then it wouldn’t be that big of a deal, they weren’t that expensive. But he knows he didn’t leave them at the store, he knows he put them in the cabinet, and so to say he’s confused is a vast understatement. 

And then one of his t-shirts disappears.

His apartment has its own washer and dryer. It’s not like he washed it in a communal laundry room and then forgot it. No, there’s no reason why it should have gone missing. He’s a clean person, too, everything has it’s place. It’s not like he could have left it in a pile somewhere. It would be in the hamper, in the washing machine, in the dryer, in his closet, or on his body. Those are the only places it could possibly be. 

And for some fucked up reason, it is in none of those places.

Ben briefly considers a burglar, but that doesn’t make any sense, either. His expensive watch is in the little leather dish he puts it in. His laptop is charging on his desk. His phone and his wallet and his keys are right where he left them in the organizer by the front door. Why would someone break in and take only a t-shirt and his Cocoa Puffs?

-

“Is this building haunted?”

Breakfast with Maz is a monthly treat. Sure, he has to hand her his rent, but she always invites him in for the best French toast he’s ever had. Honestly, they’re kind of worth the absurd amount of money he gives her. 

“What makes you think that?” The old woman replies. She has to stand on a wooden box to reach the stove. Ben thinks it’s a fire hazard, but the orange paint of the stool has worn away where her feet are, and so if it’s been around that long, it’s probably okay. 

“Some of my things are going missing.” The thief takes his Cocoa Puffs, but refuses to touch his Cheerios. “Weird, specific things.”

“Hmm. Maybe you just misplaced them?” she asks, looking over at him. There’s a tone to her voice he doesn’t recognize, a twinkle in her eye he’s never seen before, but he lets it go when she slips some bacon in front of him.

-

He meets her in the middle of the night. 

He wakes to the sound of his TV. It’s low, it’s soft, probably on one of the lowest volume settings, but he can still hear it. And when he opens the door to his bedroom, he can see the light, too. If he hadn’t had previous experiences with something weird, then he would pass it off as a power surge or something. But instead he grabs one of his slippers, which is pitifully the closest thing to a weapon he has, and he sneaks his way out to the living room.

And then he sees her.

She’s curled up in the t-shirt he’s missing, a bowl of Cocoa Puffs in her lap as she sits crosslegged and watches the TV. He stares, watching as she takes a few puffs and pops them into her mouth without milk. She’s watching some cartoon. Spongebob, he thinks, recognizing the character’s voice. 

For someone who steals his stuff, she sure is gorgeous. Long, bare legs, brown hair pulled up into a bun, a pretty pert nose and freckles across her cheeks. Pretty, he thinks, just before he throws the shoe at her.

She’s in his house, after all, and she’s wearing and eating his stuff.

She gasps, the bowl of Cocoa Puffs spilling across his couch and floor, and he watches as the flocked slipper goes right through her. 

And then she disappears, the bowl falling right through the air where her legs once were and the t-shirt crumpling as though no one was ever in it.

“Wait!” 

He’s not sure why he’s asking her - whoever she is, whatever she is - to wait, but it’s his instinct as he stares at the Cocoa Puffs on the floor, the t-shirt that was missing for weeks, the bowl that was previously cradled between her bare legs. 

What the fuck?

-

“Who is she?”

“Who’s who?” Maz asks. Her tone suggests she already knows. Her tone also suggests she doesn’t very much appreciate being woken up at 3 in the morning. 

“The ghost girl in my apartment,” Ben snaps. He doesn’t mean to snap, not really, but what the actual fuck?

“Watch your tone,” Maz says warningly, pointing a wrinkled and slightly crooked finger at him before she gestures for him to come in. “Let me explain.”

Her name is Rey, his landlady explains, over a cup of chamomile tea. She was an old tenant, in the 80s. An abusive relationship, Maz explains. Ben can fill in the rest for himself. He’s not sure he wants to, but he can. 

“You must be special. She usually only shows herself to the female tenants who’ve had your apartment,” Maz explains. “They’re usually more understanding.”

“Either that, or she just really likes Cocoa Puffs,” Ben mutters, nursing his cup of tea before looking to the ceiling. 

Rey.

-

He buys more Cocoa Puffs. He also buys Reese’s Puffs, just for the hell of it, and smiles when he notices those are gone, and the Cocoa Puffs are left behind. So she prefers peanut butter and chocolate, but will take chocolate … good to know.

Why he’s buying cereal for someone who isn’t alive, he doesn’t know. And he doesn’t want to think about how she can eat, either.

He washes the t-shirt, holding it for a few moments before eventually lifting it to his nose. It smells different. Like lavender, and peppermint. Nothing like anything he uses. He wonders if it’s the smell of ghosts, or just her. 

He washes it, and folds it, and puts it on the end of his bed. By the time he gets home from work, it’s gone. 

The TV turns on again Tuesday, at exactly 2:36 am. He’s waiting, because it’s been exactly a week, and when he hears the low voices of some cartoon - Scooby Doo, maybe - he sneaks out to the living room. 

This time, she’s not eating cereal. She’s just curled up on the couch, her head resting against a pillow. When he comes around the corner, she sits up immediately, and he can see the couch through her for a flicker of a moment. 

“No, please,” Ben pleads. “Stay?”

She looks suspicious. Of course she looks suspicious. But she solidifies, ever so slightly, and says, “You’re Ben.”

Her accent is vaguely British, he notices. “Yes,” he replies. “And you’re Rey.”

“Maz told you.”

“She did.”

“So you know what happened.” Her voice is dark, and bitter. So angry, and sad, for a girl wearing a loose t-shirt and watching Scooby Doo. 

“I do,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

She stares at him for a long moment. Her eyes are dark, stare piercing before she says, in the softest voice he’s ever heard, “I have to go.”

And then she’s gone. 

-

She can’t stay here for long. It’s something he learns in the next few weeks, after short conversations with her. He buys her leggings, so she has something else to wear beneath the t-shirt. She sits next to him on the couch, the pattern of the throw pillow just barely visible through her as she explains that it takes a lot of energy to manifest, but she can do it for a short while. She takes advantage of it to indulge in cereal, and to watch something that makes her happy. For the most part, that’s cartoons, or comedies. He learns she likes Scooby Doo the best, because she enjoys mysteries, but she also likes Friends and the Golden Girls. 

He makes a mental note to buy them on Amazon for her. 

He learns what happened, truly, even though he didn’t ask. She lifts her shirt and shows him the stab wound, and explains that’s why she grabbed the shirt first, so she didn’t have to see it. 

She’s tied to the apartment because she has unfinished business. “I don’t know what it is, unless it’s my student loans,” Rey mutters darkly as she sits beside him, closer than she was a month ago. He chuckles. He can’t see the pillow through her, today. 

-

After two years, they learn that ‘unfinished business’ apparently meant falling in love. Finding her soulmate, finding her fate, some bullshit like that.

Every day, she gets stronger. Every night, she can stay a little longer. Every moment, she gets more and more solid, until she can spend an entire night with him, curled up against his side, and he’s able to have a few moments with her in the morning before she disappears, the sheets collapsing beside him. 

“It’s because you’re a stronger tie than the building,” Maz eventually explains to both of them. She has to come to Ben’s apartment. Rey can’t go downstairs. She can hold his hand, though, and he lifts her fingers to his lips, feeling the icy-cold fingertips against his mouth, and not giving a damn. 

He didn’t think that her coming back was possible. He still doesn’t know how it’s possible. But one day he comes home from work to her shouting his name. 

“Ben! Ben, come quickly!”

She sounds like she’s panicking, and he drops his keys and coat, rushing into the bathroom where Rey’s touching her face. As soon as he crosses the threshold, she grabs his hand and puts it against her cheek. He can feel the tears, can feel … can feel warmth.

“What-” he stares, wide-eyed, before she grabs his hand and presses it to her neck, her fingers guiding his to her pulse. 

Her pulse.

As much as he loved her kisses back then, he doesn’t think he’ll ever miss the chill if it means he can feel the warmth, now, and feel her smile of joy against his lips.

#aqua answers #aqua writes

[blaque-flux]

AN ESSAY ABOUT THE TIME I ‘FELL IN LOVE’ W/ A STRANGER

So, here’s the thing.

I had a habit of ‘falling in love’ with strangers. I say had, because it’s not as hardcore as it used to be. Take note that I use the phrase falling in love with air quotes. That’s because I use the phrase very loosely. Because to different people, love means different things. It was also likely that at this time and age, I didn’t really have a clue about love at all. I probably still don’t and possibly never really will- something tells me that this isn’t the kinda thing you can hack.

Anyway.

It probably lasted a good two years. I’m not saying there was an obsession, just a noticing. I worked in a shopping mall. So did he. I worked in a shoe store, he worked at a coffeehouse. I walked past, he walked past. And I noticed. I don’t know if he did, but he was there in the back of my mind regardless. I don’t know if I have a type, but from what I thought it was, it never looked like him. Which made it that much more notable, my noticing of him. I don’t know what it was. It was like a feeling, a pre-programmed feeling that was already set inside my head and my chest and the moment he walked past for the first time, that was the moment it was awoken. Something stirred. I don’t know anything about it so I can’t even try and explain it.

But that was all it took. I didn’t know a thing about him. But the feeling became so prominent, that his presence in the mall during my shift was noted. Heavily noted. It was only the days he wasn’t there that I felt I really focused. Okay so I wasn’t so painfully distracted to the point that I couldn’t do my job, but I was more observant of those that walked past my store. And when he did, and when he looked in, and when we made eye contact, it made sense. That was why I paid attention. That was why I kept an eye out. That was why I felt it. Again, if I tried explaining it, I’d be here all day. I don’t know why it mattered, or meant something or why it was even worth talking about. It’s not something I could simply explain. This is a stranger we’re going on about.

But while I waited for him to walk past, I would take alternate routes so I didn’t have to walk past his store. Not an entirely logical decision, but I felt like the simple act of me walking by would give me away completely. I felt like it was written all over my face. How did we go so long in such a close proximity without saying a word? No clue. Again, not something I can begin to dissect. I know nothing about- this is a stranger, remember? I know.

Man.

This was also a period where I was writing the most I’d written in a long time. Because I had some small spark that kept me up late writing words for a project that is now in hibernation due to a lack of that same spark. I don’t know what I’m writing for at the moment. But now that this face is roaming the back of my mind again, the words are spilling and I don’t have any other place for them. I don’t know what it means or why this is happening, but I can’t help but feel like my hands are craving something I should have gripped much, much tighter.

I didn’t even know him, but he was fuelling my thoughts and my words and everything in my brain that I couldn’t quite explain.

How fucking annoying is that?

Because of course, I had no such intention of approaching him or even saying hi, let alone walking past that damn coffee house. It’s a chain, so luckily I can’t walk past a single one without becoming paranoid or being reminded of all of that.

‘All of that’.

And I wrote some pretty good words out of that, so at least it wasn’t all for nothing.

So what happened to that spark?

Well, I waited until I was halfway across the world to add him on Facebook and message him. I gave some bullshit excuse about noticing him and recognising him, which I’m sure he saw straight through. It’s like his personality matched mine perfectly. That sarcasm, that bratty attitude that gave mine a run for my money. Just as stubborn as I am.

I was a goner, man.

It’s all so weird, how much of a role technology plays in having the ‘courage’ to communicate to someone. If you can call it that. I was just a coward who couldn’t say hi face to face. It took an ocean between us for me to give it a go. Because what have you got to lose all the way in England, right?

So we chatted. I tried to keep up. I was in ‘love’ with a stranger, remember?

And then inevitably, I came home. I came back and we got coffee. It all happened. That voice as deep as the fifth layer of hell. It was talking to me. About politics and music and films and a bunch of other stuff that now, I can barely remember. There was only one meeting. One brief chat over a coffee. I remember wanting it to last much longer, that day. I feel lame even saying that. It didn’t feel clingy, just unfinished. I guess I assume there’d be more time for more words. But like the way it always goes, it didn’t quite work out that way. I guess I had faith in this being different because the way in which I first became aware of him, was much more organic. It was the first and so far only time it’s happened like that. Should I read too much into that? Is there a reason for that?

Probably not. I’m grasping for straws now.

But why is he back in my head?

Shut up.

Then I didn’t hear from him for two weeks. I waited, when I probably should have asserted. But I didn’t. I wanted to see what it was like not having to do the pursuing. Because I’ve never really known what that feels like. So I waited. Probably not long enough. And then I acted, because I’d not felt vulnerable or lame or whatever like that in a while. So I cut ties. Well, the one tie. The dumb little tie that took me an entire ocean to make in the first place.

And then that was it.

That was kind of the end of that.

And that was cool. That was fine (until it wasn’t, but then it was fine again), I wasn’t grasping and I wasn’t chasing and I wasn’t bothered.

And then about a year later I felt like I shouldn’t have cut the tie. Maybe I should have left it there, in my inbox, just incase. But then I also didn’t want to star analysing and over thinking and retracing my steps. So I just erased it.

And it’s been like, a year and six months since. But here I am.

A few months ago he walked past. I was back in my old damn store and he walked right past and I felt it again. That was annoying.

Because we were strangers again.

Strangers. Again.

How quick and painless that is is so strange. Because it was right there, but I didn’t know what to do about it.

I wanted him to come back. To talk, to say hi- he could have come back and called me a ghost for all I cared. Come and confront me about it, anything. I would have opened that door right up to you. Come on in.

Because I have a habit of ‘falling in love’ with strangers.

And now you’re in my damn head again.

And you’ve got me writing words all over again.

x LC

#essay #love #strangers #friends #words #poetry #prose #writing #feelings #feels #is tumlr still alive #rry #coffee

[crystal-snowing]

enemies to lovers | min yoongi

summary: when two rival music producers come together to collaborate on a song, perhaps it’s the right circumstances for love to blossom.

genre: angst/fluff

a/n: i have two unfinished series already, but guess who is starting a third :))) in other news, thank you so much for two hundred even though i’ve been not active recently <3

other members: | seokjin | jimin | namjoon | hoeseok | taehyung | jungkook |

to say that you hated min yoongi with a passion was simply an understatement.

you absolutely loathed him, with every fiber of your being.

he was arrogant, conceited, and self-absorbed—the type of person that you tended to avoid.

the feelings were also recuperated by him as well, and the two of you tended to avoid each other like the plague.

yet, the two of you were more similar than you would care to admit, as the both of you were absolutely the best at what you did—produce music.

the two were best in the company, producing hit after hit—each time hoping to outdo one another.

due to your record-breaking hits, big hit entertainment could not believe that they didn’t think about it before and proposed that the two of you collaborate on a song together.

and you could barely contain the look of absolute horror that crossed your face.

you, [y/n] [l/n] producing a song with min yoongi, someone that you absolutely could not stand—this had to be your worst nightmare. 

yet, it wasn’t a dream and that meant you couldn’t wake up—and you had no choice but to agree to the collaboration. 

as soon as the two of you stepped out of the room and into the hallway, out of earshot of the executives was when all hell broke loose.

there was this tension between the two of you, awkward and extremely frustrating, and neither of you wanted to do anything to break the intensity of the tension.

it wasn’t until the both of you entered the elevator was when everything just exploded.

“this is all your fault.”

your eyes quickly shifted onto him, “excuse me??? i didn’t see you refusing, buddy you signed up for this just like me.”

he just rolled his eyes and scoffed, turning away and facing one of the walls in the elevator.

once again you both succumbed to the awkward and tense silence, the ding of the elevator signally your floor the only thing breaking it.

you hated this idea as much as he did, but you both had your hands tied behind your back by the company, and you would be damned if you allowed him to ruin the reputation that you have built for yourself.

digging through your pocket, you pulled out one of your business cards and dropped it is his hand before exiting the elevator.

“call me, when you want to start acting like an adult and start this project.”

it was a full two weeks later when you finally heard from him. 

you were in the middle of a dance practice with your group and taking a break when your phone suddenly buzzed with a text.

meet me in my studio at six, we’ll go over some things. 

you scoffed, not even willing to respond to the vague as hell text, before throwing down your phone and continuing on with the practice.

now, after two weeks does he have the nerve to contact you, with no apology or any specific directions—what an asshole. 

nevertheless, as soon as practice was finished, you took your time making your way to his studio, showing up in the same clothes you wore to practice and half an hour late. 

“thanks for finally showing up, not that i was waiting for you or anything.” 

you rolled your eyes at his attitude, slamming the door closed behind you, before sitting down in a chair next to him. 

his studio was nice and as much as you hated to admit it, the place was almost as nice as your own. 

his equipment was state of the art and this included some equipment that even you couldn’t get your hands on—you were impressed. 

leaning back in his chair, you spun the chair around till you faced him, with your arms across your chest. 

“look, i can here just so we can get this over and done with, and if you want the same i would suggest that we start brainstorming.” 

there was an unreadable expression in his eyes, and the only way that you could possibly tell what he was thinking was due to the small smile that encased his lips. 

sliding across the room, he picked up a notepad from the room and brought it back to where the two of you were sitting as you pulled out your notebook from your bag. 

he was civil throughout the entire process which certainly surprised you—and there was not a single snarky or degrading comment that left his mouth the entire time. 

and you were surprised to discover that the two of you actually work pretty well together. 

when the two of you were not attempting to bite each other’s heads off or shouting insults from across the room, the two of you could almost become friends. 

almost. by the time you finished for the day it was already nine o’clock and you were absolutely famished. 

the two of you had gotten down the concept of your song and song of the chords and melody that you were going to play around with the next time the two of you saw each other. 

over the course of the next few months the two of you continued to work side-by-side in order to finish the song. 

and over the course of those few weeks your perception on the boy that you once hated seemed to change. 

there was something about him that changed, almost as if a light had switched on inside your head. he had this expression, this sparkle in his eyes that twinkled everytime he had an idea, and he would quickly jot it down in his almost illegible handwriting. 

or when he was concentrating, trying to finishing the ending line of the chorus or attempting to compose the perfect melody to go along with the lyrics. 

his eyebrows would furrow together and his tongue would peek out from between his lips, as he tapped his pencil against his notebook. 

and you couldn’t help but admit that he almost looked cute like that. 

at first you wrote these things off as you being perceptive, which was partially true, and attempted to suppress these thoughts of him. 

yet, he popped everywhere and it seemed that every little thing would remind you of him. 

it wasn’t until one of your group members pointed it out did you finally have an epiphany. 

“[y/n] quit staring at him, god you make it so obvious that you like him.” oh fuck. 

you weren’t sure when he crossed the lines between enemies and lovers, but that’s how you suddenly found yourself in this situation. 

after finishing the song and showing it to the company, the two of you met with a choreographer and now practiced the moves for the new song. 

the song that you both wrote expressed a desire of love and loss an overall idea of mending a broken relationship, which meant a sexy concept. 

the choreographer included everything that you could possibly think of in there, including some things that you thought were quite scandalous and  a bit too revealing. 

but, you were never one to back out of a challenge. 

so you did what you had to do and did what you had to in order to hide your overly flushed cheeks. 

“the two of you have such great chemistry, this song is going to be a hit!” and from that point on you could barely look him in the eyes. 

finally it was the week of promotions, as the song was released and the two of you went to different shows in order to perform the song live.

the atmosphere between the two of you seemed to have changed drastically after months of collaboration. 

there was no more animosity between the two of you and in fact, after putting aside your differences the two of you actually got along well. 

you attempted to swallow the feelings that you had for yoongi, pushing them down into the deepest pit of your stomach—never to be seen again.

the two of you were just beginning to become friends and you would be damned if your stupid crush was going to ruin every and all chances that you had with him. 

but damn, as the bright stage lights shined on your figures and the cheers of fans and the beat of the song surrounded you—you could feel them bubbling up again. 

there was this was warmth that spread across your whole body, as he embraced you for the final moment of song, and you could feel the heat from his ragged breaths on the back of your neck. 

and in that moment everything just came crashing down. 

after thanking the crowd, the two of you retreated backstage and as soon as you were out of sight from the crowd, you went into your dressing room and slammed the door. 

you couldn’t explain the hysteria that you were feeling, the hysteria that seemed to rising from that deep pit in your stomach. 

“[y/n]? are you okay?” god, even his voice alone was enough to cause chills to go down your spine. 

but you couldn’t cave in and risk losing everything that you have built with him, and you did what you used to do best—ignore him. 

from that day on, everyone around you seemed to notice this change around you. 

you no longer had this glowing aura around you, but instead it was replaced with this cold facade that you put on. 

of course in front of the cameras and the fans you put on that dazzling smile, and attempted to fake as the chemistry between you and yoongi as much as you could, and for the most part it worked. 

yet, off-stage you would revert back to your previous state. 

he was the one person who was most affected by your sudden switch in attitude, and he would never admit it to your face, but he missed the real you. 

the whole rivalry between the two of you was completely blown out of proportion, and truthfully he never really knew you as a person and therefore had no real reason to hate you.

he didn’t want to see the walls that you once again built up to protect yourself, instead he wanted to see the true [y/n], whose eyes lit up every time he told a joke, whose nose would scrunch up so cutely whenever he/she laughed, and the [y/n] that he fell in love with.

so, min yoongi decided to do what he did best and pry you out of your shell. 

“what’s wrong with you?” 

okay, so maybe his approach wasn’t exactly the best, but he was trying. 

you only scoffed, turning away from his figure as you continued tapping away on your phone. 

there was one rule that you needed to follow and that was to not engage, because you knew that if you did then everything would be over. 

“giving me the silent treatment, don’t you think that’s a bit childish?” 

you took a deep breath, boy could this man get on your nerves, but you would allow him to do that, he was baiting you for something—you just weren't sure for what. 

he came over at sat down next to you, his thigh touching your own, before leaning in and whispering in your ear. 

“come on, don't be like that, baby.” 

you could immediately feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and goosebumps down your arms—your face turning beet red. 

“what the actual fuck?” 

you pushed him away angrily, wrapping your arms around yourself, as you attempted to devise a plan of escape. 

yet, he had picked the perfect time, and that two of you were unable to leave since you were performing in less than five minutes. 

and he knew that, which explained the sly smirk that illuminated his face. 

in this moment there was only one thing that was present in your mind, and you knew that you needed to get away from him. 

standing, you turned your back on him and began to walk away. 

“come on, seriously [y/n], what’s wrong?” 

this time there was no playfulness in his voice, he had on a straight face and seen genuinely sincere and worried. 

but that surely must have been the joke, since min yoongi was never serious or sincere. 

“leave me alone and mind your own business.” 

as you began to walk away from him, you heard him mutter something under his breath, which was the last straw for you, as you whipped around to face him. 

“you know what, you, you’re my problem!” 

his face fell at your statement, but you were currently on a roll and was not planning on stopping anytime soon. 

“my problem is with you—you and your stupid handsome face, your stupid kissable lips, your cute button nose, and your stupid hot body—i would love to just punch you right in the face, because you have me feeling like this and—” 

immediately, you clamp your hands over your mouth, suddenly aware of everything that you have been saying. 

“keep going princess/prince, have you feeling like what?” 

there it was, that smile that made your knees weak, as his lips curled into a soft smile prompting you to mutter the answer under your breath.

“what’s that babe, i didn’t quite catch that.” 

that cocky piece of crap. 

“have me feeling like i’m in love with you.” 

you could swear that you have never felt this much anxiety since you debuted as you awaited his answer. 

all you wanted him to do was say something—anything, to break the tension in the room. 

instead, he laughed. and you had to admit that it was one of the cutest things that you have ever heard, as his face contorted with what looked like joy. 

before you could even question him about his answer, he swooped in and captured your lips with his own. 

to think that you were kissing the one and only min yoongi, the same man that you hated a few months prior. 

both of you pulled away breathless, your foreheads pressed together as you both looked into each other’s eyes. 

to say that you were surprised was an understatement, and you awaited his response. 

vaguely, you could hear one of the directors shouting for the two of you to get onto the stage, but you were to enamoured by his body wrapped around yours to make a move. 

“i knew you couldn’t resist my charms, princess/prince.” 

#bts #bts imagines #bts suga #bts yoongi #min yoongi #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #my writing

[seriouslyblacklikemysoul]

Burning Roses - Sirius Black/Remus Lupin x Reader

Request: Hey! As requests are open, can you write an imagine where your friends with the marauders and both Remus and sirius have a crush on you, but don't realize the other does, until it comes out that one of them wants to ask you out, and essentially the reader has to choose? Hope that made sense xx Warnings: My English. Angst, my heart can’t handle it. Language. Gifs aren’t mine. Credits to their original owners.  No, I don’t believe I will be writing a second part. Sometimes, we have to choose on our own.  Word Count~2.3k MASTERLIST Pending Requests

“Honestly, Rem, you really believed that I didn’t know?” you questioned him with a playful smile on your lips. That was the thing between you two. You were friends- family, really- with the Marauders since day one.  It felt natural like it was meant to be. That was six years ago. You had formed different bonds with each of them- all of them strong, just different. James was your brother. He was your older, overprotective, self-absorbed, completely infatuated with his Lily-flower, a brother. Even though you never had one and you couldn’t possibly know how a big brother acts, you did believe that James was excelling. You were never capable of holding a grudge against him- even though you truly wanted sometimes- as you witnessed how awfully in love he was with Lily. Any person capable of love is capable of being forgiven. Meaning that as much as he made you tick with his stupid plans to destroy your dates, you could never hate him or be mad at him for too long. Peter was your younger and more reserved brother. He was this kind and quiet person that had a lot of trouble adjusting. He had a lot of issues, especially with his confidence and he would barely speak up, but when he did, he would leave everyone dumbfounded by his intelligence. He was keen but he never believed it. You had acted up as his over-protective sister and helped him as much as you could.   Sirius… Sirius was different. You could say that you were closer, in a way. You had tried to be his sister but he already had a brother and family issues, so you just dropped it. He was such a great actor that you would almost fall for his carefree and laid-back attitude. Almost. You saw the flicker of pain and that small twinkle of unwanted memories that was pooling in his eyes. His act was impressive. In fact, those were the very words you told him when you confronted him. Since that very long night, you were inseparable. Somehow, you had managed to make him open up to you and let his walls down- something he had never done before, not even with his fellas. You had found yourself staring at him and his steely gray eyes more than once and you had quickly realized that you may or may not have feelings for him. And it sucked because he was with a different girl every other night. Also, because he was your friend. With Remus things just happened. He was actually, the first one to befriend you from the infamous Marauders. You had hit it off immediately because how could you not? He was sweet and caring, kind and polite. You would meet up in the Library, trying to study together but you would end up eating chocolate and drinking tea in the kitchens. You knew he was a werewolf since the moment you laid eyes on him. You just waited patiently for him to trust you enough to tell you. You had waited six years. You didn’t feel betrayed; it might hurt a bit but you understood all the possible reasons why he had kept it to himself and his friends. They were guys- they had practically formed a cult. The only problem was that somewhere between the books and the chocolate you had kind of developed a tiny crush on him. Something about his soft caramel eyes. You fancied two of your best friends. What a cliché. “Wait- you do? You know?” he whispered almost breathlessly. His eyes were wide and bewildered like he expected you to start running away from him.That was likely, you thought sarcastically. You raised an eyebrow. He should have known better- you were clever, disturbingly crafty. “Don’t you think that the nicknames give it away?” you simply suggested. He shook his head lightly but chuckled. He looked at you, his honest eyes were almost too honest for you to handle. “How long?” he asked you in a small voice. You tilted your head, trying to decide if you wanted to tell him that you knew all this time. “Since day one” you answered truthfully. You knew that he was going to scowled himself for not telling you a bit earlier. His mouth hung open. You offered him a soft and warm smile. “Yet you are still here and you never pushed me into telling you. Why?” he asked again, this time his voice cracked. You could sense the tension that was lingering dangerously close to you. “I am not afraid of you. On the contrary, I am afraid that you will get hurt because of it. And I don’t know… I guess I waited for you to trust me enough” you stated and held his gaze. He opened and closed his mouth too many times that it became hilarious. You lightly giggled at his reaction. “I trust you with my life. I hope you know that, love” he told you intensely. You smiled brightly at his words. “About ti- wait, what did you call me?”. What had started out as a sarcastic remark had turned out to be a befuddled question. You could have guessed that your cheeks were pink. His face fell as he realized that something had slipped. He didn’t mean to but it came almost too natural to call you that. But that did not mean that you liked it- or so he thought. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you, I just didn’t-” “I don’t mind” you blurted out, cutting off his ramble. You saw his lips forming a genuine smile that could melt your heart.

It was late and you were wide awake. Again. It was a habit of yours to go to the Astronomy Tower whenever you couldn’t sleep. It was already cold but you didn’t mind that much. You simply sat down near the edge and looked up. That was all it took for you to get lost and stay there. You felt your heart finally finding peace in the beautiful anarchy that all those galaxies created. Nothing was random in this life. The stars were consuming themselves to spread light-for you to see; planets were moving and colliding together, leaving behind what you thought as a mesmerizing chaos. Yet, you could witness the harmony, the perfect serenity in that havoc. You started naming all the constellation you could remember. “Capella, Pegasus, Betelgeuse, oh… the Pleiades star cluster and-” “Orion” you were cut off. You didn’t even need to look at him to know that it was Sirius. Your heart skipped a beat but soon you felt comfortable again. “Orion” you repeated softly, eyes glued to the velvet sky and the silk stars. His eyes, however, never left your face. “Everything that ever was still is. Everything that ever will be, already exist. We imagine that it is in motion and unfinished, that it’s still morphing- I don’t believe that” he gently commented and sat down next to you. You knew that he was here because he couldn’t sleep. You knew about his insomnia and nightmares. “How can you not? It’s because it’s unfinished that it’s astonishingly beautiful. Otherwise, it would be boring” you observed as your hands traced the patterns of the sky in mid-air- you longed to touch them, become part of them. He didn’t answer but you knew that he was comparing himself to it. You could tell that he truly believed that he had nothing else to live for because he didn’t think he could change. It broke your heart seeing him like this. Just like it broke your heart when Remus was like that-not believing he was worth it. Everything. You just sat there, not too close, not too far away, stargazing the night away. You didn’t talk but you didn’t have to. The silence wasn’t deafening-it was pleasant and very welcomed. You hadn’t noticed but he was looking at you the same way you were looking at the sky- full of awe and wonder. He had found his chaotic serenity. You slightly shivered but before you could say something, Sirius’ arms were wrapped around you, bringing you closer. Perks of being an Animagus- he was a heating pad. You could feel his heart beating and you could feel his body radiating warmth and somewhere between those two, you felt yourself losing touch with reality. He didn’t dare to close his eyes. 

“To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves” ― Federico García Lorca. They were so damn oblivious to each other’s feelings. James could see it, Peter could see it, Lily- well, she knew it since the moment it happened, even if they couldn’t exactly pinpoint it themselves. It was only a matter of time before all hell would break loose.  Today was the day. They were in their dorm, both of them lost in their own thoughts that so happened to be about the same person. They both wanted to ask her out- to let her know their feelings at the very least, but life had other plans. They had bought roses to give her but once they saw each other holding flowers they smiled because they thought that for the first time they were both going to be happy. But that changed the moment they opened their mouths. “Do you think Y/N will like them?” they said in unison and their smiles fell. They looked at each other completely stunned. They wanted the same girl. They had fallen for the same girl. As the realization hit them like a tidal wave, the flowers dropped to the floor. “No. Please, don’t” Remus whispered to Sirius, pleadingly. “Don’t do this to me” Sirius begged in return. What they didn’t know was that you were listening behind their closed door. You felt so sick of yourself. Nauseatingly awful person. “Why Sirius? Why? Out of all the girls, you could possibly want, why do you have to want the only one I care about?” Remus asked his ‘friend’. He knew that it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t somebody’s fault. He knew why. You were kind and sweet, sarcastic and witty, caring and… different. You were perfect to him. “You have no idea how much I care about her. She is the first person to make me feel like this, Remus. I can’t just let that go. I can’t let her go” Sirius confessed in a small voice. “You think I don’t know? You think I don’t care about her? I am in love with her. I have been, for as long as I can remember. And I don’t know if I should smile because she is my friend or fucking cry because that’s all she is ever going to be!”. You had never heard Remus so desperate. So painfully consumed. Your heart broke. You couldn’t do this to them, you had absolutely no freaking right to put them through that god-awful feeling. “She has been the only light in my life” Sirius replied softly. You couldn’t bury it any longer, so you ran away, reached your room, only to find Lily and James already waiting there. “You knew?” you breathlessly rasped out. Before you could help it, you fell apart and four arms were wrapped around you. You had just lost your two best friends. And a part of yourself-or even your whole self.  How much pain can a broken heart undergo? You were alerted by the smell. Something was burning. You got up and quickly made your way to the boys’ room with James. When you opened the door, you saw ten beautiful pink roses on fire. The two of them were just staring at each other, occasionally looking at the burning flowers. That was the visual representation of how you felt inside. Their heads snapped towards you and they tried to cover up the fact that they have been arguing- not exactly arguing- all that time. They were failing. “Alright, I am done playing games” Sirius announced and you knew what was coming your way. “There is something that needs to be said” Remus continued. You just couldn’t take it. “No, don’t. Please, don’t put me in that position. Don’t you dare put me in that position” you were almost crying again. You knew that sooner or later you would have to face this. “She heard you earlier” James clarified with an arm around your waist, supporting you and protecting you as a brother would do. Because he knew that you had a thing for both of them. Their faces paled. “Then, who is it, love?” Sirius almost demanded. You closed your eyes and almost felt like passing out. You couldn’t do this. You simply couldn’t. How could you choose? WHY does it have to be a choice? Why things aren’t easier? You thought of all the times you wanted to grab Remus by his shirt and kiss him with such passion that the sea would be jealous. And then your mind traveled to Sirius and all the times you had thought about the exact same thing about him. Something sparked inside of you. You knew. You opened your eyes.

Tags: @orionsirivsblack @kapolisradomthoughts @nadinissavage @sirius-black-deserved-better

#harry potter imagine #sirius black imagine #remus lupin imagine #sirius black x reader #remus lupin x reader #young sirius black #young sirius x reader #young sirius black imagine #young sirius black x reader #young remus lupin #young remus imagine #young remus x reader #young remus lupin imagine #the marauders #marauders imagine #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #sirius black #sirius black fanfiction #james potter #lily evans #ben barnes as sirius #sirius black fluff #young sirius black fluff #remus lupin fluff #young remus lupin fluff #andrew garfield as remus

[ladyfogg]

Sick Like Me - Part 15/20

Sick Like Me - Part 15/20

Fic Summary: With unfinished business hanging over your head, being locked up in Arkham is holding you back. However, you have your eye on a certain red-haired maniac, who may be just the person to help you escape and realize your true potential.  Fic Song. Fic Playlist. Fic Masterpost.

Fic Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Jerome Valeska/Female Reader

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, for a complete list of warnings, visit AO3.

A/N: Ayo! Commission is done so I'm back! This chapter is a little longer than I anticipated but I'm not complaining. Shits going down and we're nearing the end. Crazy. Anywho, enjoy!

Pure rage tints your vision red as you slam the penthouse door behind you.

“FUCK!” you scream. The nearest breakable object is a vase on the table by the coat rack. You seize it and smash against the wall, pieces scattering in all directions.

Greenwood and Aaron emerge as several servants try to make themselves scarce. You're too busy throwing furniture to notice, until Greenwood says, “Things go south?”

You point your pistol in his direction and fire, hitting the painting right by his head. “Ask me one more fucking question!” you challenge. “Go ahead! I fucking dare you!”

Greenwood snaps his mouth shut, hands over his ears to quell the ringing from the blast.

“We probably should have killed them both that night in her office,” Jerome says casually.

You round on him, only to find that smug grin. “Let me guess,” you snarl. “You find this hilarious, don't you?”

Any other time you’d be right there laughing with him. This is not one of those times. Out of all the people for Oswald to team up with, you can't believe it's Gordon. Honestly. You can't wrap your head around it. Although, the more you think about the likelihood of such a partnership, the more it's possible  the GCPD figured things out themselves. If so, you may have just ratted out Cobblepot.

Jerome's grin turns sinister and he struts over to you. “Your fury is amazing,” he growls. His face softens into a condescending smile. “You're so cute when you're angry.”

Lust mixes with fury. You know what he's doing. He's egging you on, wanting you to snap. Maybe he’s curious to see how far you'll take things. Maybe he's just being an asshole.

Either way, fuck him.

“Bedroom, now!” you bark, seizing the front of his shirt.

Aaron and Greenwood have to practically dodge out of your way. Jerome allows you to drag him to the room you share, and once inside, you lock the door.

Jerome looks excited, bouncing in place. “Well, Queenie--”

“Shut up and strip!” you order, dropping your gun onto the dresser.

Jerome automatically starts to do as you say, eyes shining. “Ooo, you're being so demanding. Working out some frustrations, doll face?”

You're busy stripping down yourself, angrily yanking your clothes off. He barely lets his shirt fall before you shove him onto the bed. Wiggling out of whatever garments you haven't already disposed, you scramble to straddle his lap.

“Kinda sucks that your plan backfired,” Jerome continues. “And to think, you were going to leave me behind. You almost made two mistakes.”

“I said shut up!” you force through gritted teeth. Your hand closes around his throat and his mouth falls open in excitement.

“Why? What happens if I don't?” he challenges.

You swoop in for a kiss, but midway through decide to bite down on his bottom lip instead, drawing out a cry of pain mixed with a giggle. “Then I'll make you,” you growl.

“Ooo, how scary.”

Red hot rage rears its ugly head again and and you crawl up Jerome's body.

“What are you planning to--mpfh!”

His words are cut off when you sit on his face, your thighs spread open over his mouth. He reaches up, but you lock your hands around his wrists and pin them above his head. Without warning you grind against his mouth.

Jerome moans and you feel his wet tongue slide along your cunt. He looks up at you, perfectly happy with the turn of events. In the back of your mind, you know him getting to taste you isn't much of a punishment. Though, it got him to shut up so you call it a win. Your body warms and you feel your own slick join Jerome's spit as you ride his tongue.

With all your careful planning, you took a chance and it came back to bite you in the ass. Now your stepmother is hidden somewhere in Gotham and the GCPD are one step ahead of you. The thought makes your anger flare and you take it out on Jerome’s face, grinding harder.

The grip on his wrists is tight, causing a rush of perverse glee when you realize you're going to bruise him. And he won't be able to cover them up like the others. You glance over your shoulder to admire the trail of bite marks and hickeys down his chest. The bulge in his boxers swells under your scrutiny, making your mouth water.

Jerome is anything but silent beneath you. He hums, grunts, and groans, eyes falling closed to lose himself in the taste and feel of you. You return your gaze to his face, loving the flush of his pale cheeks.

Letting his wrists go, you bury your fingers in his hair, putting your full weight on him as you tug on the red strands. He growls and seizes your thighs, shoving his tongue as far up into you as he can. Red marks adorn his wrists and some of them are already starting to darken.

Your current position is murder on your knees, and after a few more seconds, you reluctantly climb off. Jerome's face is bright red, lips and chin glistening with your arousal. He follows your lead, waiting for you to fall on your back before returning to where he was before.

He ducks his head between your legs, throwing them over his shoulders. Eagerly he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking hard. Your hips jerk upward and you grab his hair again.

Between the gyrating of your hips and the cleverness of his tongue, you can feel your orgasm approaching, and the anger starts to boil down to a simmer.

Jerome presses two fingers into you, his mouth still toying with your clit. He doesn't move them, the asshole. Just keeps them there to tease. You’re forced to fuck yourself on his fingers.

When you come it's harsh and unforgiving, just like Jerome's hand and mouth. The pleasure cascades over you again and again, until it finally recedes and you're left shaking. Boneless, you sink against the mattress with a satisfied purr.

“Okay, I'm good now,” you giggle.

Jerome pulls back with a smack of his lips, grinning. “And you taste good too,” he comments before diving back down for another lick.

You let him have his fun, tucking your hands behind your head. Satisfied for the time being, your mind drifts to the run in you had, and you can't help make a noise of annoyance.

“That Jim Gordon is really starting to piss me off,” you grumble.

Jerome huffs, nuzzling your navel as he comes up from between your legs. You can't help moaning when his fingers slip out. “Were you thinking about him the whole time I was going down on you?” he demands.

You give a small giggle. “Of course not,” you say. “I was thinking about Dr. Thompkins.”

Jerome smiles gleefully. “That I'm okay with,” he says. “Picturing the two of you together while I watch…” He sucks your arousal from his fingers, moaning with longing.

You laugh, shoving him onto his back. Quickly, you yank his boxers down and he helps you get rid of them. “I was teasing. Pervert,” you say.

“I don’t hear you complaining,” he points out.

“And here I thought you’d be all jealous,” you chuckle, running your hands up his legs and to his chest. “Aren't I yours?” You straddle his waist and dig your nails into his skin, causing him to jerk upward.

Jerome grabs your thighs, squeezing tightly. “You are,” he grunts. “All mine.”

“But you're willing to share with Dr. Thompkins?” you tease.

Jerome’s eyes glint mischievously as he relaxes underneath you. “If you're willing to share her,” he says.

You laugh again, this time slightly breathless. “You're a dirty, dirty man, Valeska.”

“Again, I don't hear you complaining.”

“Oh, I'm not,” you assure him. “All joking aside, we need to do something about Gordon. He's starting to get in the way. And I need to find out where they moved my stepmom. I'm assuming it's a safe-house of some kind.”

Jerome suddenly sits up, the force throwing you onto your back. His fingers  dig into your thighs, which are still around his waist. “I have an idea,” he announces, grinning devilishly. “The perfect way to punish Gordon and get the information we need.”

“Ooo tell me! Tell me!” you urge, propping yourself up on your elbows.

“We attack them,” Jerome says, eyes darkening.

“Who?”

“The GCPD,” Jerome clarifies. “Go in and show them and the world just what we can do.”

Excitement makes your chest heave and you allow Jerome to pull you up onto his lap completely.

“And while we're there,” he continues, hands sliding around to grab your ass. “We'll have a nice chat with the Commissioner about where they're keeping your stepmother.”

You groan, sliding your arms around his shoulders and leaning in close. “You're amazing,” you gush, gently grinding against the erection currently trapped between your legs. “We were made for each other, J. If anything happened to you I would kill everyone, including myself.”

Jerome’s lips curl into an amused smile and he crushes you to his chest. “We're going to show them all how pathetic they are. How they can never be as free as us.”

Kissing takes priority over plotting, as the sight of each other's naked bodies becomes too tempting to ignore. You lift yourself and slide onto his cock, moaning loudly. Jerome squeezes your ass and thrusts upward, burying himself to the hilt.

“We also need someone to pin the break out on,” you gasp, rolling your hips. “I tied up my loose ends, but if they keep digging into my past, they could uncover my aliases or hidden accounts.”

“Oh no, we can't have that,” Jerome tuts. “I demand to be kept in the lavish lifestyle I've grown accustomed to.”

Clearly he's joking. You know he could give two shits about your money. If it was up to you, you’d burn it all yourself. Unfortunately, money gets you very far in Gotham so that's not an option at the moment.

“And you will,” you promise, dragging your lips along his jaw. “As long as we find a patsy. How about it? Got anyone you want to see dead?”

“Oh, I have the perfect target,” Jerome says with glee.

With a growl he pushes you down onto the mattress.

---

According to your sources, Jim has been ordered to take a few days off for the head injury Jerome dealt him. Which means it’s the perfect time to strike the GCPD. He won't be there to intervene and the guilt will eat him alive. Two for the price of one!

Jerome makes all the plans. You never get tired of watching him command the others. He switches from animated to serious in an instant, and even you find his dark charisma too compelling to resist.

Sneaking in will be easy.

On your way out of your father's house, you and Jerome had taken down a few of GCPD’s finest and stole their uniforms to make your escape. Your lackeys use them again, this time to gather more uniforms for everyone else. Except for you and Aaron. The big guy will be waiting by the limo as backup. And you’d much rather wear your own ensemble.

“I have to say,” you purr, watching Jerome get dressed. “There is something sexy about a man in uniform.”

Jerome grins at you over his shoulder, adjusting his tie. “If you want sex, it'll have to be quick,” he says. “We've got a precinct to invade.”

You smile, smoothing down your pencil skirt. “We'll save it for later,” you promise. “Depending on how this goes, it's going to be a long night.”

Jerome flips the collar of his jacket and stalks toward you. “Queenie, it's going to be magnificent,” he insists. “The sheep won't know what hit them. Do you have the camera?”

“Of course I do, it's loaded up already,” you say. “Though I was hoping you wanted it to record us fucking. This works too.”

Jerome's eyes light up and he hooks an arm around your waist, tugging you forward into a kiss. “Next time,” he promises. “For now, I'll use it to spread our message to the masses.”

Your body shivers with anticipation and you fist his shirt, pulling him even closer. “They'll never know what hit them.”

The drive to the precinct is done in silence, with the Maniax and a few hired guns all squished together. Silent rides before heists seem to be a trend. Everyone is either nervous or excited, or some mixture of both.

You're twitchy whereas Jerome is dead still, staring out the window with a small smile. It's actually a bit unnerving. What you wouldn't give to hear what he's thinking.

Once the car is parked in a nearby parking lot, everyone but you and Aaron climbs out. Jerome is last. He says nothing, only gives you a kiss for luck, and then he's gone. The plan is for them to shoot up the place and once then it's clear, he'll call you in.

They aren't gone more than five minutes when you spot something that pisses you off.

Jim fucking Gordon eases out of his car, wincing. Of course he’d ignore doctor's orders. Shit.

“Aaron, with me,” you order, getting out of the limo.

The two of you follow Gordon as he heads toward the precinct. With a wave of your hand, you send Aaron down an alley to hide, before calling out. “Jim Gordooooonnnn.”

He immediately stops, slowly looking back over his shoulder. The utter  astonishment on his face is comical. You wave and casually duck down the alley. Because he's Jim Gordon, he follows.

“Queenie, stop!” you hear behind you.

Humoring him, you do, spinning around. “Aren't you supposed to be resting?” you scold, hands on your hips.

Jim cocks his gun. “You're coming with me,” he orders.

“Yeah, noooo.”

Aaron jumps down from his hiding place, knocking Gordon to the ground. His gun goes skidding away, and you stand there, happily watching Aaron beat the shit out of the thorn in your side.

“How goes?” you ask into your earpiece.

“Explosive,” Jerome responds, cackling. In the background you hear a grenade go off. “You're good to come in.”

“Just a minute,” you say. “Taking care of our best friend.”

“Well hurry,” Jerome growls. “I need you.”

“Mmm, I need you too, Mistah.”

Amidst Jerome's pleased laughter, you can hear screaming in the background. Smiling, you snap your fingers and Aaron lays off Gordon. The man is sprawled on the ground, blood pouring from his nose and mouth. You strut over to him and plop yourself on his chest.

“Jimmy, you have got to be the worst detective in the world,” you tut. “You get jumped again, lose your gun again…”

Jim coughs, blood trickling down the corner of his mouth. “We'll stop you,” he grunts.

“Eh, probably,” you admit. “But considering I was able to lure you away this easily, probably not. I did realize something though these last couple of days. The whole thing with my stepmother was way too clever to be the work of the GCPD. It was Lee's idea, wasn't it?”

Jim purses his lips.

“Yeah, thought so,” you smirk. “Which means Oswald didn't sell me out. That makes me feel a little better.”

“No, but when I see him again--” Jim immediately realizes his mistake and cuts himself off, clenching his jaw.

You gasp. “Again? You've been seeing that penguin?” you say gleefully. “Oh. My. God. Gordon...are you in his pocket?”

Jim's face hardens. “I'm in no one's pocket!” he snaps. He tries to reach for you, but Aaron jams his boot into his wrist. Jim screams in pain.

“Maybe not, but you've had dealings,” you realize. “Interesting. Alright, filing that away for blackmail later. I'm on a tight schedule and can’t have you ruining my puddin’s moment.”

You punch him in the face and the force knocks his head against the pavement. He goes limp and you pat his cheek.

“Poor predictable Gordon,” you sigh. “I almost feel sorry for him.”

Aaron helps you to your feet and you leave the detective bleeding on the ground.

The precinct is a beautiful disaster. Happily skipping over dead bodies, you give your lackeys a nod as you make you way across the room. Jerome has Essen tied to a chair and he's busy framing his shot.

“There she is,” he grins. “You almost missed my shining moment!”

Aaron lifts you onto the two desks Jerome has pushed together.

“Never,” you coo, allowing Jerome to pull you closer. You look at the woman tied to the chair and give her a mock salute. “Commissioner. Pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Hell of a first week you're having,” Jerome tells her. “Wish we could say it's going to be better…”

“It's not,” you interject.

Greenwood is shuffling over with the camera and Jerome calls to him, “Bring that up here. We'll get a better angle of the room.”

The cannibal listens, heaving himself up onto the makeshift platform.

“Why are you doing this?” Essen asks, her voice filled with sorrow.

“To rule the world,” Jerome answers. “Blah blah blah. But we'll settle for some dead cops and some good PR.” He snickers. “Kidding.”

“Of course he is. We have a very specific reason,” you remind him.

Jerome snaps his fingers. “Yes, right! That we do. See, you guys took away m’lady’s revenge and, well, she's not happy. And if Queenie's not happy, I'm not happy.”

“All we need is the location of my stepmother,” you say, beginning slow pacing movements in front of her.

Essen glares. “I'm not telling you anything,” she snaps.

“Uh yeah, duh, we figured,” Jerome snorts. He gestures to the destroyed room. “Why do think this happened? You wouldn't tell us if we didn't make a compelling argument.”

You take a step forward so you and Jerome are side-by-side. “Commissioner, there are some things that are inevitable. The sun rising, the earth spinning, and me torturing and murdering the woman who tormented my youth. Easy or hard way, we’ll get the information.”

Essen’s eyes flare with disdain. “Yeah, I get it. You're just crazy!”

Jerome’s smile falls and he cocks his head, advancing on her. “Crazy?” he asks. He kneels down so he's eye-level. “Look at me,” he orders, voice low and dangerous. Just the way you like it. “You can see I'm not crazy.”

“I am,” you shrug.

Jerome grins. “Batshit,” he agrees.

Essen meets his gaze, hands clenched into fists. “Very soon, little man,” she growls, leaning toward him. “You will be dead. Both of you. And the world will go on without you. You'll be nothing. No one will even remember your names.”

Jerome makes a noise of disagreement. “Nooo,” he says. “That is where you're wrong, old lady.” He stands and turns toward you, yanking you against his side. “We will leave a mark on this city. We will spread across it like a virus.”

You can't help but moan and pull him into a harsh kiss. He grunts and kisses you back, tongue visibly slipping into your mouth before he withdraws. Pinching you ass, he steps toward Essen again, lips curled into a pleased smile. She recoils as he leans in close.

“And do you know why?” he asks.  

“There's nothing more contagious than laughter!” Greenwood cackles.

Jerome's eyes slide to yours. You nod. He draws his gun and, without flinching, he shoots Greenwood in the chest. The burly man drops the camera as he crashes to the floor. Dead.

“My line!” Jerome grins. He steps in front of the Commissioner as you scoop up the camera. “There's nothing more contagious than laughter!”

He's cut off mid-laugh when the Commissioner spits in his face. Jerome coughs for a moment as the spit goes right into his mouth. He contemplates what just happened.

“Huh, that was strangely pleasant,” he concludes. Over his shoulder to you he adds, “You're gonna have to try that later.”

When he turns back to Essen, she headbutts him. Jerome's head flies back by the force of it.

“That's gonna leave a mark!” Essen smirks, pleased with herself.

Jerome's laughing wildly now, blood pouring out of his nose. Livid, you take an angry step toward the woman. But Jerome puts his hand out to stop you.

“You got me!” he admits, spitting blood.

Essen’s smug face falls when she realizes what's going to happen next. You watch, entranced as Jerome towers over her, long fingers curling into fists. His chest is heaving and everything about him sends a stab of desire through you. If there was time you’d make him fuck you on Gordon's desk.

“My turn,” Jerome snarls.

#ladyfoggdrabbles #jerome valeska x reader #jerome valeska x you #jerome valeska fanfiction #sick like me

[artificialqueens]

Love Lingered On His Lips (Biadore) - Lemonade

AN: I’m sorry it’s been…close to a month since I last submitted something. My mental health and creative muse took a road trip to rock bottom and they didn’t come home until a few days ago lmao. Anyway I hope y’all enjoy this!! Italics = thoughts. (also i’m sorry my author notes are a mess this is the #realme) (also x2 to the anon who asked about my abc fic like two weeks ago i am planning on continuing it!!! i have some of it written (along w/ four other unfinished fics bc i am trash)  i don’t know when exactly i’ll get it out but i 100% want to finish it)

It had been months since the pair last saw each other in person. Danny moved to Seattle and Roy always kept busy with work. They FaceTimed on occasion and spoke in their long standing group chat. It worked, but it wasn’t enough. They both found themselves missing the days they were traveling the world together. Touring took a huge tole on Danny’s all around health; Roy was his silver lining. He looked after Danny when he was too drunk and out of control, he wiped away his tears when he was physically exhausted and emotionally drained, he made him laugh, he played with his hair and kissed his fingertips: Roy made Danny fall in love with him.

Danny so desperately wanted to kick his lyft drivers seat and tell him to burn fucking rubber, he had someone important waiting for him. Instead he huffed in frustration, asking how long until they would arrive at his apartment. Twenty minutes was the answer.

Danny: Sorry, my driver’s a slow ass bitch. I don’t know if I’ll get there before you.

Roy was getting antsy. He was more than sure a kid pulling him in a little red wagon would get him to Danny’s apartment faster than this uber driver. He rolled his eyes in frustration, asking how long until they would arrive at their destination. Twenty minutes was the answer.

Roy: I don’t think they could be any slower than this idiot driving me. I’m pretty sure we’re still in L.A.!

Danny quietly chuckled at Roy’s text.

—-

Roy ended up beating Danny to his apartment, only by a few seconds apparently. As Roy unloaded his suitcases he heard a familiar voice– his favorite voice call his name. The man barely had time to turn around before Danny’s entire body was wrapped around his in a koala hug. Roy nearly fell over at the sudden impact of Danny crashing into him, but regained his balance, not wanting to drop the precious human in his arms.

Danny nuzzled his face into the crook of Roy’s neck. Roy finally had enough composure to squeeze Danny back tightly. “I’ve missed you.” Danny’s words were mumbled against Roy’s neck. Roy heard them perfectly. “I’ve missed you too.” He pressed a kiss to Danny’s head. “Now get off,” Roy could only be sappy for so long. “I’m too old for you to be jumping on me like that. Next time you might break my hip.” Danny cackled, but obeyed. “Shut the fuck up, you’re not even that old.” He pecked Roy’s cheek before taking a few of his bags.

—

“I thought you were only staying for a week, what’s with all the luggage?” Danny asked as he threw the suitcases haphazardly onto his living room floor. Roy chose to sit the bags he was carrying against the wall instead. “I also have a gig. It takes a lot to make this old bitch look good.” He was planning on staying at a hotel, but the minute Danny heard he would be in Seattle he insisted Roy not only stay with him, but come a week early so they could catch up. There was no resistance on Roy’s part.

“Sorry about the mess.” Danny kicked an empty beer can across the room. “I’ve been writing so much lately, living in filth helps me get inspired.” Danny plopped down on his couch and Roy followed.

“What about?” You, is what Danny wanted to say. “A bunch of shit.” He shrugged his shoulders. Roy brushed a piece of hair away from Danny’s face as he spoke and pushed it behind his ear. He’d been growing his hair out, Roy thought he looked like a goddess. Danny acted as if the slight touch didn’t faze him, the tinge of pink coloring his cheeks betrayed that semblance. “Well don’t hold out on me.” Roy could listen to Danny talk about his music, or anything he was particularly excited about for hours, so he did. Danny went on about his writing process, showed Roy songs and poems he had written (conveniently leaving the ones about Roy in his folder), and explained the meaning behind each and every one of them. He told Roy about his YouTube channel, all the ideas he had for its revival. He shared stories from the set of his recent photoshoot and explained to Roy how he had finally discovered, and came to terms with his gender identity. Roy loved it. Danny seemed happier than he had ever personally seen him. His eyes lit up, his hands flew around in the air the more his excitement grew, his smile–fuck his smile was so wide, and bright, and genuine. Roy wanted to grab his face and smash their lips together about a hundred different times as they spoke.

No one ever listened to Danny ramble the way Roy did. Sure, people heard him, or let him speak into the void in their presence, but Roy truly listened to him. He seemed genuinely interested in everything Danny said, got excited about something when Danny got excited. He felt like he could tell him anything and Roy would never dismiss him, or judge him, or make him feel stupid like others had.

Time had completely slipped from their grasp. It was late, far too late to do anything other than go to a bar. Danny was a regular at this point. He liked to write in bars, observe people, karaoke had become one of his favorite activities, but not tonight. He wanted Roy to himself tonight (and every other night of his life too).

—-

Danny slowly inhaled smoke into his lungs before passing the shared blunt to Roy. He was the only person who could get Roy to smoke with them. He smiled to himself at the memory of Jinkx and himself betting on it; Of course Danny won. When Jinkx asked how he managed it, Danny left out the fact that he bribed Roy with a blowjob. “What are you smiling at?” Roy’s words were strangled as he tried not to cough like he had a severe case of bronchitis. Danny absentmindedly rubbed his back to sooth him.

“Remember the first time we smoked together?”

“You mean when you sucked my dick? Yeah.” They both laughed.

“Well that’s what I was thinking about.”

“If you want to suck my dick again all you have to do is ask. No need to cum in your pants over a memory.” Danny slapped his arm, taking the blunt back from him. Roy’s eyes followed the blunt to Danny’s lips. His soft, full lips that Roy couldn’t decide if he wanted to kiss, bite, or have them wrapped around his cock. His breath hitched at the possibility of any of those scenarios becoming a reality, quickly pushing the intrusive thoughts away. “That’s not what I meant.” Danny finally spoke after blowing smoke from his pull. “Jinkx and I had a bet: who could get you high first. They don’t know I won because of a blowjob.”

“I would have smoked with you regardless of whether you sucked me off or not.” I would do anything you asked me to without a second thought.

“I know.” I wanted to. I want to right now.

The blunt burned down to a roach, discarded on the balcony floor as Danny moved from his own seat to Roy’s lap. No protest was put up on Roy’s end. He snaked an arm around Danny’s waist and rested his head on his shoulder. They sat silently for a while, enjoying the stars, the cool night breeze, and most importantly each other. The moment felt so cozy Danny nearly blurted out an ‘I love you’. Love lingered on his lips so often around Roy it was a miracle he hadn’t confessed his undying devotion to this man a thousand times over.

Danny’s hair was tied up in a little bun, the lose pieces in front of his face blowing wildly with the direction of the wind made him look like some beautiful bad boy straight out of a shitty rom-com movie. Roy couldn’t stop staring. His heart felt so heavy with love for the person in his lap. Love, not lust. Roy had accepted the fact that he was in love with Danny ages ago. He did try to blame lust at first; Danny was sex personified, why wouldn’t he want to fuck him? It quickly became more than that. He wanted to take care of him, hold him, make him laugh every chance he had–love. If Roy could pour every ounce of affection he had into Danny he would.

Roy’s musing was interrupted by Danny’s lips softly, sweetly, and all too shortly pressing against his. It wasn’t abnormal for them to kiss each other’s lips swollen, but this, this was different. This felt delicate, and vulnerable, and innocent. Roy leaned up to meet Danny’s lips again in a kiss just as tender. He could feel Danny smile against him, which made him smile in return.

A look of complete serenity washed over Danny’s face as he pulled away from Roy’s lips. He tasted like weed and vanilla flavored Chapstick. Roy’s features softened at the sight of him. He reached his hand up to cup Danny’s face, the pad of his thumb caressing his cheek. “What was that for?” I love you. Danny just grinned down at him and shrugged, placing another kiss to his forehead.

He could blame it on the weed, or the exhaustion from traveling, or on Danny since he had initiated the first kiss…

Roy’s hand glided from Danny’s cheek to the back of his neck, pulling him in closer before catching Danny’s lips with his own. The chaste nature of their previous shared kisses was far gone. Roy wasted no time plunging his tongue into Danny’s mouth. From the outside, they looked like they were trying to swallow each other whole. On the inside, this was the only way to express their overwhelming feelings for one another. Every unsaid word, every unexpressed emotion, every ‘what if’ was poured into that kiss.

Roy’s hand moved again, from holding Danny in place by his neck to his hair. Carefully, he let Danny’s hair lose from its bun, tangling his fingers in the loose tresses. Roy knew from experience how much Danny adored having his hair played with.

While Roy massaged his scalp, Danny moved between the two of them, his hand finding Roy’s cock as he palmed him through his jeans. Roy moaned into the kiss, his hand tugging on Danny’s hair in response. “Hold on to me.” Roy instructed, muttering the words into Danny’s mouth. He did as he was told, wrapping his arms around Roy’s neck, then his legs around his waist when Roy stood with him in his arms. The walk back to the bedroom was bumpy. Roy stumbled over the step connecting the apartment to the balcony, knocked into furniture, and accidentally took them inside of the bathroom at first. All because he couldn’t tear his lips away from Danny’s for five seconds.

When they finally made it, Roy sat at the edge of the bed with Danny in his lap. Both hands rested on Danny’s ass, squeezing occasionally as they made out. He could spend the next week just kissing Danny, really. His plump lips working against his, their tongues gliding against each other, Danny’s quiet moans whenever Roy bit down on his bottom lip, and his fingers grazing against his jaw felt like a taste of heaven Roy would never be ready to let go of.

Danny reveled in their fervent kissing. It wasn’t the first time, definitely wouldn’t be the last time, but something about it felt special. He drank in the last few moments before reluctantly breaking his lips away from Roy’s. He caught a look of disappointment etched on Roy’s face before reconnecting his lips with Roy’s skin. Danny kissed Roy’s neck, letting his tongue roll over the sensitive flesh as he did so. Roy’s eyes fluttered shut, his head lulling back as he became lost in the sensation. Danny introduced teeth, roughly sucking the skin after biting into it, ending with a soothing pass of his tongue and small kiss. The sinful sounds coming from Roy were all the encouragement he needed to continue his ministrations.

Danny smirked as he felt Roy grow hard against his own erection. He gave him one last throbbing love bite before trailing his lips up his neck, pressing a kiss right behind his ear. “Lay down.” Danny whispered to him, his voice husky and drunk with lust. Danny dismounted him so Roy could position himself properly on the bed. The anticipation was killing him. He wanted nothing more than to take Danny right away, but he knew that everything leading up to it would be well worth the wait. Danny crawled over him, forcing Roy to spread his legs to make room for him. The blown out pupils of his eyes nearly made Roy’s mouth go dry. God, he was delectable. Danny rekindled their searing kiss from earlier, Roy’s hand found it’s way back into Danny’s hair. He began to grind down against Roy, their clothed cocks lined up perfectly. Roy hadn’t expected the moved, his hips involuntarily bucked up to meet Danny’s. He giggled against his lover lips. “Someone’s eager.” Danny teased. “Shut up.” Roy warned through gritted teeth, which earned him a harsh bite to his bottom lip.

Danny sat up purposefully, pulling Roy’s shirt slowly over his head. He took a few minutes to admire Roy’s body, letting his hands run over the smooth skin of his torso, making a mental note of every place he touched that made Roy’s muscles twitch under his fingertips. Every place that did so was where his lips connected to next. Roy’s breath hitched in his throat at the contact. Danny trailed down his body until he reached the waist band of Roy’s jeans. He rested his hand on the leather belt. “Can I?” Roy looked down at him and nodded earnestly. “I told you all you have to do is ask.” Danny chuckled at the reference to their conversation earlier.

Now, with consent, Danny hurriedly undid Roy’s belt, buttons, and zipper. He pulled Roy’s pants and boxers off all at once. He was already leaking a great deal. Wasting no time, Danny immediately began pumping him, using his wrist for added motion. Roy let out a shaky moan as his head fell against the pillows. His back arched slightly off of the bed as Danny quickened his pace. Having this control over Roy, knowing how much pleasure he could provide him, made Danny feel something he couldn’t describe. Whatever it was, it was good, and made his heart feel oddly full. Danny kissed up Roy’s inner thigh, stopping to suck at the skin as Roy whimpered. “I love you’ lingered on Danny’s lips, he had enough restraint to hold it in.

Danny stopped all at once without warning, not giving Roy too long to complain before taking all of him into his mouth. Roy gasped at the sudden warmth and wetness surrounding him. His had flew to Danny’s hair, the other grabbed at the sheets as Danny hollowed out his cheeks and began bobbing his head. He cupped Roy’s balls, gently toying with them as he continued to suck him off. Roy squirmed beneath him, Danny inching him closer to the edge. When Roy looked down, he was met with Danny’s eyes staring right back at him. Fuck, didn’t he know what that did to him? Didn’t he know that those big doe eyes were the most adorable, yet sexist thing he had ever seen?

Roy tugged on his hair. “Come here.” He demanded. Danny let him go with a pop, crawling back up his body until his face was hovering over his. “Yes, daddy?” Danny smirked. Roy gulped. He knew exactly what he was doing. Roy crashed his lips against Danny’s. Holding him close to his body as his tongue made a new home out of his mouth. As they kissed Roy became more aware of the unfortunate fact that Danny still had clothes on. He flipped them over so he was on top, pressing Danny into the mattress. He grabbed the hem of his shirt, quickly pulling it over his head. “You’re fucking beautiful.” He huffed out, his hands running over Danny’s chest and sides. Danny had a crooked rib, which Roy thought was precious and unique to him. He had never heard of, let alone seen anyone with a wonky rib before. It caused a dent in his side, and poked out oddly depending on how he moved his body. Danny always hated it. Roy could remember Danny telling him if there was one thing about his body he would change, that would be it. Roy took his time, letting his fingers trace over the bone before leaning down to kiss across it. “I mean that.” He reassured him. If Danny’s cheeks weren’t already flushed pink, they were now.

Once he acquired permission, Roy was quick to discard of Danny’s pants and little black thong (now wet with precum). He kissed across his waist band, and up his stomach, to his chest and collar bone where he left small love bites. He showered his face with sweet kisses that made Danny giggle. Roy’s heart swelled at the sound. “You’ve got condoms and lube, right?” He asked as he peppered kisses to Danny’s cheek and jaw. “Mhm.” Danny hummed, enjoying the affection he was being given too much to answer properly. “Where are they?” Roy’s lips were now on Danny’s neck, his only answer being a sultry moan. Roy couldn’t help but feel pleased with himself. He sucked at the delicate flesh, marking Danny’s neck with a purple bruise the size of his mouth.

Roy removed his lips from Danny’s skin so he could answer properly. “Seriously, babe. Where are they?” Danny pointed to the nightstand. “Second drawer.” Roy was quick to retrieve what he needed, noticing that neither box had been opened prior to that moment. “Dry spell?” Roy inquired as he climbed back on the bed. Danny shook his head. “Vow of celibacy.” Danny snickered. “Which is clearly out the fucking window now. I just– I don’t know, wasn’t comfortable with people touching me, I guess.” He admitted. “You know we don’t have to do this, right?” Roy was quick to reassure him of that. He never wanted Danny to feel like he was obligated to have sex with him just because they’ve hooked up before.

“I want to. It’s different with you.”

“How so?”

“You appreciate me. You aren’t just looking at me as some sort of human blowup doll for your own pleasure. I’m not letting guys treat my body like that anymore.”

Roy beamed down at him with all the pride in the world. I’m proud of you. Danny spoke as if he finally realized all of the worth in himself that everyone else had been seeing for years. He leaned down to peck his cheek, letting the subject go with that. Danny smiled sweetly as he did so. Thank you.

“Turn around.” Roy instructed. He grabbed the pillows from the head of Danny’s bed as he moved off of them, placing them under his stomach. “That should be more comfortable.” Roy’s hands started at Danny’s shoulders, massaging them. They drifted downwards, massaging his lower back next. Danny couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t enjoying all of this attention. He felt worshiped, and taken care of; He always did with Roy.

Roy’s hands were now on Danny’s ass, squeezing and massaging his cheeks. His right hand came up, instantly crashing against his skin, pulling a guttural moan from Danny. “Fuck!” He called out. “Do that again, Please.” So Roy did. Once, twice, three times. By the fourth spank the hand print on Danny’s skin had became so red and raw Roy refused to do it again, no matter how much he begged for it. He blew a stream of cool air against the burning flesh to sooth it. Roy rubbed the area for extra comfort before moving on to part Danny’s cheeks. Teasingly, he traced Danny’s hole with the tip of his tongue. Danny hissed at the contact, needing more than what he was getting, but loving it anyway. Roy switched between lapping at his entrance, adding slight suction to his ministrations, and dipping his tongue inside of him. He brought his arm up to hold Danny down by his lower back as he squirmed beneath him. No matter how times they had sex, Roy never failed to surprise Danny with just how good he was at it. He didn’t know why, but he never expected it from him. The sounds emitting from Danny made it almost painful for Roy to remove his mouth from him.

Danny adjusted his position while Roy reached for the lube he had tossed on the bed beforehand. Roy squeezed a small amount onto his hand, warming it up between his fingers. The bottle was thrown back behind him for when they would need it again. Roy pressed a single digit against Danny’s entrance. “Ready?” Danny nodded. “Yes.” He slid inside of him, muffled whimpers leaving Danny’s lips as Roy prepared him. He added a second finger, scissoring inside of him. Then a third at Danny’s request. Roy had been kissing Danny’s freckled shoulder when Danny thought he had enough. “Roy, I’m ready.” Danny whined breathlessly. He carefully pulled his fingers from him, the loss disappointed Danny, but excited him for Roy.

Roy ripped the condom open with his teeth, quickly rolling it onto himself. He wondered if Danny knew he was just as desperate to be inside of him as Danny was to receive him. He spread the excess lube on his fingers over Danny’s hole, squirting more on to his hand to warm it up then lathering it on his cock. Roy lined himself up with Danny, teasing him with the tip, but not fully pushing inside of him yet. Danny threw his head back. “Roy, please.” Danny fidgeted impatiently underneath him. “Alright, alright.” Was the only warning Danny got before Roy was completely inside of him. They moaned in unison as Roy entered him. Roy did his best to hold off from fucking Danny’s brains out so he’d have time to adjust, Danny was having none of that. He slammed his ass against Roy and Roy took the hint. Grabbing his hips, he began to thrust inside of Danny. The string of moans and curses spilling from Danny’s lips served as encouragement for Roy to pick up his pace and hit deeper inside of him. When his grunts heightened in pitch, Roy knew he hit his prostate.

The way he threw his head back, his wild moaning as if these walls weren’t paper thin, his straining muscles, and the beads of sweat rolling down his back were a feast for Roy’s eyes. Danny had to be, without a doubt, the most stunning person Roy ever had the pleasure of sleeping with; Even from behind. It was a rule of his: do not face anyone during sex, unless they’re your boyfriend. He tried to keep that rule while with Danny as well, but he was too fucking beautiful, and as Danny said earlier, it was different between them. Danny wasn’t just some random trade that he’d regret fucking the minute he came. Roy leaned down against him, pounding into him slower, but deeper. Roy moaned right into his ear, which sent a shiver up Danny’s spine.

He bit down on the same ear he moaned into before whispering to him. “Turn around. I need to see you.” Roy pulled out so Danny could lay on his back, kicking the pillows that were supporting him out of the way. Roy kneeled between his legs, propping both up on his shoulder for the best access to him. He pushed back inside of Danny, the room filled with a mixture of their moans and the sound of Roy’s hips beating against him. Danny had the fleeting thought that his neighbors were going to be pissed the next time he saw them. “Look at me.” Roy grabbed Danny’s face, turning his gaze in his own direction. He pressed their foreheads together, their eyes locked as Roy put every ounce of feeling he had for Danny into their love making–this couldn’t be called fucking anymore. A dizzying feeling came over the both of them as they breathed in each other’s air, their mouths agape as they could barely contain the sounds escaping them. Danny’s eyes rolled back and Roy nearly came at the sight. “I love you!” Danny cried out.

Wait. Wait. That wasn’t in his head. That was out loud. He heard it. Roy heard it, he had stop thrusting. Danny was almost too scared to open his eyes again, so he didn’t. Roy looked at him astonished, though he wouldn’t know that since his eyes were still squeezed shut. Did he mean that? Was it just heat of the moment? Roy knew things could slip, especially the word love, at such an intimate time. “Danny…Do you mean that?” Danny opened one eye, still too embarrassed to open both and face the situation his was in. “Yes.” His tone was defeated, as if he had already made up his mind that there was no chance Roy would feel the same. “I love you too.” That got him to open his eyes. He swallowed down the metaphorical block in his throat.

“You do?”

“I do.”

Roy connected their lips again, tongues swirling around each other. He continued his thrusts with more intensity than before. Danny had already been close when he blurted out his three year long pent up ‘I love you’. They had slept together more than enough times for Roy to know what Danny writhing beneath him the way he was meant. “You gonna cum for me, baby?” He rasped out against Danny’s lips. “You first.” Danny stammered, his hands moving down to squeeze Roy’s ass. Roy chuckled. “Cute, but I doubt it.” Roy bit his bottom lip, knowing how absolutely crazy that drove him. He reached down between them to stroke Danny’s neglected, profusely leaking cock. “Not fair–” Danny’s back arched off of the bed. “I’m gonna cum!” He spilled over on Roy’s hand and his own stomach. Roy only needed the sight of Danny orgasming to reach his own climax.

Roy rode the both of them through their orgasm, pulling out and trashing the condom when they both gained more composure. “So you love me?” Roy cheekily teased. “Shut up!” Danny blushed. “You love me too.” He spat back almost shyly. “I do.” Roy kissed his forehead, pulling him into his arms. “Hey, in my book, screaming 'I love you’ during sex is a lot better than screaming 'not today satan.” Danny cracked up, his neighbors were sure to complain about not only about the moaning, but the cackling too.

“I still don’t believe that story, bitch.”

“Trust me, I wish I were making it up.” Roy intertwined his fingers with Danny’s. “I think this is a better one.”

#biadore #lemonade #adore delano #bianca del rio #smut #fluff #rpdr fanfiction

[ataraxetta]

What is your opinion of Gladio during chapter ten? I can't ship gladnoct after playing it.

All right, let’s talk about chapter ten.

To answer your question, I think Gladio was a dick during this chapter, but I think his world was falling apart around him and lashing out in some dickishness is a totally understandable and pretty standard human reaction to that level of upset. He was angry and grieving and feeling powerless and helpless in an intensely high-stress situation and he was handling it badly, in direct contention with Noctis, who was also handling it badly but in an opposing direction. 

I think that chapter 9 was an abrupt and brutal awakening for all four of the bros. Up until Altissia, I don’t think any of them had really been hit with the reality stick yet, not the full extent, because they didn’t have absolute confirmation of anything but that Insomnia had been taken, which is too broad to narrow down to personal grief. They knew a lot of people died there, but nothing more concrete than that, and they knew that they couldn’t trust what the papers were reporting which was enough to spark hope that maybe, somehow, their loved ones had survived. Maybe, somehow, things weren’t as bad as they sounded. If the reports of Noctis and Luna’s deaths were false, then maybe the others were too. Maybe, once they got to Altissia, it would be to find that King Regis and Clarus and Ignis and Prompto’s families had survived. Once they got to Altissia, everything would be solved.

So for awhile, in the safe space of the road trip and hunts and meeting people and helping people and exploring a new world they kind of got lost in the storybook romance of it all, all four of them. Fated lovers the Chosen Prince and the Oracle journeying toward one another after so long, making pacts with the Gods in order to take back their home from Empire and save the world from evil with their friends by their side. That would be heady as hell, being at the center of that. And then Altissia happened, city destroyed, Luna murdered, Ignis horrifically injured, complete devastation, lives ruined, and it suddenly wasn’t romantic at all anymore.  

I don’t think any of them really had accepted the full reality until they personally witnessed the fallout. Clearly none of them had actually stopped and even considered that Ardyn Izunia was actually a bad person. He couldn’t have been more obvious if he had TRIED that he was Sekritly All Kinds of Evol BadGuy, and they even talked about how creepy and untrustworthy and probably bad news bears he was! Repeatedly! And still none of them actually believed that it was a possibility that that sort of evil actually existed. Altissia made everything real. Regis, Clarus and countless others really were dead. Their home really had been destroyed. People who helped them really were being slaughtered because of the association. Those losses were real, the danger to the entire world was real, the responsibility to fix it was real, and the destiny Noctis had been dreading his whole life was the only option they had left. Chapter 10 is the guys dealing with not only what happened in Altissia but also drowning under the grief they hadn’t let themselves feel yet of everything that had happened before.

Enter chapter 10 Gladio and Noctis - character foils with personality types at different ends of the spectrum who were raised under similar circumstances and came out with very different world views and personal strengths that tend to highlight each other’s flaws - and the clashing of coping mechanisms.

Gladio’s instinct is to fall back on the precepts and moral code he was raised with (loyalty, strength, honor, pride in his calling, along with the kind of mental conditioning that would come with having been military trained from a young age) and hold his head up and carry on, no matter what. He has a goal and a duty to the world/himself/his family to do what needs to be done for the greater good despite the fact that he’s coming apart at the seams. He’ll do whatever it takes to keep moving forward. He has a job to do. They all have a job to do, and nothing can stand in the way of it.

Noctis withdraws. imo, Noctis has been suffering a staggering case of PTSD for most of his life that has never really been acknowledged or dealt with. In the prologue script thing Ignis confirms that Noctis had a drastic personality change after he was injured by the daemon that almost killed him, which happened after he lost his mother at a young age and years spent wanting nothing more than to spend time with his dad and rarely being able to, and before he witnessed the massacre at Tenebrae, and was followed by a long recovery and growing up watching his father slowly die from the power and responsibility that Noctis was going to inherit, as well as having the title Chosen One and all the expectation therein like a boulder on his shoulders since he was 8.  

I think this is why he’s grown up so isolated even surrounded by his friends, because he’s cultivated this distance as a means to protect himself, it’s the only way he knows how to keep functioning. He bottles everything he feels because he doesn’t know how to express it and he deals with disappointment by acting passive and/or aloof, and he deals with trauma by disassociating and retreating into himself. 

To Gladio’s point, I maintain that being the friend on the other side of those particular coping mechanisms would be difficult/frustrating for anyone, especially someone like Gladio who has always been blunt and expressive and brazenly and unapologetically himself and just can’t fathom the way Noctis’s mind works.

There are several weeks that we don’t get to see between chapter 9 and chapter 10, but it’s pretty heavily implied that Noctis has kept his distance from the rest of them, including Ignis, which is what seems to have been the main motivation for Gladio’s blow up on the train. To him it looks like Noctis doesn’t care, and worse that he’s so tangled up in his own head that he hasn’t even noticed that one of his best friends is suffering. What Gladio sees is Ignis, who has been through just as much as Noctis has since they left Insomnia and who has now also been permanently and debilitatingly injured in the line of his duty (both personal and professional) to Noctis, and who has despite all that powered through the pain and anguish and uncertainty and stepped up without hesitation and is trying, while Noctis has spent the last few weeks wallowing without even acknowledging the sacrifices that have been made in his name, just sulking around with the power of the Lucii in his pocket instead of on his finger like a blatant refusal to take up the mantle and be king and do his damn job.

Of course we have much more Noctis canon than Gladio canon to work with. We know that Noctis has been thinking of nothing else, and has kept his distance from Ignis because he blames himself, and because every part of his history is proof precedent that those close to him will die protecting him, and he’s so afraid of losing them. Just carrying the ring and all its creepy otherworldly whispering around in his pocket is physically painful and he knows the moment he puts it on he becomes a dying man. He feels guilty for wanting to avoid his duty, and the constant fear and insecurity that’s always plagued him has been proven valid and he doesn’t know how to come back from that: he’s failed everyone, including Luna, the one person in the world he swore to protect and the only promise he’s ever allowed himself to make.

But Noctis is incapable of expressing any of this, communication has never been his strong suit (see Prompto never really being able to trust that Noctis cares for him as much as we know Noctis does), and Gladio can’t be blamed for jumping to wrong conclusions when Noctis doesn’t share any of the right ones. There’s no evidence of splintering that’s happening inside. On the outside Noctis is going through the motions but has completely secluded himself and from what it looks like to me, barely spoken to any of them for weeks while he gazes moodily into the distance. That would be hard to swallow.

I’m sorry, this got long and probably mostly incoherent I’m terrible at explaining things. Basically my feelings are that I can and will defend both Gladio and Noctis on all points for their behavior after chapter 9 because I think they both fucked up and handled things badly and that it’s very realistic for them to be human and flawed (for all of them to be human and flawed, which they magnificently are I love these characters so much). 

I’m only upset because this really could have been such an interesting plot point and character development and so good if it had just been done well, but narratively the ball was dropped to the point where it just felt unfinished. Noctis and Gladio’s relationship was so strained throughout chapter ten and they were so harsh with each other that we as the audience needed to see them actually reconcile and apologize to each other and at least start working toward trusting each other again. We deserved to see this one loose end tied up for the impact it would have later on, y’know? I feel like their relationship was done a disservice by lazy writing.

#anon #ask #ffxv waffling #god I went on forever I'm sorry #gladio defense squad #noctis defense squad #headcanons ahoy #ffxv spoilers